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WHO: Cougar Alvarez
WHERE: Bungalow #22
WHEN: July 2nd - Day After Arrival
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: n/a
STATUS: Closed

It takes Cougar two tries down the well before he gives up. The sirens and the windstorm force him to move on and make nice in the inn, but when things clear up and the sun rises on another day, Cougar slings his pack over his shoulder and heads out to explore the rest of the strange settlement they seem to be in the middle of.

It's quiet.

Normally, Cougar likes the quiet. He's a taciturn man himself, preferring signals and gestures over words, but this is an eerie kind of quiet that he doesn't like. The homes are empty and that means something drove everyone out, but for Cougar's life, he can't figure out where they went. He tries to go to the edge of the cliffs, but he can't climb the sheer face. Returning back to the village, he finds a dark green bungalow near a forked path and knows that if he wants to get a better view, he needs to be in a sniper's nest.

More than that, he's going to need to set up base. Throwing his bag to the roof, he grabs for the porch and starts to lever himself up, using the windows and the shingles of the roof to scuttle his way along until he's managed to free-run himself up to the apex of the roof. He tugs his bag along with him (stuffed with a few berries he'd found on his exploration) and settles down at the top. High above everything, he feels at home even in this strange place.

He sits, cross-legged, and chews on some of the berries as he stares at the streets that wind below him. He'd prefer to be much, much higher, but this will do for now as he stakes his claim on this house as a base and keeps an eye on all the vantage points around.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Everyone in the same clothes is proving to make it hard for Cougar to make out familiarity. He can't look for Jensen's awful glasses or Clay's suits. The baseball caps only add to the difficulty when they obscure faces. Still, Cougar's perceptive to more than just looks. Maybe it's just that he's tired or still water-logged, but when he sees a man walking with a familiar gait, he thinks it's Pooch for just a minute.

Long enough to let out a piercing whistle that gives away his location. Sense gets him at the last minute, getting him to take cover and go back to working on the makeshift slingshot he's been putting together. No matter what, the whistle should get the man's attention and give him a clear picture of his face.

Sam's head jerks up at the sound of the whistle. Who was that? He'd already established there were only a few people here remotely familiar to him. His eyes scan the surroundings, going from ground to rooftops. Most people wouldn't think to look up, but he was a flier and a former soldier. You eventually train yourself to look up to avoid getting ambushed or sniped. He squints, wishing he had his goggles an also wishing his glaring red scrubs weren't so, well, red. It makes him a damn target is what it does.

'Relax, you haven't had any indication that anyone here is trying to shoot at you...yet.'

His eyes linger on the roof of #22. He's not at the best angle to confirm if someone is up there--but his instincts are now confirming he's being watched and he feels compelled to check.

"Someone up there?" He calls.

Cougar shifts from his place to the edge of the roof where he gives a harmless looking little wave. From here, with the man staring up, he knows that it's not Pooch, but the disappointment is kept in check as he watches the way the man takes in the situation. He may not be Pooch, but he could still be helpful.

"Lo siento por la piña," he says. The man hasn't given any indication of Spanish, but it's Cougar's first language and he's notoriously stubborn, at times, about yielding to anything.

So there was someone up there. At least Sam wasn't going crazy paranoid on top of everything else. He relaxes a little, recognizing the man from the other day, though he doesn't recall getting the man's name either. Still, there were only 15 of them here so it was a little hard to forget a face.

He moves a little closer so he's not constantly shouting and looks up at the man.

Sam's brow furrows at the Spanish. He's a little rusty on his foreign language, though he'd been brushing up on it. Steve and some of the other Avengers often made him feel a little inadequate because on top of their unusual talents they could speak a number of other languages. He'd been brushing up on his Spanish since joining the Avengers -- hoping to at least match them at that level. Luckily, working at the VA, he'd had to start that process before he'd joined the Avengers anyway. Now he just had extra motivation to do so.

He's fluent enough to understand the sentence, though it obviously takes him a second for internal translation. He might be missing something, but is this guy asking him about a pineapple? Yeah, he's pretty sure that's not it. "Mi español hablado no es la mejor. Lo piña?"

"Pinecone," he clarifies in English, pointing to the object that had suddenly come out of the sky in his direction. He keeps working on the slingshot, even though he's missing something that has enough bounce-back to be really effective. "You're from the inn," he says. "I don't know you."

That, said out loud, is all the reason he needs to be wary, he thinks. After all, without knowing each other, how can there be trust? And Cougar doesn't trust easy, either.

Sam blinks and without really thinking about it, catches the pinecone being shot at him. It hits harder than he thought though so Sam drops his hand with a hiss and a curse, but still clutching the object. He caught it dammit, so he's not letting it go.

Why he caught it -- he's really not sure.

He stands up straight, tossing the pinecone to his left. "Yeah--I think we all wound up there yesterday. Name's Sam Wilson." He shakes out his hand, "What's with the slingshot?" Even as he asks, he thinks he knows the answer.

He doesn't give his name, just keeps carving. The question makes him give a curious look downwards as he arches a brow. If some of the team were here, they'd be able to interpret it as a full sentence: Wouldn't you be doing the same thing if you were in my shoes? As it is, he's able to get the brow upwards before he remembers that not everyone is so psychic.

"Will be hungry soon," is what he says, gesturing with a pointed gesture to the sky. "Fowl."

And defense, but he's not going to advertise that.

So he's back to running across people trying to make weapons. He's not against it. In fact, he's got a kitchen knife that needs sharpening in his pack. He hasn't found a tool to sharpen it with yet, but it's better than nothing. Still, the slingshot's a big step up from the broken stool leg the other man had been working with when they'd been stuck in the inn.

The guy can say food all he wants, but Sam didn't think hunters would go for hideaways on the roof and whistle to signal someone either. He's military, he knows the difference.

"Yeah...we don't have a lot to work with in the weapons department. Slingshot is probably the first ranged weapon I've seen...also points for creativity I guess. Beats a snapped off leg from a stool."

"Wouldn't be useful with a stool," Cougar says. He doubts he'd be very good with anything close-range. He'd make do, but that's not where his talents lie. Distance is where Cougar excels and though there's no mission to take anyone down here, there is the pressing need to feed himself and the others. If they don't run across something they can hunt or food, they'll need something.

"Enough to stun a bird," he says, winding some of the elastic from the underwear he's torn apart with the cloth. "Dinner," he says, eyes bright.

Sam can certainly relate to that. He understands why someone grabbed a stool leg, but at the same time he was still holding out hope that he'd find something better. He wasn't going to hold out much longer though, hence the knife. He wasn't sure he'd do very well with a slingshot though either. Sure, he felt better with a ranged weapon than anything, but he certainly didn't have Hawkeye's accuracy. It'd probably be useless to give him something like that.

"Sounds promising," Sam says. "Haven't seen very big birds though -- maybe in the woods."

If he has to feed a whole village, then it will be a problem. If he is just feeding himself, he can ration out the meat for at least a week until he finds something else. He thinks he will need to develop a plan, but this place is already his, in his mind. He has a bed and a roof over his head. He's already miles ahead of expectations.

"What have you found?" he asks, moving to the information gathering portion of this.

"Not a whole hell of a lot," Sam replies with a certain degree of resignation. "It's more like what I haven't found. No signs of people outside of us have been in here in years, the place seems to be of the same technology my grandparents' parents would have used, and the pipes are shit."

It's negative, most of it, so he adds, "Plenty of shelter though and there's a river that might be useful for fresh water in the meantime. There are some tools in the kitchens and such but most of it is barely sharp enough to cut through butter let alone be used for hunting or even eating with."

What Cougar wants to know is who was there before. There's civilization and there's evidence that they've been gone for a time. What he wants to know is what drove them out and how they got out, because there are always signs when something goes bad and there's a body count. Teeth, bones, graves.

He hasn't found any of that, which makes it even more worrisome. Maybe there's just another fountain waiting for them. "Worried about someone coming to hurt you?" Cougar asks, raising his brow.

Sam shrugs, "Let's just say the last job I was working left me a bit paranoid. But mostly at this point I'm more worried about a working kitchen for food and getting food for said kitchen. Starvation can be just as bad as anyone trying to hurt me." He's also met some questionable people, but so far no one has gone around attempting murder, so eh's not too worried about someone coming to hurt him.

Although, he hasn't actually completely ruled out this is some messed up abduction of some kind -- those theories were troublesome but not 100% psychotic. As much as he'd hate to admit the guy breaking stools for weapons had been right.

Cougar will be able to hunt whatever he needs to, so starvation isn't a problem. He's willing to share too, of course, but it's better if there's some bartering involved that gets him something in return. "Are you hungry now?" he asks, his own stomach having been sated by the berries he'd found, but he's willing to go out for a longer hunt, if necessary.

Better to make allies now, when they're all still new.

Sam considers the offer. He hadn't exactly eaten or found food yet--but he didn't want to necessarily come across as desperate or incapable of finding resources of his own. Still, they're all new to this environment, so it's not like the guy is going to be able to offer him much. Sam can always find a way to return the favor later.

"I'm not starving yet, but I also realize the situation...so if you're offering a little food I wouldn't say no."

Cougar hops his way down eaves and poles, sliding his way back down until his boots hit the ground firmly. He's free-climbed enough to be comfortable with a single story building and he gestures for Sam to follow him.

The berries are good for snacking, but the hare he'd cooked up with a little fire will be good only for a few hours more and he's not hungry. It's a shame for it to go to waste. "There," he says, gesturing to it. "Take what you want."

Sam's actually pretty impressed by the maneuvering. He'd seen similar stunts pulled, of course, but he'd known those people could do it. He was still learning about the people he was "stuck" with and the scrubs they were wearing made it always difficult to tell where someone came from. Until they demonstrated skills, they were all unknowns and virtually the same. The man definitely moves with the confidence of someone who has spent a lot of time with heights and probably doing some pretty dangerous work -- given his skills demonstrated earlier.

That or he just really enjoyed parkour.

Sam is further surprised by the hare, of all things, set up nearby. How'd he miss that? More importantly, how had the man caught it? Were their more? That would be great actually and Sam actually smiles, "You're going to be Mr. Popular pretty fast if you can manage this." He then realizes what Cougar said and turns back to him, "You sure?"

"If you don't eat it, it goes bad," Cougar says, not really enjoying his sudden trip back to a time without refrigerators, but it's not like he hasn't been in the field in similar situations before. Only, back then, he had four other mouths to feed and they could all pack away a good deal of anything Cougar would hunt for them.

He nods, again, to encourage him to take it. "Not a problem to find something else," he assures. "I'm okay at hunting," he says, his understatement clear.

"I can see that," Sam remarks. Still, he's really grateful. While he hasn't been in situations like this (thankfully) that often, even he knows that this is not the kind of situation where you want to let food go to waste. If Cougar wasn't going to eat it, then it made sense to offer to share.

Sam moves closer to the rabbit, keenly aware of how hungry he must actually be if he's not questioning eating a freshly caught and cooked rabbit. "I may not be as good at hunting...but I'll fine someway to pay you back." Honestly he didn't know what his own skill level would be. He was a decent shot, but he'd never actually had to hunt before--especially not with such primitive weaponry. But maybe he could learn, he did think he was good at that. Not to mention he could cook and gather--if someone showed him what was edible anyway.

Cougar nods because that's the point of this. His kindness isn't without motive or purpose and when it comes to this sort of situation, he knows he's going to need to cash in at some point. Better to start giving out favours now before he needs one in return.

"What did you do, at home?" he asks, because information gathering is just as important in the early days of a strange situation, too.

Sam starts picking at the meat to eat. He's aware of the information gathering angle as well. After a few bites he replies.

"Former military. Former employee of the V.A. And I was an Avenger...though that last one is kind of iffy at the moment and might not even mean anything to you." He'd already learned that not everyone was from the same time or even the same universe. Peggy was proof of the first and Jo had explained the second to some degree. That meant his titles and status might not mean much, but it did little to diminish his skill set. "Basically, I've spent most of my life fighting bad guys and surviving bad situations in one form or another."

He pops another piece of rabbit meat in his mouth, "What about you? I'd peg you for a hunter, except most of the fellas I know who hunt don't also practice jumping from roofs like that too."

Cougar lifts his brow when Sam identifies as both military and someone who works with the V.A. He knows that there are bad eggs and that the CIA betrayed them first, but he seems like good people, and has given Cougar no reason not to trust him. Besides, if the time and need comes, he can deal with betrayal.

"Special Ops," he says. "Long range eliminations," is his follow up. "Former active duty." Which is shorthand for 'the CIA blacklisted us and we had to pretend we were dead to stay alive', but he did only just meet the man, really. "Do what I have to, to survive."

"So...sniper. I have a friend you would have liked," Sam remarks. Clint was slightly more talkative than this guy was proving to be. "He was former active duty too...couse he still seems to somehow get dragged into trouble most of the time."

Yeah, he had a feeling the two would get along. Or at the very least it would have devolved into a pinecone chunking competition to see who had the better aim. Sam smirks at the thought, almost laughing, but instead he shakes his head, "I get that. I think in this situation we're all gonna have to do what we can to survive."

"Sniper," he confirms, even though it's not a reputation he wants to go shouting about. Still, it's not like it's something he's ashamed of (not most days) and so he gives a firm nod of his head, wishing that he had his rifle, if only for the sight in the scopes. "Trouble finds me," is all Cougar says roughly, poking at the small fire to put it out now that the rabbit is done.

"Where did you fight?"