[ james' brusqueness draws out a wry smile. even in this state, unarmed and clothed in mulberry silk, zemo keeps james alert and on edge. through no fault of his own, even - zemo does his level best to provide everything james might want or need, and keeps as much distance as he thinks is required.
mostly, anyway. sometimes one has to nearly bump right into the man and pick his pocket just to satiate his curiosity. but zemo keeps those instances to a bare minimum.
he does, however, watch james closely any chance he gets. like right now, watching james rifle through the cabinets, passing by any and all food to go right for the alcohol. not surprising - zemo himself exhibits a similar predilection - but there's a certain kind of spite and enjoyment in james as he pulls down the decanter from the cupboard and pour himself a sizable glass. it's what zemo imagines, anyway, staring at james' back and shoulders.
relaxing himself, zemo leans back in his seat, hand still clasped over the notebook with another smile. ]
Books we are usually allowed, unless we misbehave. [ there's a pause and a glint in his eye as he says it before continuing. ] Music was more of a special privilege. There is no natural light at the Raft, you know. It's all artificial. Lights are on almost every hour. There is no library, no yard where we get to walk around and stretch our legs. Most of my time was spent keeping myself centered rather than entertained.
[ his eyes have wandered, but zemo doesn't dare to let his mind spend too much time back in that place. compared to solitary in germany, the raft is a place where men's souls go to die. or where their resolves strengthen.
his eyes land on the glass in james' hand for a long moment. ]
How much of that do you need to drink in order to feel its effects?
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branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2021-05-12 07:43 am (UTC)mostly, anyway. sometimes one has to nearly bump right into the man and pick his pocket just to satiate his curiosity. but zemo keeps those instances to a bare minimum.
he does, however, watch james closely any chance he gets. like right now, watching james rifle through the cabinets, passing by any and all food to go right for the alcohol. not surprising - zemo himself exhibits a similar predilection - but there's a certain kind of spite and enjoyment in james as he pulls down the decanter from the cupboard and pour himself a sizable glass. it's what zemo imagines, anyway, staring at james' back and shoulders.
relaxing himself, zemo leans back in his seat, hand still clasped over the notebook with another smile. ]
Books we are usually allowed, unless we misbehave. [ there's a pause and a glint in his eye as he says it before continuing. ] Music was more of a special privilege. There is no natural light at the Raft, you know. It's all artificial. Lights are on almost every hour. There is no library, no yard where we get to walk around and stretch our legs. Most of my time was spent keeping myself centered rather than entertained.
[ his eyes have wandered, but zemo doesn't dare to let his mind spend too much time back in that place. compared to solitary in germany, the raft is a place where men's souls go to die. or where their resolves strengthen.
his eyes land on the glass in james' hand for a long moment. ]
How much of that do you need to drink in order to feel its effects?