It's not about to fall down just 'cause I stuck some paper to it with pins, Storm. ( he answers, tone very much the verbal equivalent of a shrug. more than anything, perhaps, it says that clint isn't all that precious about belongings, not really, not when it comes down to it. it's people, first and foremost, and though he's come to like the apartment he has — in actual bed-stuy, not this WHATEVER on an unknown planet in an unknown universe — it'd taken him weeks to bother to unpack after moving. it'd taken him months to bother even thinking about arranging it in any kind of fashion beyond 'I'll just put this here for now because for now this is where it goes'.

some of it was circumstance, but some of it—. some of it's simply because clint has never really stayed in one place long enough to bother setting down roots, to bother feeling like somewhere is home rather than the people. ) And I'm not about to spend points on something I can just make. A board's just a sheet of crappy wood or cork, and it's gonna be covered in things. It doesn't need to look good.

( he steps into the apartment nearest his and, much like his, it's near-enough empty. it lacks almost any personal touches — perhaps due to a comparative lack of familiarity on clint's part and in his memory, but who's to say? — but the layout is much the same as his. he spends much less time lingering, much less time dawdling — all he's after here is to make sure there's nothing personal of his neighbors sitting out for anyone to find. anything like that, he'll take and keep safe. )

—And I don't want to be too reliant on Aurora.