[ At the all-too-familiar electric whrr of machinery in motion, his own muscles go taut, still where he stands. His squirmy mammal bump is less cooperative, but Bucky ignores it, attention immediately and acutely focused on the man with the gun.
–The man with the gun and the metal arm and the red star and the hair he hadn't worn that long in years before now, and it's a little like seeing a ghost, or a nightmare, something that stepped out of one of Loki's fever dreams and into reality. ]
Easy. [ There's nothing in his hands, and he makes no move to change that, but he doesn't lift them any further from his sidearm either. ] I'm not your enemy.
no subject
–The man with the gun and the metal arm and the red star and the hair he hadn't worn that long in years before now, and it's a little like seeing a ghost, or a nightmare, something that stepped out of one of Loki's fever dreams and into reality. ]
Easy. [ There's nothing in his hands, and he makes no move to change that, but he doesn't lift them any further from his sidearm either. ] I'm not your enemy.