James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
anotheroldsoldier) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
middaeg2019-07-21 09:25 am
anotheroldsoldier) wrote in middaeg2019-07-21 09:25 am
Entry tags:
[open] not a lot of difference between a foxhole and a grave
Who: Bucky Barnes & You
When: Throughout July
Where: City streets, a bar, other places as needed.
What: Bucky is still adjusting to this whole magic and monsters thing. His second full moon doesn't go great.
Warnings: A bar fight oops.
[i. Wanna Buy a Knicknack?]
[The jobs on offer right now aren't really suited to what Bucky used to do for a living, back home. You can't exactly put "defended Earth from intergalactic threats from a space station in Earth's orbit" on your resume in a world that seems stuck in a fantasy Victorian era. Still, he's got to find work eventually, because sitting around on his ass isn't sending him and Tony home, and they've got to eat at some point.
Apparently the trading guild is seeking out salesmen - it suits him as well as anything, he figures. Does he still have it in him? It's been a long time since he was fifteen and hawking dirty magazines and cigarettes on the sly to soldiers at Camp Lehigh. Maybe it's like riding a bike. He jots his name down, and they set him up with a stand and an assortment of trinkets - inexpensive jewelry, small toys, keychains - all with minor enchantments, that others couldn't manage to get sold.
It still feels like he has to slip back into a character, play a role, to act like that confident, charming kid he used to be, but it becomes easier the longer he lounges at the street-side table, flagging down potential customers.] C'mon, you want to pick up a little something for your Bonded? A lover? Gag gift for a friend? Drop a few cunes to treat yourself today? I got what you don't even know you need right here.
[ii. Full Moon: The Bar]
[Bucky feels guilty about this. He's living with someone who has been a long time sober, for fuck's sake, and he wants to be sensitive to that, but as the full moon approaches, and that unease he felt the first time around sets in, he decides he needs a drink, or four. He slips out of the apartment mostly unnoticed, bundled into a shabby second-hand coat he bought at a thrift store (snow in July, what the fuck?), and heads to the nearest, seediest bar. It happens to be a fair bit from the Haven, closer to the Harbor district, not a classy or upscale kind of place.
He feels horrible. His skin is crawling this evening, with the moons in the sky shining full above, and he feels restless in a way he can't force down. Aggressive. His canine teeth got sharper last month when this happened, he can still feel them like needles in his mouth. His hair is standing on end for some unknown reason.
He sits at the bar, orders a drink, and tries to drown his discomfort in cheap whiskey. Maybe you catch up to him when he's ordering his third drink, or maybe...
Maybe you get him around drink five, when someone else drunk jostles into his shoulder too hard, and Bucky whirls around to sock him, hard; his thin, sharp canines are bared in a hiss.] You wanna go, buddy? Let's fuckin' go!
[You wanna join in, or drag him out of the fray that kicks up on the barroom floor?]
[iii. Full Moon: Apartment Building, The Haven]
[He's not proud of himself. He's not proud at all. Bucky has no idea what's wrong with him, but he realizes now the whiskey was a mistake. He looks like he got caught in the middle of a bar fight, with a black eye and bloody lip, a tear in his shirt, missing one shoe for some reason, hair all tangled. He also smells like booze - reeks of it, actually, from drinking and from being spilled on in the fray. He's stumbling home, or at least toward the apartment building he and Tony are living in in the Haven, a massively sorry sight.
Someone jostles him on the street - or maybe that was you? - and he curses loudly, dropping into a clumsy crouch and patting along the ground.]
Fuck. Damn it, dropped my keys. Ah, hell...
[iv. Creeping Fire]
[He recognizes it a little faster when he drifts into one of those strange dreams. Like the one before, with the merrow in the lake, singing an infection's siren song, like the cave and the pools. Like the city burning. This one is worse, in a way. He can practically hear the screams in the trees, feel the vibrations of terror in the ground. His skin prickles despite the heat.
It's horrible, what's happening to these strange tree people. There isn't much else to do until he can wake up again, so he gets to work, helping as many uninfected nymphs toward safety as he can, whether it's by fighting or by running, carrying people when he has to.
He's carting a terrified, sobbing child in one arm when it happens. She's hanging on to him tightly, clinging, occasionally obscuring his vision; she doesn't know any better, he can't blame her for that, she's frightened to within an inch of her life. But he skids to a halt, boots kicking up ash and dirt, barely ducking the swinging branch of an infected tree.] Oh come on-! [He could use some help.]
[v. Wildcard]
[Want a specific starter? Hit me up at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
nekky!]
When: Throughout July
Where: City streets, a bar, other places as needed.
What: Bucky is still adjusting to this whole magic and monsters thing. His second full moon doesn't go great.
Warnings: A bar fight oops.
[i. Wanna Buy a Knicknack?]
[The jobs on offer right now aren't really suited to what Bucky used to do for a living, back home. You can't exactly put "defended Earth from intergalactic threats from a space station in Earth's orbit" on your resume in a world that seems stuck in a fantasy Victorian era. Still, he's got to find work eventually, because sitting around on his ass isn't sending him and Tony home, and they've got to eat at some point.
Apparently the trading guild is seeking out salesmen - it suits him as well as anything, he figures. Does he still have it in him? It's been a long time since he was fifteen and hawking dirty magazines and cigarettes on the sly to soldiers at Camp Lehigh. Maybe it's like riding a bike. He jots his name down, and they set him up with a stand and an assortment of trinkets - inexpensive jewelry, small toys, keychains - all with minor enchantments, that others couldn't manage to get sold.
It still feels like he has to slip back into a character, play a role, to act like that confident, charming kid he used to be, but it becomes easier the longer he lounges at the street-side table, flagging down potential customers.] C'mon, you want to pick up a little something for your Bonded? A lover? Gag gift for a friend? Drop a few cunes to treat yourself today? I got what you don't even know you need right here.
[ii. Full Moon: The Bar]
[Bucky feels guilty about this. He's living with someone who has been a long time sober, for fuck's sake, and he wants to be sensitive to that, but as the full moon approaches, and that unease he felt the first time around sets in, he decides he needs a drink, or four. He slips out of the apartment mostly unnoticed, bundled into a shabby second-hand coat he bought at a thrift store (snow in July, what the fuck?), and heads to the nearest, seediest bar. It happens to be a fair bit from the Haven, closer to the Harbor district, not a classy or upscale kind of place.
He feels horrible. His skin is crawling this evening, with the moons in the sky shining full above, and he feels restless in a way he can't force down. Aggressive. His canine teeth got sharper last month when this happened, he can still feel them like needles in his mouth. His hair is standing on end for some unknown reason.
He sits at the bar, orders a drink, and tries to drown his discomfort in cheap whiskey. Maybe you catch up to him when he's ordering his third drink, or maybe...
Maybe you get him around drink five, when someone else drunk jostles into his shoulder too hard, and Bucky whirls around to sock him, hard; his thin, sharp canines are bared in a hiss.] You wanna go, buddy? Let's fuckin' go!
[You wanna join in, or drag him out of the fray that kicks up on the barroom floor?]
[iii. Full Moon: Apartment Building, The Haven]
[He's not proud of himself. He's not proud at all. Bucky has no idea what's wrong with him, but he realizes now the whiskey was a mistake. He looks like he got caught in the middle of a bar fight, with a black eye and bloody lip, a tear in his shirt, missing one shoe for some reason, hair all tangled. He also smells like booze - reeks of it, actually, from drinking and from being spilled on in the fray. He's stumbling home, or at least toward the apartment building he and Tony are living in in the Haven, a massively sorry sight.
Someone jostles him on the street - or maybe that was you? - and he curses loudly, dropping into a clumsy crouch and patting along the ground.]
Fuck. Damn it, dropped my keys. Ah, hell...
[iv. Creeping Fire]
[He recognizes it a little faster when he drifts into one of those strange dreams. Like the one before, with the merrow in the lake, singing an infection's siren song, like the cave and the pools. Like the city burning. This one is worse, in a way. He can practically hear the screams in the trees, feel the vibrations of terror in the ground. His skin prickles despite the heat.
It's horrible, what's happening to these strange tree people. There isn't much else to do until he can wake up again, so he gets to work, helping as many uninfected nymphs toward safety as he can, whether it's by fighting or by running, carrying people when he has to.
He's carting a terrified, sobbing child in one arm when it happens. She's hanging on to him tightly, clinging, occasionally obscuring his vision; she doesn't know any better, he can't blame her for that, she's frightened to within an inch of her life. But he skids to a halt, boots kicking up ash and dirt, barely ducking the swinging branch of an infected tree.] Oh come on-! [He could use some help.]
[v. Wildcard]
[Want a specific starter? Hit me up at
no subject
[Tony says that, but it actually doesn't sound so bad when he has Bucky with him. For once he's on a mad adventure and doesn't feel quite so alone. He's not sure how long it's been since he's had a partner to count on. Maybe too long, if his faulty memory is anything to go by.]
We're going to win. I'm not sure what we're winning exactly, except maybe an ice pack for you, but we'll win it.
[At least he's relaxed enough to give Bucky a hard time.]
Next time you want to get into a fight, just call me.
no subject
I'd happily win an ice pack at this point. C'mon, Glinda, magic me up one? [He's teasing now, trying to bring a little light to the conversation as well.]
I think next time I'm lookin' for a fight, I should try to find a gym instead.