sixthiterationlogs | (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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Since watching the fountain had been a bust, Sam elects to going back to just patrolling the area. Whoever had them here clearly didn't want them finding out the mechanics of transportation and Sam wasn't going to give them any further pleasure of sending random animals to attack him. At least not until he could come up with another way of catching them in the act. The fountain was still empty after all and surely they could find some way to catch someone in the process of arriving.

His timing was off this time though. Or at least, so he suspected when he heard tree branches snapping and a familiar voice cutting through the woods. He hoped he wasn't hallucinating that and honestly given the recent influx of people he actually recognizes he hopes it's who he thinks it is.

Sam steps into the clearing and scans the area and it doesn't take long before he confirms his suspicions. "Hey, so they did finally bring you here." It was really good to see Steve again, even if the circumstances sucked.

Still, Sam must be near enough to the fountain, to have heard Steve's muttered aside. The soles of his boots have hit terra firma, and he's looking around like he's got no idea where he is but can't just stand near the fountain all day, when he hears Sam's voice and quickly looks toward it.

"Wouldn't have waited for an invitation if I'd known you were waiting on me," Steve calls back, already heading in Sam's direction. He's a man who contains grief and joy equally in his body, keeping it all close — but not necessarily equally well, if you know what you're looking for. The relief at seeing Sam lifts his shoulders and the corner of his mouth just slightly, but it's enough.

"Who are 'they'?"

There are mixed emotions to be had. On the one hand, Sam finds reassurance in Steve's presence. He's a good person to have at your back and someone who could help a lot around here. On the other hand, Sam wouldn't wish this place on Steve. Sam had enough problems without having to now worry about his actual friends and not just the people he'd met while living here. The fountain was just determined to keep throwing the people Sam cared about into this place and apparently the icing on that cake was Steve Rogers.

Instead of saying all of that, however, Sam just says, "Must have gotten lost in the mail." It was easier to make a joke. Sam could address his concerns another time.

"Good question. 'They' are a pain in the ass who we only assume exists to explain some of the weird stuff going on. No one's actually come forward to take credit for any of this," he gestures at the fountain and their surroundings, "But we figure someone's gotta be pulling the strings and making all of it happen."

Steve follows the direction of Sam's gesture with his gaze, less because he needs the reminder than because he got served a couple of curveballs before he even really had a chance to wrap his head around the where and the how. He thinks that if Sam's had been the first face he'd seen, he would've started off on a lot firmer ground.

He turns over Sam's answer for a few seconds, frown creasing his forehead but little of his thoughts showing on his face otherwise before he looks back at him.

"Wanna give me the rundown?"

That question seems like it should be simple, but the rundown on this place is a lot more complicated. There's mixed up timelines, other worlds, and so many theories Sam wishes they were a currency to be traded. And that isn't even getting into a lot of the bigger problems facing them here.

Sam sighed, "I can try. But I'm gonna tell you right now that we really are only guessing on half of it and a lot of it is still a mystery." He didn't want Steve to think he had more answers than that. Sam still got frustrated sometimes with how little they had to go on. So he started by telling Steve of his own arrival a few months ago. How he had climbed out of a fountain soaking wet with a dozen or so other strangers wearing different colored scrubs and none of them knowing what was going on. He told Steve everything: the mysterious wind that had forced them to the inn, the way the fountain continued to bring people here (some from different time periods or completely strange places), the way boxes would sometimes arrive with their names on them.

There was a surprising amount of things to talk about when you'd been trapped in a place like this for a few months. Sam explained how they'd started planting crops to survive and how there had been a discovery of weapons recently that had caused a big uproar in the village as they debated what to do with them. Pretty much anything that had occurred in the past few months, Sam let Steve know about it.

"It's a lot, I know," Sam finally finished with lamely.

Steve isn't expecting a simple answer, or a neat one. Just the best Sam has to offer, and at the very least he can't say he's not plenty satisfied, as far as that's concerned. He listens without interruption, concentration furrowing his brow, mind undoubtedly going down the same paths to the same dead ends as every other person who's been brought here. That's fine, that gives them all a common place to proceed from. His expression only flickers when Sam mentions the different time periods, a brief downward sweep of his lashes as he glances down at nothing in particular. It's a shuttering sort of expression, more for his own benefit than Sam's. He has no doubt Sam can guess at the reason easily enough, but Steve's already been through the wringer. He'd rather focus on the rest for now.

When he finishes, Steve tilts his head a little in wry agreement. "Well, sounds like you've kept busy since I last saw you." Especially considering that was only a few hours ago, by Steve's estimation. But if whatever's at work here can bring in Bucky from before he fell, Peggy from after Steve went in the ice— who's to say the last thing he remembers is the same thing Sam does? "Sorry it took me so long to show up."

If Sam picks up on the shudder, he doesn't comment. He probably knows and he probably also guesses that if Steve wants to talk about it, he'll talk. Sam does make a note to keep an eye on the poor guy though. He can only imagine what encountering your first love (who had recently died from their perspective) and a previous version of your best friend must feel like. This place had proven that it could do some pretty crazy things.

Sam smirks at Steve's assessment however. "Just a little. You know I've never been good at sitting still though," he replies. After a heavy dose of information like that, Sam doesn't mind trying to lighten the mood. "Apology accepted," he adds. He inclines his head towards the path, "Anything else or you want to take a look around?"