He's trying so hard to be his father. To constantly repeat to himself to slow down, to not give into the mannerisms he'd picked up from Tony, the way he snarks and snipes at everything as a kneejerk reaction. To try and be calmer, to think things through and always look for the good in people. He's been trying to ever since he saw his father's tattered cowl and chipped shield in Ultron's display case, the same shield sitting on the floor just a body's length away.
But as Libby steps back, James is smirking too, a light in his eyes again, that wasn't really there just a bit ago, when he'd been so utterly weighed down by the loss of his sister. The fact that he was alone in this ship again. But he wasn't, not really. He had friends. He had someone to look after in Nill, and he had Libby, too. For everything else. She was a lot like him, and it was... it was relaxing. Natural. He didn't have to worry about her, he knew she could find a way to take care of herself. He worried about her because he wanted to, not because he had to.
"Fuck off, it was a compliment," the word is still awkward on his tongue, almost stuttered through, the vowel dragged out too long. As if in a foreign language, and he's swallowing the instinctive 'did I use it right?' because he's pretty sure that ruins it. Instead just, quirking an eyebrow up in half-challenge, half-curiosity. Because did he?
"I won't say anything if-" he stops, tightens his fists for a moment before releasing the tension. "Can you not- only you and Tony know she was here. I mean, I know she talked to some other people, but I don't think she said who she was. I won't say anything about your sister either way, I'm not... bargaining for that," he's making a face. He's not good at this. He doesn't even really talk this much, usually. "If more of my family shows up, I don't want them to know Torunn's lost."
But he's following suit, tipping back the rest of his drink. He's gotten used to the burn of it, but the actual effect of the alcohol really isn't doing much more than relaxing him, just slightly. Not yet, at least. "What're the tattoos for?"
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But as Libby steps back, James is smirking too, a light in his eyes again, that wasn't really there just a bit ago, when he'd been so utterly weighed down by the loss of his sister. The fact that he was alone in this ship again. But he wasn't, not really. He had friends. He had someone to look after in Nill, and he had Libby, too. For everything else. She was a lot like him, and it was... it was relaxing. Natural. He didn't have to worry about her, he knew she could find a way to take care of herself. He worried about her because he wanted to, not because he had to.
"Fuck off, it was a compliment," the word is still awkward on his tongue, almost stuttered through, the vowel dragged out too long. As if in a foreign language, and he's swallowing the instinctive 'did I use it right?' because he's pretty sure that ruins it. Instead just, quirking an eyebrow up in half-challenge, half-curiosity. Because did he?
"I won't say anything if-" he stops, tightens his fists for a moment before releasing the tension. "Can you not- only you and Tony know she was here. I mean, I know she talked to some other people, but I don't think she said who she was. I won't say anything about your sister either way, I'm not... bargaining for that," he's making a face. He's not good at this. He doesn't even really talk this much, usually. "If more of my family shows up, I don't want them to know Torunn's lost."
But he's following suit, tipping back the rest of his drink. He's gotten used to the burn of it, but the actual effect of the alcohol really isn't doing much more than relaxing him, just slightly. Not yet, at least. "What're the tattoos for?"