[Bucky can detect his fair share of bullshit but he’s not surprised. Whatever high-level operatives he’s working he’s bound to keep a good cover. Why else would he have been so quick to counter him? And there was still the matter of whomever this guy’s protecting--it’s been a thorn in Bucky’s mind ever since he’d first mentioned him. But why Japan?...
He hisses air through his teeth as he tapes on a piece of gauze and grumbles out an extra “fuck you” aimed at Kira for the bruised ribs Bucky’s gonna have for too long to be convenient on account of his fucking foot. What’s with all this destiny talk bullshit? It was setting him on edge. The way he’d been kept in the dark about things before--things that were resurfacing, some with the help of disturbing research but most without it--it was different then, too concerned with humankind and politics. All he knows about destiny is that it’s got a shitty sense of humor if it even exists, and that the word itself tastes like-- brings to mind the man on the beach--him--before he walked away.
Looking in the mirror again Bucky pulls out the elastic from the remainder of the ponytail (not much after all the scuffling) and smooths his hair back again to retie it back. With the dark circles under his eyes and a week’s stubble he’s looking particularly, uh, crackhead-ish. Touche, weird kid, he thinks wryly.]
As for me, [he rinses his shirt under the faucet, running red through the sink again, before wringing it out and pulling it back on with a grunt-- he really shoulda stolen some clothes from someone’s clothesline before he came here--] yeah, I guess. Kinda don’t have a choice anymore, though. S’me or them and uh…[he lets out a hollow laugh] I think I’m on my side.
[Time to switch gears - talking about himself is Too Uncomfortable (too bad probs) and he’d been given a reason to not completely eliminate him right now.]
So this person whose destiny you’re always going on about… what’s so special about him anyway?
[All right, so Bucky could use a little lesson in subtlety...]
no subject
He hisses air through his teeth as he tapes on a piece of gauze and grumbles out an extra “fuck you” aimed at Kira for the bruised ribs Bucky’s gonna have for too long to be convenient on account of his fucking foot. What’s with all this destiny talk bullshit? It was setting him on edge. The way he’d been kept in the dark about things before--things that were resurfacing, some with the help of disturbing research but most without it--it was different then, too concerned with humankind and politics. All he knows about destiny is that it’s got a shitty sense of humor if it even exists, and that the word itself tastes like-- brings to mind the man on the beach--him--before he walked away.
Looking in the mirror again Bucky pulls out the elastic from the remainder of the ponytail (not much after all the scuffling) and smooths his hair back again to retie it back. With the dark circles under his eyes and a week’s stubble he’s looking particularly, uh, crackhead-ish. Touche, weird kid, he thinks wryly.]
As for me, [he rinses his shirt under the faucet, running red through the sink again, before wringing it out and pulling it back on with a grunt-- he really shoulda stolen some clothes from someone’s clothesline before he came here--] yeah, I guess. Kinda don’t have a choice anymore, though. S’me or them and uh…[he lets out a hollow laugh] I think I’m on my side.
[Time to switch gears - talking about himself is Too Uncomfortable
(too bad probs)and he’d been given a reason to not completely eliminate him right now.]So this person whose destiny you’re always going on about… what’s so special about him anyway?
[All right, so Bucky could use a little lesson in subtlety...]