"News to me," Clint muttered under his breath, not entirely sure which one he was responding to. "Fine, fine, I'm going." He pulled on the shirt and walked to the door. Somehow, he refrained from stomping like a disgruntled teenager.

"Maybe you should ask Goldilocks about making your place hex-proof," he threw over his shoulder, experimentally touching the doorknob. When it didn't shock him, Clint opened the door. After shooting one more glare at the ceiling, Clint was out the door and on his way to the nearest shooting range.