sixthiterationlogs | I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in

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I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in

WHO: Steve Rogers
WHERE: House 18; River
WHEN: Mid September
OPEN TO: Friends / OTA
WARNINGS: Nada, will update if necessary

HOUSE PROJECT

[ Steve has never had his own place before. Not one he picked out himself. His mother rented the one he grew up in, then he moved into an orphanage after she died, then he and Bucky moved in together after high school. In the Army, he took whatever tent or barracks they assigned. After the defrost, SHIELD found a temporary apartment in Brooklyn, and again in DC when his orders sent him to the Triskelion. Nick Fury found him a place once they'd demolished one of the world's foremost law and order organizations. Long story short - he's been jumping from one bolthole to another without really caring whether it not it's really his.

The island is different. (He's not entirely sure it is an island, but exploring that far afield is for another time.) There are no barracks here, no footlocker full of mementos from home or a uniform. Not a real set anyway, the scrubs don't count until the Observers appear and line everyone up according to color code. If they do, Steve plans to start a rebellion immediately, because he's seen what happens to people forced to wear different colors. It's one of the things that makes him uneasy about the scrubs. Like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Until that happens, though, he's chosen one of the empty houses, so another room at the inn is free to some future arrival. Over the course of the last several weeks, Steve has hauled water from the river in a borrowed bucket and scrubbed every inch of his new home. Floors, walls, windows, wiped down what furniture came with the house. Cleaning is an activity he likes, which might seem weird to anyone else, but he was so sick, or frail, as a child that housework had to be done in little bursts, else he risked a coughing fit or pushing his heart to the point of needing a hospital. It's just really nice to be able to perform tasks that everyone takes for granted. Something he tries hard not to.

And the last few days have been taken up with laundry. Stripping the beds, dragging them down to the river for cleaning, and tossing his extra set of scrubs in the process. He's strung up an old-fashioned laundry line across the front porch and rigged some pins to keep the sheets and clothing in one place until they're all dry. Interested parties can find him sketching on the porch or puttering around inside. ]

FISHING PROJECT

[ As far as city living goes, Steve likes to think he's fairly self-sufficient. He's known how to get around one since he was a child. Public transit doesn't bother him. Neither does shopping at local grocery stores. (Although modern prices are still outrageous.) He can winter a weather without heat, has made a candle almost from scratch but prefers flashlights these days, and can handle himself well in the concrete jungle.

But this place is different. He's not accustomed to living off the land, and what knowledge he has of that is paired with the depths of human misery on the European front during World War II, because the Commandos scrounged what they had to when the going got tough. So he's got a tiny bit of woodsy experience. However, that is definitely not the same thing as being able to provide a service to the village outside of drawing pretty pictures. He needs to be useful.

Therefore Steve has been trying to teach himself to fish. Loitering around the Inn week after week, listening to snippets of conversations, has gleaned him just enough information to make a fishing rod from the branch of a young sapling. And he found a sharp, pointy rock on his daily wandering, tying it to the stick with a bunch of badly woven grass. So far, his spear-fishing skills are not that great: he's caught two fish in the last week, and one of them was mostly an accident.

But that won't stop him from heading out again after breakfast, determined to learn this valuable skill for his community. ]

Threaded | Flat

[ Steve's done such a good job sequestering himself away in private that surprisingly Bucky hadn't known what it was he'd been up to. He could have, of course, taken up stalking him with those fantastic Winter Soldier skills, but Steve made it clear whatever he was doing he wanted to do in private. It seemed like a violation of that privacy for him to find out through disingenuous means.

This is different, though. Happening upon Steve on the porch of a house while he sits sketching is accidental, and amusement clearly laces his expression as he wanders forth with his thumbs hooked into his jeans pockets. ]

So this is things, huh?

[Bobo's youth and formative years were spent in a town not much unlike the one he finds himself in now. Certainly the cabins weren't as nice, and at that time it wasn't as much of a prison, but the lack of electricity and other conveniences he's come to enjoy is not entirely unknown to him.

Putting in more work than he has to though is such an ancient concept after a hundred plus years of wallowing and destruction that even now he's looking for the easy way out so he has time for more important things.

Like collecting wild yeast to make liquor.

That doesn't mean he has any interesting in starving.

Not exactly dressed for outdoor activities with a heavy fur coat over a tee shirt and those gaudy red scrub pants he's taken a liking to, he pauses near the water's edge, looking along the banks for an idea of where he can make one of two ideas work.

Squatting down at the water's edge, back just a bit to ensure he doesn't go toppling in, he knows he's not alone but he doesn't say anything for a short time. As much watching the other man as he does the water before...]

Is that really working for you?

[Curious and not quite judgmental. Not entirely, but wondering if he's going about things harder than he should.]

[ Guy who looks like he can benchpress her with his pinkie without breaking a sweat, always carrying objects that highlighted the fact that he's over six feet of walking muscle, isn't something that Kenzi can miss, even if Steve is trying to lay low. In her defense? He isn't something anyone with a pulse can miss, regardless of their sexual persuasion.

The thick layer of dust that covers every inch of the house she'd claimed for herself, is reason enough for Kenzi to spend as little time there as she can manage and while she should make some effort to convert it into something that's a little more livable? Kenzi's still clinging to the idea that before long, Bo would show up and she'd be hitching a ride back home.

Well, ya know. That, and that's way too much effort for one person, okay? Kenzi's ready for a nap after getting out of bed.

It's because of her lack of desire to hang out at her place that she's wandering about the Village today. That and the fact that she's realized Inn's are pretty boring when they don't have any alcohol to serve.

The sight of Steve, sitting on his porch and sketching in a notebook, would have intrigued Kenzi any day of the week, but after seeing him be a one-man renovation program all while looking like he'd stepped out of the pages of GQ - Survivor Edition but still - she swore...]

For the sake of every other man on this rock, they better be stick figures you're drawing.

[Bruce was used to being on the run and adapting to new situations and places. The few times he was able to settle in one place for long, he was just waiting for the shoe to drop until he had to leave again. The tower was the longest he'd slowed down since the Hulk. This was all very new soon, but there were more people than he expected, and they were fascinating. And friendly. It was nice and unsettling, having people try to talk to him, but it got under his skin after too long, always waiting for that shoe, with people and with places. So since getting there, he would go on walks, scoping out the environment but also taking treasured moments to breathe. He felt disconnected from his body recently, between the Hulk taking over for years, and now him being gone entirely. Breathing, connecting to his own space, it helped.

It was a quiet spot he found by the water, and he could see the fish in it, so his logical mind went to the same place as Steve, with different results. The fish would probably help the community to eat. He had no idea how to fish. He should find out who in their group could fish. Maybe everyone could assign the things they were best at. Or they already did that, and he was new and should just be quiet. Bruce looked out at the water and for a moment it did feel a little serene. This situation they were in was madness, the end of the world they experienced was horrific, but would he pick being in this moment rather than the aftermath of so many deaths? Kind of.

He reluctantly started to head back, and he was staring at the ground rather than in front of him, mostly lost in thought. Ever since Tony said Thaddeus Ross, it stuck in a loop in his brain, and the man was back to haunt him. He looked up only to see a very familiar figure walking his way, a man on a mission, and while Tony said it was fine to talk to him, he had a moment of doubt. Bruce wanted to talk to him, but he was in a position. Still, he was a little too tired of all the things restricting hm to add one more to the list.]

Steve, hey. [He said it clearly when they were enough of a distance so Steve knew someone was about to intrude on his morning. Bruce wrung his hands and tried to smile.] Um. You a fisherman now?

[It's easy for Wanda to fall into old habits and trends despite the fact that her absence had spanned months instead of the hours that she'd felt. Guilt and discomfort weighs heavily on her shoulders though she tries not to focus on it. Clint had been left alone and while there had been nothing she could do about it, Wanda felt it like a sharp pain in her chest. They'd always been close but living in this village had made them a family; a small two person family that never wavered. They'd seen friends come and go but Wanda and Clint had always been here together.

Now that's changed, Tony is here and so many others. Wanda doesn't know how she feels about any of it.

When she leaves the inn she has no real direction in mind. She hasn't aimlessly wandered much since leaving the system but she takes the chance to do that now while praying for her thoughts to clear. Her boots brush against the grass as she wanders to the lake and then along the shore. She's used to running into people but it's still a surprise when the image of Steve fishing suddenly comes into view.

Wanda pauses and then continues forward. She'd heard that Steve is back in the village though it's likely a different version from the Steve's she's met in the past. Hopefully he at least remembers who she is…]

Hey. [She smiles as she slowly moves to stand next to him.] Having trouble?

[He'd probably have better luck if he used one of the rods at the inn though Wanda hasn't checked to see if any are still there or if they're all taken.]

I'm not gonna lie: This is one of those moments where I, technical millennial that I am, really wants to stealthily pull out my phone and start filming. I'm paused on the pathway, pack sagging against my back, just watching this guy and his spear. I know jack about any kind of fishing, but even I can tell this is going to end in heartache.

Nope, I can't. I have to say something. I cannot just stand here and wait for the inevitable; I am not that mean.

"You should talk to Killian or Finnick!" I yell toward the shoreline. "They're awesome at fishing! They have rods and nets and stuff!"

[ It's one thing to make a spear, but it's another to be able to use it, and another again to be able to use it to fish. The spear Finnick uses here is one he'd made himself, and he'd made it to his own preferences, but he has skills that go far beyond attaching something sharp to a stick, skills learned at his parents' sides years ago.

Finnick hasn't seen this man out by the river before, and he's often here at this time of day, checking and resetting his traps and carrying in the day's catch.

He knows Steve Rogers when he sees him, though he hasn't spoken properly to the man since he returned here from whatever his world is. ]

Not used to those, right?

[ Finnick tilts his head towards the spear as he calls out from a little further along the riverbank. ]

Threaded | Flat

house project;

Fishing

House

Fishing Project

Fishing

Fishing

Fishing