so bad guys can't see me bleed

•tape forty-two•

I unclasp the button on the dark red fur coat that I have on over the short black dress, which is paired with some platform boots and a pair of see through red gloves—and a lot of jewelry.

Zemo has style, weirdly enough. And Bucky almost started a riot before we left, but then I flipped him off and walked outside before the others could.

Bucky is wearing his normal variety of leather tops and black pants and shoes. Sam is wearing some nice clothes with interesting prints. A matching blazer and pants along with a grey button up and a red vest to go with the pair, and some gold jewelry. Zemo has on the same clothes from earlier—dark pants and a dark maroon turtleneck—with a long jacket over.

We walk down the bridge in silence until Sam says, "We have to do something about this. I'm the only one who looks like a pimp."

"Only an American would assume a fashion-forward black man looks like a pimp."

He's not wrong.

"You look exactly like the man you're supposed to be playing," Zemo says. "The sophisticated, charming African rake names Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger."

He hands Sam his phone. "He even has a bad nickname," Sam says. "Hell, he does look like me though."

"You smell this?" Zemo asks.

"Yeah, what is that?" Sam asks. "Acid?"

"Madripoor," Zemo replies. "No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There's no margin for error. High Town is that way. Not a bad place if you wanna visit, but Low Town's the other way."

Bucky opens the back door to the car for me, and I get in the middle seat with him following after me and closing it. Zemo gets in the front passenger seat while Sam opens the other back door.

"Let me guess," Sam says. "We don't have any friends in High Town." Then he gets in the car.

—

"Could've at least worn tights."

"James Barnes, one more word out of your mouth, and you will be a fucking kabob," I tell him as motorcycles surround the car.

The three of us in the back look outside the windows.

Bucky moves my fur coat to the side to show my legs. I look at him and raise my brows as he lifts my dress up slightly, showing the small gun in a holster. He nods and covers my leg back up before looking back out the window.

Weirdo.

—

"This is my shit," I say as the four of us walk on a bridge that overlooks the city with neon lights—and while a song plays in the distance.

Zemo glances back at me and nods before we walk down the stairs of the bridge and start for a bar.

"Here we are," Zemo says as we walk in the building and go for the counter. "Gotov sobludat, Zimny Soldat?"

"Hello, gentlemen and miss," a bartender says, coming over to us as we get to the bar counter. "Wasn't expecting you, Smiling Tiger."

"His plans changed," Zemo says. "We have business to do with Selby."

The bartender looks at Sam. "The usual?" he asks, earning a nod.

The bartender gets a snake out of a jar and puts it on a cutting board. I have to grit my teeth together in order to not laugh or smile at Sam's reaction when he sees the snake and the bartender cut it open.