@hawkwxrd / (Over the phone) Hey Tony, you doing good? Hey anyways. How would one hypothetically get his arm unstuck from a toy claw machine?
There’s a reason he’s been stingy with his new phone number (thanks, Thor!), and right now he’s being painfully reminded why that rule is now in effect.
So note to self: Next time he’s forced to change his phone number, Clint is not on the to be given list.
“Hypothetically, I’d say our hypothetical idiot is pretty hypothetically screwed, actually.” He also hypothetically realizes that there’s no hypothetically about it, but he’s pretty sure Clint’s suffering enough without him pointing that out. And it’s not like Tony’s going to track his location, hack cctv, and get stills and video to use a later date at his discretion. Never, he’s a fine, moral, upstanding citizen who would never use his grey area access to tracking systems, gps location, and ability to circumvent literally almost all digital security available on the market for embarrassing blackmail material.
(The best still of the bunch is going to be framed and absolutely is going on Tony’s wall of shame in the lab.)
“So…Hypothetically-” He starts a few hacking algorithms, takes a sip of his lukewarm coffee. “How did our hypothetical guy end up with his arm hypothetically in a claw machine slot to begin with. Those things are double rigged, it’s practically a joke when you find one that’s not.”
Listen. The only reason Tony was the first one he’d thought to call was the fact the guy was like a mechanical engineer or something and certainly there was mechanical engineering going on with designing a claw machine, right? This wasn’t the first time Barton had rung up Tony to help him with something along these lines. Though this was probably a bit sillier than asking him to untangle his television wires. Maybe.
Clint grunted some as Tony chastised him a bit. Though it was also just him trying to readjust how he was sitting. He was finding it hard to get comfortable with his entire arm up to his shoulder lodged into the prize slot door. Shoulder and elbow wedged in there good preventing him from pulling himself back out.
“--Well. Hypothetically -- he wanted to win this pizza slice dog toy for Lucky and the tag got caught on the claw so t’stupid thing won’t give me my hard earned prize,” he grunted out in frustration, giving his arm another jostle to no avail. “Alright dropping the hypotheticals. So I got the pizza...” He added a bit more proudly but then sighed again.
“But I feel like a raccoon in a trap and there are kids watching me and tryin’ to give me advice.” Another huffed grunt. “And Tony, kids give awful advice. -- but yeah so I dunno if my bulging muscles are jus’ too big but I need help and I told these kids I’d get another superhero to come save me so now they’re expecting Iron-Man,” he added quickly.
