Not just another dude with a bow

If Clint needed a sign that Black Cat's bad luck mojo had worn off of him, it was that the first portal he'd taken from New York had brought him right to Fandom last night. He'd tried to sneak into the house without waking Kitty up, but that had been a completely futile effort, and she'd made all sorts of noises when she saw what a walking bruise he looked like. He'd tried "It looks worse than it feels," and "Nothing's broken, it not a big deal," but ultimately "I don't want to talk about it right now," had won, and he'd been able to get some sleep. Not good sleep, but enough sleep that he didn't feel like total crap when the squirrels had shown up to make him do the radio broadcast.

Now Clint was two cups of coffee into the day, and was ready to do something productive. That meant finally tackling the annoying squeaky stair going up to the second floor. Clint wasn't exactly an expert in home repair, but... he needed something to do and he needed it to be useful, and this was useful. If Clint had a therapist, they'd probably have a field day with what he was getting up to.

[Open for calls or visits!]