Bucky was distracted by her exuberant handshake, so he didn't really notice the ink and paint stains, but if he had, it probably would only make him like her more--as well as justify her odd (to his way of thinking, anyway) behavior and mannerisms. By virtue of having a best friend who was an artist, he'd met plenty of the type, and they were some of the strangest, most fascinating people he'd ever met.

He laughed a little at her exaggeration - it certainly wasn't any hour of need he'd ever come across, before. He prevaricated a little, glancing between Devi and the game, then ultimately to the gun. He'd told himself, if he ever got out of the War, he'd never pick up a gun again. But the temptation was there, that itch to hold one in his hands again... And this wasn't a real gun anyway, just a toy. Worst thing he could do with it was give an almighty bruise.

Finally, he shrugged, a slightly self-conscious, charming little-boy grin lighting up his face. "Yeah, sure. Why not. Can't say no to a lady in distress, can I?" he added with a little laugh, winking at her. He reached for the gun, putting it up to his shoulder and sighting down the barrel. It felt like coming home, in a way he wasn't comfortable thinking about. So he didn't.