we're going to make this happen if it takes forever
In retrospect, Sitwell was sure he should have called Coulson. It must have been a poor visual cue, sticky sweets making him dial Jan's number rather than the closer, if more acidic agent. But as his tumble came to a halt just about under the hooves of a sugary horror, he felt the phone still clutched in his hand squelch between his fingers, becoming tacky and sticking to his palm. So much for that thought. "Not a problem, sir," Sitwell squeaked, pretty sure he was in no position to argue, not until he was on his feet and taking stock. He only got as far as rolling onto his knees, though, and making a move to back away from the snorting horse-creatures before something had wrapped itself around his ankle to jerk him out of the way much faster than Sitwell was moving.
This was horrifying, on many levels up to and including Sitwell's desperate grasp at his candy covered space blanket to keep from dropping it and bursting into flame. But his saucer-wide eyes still belonged to S.H.I.E.L.D. and their dedicated training and he stared as he was dragged at the clearly severely unstable perpetrator, hugging himself in his shimmering protection like a candied bat hanging from the vine, trying to put a name to a face as hard as he was trying not to hyperventilate. "Sir, I insist you stand down and let us discuss this business rationally," he said.