[MINGLE] Great Shakes

[sixthiteration]

WHO: EVERYBODY
WHERE: EVERYWHERE
WHEN: 13 July (afternoon, main quake) - 14 July (morning, last aftershocks)
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
WARNINGS: Potential injuries, PTSD, and anxiety

---

The sun is still high when the earth begins its initial, almost benign sway, but seasoned villagers know well enough that what follows will be far from gentle. Vibrations ramp up swiftly, exponentially, until within the space of a few seconds, the whole world is shaking — Dishes pinging down from shelves, young trees sifting free of the earth, shingles dislodging and tumbling like rain.

After 20 seconds, the worst is done, and after 30 the shaking has ebbed completely. Some will have escaped relatively unscathed, but others will not have been so lucky...

...and the aftershocks are still to come.

Comments

[freightcars]

[ Steve eases back, but he keeps a hand firmly locked around Steve's forearm like he's anticipating having to tug the guy out of the way of a falling hunk of ceiling or something. Nothing of the sort happens, though, and tentatively he releases his hold.

His heart's beating a thousand miles a second it feels like, compared to the normal resting rate it usually sits when the serum's actually working in him. His mind feels like sparking flint, like radio static, sharp and alert and filled with the visceral fear that can only be acquired on a battlefield during war.

His hands, however, are as steady as his external resolve. ]

I think so.

[ He mutters in agreement, shifting his foot along the broken glass beneath them, a fallen glass of water shattered on the ground and useless now.

When he's convinced the world is still, he shoots Steve an appraising glance. He looks fine, but it doesn't hurt to check: ]

Okay?

[ex_enlisted288]

[ The potential help is appreciated, pal, but Steve is incredibly grateful that nothing does fall on their heads. There's only so much abuse his body can take without the serum to keep it in one piece. Relatively speaking.

His sense of awareness feels a little skewed, though. Sounds and impressions feel somewhat muted. There are others around, moving slowly through the debris, but Steve distinctly remembers being able to comprehend situations like this on a different level. It's a little sobering to slam against the realization that he's normal. Just a normal guy. And then immediately feel ashamed for the twinge of regret at the loss of ... something undefinable.

Superficially, he looks fine. Acts fine. Not that he'd tell anyone if he was her. ]

Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. You?

[ enter the hypocrite. His expression shifts from neutral to something akin to worry, limbs tensing just enough to haul Buck to his feet and find a less exposed area if he needs it. ]

[freightcars]

[ Yeah, he definitely gets that- that muffled, muted feeling of things being a little distant and taking a little too long to process. It's not even like he's tired all the time now, but that's the closest way he can describe it; like he was once wide awake and now he's fatigued by comparison.

Terrible for situations like this.

He allows himself to be hauled upright, pushes through his heels to stand and shoves his hair out of his face with a metal hand. Settles his eyes on Steve, and for a second, he can see it - that same feeling, that same frustration, that same muted awareness. There's a slight furrow in his brow that communicates an empathetic sentiment, just an unspoken me too, pal. ]

Good. Fine.

[ He mutters instead of that, exhaling a shaky breath. Eyes flicker toward the destruction around them, and he mutters a soft: ]

Jesus. [ And then a beat later: ] We should probably-

[ Check on people. See if anyone needs help. Eyes flit back to confirm, deferring to Steve as he is often wont to do. ]

[ex_enlisted288]

[ Terrible is a good word for it. In his heart of hearts, Steve feels selfish and small, as useless a first responder as he was in his youth, when it was all his ma, or Bucky and his family, could do to keep him alive and breathing. It's a painful, vicious emotion, selfishness. He clings to it, though, uses it to push through the haze of being normal, to compartmentalize any flashbacks trying to work up through his grey matter. ]

We should.

[ It's the only thing that feels solid right now, his voice threaded with a familiar determination. Special or not, sick or not, they're up and moving. Others might not be so lucky. And, like the destruction is only dawning now, Steve's spine straightens up. And a hand reaches out to grasp Bucky's shoulder and squeeze. Probably it's for someone's benefit. ]

You with me? We'll work out from here. This level, then upstairs, then outside.

[freightcars]

[ That clasp to the shoulder earns Steve a weary sort of smile, a distant thing with fatigue caused by the environment rather than the man himself. He appreciates the gesture, and can only nod back at the orders. ]

Right behind you.

[ He agrees, and the pair of them fall into step. Move from hall to hall with coordinated efficiency, pulling rubble away from blocked doors, helping up the injured and field dressing anything that stands out. There isn't much, the people here are surprisingly capable, but it feels good to do a sweep. Feels normal, feels like the kind of thing they would have done out in the real world.

They move with synchronization, like two halves of a whole, a well-oiled machine. For a minute, it's nice. For a minute, it's easy. ]

[ex_enlisted288]

[ Maybe it's the shared fatigue, or maybe he's just not thinking straight after surviving an earthquake, but Steve almost opens his mouth to argue. To offer to watch Bucky's back, instead of letting his friend shoulder the burden of watching his.

But this isn't the time. So he nods and moves, taking a few steps to peer over another overturned table. And step aside for other inn patrons to pass, then resuming the search.

Eventually, hours later, Steve drops to the ground behind the inn. His shoulders are starting to ache, and there are cuts and bruises over a good percentage of his frame from clearing debris. He's grateful there weren't more injuries or destruction. It could have been a lot worse. And not moving feels great. He may sprawl here for the next year. And there's a nice patch of ground next to him for Bucky. ]

I'm about ready to eat a wild hog. You?

[freightcars]

[ That patch of ground is convenient, Bucky's flopping onto it a second later with a graceful sort of slump, the kind that has his ass bouncing on the grace until he settles, elbows over knees. He's got dust and debris sticking to sweat on his forehead - and isn't that a novelty that got old fast. Sweating again over practically nothing. It comes second only to muscle soreness, which is a bitch and a half.

He huffs at the question, running the heel of his palm over his face, scratching at dirt but really mostly just spreading it around. ]

Wouldn't mind cooking it first.

[ He says, but he more or less agrees. They may not have the metabolisms they used to, but it still takes a hell of a lot of calories for a normal human at this height and muscle percentage. ]

[ex_enlisted288]

Okay. I'll let you cook it. Catch it first too.

[ Yeah, the novelty of sore muscles is a reminder he could have done without. Not that Steve's ever been afraid of hard work, it's just that before the serum, pushing his body always felt like a bomb waiting to go off.

You never knew when it would, only that the aftermath would be messy and painful for everyone involved. At least in this place, he has hearing in both ears and no asthma. ]

Want some water?

[ Steve huffs a breath and then sits up, one arm braced against the ground. ]