He wouldn't know how Libby is like "normally". To him? This is normal from her. She's always been nice to him. Sure, she was a bit grating before hand, a bit annoying, but that's just how he bonds with people. They make fun of him, he makes fun of them, it's how every relationship he's had in his life (all five of them) have been. Ever since he can remember. So this is normal. This is nice. It's comforting.
But he does like it better. He likes the lack of make-up smeared across her face, he likes the emotions he can actually hear and see, not the mask of bullshit she normally puts on. The mask he can see as clear as day. Because when you're a kid who's grown up with nothing but clarity, with pure emotions, you become used to the signs of them. Masks don't exist if you're not expecting to see them. At least for James. People can try all they like to cover things up, but James is so used to seeing every little bit of emotion on another person's face - because his siblings just don't know how to hide that he doesn't get distracted by the cover-ups, the fake emotions. He gets confused by them, sure, doesn't know why they're there, but he doesn't dwell on them, take them for being all that's there.
It's why he sits and studies, why he stares at people so intently when he talks to them, here. He's never been around this many people, he's learning something new every day, something more about emotions, about how people express them. It's... different. It's interesting. And-- it hurts, sometimes. Like right now. The pain in Libby's voice, the deep-seated pain of old wounds being ripped right open again, and he finds himself swallowing around a lump in his throat, leaning around to rest his hand gently on her shoulder, instinctively careful of not pressing against those feathers so they bend the wrong way. He's held Pym in his hand so many times, had to be mindful of his wings underneath the clench of his fingers, that it's just second-nature by now.
He likes her better like this. Uncovered, raw, real. He doesn't like that she hides under the paint on her face, hides what's on her skin from everyone else. Azari doesn't hide the patterns on his skin, Torunn didn't think to hide her scars once she got them, for Pym being small and glowing was normal. And James... he doesn't like that Libby feels the need to hide what's normal. He doesn't get it.
"I don't-" his voice catches in his throat, and he's tightening his jaw, shaking his head to try and clear out the emotion welling up inside him. The sympathy, the anger, the worry, the pain. "Do you know what happens to them? The people that go missing? That don't... that don't make it through a jump? Because Torunn- she can survive in space, she's... she's done it before. Just before I came here she flew up into it and-" went to Asgard, saw her father. Or... that was what she thought. Asgard was the realm of the Gods, but how different was that from being the realm of the dead? From being- what was it. Tony'd taught it to them a long time ago, Torunn had gushed about learning her roots, her past, her mythology. Val... Valhalla? What if she was wrong. What if she hadn't gone to the bifrost and looked into Asgard. What if her father had been bringing her to the halls of the heroes slain in battle, making the ultimate sacrifice? No one could survive in space, not even gods. And Torunn- she could be hurt, they proved that. She's not invulnerable, she's not immortal. She's tough, but she needs to eat and sleep and breathe and gets hurt just like everyone else. So why does he even thing for a second that his sister... "She can survive in space, so if that's- if that's where she ended up, she'll be okay. She'll make it back.
Her dad can get her, and if he gets her than anyone else... anyone else in space with her will be fine. Your friends- Thor can bring them back to Earth."
He lets go of Libby's shoulders, and with trembling fingers, he brings the glass back up to his lips and takes three, big gulps. The sting and burn of the alcohol is better than the taste rising in the back of his throat. The fear clawing its way through him.
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But he does like it better. He likes the lack of make-up smeared across her face, he likes the emotions he can actually hear and see, not the mask of bullshit she normally puts on. The mask he can see as clear as day. Because when you're a kid who's grown up with nothing but clarity, with pure emotions, you become used to the signs of them. Masks don't exist if you're not expecting to see them. At least for James. People can try all they like to cover things up, but James is so used to seeing every little bit of emotion on another person's face - because his siblings just don't know how to hide that he doesn't get distracted by the cover-ups, the fake emotions. He gets confused by them, sure, doesn't know why they're there, but he doesn't dwell on them, take them for being all that's there.
It's why he sits and studies, why he stares at people so intently when he talks to them, here. He's never been around this many people, he's learning something new every day, something more about emotions, about how people express them. It's... different. It's interesting. And-- it hurts, sometimes. Like right now. The pain in Libby's voice, the deep-seated pain of old wounds being ripped right open again, and he finds himself swallowing around a lump in his throat, leaning around to rest his hand gently on her shoulder, instinctively careful of not pressing against those feathers so they bend the wrong way. He's held Pym in his hand so many times, had to be mindful of his wings underneath the clench of his fingers, that it's just second-nature by now.
He likes her better like this. Uncovered, raw, real. He doesn't like that she hides under the paint on her face, hides what's on her skin from everyone else. Azari doesn't hide the patterns on his skin, Torunn didn't think to hide her scars once she got them, for Pym being small and glowing was normal. And James... he doesn't like that Libby feels the need to hide what's normal. He doesn't get it.
"I don't-" his voice catches in his throat, and he's tightening his jaw, shaking his head to try and clear out the emotion welling up inside him. The sympathy, the anger, the worry, the pain. "Do you know what happens to them? The people that go missing? That don't... that don't make it through a jump? Because Torunn- she can survive in space, she's... she's done it before. Just before I came here she flew up into it and-" went to Asgard, saw her father. Or... that was what she thought. Asgard was the realm of the Gods, but how different was that from being the realm of the dead? From being- what was it. Tony'd taught it to them a long time ago, Torunn had gushed about learning her roots, her past, her mythology. Val... Valhalla? What if she was wrong. What if she hadn't gone to the bifrost and looked into Asgard. What if her father had been bringing her to the halls of the heroes slain in battle, making the ultimate sacrifice? No one could survive in space, not even gods. And Torunn- she could be hurt, they proved that. She's not invulnerable, she's not immortal. She's tough, but she needs to eat and sleep and breathe and gets hurt just like everyone else. So why does he even thing for a second that his sister... "She can survive in space, so if that's- if that's where she ended up, she'll be okay. She'll make it back.
Her dad can get her, and if he gets her than anyone else... anyone else in space with her will be fine. Your friends- Thor can bring them back to Earth."
He lets go of Libby's shoulders, and with trembling fingers, he brings the glass back up to his lips and takes three, big gulps. The sting and burn of the alcohol is better than the taste rising in the back of his throat. The fear clawing its way through him.