You're not that far off. [There isn't any comment on the bow, but he does catch a look. Yeah, maybe that's as odd as the hair. Notable, but not worth saying shit about. Clint's come to understand that there's something keeping him from doing his other half any actual ill. The number of times he wanted to put hands on, take off a head, chuck it off a building, throw it into traffic--

And he hadn't been able to. Stopped before he ever made contact. So. Probably won't be shooting the thing, no. But there's plenty of other use he can make of an arrow and the right circumstances.]

Started like any other storefront mannequin. Only it was out in the middle of everything, in the way, and I ran it over. It's plastic, car's made to withstand a hell of a lot more than that, right? Who cares? Only I come home, it's followed me. It's just there when I turn around, when I open the closet, when I look out my window, when I go to work.

[He makes a general sweeping motion with one arm.] Getting the impression it's something damn near an infestation. Took time, but it started looking more and more like me. Started talking with my voice. Started moving on its own when I was watching it. [And now his hand's turning into plastic. It's replacing him. And what the actual fuck is he meant to do about it?]

And anytime it gets damaged, it heals up quicker than I do, that's for sure. [Says a guy that does not have any kind of rapid healing.]