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(no subject)

Who: Neal Caffrey & OPEN
Broadcast: The first part!
Action: Yes!
When: Video: Today. Action: Anytime this week.

video
[Neal is standing in one of the abandoned way-stations, right in front of a very thoroughly looted vending machine. There's not even half a chocolate bar left, not that he's checked.

But that's not important, because he's grinning into the camera, wearing a white shirt that's clearly tailored to him (sleeves folded up to just below his elbows), wavy hair styled back as carefully as is possible without all his usual product. He might be standing in a mess of debris, but that doesn't mean he has to match the decor.]

Hi there. I'm Neal. I didn't introduce myself before, since everything seemed to get a bit busy around here.

[He smiles, 100% friendly.]

I was wondering, though, has anyone had any more luck with these way-stations? So far, all of the machines I've found have been emptied. There's not even a pack of peanuts.

[He shrugs.]

What's the point in giving us money if we can't spend it, right?

action
[Anyone exploring the way-stations might come across Neal. He's not straying too far from the entrances, in case they're as dangerous as he knows the mysterious ship is, but his curiosity is gradually getting the better of him. He's checking out any wending machine or abandoned shop he can find, just in case something has been left behind.

Eventually he will come across a still-functioning vending machine, too. Instead of buying anything, though, he'll be crouched down next to it, hands touching the edges, trying to figure out how it works. It might even look like he's trying to get it open.

If only there was a convenient keyhole he could get a pick into.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Nothing good. Snacks and... socks, for some reason.

[He shrugs, then sticks his hands in his pocket, using his head to indicate that he should look for himself.]

Fresh pairs...

[ Airily said, as he does just that: examining the machine from front and sides. ]

Do you mind if I — ?

[ He gestures, miming slamming his fist into the glass. ]

Not at all.

[He steps back, to a slightly exaggeratedly safe distance. He will never understand brute force, or the point in breaking things. Not when subtlety is so much more impressive.]

Running out of clean laundry?

[ Impressive, yes. The direct method is just more efficient. ]

More like let's take what we can, when we get it. Ain't anybody else using it, right?

[ The logic of a soldier frequently starved of supplies. Bucky takes off his glove, and there's a soft whirr as he flexes the metal fingers, and delivers a precise blow to shatter the glass. It falls inward instead of out, and he rolls his left shoulder. ]

There. [ then, with a florid gesture, ] After you.

I'd say it barely even counts as theft.

[But few people agree with his opinions regarding legality.

That metal arm is... something, though. Neal takes an extra step back, just in case, though it turns out there was no need - there's no flying debris, and the glass mostly falls harmlessly to the floor.]

Thank you. [Smile. He's just going to see if he can find some socks in his size, then. Oh, and grab some snacks.] I didn't think people cared about manners in space.

Play it fast and loose, do you?

[ A beat as he slips his glove back on. Didn't even need to tap the glass to judge its thickness — it's nice. ]

Yeah, well, I'm old-fashioned.

[ Said with a self-deprecating little smile, like the words've been unwillingly used to describe him before he claimed them for himself. ]

I'm not the one committing acts of vandalism.

[He holds his hands up in the easily recognizable sign for 'I'm innocent!' This is somewhat ruined by the fact that his hands are now filled with stolen property.

Oh well. He'll step back, let the next person in line have his turn at some loot.]

Personally, I like a little old-fashioned. Some things were done better in the past.

[ Bucky laughs — it makes some of the lines in his face melt away — and picks out two pairs of socks for himself, pocketing them. ]

Oh, I'm just gettin' started. Spray paint... what d'you people call it these days. Punk rock?

[Neal makes a bit of a face at those suggestions.]

I prefer something with a bit more style and finesse.

[ The smile fades, turns to a neutrally curious expression. ]

Such as?

Good jazz. [He's grinning again.] And maybe if you used that spray paint of yours to make some real art.

[ Neal might've just said some magic words, the way Bucky's face lights up. ]

Jazz man, huh? Never thought I'd see the day. [ he snaps his fingers. ] Come on, you've got a favourite Benny Goodman record.

[ They'd wanted to go see him at Carnegie Hall — Steve had been sick that week but got better just in time. Nothing like it in the world. He'd been relieved the place was still standing seventy years later. ]

The King of Swing?

[Neal is always happy to find another jazz lover. His face lights up in a smile that's far more real than any he's given so far.]

You can't expect me to pick a favorite. He was a master. And I hear he was even better live.

[ The very same. Hope you like million-watt smiles Neal, Bucky is practically a miniature sun here. ]

Ask real nice, I'll tell you what it was like hearin' him play.

[ He winks, mischievously. ]

[There's a brief pause for the expected 'he doesn't look that old' confusion, before Neal remembers that people here come from essentially everywhere. Even if he also did know about punk rock.

Still. Jazz? Takes priority.]

Oh, now I'm jealous. You have to tell me. When did you see him?

[ The smile dims in intensity, and turns wistful. ]

In '38. Carnegie Hall. [ he pauses to let that sink in. ] Yeah.

[Oh. Oh.

Oh, he's so jealous.]

The Carnegie Hall performance? I would have given anything to be there.

The performance. They got it on vinyl — what're those things called? CDs? but you know it ain't the same.

But hey. I'll ask a friend of mine, maybe he's got a time machine.

[ A beat, and he holds out his hand. ]

James Barnes. Most people call me Jim.

If the time machine is ever invented [you're in space, Neal, it's not that far-fetched] I know where I'm going. That, and to see the rat pack.

[He'll happily shake his hand, after shifting some looted snacks around to free it up.]

Neal Caffrey. It's nice to meet you, Jim.

[ He's had more than his fill of people romanticising his era, but for something like jazz, he can't hold it against the man. ]

Pleasure's all mine, Neal.

[ The handshake is firm, but not crushing. Bucky's all too aware of his own strength. ]

Now, the Rat Pack, I missed out on. Bogart.. Sinatra.. Sammy Davis Jr., right?

[Don't worry, it's just the jazz. And the movies. He could do without the wars and the politics. Though, well, the easy-to-crack security systems were also nice, but he likes a challenge.]

And Dean Martin, Peter Lawford, and Joey Bishop. Now they knew how to perform with style.

[He's such a fanboy.]

[ Careful, it might catch. ]

Yeah? Tell me about it sometime. [ a soft huff ] Doesn't seem like there's anything else to do around here.

Not unless fighting rabid insects is how you like to entertain yourself, no. [It definitely isn't his.] I'd be happy to tell you. But it's a shame I can't play any of the songs for you.

[ Oh, he just grins. ]

Nah, that's all right. I can't exactly take 'em outta here [ he taps his temple ] to let you listen either. Just nice to know somebody hasn't forgotten the classics.

There are still enough people who like old jazz. [Grinning back.] Some classics never go out of style.

[He's quoting his partner there, his partner who doesn't like old jazz. But they've never agreed on what makes a good classic - bickering about it is what's fun.]