Bucky Barnes (The Winter Soldier) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heismymission) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rekindleme2014-07-02 02:39 am
heismymission) wrote in rekindleme2014-07-02 02:39 am
time to bite the bullet
Who: The Winter Soldier and YOU. Later: Steve Rogers enters the fray.
Where: A) Outside housing building 1 and elsewhere; B) an alleyway in district 3; C) district 2
When: A) The last week of June, day or night; B) July 1, day; C) July 2, night
Summary: Bucky A) climbs out windows, B) has a bad flashback, and C) confronts Captain America.
Warnings: Possible violence, allusions to torture and amputation and stuff?? His life is awful basically.
The Winter Soldier was not having a good time.
For one, the past two weeks had been used getting accustomed to the fact that he was not only still not HYDRA's asset anymore, but that he was on an entirely different planet that somehow looked very much like his own from what he could tell, not to mention the aliens, the touch quota that he was largely ignoring, being both more and less noticeable in a way that made him uneasy, people trying to talk to him when he had no idea how to carry on a conversation, and fighting some asshole in a flying metal suit.
Oh, and there was the fact that whoever was in charge of assigning the newcomers rooms put him right next to Steve Fucking Rogers, otherwise known as the giant mess of memories and emotion he couldn't handle right now, or any time in the near future. It had been a miracle that he managed to avoid being seen when he first entered his room, and in the days after he learned the man was there, he listened carefully to his neighbor and for the most part, used his window as an entrance and exit. He didn't care about anyone else noticing him; HYDRA wasn't here. The mission was the only one whose attention he was particularly interested in avoiding. But at least he had the presence of mind to wear long sleeves and make his metal arm less conspicuous.
-
He'd done a bit of hunting, in the meantime; he was particularly good at remaining hidden when he tried, and had scoped out the people Rogers interacted with both in person and on the network, taking note of each and whether they were likely to share any information about the assassin, should they encounter him. Much to his irritation a few of those he'd encountered appeared to know Rogers, and though he hadn't observed them speaking to him about the man with the metal arm, it seemed likely to him that they would inform him of a local threat. As soon as he heard a description of him, certainly Steve would try to find him. So why had he seen no attempts to locate or contact him...?
As the days passed, he started to become more distracted by the increasing lack of mobility in his arm, which was thanks to the damage incurred during the only fights in his memory and the amount of time that had passed without maintenance; it put him at a major disadvantage. He wasn't about to trust any of the people who were involved in bringing him here, so he decided to search for anyone who might be able to repair it, clad in his long sleeved jacket and cap to help keep him from being noticed. But he wasn't certain if he would trust anyone to do it even if he did find someone.
The soldier was deep in thought as he made his way through a quiet, dark alley on his way to do some surveillance, wondering about his arm and if he'd ever had it in such a terrible state before. The technicians always did their work quietly, he was fairly certain, so he never knew much about the details. The most he could recall was shortly after they attached it--
"The procedure has already started--"
--how he came inches from breaking the man's neck, not caring about whatever he had to say about the way his new, gleaming arm functioned--
"You are to be the new fist of HYDRA--"
--and without knowing why or when he'd started screaming, or where his anger had come from, he slammed his malfunctioning fist into the brick wall, causing it to crumble. But the anger didn't fade, and the images didn't either. The recollection of a saw whirring and cutting into the remnants of his arm nearly caused his knees to give, and he fell back against the opposite wall to support himself before slamming his elbow into that and letting out another, shorter yell that ended almost like a whimper.
He was a short way from the main roads, but to say it was audible was an understatement. Unfortunately for him, he may have attracted some attention--hopefully attention that would either not startle him or that would be prepared for his volatile state of mind.
-
He realized the day after that he was malfunctioning both physically and mentally, and that he wasn't certain if he could keep moving forward like this on his own. As much as he hated it, he needed help. And the one person who could help him the most was hismission neighbor target--Steve.
He might have prayed that the man's claim that they were friends were true if he knew what praying was or trusted that any higher power would want to assist him.
Instead he prepared for the worst; he had no intention of meeting the man in either of their apartments or inside a building; it would be safest to meet him in some neutral ground, where he could possibly escape and remain hidden until... until he no longer needed to. He found the thought unpleasant, so he didn't plan very far ahead.
He sent an anonymous text message to Steve on the network in the early morning hours: 2200 hours d2 2 blocks ne of hospital. alone
The soldier found a dark place he could see the entire street there and waited, hidden.
[OOC: Make sure to tell me what option you'd like: either noticing him using a window like a door and what date, OR noticing the ruckus he's causing from the flashback and if you have a preference for a more violent Bucky or a more catatonic one.]
Where: A) Outside housing building 1 and elsewhere; B) an alleyway in district 3; C) district 2
When: A) The last week of June, day or night; B) July 1, day; C) July 2, night
Summary: Bucky A) climbs out windows, B) has a bad flashback, and C) confronts Captain America.
Warnings: Possible violence, allusions to torture and amputation and stuff?? His life is awful basically.
The Winter Soldier was not having a good time.
For one, the past two weeks had been used getting accustomed to the fact that he was not only still not HYDRA's asset anymore, but that he was on an entirely different planet that somehow looked very much like his own from what he could tell, not to mention the aliens, the touch quota that he was largely ignoring, being both more and less noticeable in a way that made him uneasy, people trying to talk to him when he had no idea how to carry on a conversation, and fighting some asshole in a flying metal suit.
Oh, and there was the fact that whoever was in charge of assigning the newcomers rooms put him right next to Steve Fucking Rogers, otherwise known as the giant mess of memories and emotion he couldn't handle right now, or any time in the near future. It had been a miracle that he managed to avoid being seen when he first entered his room, and in the days after he learned the man was there, he listened carefully to his neighbor and for the most part, used his window as an entrance and exit. He didn't care about anyone else noticing him; HYDRA wasn't here. The mission was the only one whose attention he was particularly interested in avoiding. But at least he had the presence of mind to wear long sleeves and make his metal arm less conspicuous.
He'd done a bit of hunting, in the meantime; he was particularly good at remaining hidden when he tried, and had scoped out the people Rogers interacted with both in person and on the network, taking note of each and whether they were likely to share any information about the assassin, should they encounter him. Much to his irritation a few of those he'd encountered appeared to know Rogers, and though he hadn't observed them speaking to him about the man with the metal arm, it seemed likely to him that they would inform him of a local threat. As soon as he heard a description of him, certainly Steve would try to find him. So why had he seen no attempts to locate or contact him...?
As the days passed, he started to become more distracted by the increasing lack of mobility in his arm, which was thanks to the damage incurred during the only fights in his memory and the amount of time that had passed without maintenance; it put him at a major disadvantage. He wasn't about to trust any of the people who were involved in bringing him here, so he decided to search for anyone who might be able to repair it, clad in his long sleeved jacket and cap to help keep him from being noticed. But he wasn't certain if he would trust anyone to do it even if he did find someone.
The soldier was deep in thought as he made his way through a quiet, dark alley on his way to do some surveillance, wondering about his arm and if he'd ever had it in such a terrible state before. The technicians always did their work quietly, he was fairly certain, so he never knew much about the details. The most he could recall was shortly after they attached it--
"The procedure has already started--"
--how he came inches from breaking the man's neck, not caring about whatever he had to say about the way his new, gleaming arm functioned--
"You are to be the new fist of HYDRA--"
--and without knowing why or when he'd started screaming, or where his anger had come from, he slammed his malfunctioning fist into the brick wall, causing it to crumble. But the anger didn't fade, and the images didn't either. The recollection of a saw whirring and cutting into the remnants of his arm nearly caused his knees to give, and he fell back against the opposite wall to support himself before slamming his elbow into that and letting out another, shorter yell that ended almost like a whimper.
He was a short way from the main roads, but to say it was audible was an understatement. Unfortunately for him, he may have attracted some attention--hopefully attention that would either not startle him or that would be prepared for his volatile state of mind.
He realized the day after that he was malfunctioning both physically and mentally, and that he wasn't certain if he could keep moving forward like this on his own. As much as he hated it, he needed help. And the one person who could help him the most was his
He might have prayed that the man's claim that they were friends were true if he knew what praying was or trusted that any higher power would want to assist him.
Instead he prepared for the worst; he had no intention of meeting the man in either of their apartments or inside a building; it would be safest to meet him in some neutral ground, where he could possibly escape and remain hidden until... until he no longer needed to. He found the thought unpleasant, so he didn't plan very far ahead.
He sent an anonymous text message to Steve on the network in the early morning hours: 2200 hours d2 2 blocks ne of hospital. alone
The soldier found a dark place he could see the entire street there and waited, hidden.
[OOC: Make sure to tell me what option you'd like: either noticing him using a window like a door and what date, OR noticing the ruckus he's causing from the flashback and if you have a preference for a more violent Bucky or a more catatonic one.]
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The bedroom next door is closed, so it can't be seen into.
The kitchen counter has a couple of pots and plates on it. There are also several towels around and a chair pushed against the counter.
In front of the table is where the two puppies are sitting. The grey one looks similar to an Irish Wolfhound, while the white one looks much like an English Sheepdog.
"This is Grey and this is White," Diarmuid points to each puppy in turn, before going to stand by James. "Puppies, this is Lord James. He is going to borrow our house to sleep in, okay? Make sure you guys are quiet!"
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It leaves a heavy feeling in his chest.
He does his best to ignore it as he focuses his attention on the dogs, and he thinks the names seem easy to remember. But he doesn't move to approach the couch and sit yet, despite the reminder that he came here to rest.
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The boy turns and starts toward the kitchen, pausing near the table to grab one of the bags of candy. He then turns and returns to James' side, "Do you like chocolate? This is milk chocolate. It's the kind my brother and I like the best. We tried white and dark chocolate too, but we didn't like either kind as well."
It's probably obvious to James from his training that the boy is paying no attention at all to the weapons on the table. They aren't there because Diarmuid thinks he might need them for protection. They are only there because Diarmuid tends to use them everyday for practicing and it is a good place to put them so nothing happens to them when he's not using them.
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He doesn't know if he likes chocolate or not, and he honestly doesn't remember what it tastes like, but it doesn't seem as if it's something that can help him get the energy he needs, so he shakes his head no.
He briefly wonders if those weapons have been used recently at all; Diarmuid said he was training to be a knight, but the fact that he doesn't carry his swords with him is indicative of the fact that he doesn't think others will hurt him.
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"Soup and tea. Or stew and tea actually! Stew is thicker than soup!" The boy opens the door to the refrigerator and rummages around, eventually pulling out a bowl of stew. He carries the bowl to the microwave and starts it warming up, before he moves back to the refrigerator to get some sun tea to pour into a glass.
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Meanwhile, the microwave dings and Diarmuid mutters softly to himself that the stew is done. He finishes putting away the tea and then grabs one of the towels laying around to pull the hot bowl out of the microwave. It goes on the counter to cool for a moment, while the boy grabs a tray to put the bowl and tea on. Finally, he adds a spoon, some crackers and the towel to the tray and carries the whole thing into the living room.
"Here you go! It's not fancy, but I hope you like it!"
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It's only when Diarmuid enters the room with the tray that he leans forward to accept it, looking down at the offered food for a moment and trying to recall when, if ever, he's been served a meal with the purpose of helping him feel better. But he can't remember, so he simply nods, setting the tray down before he takes the spoon in his right hand to begin eating. His left hand is best used with less delicate things than holding spoons and cups, so it rests at his side, mostly unused.
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"Did White eat all your food? Is that it, Grey?" The puppy whines at Diarmuid and the boy shakes his head, beginning to pet the dog gently. "Once James is settled into rest, I will get you more, okay?"
Diarmuid then turns to James and smiles, "How is it?"
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Even aside from that, the stew is pleasant. He's not so familiar with appreciating things for their taste, but he can tell the difference between what's good and bad for the most part.
"It's," he says, then pauses for a moment to search for the right words to say in this situation. The most general one is all he can think of, so he uses it and hopes it's sufficient. "Good."
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After all, who doesn't like ice cream?
"But if you don't like it, be sure to tell me. I can get something different to try next time you come visit. There are a lot of foods I need to try here that we don't have back home. You can try them with me!"
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"Okay," he replies to the offer, but he wonders if trying different food is something he needs to accomplish. It can't hurt, at least.
He returns his attention to the tray and continues to eat and drink silently, feeling himself getting more tired instead of feeling like he's getting more energy, and briefly considers the fact that HYDRA's way of feeding him seemed more efficient. He guesses that living in a way more like other people comes with its own set of weaknesses.
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Once it looks like James is getting close to being done with his stew, Diarmuid hops down off the couch and heads back into the kitchen. He doesn't even wait to find out if his guest actually wants more food. He just goes.
Out come two bowls and spoons. Those are followed by vanilla ice cream and caramel topping. He debates getting some nuts to go on top, but since James can't remember anything past the last month, there is no telling if he is allergic to nuts or not. The last thing he wants to do is make his friend sick!
After he is done putting everything together, Diarmuid carries the bowls out to the living room and presents one to James, "Your ice cream, Lord James. Enjoy!"
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He takes in a slow breath as he finishes his food, watching the boy as he retrieves more utensils and prepares the ice cream. He thinks he's seen something like this recently, but has no idea how it tastes.
Things directly offered to him like this aren't things he's ever really refused, he thinks, even when he was Bucky Barnes. So he doesn't even consider objecting and takes the bowl, looking at the contents briefly before digging the spoon into a scoop.
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"No, White! You want until we are done! Then, you get to lick the bowl!" Not wanting to risk his ice cream any farther, Diarmuid crawls back up on the couch and settles next to James, before looking up at his friend to finally see if he likes the ice cream or not, "What do you think?"
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"It's good," he replies with less hesitation this time, though he thinks the stew was more so. He isn't certain why his thoughts on it are relevant, but it's simple enough to answer...
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"Yay! That's good. There are so many different types of food in modern day. I want to try them all!" Diarmuid digs into his ice cream and then giggles, "It's going to take a long time. I hope I get to them all! Hey..." Diarmuid looks at James, "Do you remember any specific type of food? If you do, I can try that next!"
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The soldier looks down in thought, but after a few seconds, he shakes his head. Nothing really comes to mind as far as food--none of it seems significant enough. "No."
He knows of a few different kinds that he hasn't tried, but he doesn't know the name of some of them, and he isn't sure if Diarmuid has already tried them or not. Best not to waste time guessing.
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And with that declaration made, he dives back into his ice cream, thinking about what food he should try next, "What about spaghetti? Do you remember spaghetti, Lord James? Someone told me it's really good and fun to eat! I think I want to try it next!"
There is a very big spaghetti mess looming in this boy's future...
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He does remember spaghetti, though; enough to remember what it looks like and what it's made of, at least, so he nods before turning to his own bowl again.
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Yes, there is caramel streaked on his cheek...and, yes, that would be a puppy tackling him to lick his face and then the bowl...
Well, at least the caramel is gone and Diarmuid is laughing. He is also pinned under a very wiggly and happy puppy at the moment.
"Whiiiite... You're getting heavy!"
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"You saved me! You're my hero! The evil ice cream zombie puppy has been defeated!"
urgh i'm sorry for the late reply. clearly the cuteness paralyzed me
Surprisingly enough,He doesn't respond to the dog's attempts at affection except to blink a bit, and only sets her down on the ground. He's focused on making sure she stays there and doesn't jump back on the couch when Diarmuid hugs him.He isn't sure what he's supposed to say or do in this situation, so he remains silent and stays there, watching the top of the boy's head. He wonders if he's supposed to return this--he thinks he's seen others do so--but isn't sure if he in particular is expected to. He doesn't think of himself as being like most other people, especially when it comes to his role in different situations.
No worries! *hugs*
"You can go rest in my bedroom if you want to sleep now. I can use my brother's room or sleep on the couch if I get tired," he giggles. "I will fit on it a lot easier than you will! Do you want to use the bathroom to clean up? I can take Lir out of the tub."
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