Sam groaned, mostly at herself. "Sorry. Bucky Barnes." She really, really needed to stop calling him that. "Long story on the nickname. It involves copious amounts of alcohol." As most 'long stories' did. "Dude with the metal arm."

She leaned back on her palms, examining the scenery. For a prison, it was pretty, she would have to admit. In that sort of pre-Industrial, primitive sort of way. She was still a city girl at heart. A Chicago girl, if she was honest. But she reluctantly had to admit she could see the appeal.

"Hey," she said suddenly, as the thought--and manners--popped into her head. "Where are you from, anyway?"