sixthiterationlogs | Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore

Entry tags:

Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore

WHO: Steve Rogers
WHERE: Fountain, Inn
WHEN: June 19 - 20
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None yet, but will update

[ Fountain ]

[ It's over. Right? It's definitely over. A letter has been sent, friends are rescued, some of the dust is settling. Steve can sit down and take one damn minute to catch a figurative breath. To get his head together, so he can figure out what to do next. Oh, there will be a next. There's always a next. He settles down on a bench in an otherwise empty hallway in Wakanda's palace, grateful for the lack of company. That won't last, of course. Someone will come to fetch him soon but, for now, solitude.

It's great. He hunches his shoulders, elbows braced on his knees and heaves a tired sigh.

Then, abruptly, there's a lot of water surrounding him and when the hell did he fall asleep? Where the hell did he fall asleep? For a moment, there's panic and sputtering, and then Steve's instincts take over. Kick down, swim up, head for what looks like the light. It seems a long way off, though, which means he has to keep reminding himself not to take a breath and risk drowning.

He surfaces in a fountain, throwing one arm over the edge, and takes a couple of seconds to just breath. Before completing the task of hauling himself out and rolling onto the ground in a heap. And stays there, too, for ... he's not sure how long, actually. A minute, maybe two. Maybe even three. Whatever. He takes stock without moving: wet clothing, wet boots, there's something lying against his back, but he's going to have to wait until the disorientation fades. The air doesn't smell stale or like medicine, so this probably isn't a medical facility. No giant tank of icy water and god knows what else, no artificial voice offering stilted reassurances while he endures a panic attack. No hint of the needles-and-pins sensation that comes with being defrosted.

Steve takes a shaky breath. The lack of a frozen, watery tomb is. Good. Very good. Eventually, sitting up seems like a good idea, so Steve follows that instinct too, shoving hair (and water) out of his eyes and peers down at the white, wet scrubs he's currently decked out in. The heck? Then he looks up and around, blinking in confusion. There's a .. little square with a fountain behind him, and a whole lot of bushes. And trees. But not the kind of trees found in Africa.

Which means this isn't Wakanda. Well, shit. ]

[ Inn ]

[ Later, when he's has had a little time to adjust to the idea of a brand new set of omniscient beings deciding to screw around with his life (protip: he hasn't actually adjusted yet), Steve decides to do a little scouting. Of the informational variety. There are also some sketchy plans to wander around and see what can be seen and learn the layout of the immediate area. Then learn the layout of the not-so-immediate area. Here's hoping he'll only be here a couple of days. There are people, back home, who are counting on him and Steve doesn't intend to let them down.

But first, something to eat. He chooses a seat near the wall, where he can see the exits and probably anyone trying to sneak up on him for nefarious purposes. Because people don't sneak around for non-nefarious purposes in his experience. He hunches his shoulders a little, to try and negate some of the space his body takes up, and starts watching other patrons. Best way to figure out local customs, also in his experience.

And locate someone who looks like a waiter. Or who can point him in the right direction. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[She shouldn't be surprised. That's the thought running through her mind when she turns up with a returned basket of laundry from the clothes she's borrowed from the inn and finds Steve Rogers sitting in one of the corners, waiting. She doesn't drop her self-made basket, she doesn't stare in shock, but she does feel her stomach plummet. He's in scrubs, which means he can't have been here too long, but she's still shocked and also not, both warring with one another.

He's back, but with Barnes and Natasha returning, perhaps a part of her has been waiting for this, like it's simply meant to happen.

She tells herself this time, it's not going to hurt so badly. He's been here three times, the fourth time, she's not going to let it ache, even if it feels like every time she's close to being okay with it, he's gone. Bending to put down the basket, she hasn't taken her eyes off him, like he's a wild animal that might bolt if she does.]

You do know you look somewhat inappropriately creepy just sitting there.

[Best to jump into light teasing, she decides, bury everything resembling grief.]

What are you waiting for?

[ He's not actively looking toward the entrance when Miss Margaret Carter arrives. Head tilted to one side, eyes close to half-lidded, Steve is attempting to label some of the scents coming from the kitchen. Things are a little slow right now, not that he's complaining about that, but it's best to keep his mind occupied. It tends to lower the chance for trouble. Slightly.

Her voice doesn't even register as familiar at first, simply because he isn't expecting it. Thusly, ] Sorry, that wasn't my inten-- [ and then stops talking just as abruptly when he turns to look at the speaker.

What. What?

Mouth hanging open, about ten shades of pale, eyes widen in shock, then disbelief, then back to shock in barely a handful of seconds. It hasn't even been two weeks since the funeral. In his mind's eye, Steve overlays the last time he saw this woman, old and frail and still so beautiful, atop the living, breathing version in front of him.

So of course, his next words are not "Hi", or "You look great" or even "Wow". Instead, she gets: ]

... Peggy?

[She waits, patiently, because while she's used to seeing Steve Rogers pop up into her life again like the skinny brave soldier who turned up in her group out of nowhere. He, however, isn't quite as accustomed, which means that she's going to have to give it a moment, she suspects. Still, that moment can't last too long or she's going to make him feel uncomfortable.

Settling into the chair opposite him, she sits straight and as regal as possible, hands on the table like she's about to interview him rather than bask in the fact that he's here.

Despite the fact that he keeps vanishing on her, he always comes back, and perhaps that's a message or a sign that she shouldn't ever give up on Steve, because if anyone is more stubborn than her, it's the man sitting right across from her.]

Last time I checked, I'm Peggy, yes.

[It hurts, of course, to see him. It hurts only in that she's not sure how long she's going to get this time and she's not improved at saying goodbye.]

You know, a girl could be either happily impressed or insulted by that reaction. Which should I be choosing?

[ Steve shuts his mouth and sits across from her for a long time, at least two or three minutes, just staring. Trying to wrap his head around the fact that she's there, alive and well. Looking almost exactly like she had during the last raid on Schmidt's stronghold. He even replays it over in his head, matching her features now to the old reels he alone seems to remember.

Eventually, his mouth curls into a half-smile, like he's still not quite sure this is real, and his shoulders relax. It seems reality has made a strong argument in favor of believing. ]

If it were me, I'd be a little impressed. [ A pause, the other half of his mouth curving upward. ] And maybe insulted too.

I won't presume to tell a dame like you how to choose. But it's ... it's very good to see you, Peggy.

[She wonders how long she ought to wait before telling him the history of the others that have been here. It's always too short, honestly, and Peggy tends to find herself reeling from that. Several of those times, she's had Barnes at least, but she's not sure that she should talk about that either.]

I'm assuming since you're here and not currently trying to tear down the doors that someone's given you the briefing?

[She can, of course, but perhaps Steve is tending to the basics before he gathers information; getting food to keep his strength up. Her gaze slides over him and she drinks it in, given that she's so glad to see him too. She should say that, make sure he understands.]

You have no idea how happy I am to see you again. It's been far too long.

Yeah. Bucky found me after I got here. [ he makes a face, still very much not a fan of almost drowning again. ] Gave me a rundown on how ... well, how the village works.

[ Steve shifts on the seat, turning a little bit so he can face her more fully, and braces an arm against the table top. It's a habit left over from his days with the Commandos; being behind enemy lines so much meant they all had to be ready at a moment's notice. Not that he thinks Nazis are going to storm in.

Or at least they'd better not. ]

Yeah, it. It has been a long time. [ Since he's seen her like this, anyway. And maybe he'd better explain that, just in case she takes offense. It is a fact that he's never forgotten the time she shot at him. Shot at Howard's shield. ] You might not believe this, Peg, but. Where I come from, I haven't seen you for almost seventy years. Not ... as you are now.

[It seems that while Barnes had done a good job explaining the village, Peggy gets the delightful task of filling him in on his previous incarnations, which she's sure will be frustrating and strange to him, as much as it was to her.]

Actually, I know about that. When I first arrived here, it was with Sam Wilson, but soon after, you came here. Then again. I got the explanation from several people as to what happened.

[She ought to start ticking off Steve Rogers on her wall at this point, honestly. Peggy knows what happens to her, as well, though this is a topic she's not sure she wants to linger on for very long.]

I'm so sorry that we never found you, but you have to know that we looked for a very long time, Steve. Years, in fact.

[She'd only really convinced herself to stop when they'd nearly lost Howard to Fennhoff, but even then, he'd still gone and kept looking, which had resulted in Steve being saved.]

[ A little knot of pain settles in his chest. Peggy knows what happened to her? That's maybe the worst kind of knowledge he can think of, and Steve instinctively reaches out across the table for her hand. Funeral or no funeral, seventy years or no seventy years, he'd be a terrible friend if he didn't offer some sort of comfort. Or even try. ]

I'm sorry too, Peg. I'm sorry you had to look. I'm sorry I never showed up to the club.

[ Not that he could have, down and frozen in Schmidt's death plane, but still. Anyway, he has something worse to apologize for. Even if he'd do it all over again. ]

... I'm sorry I had to destroy your legacy. Yours and Howard's.

[Her jaw tightens slightly at the reminder of the Stork Club, because while it's been over a year, she had gone and sat there, waiting for someone that never came, watching happy couples. It had been a terrible thing to subject herself to, but sometimes she suspects herself a glutton for that sort of punishment.

When it comes to the rest, though, that's easier to bear.]

I hadn't yet started anything. I had the glimmers of an idea, but I was still just an agent at the SSR, so to know what happened is awful, but it's more awful to imagine an agency where Hydra retained their control.

It had to be done.

[ Bucky's made it a habit to pass by the fountain since he got here. He goes out of his way to do it, after errands or on walks. It's not that he thinks he's the best welcome wagon this place has to offer, not by any means, it's just that he's waiting for someone. The days have ticked by, though, and the frequency at which he passed by dwindled from multiple times a day to usually just the once, an absent habit that he no longer holds much optimism for.

Today when he passes by it's after chopping an inordinate amount of wood. He wears scrubs for that because he thinks they're disposable and light, he's ripped one of the sleeves off of it and sweated clean through a good ninety percent of it. What hair he doesn't have up falls lankly and messily into his face, and wood shavings cover his person intermittently. So busy is he trying to wipe the sweat and dust from his eyes that, at first, he doesn't realize the fountain has a population.

As his vision clears his footsteps falter. His lips part for a second as his mind works to accept what they're seeing.

Peggy was right. Where Bucky was, Steve wasn't far behind.

He moves quietly, silently, to stand above his friend and offer a hand out, lips quirking up into an amused sort of smirk. ]

What is it with you almost drowning and me having to save your ass, huh?

Edited 2018-06-20 15:28 (UTC)

[ He's been sitting there long enough to start feeling like a chump, but other than standing up, wandering around, and potentially getting lost or in trouble (of which the latter is more likely), Steve isn't sure exactly what to do. The whole point of hiding out before he got here was to get his head back in the game.

So that's kind of what he's doing now. Just staring at the ground and keeping an ear out for anyone approaching. And, predictably, that means he does notice the meandering of one James Barnes, although he's not really looking at the guy full-on until his face is visible.

Steve blinks, more than likely looking just as gape-jawed, head tilting back until Bucky is looming over him. Holding out a hand. Of which he has two. Which is ... huh. He doesn't know quite what to think. In lieu of that, he reaches out in return and lets his best friend haul him to his feet. ]

Uh, I'd say coincidence, but it's only happened twice.

[ If they're just counting post-Project Rebirth. And now he's flailing around for something intelligent to say, feeling a little like Lewis Carroll's Alice might have. Eventually, he opts for: ]

Hey, Buck.

[ He pulls Steve to his feet with a bit more effort than he really ought to have had to put in; Steve will soon find exactly what Bucky found pretty quick: no serum. No super strength, just regular ol' great physiques. It explains the sweat soaking him, once Steve's in a place in his mind to start connecting those dots.

To further add to his sense of displacement, Bucky doesn't just end with the pull like he might have if they'd seen each other as recently as Steve thinks. He surges forward beyond that, wrapping his other arm around Steve's shoulders and pulling him into a solid embrace. God damn is he glad you're here, and he expresses it in the sureness of his grip, the way fingers dig a little into Steve's soaked scrubs.

A few other things may stand out, tiny details that add up to a bigger picture: longer hair, a five o'clock shadow much more filled out than what he'd been sporting in the Wakandan Freezer. All of it apparent when he pulls back, settling a hand on Steve's sopping shoulder. ]

Better late than never.

[ That is not quite the welcome Steve expected, judging by the startled wheeze he emits when Bucky's arms just crowd around his shoulders, steady and larger than life and goddammit, it's been years since anyone's bothered with something as mundane as a hug. (Other than Natasha, and that was special circumstances.) The contact feels wonderful, to be quite honest, even though it takes more time than strictly necessary before he gets with the program and echoes the gesture.

He isn't completely sure how long the hug lasts, but Bucky pulls away and his brain suddenly remembers it exists. And that it can do things, like rearrange the little oddities into something resembling a picture. This time, though, it's not like Fury deliberately put him in a room where those oddities were starkly wrong for the era Steve lived through. This time, it takes leaning back and watching. Calculating up each hiccup that composes what Bucky looks like, and smells like, now. Also, two working arms is a dead giveaway that something has happened. ]

Who says I'm late, pal.

[ Steve ducks his head for a moment to compose himself. The gesture Bucky's making, hand pressed against his shoulder, is an old one. The last thing he needs right now is to even consider getting overly emotional. Or overtly emotional. Whatever, it's basically the same thing. And something to keep in check. ]

Edited 2018-06-21 07:33 (UTC)

[ One of his functioning arms is still most definitely metal, but it's still better than the one armed situation Steve left tucked into a Wakandan freezer. It hangs by his side now as he favors the right, favors the real sensation of touch and the point of connection between the two of them. Stark all but destroyed the last one, and the one he wears now practically oozes Wakandan technology. Another piece, should Steve want to insert it into his puzzle.

Bucky huffs at the question, and as Steve ducks his head, he finally lets his hand drop. Lets the touch go, and decides he probably better catch his friend up to speed on the here and now. ]

I do. [ He answers flatly, wryly. ] Been here for nearly a month, walking by this fountain waiting for your train to come in. Wasn't sure you were gonna show.

[ Which is ridiculous, all of it is. There was never any guarantee that anyone was ever going to wind up here, much less Steve. It was only the ominous statement from Peggy that had him hoping, the fact that they seemed to come in pairs, the fact that both of them had been here before a few times in tandem. It was a hope based in nothing concrete, but that's all it typically takes to tether them together isn't it? Hope? ]

Oh, in that case. You'll just have to forgive me for being late.

[ Steve isn't sure where the sass comes from, honestly. It's like something deep inside cracked open, or warmed up, and continues to thaw. It's an ache he hasn't felt for a long time and doesn't even consciously recognize, but there all the same. And he feels the loss of that clasp of fingers, but it is probably better to remain silent on that. The last thing he wants to do is inflict his own foibles on Bucky.

So, with that in mind: ]

The beard... thing looks good, pal. Covers your ugly face nicely.

[ Because Steve Rogers may be Captain America, an embodiment of the American spirit, and occasional hope-bringer. But he is also sometimes an asshole. An observant asshole. All those little tidbits are rattling around, arranging themselves to form a conclusion, including the arm he needs to take a better look at. But that can wait a little longer. ]

[ At the commentary on his facial hair a hand comes up, a real one, and absently grazes across his mouth. Truth be told it wasn't an intentional beard so much as he hasn't seen a god damn razor since he got here, and grooming has taken a back seat to adjusting. At least it's not a depression beard, so that's nice.

Once he finishes feeling up his own scruff he scoffs. ]

How about you save the criticism for when you're dry, huh?

[ Is his exasperated retort, and he nudges Steve into motion with an elbow. ]

C'mon. I'll take you somewhere you can change.

Hey, I can stand here soaking wet and admire your facial hair at the same time. I'm multi-talented.

[ Another tiny, until now un-noticed band inside of his chest eases. This is familiar, this banter is old, from a time before their lives flipped upside down. Whatever this place is, however he got here, Steve is grateful for this at least. Not a week ago he'd stared at Bucky's face inside a glass tube, unsure of how long the separation would be this time. ]

But I suppose I can do that with warm clothes too. Lead on, I'll follow.

[ Steve took the shortcut while Bucky took the long way round, and it's probably better that way. Better that Steve doesn't have to spend years agonizing over whether or not Bucky will be able to get his shit together, whether he'll ever be pronounced a functioning member of society or if he'll always be a ticking time bomb waiting for the wrong words to become a threat again.

He can't help the incredulous laugh, he really can't, and he shoves his hands in his pockets as he leads the way toward the inn where he's been holed up. Most people have houses, but he just couldn't seem to wrap his head around making a home by himself. Something about the upkeep, the normalcy, the mowing of the lawn and the sweeping for nobody but himself seemed...

At any rate, he's got a room and it's been good enough so far. ]

You keep firing off pot-shots and I'm gonna shave your eyebrows in your sleep. [ He warns. Then they'll see who's laughing over who's facial hair. ]

Edited 2018-06-23 06:18 (UTC)

[ All of those worries are well and good, and rational, and have a place in the weight that Steve carries around with him. It would be nice to know Bucky's not vulnerable to that damn book, that he can gather his wits again to live somewhere in the world -- even if its Romania again -- and that society might accept him again. However, even if none of that happens, Steve will still be at his side come hell or high water.

If he has to be Bucky's shield this time around, so be it. If Bucky didn't remember anything but they once knew each other, so be it. Steve will just learn who the new personality is and do his best to build a friendship. (That said, it'd be nice if someone remembers him as Steve, and not just Captain America.)]

You say that like I won't hear you coming. [ He says, unaware of what the lack of serum really means for his serum-enhanced abilities. ] Maybe I should find a tree to sleep in. Hard to climb with a razor.

[ Anyone thinking Steve is talking shit to cover his own nerves would be ... absolutely right. Probably. ]

[ They tread onward, a well-worn path that Bucky has traveled daily since he arrived. It's clear by his lack of paranoia and his general comfort level that he's been here a while, that this place has fewer threats than Romania or even Wakanda. He doesn't glance over his shoulder or speak quietly, he doesn't worry quite so much, even though his paranoia will never entirely fade it does seem to be far more dormant now. It makes him seem and feel like practically a whole different person, a calmer one, an easier one.

Not saying he wouldn't go back and pick up the arms he dropped, go back to the fight against Thanos in a heartbeat if it was possible and if Steve asked him to, but the change of pace is nice. He's starting to feel a sense of belonging, and it's probably mostly just because he hasn't killed a single person in this world, nor the family or friends of anyone either.

He huffs a laugh. ]

You'd be surprised. [ Is his mock-ominous reply. He's going to have to be the one to explain this place. That they don't come here how they left back home, that eventually the serum might come back just like Benedict's eyes or Sam's vampirism. That there are people from all over the timeline back home, and people from all over the multiverse here not even from Earth. That they're trapped.

He's going to have to ask about Thanos, about what Steve remembers, and he's going to have to feel uncomfortable as hell when he realizes Steve doesn't know anything about it at all yet. He's going to have to decide whether or not to even tell Steve because at this point it wouldn't do him any good, he'd just obsess over something he couldn't help right now.

But for now, they just walk, and they coexist, and they take five minutes to be who they once were for a change, and that's...

Damn fine. ]

Is that one of your many skills, Buck? Climbing trees in the middle of the night with a razor, lurking in forests in order to stalk innocent Army captains and shave their eyebrows?

[ That is going to be an interesting talk. It'll probably break Steve's brain a little, but considering all the shit he's either been party to, or endured, over the course of his life, an island somewhere in the world -- a hidden world -- that takes people from a multiverse of realities, including theirs, isn't the weirdest thing he's ever heard. Or ever will hear, if one takes Thanos into account.

Who he has definitely not met in person, but will be quietly, selfishly gratified to hear he manages to hold back for a whole thirty seconds.

He'll want to know what Bucky's been up to, if he's doing alright, and what Steve can do to make his life a little easier here. Until that talk comes, however, he is content to walk alongside his oldest friend as they head toward wherever it is Bucky is leading, and only flicking water in the direction of said friend's face every twenty paces.

Because Steve will forever be a little punk. And this is the closest to the old days he's been in decades. It's fucking great. ]

Winter Soldier 101.

[ He agrees wryly, nodding.

They arrive at the inn, Bucky tugs the door open and nods Steve in. They pass through a merry room of wooden tables and pleasant company, through faces Steve may find familiar or that may be total strangers, it's hard to anticipate the population at any given time.

Bucky doesn't give him time to parse it out, and leads his friend around a corner toward room 2. His room, evidently, judging by the familiarity he exhibits in it and the few artifacts strewn around. Books and clothes, a knife tucked away and barely visible but easily accessible. He doesn't own a lot, but what he does he displays with a certain sort of pride. Like it makes him human to have personal property.

From the dresser he digs out a change of clothes, they're close in size, he figures they'll do. Passes them over wordlessly. ]

Paintball players must hate you.

[ Because that's the first non-lethal sport he can think of where participants hang around in pseudo-military garb. Not that he's biased against stupid people wandering around with realistic looking guns shooting other people with realistic-looking guns. At least, not unless they're obnoxious.

And he's clearly overthinking all of it because they're at the inn in what feels like a surprisingly short time. And the two of them are moving fast enough for him to garner more than a glimpse of the common area on the ground floor. Steve makes a note to investigate later.

Investigating Bucky's room is a lot more pressing once they get there. First, though, he accepts the change of clothing gratefully -- with a quiet 'thank you', even -- and spends a couple of minutes divesting the wet ones in exchange for wonderfully dry ones. And then he might snoop around a little, mostly interested in what Bucky is reading.

The weaponry won't bother him overly much. It's not like Steve didn't carry around a huge, frequently dangerous shield until very recently. ]

This is nice.

[ The books aren't necessarily what he would have chosen himself; the supply room had an extreme limit on literature, and if more books exist elsewhere he hasn't found them yet. Right now he's got a survival manual that seems to be U.S. army issued, and a book on David Copperfield. Not exactly one of his driving interests, but it's better than oppressive boredom right before bed. Helps his mind relax, helps him calm down enough to sleep sometimes.

Steve starts to change, and Bucky glances at him only for a moment before turning his back quietly, modestly dropping his eyes to the wood panels that make up his door. ]

The clothes or the room? [ He asks, not having sight of Steve's eye line to fill in the answer himself. ]

[ Benedict is often busy with the inner workings of running the Inn — namely, doing what he's told by Kate, who is the actual Innkeeper — and so he has spent less and less time scoping out the fountain than he had in the past. He still goes by it regularly, on his way to the apiaries or the orchards, but most of the time, he remains in the Inn and only sees the newcomers when they wash up on the steps, or as is most often, in the common room.

He doesn't think he's imagining the uptick in arrivals.

The figure he sees sitting in the back corner is very familiar. He's seen this man before, many times. Each time, just as they are introduced and become at least passingly cordial, Steve Rogers disappears. It's strange, it's concerning, but there's nothing Benedict can do about it. This time, Steve looks wary and tired, dressed in his scrubs still, and once again, Benedict retreats to the kitchen to acquire a bowl of the luncheon stew and a mug of herbal tea, both of which he brings over to the man sitting so far away. ]

Hello. [ He decides, for the moment, not to call him by name. It would probably be alarming, and he knows he would react badly to some stranger knowing too much about him when he was freshly plucked from his world. ] I'm assuming you're hungry, if you just arrived.

If nothing else, the common room gives off a subtle but genuine aura of welcome, of comfort. Of home, even when it's very definitely not home. Although Steve would be hard-pressed to describe what home even means to him anymore. Aside from a guy who should be trapped in a cryostatic sleep, but isn't.

He watches Benedict move across the room, at first thinking the bowl and cup are for someone else. His confusion only deepens at the realization that, no, this is for him, and the soldier blinks up at his host for almost a minute. Silently. Like he's trying to figure out the angle. ]

Uhm, yes. [ he finally speaks up. ] But I don't have any money.

[ Which means he isn't going to accept this stew, no matter how delicious it might smell. The orphanage and his own ma taught him that everything costs something. ]

[ He's a little surprised when Steve doesn't reach for the bowl, even when Benedict sets it on the table and gives it a little push towards the man. But his reticence is understandable, at least, it is when he explains himself. ]

None of us do. [ He sets the tea down, too, and shoves it a little farther across the table. ] Everything functions on a bartering system, here, although the new arrivals aren't expected to have anything to offer in return.

We were all of us new, once, [ he adds, not unkindly. ] Some of us more recently than others.

[ Well, it's not dire circumstances yet. Steve's been in worse situations. None that he can think of, right off the bat, but he still remembers his upbringing. And maybe there's a little Irish pride in the mix. ]

Oh. [ That actually makes sense. It reminds him of what little Wakandan culture T'Challa allowed him to see before the assault on the Raft. ] ... That's kind.

[ He stares down at the bowl of soup with a faint scowl. Yeah, okay. It's definitely twinged his pride a little. But this stranger doesn't know about Steve's background so it's not fair to use that as a judging mechanism. ]

Thank you, [ Steve finally says, and reaches out to pull the stew closer. ] I'm in your debt.

[ And hungrier than he realizes, once he takes a few bites of stew and washes it down with the tea. There's something about the flavoring that reminds him of his mother's cooking. ]

[That "someone" is not the someone he expects - and definitely not in the way he last saw him. Clint's hair is longer; not long, but he normally keeps it cut short just to keep it out of the way and now it's definitely on the shaggy side. That's what happens when there's not a real barber in the village, and he's long since gotten used to it. But he also looks... the best word is "grizzled," really, like he's been roughing it for a long time, and like he hasn't shaved in a few days. Both statements are true.]

[Beyond that, though, it's definitely Clint. There's a bow over his shoulder (obviously homemade), and of course the quiver (also obviously homemade), and he's got a dog following at his heels that maybe Steve's never seen before, but Clint's always been the type of guy to have dogs over any other pet. It's been a good day for hunting and so he has his game bag with him, ready to make a delivery of meat to the inn, but a certain hulking figure that's trying very hard not to be so hulking catches the corner of his eye. Arado barely avoids smacking into his legs as Clint stops, looking in the direction of the newcomer and tries to decide if this is a hallucination caused by too much sun or not.]

Steve? That you?

[ It's definitely a hallucination. There's absolutely no way Steve Rogers would ever allow himself to get kidnapped and taken to some weird island in order to be studied. Right? That kind of thing just doesn't fly with him. Unless, of course, it really is Steve and he's staring across the room at Clint with slow-dawning realization.

Nope, on second thought, it is Steve. Because he's rising from his chair, forgetting the whole not-built-like-a-brick-wall thing. ]

Clint! What the hell are you doing here?

[ For Steve it's just another day in the villages. Another day that he requires the use of the ax and has come from his home in the other village to borrow it. Coming into the inn, he spots Rogers' but doesn't really give him a lot of thought. There are plenty of people who come and go from the inn and since he lives so far away he doesn't know most of them.

Maybe it's the scrubs, or that the other man looks a little wet around the edges, or that he appears to be waiting for something that doesn't seem to be nearby, but Steve pauses to get a better look at him after signing out the ax. Curiosity peaked, he heads over to the table. ]

Hey! [ He offers the other man a friendly smile. ] Everything okay?

[ OOC: Sorry for the late reply. Hopefully it's not too late... Still so excited you are here! ]

[ It's not necessarily the way McGarrett holds himself or walks across the room, or even the casual competence that accompanies his movements. It's the ax. For some reason, the glint of the metal edge catches Steve's eye and his head is already turning in that direction when the other man wanders over. ]

Yeah, just settling in. [ Which is absolutely true. Technically. ] What's the ax for?

[ Steve failed charm school. Sorry, stranger. ]

(ooc: its fine and thanks!)

[ Steve nods in understanding. ]

I'd say welcome, but I'm sure this is not the place you expected or really want to be.

[ Charm, or the lack thereof, is not something that pings his radar, he doesn't have much of it either. Instead he takes a seat across from the newcomer, leaning the ax up against his chair - easy for him to get to, but not an immediate threat either. ]

Cutting down trees. We're given shelter and the basics to survive here but we need to put in the work to make those basics usable. I'm working on getting firewood ready for the winter.

[ He tilts his head to the right, assessing the newcomer. ]

You need anything to help getting settled in?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore

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