[ It's second nature to take note of the exits and map out a half dozen escape routes; Daisy doesn't even stop to consider how weird 'normal' people would find that way of thinking. Her life is dangerous and she's had too many close calls to resist her instincts like that. Still, she settles easily into the seat she'd claimed, only vaguely noting the row of agents on the other side of Bucky who seem awfully surprised by their presence. She's used to it, and her attention would much rather focus on just how close Bucky is now that they're sitting down.
It's impossible to miss the drink he takes, too much of the liquid monstrosity consumed in one go to be anything but an attempt at bracing himself. Whiskey probably would have done an infinitely better job but she understands the necessity of working with what you've got. She also understands the feeling of being overwhelmed and a little bit desperate — at least, she's guessing that might be what he's experiencing. The source isn't something she can easily assume, not when she knows all too well how even the smallest thing can trigger a memory or instinct, but she doesn't need to know the specifics to help distract him. ]
Yeah, it is. I've never seen it myself but I know it's still performed at schools and local theaters all the time. [ She vividly remembers seeing the posters being hung around the high school by the theater club. But before the production opened, she'd been sent back to Saint Agnes. Shaking herself out of the memory, she shifts slightly in her seat, her knee bumping his again as she turns enough to better look at him since he's probably a little too squished in the small seat to do the same. ] You know, I grew up in the city, but I've never been to a show. This is kind of exciting.
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It's impossible to miss the drink he takes, too much of the liquid monstrosity consumed in one go to be anything but an attempt at bracing himself. Whiskey probably would have done an infinitely better job but she understands the necessity of working with what you've got. She also understands the feeling of being overwhelmed and a little bit desperate — at least, she's guessing that might be what he's experiencing. The source isn't something she can easily assume, not when she knows all too well how even the smallest thing can trigger a memory or instinct, but she doesn't need to know the specifics to help distract him. ]
Yeah, it is. I've never seen it myself but I know it's still performed at schools and local theaters all the time. [ She vividly remembers seeing the posters being hung around the high school by the theater club. But before the production opened, she'd been sent back to Saint Agnes. Shaking herself out of the memory, she shifts slightly in her seat, her knee bumping his again as she turns enough to better look at him since he's probably a little too squished in the small seat to do the same. ] You know, I grew up in the city, but I've never been to a show. This is kind of exciting.