James Buchanan Barnes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lefthandfree) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2017-05-14 09:30 pm
lefthandfree) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-05-14 09:30 pm
wow look what the cat dragged in
WHO: James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes
WHERE: fountain, inn
WHEN: May 13
OPEN TO: closed arrival, otherwise open to all
WARNINGS: language
STATUS:second prompt is open closed
the fountain
When he closes his eyes, he knows it will only be a moment in his mind, even as darkness blots out his vision and swallows him whole. Regret lingers as it always does, the fact he chooses this over consciousness impossible to ignore when the last thing Steve does is insist on standing there with the wish that Bucky will change his mind written plainly on his face. But it's all the more reason he shouldn't. Yet, even as he prepares himself to wake again to the worst possible scenario, being immersed in water is definitely not something he considered.
There's air in him, enough that he knows that he hasn't been thrown in and also enough that his mind cannot decipher the circumstances. It's hardly enough reason for dawdling, however, and his focus is quickly turns toward finding the surface. Easy enough, even short an arm. Maybe not as efficient or balanced as he'd like, but there isn't time to reassess.
He gasps for fresh breath once he breaks through to air and throws his arm out to pull his body out from what seemed a well but is apparently a fountain. Curiosity after curiosity, it doesn't stop him from clambering free from the water, even if the effort comes quite clumsily without the aid of a second arm. It's then while water drips generously from him, free from the metal joint and free from his clothing, that he realizes his clothing isn't really his clothing and that this obviously isn’t Wakanda. Not even a little.
Jesus Fucking Christ. “Can’t it be Kansas? Just once?” He doesn't expect an answer.
the inn(open)
He’s not even going to pretend he’s not new. It seems like something that should be obvious, so why bother with putting people on? Not that it means he won’t do his damned best to make sure people know he’s not incapable, especially with the blatant visible handicap. But he’s dripping a lot less now, and that’s a good time to try and figure out what all he actually needs to deal with given his clear displacement of space and possible displacement of time.
Soaked is still very much the description of his physical state though, something that’s apparently becoming a trend, but he’s far more grateful this time around since his arm isn’t trapped in a vice and, well, he clearly hasn’t gone on a murder rampage either. It’s the little things in life...
There’s a fire at one end of the establishment he wanders into, and even without the cold, it’s a welcome sight. Soggy garments are really not his style, and having a quicker way to dry off other than waiting for the world to end is a huge bonus. He plants himself nearby and takes the opportunity to dig through the pack. It’s sturdy. Effective. But everything else inside is soaked through like him.
God. Why can’t anything ever be easy?
Dragging a hand down his face, he gives a long sigh. One thing at a time, Barnes. And at the least, the water isn’t sopping out of the bag, he tells himself. So it’s not all bad. Maybe.
He wants to laugh, but instead a wry grin plasters itself to his face. Patience is a goddamn virtue, for sure. But as long as he doesn’t get kicked out for being a drowned mess, he’s glad to stay parked here for another couple hours before moving on.
WHERE: fountain, inn
WHEN: May 13
OPEN TO: closed arrival, otherwise open to all
WARNINGS: language
STATUS:
the fountain
When he closes his eyes, he knows it will only be a moment in his mind, even as darkness blots out his vision and swallows him whole. Regret lingers as it always does, the fact he chooses this over consciousness impossible to ignore when the last thing Steve does is insist on standing there with the wish that Bucky will change his mind written plainly on his face. But it's all the more reason he shouldn't. Yet, even as he prepares himself to wake again to the worst possible scenario, being immersed in water is definitely not something he considered.
There's air in him, enough that he knows that he hasn't been thrown in and also enough that his mind cannot decipher the circumstances. It's hardly enough reason for dawdling, however, and his focus is quickly turns toward finding the surface. Easy enough, even short an arm. Maybe not as efficient or balanced as he'd like, but there isn't time to reassess.
He gasps for fresh breath once he breaks through to air and throws his arm out to pull his body out from what seemed a well but is apparently a fountain. Curiosity after curiosity, it doesn't stop him from clambering free from the water, even if the effort comes quite clumsily without the aid of a second arm. It's then while water drips generously from him, free from the metal joint and free from his clothing, that he realizes his clothing isn't really his clothing and that this obviously isn’t Wakanda. Not even a little.
Jesus Fucking Christ. “Can’t it be Kansas? Just once?” He doesn't expect an answer.
the inn
He’s not even going to pretend he’s not new. It seems like something that should be obvious, so why bother with putting people on? Not that it means he won’t do his damned best to make sure people know he’s not incapable, especially with the blatant visible handicap. But he’s dripping a lot less now, and that’s a good time to try and figure out what all he actually needs to deal with given his clear displacement of space and possible displacement of time.
Soaked is still very much the description of his physical state though, something that’s apparently becoming a trend, but he’s far more grateful this time around since his arm isn’t trapped in a vice and, well, he clearly hasn’t gone on a murder rampage either. It’s the little things in life...
There’s a fire at one end of the establishment he wanders into, and even without the cold, it’s a welcome sight. Soggy garments are really not his style, and having a quicker way to dry off other than waiting for the world to end is a huge bonus. He plants himself nearby and takes the opportunity to dig through the pack. It’s sturdy. Effective. But everything else inside is soaked through like him.
God. Why can’t anything ever be easy?
Dragging a hand down his face, he gives a long sigh. One thing at a time, Barnes. And at the least, the water isn’t sopping out of the bag, he tells himself. So it’s not all bad. Maybe.
He wants to laugh, but instead a wry grin plasters itself to his face. Patience is a goddamn virtue, for sure. But as long as he doesn’t get kicked out for being a drowned mess, he’s glad to stay parked here for another couple hours before moving on.
no subject
While he didn’t know the full details of her circumstances, he did understand the basics of how she had been drawn into the affair with that machine of Tony's. Official news sources hadn’t quite detailed the events properly, Romania included, and he knew better than to assume without context, though trawling on the Internet had turned up more than he’d anticipated. He knew she hadn’t always been affiliated with the Avengers; there was more than enough footage to indicate such being the case, even as much as there had never been a formal statement released by Tony with regard to her having eventually joined. It said enough, however, for Bucky to know that she wasn’t much like the others, and even that alone brought its own sense of comfort.
He knew she would not view him quite the same, even if she believed the fear mongering that Zemo had tactically executed, and something about that was far more pleasant than he knew how to describe. Maybe in that way that he wasn’t being forgotten as the soldier he had once been and was...simply a foreigner; it made the sting of being a lost fragment of the past less apparent.
After several moments of thought, he looked toward her again and offered another smile, this time just the simple one he usually wore when he didn’t know what else to do with his face.
“Thank you for the food. I don’t mind doing the dishes though. Used to it. Well, when it needs to be done. Didn’t really get in the habit of using ’em at the safe house since... Well, safe houses aren’t really meant for comfort.” He smiled wryly at that and gave a shrug.
no subject
American's always complicated shit.
A soft smiled tugged at Wanda's lips as she rose her hand in a quick goodbye gesture. She knew a thing for two about safe houses. She knew what it felt like to move from place to place in order to survive. Her brother and her had endured a lot before they were propositioned by Hydra.
"I'll rely on you then." For the dishes.
With that Wanda turned and left the inn, returning back home.