A thought occurs to me:
Please, if you will, picture Assistant District Attorney Clint Barton when he encounters his first case of “distracted driving – playing the pokemon game.”
He squints at the copy of the ticket (a digital scan that perfectly captures the officer’s chicken-scratch handwriting), confused. He tilts his head left and right, not necessarily because he’s not heard of this new Pokemon bullshit (of course he’s heard about it, Wade posts daily Facebook updates about his latest catches, Tony and Miles keep competing to find the rare ones), but because people don’t actually play while driving. Right? ‘Cause he’s not exactly a saint in the driver’s seat, either, but playing a location-based game in traffic’s gotta be the dumbest–
He says all this at lunch, of course, and Tony laughs hard enough that he almost hurts himself. “How else am I supposed to clean out all the Pokestops in the neighborhood?” he demands, raising his hands when Bruce shoots him a dirty look. “Not with the kids in the car. Miles already declared that a party foul.”
“Please tell me that’s not the only reason,” Natasha mutters.
Tony waves her off, and Clint just stares at him. Except gaping over at Tony’s side of the table means noticing the way Bucky and Steve keep avoiding his eyes. He groans. “Not you! You’re supposed to be the voices of reason!”
Steve pinks up immediately. “We’re not proud of it,” he defends. “We just grew up on Pokemon, you know?”
“Gotta catch ‘em all,” Bucky agrees. The way he says it, it sounds like the end of a prayer.
Clint rubs a hand over his face. “It’s like we’re in some fucked-up alternate reality where I’m the only mature adult in the bunch,” he mutters.
Natasha pats his leg. “Don’t worry,” she soothes. “The next season of House of Cards will drop soon. Give you something to watch in the car.”
Everybody’s heads snap up in creepy unison, and Clint sighs.
He hates everything.