[MISSION LOG] BRAVE NEW WORLD

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: The Station + Concordia
WHEN: Day :000 - ???
SUMMARY: Leaving the Station; the arrival and first days on Concordia. Concordia pt.1.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary.

IT'S EARLY IN THE DAY and something feels strange. It’s not unlike when a new Host - not one of your brood, but close enough to feel the tug - comes awake on the Nesting Deck. But it’s just the initial tug. There’s no noise, no hum of confusion or volume. Today, it’s just there: a sensation of presence that a moment ago wasn’t. Soon after follows a prickling awareness of urgency. A small electric bolt through the mind. Cathaway doesn’t use words in the mind, but her meaning is nonetheless easily understood: come to her on the hangar; your presence is required.

On the hangar there is a sleek, low profile transport ship. Before it stand Cathaway and Prince and in their company is a stranger: a short woman with warm skin and dark hair, wearing unfamiliar colorful clothes and a quick, pleasant smile. You’ve never seen her before, but you know she’s a Host.

“This is them?” Her voice is light and sweet. Prince, occupied by a databank, glances up at her then nods once. There’s a tension in his shoulder and through his jaw - a distinct contrast to Cathaway and the stranger who lack both.

“Lovely.” Her tone is breezy and easy, delighted. “Hello, it is so nice to meet you all! My name is Carata. My partner and I have been away on duty for a few months, but it’s become clear that we need backup on our assignment. We are hoping you can help.” Carata motions to the mission equipment in neat kits at her feet. There is one for each young Host.

Prince folds his pad down into its smallest form. His expression is set and serious.

“You will be joining Carata and Nirad on the planet below to assist them with their mission. Your datapbank will provide you with information about the planet and the city where you will be stationed. This mission is covert and the planet itself has no contact with other planetary races, so you will need to do your utmost to blend in.”

Cathaway sharpens slowly beside them: a dull pencil being sharpened to a point as her attention curves back to this place, this instance. She unfolds her hands. “You’ll be provided with an earpiece that should allow you to interface with the local technology and a fake identity for your cover on world. Please mind both carefully and be sure to keep your databanks offline. It would be inconvenient if they were networked while on planet.” From the way she says it, it sounds like ‘inconvenient’ might be an understatement. “This mission shouldn’t be inherently life threatening. Your primary goal is to investigate the anti-android movement. Carata and Nirad will be able to tell you what your databanks do not.”

“You should listen to them,” Prince adds. “Rely on their experience and knowledge to help you succeed in your task. Be mindful, and treat them with the respect they have earned.”

At this Carata laughs. It’s a bright, joyful sound, her hands coming up to clasp in front of her chest, “Please, teacher, you are too serious. I am sure they will do very well. Come along then! Gather your things; we must leave as soon as possible. I do hate to leave Nirad alone for too long.”

Turning her back to the Hosts, Carata takes Cathaway’s hand for a moment Nothing is said, but there’s the distinct impression of something passing between them. They release their grip, then Carata turns to Prince. She places her hands on his shoulders and goes up to her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t return the gesture, but those with sharp eyes will note he does lean down slightly to make her job easier.

Gather your gear, get anything from your rooms you might not want to leave behind. In two hours, everyone attending the mission will be buckled or strapped into the transport as Carata readies the ship for takeoff. She explains, neatly and concisely, what they believe the enemy to be doing in Concordia. Then, with a turning of the deck, the ship is freed from the embrace of Station 72.

It will be a long time before you see this place again.

     I. THE WHEELS ON THE BUS
The flight to Concordia is surprisingly short. By the time Carata's finished her explanation, you've passed into a new universe. It comes with a strange wave of something akin to nausea. Outside the transport's starboard viewports lays Opia in all it's glory: a beautiful blue marble speckled with sixteen landmasses and swathed in thing clouds like spun sugar. From this distance, clusters of light burn from specific points on the continents like a map of grounded constellations. As one of the great megacities of Opia comes curling from around the edge of the planet, the transport ship begins to descend.

Atmospheric entry is smooth. The transport drops at the outskirts of Concordia on what is, hilariously, some kind of large parking garage. It has engaged the most sophisticated of its cloaking technology to do this and Carata urged everyone to disembark quickly so the ship can return to orbiting the planet before it's detected.

"It will be back," she says flippantly. "When we've finished our job."

The ship departs. It's quiet and still for a handful of minutes; Carata seems unconcerned and gives little in the way of direction or instruction. The city flashes around them - bright lights and neon masking the fading of natural light - and nearby, a roadway hums. Eventually the sound of a car pitches louder. A set of headlamps shear from the long line of cars and in moments a long, squarish transport van pulls up and parks at the top of the garage. The side door slides open to admit everyone. In the driver's seat is an android - shining metal and cheerful as it greets every host by name. Beside the android in the van's passenger seat sits a tall, dark skinned man who - much like Carata - is obviously a host.

Welcome to Concordia.

     II. HOME SWEET HOME
It's a long drive into the city. The buildings get taller, the lights get brighter, the streets get busier. There are throngs of people on the street, dogged by endless rows of neon bright advertisements. Traffic is either miserable or flowing depending on the neighborhood and trams run on tracks fifty feet or more above the roadways. Streams of people files from the pavement to the subways, countless numbers of escalators leading down.

When the bus finally stops, it's in front of a building as tall as any others. The signs here mark this section of the city as BETA BLOCK and when you get out and into the building lobby you find that the door opens for you automatically. A chime rings through the interfacing ear piece and when you enter the elevators, the only floor accessible to you is NUMBER EIGHTEEN. When you disembark, a kind voice welcomes you by home in your ear. There are a large number of rooms here in Bearing - stake your claim, everyone! Nirad and Carata already have a couple of rooms in the Southwest corner of the building, but the rest are open. Time to settle in!

     III. FEET ON THE GROUND
You're given the rest of the night to sleep (or...whatever), but by 9AM the next morning everyone is awoken by Carata's voice in their head. She's clearly not shy of using her symbiotic connection.

( Good morning! I know this is quite a lot to get used to. I believe this is your first true assignment? But I have always believed that the best way to learn something new is to jump right in. ) The words are accompanied by the sensation of someone clapping their hands together, a cheerful kind of practicality. ( You’ve been given a credit card. I encourage you to go out today and learn what you can about this place. Talk to people. Listen to the news. Be sure to remember your cover identity, and don’t hesitate to call if you find yourself in trouble. )

There is nothing pressing to the suggestion, just the sensation- light. Airy. Fun. She switches track after a moment, a thoughtful addition: ( There is also a rally in town today. It’s being run by The True Children of Opia, some minor little hate group-- ) She seems to wave off the unsavory aspects as she forges ahead, ( They aren’t affiliated with Humans + Humans 1st, but they do have very similar ideologies and it is quite probable that there is overlap in their membership. If you would rather, it is also quite likely that there will be protestors there as well, both members of Mind Life and those who are adamant about pursuing digital resurrection. Please do be careful, though, sometimes those rallies can be a little... ) An image of an oily substance catching flame, quickly and hotly.

( Whatever you chose, simply do your best to get your bearings. ) She seems to realize the unintended joke there, given the name of their current residence, and a bright happy flash of color accompanies it. What a delightful surprise. ( Prepare yourself for what is to come. Nirad and I will continue our investigation in the meantime. )

---

((OOC Notes: This is the catchall log for the first stages of the Concordia mission. You'll notice there's no set ending date, so use this log however you like - alternatively, feel free to start your own logs in the setting! Don't worry; we'll be keeping a close eye on things, so if something big starts to happen that necessitates a new long, we'll make sure to keep our bases covered and all of y'all updated. Just be aware that dating forward farther than :010 may get a little dicey.

If you have any mission specific questions, direct them to the OOC post here.))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

Bucky Barnes

[bracchium]

(ooc: I'm going to put up one thread for station/hatch and one for Concordia!)

:005 {ii bearings}

[bracchium]

[Just when he thought things couldn't get worse, the elevator doors open and there's so many people, too many people. A couple might glance up, but that's all it takes for Bucky to feel entirely too crowded. They're watching him. His stomach is lead and pain slices through his neck, arcing from under his chin to his left shoulder.

The sense of belonging that creeps through his head unsettles him further. He's not supposed to belong, he's dangerous, he shouldn't be here with all these people.

He tries to scoot further back in the elevator, but when it becomes clear that he'll have to depart from it, he keeps to the wall. This is wrong. He's not supposed to be here.

But he is. He said yes after all. In Siberia, he said yes and he should've used his time on the Station better because now he's standing here in a room full of people and all he wants is to be alone.

Unless he's approached, he's not likely to try getting within ten feet of another person.]

[decommission]

[ It's late enough that Steve's hopped a train back to the Bearings for the night. He hasn't bothered asking to take out the car yet, city driving doesn't appeal to him all that much.

Two more Hosts have slipped into comas and Jessica's space in his head has gone painfully silent. It puts Steve in a somber mood when he gets back to his room, idly flipping through a few forums he'd flagged on the Extranet to read through when he got back. The busy work (if you can even call it that) isn't enough of a distraction to keep him from noticing the noise coming from the elevators, some of it echoing in his head through thin strands - all of them new to him.

The symbiote's touch is subtle, urging him to investigate, to follow the threads to their source. Instead he keeps to himself for a little bit at first. If they're loud they just woke up. The noise of all the other Hosts gathered in one space can be disorienting, he knows. The best he can do is keep his walls up and give them a moment to adjust.

There's one mind that continues to buzz, broadcasting agitation in a way that's difficult for him to keep ignoring. Closing the Extranet, Steve pulls himself for his bed, walking out into the common area. Just to make sure nothing's wrong.

The first thing he notices is the missing arm. Hard to get a look at his face with all that hair, but the features Steve finds are familiar, which is odd, because -

His eyes widen and narrow in the space of a breath, shoulders rigid. ]

Buck?

[ It's like the floor gives out under his feet. ]

[bracchium]

[Over the racket in the room, both mental and verbal, Bucky barely hears his name. His head turns on a swivel and finds a small man standing across the room from him. His facial features say Steve, but the rest of him doesn't compute in Bucky's head. In the museum, Steve was broad-shouldered-- after serum, Rogers stood at 6'2" and weighed 240 pounds-- and tall. Except... except Steve wore newspapers in his shoes and god his head hurt like hell. This doesn't work, this isn't right.

The back of a freezer truck and the tail of a quinnjet don't fit and Bucky's brows furrow. This isn't right. They don't fit.

He remembers the tabloid in Bucharest, a picture of him in Vienna when he never went near the city. Maybe... maybe this was something like that. His brain latches onto the idea, though it's only tentative. This doesn't work. This isn't Steve.

Instead of replying, he stares in silence, trying to figure out just what the hell is going on.]

[decommission]

[ Confusion flickers across Steve's face, pulsing from him in waves along with a strong sense of wrong whenever his gaze settles on the empty space where his friend's arm used to be, the room seeming to tilt. He almost doesn't notice that Bucky hasn't even responded yet, or that he's projecting. The connection between them shudders and closes down to a pinhole, preventing anything else from passing between them as best that he can. ]

How - [ Trailing off, his gaze scans across Bucky's features again - the length of his hair, the state of his clothes. It's been a month since they last saw each other. Steve takes a step forward, then stops. ] - Buck, what happened?

[ Bucky had left home, sharp and clean. Ready to go to war.

Steve came to the Station and believed thatthe memory of his friend in uniform would be the last one he'd ever have. ]

[bracchium]

[Bucky's first instinct is to lie, to say I don't know and leave it at that. Most people aren't curious enough to press further, but the man in front of him isn't most people. He doesn't know exactly who he is, but he looks and sounds entirely too much like Steve for Bucky to clamp down. Wrong wrong wrong washes over him and he's not sure where it's coming from.

When Steve steps forward, Bucky doesn't move and keeps his body as relaxed as he can make it, but his shoulders still square on instinct.

End of the line drifts into his head, punching Steve again and again until his eyes are swollen shut, reaching out to grip a smaller set of shoulders. His mom's name is Sarah, he wears newspapers in his shoes.]

I don't wanna talk about it. [He finally settles on something a little more neutral after juggling through options; he used to be good at talking, but now it feels like he's trying to assemble a rifle with a blindfold. Actually, the latter might be easier, even without his arm.]

[decommission]

[ Trying to reconcile what's wrong about Bucky's appearance is one thing.

Hearing his voice is a punch to the gut.

He's frozen in place again, caught between an a deep impulse to press and demand answers, and the horrible sense that doing so will tip this all the wrong way. All this time he hasn't stopped searching his friend's face, as if clarity can somehow come from that alone. The shift in Bucky's body language as he approaches doesn't go unnoticed.

Silence stretches between them, until he finally works a response from his throat. ]

Okay. [ Forced from his throat, not the answer he wants to give. We can talk later, seems to follow, unspoken. He still can't tear his gaze away, expression tight. ] There's rooms for us - you can sit. Or lie down.

[ It won't shut out the noise in his head, but it's better than sitting in the middle of the common area like this. ]

[bracchium]

[Bucky can't stand to meet Steve's gaze anymore, the scrutiny too much like Bucharest and HYDRA to handle. He drops his own line of vision away to one of the various holograms, jaw clenched tight. Everything about this is so intensely uncomfortable, from the syncopated conversation to the noise of so many minds brushing up against his own.

And Steve is... Steve is different from Bucky's freshest memories, but yet a hundred times more familiar to the rusted ones in the back of his head. His voice resonates with the strings in his head and Bucky realizes that maybe-- just maybe-- this actually is Steve.

A Steve that doesn't know anything. He won't need to defend a monster, he won't face consequences. Maybe the distance between them is a good thing. Steve won't get so tangled in a man who can't be saved, who doesn't deserve to be saved.

When Steve speaks again, Bucky glances up and the pulse of we can talk later reminds him of Steve in an alley, trash can lid in hand. He doesn't know how long he'll be able to refuse to answer.

Mission, he reminds himself. There's mission. Focus on the mission.] There's a mission.

[And hopefully that mission takes him out of this room full of people and probing questions.]

[frakkincylons]

Whoa, okay, wow.

[ given that sam's one of the two tech overlords (weirdly, this still feel so weird to him) of the group, he has the prime real estate of the couch in the middle of the goddamn commons room, set up in front of three or four large hologram screens, and a view straight into the elevator. and the new hatch kid that looks like he's having a freaking heart attack. and spewing out panic left and right. keeping the valve locked tight on your head the first few days isn't any kind of easy.

sam only did it himself a few weeks ago, so there's some empathy he feels for the guy. and also the fact sam's one of the more open, less psychotic douchebags of the nest, so he's rising up from his couch command center, telling Angel he'll be right back, and carefully pacing over to the new guy, hands held up pacifying and keeping a decent distance. he looks like he hasn't had a good few days. ]

Hey, you're gonna be okay, buddy, I promise. [ he tells him in an even tone, calm, and keeping his own thoughts on an aggressive lockdown for the moment. ] The first few days are a head trip, but it calms down after a while.

[ glancing to the side a moment, sam reaches out, snatching up a book from one of the side tables, and points a finger towards one of the still unclaimed rooms, waving for the new dude to follow. ]

Come on, there's a couple tricks I know that might help. I'm Sam, by the way.

[bracchium]

[Bucky notices someone approaching him from out of those assembled and though the stranger comes with empty hands for him to see, his muscles tense, ready for a fight. It always ends in a fight. People don't come closer unless they've got a beef to settle. The verbal reassurances do nothing to staunch the anticipation buzzing through his body. When Sam reaches to the side, Bucky clenches, though the other tries its best. He remembers a second too late that he can't use the metal arm to defend and instead is cut just below his tricep. The memory of gold light, a burst of pain, and the smell of burnt flesh fills his mind, but no attack comes.

It's just a book. Just a book.

A little privacy sounds far too good right now and with his instincts screaming in his ears, he doesn't move. Instead, he stares at Sam with a gaze that might be just a little too wide-eyed to be calm.]

[frakkincylons]

[ aaaand he's not moving. looking just as ready to bolt, if not more straight up attack, but the man looks like he's just had the crap kicked out of him, and a freaking cybernetic arm ripped off, so he's probably not that geared for it at the moment. not that that would stop some people. either way, sam is absolutely not looking for a fight with him, so he doesn't try moving him. Just, gestures to the unclaimed room. ]

Look, the less your mind's aware of them, the less you'll hear them. So if you can't see them, it'll be a little bit easier.

[ not a lot, but a little. less sensory input, less of the symbiote trying to reach out for the others. but anyway, it's there if you want it. Sam can just explain the rest of it here. The book he'd picked up is held out - something about tourism in Concordia, not terribly riveting. ]

Read it, out loud, to yourself in a quiet room. Focus on your voice, how you form the words, what the page feels like. Stay present in your own mind, fill up your mind with what's directly in front of you. [ that's the one trick that tends to help Sam. it's a little different for everyone, brains are wired differently, but it might help. ] The other option is, uh. Sing.

[ there's a twitch of an awkward, half-smile. It's weird, more so because it was something he'd learned from home, specifically due to an amputee. He was told, when he'd started to feel the phantom pain from his missing leg, to sing. That part of the story he's not sharing with this guy. A little too similar. But it helps to keep the mind occupied and block out the unnecessary. ] If you want to seal up in a room, no one'll bother you. But I wouldn't recommend going out into the city by yourself.

[bracchium]

[It's similar to what Sam did back on the station when they first arrived. Breathe in. Count to seven. Breathe out. Count out loud. It's not quite the same, but maybe it'll be just enough. Out of sight, he can collect himself without so many eyes and so much noise. He sucks in a breath as Sam holds out the book. Bucky makes no move to take it or to take up a room that might as well be a cage. Glancing back at the elevator reveals that the doors have long since closed and the car gone and Bucky's in no shape to go climbing.

There's only a few ways this can go.

He bites his lip for a second before finally accepting the book thrust in his direction. In his head, his brain continues to clamour and vibrate with all the stimuli, external and otherwise. So he opens the cover to brightly-colored pictures of the city above. It's as Sam said, some kind of tourist guide and the pages are smooth and glossy underneath his calluses. ]

[frakkincylons]

[ the good thing about reading, rather, is that you have to actually pay attention to it, given you don't have the next word memorized. counting can easily be done without a second thought. granted, it'd probably work better with something more interesting, but. sam hasn't had much of a chance to go book shopping yet. ]

Might wanna grab something more engaging later, but for now, it'll probably be better than staring at a wall and just thinking real hard at it.

[ Bucky's taken the book, at least, and while he doesn't seem to be doing anything else with it, that's at least progress. Something a lot worse than just showing up here had to have happened to this guy, to be so freaked out. not that it isn't obvious, with the state of him. carefully, Sam paces back, pulling out a chair near a dining table, and sits his ass down, giving Bucky as much space as he likes. there's other chairs around he can snag if he likes, but he's hardly going to tell the guy what to do. ]

Exercise is good too. Not that there's much room to do it in here. I usually go for runs in the morning. [ a beat, sam just talking for the sake of giving the man something to latch onto. outside of the mental noise. ] You're welcome to come with sometime, if you want.

[bracchium]

[As it is, reading a book thoroughly with just the one hand is a bit of a balancing act. So, when Sam grabs a chair near a table, Bucky's keen to the idea. He follows, albeit a few feet behind, and settles in a chair a few feet from Sam. Shaking his head, Bucky focuses on the book and calming his breathing. One to seven. Breathe out. The fingers on his remaining hand play at the corners of the pages, but he's not doing much reading, though he is listening.

Going for a run earns a glance at the least, but he's not sure what that entails. He doesn't go for runs, he doesn't exercise on his own, since he's never needed it as far as he knows.

The glass curtain rises, releasing billows of steam as ice meets warm air. Trying to find his feet fails and strong arms lift him from the floor.]

[serenae]

[The elevator opens. Inside of their floor there are hosts- not all of them, not gathered in one place, but more than there had been on the Station, in the living area, in their rooms. Across the city, a web of minds.

Inside the elevator is her, with him, waiting patiently for him to leave, to join them. To allow the doors to close behind them and the lift to glide back down to whoever else might need it. His mind is cluttered and crowded, and it's with great difficulty that she resists doing more than simply talking to him. She doesn't bother to disguise the fact that she can hear him, though. There is no point in pretending.]

Of course you should. This is where you are meant to be.

[Her voice is gentle and encouraging, a soft smile on her face as she joins him at his side, fingers laced behind her back- restraining herself, in some small way. Her thoughts are the same, and they're free and easy and accessible. Warm and welcoming. Glad to see him, even as he is. Standing there, she looks very fragile compared to him, but she's not frightened. Not of him. How could she be?]

Can I help you?

[It's a genuine question. She would like to, very much. She could, but there are edges to his thoughts, and she thinks it might not be welcome. But there were more ways to help then one. Perhaps he would like a drink? Something warm, something soothing- an idea and a concept that is open for him to see and understand and know, if he wants.]

[bracchium]

[Bucky nearly jumps at the sound of her voice, clear like a bell despite all the noise both internal and external. He flicks his gaze over to her, heart hammering in his throat.]

No. [He doesn't make any move to advance further into the common room. Instead, he lingers in the lift as long as he can. Help? No. He wouldn't let anyone else get tangled up in consequences. Sam lost his wings, Steve lost friends. Every one in this room stood to lose a great deal from simply existing around him.

Compared to him, she's so small, so delicate.

The muggy air sticks his hair to the side of his neck as he advances on the crashed car, the woman crying softly.

[serenae]

[The memory is so clear and so present that she would have a difficult time looking away from it even if she wanted to, which she doesn't. It's a moment in time, and it's not. There's no objective truth in a memory, Carata knows this. They were always changed, colored and shifted by the person they belonged to.

The elevator beeped, a gentle but insistent reminder. She stays precisely where she is.]

Appearances can be deceiving.

[Her. That picture in his head. Most things were more complex than people imagined. A gentle reminder to herself that sounds more like someone else's voice. She's being impolite. He might not mean to share with her, as young and confused and anxious as he seemed.

He should sit down. Give himself time to think, to process. Calm his mind. Her thoughts are so clear they're almost words. A gentle suggestion, since he hadn't seen the wisdom in her last. The elevator beeps, again.]

[bracchium]

[Bucky watches her, brow furrowed as words issue forth without her mouth moving. They spin out like tendrils and reach his ears the same as if they were vocalized. He doesn't agree with them any more than her previous sentiment; he doesn't belong here, no matter how much his brain tells him he should. The elevator beeping reminds him of how little space separates him from Carata.

Sighing through his nose, he steps out into the common area, clear of the doors, but makes no move to sit or calm. There's still too much noise, too many screams behind his eyelids to let them close for long.

Howard...?]

[serenae]

[Of course he does. He couldn't be here if he didn't. It was fact, pure, simple, and objective. He was a match to the symbiote, the symbiote was part of the Nest, and so he was a part of them. It was no guarantee that things would be easy or that he would find comfort and peace in his belonging, but that wouldn't change the fact that he did belong.

She doesn't press her certainty on him, doesn't carry him along the chain of her thoughts. If he wanted to see what she thought, he could, but otherwise she gives over nothing but the continual radiating sense of calm. He has left the elevator, which is all she currently wanted from him.

She steps out as well, sideways, careful not to crowd.]

You should focus on the here and now. The past cannot be changed. There's no point in letting it drag you down.

[bracchium]

[Bucky doesn't gain any comfort from the notion that he has to match a symbiote. Instead, he feels entirely too targeted and watched. He keeps his gaze locked on Carata as she steps out of the elevator beside him. Each comforting though unravels from her, threatening to tangle him into placid acceptance. He refuses on instinct; nothing is ever free, not in the world he knows from years with HYDRA.

The past is all he can really know, the past is just as important as the here and now. The past defines who he is as a person and a soldier. He regards her in silence, though his thoughts are anything but quiet.]

[snippycup]

[Ahsoka doesn't see Bucky exit, but she certainly feels his presence when he inches past her chosen room. She lifts her head out of pure curiosity -- he stands out like a sore thumb for all of his intense discomfort among that feeling of belonging that she herself had never quite gotten used to. Coming from a galaxy far, far away she can't begin to understand his fear, but she is not without sympathy.

(Or maybe she can, and just doesn't want to acknowledge it)

Normally, this is the part where she reaches out with her calm mind to offer some sort of sanctuary -- she had done it with Anakin now more times than she can count, so much that it almost doesn't exhaust her anymore. She thinks better of it when she spots him scooting along the wall and instead opts to gently lift herself off of her bed and approach him.

Wiser than most lifeforms her age, Ahsoka is still so clearly a young woman in spite of her alien appearance. Her shorter stature leaves her dwarved in relation to the man across from her and her curious blue eyes focus upward on Bucky in the most gentle manner she is able to manage.

She hadn't emerged from her room for more than a few hours the last few days -- soon, she would make her journey to Subspace, and hope she could do some good there in spite of her appearance and in spite of the danger she so clearly posed just for being present. But for now, she is almost glad to have waited.]

Hey.

[Her smile is small, but genuine.]

[bracchium]

[After his talk with Steve, Bucky's brain has filled to the brim with noise. Steve can't stop the Winter Soldier anymore, not with those skinny arms Bucky can't quite put in place in his mind. The static spreads throughout the rest of his body and he can feel a twitching sensation in a hand that isn't there anymore. He nearly knocks into Ahsoka for his distracting thoughts and steps back when she speaks.

Like Steve, she's small in stature and he can't help the surge of guilt that spills into his mind. He's dangerous, he shouldn't be here, not without someone who could neutralize him as necessary. It doesn't look like there's anyone who can right now, though, and that leaves him far more nervous than he expected.

He blinks down at her for a moment before replying,] Hey.

[snippycup]

[Its impossible for Ahsoka to forget how she had felt when she had been overwhelmed by the Nest's presence -- and she had been used to hearing and feeling strange sensations in her head. She can't imagine how it might feel to someone totally unaccustomed to it -- not that she has any idea whether or not the man in front of her has had similar experiences before.

But its what keeps her firmly planted in her own mind in spite of her obvious curiosity and concern. The way he carries himself reminds her a little of Rex -- thinking of the old Clone Commander suddenly makes her homesick, in spite of the fact that home was presently no place for her wellbeing.]

Did you just wake up? Seems like it.

[There's sympathy in her eyes and in her voice, but she keeps her smile and offers him a small bow.]

I'm Ahsoka Tano.

[bracchium]

[Waking up seems to be a strange way to put the whole hatching experience, but Bucky isn't about to argue. He's instead focused on how many people can walk around in his head now, where they might bump into something they don't want to see. There's so much he doesn't know; others could trigger something in him.

He takes in Ahsoka better the second time around before offering a slight bow himself.

Names aren't his strong point; he's expecting to forget it within a few minutes. Still, he offers his own all the same,] Bucky.

[The Winter Soldier, his mind hisses, nothing more than a weapon to be sharpened and pointed in the right direction.]

[snippycup]

[Even his name sounds like something the clones might have come up with, and she smiles a bit wider for it.]

Nice to meet you.

[Even thought they aren't of brood, its impossible not to feel his nervous energy with how swiftly and powerfully it buzzes through him. Its the only thing keeping her smile from staying perfectly fixed on her face -- but she tries for him anyway.]

Have you gotten to talk to Carata yet? Or anyone else? Its...kind of a lot to take in. This whole thing, I mean.

[Her brows knits just a little. She can count on her hand a good number of 'people you probably shouldn't talk to just after waking up' in the Nest.]