James Buchanan Barnes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lefthandfree) wrote2016-07-16 07:08 pm
lefthandfree) wrote2016-07-16 07:08 pm
[meme] open post / picture prompt catch-all
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[It's counter-intuitive, but sometimes he looks down the street and wishes he could have left it all behind. None of it made a difference here. Maybe if he didn't have any attachments, if there wasn't Steve, he could leave it all behind and make something for himself here. It wouldn't make a huge difference would it? There's no Red Book. No one is hunting him. He's free from everything that he has no control over. But he knows he can't. He can't. He won't. And he's left with the ghosts of everything that doesn't matter here.
When he feels like this, it's hard to drink. He feels like he's lying to himself by pretending he's just getting rid of any other headache, and it makes his insides churn. So instead of finding his way into his usual tavern, he stops himself outside. He turns on his heel to wait by the door for the bitter thought to pass, and chastises himself silently. He waits, hours if need be, if only to remind himself of who he is and why it should matter, even if there is no one who will ever tell him the same.
A roll of thunder echoes in the distance, and a gentle chill settles down the street in front of him. Subconsciously, he rubs his left shoulder, where his other arm used to be, and wonders how long it will take today. Seems like a storm. Hopefully, it won't be as long as usual.]
When he feels like this, it's hard to drink. He feels like he's lying to himself by pretending he's just getting rid of any other headache, and it makes his insides churn. So instead of finding his way into his usual tavern, he stops himself outside. He turns on his heel to wait by the door for the bitter thought to pass, and chastises himself silently. He waits, hours if need be, if only to remind himself of who he is and why it should matter, even if there is no one who will ever tell him the same.
A roll of thunder echoes in the distance, and a gentle chill settles down the street in front of him. Subconsciously, he rubs his left shoulder, where his other arm used to be, and wonders how long it will take today. Seems like a storm. Hopefully, it won't be as long as usual.]
[ Alysia hasn't made a good many friends in this new world yet, preferring to keep to herself and to keep others at arms' length. Being allied with them, proving to be a worthwhile companion...those are things she'll certainly do. She would be foolish to assume she could survive in this world without anyone to help her should she be in peril. She makes nice with the new arrivals and offers to help where she can...but much of it is an act of survival more than true kindness.
Bucky is someone who's...strange. He walks like a ghost might, in and out of crowds, and carries an undeniable weight that she can see in his eyes more than in his countenance. They've spoken before and while somewhat low-spoken, he doesn't seem a cruel man. Not one that should need to be punished.
She finds him outside of the tavern she's gone to play at for an hour or two, the money good enough to buy a bed and a hot meal at the least. He looks lost.
Gently, with a firm tone, she calls out as she gets closer. ]
You look out of place, stranger.
Bucky is someone who's...strange. He walks like a ghost might, in and out of crowds, and carries an undeniable weight that she can see in his eyes more than in his countenance. They've spoken before and while somewhat low-spoken, he doesn't seem a cruel man. Not one that should need to be punished.
She finds him outside of the tavern she's gone to play at for an hour or two, the money good enough to buy a bed and a hot meal at the least. He looks lost.
Gently, with a firm tone, she calls out as she gets closer. ]
You look out of place, stranger.
Edited 2016-07-19 05:23 (UTC)
[His eyes dart up from the ground to meet hers, and the corner of his lips quirk upward. While he knows she is always on her guard, even around him, knowing that there is someone like him is enough to give him a sense of camaraderie, regardless of how much or little he could genuinely trust her when it came down to things. Maybe it’s something leftover from the war, but he can still respect another fighter, another survivor, no matter what side the other is on. Takes one to know one, after all.
It’s bad to let people too close, especially when he feels like this, but it’s difficult to turn away now that he’s been spoken to. Not to mention rude as hell. Generally speaking, she isn’t bad company either, so the least he can do is some small talk.]
Yeah. Should be inside drowning myself instead, huh? [There’s a clear dryness to the remark that's found in every other thing he says. Maybe it’s to mock the situation or even himself. He has no idea. The words just come out of his mouth that way, and it feels right.
Noting that she has her instrument with her, he cocks his head to the side and nods toward it.]
You about to work?
[Cause if she is, he knows a far better place to be instead of out here being mad at himself, even if it means without a good, stiff drink.]
It’s bad to let people too close, especially when he feels like this, but it’s difficult to turn away now that he’s been spoken to. Not to mention rude as hell. Generally speaking, she isn’t bad company either, so the least he can do is some small talk.]
Yeah. Should be inside drowning myself instead, huh? [There’s a clear dryness to the remark that's found in every other thing he says. Maybe it’s to mock the situation or even himself. He has no idea. The words just come out of his mouth that way, and it feels right.
Noting that she has her instrument with her, he cocks his head to the side and nods toward it.]
You about to work?
[Cause if she is, he knows a far better place to be instead of out here being mad at himself, even if it means without a good, stiff drink.]
Or at least enjoying some comfort by the fire. It looks like rain.
[ But he doesn't seem to care either way, not if he's standing out here. She doesn't know how long he's been there, staring at nothing, mind elsewhere. Any length of time is too long. She knows that far off look, knows it too well. She gives him a brief, small smile, one that's more for show than anything else. They both know that he doesn't need platitudes or little pats on the back with, 'It will be all right'. He needs a distraction to keep his mind focused. ]
For a time. Coin doesn't fall from flowers or in rain drops, more's the pity. At least most people can appreciate music enough to spare a copper or two.
[ She nods towards the door. ]
Come inside. Nurse a tankard or two, then we can talk when I'm finished.
[ But he doesn't seem to care either way, not if he's standing out here. She doesn't know how long he's been there, staring at nothing, mind elsewhere. Any length of time is too long. She knows that far off look, knows it too well. She gives him a brief, small smile, one that's more for show than anything else. They both know that he doesn't need platitudes or little pats on the back with, 'It will be all right'. He needs a distraction to keep his mind focused. ]
For a time. Coin doesn't fall from flowers or in rain drops, more's the pity. At least most people can appreciate music enough to spare a copper or two.
[ She nods towards the door. ]
Come inside. Nurse a tankard or two, then we can talk when I'm finished.
I don’t mind the rain so much. When I’m not drenched, anyway. But, y’know, It helps that you’re good at it. [He smiles easily. Flattery still comes freely enough for him, though there is truth to the statement regardless.] It’d be a shame to miss out.
[But.]
Gonna have to hold off on the liquor though. Feelin’ a bit lousy right now, so I’ll give it a bit first. Maybe when you’re done?
[Company always made alcohol go down easier, anyway. And then he gestures for the door as he pivots and opens it for her, the unsaid statement clear: ‘Ladies first.’]
[But.]
Gonna have to hold off on the liquor though. Feelin’ a bit lousy right now, so I’ll give it a bit first. Maybe when you’re done?
[Company always made alcohol go down easier, anyway. And then he gestures for the door as he pivots and opens it for her, the unsaid statement clear: ‘Ladies first.’]
[ She gives something of a huff. ]
It's good to know my playing is only mildly preferable to being caught in the rain. I'll remember that when I attempt to laud my performances to other employers.
[ Drinking doesn't help her much but when it's social, when it's about making connections, it suits her just fine. She gives a dip of the head. ]
I've a little hovel not far. A hole in the wall, if nothing else. We can walk there when I'm finished and share food and drink. [ Whether he has coin or not is of no object. Alysia has enough saved up. She gives him a smile as he opens the door for her. ] Such a gentleman. Meet me by the back door when I'm finished, will you? We can head out then.
It's good to know my playing is only mildly preferable to being caught in the rain. I'll remember that when I attempt to laud my performances to other employers.
[ Drinking doesn't help her much but when it's social, when it's about making connections, it suits her just fine. She gives a dip of the head. ]
I've a little hovel not far. A hole in the wall, if nothing else. We can walk there when I'm finished and share food and drink. [ Whether he has coin or not is of no object. Alysia has enough saved up. She gives him a smile as he opens the door for her. ] Such a gentleman. Meet me by the back door when I'm finished, will you? We can head out then.
[That earns an honest laugh.] Are you kidding? Your beauty would stun ’em before they even hear you playing. They’d hire you for that, if not just. To the rest of us, your music is the real reward.
[Not that he isn't attracted to her regardless, but Bucky couldn't play a lute to save life.
He nods to her invitation, a tad surprised that she trusts him enough to invite him to her home, assuming she doesn't plan on gutting him as soon as he gets there anyway. But even then, there were worse deaths.]
Shall I cheer you on from the masses? Earn you some tips? [Goad the audience into paying attention, he means. That usually includes cheers, claps, and a maybe a catcall if he’s feeling particularly cheeky. It's only ever a facade though, as most of his actions tend to be.]
[Not that he isn't attracted to her regardless, but Bucky couldn't play a lute to save life.
He nods to her invitation, a tad surprised that she trusts him enough to invite him to her home, assuming she doesn't plan on gutting him as soon as he gets there anyway. But even then, there were worse deaths.]
Shall I cheer you on from the masses? Earn you some tips? [Goad the audience into paying attention, he means. That usually includes cheers, claps, and a maybe a catcall if he’s feeling particularly cheeky. It's only ever a facade though, as most of his actions tend to be.]
They would be poor employers if they did that alone. Better that they ensure talent and competence first.
[ But he's being flattering and a little bit kind, and she does give a little smile, even if only for show. Bucky doesn't flatter to get in her bed or to get a peck on the cheek like men in her homeland, the rich sons wanting a pretty girl on their arm or as a prize. She appreciates him on that much.
She glances around inside, takes stock of those who are seated. Her eyes briefly fall on a trio in the corner, older men who seem sour and important. Her gaze flicks back over to Bucky. ]
You can bang the table, perhaps. A whistle or two wouldn't be unwelcome. [ She smiles. ] You might have the best view from over there.
[ She nods towards the appropriate table, a little nudge to seat him close to the men speaking business. He'll understand her reasoning. They're up to something. She hasn't seen them there before. ]
[ But he's being flattering and a little bit kind, and she does give a little smile, even if only for show. Bucky doesn't flatter to get in her bed or to get a peck on the cheek like men in her homeland, the rich sons wanting a pretty girl on their arm or as a prize. She appreciates him on that much.
She glances around inside, takes stock of those who are seated. Her eyes briefly fall on a trio in the corner, older men who seem sour and important. Her gaze flicks back over to Bucky. ]
You can bang the table, perhaps. A whistle or two wouldn't be unwelcome. [ She smiles. ] You might have the best view from over there.
[ She nods towards the appropriate table, a little nudge to seat him close to the men speaking business. He'll understand her reasoning. They're up to something. She hasn't seen them there before. ]
[He watches her for a moment before glancing at where she gestured, keeping his head still as he does. Her meaning becomes clear immediately, and he smiles knowingly before looking back.]
Sharp eyes. [It's something between a literal remark and a compliment, but coming from Bucky, it was definitely the latter. He reaches up and musses up his hair a bit, keeping his gaze on hers.] See you after the show.
[He gives a lazy mock salute before roughing up his shirt a bit and staggering toward the the back corner. He casually swipes a half-used, unattended tankard off a table along the way to finish the picture as he ambles to a neighboring table to play the fool.]
Sharp eyes. [It's something between a literal remark and a compliment, but coming from Bucky, it was definitely the latter. He reaches up and musses up his hair a bit, keeping his gaze on hers.] See you after the show.
[He gives a lazy mock salute before roughing up his shirt a bit and staggering toward the the back corner. He casually swipes a half-used, unattended tankard off a table along the way to finish the picture as he ambles to a neighboring table to play the fool.]
Edited 2016-07-20 00:00 (UTC)
[ Whatever Bucky's planning on doing, she trusts him, and so she lets him go without another word. Alysia finds a place by the fire to begin playing the lute, going through several songs. Some are somber in tone, others gentle and whimsical. Others, still, are ballads, and Alysia sings tales at times to keep her audience captured. All the while, some of her attention is on the table of gentlemen making deals.
What Bucky will overhear is talk of the movements of knights headed toward Draichurith, and the storm brewing that could bring war. But he will also overhear more sightings of 'Flaws' in the streets, a gaggle of them that are bringing trouble where they go. People like Bucky and Alysia. The men never openly acknowledge either one of them being in the tavern, thankfully, but no knight is there for drinks this night. They are lucky.
The crowd mostly likes 'Sorcha', the bard alias she's been using in taverns, a woman with hair tightly wound up to give the appearance of her hair being shorter, even curled, than how Alysia wears hers. Little things that give Sorcha an identity beyond Alysia, something that will make her memorable and untraceable back to the real woman behind the mask. She's given quite a few coppers throughout the night, deposited in the pouch she leaves out. A group of two men eye it often and Bucky will notice that it's become obvious that they're contemplating making a move to grab it before 'Sorcha' goes home for the evening. ]
What Bucky will overhear is talk of the movements of knights headed toward Draichurith, and the storm brewing that could bring war. But he will also overhear more sightings of 'Flaws' in the streets, a gaggle of them that are bringing trouble where they go. People like Bucky and Alysia. The men never openly acknowledge either one of them being in the tavern, thankfully, but no knight is there for drinks this night. They are lucky.
The crowd mostly likes 'Sorcha', the bard alias she's been using in taverns, a woman with hair tightly wound up to give the appearance of her hair being shorter, even curled, than how Alysia wears hers. Little things that give Sorcha an identity beyond Alysia, something that will make her memorable and untraceable back to the real woman behind the mask. She's given quite a few coppers throughout the night, deposited in the pouch she leaves out. A group of two men eye it often and Bucky will notice that it's become obvious that they're contemplating making a move to grab it before 'Sorcha' goes home for the evening. ]
[With tankard in hand, he settles into a seat like his lack of an arm isn’t the only thing that ails him. The bonus of genuinely missing the limb is that tricking others into thinking he’s some disabled, drunk beggar drowning his troubles with some ale and a show is easier than anything else. People naturally averted their eyes anyway, not wanting to be asked for coin, and the only thing that scared away people more than a beggar was a handicapped one.
At his convenience, he smears some grease from the underside of the table onto his face to add to the disguise and mumbles idly to himself as if he were somewhat mad. For all intents and purposes, the camouflage works, the usual workers at the tavern not paying the slightest attention to this side of the room as usual. It’s no wonder these guys picked a table here.
While he does take some time to enjoy Sorcha’s performance, his attention is mostly on the table next to his. In the end, it’s good that Sorcha—or whatever her real name is—noticed them because there’s a fair bit to take away from what he hears. He shelves it for later as he tends to do and plays his part, thumping his hand or tankard from time to time as if drunkenly enjoying the entertainment and whistling in approval at the closing of a few random songs. But then the show is nearly over, and he sees the theft being plotted.
Rattling the tankard, which he’d been carefully spilling about him rather than drinking from, he wobbles to his feet and mumbles about the pretty lute girl deserving the last of his coin, making his way over toward the pouch. When he’s within range, he stumbles and knocks heavily into one of the men while emptying most of the contents of the rest of his tankard on the other. He blithers woefully at his mistake, how his gammy legs don’t do well these days, and pleads and blubbers until the two are repulsed into departing.
Once he’s certain they’ve gone, he totters over anxiously to the pouch, as if perhaps ashamed of his existence as a disabled beggar again, and shakily drops a coin in before huddling away like his presence would offend any others. The withdrawn behavior keeps onlookers from staring too long, and he makes it out the back door without a second glance from anyone.
Given that he used the rest of his cover to take care of that little situation, he knows better than to head back in. Not until people forget the scene that happened tonight. Likely it could take a while, but it hardly mattered for Bucky. A tavern was a tavern was a tavern. At least he could help Sorcha out this time.
Whenever she finally heads out the back, she’ll find him leaning against the wall, waiting for her patiently with grime still smudged on his face and his clothes still rumpled.]
At his convenience, he smears some grease from the underside of the table onto his face to add to the disguise and mumbles idly to himself as if he were somewhat mad. For all intents and purposes, the camouflage works, the usual workers at the tavern not paying the slightest attention to this side of the room as usual. It’s no wonder these guys picked a table here.
While he does take some time to enjoy Sorcha’s performance, his attention is mostly on the table next to his. In the end, it’s good that Sorcha—or whatever her real name is—noticed them because there’s a fair bit to take away from what he hears. He shelves it for later as he tends to do and plays his part, thumping his hand or tankard from time to time as if drunkenly enjoying the entertainment and whistling in approval at the closing of a few random songs. But then the show is nearly over, and he sees the theft being plotted.
Rattling the tankard, which he’d been carefully spilling about him rather than drinking from, he wobbles to his feet and mumbles about the pretty lute girl deserving the last of his coin, making his way over toward the pouch. When he’s within range, he stumbles and knocks heavily into one of the men while emptying most of the contents of the rest of his tankard on the other. He blithers woefully at his mistake, how his gammy legs don’t do well these days, and pleads and blubbers until the two are repulsed into departing.
Once he’s certain they’ve gone, he totters over anxiously to the pouch, as if perhaps ashamed of his existence as a disabled beggar again, and shakily drops a coin in before huddling away like his presence would offend any others. The withdrawn behavior keeps onlookers from staring too long, and he makes it out the back door without a second glance from anyone.
Given that he used the rest of his cover to take care of that little situation, he knows better than to head back in. Not until people forget the scene that happened tonight. Likely it could take a while, but it hardly mattered for Bucky. A tavern was a tavern was a tavern. At least he could help Sorcha out this time.
Whenever she finally heads out the back, she’ll find him leaning against the wall, waiting for her patiently with grime still smudged on his face and his clothes still rumpled.]
[ The show goes as it usually does, and Bucky plays his part well enough. A few people give her some extra coins, nothing much, but it will pay for the room she has for another two nights. If she takes to travel, she can save it for other supplies. Bucky will get a cut for himself - not through any arrangement but because Alysia refuses to have a debt, even a friendly one - to ensure their continued relationship, if nothing else. And he will be welcome in her pseudo-home tonight, if only to keep him out of the rain.
His performance, at the last, surprises even her. It ensures that no one watching them could ever assume they work together at times, that any of this might have been planned. Her eyes are wide as he stumbles with the drink and even gives her a coin, and a few people look uncomfortable at the gesture. Once he leaves, she garners a few extra coppers, even a silver, as if in some terrible recompense for the display such a fine lady had to witness.
It's grotesque, really. She'd take the silver and shove it down the woman's throat if she didn't wish to cause a scene. It will go to a beggar child later. Alysia wants nothing to do with a noble's charity.
When all is said and done, she leaves through the front and circles around the back through the mill of people leaving to escape the rain. Thunder rumbles in the distance, certain to be troublesome later. She finds Bucky easily enough. ]
That was quite a show. What brought all of that on?
His performance, at the last, surprises even her. It ensures that no one watching them could ever assume they work together at times, that any of this might have been planned. Her eyes are wide as he stumbles with the drink and even gives her a coin, and a few people look uncomfortable at the gesture. Once he leaves, she garners a few extra coppers, even a silver, as if in some terrible recompense for the display such a fine lady had to witness.
It's grotesque, really. She'd take the silver and shove it down the woman's throat if she didn't wish to cause a scene. It will go to a beggar child later. Alysia wants nothing to do with a noble's charity.
When all is said and done, she leaves through the front and circles around the back through the mill of people leaving to escape the rain. Thunder rumbles in the distance, certain to be troublesome later. She finds Bucky easily enough. ]
That was quite a show. What brought all of that on?
[The wonder in her words brings a cat-like grin across his face.]
Like it, did you? Those punks were eyein’ your coin pouch. Figured I’d stop ’em before they did anything stupid. [Especially since it would have likely blown both of their covers as he had no intention of letting people rob his ally blind, even if Sorcha could have handled it on their own.
Reaching up, he scrubs away at some of the filth on his face using rainwater he caught in his hand and stands forward from the wall. With all pretenses now finished, he also fixes the part in his hair that he'd mussed away entirely earlier.]
Can’t be back here for a while though. Not that their ale was much to come for anyway. [The notion obviously doesn’t bother him even a little.]
Are y’ all set?
Like it, did you? Those punks were eyein’ your coin pouch. Figured I’d stop ’em before they did anything stupid. [Especially since it would have likely blown both of their covers as he had no intention of letting people rob his ally blind, even if Sorcha could have handled it on their own.
Reaching up, he scrubs away at some of the filth on his face using rainwater he caught in his hand and stands forward from the wall. With all pretenses now finished, he also fixes the part in his hair that he'd mussed away entirely earlier.]
Can’t be back here for a while though. Not that their ale was much to come for anyway. [The notion obviously doesn’t bother him even a little.]
Are y’ all set?
Is that what your act was all about?
[ The two at the table. She'd seen them and they'd been eyeing her, but she hadn't thought... Well, he's done her a kind turn. So much for not wanting to be indebted to anyone. Alysia shakes her head with incredulity but there is a faint smile on her lips. He's skilled. She can't deny it. ]
We'll find somewhere else for you to go. There are finer establishments that will serve you better ale or rum, if it pleases you. Say the word, and I can find them.
[ She's kept out of the richer sectors for the moment until her fame grows a bit more. The last thing she'd like is to be removed from a tavern before she even has a chance to play. With a glance up at the sky, she nods. ]
If you are. Come, let's go.
[ The rain doesn't particularly bother her but she'd like to keep her dress neat. She avoids the back alleys where she might dirty the hem of her skirt, taking him the quickest route she knows. Her hovel is just that: a flat with two rooms interconnected, partitioned off by a partial wall that obscures the shallow tub she's been given. It's a cheap room but she's made it as cozy as possible with proper blankets and a few candles for lighting, some incense by the window to burn and keep the flat smelling nice. How she manages to carry all of these items around is unknown (she actually has an enchanted bag that stores anything that can fit in it) but it's allowed for small luxuries even when she has little coin. Alysia allows Bucky inside and sets about to lighting the lanterns and candles to bring light into the flat. She also pulls out the bottle of wine she's been keeping and two glasses - the latter of which she's been given by those she rents from. ]
I can get us food from across the street, something simple. Do you have any particular requests?
[ The two at the table. She'd seen them and they'd been eyeing her, but she hadn't thought... Well, he's done her a kind turn. So much for not wanting to be indebted to anyone. Alysia shakes her head with incredulity but there is a faint smile on her lips. He's skilled. She can't deny it. ]
We'll find somewhere else for you to go. There are finer establishments that will serve you better ale or rum, if it pleases you. Say the word, and I can find them.
[ She's kept out of the richer sectors for the moment until her fame grows a bit more. The last thing she'd like is to be removed from a tavern before she even has a chance to play. With a glance up at the sky, she nods. ]
If you are. Come, let's go.
[ The rain doesn't particularly bother her but she'd like to keep her dress neat. She avoids the back alleys where she might dirty the hem of her skirt, taking him the quickest route she knows. Her hovel is just that: a flat with two rooms interconnected, partitioned off by a partial wall that obscures the shallow tub she's been given. It's a cheap room but she's made it as cozy as possible with proper blankets and a few candles for lighting, some incense by the window to burn and keep the flat smelling nice. How she manages to carry all of these items around is unknown (she actually has an enchanted bag that stores anything that can fit in it) but it's allowed for small luxuries even when she has little coin. Alysia allows Bucky inside and sets about to lighting the lanterns and candles to bring light into the flat. She also pulls out the bottle of wine she's been keeping and two glasses - the latter of which she's been given by those she rents from. ]
I can get us food from across the street, something simple. Do you have any particular requests?
Edited 2016-07-22 03:15 (UTC)
[He chuckles dryly and gives a shrug.] Don’t need nothing fancy. Just a pretty girl and something to take the edge off is a enough for me.
[He says it casually and even throws in a wink for good measure, but they both know it’s as false as the spectacle he’d put on just now. It wasn’t really worth discussing anyway, so he lets the matter drop afterward and follows Sorcha as she leads on.
When she let’s him inside her living quarters, he scans it instinctively, as he had been taught, and makes mental notes to himself while playing curious, even though he genuinely is as just about everything that mattered about Sorcha is still a secret to him even now. He smiles at the sight of the wine bottle and glasses.]
Whatever you like best’ll be fine. I’m not too picky.
[Which was true even before the war, given what he and Steve had needed to give up to survive the Depression.]
[He says it casually and even throws in a wink for good measure, but they both know it’s as false as the spectacle he’d put on just now. It wasn’t really worth discussing anyway, so he lets the matter drop afterward and follows Sorcha as she leads on.
When she let’s him inside her living quarters, he scans it instinctively, as he had been taught, and makes mental notes to himself while playing curious, even though he genuinely is as just about everything that mattered about Sorcha is still a secret to him even now. He smiles at the sight of the wine bottle and glasses.]
Whatever you like best’ll be fine. I’m not too picky.
[Which was true even before the war, given what he and Steve had needed to give up to survive the Depression.]
It's not about being picky. You have choices.
[ If it was about liquor, that'd be another story. She can't afford anything very expensive or refined and the wine came as payment from another tavern she played at about a week ago. She can't get much else. ]
They have stews, soups, cheese. They have some bread and certain cuts of meat. I have enough for something for each of us.
[ And she's not going to hear any argument about paying for his share. He ensured she didn't lose her coin purse tonight. That's enough. ]
[ If it was about liquor, that'd be another story. She can't afford anything very expensive or refined and the wine came as payment from another tavern she played at about a week ago. She can't get much else. ]
They have stews, soups, cheese. They have some bread and certain cuts of meat. I have enough for something for each of us.
[ And she's not going to hear any argument about paying for his share. He ensured she didn't lose her coin purse tonight. That's enough. ]
[He smiles meagerly and gives a shrug. It really doesn't matter what goes into his stomach as long as something does. That said, choice is not often available to him, so if she insists...]
Don’t suppose they’d have— [Shit on a shingle? She wouldn’t recognize the phrase.] —sausage and gravy? To go on bread.
[He hopes it’s clear enough what he means. Even if it’s not, he can make do with whatever else there is. The thought of something comfortable and familiar is just nice, really. Though he also doesn’t bother pointing out he eats for three people. She’s good enough to offer even if only because he probably saved her earnings for the night, and it isn't worth taking advantage of that for a full stomach. It'd be damn rude.]
Don’t suppose they’d have— [Shit on a shingle? She wouldn’t recognize the phrase.] —sausage and gravy? To go on bread.
[He hopes it’s clear enough what he means. Even if it’s not, he can make do with whatever else there is. The thought of something comfortable and familiar is just nice, really. Though he also doesn’t bother pointing out he eats for three people. She’s good enough to offer even if only because he probably saved her earnings for the night, and it isn't worth taking advantage of that for a full stomach. It'd be damn rude.]
[ Sausage and gravy? It shouldn't be too hard, she assumes, and she's seen sausage in the restaurant nearby. ]
I'll have a look and see what I can find. Make yourself comfortable.
[ Alysia ducks out with little preamble, heading across the street. Since finding her place in the city, she's done her best to go out of her way to be nice to a few of the locals who could aid her, and the neighboring restaurant is no different. She's played there twice - once for free - and they are pleased to give her food. Much of it will go out tonight anyway without use. She sits around a little longer for fresh gravy and purchases a whole loaf of bread and some cheese as well. She gets some eggs for herself, sausage for him, and is back a little over twenty minutes later with two bowls of hot food, bread, and cheese.
She brings both to the table and sets them out, then goes to continue making preparations around the room for the potential oncoming storm, closing the shutters and moving candles from their places. The lantern goes closer to the table so they can eat; the candles are moved from the windows and placed in better positions to bring light to the flat. ]
Here. They had what you wanted but didn't quite know how you might like it prepared.
[ Alysia gets out a few knives and two forks, and sets about slicing the bread. ]
I'll have a look and see what I can find. Make yourself comfortable.
[ Alysia ducks out with little preamble, heading across the street. Since finding her place in the city, she's done her best to go out of her way to be nice to a few of the locals who could aid her, and the neighboring restaurant is no different. She's played there twice - once for free - and they are pleased to give her food. Much of it will go out tonight anyway without use. She sits around a little longer for fresh gravy and purchases a whole loaf of bread and some cheese as well. She gets some eggs for herself, sausage for him, and is back a little over twenty minutes later with two bowls of hot food, bread, and cheese.
She brings both to the table and sets them out, then goes to continue making preparations around the room for the potential oncoming storm, closing the shutters and moving candles from their places. The lantern goes closer to the table so they can eat; the candles are moved from the windows and placed in better positions to bring light to the flat. ]
Here. They had what you wanted but didn't quite know how you might like it prepared.
[ Alysia gets out a few knives and two forks, and sets about slicing the bread. ]
[ He goes back to the empty grave on Buck's birthday. Arlington's nearly always deserted in the evenings, voices carrying from guys talking to their buddies and the odd sniffle of a family member. The air rings heavy with solemnity. There's flowers on the grave — his sisters send them regularly. Steve traces the 1 from the year of birth, and he stays there long after the sun sets. ]
[ It's nothing close to a routine. Grief always crashes down like an avalanche — someone on the street with a swagger, someone who looks similar from the back in the distance. Little things, that brick by brick, become something impassable. Steve treads water. He leaves a beer bottle by the grave. Buck pulled him from the river and Sam trails behind him, worrying and solid. The years pass — he starts to wonder, when he's alone, if that empty grave holds more of his friend than the man they're searching for. It does nothing to his resolve. Bucky Barnes never picked and chose the parts of Steve he cared for, and Steve has no intention of doing anything less. That love was tested once in war and again on the helicarrier: Steve knows who he's looking for. He knows who they found and who he chose over the Avengers. ]
[ They're put in the same corridor in Wakanda; separate rooms, though Steve tries to spend as much time with him as he can. Breakfast, trying out everything they can and talking about the flavours. Out in the gardens, with the sunshine and fresh air. Little pieces, for the wall. He's hanging on now. ]
They have Casablanca in the movie room.
[ It's morning just before sunrise, and there's a faint mist drifting in from the east. Steve is sitting with his sketchbook open, the page empty, twirling the pencil. ]
[ It's nothing close to a routine. Grief always crashes down like an avalanche — someone on the street with a swagger, someone who looks similar from the back in the distance. Little things, that brick by brick, become something impassable. Steve treads water. He leaves a beer bottle by the grave. Buck pulled him from the river and Sam trails behind him, worrying and solid. The years pass — he starts to wonder, when he's alone, if that empty grave holds more of his friend than the man they're searching for. It does nothing to his resolve. Bucky Barnes never picked and chose the parts of Steve he cared for, and Steve has no intention of doing anything less. That love was tested once in war and again on the helicarrier: Steve knows who he's looking for. He knows who they found and who he chose over the Avengers. ]
[ They're put in the same corridor in Wakanda; separate rooms, though Steve tries to spend as much time with him as he can. Breakfast, trying out everything they can and talking about the flavours. Out in the gardens, with the sunshine and fresh air. Little pieces, for the wall. He's hanging on now. ]
They have Casablanca in the movie room.
[ It's morning just before sunrise, and there's a faint mist drifting in from the east. Steve is sitting with his sketchbook open, the page empty, twirling the pencil. ]
Edited (missing word) 2016-08-12 06:05 (UTC)
[He spends two years avoiding Steve, not wanting to be saved—sure there's nothing worth saving—and trying to disappear to bear his penance. There’s little surprise when it’s gone in a flash as soon as he sees Steve’s face again.
How easily he caves. He feels hollow as he goes through those familiar motions, the looks, gestures, and smiles he give masking every bit of his shame. And he has no choice. Every cell in his body compels him to, and he can’t refuse because there’s no way to say no to something that matters more than the air in his lungs. Everything he worked for to redeem his sins—his failures—gets lost somewhere behind them. Atonement is loneliness and solitude, but Steve rewards him, gives him a real breath to breathe that fills the hollow with mercy he doesn’t deserve.
He hates that he loves every second.
Grass is softer than he remembers, so he likes to feel it against his back while they watch the sun cast shadows across mountains. The light damp of dew settles into his clothes and skin as he lays and remembers how beautiful the sky is no matter what happens underneath it. Steve’s words float by like a cloud, and his eyes close as meaning comes.
Humphrey Bogart. A crowded room. La Marseillaise. He hums the first two bars in his head to see if he remembers it. He sees himself with the Howling Commandos belting it out joyfully with—for—Dernier after they’ve heard about the Liberation of Paris.
Bucky turns and opens his eyes to watch the pencil.]
You think they’ll mind if we put a sign on the door again?
[’Private Session’, like last time, so it’s just the two of them and their memories. He doesn't talk much with T'Challa, but he knows Steve worked something out with the guy while the doctors were patching up the stump Tony had left him with.]
How easily he caves. He feels hollow as he goes through those familiar motions, the looks, gestures, and smiles he give masking every bit of his shame. And he has no choice. Every cell in his body compels him to, and he can’t refuse because there’s no way to say no to something that matters more than the air in his lungs. Everything he worked for to redeem his sins—his failures—gets lost somewhere behind them. Atonement is loneliness and solitude, but Steve rewards him, gives him a real breath to breathe that fills the hollow with mercy he doesn’t deserve.
He hates that he loves every second.
Grass is softer than he remembers, so he likes to feel it against his back while they watch the sun cast shadows across mountains. The light damp of dew settles into his clothes and skin as he lays and remembers how beautiful the sky is no matter what happens underneath it. Steve’s words float by like a cloud, and his eyes close as meaning comes.
Humphrey Bogart. A crowded room. La Marseillaise. He hums the first two bars in his head to see if he remembers it. He sees himself with the Howling Commandos belting it out joyfully with—for—Dernier after they’ve heard about the Liberation of Paris.
Bucky turns and opens his eyes to watch the pencil.]
You think they’ll mind if we put a sign on the door again?
[’Private Session’, like last time, so it’s just the two of them and their memories. He doesn't talk much with T'Challa, but he knows Steve worked something out with the guy while the doctors were patching up the stump Tony had left him with.]
[ They saw it together in 1942 at HQ, Bucky got real thoughtful, after. He had his quiet moments in the War, and Steve tried not to push then, but it hurt. His best friend who never seemed to care much about the state of his collar or the smell of his clothes when at home he wouldn't have been seen dead like that. Steve always thought there'd be time to talk to him, after. There would be an after. It was the two of them, it was war, but there was nothing they couldn't get through together. ]
[ Buck's lying on his back, Steve is — deliberately — the first thing any assailant will see coming into this corner of the garden. They're not left to their own devices: the Dora Milaje are always around. There should be two of them silently prowling around, but Steve can't really bring himself to complain. They're here on T'Challa's charity, and every concession is small compared to the fact that he will — without hesitation — send his people to die if anyone comes looking for them. It doesn't sit right, which is why they're leaving as soon as Buck's comfortable walking outside in the world. ]
[ For now, Steve nudges Bucky's toes with his own in a lazy motion, and hums the next two bars absently as he starts outlining Buck's body on the page. Being in his space is like breathing — he stumbles without it. Steve has been recalibrating in response to any request, verbal or otherwise, for space. Seventy years they were apart; over three times longer than they were together in life. ]
I think Sam might get annoyed you're not catching up on Harry Potter with him.
[ Sam, who's taken full charge of both their film and music education. ]
You didn't hear that from me.
[ Buck's lying on his back, Steve is — deliberately — the first thing any assailant will see coming into this corner of the garden. They're not left to their own devices: the Dora Milaje are always around. There should be two of them silently prowling around, but Steve can't really bring himself to complain. They're here on T'Challa's charity, and every concession is small compared to the fact that he will — without hesitation — send his people to die if anyone comes looking for them. It doesn't sit right, which is why they're leaving as soon as Buck's comfortable walking outside in the world. ]
[ For now, Steve nudges Bucky's toes with his own in a lazy motion, and hums the next two bars absently as he starts outlining Buck's body on the page. Being in his space is like breathing — he stumbles without it. Steve has been recalibrating in response to any request, verbal or otherwise, for space. Seventy years they were apart; over three times longer than they were together in life. ]
I think Sam might get annoyed you're not catching up on Harry Potter with him.
[ Sam, who's taken full charge of both their film and music education. ]
You didn't hear that from me.
[He doesn’t even think when his foot nudges Steve’s back; it just happens. The fondness of the gesture is almost unrecognizable to him, even though it comes so immediately—so naturally—and a dull ache in his chest stifles the warm feeling his mind tells him should be there but isn’t.
He wants to reach out before the moment slips through his fingers. Again. He wants to recognize what they had been and should still be now. He needs to know if any of it still means anything to Steve, if what he knows isn't a lie and that Steve doesn't just want this side of him, the one everyone counts on being there but not the one he actually is.
Bucky hums the next bar lazily as he watches the top of the pencil dancing in the air as Steve draws. When the following bar passes him by, he turns back to look at the sky.]
He can stuff it. I don’t see what’s so great about that kid.
[While the universe itself is interesting to Bucky, he’s lost on why Harry Potter is considered a hero. Everything Harry does is so predominantly self-serving, which is the complete opposite of what a hero should be. A real hero is willing to give up everything for someone else. Even if that someone doesn't deserve it.
He clenches his jaw briefly before continuing.]
But I’ll watch it if you want.
[Because this is Steve’s choice. Shield or not, Steve is Steve, and Bucky is just his shadow.]
He wants to reach out before the moment slips through his fingers. Again. He wants to recognize what they had been and should still be now. He needs to know if any of it still means anything to Steve, if what he knows isn't a lie and that Steve doesn't just want this side of him, the one everyone counts on being there but not the one he actually is.
Bucky hums the next bar lazily as he watches the top of the pencil dancing in the air as Steve draws. When the following bar passes him by, he turns back to look at the sky.]
He can stuff it. I don’t see what’s so great about that kid.
[While the universe itself is interesting to Bucky, he’s lost on why Harry Potter is considered a hero. Everything Harry does is so predominantly self-serving, which is the complete opposite of what a hero should be. A real hero is willing to give up everything for someone else. Even if that someone doesn't deserve it.
He clenches his jaw briefly before continuing.]
But I’ll watch it if you want.
[Because this is Steve’s choice. Shield or not, Steve is Steve, and Bucky is just his shadow.]
Edited (wrong word) 2016-08-14 03:06 (UTC)
[ The body knows. Steve's leg moves in a slow, pendulum motion, stopping only when he shifts to one side of the smooth rock he's sitting on to make the contact permanent. The sketchbook slides down on his knee, but there's no self-consciousness — Bucky judged all his drawings back when and bought him pencils with the shared money they kept aside for luxuries, which Steve had been planning to use to buy him a new cologne. Buck never said — Steve had just caught him eyeing it once too often. ]
[ He can't draw Buck from memory — and won't. Part of this is learning where the new currents of tension move in his body, when, exactly, the smiles reach his eyes. The iron, too, untransmutable, of his soul. Bucky was always the best man he knew; nothing can tarnish that. ]
I think you might like Ginny.
[ Steve's favourite is (predictably) faithful, loyal Ron. ]
There's also Star Wars. I ain't seen it yet.
[ He can't draw Buck from memory — and won't. Part of this is learning where the new currents of tension move in his body, when, exactly, the smiles reach his eyes. The iron, too, untransmutable, of his soul. Bucky was always the best man he knew; nothing can tarnish that. ]
I think you might like Ginny.
[ Steve's favourite is (predictably) faithful, loyal Ron. ]
There's also Star Wars. I ain't seen it yet.
[When he feels Steve’s steady weight against him, warmth swells in his chest, and he has to let out a quick breath to steady his nerves at the recognition his body has that his mind cannot seem to translate into an emotion he can make sense of. It’s confusing as much as it is pleasant, but his mind settles on the fact it is a good thing, and Bucky clings onto it with his entire existence.
He catches the sound of the book slide. His eyes meat the page before he even thinks about wanting to look. Bucky can only draw shitty stick figures. Why did there have to be a fucking war?]
She sounds nice. [Which he said about any dame’s name back when things were still good and the water flowed just right, but now he says it because it’s a pretty name, and Bucky wants to think that's enough to make a good person these days, even when it's not.]
That the one in outer space? You tellin’ me you don’t like stars anymore, Rogers?
[Because some time soon, he wants to ask. Just them on a roof and the night sky. Like they used to.]
He catches the sound of the book slide. His eyes meat the page before he even thinks about wanting to look. Bucky can only draw shitty stick figures. Why did there have to be a fucking war?]
She sounds nice. [Which he said about any dame’s name back when things were still good and the water flowed just right, but now he says it because it’s a pretty name, and Bucky wants to think that's enough to make a good person these days, even when it's not.]
That the one in outer space? You tellin’ me you don’t like stars anymore, Rogers?
[Because some time soon, he wants to ask. Just them on a roof and the night sky. Like they used to.]
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