Steve doesn't, even for looking up and pulling the shirt down, look at all ruffled by the way her face is wrinkling up. If anything it makes him seem even more amused. The idea of her being squeamish at anything. Her. Cath. A sailor. One of the women surrounded so often more with men in uniforms, and everything that came with keeping up with them. One the very few people who goes out of their way to try and keep up with him.
Cross-hatched with the idea that this isn't actually anything compared to the wider assortments of almost too many things he can name without trying that he's been through. Messier, dirtier, bloodier, sweatier, grittier, less able to get away from it field problems of decades. Which just makes him give her a roll of his eyes, smile widening with a shake of his head, like she's the one who's adorable and exasperating for it.
"Actually, I know you know I didn't bring anything with me--" Is a sticking point, but the way his voice is running. Warm, smooth, sparking joke, pointed ribbing with that loose curve of his mouth that's already rippling out without yet having fallen. "--but if you--" Which is where the ripening pressure on words begin, blue eyes wide and delighted, with her, with himself, with this sudden insult, suggestion, toss back. "--need one, I'm sure I've got one on hand."
Because he's always got everything he needs on hand. He's never less than prepared for most anything he goes into.
Even when prepared to him might be far less, and far more, involved, depending on subject than anyone around him ever got.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-01-30 12:49 pm (UTC)Cross-hatched with the idea that this isn't actually anything compared to the wider assortments of almost too many things he can name without trying that he's been through. Messier, dirtier, bloodier, sweatier, grittier, less able to get away from it field problems of decades. Which just makes him give her a roll of his eyes, smile widening with a shake of his head, like she's the one who's adorable and exasperating for it.
"Actually, I know you know I didn't bring anything with me--" Is a sticking point, but the way his voice is running. Warm, smooth, sparking joke, pointed ribbing with that loose curve of his mouth that's already rippling out without yet having fallen. "--but if you--" Which is where the ripening pressure on words begin, blue eyes wide and delighted, with her, with himself, with this sudden insult, suggestion, toss back. "--need one, I'm sure I've got one on hand."
Because he's always got everything he needs on hand. He's never less than prepared for most anything he goes into.
Even when prepared to him might be far less, and far more, involved, depending on subject than anyone around him ever got.