Scott and Clint
"--found some blood on a tree and I pretended it was mine. It's a great picture, hold on, I'll show you." Scott had remained outside after Stane's dedication speech, waiting for his medication to kick in so he could brave the heavy press of people inside the hotel. Historically, he'd always fared better at events if he made time to gather his wits in some fresh air, but those were by and large Capitol affairs. He hadn't been required to attend an arena opening in.. had he ever? and tonight it seemed he'd needed a little extra time to square that furious, writhing part of him away. The tours and their tourists weren't helping. Most were queuing up with hushed excitement, and those that had already gone through were coming out like the girl in front of him: eager to share their photo ops.
Sometimes the alprazolam made him nauseous if he took it on an empty stomach. This was not one of those times.
Rather than stick around to hear how the rest of the tour had unfolded, Scott drew in a calming breath and slipped around the pair of friends. The surrounding jungle had provided decent camouflage for the foresty green and black of his tiger striped suit - Alden's proposal to make an actual, orange tiger striped suit had been vetoed - but it was an easy sacrifice to make if it meant he was no longer privy to the testimonials from the tour. He moved inside, his thoughts on Wanda and how she must be handling (or not handling) things. If he felt a constant, moderate need to vomit, he couldn't imagine she was doing any better.
The thought to offer her some of his prescription occurred to him, and he very firmly resolved himself to doing so should he find her in the throng of people. That would prove difficult, though, with so many party goers dressed to the nines. Scott had expected a majority of the guest list to take the jungle theme and run with it, and they hadn't failed to disappoint. A man by the entrance was sporting a prosthetic beak--as if the giant macaw feathers weren't enough. Message received, you're a bird.
With so many people masquerading as animals, the crisp whiteness of Clint's suit popped out at him easily enough. Scott gravitated toward the familiar face, as he usually did when they were both in attendance at a Capitol event. Parties were really the only time he felt safe enough to see and be seen with Clint now that he was walking the straight and narrow. Well. Wobbly and narrow, if you counted his meeting with Steve and advising Clint on his heist. "I can't believe they let you keep the fish," he said, by way of greeting, as he sidled up beside Clint at the bar.