"Lucky me," he corrects, in that good-natured way whipped men often do. He pulls the stick away from her face, still rimmed with a little left over molten mallow glue, and watches her swig down some of his booze. Collects the bottle back when she's done, twists the cap on, tucks it under one arm so he can hold the other one out in an offer to shake.

He's old-fashioned like that. "Bucky. Kinda figured, we don't exactly have a huge population. New faces kinda stick out."

Plus they have a vibe, one of those green 'I have no idea what's happening and everything's fine' auras that stands out like a sore thumb. Barnes has two methods of dealing with them.

1 - talk about chopping wood
2 - offer them booze.

So far 2 has had better results.