Steve Rogers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
paragon) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2016-09-17 10:46 pm
paragon) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2016-09-17 10:46 pm
(no subject)
WHO: Steve Rogers
WHERE: The Fountain
WHEN: September 17th
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Will add if necessary.
STATUS: Closed
Even if Wakanda weren't as historically reclusive as it's been until more immediately recent memory, Steve wouldn't pretend he knows enough about it to say whether the fountain belongs there. He's hardly even been outdoors, for all that he's had quite a view from inside; as a guy who draws things in a notebook on occasion he doesn't really think it comes from the same school as the giant panther carved out of the side of a mountain, but what does he know? He and Bucky arrived bloody and exhausted, in no mood for sightseeing, no matter how much the hospitality of Wakanda might be considered a rare privilege. Hard to see it that way, after sleeping it off for a day or so only to wake up to Bucky having already made up his mind.
He's had a lot on his own mind.
Still, the fountain seems out of place with what he's managed to glimpse of a ferocious sort of beauty, in the midst of buildings that Tony would be more comfortable calling home. This is— well, this looks more like something from his time. And he'll just as surely end up calling the bottom of this fountain his home, if he can't get out of here, since he apparently has enough clothes to get him through a cold winter. At least mulling over architecture is as good a way as any to keep from thinking too hard on how much trouble it's giving him.
He hadn't made the first jump. He puts the sides at about fifteen feet, too high for a straight jump for the edge, but manageable with the help of one of the more horizontal cracks in the wall and a running start. He'd taken a few steps backward, used the momentum to jam the toe of one of his new boots into the crevice and launch himself upward. It'd been no good, the tips of his fingers reaching far below the edge. He'd felt it in his body before that, though, the unexpected effort of the maneuver, when it ought to be so much going through the motions. The second try hadn't gone any better, after trying it from farther back, and he'd looked around at the scattered debris in here with him, determining that the leaves and sticks and dirt weren't exactly enough to make anything of. Gives him an idea though.
Climbing up the centerpiece is easier, even if he can still feel the strain in his calves, his arms and shoulders. Steve ignores it as best he can for now, figures he'll get the answer to why his heart's beating harder in his chest to keep up with his exertion when he finds whoever brought him here. Pretty effective, whatever they gave him, to keep him unconscious long enough to move him, and to weaken him even longer — though he can't help but wonder why, then, he doesn't feel the least bit groggy. He reaches the top of the centerpiece and braces himself there, somewhat unsteadily — which he also ignores — and grabs for a branch hanging from the tree overhead. He's just able to reach the nearest one, though it's by no means the strongest, and it bows toward him. He sighs, mutters, "This part would've been a lot easier seventy years ago," and takes a look at his surroundings.
WHERE: The Fountain
WHEN: September 17th
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Will add if necessary.
STATUS: Closed
Even if Wakanda weren't as historically reclusive as it's been until more immediately recent memory, Steve wouldn't pretend he knows enough about it to say whether the fountain belongs there. He's hardly even been outdoors, for all that he's had quite a view from inside; as a guy who draws things in a notebook on occasion he doesn't really think it comes from the same school as the giant panther carved out of the side of a mountain, but what does he know? He and Bucky arrived bloody and exhausted, in no mood for sightseeing, no matter how much the hospitality of Wakanda might be considered a rare privilege. Hard to see it that way, after sleeping it off for a day or so only to wake up to Bucky having already made up his mind.
He's had a lot on his own mind.
Still, the fountain seems out of place with what he's managed to glimpse of a ferocious sort of beauty, in the midst of buildings that Tony would be more comfortable calling home. This is— well, this looks more like something from his time. And he'll just as surely end up calling the bottom of this fountain his home, if he can't get out of here, since he apparently has enough clothes to get him through a cold winter. At least mulling over architecture is as good a way as any to keep from thinking too hard on how much trouble it's giving him.
He hadn't made the first jump. He puts the sides at about fifteen feet, too high for a straight jump for the edge, but manageable with the help of one of the more horizontal cracks in the wall and a running start. He'd taken a few steps backward, used the momentum to jam the toe of one of his new boots into the crevice and launch himself upward. It'd been no good, the tips of his fingers reaching far below the edge. He'd felt it in his body before that, though, the unexpected effort of the maneuver, when it ought to be so much going through the motions. The second try hadn't gone any better, after trying it from farther back, and he'd looked around at the scattered debris in here with him, determining that the leaves and sticks and dirt weren't exactly enough to make anything of. Gives him an idea though.
Climbing up the centerpiece is easier, even if he can still feel the strain in his calves, his arms and shoulders. Steve ignores it as best he can for now, figures he'll get the answer to why his heart's beating harder in his chest to keep up with his exertion when he finds whoever brought him here. Pretty effective, whatever they gave him, to keep him unconscious long enough to move him, and to weaken him even longer — though he can't help but wonder why, then, he doesn't feel the least bit groggy. He reaches the top of the centerpiece and braces himself there, somewhat unsteadily — which he also ignores — and grabs for a branch hanging from the tree overhead. He's just able to reach the nearest one, though it's by no means the strongest, and it bows toward him. He sighs, mutters, "This part would've been a lot easier seventy years ago," and takes a look at his surroundings.
no subject
Any plans, though, any intent that may be formulating in his head goes right out the window when he sees Bucky, as always. He watches Bucky run toward the tree and doesn't know what to make of him outside of the twisting in his gut. Even from his position it's easy to see this isn't the Bucky he watched step into a cryogenic tube in Wakanda, along with all of his demons. The presence of two flesh and blood arms is the least of it really. He doesn't hold himself like he's afraid of everything he contains, the violence and the — horrors, Zemo had said. He hates to give credence to anything the man had said, but he'd seen Bucky react to it, felt the truth of it in the part of his gut that knows Bucky Barnes as well as he knows himself. Better than.
(He hasn't trusted that part of himself as much as he would've liked over the last couple weeks, wasn't sure how well he still knew Bucky when he finally laid eyes on him again after two years of radio silence. Steve knows now that the fear of losing him again hadn't helped, had made him flinch and second guess himself and Bucky in the desire to save him. He and Tony really do have plenty in common.)
Steve is silent and still in the tree as Bucky comes closer, a hand braced against the trunk, but when Bucky grabs on himself and starts to climb Steve finds his voice — or at least a slightly rougher version of it. "Don't," he calls down, and clears his throat. "I'm coming to you." He forces himself to look away and start moving again. Which Bucky am I talking to? he'd asked — wants to ask again — but Steve had only hoped to be remembered. He doesn't know what he wants the answer to be now, and he shakes his head without pausing in his movement, wondering what kind of man that makes him.
no subject
"What the hell are you doing up there? You know how long I've been waiting?" His throat is dry as he speaks. He's happy, but also nervous. He isn't sure if this is some trick or if this actually Steve he isn't too happy about the idea of him being stuck here too.
He's selfish though and the next thought is Thank God.
no subject
Whatever's wrong with him, he doesn't seem concerned, or like he even really notices it, his focus completely on Bucky — the direction of his body and every minute change in expression turned fully toward him even as he tries not to actually stare — and he moves closer.
"How long?"
no subject
At first it doesn't even register what Steve just asked him. He's here, here alive, he's okay. That's all that Bucky thinks about for the first few moments until it finally hits him that Steve is actually trying to speak to him.
"What you mean here? I dunno- a month?" The days were just starting to slip and go together. Why did that matter though? "You just got here, right?" He better have. Bucky would be pretty peeved if Steve had been hiding here.