Varric withdrew quickly at the auto response, lifting a hand and lowered his crossbow to present himself as a non-threat. He'd been around enough fighters, hell, had enough of his own reactions to see the response as an impulse.
As Clint spoke, the hand lowered and he paused, thoughtfully, then nodded.
Opening his mostly empty shoulderbag, he reached into the box and pulled out the plastic bottles, stuffing them into something more familiar as a weight. He grunted slightly as he readjusted the bag, then turned, thoughtful.
"Maybe a bit of noise isn't so bad," he conceded. They hadn't seen that many zombies before they'd come in, after all. He turned back towards Clint.
"Think you can break that weird glass completely? Might make enough noise to get the attention of any other nearby walkers. We can go out the front, book it to the church, Bianca can take care of any shamblers who might notice us. Quietly, they never seem to notice anything other than noise."
The lack of Clint noticing the sound of glass sharply panging struck Varric as odd, but then, he might have just been getting jumpy at the overall silence of this world. It was one of the reasons he hated caves, too. Heightened senses meant overreaction, and overreaction could spell an easy death.
"What do you think? That isn't normal glass. Might be the exit that could cover our trail best."