preston rawlings, psychic accountant (ex_clerk820) wrote in rooms,
[Preston stood up, respectful. The cut high on his forehead wasn't enough for a bandage, and even if it had been Preston would have taken it off, because he wasn't going to stand there with a bandaid in front of this guy. He moved like every military man Preston had ever met, something to do with the way they held their shoulders over their feet, and Preston was reassured not by Steve's respectful tone (easily fabricated) but by the transparency of his features.
And Steve was really handsome. Really really. A lot. Preston tried to be very professional and not notice, but he was tilting his head to look up slightly and Preston was used to being the tall awkward one that tried to look sideways at people so he didn't glare down his awful beak of a nose.
The handshake with strong, which Preston expected. He turned to face Steve, respectful as well, and shook his hand. He kept looking from the star on Steve's chest to his shield.]
Wow. You, uh... look ready for battle. Thanks for coming.
[He smiled weakly. Preston had a thick Boston accent he usually managed to overcome if he spoke slowly enough, but it kept dripping in since he was distracted by captain muscle and the potential of spontaneous imprisonment.]