Bucky laughs. It's unlikely they're on even footing, but he'd love to meet someone who is.

"Okay. On three. One... two..."

And then he slams the shot back on three. It burns and it reminds him of hot nights in Brooklyn and cold evenings camping during the war. They say that memory is tied to senses like smell and taste and even if Bucky doesn't easily get drunk anymore, the taste is still there, unpleasant and yet somehow warm and familiar. Maybe that's why he keeps drinking, even when he knows it won't do much. Back home, anyway. He's not sure about here at all. He's already managed to get drunk in Thorne once before.