[Well, Sokka would be able to face his friends if he listened and decided to live to fight another day by taking shelter, instead of being shot to pieces, or vaporised, or worse - surviving whatever happens to him with some debilitating condition and severe chronic pain that will make him wish he had died in the war. Maybe Bucky is underestimating the young man but he's never seen anyone bring a boomerang to a gunfight, and unless Sokka can fly or is some kind of god, sorcerer, alien, mutated monster thing or failed test subject, he's pretty sure even the most skilled boomerang flinger in the entire multiverse wouldn't be able to use it to defend themselves in an aerial assault.]
All the helping you can do is in the shelter. There won't be anyone alive above ground to help, including you. When it's all over, someone will have to go out there scraping and waterblasting your skin and flesh that's melted onto the asphalt. [When the siren stops and the smoke starts to clear, assuming the town hasn't been reduced to irradiated wasteland. Is Bucky agitated? Just a little. Just enough to make it clear that he's not trying to scare Sokka. That's just the facts of what happens when the shooting and the screaming and the praying isn't happening in minefields and muddy trenches. Mother Nature can reclaim all manner of sins and tragedies, and in time everyone conveniently forgets the soil fertiliser that spilled between rusty shell casings and tufts of luscious grass. Urban warfare is going to be years of cleanup, repair, filling scars in broken streets and building new on top of old ruins. Sokka can choose which part of the rebuild efforts he's going to get caught up in.]
It's your choice. You're smart enough to decide. [Bucky grabs a light jacket hanging on one of the coatstand hooks and ignores the fedora, although he does shoot it a wary look before quietly popping the front door open, making sure Crazy Neighbour Lady isn't going to ambush them before stepping outside.]
no subject
All the helping you can do is in the shelter. There won't be anyone alive above ground to help, including you. When it's all over, someone will have to go out there scraping and waterblasting your skin and flesh that's melted onto the asphalt. [When the siren stops and the smoke starts to clear, assuming the town hasn't been reduced to irradiated wasteland. Is Bucky agitated? Just a little. Just enough to make it clear that he's not trying to scare Sokka. That's just the facts of what happens when the shooting and the screaming and the praying isn't happening in minefields and muddy trenches. Mother Nature can reclaim all manner of sins and tragedies, and in time everyone conveniently forgets the soil fertiliser that spilled between rusty shell casings and tufts of luscious grass. Urban warfare is going to be years of cleanup, repair, filling scars in broken streets and building new on top of old ruins. Sokka can choose which part of the rebuild efforts he's going to get caught up in.]
It's your choice. You're smart enough to decide. [Bucky grabs a light jacket hanging on one of the coatstand hooks and ignores the fedora, although he does shoot it a wary look before quietly popping the front door open, making sure Crazy Neighbour Lady isn't going to ambush them before stepping outside.]