Okay, so it's definitely too fast to be believable, but also: Clint Barton. He seems a little suspicious of the quick shift, eyes narrowing in a thoughtful squint — and that's it. A second's hesitation, then he gives her the benefit of the doubt. Or maybe he's just too tired to keep up the skepticism, it's difficult to tell.

"The them the doors warned us about."

Bi-pedal. Shambling? Or maybe he's just making that up. Seems a little biased.

He's having a hard time deciding which would be better, B-movie reality or... actually, his entire life is pretty B-movie, so maybe it's moot. Clint lifts a hand to scrub it over his face, still a little battered and touched by a few fresh bruises (as always), then slides it back through his hair before settling it on his neck. The gesture's pensive, if a little exasperated.

"Are you planning on going out?"