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.

---

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

[3ofswords]

Aurora's job had long been herding Bodhi between the house and his various haunts, making sure he came back at a time and possibly holding him down under her weight to force a few of the cat-naps that kept him upright the rest of the time. With Bodhi gone, she's tried to keep up her routine with Kira, but he happily lays in the bed for twelve hour stretches, under or next to her weight, and willingly foists her onto anyone she takes interest in during the day.

Someone clearly trained her enough to keep her friendly and close by, but he doesn't think it was him.

"Clinic stuff at the clinic," Kira clarifies. "A little basic first-aid at the Inn, most of the clothes and tools at the Inn. There's a room upstairs, we put extras there. Sometimes the people who put us here, they send boxes--unmarked for everyone, marked with a name if they're something specific."

[freightcars]

He frowns; clothes at the inn make sense, sure, it's the last part that catches his attention. Communications with the people that sent them here sounds like it should be a little bit of a bigger deal than Kira makes it out to be. He knows the way to the Inn, he'd stayed the night there last night and likely would again tonight, he'd be happy to make his own way except now he's got a burning curiosity.

"Does that happen often?" He asks, brow furrowed. "The- boxes, from... whoever?"

[3ofswords]

"Not so often that we keep track of them," he says--the old journal mentioned a few gifts he'd received personally, matching up with a few of the things in the house, but in all the lists of names, scrubs, approximate dates--no mention of their own gifts. Glancing at his wrist band, he's reminded: "Up until recently, we didn't have any idea of the date. Harder to know how much time was passing."

Hard to know what it means, being given a means to keep track.

And keep track of each other. The inn is the inn, and it's just a matter of walking Bucky upstairs to the right pair of rooms. "You figure out your watch yet," Kira asks, holding up his own black band. "Sending messages, distress signals?" A lot of people came in behind on--every possible piece of technology, honestly. "Annoying others to stave off boredom?"

[freightcars]

He holds the door to the inn open politely, absently, as they walk and talk. Once they pass through the main area, he glances down at his communications device strapped to his wrist. Truth be told, he thought it was just some kind of tracking device rather than a functionally useful piece of technology. His eyebrows lift in mild surprise.

"Distress signals?" Tracking device though it may be, he supposed it'd be helpful during exploration expeditions should he lose his sense of direction or fall down a god damn well or something. "Good to know."

There's a momentary peaceful lapse in conversation, until they round a stairwell and he thinks to observe, "Sounds like you've given this tour once or twice before."

[3ofswords]

"I used to be something like in charge of them." Bucky doesn't need to know that Kira has no memory of it, or how deeply he suspects that it's because he is an entirely different sack of cells from that guy with his name and face. And handwriting, and sense of humor, and priorities, if the journal is anything to go by.

The easier explanation for the past tense? "Before we came here, and there was so much more to show off." The simulation talk isn't one anyone needs this early, unless they press for it, so he lifts a shoulder and sets himself against the supply room door, a picture of nonchalance.

Twisting the handle, he uses his weight to push it in. "Next door to the left has weapons and tools, you have to sign for those." The room he slides into, leaving room for Bucky, is lined with shelves and not so much in disarray as it is the room of all trades. They can only organize a range of items including snuggies and survivalist trip-wires so much. "This," he says, swinging out a hand, "is up for grabs twenty-four-seven. All the leftovers go here."

[freightcars]

The answer earns Kira a look of keen interest, more because of the used to be than anything. He wonders if they simply trade out the duty, or if something specific happened to end his career as a tour guide. He doesn't ask, though, opts not to pry. He's distracted anyway by the word weapons and a shadow within his mind perks to attention. Part of his mind wants him to break in there, to take anything and everything he can arm himself with and carry them all like a security blanket.

He pointedly tears his eyes from that door instead, a frown on his lips. Forces his legs to carry him into the room full of supplies, and his eyes search the walls and shelves. It's certainly useful, he thinks, full of clothes and blankets and can openers and whatever the hell. He wanders in farther, more interested in a change of clothes than anything else at the moment. He's not really a scrubs guy.

Fingers trace along stacks of fabric, searching for something in his size. Coincidentally items do exist, and a small part of him wonders if it's because he's been here twice before. Wonders if any of this stuff was his, but no memories come forth. A few seconds into his examination he replays the last few things Kira said and thinks to ask, "Where were you before here?"

[3ofswords]

Usually, that question is about before the fountains and villages. Where do you think you were, would be more accurate; Kira's bottom lip gets caught on an incisor, pulling in a grimace before he links the question to present conversation.

"We were closed up in a canyon. Same buildings, same people, less space. Small enough you could walk from one end to the other and back in the same day."

Most of it unimportant enough, he could get away with pointing out a few buildings and calling it a day. "Some people think, that span of time wasn't real. More like a simulation to prepare us for this place." Flicking his gaze over Bucky, he figures that might go down better, for someone who didn't live through the change.

[freightcars]

He supposes any kind of entity with the capacity to transcend space, time, and universal boundaries could change the geography of a land without much effort. Why, though, is another question entirely. Why a canyon, why change it, why expand it like they were interested in a branching population?

To acomodate more people?

How many more, and why?

He licks his lips, then chews his tongue in consideration.

"Simulations are real enough," he answers finally, dropping his eyes to the fabric in his hand. "Real enough in the way they change you, real enough in that it's an experience that sticks to your personality. Changes who you are. Anything that changes you is real, even if you're the only thing that's left of it when it's done."

[3ofswords]

That's weirdly astute enough to snag Kira's attention--and scrutiny. Giving Bucky a second once-over, he has his own questions about Bucky's before, but nothing that can't wait. Most things can wait, here. Most things probably don't matter, though it seems Bucky would disagree.

"Thank you, Dr. Phil." While the words are absurd, his tone only dips a toe toward sarcastic: "I think that's something I maybe needed to hear."

The donor to his growing in a tube, or something is probably long dead. Probably space dust blowing in some kind of electrical storm, a universe away. The family he misses is probably out there with it--and he already knows he still has to put one foot in front of the other and make it to sundown each day. It's the why he struggles with, it's the smallness of this life in the bigness of its context.

"That's definitely some speak-from-experience shit too," he adds, picking himself up from the doorway once Bucky's arms seem full enough of errant goods. "I'm not going to put that conversation ahead of your reunion with denim, but don't think I'm not paying attention."

[freightcars]

He doesn't know who Dr. Phil is, that's one pop culture icon that hadn't really transcended the United States into Romania or Wakanda. Evidently his candid Texas charm was more of a regional appeal. He assumes through context that it's some kind of therapist, though, which is close enough. He offers a purse-lipped sort of strained smile akin to a grimace, and tucks the bundle of clothes more tightly under his arm. Slips out of the room quietly.

"Yeah," He agrees solemnly. Speak from experience shit indeed, but he won't get into it now. That's a conversation for later. "I'm actually on the bottom floor. Room 2, so. I think I can make it from here."

Meaning he doesn't need a tour guide to his own room. He jostles the clothes around enough to stick out a hand. "I appreciate you taking the time to show me."

[3ofswords]

The room number makes it an incomplete dismissal: Kira can find him later if he wants to. The village is small enough they couldn't much invite it; he'll probably be the one cooking lunch tomorrow. By the same token, conversations are generally on long or short holds, the days eaten up with the work of survival or sudden disaster.

At least he can infer, so far, that there are things Bucky is equipped to handle. And that it might not hurt to check in all the same.

It's a valuable thing, in any situation, to have someone who stops in once in awhile to ask if you're okay. Tour guide though he may no longer be, in any official or regular capacity, he can make a note to try that much. "Any time," he offers, and means it. "Kind of thing you can pay forward, for the next person who just wants some real pants."

[freightcars]

He gets the meaning behind the words, gets the implication, and once he's gotten his mind wrapped around this whole place he'll actually follow through with that. His first introductee will be Natasha, perhaps that hardly counts, but he'll make sure to bring the next new stranger he meets up to this room to find some real god damn clothes and a snuggie.

He expresses as much without words and instead with a solemn and sincere nod, and then slips down the stairs to squirrel away his goods.