driftfleet | Well, this is.. horrible.

Entry tags:

Well, this is.. horrible.

Who: SS Caprine & visitors
Broadcast: ???
Action: All aboard
When: 8/3

[Dread is probably not a good feeling to have in the face of actually having something resembling a 'team' now. Unfortunately, the way this place seems to love uprooting and depositing people out of nowhere into unfamiliar territory, and it sets him on edge.

His eyes narrow as he looks around yet another place he's unaccustomed, being bombarded by-- colorful shreds of paper and overly-cheerful music. And even more people. Once again, he longs for the familiar weight of a weapon in his hand, but this fleet just loves to suck the comfort out.

At least this is a more permanent residence? Time would tell on that one.]

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[He keeps an eye on the time, making sure he's in what he hopes is the right area for the rendezvous. The soldier isn't sure exactly how long he waits, but as soon as he spots Jim, he stills. It's the face he recognizes from the communicator, though he can't help his gaze from lingering on the metal appendage.

He has his own, but it feels so out of place on someone else that it's jarring. Something about Jim's is.. softer? He's not exactly sure how to word it, but it doesn't look wrong. Brow drawing together, he goes to say something, but decides against it for the time being.]

[He nods once, waiting to be approached.]

[ It's as though someone reached into him and simply switched off everything that resembles human micromovement; left him with all the poise and grace of an oncoming storm. He's wired taut: Jim knows the stance. Combat ready, feet ready to shift at any moment. And yet he's so still. There's an echo of the same, in his heart, but his own body complements rather than mirrors. James Barnes hates mirrors. This man looks only a little like him, on close inspection. Much paler. More worn around the eyes: he looks used. There's a faint smell from the clothes, too, not enough to be noticeable by a baseline human, but enough to annoy Jim in the corners of his mind that're making the observation. ]

Good morning.

[ His tone is even, as it's what the Soldier expects of him, but his body language goes from neutral to invariably pleased. It's his hope that if he does it consistently enough, every time he sees the Soldier (not hard, any moment he's not with HYDRA is a good moment), that the man will come to associate his presence with something that directly affects Jim's happiness. He approaches, telegraphing every movement. (He has no weapons, and maybe that's not smart.) ]

Is there somewhere more private we can go?

[There was no need for human emotion to interfere with the mission. It clouded judgement and slowed down the reaction time necessary. A weapon didn't need it. Emotions were confusing and made the soldier's head hurt. Questions bubbling up that had no right to be there. Everything was much more simple when he only had to worry about the mission. Taking other people into consideration was dangerous. Messy. He didn't like mess- it wasn't efficient.

He nods in acknowledgement, taking in Jim's posture- not relaxed, but not drawn like a bowstring. Not like he felt, certainly. He felt his own posturing shift slightly to copy it. His fists un-clench, the plates in his arm shifting as he switches to a more neutral position.]

..Are the bunks satisfactory, sir?

[Unfortunately, it's not exactly private, but it offers more seclusion than the open bay does.. Those dull eyes flick to Jim's face, looking for the answer before he hears it. If he can anticipate the answer, he can always accommodate with something else if he's displeased.]

[ He relaxes. He actually relaxes, even if it's mirroring, and Jim suppresses a pleased smile, wishing he was better at seamlessly shifting skins like Natasha, but he can give the Soldier nonverbal affirmation. He nods, briskly. ]

They are. Lead the way.

[ Now the question is, does the Winter Soldier trust him enough to expose his back to him? This is a test. ]

[It is difficult for him to immediately move, weighing the options of staying in place and disobeying an order. The hesitation is brief, but probably long enough for Jim to pick up on it before he nods and turns his back.

His stride is purposeful, though he can't help the habit of not letting his feet make a sound as he leads his counterpart to the room that constituted as the sleeping quarters. Once he stepped inside, the mask was back on as he watched for whatever Jim planned next.]

[ So it's not trust, it's obedience. He makes a note to walk in front, next time. Jim keeps up, and he moves himself in the room to let his alternate take the best defensible position. His own instincts dislike it deeply, but it's a necessary discomfort. Nothing is coming. If he thinks it long enough and hard enough, he can make it real. ]

[ He then puts the backpack on the table and opens it, laying out the items for inspection. ]

I brought supplies. Are these satisfactory?

[ He's most worried about the clothes. ]

[Once they're both inside, he positions himself with his back to the wall so he can watch both Jim and the door.

He waits wordlessly for the other to lay out whatever it was that he'd brought, stepping up to the table to look over them.]

All necessary supplies?

[He could venture a guess that they would be, so he nods once.]

Edited 2015-08-05 01:49 (UTC)

[ Another time and place, and he'd have joked that nah, he could stand to be a little more punk rock in the choice of attire. For now, he gestures to the clothes. Not slow, but careful, always letting the movement be open, and the honesty read for what it is. ]

Yes. [ from the small bag with the shaving kit, he takes out two bars of soap, one small bottle of shampoo, citrus-scented ] Here, for the shower.

[ Your hair is very greasy, bro. ]

[ He's silently grateful for the caution in his movements, his own posturing not quite so tense. Not ready to go in for the kill quite so swiftly. Surveying the table, he takes stock of the contents before stepping back again to give him space. ]

Thank you, sir.

[ He holds out his hands, taking the items and holding them closer to himself. The soldier's gaze flicks between the items in his hands and Jim's face. He's not entirely sure if he should go use them now or wait for more instruction..]

[ He smiles, warmly. ]

You're welcome. If you need more, make the request. I'll do what I can.

[ That's what I'm here for, he wants the Soldier to understand. A commanding officer doesn't practice abuse, but care. ]

[ He pulls out a pack of cards from his pocket next. ]

I did promise I'd teach you, but this isn't urgent.

[ Nothing inherently negative had happened since he boarded the Marsiva, there had to be a tipping point where the scales evened out again. People only had so much patience, and it usually wore thin before too long.

He looks at the cards and something makes him freeze. A vague sense of deja vu sets in that makes him feel foggy. It makes his head hurt, but he can't seem to look away, but nor can he place where the feeling came from.

Bucky can hear the blood pounding in his ears, and hastily, he remembers that he's not the only one in the room and jerks his attention back forcefully, still a bit dazed, wondering where the notion came from. ]

...I-- sorry?

[ James Barnes has the patience for all of Steve's crap, this is barely even up there. (Please don't beat up people in a back alley, bro.) Something — the cards, probably — set the Soldier off, and Jim blinks at him. ]

[ Soft, gentle, but with a note of command, ] What are you apologising for?

I-- Repeat? I lost focus..

[ He makes sure he's snapped back to attention, eyes on Jim's face. The Soldier's shoulders drop a fraction, the tension ebbing a bit more after having seen the other's body language.

He didn't look or sound angry, though he was still unsure about it.. But something said he could trust it with him. ]

[ With precisely the same gentle but firm tone he used earlier, ]

I said: if you need more supplies, make the request, and I'll see about getting you what you need. [ a pause for breath ] Then, I said I promised to teach you poker, but that's under a different set of objectives. It's not an immediate priority.

Acknowledged?

Acknowledged, sir.

[ He was still awkwardly cradling the shower supplies in his hands. Getting his bearings back was easier now, and he looked back at him. ]

What is the immediate priority?

A shower, and getting changed.

[ A beat. ]

Should I wait here, or outside?

..Whatever you think, sir.

[ He's not used to getting ~~so many~~ choices, so it's kind of freaking him out a bit. ]

[ Jim's expression softens. ]

I'll wait here then. Take as long as you require, Soldier.

[ The Soldier nods in understanding, readjusting the supplies in his arms before heading to the door. The showers weren't very far, and he didn't need long, so hopefully Jim wouldn't be waiting longer than he needed to.

He was very thankfully alone, but the water ran cold faster than he'd wanted it to. Cold was uncomfortable, but it still did its purpose. When he returns to his counterpart, he's definitely a lot cleaner and a little more alert than he had been. ]

..Awaiting orders.

[ When the Soldier returns, Jim is sheepishly playing Solitaire with the cards. He stands the second the man enters the room, and brightens. The smell of the soap carries, with something else, and ruefully he thinks maybe even after numerous scrub downs perhaps they'll never escape the hint of copper that's the War clinging to them both. ]

Inspection.

[ He comes to a stop in front of the Soldier, leaving enough space for a person to stand between them (really: enough room to both reach for weapons if they were armed), and looks over the fit of the clothes. A little tight around the shoulder, and his gaze flicks to the left arm. ]

Does the sleeve disrupt functionality?

[ He really hadn't meant to interrupt, no matter what Jim happened to be doing, but it is pleasant that the other stops and acknowledges his presence-- with something more than annoyance or disdain. He's not quite sure what the feeling is that he's experiencing, but he feels lighter, somehow.. Not so tightly wired. It's something he'd like to have again.

He stands at attention, meeting Jim's eye briefly before focusing on a spot past his shoulder. ]

Arm functioning normally, sir.

That's not what I asked.

[ Neutral, but still gentle. He's not unhappy. ]

Let me clarify. The sleeve comes down to the first plate, it could risk jamming if you want to lift something. [ he demonstrates a movement with his own bionic limb. ] Do this.

[ He frowns at his error in response, looking back at Jim. Watching the motion, he copies it with his own left arm.

The sleeve strains a bit, but the plates shift like they're supposed to. Or at least he thinks..He doesn't really notice the arm unless it's not working as it should. Something else he needs to focus on. ]

[ He presses his lips together, watching. A year of having his own arm battered, electrocuted, and God knows what else has acquainted him to the space it needs for every human (and inhuman) movement. This is a risk, and the fact that the Soldier doesn't seem to notice or care — along with the long list of other things he's been taught not to care about — it doesn't sit right with Jim. ]

How often is it checked?

[ The question throws him off- something that Jim is getting eerily good at. No one should be able to unsettle him, and yet.. ]

After missions and when upgrades are required.

[ He can't remember the last time an actual upgrade happened, but he knows there have been. He just hopes that Jim doesn't ask about that. ]

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