[ Toreth felt maybe... five percent of sympathy. His fault, but not like he'd admit it any more than the hissed apology he'd uttered. Carefully, in his best imitation of the scum of London as he could muster (it wasn't much of an imitation, because he had hung out with the sort often enough, had somewhat been the sort): ]

That's what you get for trying to having a fucking laugh, innit? [ He scoffed, then, ignoring Rumlow's flare of temper, his words returning to a less exaggerated British accent as he pulled his hands back, patiently waiting for the other man to be done with his snapping. ]

Fucking Americans. [ Pause. ] You know, where I come from, it's illegal to fuck other men in America.