Peter B | Clint Barton
"There's not really a table here," Clint pointed out, and frankly his face was kinda juicy with meats and it probably wasn't a good look but he didn't much care because hungry came first. Plus, knowing his luck, if he went off to use a leaf as a napkin it'd end up being the poisonous itchy rashy kind.
He really wasn't meant for all this roughing it, stuff. Not even when someone else was out there catching and cooking the meat.
Only Clint Barton could suck at barbecues.
"So. No? Anyway. Er. Pete, right?" They'd done all that talking earlier and Clint had just assumed he'd known the dude. That was awkward.