People. God, this place was so amazing. It was filled with so many people. Like, hundreds, and they were all just ridiculous and hilarious and Clint loved it. He especially loved that even with his bow and quiver slung around his back, he'd been mistaken for Iron Fist twice already. What was that about? He didn't even look like Danny Rand. He didn't even wear green!
Whatever, it was still cool. Clint was hyped up on good feelings, some weird japanese cookie sticks, and what had been a personal invite to a night-party in someone's hotel room later. He also had his sights on booking an actual room for a quality shower. Everything was coming up Clint, currently.
He was currently wandering the artist alley, eyes looking out for prizes (so far he'd found a very cute keychain of himself) and things that he'd be ashamed to show his mother, if he had a mother to show them to. He turned though, when addressed, and it wasn't hard to pick out Bucky for himself, particularly in a crowd of mostly women. "Bucky!" he said brightly, even though he was pretty well aware this wasn't his version. Still, he was a version, and he looked almost exactly the same. He'd always liked Bucky. He was a good dude. A little stoic, sure, but he had a pretty great sense of humor if you waited around for long enough to see it.
"Oh, man. Have you never been to a con? It's basically a wretched hive of scum and villainy. But like, in a good way. So long as everyone uses soap. Pocky?" He tilted a bright red box toward the other guy, and offered a boyish smile.