It was interesting, being so far removed from most social situations to find that he'd graduated into the level of communication that involved humorous banter with someone he didn't really even know. As someone who kept to himself, the kids who lived around his hut, and his flock of goats, it was kind of a relief to know he was even capable of that these days. He wondered if it would come as easily with other strangers as it had with Barton, or if it was because Clint had a similar sense of humor as him, and it brought with it a natural sort of kinship that they could just explore as the words rolled off their tongues.
"The coffee here is probably shit, but we could start there," he said. "I might need a momentary mental relief break from the--" His jaw actually dropped; it was probably the most expression he'd actually shown in a very long time. Maybe years. A little further down, there was a piece of art that was most definitely supposed to be him. Or at lest, half him. The other half was a horse or maybe a deer or god, was it a goat? No, it was probably a horse -- and fuck, he was looking at it too long. But the horse's left front leg looked like it'd been drawn to represent the bionic arm he had in real life. "Fuck, I regret my statement about not being ready to see myself as a Merman. It might've warmed me up before being hit with that."