@buhkybrns || 🎆
Tony squinted at the firing system with its tangle of redundant wires and electrical tape, then back up at the volunteer firefighter who’d set it up, who was beaming down proudly at his homemade safety hazard.
What Tony wanted to say was: Are you getting kickback from the local ER directly proportionate to the quantity of casualties?
What he said was: “Yeah, that looks great. I think I’m just going to--” change it completely “--adjust a couple connections and we’ll be good to go.”
He didn’t start tearing at the wires in earnest until the firefighter finally wandered off, though he had to pause every few seconds to swat at a gnat, or midge, or fly, or wasp. How anyone managed to survive in these conditions was beyond him, but unlike Tony, with his designer jeans and conspicuous convertible, Bucky looked perfect at ease right where he was--which, at the moment, was hovering near the barbecue. Was that why he wasn’t being actively hunted by every invertebrate in the state?
“Hey,” Tony called over, hands busy with a small soldering iron, “anything on there not 10,000% pork?” He was already going to catch malaria or the bubonic plague out here; might as well go all in and die of food poisoning first, right?
