[ Bucky's awareness of the other man's presence, the particular pattern and cadence of his footsteps, flickers in like a shutter zooming and closing. Captures information. Files it away: profile created for one 'friendly' guy who carves machetes out of scrap metal.
That takes some doing, he thinks, as they move around a grove of strange fern-like trees. Upside-down weeping willows. He signals his new partner to circle one half, meet him on the other side.
Either the man's got friends, or he's Gifted. Bucky considers the Maximoff girl. ]
Hear that, [ again, not a question — confirmation, ] running water.
[ Friends or gifts. He wants to know, either way. ]
[ Military. American is a guess, voices and hand signals can be worn as easily as masks. He's worn it himself a few times, it's what makes the blend seamless. The walk quiet, coordinated. It is familiar. It is almost easy. ]
[ His head turns, straining for the sound of the water. It shows his hand — only human, he can barely make out the sound. ]
You'd know better. [ Metahuman. Just a friendly observation — he hadn't seemed winded at all earlier, but Bruce too is schooled at keeping pain and fatigue at bay. ] Are we sharing?
[ The canteen, names, details of powers, their species lives for the doubletalk. ]
[ He takes the correction in stride. No obligation, no, but he doubts they would simply part and never be drawn back by each other's respective gravities. Bruce knows what he can walk away from. ]
Alan.
[ The names don't matter. They know who they are. He follows, watching the man's six. ]
['Alan,' the man says, like he's been saying it all his life. Could be true. Not a deal-breaker if it isn't.
This one, though — he went through too much to seize the right to say 'Bucky' back in his tight, flesh-bound fist. He's not relaxing his grip anytime soon.
We're talking more than just one perishable resource, here, after all. We're talking networks. Which ones to keep live and electric, which ones you sure as hell cut the feed to before setting the motherboard alight.
Less than a quarter-mile, and they're there, moons bright over the dappled current, cutting countless little crescents into his vision. Bucky sees Alan's shape form beside him, disturbing the pattern. He examines them both, a shoulder's width apart, in the surface of the water. ]
See anything that looks like fish?
[ In other words — looks like water. Smells like water. Is it really? ]
[ Where the water ripples and it's not the wind. There are more than he's seen previously, and he gestures for Bucky to circle around and see if there's anywhere they stick to, or avoid. It's water, but this is an alien world. He doesn't have a damn testing kit on him, and Clark wouldn't be a good litmus even if Bruce shouted for him all the way out here. Sometimes it's a pain to have an invulnerable man on speed dial. ]
Take it from near the lilypads.
[ The benefit of daylight is having time to watch animals drink at the small pools they passed before. This water seems cleaner, but Bruce takes no chances. His attention flickers to Bucky, ]
[ A clipped nod is her confirmation: yes, water. The camp's running short already; he knows not even half of the intended supplies made it down with the pods. ]
You ready to come with?
[ Now that she's alerted him of her presence, she might as well let him guard it. Maybe the situation can be mutual. ]
[Ava takes well to that sort of quiet confirmation. Not a lot of talk, but not a lot of it needed, either. She can cope with both, but raised as she was, this is always easier. She nods.]
Ready when you are.
[She says it deadpan, but there's a touch of irony to it. Since he'd been heading out already. There's a quirk of her lips as she moves, smooth and silent. Willing to let him cover her as ready as she is to cover him if it comes down to it. Someone might call it a bad call, but she'll take the odds, she supposes.]
[ They got as far as they did together on Thesa for a reason, he figures. She'd made a good first impression with him in the simulator — as much as anyone can, where he's concerned — while he's sure he'd made a poor one.
There's also the fact she reminds him so much of... ]
Hear that? About a klick ahead?
[ This is his way of probing into her level of enhancement. Confirming and denying suspicions. ]
[In truth, his impression on her hadn't been nearly as bad as he assumes. She's from only a few months after the Hydra mess, so her expectations had been... very low at the time. He'd actually surpassed them.
Enough that she's out here and not worried about whether or not he'll put a bullet in her body.
Well. Not any moreso than she is with most people. She hears it too, and she nods at the question, a faint jerk of her head in the direction of the sound of rushing water.]
Yeah.
[She knows what he's doing, and there had been the brief urge to lie, but she hasn't been doing a particularly stellar job of pretending to be normal anyway. So instead:]
[ He hears the muffled pounding from fifty or so paces away, he figures. His hearing could normally go further, but say hello to some especially extenuating circumstances (pods wailing as they plummet towards the earth all around them on a wing and a prayer and a parachute, if they're lucky).
Then comes the tell-tale howl of an impatient man in an inconvenient bit of pain. ]
Hang on, [ he slaps his hand on the outer shell, ] I can help, but you've got to stop kicking first.
[ Bucky is a lot of things, but impatient's certainly one of them. That's the thing about the army he hates most, all the hurry up and waiting. Well, maybe that's what he hates second-most. He shouldn't be too hasty.
So, he stops with the inglorious pounding, though the sides of the pod keep ringing with the echo from his kicks, and from the other guy's one strong slap. You'd have to be strong to hit it that hard, some part of him thinks. Most of the rest of him is occupied with just keeping still. ]
Bruce deliberately avoids a route intersecting with others — prowling without worry. Some instincts have to be let out once in a while, he takes this, and he lets it breathe as it must.
Still, he’s not surprised when a shadow crosses his periphery, and a low voice says, hey, you friendly?
He places the voice immediately. That's not the point. The point is: So you still think you’re funny.
There’s a joke about how they don’t like change, loaded in both of them. I know you is better than hello; I understand is unvoiced, the closest thing to mercy from them both. He's made space for complements, not reflections — there’s no value in that kind of kinship. It is at most a necessary evil: nothing can be built from it. Shadows aren't real.
(And yet. Left and right, weapons not pointed at each other. They started out alone, and now they’re not. There’s something to be said for animal magnetism.)
The pad of their feet on the forest floor is silent.
He hears the spiders first. Or — he hears Dick, softly calling him through the trees. His voice pulls a heartstring taut.
How dare you. It’s a fierce hiss, he knows his ghosts. Bruce Wayne excels at few things more than that. But it tries again, whatever it is, and it’s then he decides if it calls him, he’ll answer.
He can feel Barnes next to him, abruptly present. Taut, listening. If he hears it too, they know what they have to do.
They start in the same direction. The same, measured steps. The soft pressure of fingers around a trigger, cousin to the swish of a machete being drawn.
[ They have an agreement, of a kind. A shared space in a small repair shop with an attached garage. Time that's letting them learn exactly what angles the mirror shows as the same. What he's thinking about is something else. ]
[ something else. that's clear. and foster seems to have a couple somethings, not unlike himself. he'd been curious (not anxious, no concerned itch) about when those somethings would cross streams. ]
the question's usually how does teamwork feel about me.
[ They're not angels, either of them. As much as it's to keep an eye on him it's knowledge — they have overlap. Neither would deal with idleness in a way the other enjoyed. ]
[ But all those descriptors are a matter of perspective. ]
[ bucky has a feeling most people in the dust left behind of foster's world were gratified, once upon a time, to hear those words. it meant he'd taken the measure of you, found it acceptable, amidst thronging crowds of shortcomings.
foster has a different kind of magnetism from his best friend.
but he imagines foster, like steve, still made people want to be better than they were. ]
so happens i've got free time for a project.
[ he doesn't want to be better around foster, oddly. matter of fact, he feels for once like it's okay not to be.
[ The thought applies more directly to Clark than to Bruce. He is always a man who senses vulnerabilities first. Gotham is not a place that nurtures otherwise — and yet, Gotham steals kindness from the dark as quickly as pearls. Gotham had its own hope before the Bat, before Metropolis had Superman. ]
[ He doesn't need angels. But he does require people not hesitate, when the time comes. ]
[ The next message is three names: Charles Xavier, John Watson, Peggy Carter. Names, descriptions, assessment of skill. He notes that Charles is a mutant, and powerful, but nothing of his telepathy — further details in person. Peggy stands as the next biggest threat due to her intelligence. A copy of the encryption they use, not as secure as the one he's using now — line by line of code clearly delineated so Bucky understands everything that it does. Then, a quick explanation. Stand together against the threats the natives can't foresee. To deal with people the Guard might not. Then, another message, a fourth name and file: Diana. She'll help, but he's thinking of assigning his powerful piece to liaison with the Guard. They need friends. A strong network. He doesn't require strict approval, it's just a request for an opinion. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
☛ beknight.
( LOG 1 PART 1: from here. )
[ Bucky's awareness of the other man's presence, the particular pattern and cadence of his footsteps, flickers in like a shutter zooming and closing. Captures information. Files it away: profile created for one 'friendly' guy who carves machetes out of scrap metal.
That takes some doing, he thinks, as they move around a grove of strange fern-like trees. Upside-down weeping willows.
He signals his new partner to circle one half, meet him on the other side.
Either the man's got friends, or he's Gifted.
Bucky considers the Maximoff girl. ]
Hear that, [ again, not a question — confirmation, ] running water.
[ Friends or gifts. He wants to know, either way. ]
no subject
[ His head turns, straining for the sound of the water. It shows his hand — only human, he can barely make out the sound. ]
You'd know better. [ Metahuman. Just a friendly observation — he hadn't seemed winded at all earlier, but Bruce too is schooled at keeping pain and fatigue at bay. ] Are we sharing?
[ The canteen, names, details of powers, their species lives for the doubletalk. ]
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Exchanging.
[ Minor correction. 'Sharing' implies they'll be obliged to keep a tether, one to the other. We don't know if we're that Friendly or Funny just yet. ]
Name's Bucky. Creek bed's at your two o'clock.
[ Two fingers summon the man to come with, fall back in step. A pretty good offer for a first trade. ]
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Alan.
[ The names don't matter. They know who they are. He follows, watching the man's six. ]
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This one, though — he went through too much to seize the right to say 'Bucky' back in his tight, flesh-bound fist. He's not relaxing his grip anytime soon.
We're talking more than just one perishable resource, here, after all. We're talking networks. Which ones to keep live and electric, which ones you sure as hell cut the feed to before setting the motherboard alight.
Less than a quarter-mile, and they're there, moons bright over the dappled current, cutting countless little crescents into his vision. Bucky sees Alan's shape form beside him, disturbing the pattern. He examines them both, a shoulder's width apart, in the surface of the water. ]
See anything that looks like fish?
[ In other words — looks like water. Smells like water. Is it really? ]
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[ Where the water ripples and it's not the wind. There are more than he's seen previously, and he gestures for Bucky to circle around and see if there's anywhere they stick to, or avoid. It's water, but this is an alien world. He doesn't have a damn testing kit on him, and Clark wouldn't be a good litmus even if Bruce shouted for him all the way out here. Sometimes it's a pain to have an invulnerable man on speed dial. ]
Take it from near the lilypads.
[ The benefit of daylight is having time to watch animals drink at the small pools they passed before. This water seems cleaner, but Bruce takes no chances. His attention flickers to Bucky, ]
Metabolism?
[ For practical knowledge, naturally. ]
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☛ krasnaya_vdova.
( LOG 1 PART 1: from here. )
[ A clipped nod is her confirmation: yes, water. The camp's running short already; he knows not even half of the intended supplies made it down with the pods. ]
You ready to come with?
[ Now that she's alerted him of her presence, she might as well let him guard it. Maybe the situation can be mutual. ]
no subject
Ready when you are.
[She says it deadpan, but there's a touch of irony to it. Since he'd been heading out already. There's a quirk of her lips as she moves, smooth and silent. Willing to let him cover her as ready as she is to cover him if it comes down to it. Someone might call it a bad call, but she'll take the odds, she supposes.]
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There's also the fact she reminds him so much of... ]
Hear that? About a klick ahead?
[ This is his way of probing into her level of enhancement. Confirming and denying suspicions. ]
no subject
Enough that she's out here and not worried about whether or not he'll put a bullet in her body.
Well. Not any moreso than she is with most people. She hears it too, and she nods at the question, a faint jerk of her head in the direction of the sound of rushing water.]
Yeah.
[She knows what he's doing, and there had been the brief urge to lie, but she hasn't been doing a particularly stellar job of pretending to be normal anyway. So instead:]
Think you can keep up?
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Predator ready to prowl. For however long it lasts, he's having fun with her. ]
Try me.
[ Let's go find that crisp running water, thirsty monsters. ]
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☛ godwins.
( LOG 1 PART 1: from here. )
[ He hears the muffled pounding from fifty or so paces away, he figures. His hearing could normally go further, but say hello to some especially extenuating circumstances (pods wailing as they plummet towards the earth all around them on a wing and a prayer and a parachute, if they're lucky).
Then comes the tell-tale howl of an impatient man in an inconvenient bit of pain. ]
Hang on, [ he slaps his hand on the outer shell, ] I can help, but you've got to stop kicking first.
no subject
So, he stops with the inglorious pounding, though the sides of the pod keep ringing with the echo from his kicks, and from the other guy's one strong slap. You'd have to be strong to hit it that hard, some part of him thinks. Most of the rest of him is occupied with just keeping still. ]
Alright. But hurry up. I don't got all day.
[ A joke. ]
THE DESCENT PT. 2 — BREAKFAST & BAGELS.
Bruce deliberately avoids a route intersecting with others — prowling without worry. Some instincts have to be let out once in a while, he takes this, and he lets it breathe as it must.
Still, he’s not surprised when a shadow crosses his periphery, and a low voice says, hey, you friendly?
He places the voice immediately. That's not the point. The point is: So you still think you’re funny.
There’s a joke about how they don’t like change, loaded in both of them. I know you is better than hello; I understand is unvoiced, the closest thing to mercy from them both. He's made space for complements, not reflections — there’s no value in that kind of kinship. It is at most a necessary evil: nothing can be built from it. Shadows aren't real.
(And yet. Left and right, weapons not pointed at each other. They started out alone, and now they’re not. There’s something to be said for animal magnetism.)
The pad of their feet on the forest floor is silent.
He hears the spiders first. Or — he hears Dick, softly calling him through the trees. His voice pulls a heartstring taut.
How dare you. It’s a fierce hiss, he knows his ghosts. Bruce Wayne excels at few things more than that. But it tries again, whatever it is, and it’s then he decides if it calls him, he’ll answer.
He can feel Barnes next to him, abruptly present. Taut, listening. If he hears it too, they know what they have to do.
They start in the same direction. The same, measured steps. The soft pressure of fingers around a trigger, cousin to the swish of a machete being drawn.
What is it?
Neither asks and neither answers.
Prey.
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i'm almost disappointed.
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we could go a few rounds if that would cheer you up
but actually, i've a question for you
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text | foster | batcrypted
[ They have an agreement, of a kind. A shared space in a small repair shop with an attached garage. Time that's letting them learn exactly what angles the mirror shows as the same. What he's thinking about is something else. ]
no subject
the question's usually how does teamwork feel about me.
no subject
[ They're not angels, either of them. As much as it's to keep an eye on him it's knowledge — they have overlap. Neither would deal with idleness in a way the other enjoyed. ]
[ But all those descriptors are a matter of perspective. ]
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foster has a different kind of magnetism from his best friend.
but he imagines foster, like steve, still made people want to be better than they were. ]
so happens i've got free time for a project.
[ he doesn't want to be better around foster, oddly.
matter of fact, he feels for once like it's okay not to be.
bucky can make time for that. ]
no subject
[ He doesn't need angels. But he does require people not hesitate, when the time comes. ]
[ The next message is three names: Charles Xavier, John Watson, Peggy Carter. Names, descriptions, assessment of skill. He notes that Charles is a mutant, and powerful, but nothing of his telepathy — further details in person. Peggy stands as the next biggest threat due to her intelligence. A copy of the encryption they use, not as secure as the one he's using now — line by line of code clearly delineated so Bucky understands everything that it does. Then, a quick explanation. Stand together against the threats the natives can't foresee. To deal with people the Guard might not. Then, another message, a fourth name and file: Diana. She'll help, but he's thinking of assigning his powerful piece to liaison with the Guard. They need friends. A strong network. He doesn't require strict approval, it's just a request for an opinion. ]
text —> action
action.
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text; un: s.rogers
I found your username off the network
Wanted to see how you were settling in