Well, that was a bummer. Clint frowned over the rim of his glass at the description, and wasn't sure what to say about it, if he was being honest. It was depressing that even in a world of magic and turning into dogs and deers there were still people out there with shitty ideals who couldn't and wouldn't stop poking things with sharp, hateful sticks. "We've got people like that where I'm from too. They're all bastards," he decided on. What else was there really to say? It'd just be preaching to the choir, anyway.
"And that we're near enough a bathroom, even if it does," he finished off the toast with a grin -- all teeth and dimples, boyishly charming. Probably less charming was the fact that Clint did not sip liquor. He sort of just swallowed half of it down at once, like he'd never heard of restraint or just what it could do for him in the long run.