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 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. ]

[ Someone does it for him. Figures. Make a dog dependent on its master... ]

[ He feels sick again, dragged back to the work camp in '43, and thinks, it's nothing. He has no right to feel upset when the bleak and twisted parts of war are all the Winter Soldier seems to know. ]

I check mine once a week, if there haven't been any anomalies, [ he confides; he didn't miss the way the Soldier looked at his arm when they'd first met ] yours looks like a different model... [ he can't know its limits without extensive testing, which he abhors thinking about, let alone doing. What if this — any of this, doesn't make him different from the Soldier's masters? What if — ]

[ — he can't think about that. He rubs his chin. ]

Take off your shirt.

[ ..Anomalies. That means there are things here that could infringe on its capabilities. As far as he knows, there are no techs around that could fix it, and he doesn't know the first thing about doing it himself. The thought overwhelms him a great deal, but he's nothing, if not an expert at masking his emotions when he wants to.

He wouldn't be opposed to tests. Those are nothing new, and are helpful for knowing limitations and places to improve upon. He doesn't expect this man to know his previous stats, but wouldn't be surprised if he needed new data.

That's an order he can do easily enough and he does it efficiently, keeping the shirt in his hand for after. ]

Next instruction?

Give it to me.

[ When the Soldier obliges — no, obeys — Jim sets it flat on the table, searches for the hem, and when he finds it, tears off the left sleeve neatly, and hands the shirt back to the Soldier. ]

There. It shouldn't give you any problems.

[ His gaze doesn't linger, but he notes the musculature. Brutally defined, like it's all carved out of some terrible marble, and his heart twists. How much pain did they need, to do this? Did he fight, if yes, for how long? He snaps himself out of it. Focus. ]

Better?

[ Adjusting his shirt doesn't take long at all, but when he's able to put it back on again, it doesn't intrude on the arm's plates. He flexes the arm, allowing the plates to shift accordingly. The fit would suffice. He didn't realize that it would really make that much of a difference.

He nods his head appreciatively. This attire is far more comfortable and less constraining than his fatigues had been. Far less hot, too. Distantly, he misses them. ]

Thank you.

Don't, [ he says, firmly. ] being attired properly for your mission is a right, not a gift. You owe me nothing.

Acknowledged?

[ Being attired properly for your mission is a right, not a gift.

Something else he's going to have to try and take to heart. Honestly, that was never something that had crossed his mind- nor was it something he thought to address.

Granted, he may have at one point or another a long time ago, but that memory is long gone at this point.. ]

..Acknowledged. [ The word is almost disbelieving, but he looks at Jim with something trying to resemble awe. ]

[ Were he the man he was before the War he might've reached out to draw his mirror into a hug, sit beside him and ease away the sickness that chips at his heart. But he's not, so he stands there, and shuts the door against his winter, leaving only warmth and joy for the Soldier to see. ]

Good. You did good today.

[ Soft, ] I met one of your shipmates. I told her you're my brother. Is that a satisfactory cover for you?

[ The words wrap around his chest with a warmth that he hasn't felt in a long time- something he didn't think he was capable of.

Everything about him was cold and frozen- his memories, his demeanor, his heart.. His throat feels tight and he's not sure why, swallowing stubbornly to will the feeling away.

He did something good that didn't accompany bloodshed. A mark on his record.

He offers a solemn nod, processing the information. Brothers. That was..something different entirely; familiar, though he wanted to push it away. It didn't feel like a title he was worthy of.]

It will do, sir.

[ It's just agreement to his statement, because the Soldier's not known real choice. It's just that, and still it spreads across Jim like fire, curling, consuming everything. ]

Well, that's settled, then. My last name is Barnes. You can use that if you need something temporary.

[ It's a common name, impersonal. Less loaded than James, and far away from Bucky. ]

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