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[bettercallit]

☎ Call.
✉ Voicemail.
⌨ Text.
✔ Action.

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perma-action

[detentions]

[ Bucky knows to find Clint on the roof, because the roof is their spot, and nobody else knows about it. It makes sense, they like being up-high. So that's why he's climbing over the fire-escape, wandering over to the make-shift den and saluting him. ]

Fuck, today sucked. Do you have anything on you?

[troubler]

[ He's squashing out the end of a cigarette when Bucky approaches, and he inclines his head, questioning him with his brow alone. But he's got the goods, taking out a baggie with a few roll-ups inside already done, and there's a bottle to the side he picks up.

Shaking them both. ] Pick your poison.

[detentions]

[ He picks the bottle, slumping down to sit cross-legged across from Clint. ]

This'll work faster.

[troubler]

That bad?

[ He might not be overly vocal a lot of the time, but he knows what he sees. ] Spill.

[detentions]

Y'ever just like, fucking hate everything?

[ Knocking back a slug, holding it out to Clint again. ] I hate everything.

[troubler]

[ He snorts a laugh at the question. The reason he's so uncaring about everything is because he hates everything.

Helping himself to a good swallow. ] Is this a guessing game? You know I hate those.

[detentions]

Yes, Clinton, it's a guessing game.

[ He's just going to snag back that bottle again, take another deep gulp. ]

[troubler]

[ Waving his cigarette at him. ] Don't call me that.

[ He lets him, shifts up to get more comfortable. ] So what's the deal?

[yourbestguysgun]

[ Exhaling slowly. ] Everything that could go wrong kinda feels like it is, y’know? Steve’s sister set him up on a date for the dance, and it’s our last night, I guess m’just not dealing too great with that.

[troubler]

You know something? Green's not really your colour, bro. [ Taking a drag, smoke flowing out as he speaks. ] Steve's Steve, he's gonna fit you in a dance, and he's probably gonna make it up to you way more than he should.