mild A:IW spoilers in option a.

[freightcars]

WHO: Bucky Barnes
WHERE: spawn fountain, inn, butcher shop
WHEN: 05/27 & 05/28
OPEN TO: all
WARNINGS: A:IW spoilers in the first section, adult language and potentially traumatic themes referenced.

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a. arrival;

It's a jarring transition, a sudden awakening from nothing to drowning in a microscopic instant. It's only through the sheer control he's got over his own body that he doesn't gasp or inhale, his eyes bug out and his limbs flail, kicking upward with the fury of a strong survival instinct. He'd been dust only a moment ago, he thinks. Phantom limb sensations in the wrong arm as they spread like ashes in the breeze, and then darkness. The weight of his arm is like an anchor, pulling him down, aligning with gravity, and it feels heavier than usual despite the fact that water is meant to make people feel weightless.

After a desperate eternity he breaches, heavy metal arm flinging over the coarse edge of the fountain and gripping. Then he gasps, lips parted, hair sopping, floating and breathing and nothing else at first. The water around him stills before he begins phase two, hauling himself over the ledge and onto dry land.

It's an ungraceful roll, his back against the raised edge and a grunt when he falls off of it and onto the pavers below. His hair falls like seaweed around his head, collecting grit and dust from the ground beneath him. His heavy arm lays askew to his left, but he doesn't seem to care. His chest rises and falls, and if he were to be attacked right now he'd be the most vulnerable, easiest target on the planet. He doesn't care about that either, he just breathes, trying to process what feels like two minutes and a lifetime all at once.

b. the inn - later that day;

Several hours and a fair bit of scouting after his arrival, his mind sets a few goals he needs to accomplish for basic survival. secure shelter; gather rations are the orders from a deeply mechanical, deeply russian voice that he now recognizes as fragment of himself from a darker time. It's right this time, so he doesn't alienate it and instead pairs it with a more normal human alternative. He heads for the inn, hoping like hell he can convince them to put him up and feed him for the night. Luckily, it seems like there's a sort of lackadaisical economy here, a sort of socialist provide what you can, we barter, nothing costs money Wakandan style that suits his current predicament.

He settles at a table in the farmost corner, eyes sharp and alert, hair falling on either side of is face like it'll keep him from being recognized by anyone too familiar with the FBI's current wanted posters. Crappy disguise, but wherever this place is, it seems out of touch. It's a gamble, he thinks, and everything about his posture states he's expecting to have to bolt any second. He even startles uncomfortably when someone comes around to take his order. Not exactly the most inviting visage.

c. soap up - the butcher's, day 2;

On the second day, when the ceiling doesn't cave in around him and no federal agents burst in to have him put down like a dog, he starts to settle down. The utilities are worlds away from Wakanda or even his time in Chechnya, but they ring in a nostalgic feeling from Brooklyn a long time ago. Sadly, they're lacking in things like shampoo and basic necessities, so he packs his bag, dons his scrubs, and heads out in search of a rumor he'd heard about soap being stored at the butcher's.

The bell tinkles behind him as he enters, lips parted, curious. It's bizarre, this whole place is, and he's doing his best to take in every piece of it. There's a part of him, too, that feels bad for taking and not giving, but the only thing he has to barter with are the clothes on his back that aren't even his. As such, he does his best to slink silently toward the soap stock in an effort not to be observed taking something he can't afford to replace.

Comments

[freightcars]

Bucky's behind him by just a few paces, chancing the occasional glance over his shoulder out of sheer habit. They're not followed, though, obviously, and it leaves him staring down a hallway of nearly overwhelming options. A half dozen factors run through his head so swiftly that he barely registers Benedict's words, instead he focuses on length to exit, proximity to window, likelihood of survivability in the event of structural explosion, likelihood of bullet penetration through the thickness of the walls. He thinks about which rooms would be the most and least obvious were someone to tail him, and about which would be the backup to that room, and so on, and so forth, a roulette wheel of possibilities unfolding like the god damn matrix in his brain.

He ducks his head, forces himself to stop and be present in the moment again. In the end he opts for room 2, which seems to have an acceptable balance of all factors. He nods toward it in question, checking for approval despite the open offer.

[warriorborn]

Benedict watches curiously as Bucky surveys the hallway, quite clearly not listening to what he's saying. Instead of being offended, Benedict feels a touch sad for the man, for being on such high alert at all times even if he does understand why.

When Bucky turns his attention back to Benedict and indicates room 2, Benedict smiles at him and picks the key emblazoned with the correct number from the key ring in his hand.

"Here," he says, handing it over along with the towel. "The doors are easy enough to lock, and are quite solid. The bureau is also a rather effective blockade, should that be necessary." He doesn't sound judgmental about the thought that Bucky might need to block the door with furniture. He wouldn't be the first person here to do so, after all. "The washroom is at the end of the hall, there is a key inside to lock the door but often the easiest way to indicate whether or not it's occupied is to whistle."

He's joking.

[freightcars]

The key and towel are held loosely to his chest, this time absorbing the words with rapt attention. Lips twitch at the suggestion that he might use the bureau as a blockade, not because it's a bad idea but because he'd been so transparent in his intentions and his mannerisms. It's an educated guess that hits a little too close to the truth of his thought processes. So rapt and solemn is he at first that he misses the joke completely, head turning and eyebrows knit in disbelief.

And then he sees the humor touching the other man's eyes, and his lips form an exasperated purse. Dad jokes, already? Steve 2.0 everybody, he gives Benedict a mild unimpressed look. It's followed by a slow shake of the head, as though he's deeply disappointed.

"Duly noted," is the flat reply, and he strides toward the open doorway to his new lodgings. Pauses at the frame and can't help himself but to turn and say one final and sincere, "Thank you, again."

[warriorborn]

The confused look Bucky sends his way after his pronouncement has Benedict worrying that his jesting had fallen flat, but then he gets to watch in slow-motion as Bucky's expression turns flat and disbelieving. Oh, good, he caught on.

He grins, showing off his sharp teeth, and lifts his eyebrows in mock-innocence. What's with the look, Bucky, he didn't do anything.

The grin softens a little and he inclines his head in a shallow nod-bow. "You are welcome." He takes half a step back, getting out of the way, and gestures down the corridor. "I'll be just downstairs. Holler if you need anything."

[freightcars]

Congratulations Benedict, you now have a loyal new friend who owes you a debt. If you ever need anything punched into submission, he's your guy. Only partially because of your dumb dad jokes. He grants the other man a small nod in understanding, and slips into the room. The door clicks quietly shut behind him, and there he'll stay for quite some time trying to wrap his head around it all.