Panic is an infestation; one of the easiest diseases to catch and spread among one another, and he can feel it thick in Juno's throat as though it's his own. Perhaps, even Bakugo feels some manner of anxiousness. This is new territory, the people here are not of his world, not of his history, they're different in so many ways, that his experiences will not serve to rally nor convince them of his might or his manner. But, panic. He can't stand the panic, he can't stand the idea that it could spread outward from this semi-hysterical lady with too many scars and a rough voice and some unknowable, unnameable part of him is whispering like whiskey-silk to do something.
Do something for this rough, battered thing before him.
Do something.
So, Bakugo punches him. Not hard, not violently. The windup is slow, the delivery is slower, as he televises his moves so nakedly that even an idiot child could see that he's not aiming to harm anyone. He's just -- he's reaching out, in the only way that he knows how. Physical comfort is not a commodity he comprehends, and he doubts that this prickly moron in front of him would respond to it well, if at all. What he does, instead, is shove the knuckles of his bare hand flat along Juno's sternum and press. Knuckling down on him, if you will. Sharper, harder, the flex of a strong bicep driving him forward, until he's toe to toe with him. ]
There's no such thing as a bad hand, lady. It's just one more hand you bluff, until you take 'em for all they're worth.
[ He doesn't keep the contact up for long. Soon enough, he pulls his fist back and spreads his fingers, before he withdraws them. Slips the black mask off his face, and stuffs it into a pocket. ( Red eyes; already on the tail end of his teenage years, already broad, already tall. Only due to grow broader and taller over the next few years. ) The gauntlet comes off next, and he holds them each in his hands, like boots he's not sure where to place. ]
Don't worry. I'll pick up your fucking slack, someone has to offset my winning streak.
[ Ah. There it is, the asshole child returns again to ruin the moment. ]
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Panic is an infestation; one of the easiest diseases to catch and spread among one another, and he can feel it thick in Juno's throat as though it's his own. Perhaps, even Bakugo feels some manner of anxiousness. This is new territory, the people here are not of his world, not of his history, they're different in so many ways, that his experiences will not serve to rally nor convince them of his might or his manner. But, panic. He can't stand the panic, he can't stand the idea that it could spread outward from this semi-hysterical lady with too many scars and a rough voice and some unknowable, unnameable part of him is whispering like whiskey-silk to do something.
Do something for this rough, battered thing before him.
Do something.
So, Bakugo punches him. Not hard, not violently. The windup is slow, the delivery is slower, as he televises his moves so nakedly that even an idiot child could see that he's not aiming to harm anyone. He's just -- he's reaching out, in the only way that he knows how. Physical comfort is not a commodity he comprehends, and he doubts that this prickly moron in front of him would respond to it well, if at all. What he does, instead, is shove the knuckles of his bare hand flat along Juno's sternum and press. Knuckling down on him, if you will. Sharper, harder, the flex of a strong bicep driving him forward, until he's toe to toe with him. ]
There's no such thing as a bad hand, lady. It's just one more hand you bluff, until you take 'em for all they're worth.
[ He doesn't keep the contact up for long. Soon enough, he pulls his fist back and spreads his fingers, before he withdraws them. Slips the black mask off his face, and stuffs it into a pocket. ( Red eyes; already on the tail end of his teenage years, already broad, already tall. Only due to grow broader and taller over the next few years. ) The gauntlet comes off next, and he holds them each in his hands, like boots he's not sure where to place. ]
Don't worry. I'll pick up your fucking slack, someone has to offset my winning streak.
[ Ah. There it is, the asshole child returns again to ruin the moment. ]