03. | When everything's meant to be broken

[sinistral]

Who: the Bucky Barnes who no longer goes by Bucky or Barnes (sinistral)
Broadcast: no
Action: yes; SS Starduck, Lyndia
When: throughout the visit to the Bix star system

---

SPACE
→ SS Starduck;

Once, far enough back in Earth history that no one would likely truly remember it, some sarcastic jackass responded to a challenge with two now infamous words: Watch me. And while it's more likely than not that the Soldier had been in cryo for said occurrence, he certainly seems to embody the spirit thereof. He's been told, by several different people at several different times, that his life is his to live as he wishes. It's invariably followed up by recommendations, and even at times objections when his wishes do not conform to the path they'd imagined. He can't, shouldn't, withdraw from everyone and everything, they say.

Watch me, his current behavior replies.

He's stopped visiting the Iskaulit, save for a single afternoon to memorize a document. Most of the Starduck's crew keeps to themselves, making the avoidance of casual conversation easy. He keeps appointments to train in the gym space in their cargo hold, still makes his own rounds of the ship to check its safety and integrity — and to check that nothing new has been planted on board without their knowledge. He checks, re-checks, and re-checks again the upgrades to their systems. He trains himself, choosing odd hours, times during which other members of the crew aren't likely to observe the way he uses — abuses — the punching bag. It's not solving anything, his brain supplies. It's not answering any questions.

Watch me, his fists beat into the bag in steady cadence. Watch me. Watch me. Watch me.

PLANETSIDE
→ Sun's Rest;

A desire to surround oneself with physical beauty seems simple enough, right? He recalls a conversation, one in which the other person had told him that the aesthetic appreciation of a thing need not be based on extensive knowledge or experience. The words were meant as a kindness, he thinks, and they're what sends him to see the glowing grove when he hears of it.

If a single word must describe the place, he supposes that beautiful is the one most would use.

Thankfully it also seems quiet, which is a small miracle. He directs his thanks to the flora and fungi of the planet; were it not for their apparently aggressive allergens, it's likely that there might be more people wandering the paths to enjoy the sights — or wandering off the paths to enjoy other activities. Put in that context, the relative emptiness is a blessing. Still, it apparently doesn't stop all of those with amorous intent and on hearing rustling and moaning (and a sneeze or two) from a particular cluster of bushes, he'd been quick to abandon his exploration of the weeping, flowered branches of a tree, not having any desire to know any more about who's in those bushes or what, exactly, they're doing together.

He stops by the edges of the lake, watching the glowing forms of the fish swimming underneath the water. There's an imagery there for which he doesn't have words. But as he sinks to a sitting position at the edge of the lake, he supposes that he doesn't really need them either. For a little while at least.

→ Kenn-Tellnic;

At least this planet is relatively high end, as far as supplying oneself is concerned. Proper combat knives are a requirement and most people would probably scoff at how much of a morning is given over to the pursuit of obtaining just that, but he's picky. He needs to be picky when it comes to something that needs to feel like an extension of his own body and needs to be just as reliable. It's a process that takes him through several shops and half the city before he finds something that meets his standards and specifications; he realizes the time once he's left the shop with purchases secure in their sheaths and decides that the cafe caddy-corner to his current position will do. It's glass and brushed aluminum and streamlined — apparently this planet's high-profile coffee chain — and even the short line of customers moves efficiently.

It's too good to be true.

There's certainly something to be admired in the efficiency of the operation that is taking an order, accepting payment, and fulfilling that order. It's clean. Impersonal. Exactly the way things should be, and the entire thing grinds to a halt when the cashier looks him in the eye and asks, in that distinct retail blend of perky-yet-interested-in-moving-the-line, for his name. It's an uncomfortable moment, made worse by her follow up, the slight slowing of two syllables: "name, sir?"

"Nothing. Never mind," he says, turning away from the counter to move for the door. He doesn't spare another glance for the girl left standing behind her register, nor for the other patrons of the shop. No coffee in the universe is worth answering that question right now.

→ Jungles;

Being around people has become increasingly uncomfortable. He knows it's all internal, all him; he was designed to be a weapon, not a person. At least out here he can put that reality of his existence to good use: there is game to hunt, and he's nothing if not a hunter. And the creatures here are certainly big enough and strong enough to provide a challenge.

When they don't, there's always the escape of pure physical activity, running and hiking and climbing, if he can find it. Anything that presents a challenge; anything that pushes the body to its extremes, that elusive point of exhaustion where the brain finally quiets and nothing exists outside of pushing the muscles to achieve more. It's a luxury in every sense of the word: to have a body that can perform on such a level, and to have not only the freedom to exercise it, but a place that presents enough challenge to do so.

He's being reckless, he knows. But as it's not endangering others, he just doesn't give a damn.

WILDCARD
→ Elsewhere;

Did we discuss something and I forgot in the hell that has been final projects and exams? Have another idea? Want to go steal some Flouds? I'm open to almost anything, hit me up via PM or at sometimesamuse and we'll figure out out. I do write starters in prose but if you prefer brackets I'm happy to match.

Comments

[sinistral]

"Guess so." Actually sharing a meal with someone sounds near unbearable though. Or perhaps it's just that it's Natasha, that it's the uniquely strange situation of wondering whose face she really sees when she looks at him. It's an unfair thought and he can acknowledge that, but the acknowledgement doesn't make him think it any less.

"Wasn't in the mood for coffee after all." Which of course brings back memory of a previous conversation, how they'd teased about what in the Fleet passed for coffee. Too late to take those words back now though.

[outstandingbalance]

"Maybe another time," Natasha says after a beat. Her first thought is that she was too optimistic; it was too much to expect James showing up wouldn't cast a shadow on her outreach to this Barnes. Her second thought is that she shouldn't jump to conclusions considering he has plenty of other reasons to be reclusive or standoffish with her.

Either way, there's reason for her to back off a bit.

She sips her coffee, considering a moment if the most strategic move would be a retreat. It's not a pleasant prospect. "If you're not in the mood for company, I can go."

[sinistral]

"Maybe." He's pretty sure he won't follow through on the offer. Drifting would make avoidance easier at least, because he doesn't invite anyone to the Starduck; he's not going to start now. And the Iskaulit is easy to avoid.

Still, she's been making steady efforts to talk to him. He anticipates that'll stop soon enough.

"Not gonna tell you what to do." It's the one thing he does cling to more than anything else: the idea of free will, the idea that no one really has the right to control the actions of another. It's the life he'd lived with HYDRA, and not a life he thinks he wants to live now. Besides, he knows well how she could trail him if she wanted so it's not really being alone, is it?

[outstandingbalance]

"In that case, I might tag along a little while. If you don't have a preference, I wouldn't mind the company." The company, and the opportunity to find out what's going through his head. Not that she expects him to tell him. If she's lucky, there will be oblique allusions and coded language, but even if it's only a trail of breadcrumbs, it's something. "No where else to be for a while yet."

[sinistral]

He shrugs; saying no would be saying something, and aside from making a lie of the statement he'd just uttered about free choices, it would also give too much away. He's pretty sure that he's giving more away than he wants, considering who she is, how she can read between lines that most other people can't even see.

So he picks a direction and just starts walking. On the plus side this city certainly provides enough to see with its technological efficiency blending into aesthetic design — meaning hopefully enough excuses to steer the conversation to the ultimately meaningless. "Wouldn't want to hold you up though."

[outstandingbalance]

"I wouldn't be here if it was holding me up." It feels cruel. While she appreciates his attempts not to tell her what to do, it's also means ignoring his very clear signals that he's not interested in being around her personally. Internally, she promises to keep this as short and painless as she can and still find out what's going on.

For the moment, she doesn't approach the questions directly, though, instead trying to continue the superficial conversation long enough for Barnes to drop some clues. "Any luck shopping? Seems like they have some good gear here."

[sinistral]

He makes a soft noise of assent, believing he can take these words at their face value. She really wouldn't be here if she had other priorities; that he has the same face as one of those other priorities is just a reality, now. And something he needs to figure out.

"Combat knives," he says; it's the truth, and he'd put a good amount of effort into finding several that fit his exacting standards. Practicality matters more than aesthetics, and the weapons had been his priority over everything else. "Haven't considered other gear yet."

[outstandingbalance]

Of all the things she's said, those are probably the ones with the least veiled meaning. Even so, there are layers to it—a reminder that she's responsible for her own commitments, that she's here because she wanted to be in his company.

It's a gentler way to say she wants to be here than actually to come out and say it. A way he could ignore if he wants.

"Smart choice," Natasha says in a bland voice. "They have good blades here. Haven't seen better."

[sinistral]

He’s really not sure what he wants. He thinks he knows, and then things change. That’s probably the definition of the human condition but at the same time he doesn’t really know how to be a human. He knows how to be a weapon. He doesn’t want to be one, but he’s starting to believe it’s the real reason for his being brought here.

Better, then, to be nothing at all. He’s not supposed to exist, so that’s what he’ll do.

“I sleep better armed.” It’s not a confession so much as stating something she likely knows. Call it a side effect of the assassin lifestyle: not needing an actual weapon but appreciating one nonetheless. And better is a relative term anyway.

[outstandingbalance]

"That makes two of us," Natasha says, faux easily, as though it's not revealing. It's not like it's a surprise. It's worth it, owning that it's something they have in common.

The knife isn't the thing that's been helping her sleep recently.

She tucks her chin awkwardly. "A knife under the pillow might not keep away bad dreams, but it's reassuring to have when you wake up."

[sinistral]

He doesn't want to think about what's been helping her sleep lately. It's not at all comfortable, especially when it highlights to him that he's really not sure why she even bothers associating with him anymore.

"Under the pillow seems a little cliché." It's not a denial of where he'd keep one of them though; clichés come into being for a reason. And it's a useful place for concealment and easy reach both. "Useful, but cliché."

[outstandingbalance]

She does her best not to think about it either. It's not why she's here, or what she's looking for from him. He and the other Barnes, they're separate people—in some ways very different, and in others painfully similar.

"You're not wrong." Natasha lifts one shoulder in a shrug. There's a whole list of places she hides weapons after that. "I'd like to say it's classic."

[sinistral]

"Suppose we should be glad the pillows are halfway decent." The living quarters on the ships aren't the best, but they're adequate. And like everything else — the food, the clothing, everything — he's experienced worse. The fact that creature comforts are even available is a huge thing.

There's a saying about gift horses that probably applies but will remain firmly unsaid. After all, he doesn't trust that the Atroma wouldn't produce such horses — or their excrement.

"And that they don't seem to police things on our ships too much." Which is actually curious. They're watched of course, even if he's been unsuccessful in finding the cameras. But there's not a lot of overt control over their day-to-day lives. He wonders why.

[outstandingbalance]

Very much better left unsaid. The Atroma are bad enough without giving them ideas or inviting more catastrophes. She wouldn't say she's observed them indulging in that kind of pettiness, but he woudn't put it past them either.

Natasha's lips press into a line, dissatisfied. It's something she's thought about more than once.

"Has to make you wonder if on the whole, they don't see any of the things they've let us keep as a threat." It's not entirely unprecedented that they confiscate information or data from the crews. It's only come up once in her stay, though. "Might be to our advantage, being underestimated."

[sinistral]

“Or they have a way to quickly eliminate the threat. Doesn’t matter how strong you are if they can kill you by blowing a hole in the side of the ship and letting the vacuum do the rest.” He imagines that even if there are those who can survive it, they must be in the minority. But she has a point in that underestimation might be a powerful tool in their small arsenal.

“Then again, they have a way of controlling us, don’t they? It’s not like they’d need to get involved if they can just pit us against each other.”

[outstandingbalance]

"And if that doesn't work, they don't have to blow out the hull of a ship. They can blow out the side of our head." At least, she fully believes the augments are capable of that. "Not that you're wrong. There's a giant cannon in the Marsiva. I've only seen it once, but it would be formidable."

[sinistral]

"I've considered that as well." She's not the only one whose thoughts have gone down that path. If these augments are really able to mess with their minds then they are likely also able to destroy them. It might be a sobering thought for some people, but he's always understood that in missions, sacrifices are acceptable. The problem lies in the fact that they don't know the Atroma's mission.

"Convenient that they're well-armed, isn't it? Where upgrades or armaments for ourselves must be purchased or otherwise obtained. Subtle, and not."

[outstandingbalance]

"Those are just a carrot." She's fairly confident about that. You need credits to get weapons, upgrades, creature comforts. Getting money keeps them moving. If there's an audience, then it keeps up the entertainment. If there's not, if there's some other motive to all of this, then it still keeps them at the Atroma's purpose.

She dislikes it. Subtle, but it shows in the way her chin dips and her shoulders bunch.

"Convenient, but I'm sure that's by design. Easy to have the system work for you when you built it in the first place."

[sinistral]

"Of course they are. But what path are they attempting to steer us down?" That this is all for the sake of intergalactic entertainment still seems far fetched; the expenditure of credits likewise makes little enough sense. What do the Atroma truly hope to gain? And why?

He doesn't think they'll get any kind of satisfying answer any time soon. "The system likely only exists because they find it useful; it's certainly not for our convenience."

[outstandingbalance]

They share the same skepticism on that. No surprise there. Natasha sips her coffee, then sighs. "They've used us before to get information. To get technology. It could be the show is real, but also a Trojan horse."

It's all speculation, of course, but considering the situation... well, he might as well know the shape of her thoughts. And she knows as well as anyone how useful it can be using entertainment as a cover.

[sinistral]

"It's no doubt a front for something else." A something else for which their captors don't wish to share the details. It's frustrating because it feels in part like bits and pieces of a mission, with no real objective.

Then again there are those here with no military experience, and who seem content to take this existence as it is. Are they here for a distraction? Or are they also central to this strange plan? Or is he simply thinking too much like a soldier?

[outstandingbalance]

"But what." It's not a question; it's agreement. There's something more going on here, but no matter how many theories Natasha might entertain, she doesn't have any evidence. She doesn't know. The same with all of the civilians. She has ideas, speculation she could share, but none of them things Barnes would like.

Nothing she's inclined to share easily. She doesn't want to cloud his judgment. Speculation can be dangerous. "And how long can they keep it up?"

[sinistral]

"The million dollar question." Which isn't really a question, as they both know. Still, there's simply not enough information to put together any sort of logical conclusion. Even his most likely ideas are nothing more than idle speculation, and he's not quite ready to commit them to vocalization just yet.

"And ships do combine themselves, right? You mentioned that." It was some time ago, but he remembers the conversation. He just wants to hear it again. "With the catalyst being...?"

[outstandingbalance]

"It seems to happen when the crews get to small. At least, so far." She can't say it's the only thing that might bring it on. "That seemed to be the case with the Starduck and Three Roses, at least. It happened after the crews shrank dramatically."

[sinistral]

He's quiet for a long moment, comparing the words now with what she'd said then. It's consistent; of course it is. But it doesn't make him feel any better. "I've noticed that the crews on many of the ships seem to have gotten much smaller. It makes me wonder."