When it gets inside; [open]

[bracchium]

CHARACTERS: Bucky and whoever
WHERE: The Bearings
WHEN: Day :012-:014
SUMMARY: Bucky is back at the Bearings after a bit of an absence.
WARNINGS: Probably mentions of death, gore, violence, etc.



{ A :011 late/:012 early } [closed to Steve Rogers]

[Bucky's back! Almost immediately upon setting foot back in the Bearings, he makes a beeline for one of the rooms farthest from the common room. He's come in lugging a backpack over one shoulder, with a metal arm half-sticking out the top, and looks a little like a sewer rat dragged through a gutter or two. His brain sounds much the same. As soon as he's cleared the threshold of his room, he snaps the door closed and locks it less than a heartbeat later.

An hour allows him to take a quick shower and calm his head enough to attempt sleeping. However, the bed is entirely too soft after so many days curled up on the floor (and eventually a mat). He can't close his eyes for longer than a handful of heartbeats.

One by one, he's stealing the cushions from one of the couches in the common room in multiple trips a few minutes apart.]

-

{ B :012 - :014 } [open to all!]

[The first couple days, Bucky makes himself scarce. Though he doesn't ever leave the Bearings, he's not exactly a stable fixture in the common room. Occasionally, he collects some food to eat from kitchen or ventures out to grab a book. When he does make a prolonged appearance, he's settled at one of the tables, alternately writing in a small notebook weighted down by a coaster and tracing the textures on said coaster. From time to time, he doesn't do either and simply stares off into the distance, brows furrowed, only to furiously scratch more words into the page when he comes back to himself.

On the rare occasion, a heavy steel arm will sit beside him at the table.

His head hums slowly, not nearly as active and loud as his initial arrival, not so cluttered. Static simmers at the edges of his senses, threatening to boil over, but Bucky is at least trying not to broadcast everything everywhere.]

Comments

[bracchium]

[Bucky stops mid-word when he feels his consciousness click into another, like a missing puzzle piece finally settling into place, a long-awaited guest coming home. He looks up from his notebook to identify the source and finds a kid standing there. A moment later, said kid speaks and Bucky nods his head silently.

He can already feel his mind involuntarily reaching out for the other through the broodlink, his buzzing, staticky mind extending itself before he can stop it, bringing Siberian cold and muffled screams along for the ride. Rather than continue his frantic writing, he opts to stare at the new person as if trying to read the latter.

Dark blue eyes flick over his features, memorizing them in an instant before he does any talking of his own.]

I'm Bucky.

[headinjuries]

[ He's not sure how to describe the vibe he gets from this guy. Jumbled and hard to put a description to, but there's a feeling of cold and...intense, maybe, is the word he wants. Whatever else he's not sure that he's feeling through the link, it's definitely intense.

He slides into the chair, dropping a bag on the table in front of him. ]

I'm Sam.

[ A slight shrug, an unspoken feeling of yeah, I know, another one. Maybe they'll get two more Sams and they can make a megazord.

And then he starts digging stuff out of that bag. ]

Want a taco? I mean, they call it something else here, but it totally looks like tacos to me, except for the onions being blue. Which is weird.

[bracchium]

[Bucky's not great with names. He doesn't know if he was ever good with them, but whatever capability he had before has likely been lost to a mess of memories. Another Sam is actually fine with him; he can say Sam and get both broodmates in one shot. The question about a 'taco,' whatever the hell that is, is met with a shake of his head. He'a not about to try any new foods any time soon, especially not at the prompting of a relative stranger.]

When did you get here? [He's been away from the Bearings for a bit, after all.]

[headinjuries]

[ More tacos for him, no complaints here. ]

Just the other day. Nobody else woke up with me, which I guess isn't really normal? I came down here alone.

[ Tacos are out, weird blue onions and all, and he keeps rooting around in the bag until he finds a packet of...something, which he looks at dubiously for a moment before ripping it open. ]

Man, I really hope this is hot sauce.

[bracchium]

[Bucky woke up with two others from his own world, but has little to reference in regards to what any other hatch is like. He watches Sam fiddle around in his bag, brows furrowing when his apparent broodmate is about to eat something of unknown origin.]

Could be poisoned. [Said by a man who has been poisoned by his own captors many, many times.]

[headinjuries]

It looked like they were doing pretty good business, you don't get that from making your customers puke and die.

[ Well, okay, somehow people are still eating at Chipotle. But food poisoning is a little different from someone deliberately slipping something in there, and someone slipping something in there seems so far-fetched to him that it would never have occurred to him. ]

[bracchium]

[Bucky continues to look skeptical as he runs his fingers over the coaster sitting on the table before him. His new broodmate seems trusting, recklessly so.

Must be nice.]

Where did you get it?

[headinjuries]

[ The first lesson Sam got from Rocket and Gamora - well, second, since the first was mostly just Rocket shooting at him and him trying to learn how to not die - was not to trust anyone. But there's a difference, Sam thinks, between trusting other people for themselves and trusting what makes sense for them to do.

(Or maybe he's just nicer than they are, somewhere underneath after you scrape off the teenage attitude.) ]

Little place on the east side of the subspace dragstrip, I forget what the name was.

[ He finishes dumping the (hopefully) hot sauce all over his tacos, picks the first one up, and takes a bite.

And immediately winces. ]

[bracchium]

[When Sam winces, Bucky is on his feet in less than a heartbeat, reaching out to attempt to take the taco. Poison, his mind tells him first, and his new broodmate is going to die.]

[headinjuries]

[ Sam doesn't resist the attempt to take the taco; he breaks into a coughing fit that lasts a couple of seconds before he finally finishes swallowing that first bite.

And then he's just glaring at the sauce packet, clearly still healthy enough to complain about something. ]

Oh my God. That is not hot sauce. It's like teriyaki and ranch had a baby. Why does that even exist?

[bracchium]

[Bucky sends that taco right into the trash with a gentle toss, brows furrowed as he regards his broodmate with a concern undue for strangers. When the other starts complaining about the sauce's composition, though, his shoulders relax a touch.

Maybe not poison after all.] You okay?

[headinjuries]

Yeah, I'm fine.

[ He's still got that look on his face like he just swallowed a bug, but he's well enough to energetically complain, so it can't be too bad. ]

That was disgusting.

[bracchium]

[Oh. Well Sam seems alright for now, if not momentarily inconvenienced by the taste of the not-hot sauce.] Don't eat any more from that vendor.

[Bucky would advise not eating any food that he doesn't know all the ingredients in, but he doesn't make the rules here.]

[headinjuries]

Well at the very least I'm telling them they can keep the not-sauce to themselves.

[ Skipping out on them entirely would probably be easy, really. There are a lot of places to eat out there, and the budget for this mission, whatever it is, seems to be enough that he doesn't need to worry about breaking the bank.

But if this is what passes for edible around here, he's got some deep questions about the Concordian palate. ]

[bracchium]

[Bucky eyes the remaining lumps in Sam's back, wondering just how many more tacos his broodmate is willing to risk.]

I could make something. [Burned water. Dried noodles.]

[headinjuries]

Do we have anything good? I didn't really look in the fridge.

[ Sampling the local color was supposed to be one of those things you did while you were traveling somewhere new and exotic, right?

Of course, if local tastes run to some horrible teriyaki-ranch chimera of burned taste buds, he's gonna get over that quickly enough. ]

[bracchium]

[Bucky's definition of "good" might be a little skewed, considering he lives mostly off nothing with a side of nothing with occasional protein.]

I saw some noodles in the pantry. [Excitement Central.]

[headinjuries]

Noodles kinda need some help.

[ He glances at the not-sauce pocket and visibly shudders. ]

Possibly more help than this place can provide.

[bracchium]

[Bucky looks entirely non-plussed by the idea of bland noodles.] Better than that. [He nods toward the waste basket where the remains of the clearly poisoned taco sit.]

[headinjuries]

Okay, you got me there.

[ He's pretty sure they'd be okay without The Sauce That Heaven Forsook, but he's just going to have to pay the price for dumping it all over without trying it first, apparently. ]