Eyes fixed on the movie queue, Colleen motioned for the phone. "He likes his pizza," she chuckled. And his dog. It didn't seem to take much for her to be convinced that this was the real archer. She paused to show Misty the photo of the blonde kneeling down with the dog, a slice of pizza hanging out of its mouth. "What exactly is a 'Clint Barton kind of fuckboy'? I thought we wanted to stay from them in all their forms."