driftfleet | When We're Rollin Through the Wild Wild West

When We're Rollin Through the Wild Wild West

Who: Everyone! EVERYONE!
Broadcast: IF YOU WANNA
Action: Everywhere! EVERYWHERE!
When: Mid-September - Mid-October

[How's your ship doing, pardners? Is it still pretty damaged? Is it glitching out hardcore? Well, there is one place to land to take care of all that, and that's on a dusty old moon in front of a planet that no one wants to go to. On this moon, you'll find a civilization that looks a lot like one's stepped into a wild west movie, hardened cowpolk and mutant horses and all. Will you become a vigilante, hunting bounties and stopping gangs from doing their dirty work? Will you go exploring planetside, with a cowboy hat and a stalk of wheat in your mouth to complete the look? Good luck with that; there is no wheat. This town ain't big enough for all you flooters, but make it so! For the ratings!

In other words, it's a planet mingle! Get 'er done!]

[September Planet info here]

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Some one-on-one combat. Mostly long distance attacks.

[ He was fairly disappointed about that part. Being in action, even after two months of having no mission, was thrilling. He had a weapon in his hand and a purpose. Having something to protect had been an entirely new set of feelings, and Winter enjoyed it. Jim was proud, and that thrilled him more than the action.

He adjusts his position, mimicking her posture subtly. He brings his right leg toward his chest, draping his arm over the knee. The left is used to keep him upright. It's a bit uncomfortable, but he can watch her a bit better from this position.]

Disappointed?

[It's still just conversation, but it's funny--funny-odd, funny-nostalgic, funny in ways she can't describe. The Black Widow and the Winter Soldier on a hilltop, only there are no sniper rifles, no targets, just the two of them and a town straight out of a Clint Eastwood classic. The memories this whole scenario brings up are almost jarring in their disparity.]

[He doesn't seem like he remembers her at all, still. Does what he does with everyone she's seen him with so far in the fleet and mirrors her, trying to find the equilibrium. It's almost funny, again. She wants to laugh, wonders what he'd do if she did. Look confused, probably. Oh well.]

It ended too soon.

[ Like an abruptly-ended training session, there's a sense of absence. His fingers itch for a trigger or at least the familiar weight of a gun in his hand once again. While the fleet had been attacked, there was the sense of doing something. He hates sitting idle..

It's like a bug crawling its way under his skin. Feels wrong, and no matter how much he digs at it, can't seem to find relief.]

[ He watches her with interest, though his expression is lackluster. He's seen her before, though not in the way that he's seen Peggy. Or at least he doesn't think so.. But there's that feeling again. The sense that something is off, but he's not sure what it is. Prodding at it does nothing.

She moves like she knows him..Can anticipate him. It's a little unsettling. She knows Jim-- him. But differently. ]

[Of course it did. A muscle at the corner of her mouth twitches, though it could hardly be considered a smile. Just a recognition of how much some things appear to stay the same. They hadn't been boarded, on the Windrose--took out enough of their attackers to make them properly wary, at least, and just ended up dragged into the cloud and left to drift--but that didn't mean she hadn't been itching for it. They all had. Something to do, instead of drift aimlessly without a pilot...]

[But now they were here, and for what it was worth there were plenty of fights to get into. And yet, here he was. Not fighting, legally or illegally. Just sitting on a hilltop, looking back at her with a slightly empty look that she knows for a fact doesn't mean nothing's going on in his head. So she looks back at him, really looks, and wonders, one eyebrow slightly arching.]

Looking for something?

[A memory, maybe?]

[ It's a loaded question, he knows, but muscle memory is a bitch and his shoulders tense. She probably doesn't mean anything by it- just a harmless question. He's always looking for something these days, now that he has the freedom to do it without being questioned or ordered otherwise.

Winter's not sure why he's chosen this particular place. It's quiet and solitary compared to the bustle of the town below. There's nothing wrong with it, he'd just felt.. out of place. His head didn't buzz quite so much while he was out on this hill. He's lost track of time just sitting there for hours, and it doesn't bother him like it probably should. He doesn't care this time. ]

[ He offers no more than the slight rise and fall of his shoulders, gaze flicking away from her and back onto the city, his brow furrowed. ]

Not sure what to look for in the first place.

[Even her harmless questions mean something, every word potentially loaded. Especially here. But he doesn't know that, does he? They were never exactly conversational in the first place, and now...now. Now his shoulders tense like he's expecting an assault of some kind, a slap either verbal or physical. Was he taught to never pay too much attention? To focus on the mission, for fear he'd see too much and start to connect the dots? It had happened with Steve, after the bridge. He'd run from what he'd found. Here, there was nowhere to run, really.]

[So he's looking. At her, at the town. Shrugs, almost like an actual person. So she shrugs herself, looking back out over the town, out beyond it at the horizon.]

The future. The past. What's in front of you. All depends on what you want to see. What do you want to see?

[ He closes his eyes tightly, willing away the throbbing between his temples that's become a constant ache and the phantom buzz of electricity. It's not really there. Not going to open his eyes and be back in the vault. He cracks an eye open and lets out a gust of air with relief. He digs the fingers of his left hand into the dirt, although it offers no help. It's just sensation. A pressure along his palm and the tips of the fingers.

Winter isn't sure how long his attention is diverted, but he takes his time replying. What do you want to see? How does he even answer that? It makes him feel a little small. ]

[ Quietly. ] I don't know..

[Small is good, she would tell him, if she knew. Small is right. They're all small, really, in the grander scheme of things. Especially out here. Out in this vast expanse of space, planet after planet where no one knew her name, their names, this damned show, any of it. They were microscopic. Feeling small was only human--and proof that he is, if he ever doubted. If she did. Which she doesn't. She's seen him bleed. Sees him flinch, even now, digging fingers into the ground as if to reassure himself of its presence.]

Good answer.

[She's still looking over the town, though it's clear enough she hasn't missed the lack of immediate response or his reaction. It's more a gesture of something resembling privacy. A moment to collect himself. She can afford that. When she looks back, it's after he's more or less settled. Her head tilts slightly, hair that's a shade too long for her liking falling over her shoulder.]

You don't remember, do you?

[Anything. Everything. Her.]

[ He's grateful for the moment he's allowed to get himself back together. The moment that she doesn't say anything. He leans most of his weight against the leg he still has up, his focus going back to the town.

You don't remember, do you? The sudden rush of anger is overwhelming and sits in his chest heavily. He's not angry at her, but for the lack of the memories themselves. He knows now that he's supposed to have them. That they were taken. Winter takes a moment to get it under control before shaking his head.

The things he has started remembering haven't been overly-pleasant, and the ones that aren't are disjointed. Faces with no features. Muffled voices. Echoes. It's best to just..forget it. ]

Nothing worth mentioning. [ Liar. ]

[There's a wave of sudden emotion--not necessarily in his face, but in his shoulders, the set of his jaw. Convulsive movement of his adam's apple. Upset? Angry? She's not sure, but it's certainly a negative emotion, but probably not aimed directly at her. There's no sign of impending violence, after all. Probably a good sign.]

[She doesn't flinch, regardless, and doesn't look away from him, eyes steady as she waits. Measures the answer she receives.]

Maybe it's for the best. Start from scratch.

Then again, you can't remember who you were, maybe you end up someone you don't want to be. Make the same mistakes all over again.

[She knows something about that.]

[ The anger burns hotly, but there's not enough power in the given moment for it to stay kindled with intensity. It fades into something similar to dread. Concern, even. She voices the questions that have been lingering in his mind like a poison.

He can't remember anything before the experiments. Before Hydra. Some half-faded memory of Peggy in a red dress, a muted bar, and the feeling of imitation warmth. Only what they made him to be, although he's been trying his damndest to not be the Winter Soldier. To make the bad decisions. He can't afford to make those same mistakes again.

Winter isn't so sure that starting from scratch is the best solution, but right now, he has no other choice but to comply. Shape himself with the scraps that Jim is giving him.

If he has to be anyone, he wants it to be him.]

I don't want to be a bad person.

[ It sounds childish, but there's no other way for him to explain it. Not sure where to start. ]

[She looks at him, really looks, faint lines between her brows as she frowns. Thinking, thinking again. Thinking of who he was, who he isn't, who he could be.]

No one really wants to be a bad person. Even bad people think they're doing the right thing, or the only thing they can. Good people are worst of all. They make excuses for what they do. Justification. For the greater good. I had no choice.

Think it might be better to just be a person, honestly. Forget qualifications like good or bad. But if you need to qualify who you are, do it with action. Not words.

[It's the actions that let others define you. Not what you call yourself, but what you do. She's a monster, she knows, but it's all she can be. Be the monster that keeps the other monsters away. Pay off her debts. It doesn't make her good. But then, is she really bad? Is he? They are only what they were made to be, and she feels a sudden flash of jealousy. He gets to remake himself. She'll never have that chance.]

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When We're Rollin Through the Wild Wild West

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