(no subject)

[nerves_of_ice]

Another day, another city. He's not sure how long he'll be in this one - weeks, maybe a month or two, if he's lucky. He hasn't been lucky for a half-year or so now, but there's nothing to do about that except stay ready, and move when he needs to.

He'd picked the apartment because it was high up in the building. He prefers it that way; it lets him watch from various angles and lines of sight when he needs to, and gives him quick access to the roof and escape.

Not that he can see much from inside at the moment, of course, having just finished taping newspaper -- multiple thicknesses -- over the windows. It helps; the lines of text and distortion of blurry newsprint photos disguise any shadows that he might cast from within.

James takes a moment to look around. It's got everything he needs; sleeping bag unrolled on the cheap mattress in the corner, the windows (now covered), washroom no bigger than a closet, kitchenette barely bigger than that, even complete with the unimaginable luxury of a full-size fridge...

... ah. Food. Right.

He's not hungry, but food's the fuel that's necessary to keep going. It's too late to go to the market now, though. Instead, he goes to the apartment door, and opens it into Milliways.

Comments

[cutting_edgex23]

"James."

X probably did not leap up from her seat and rush over to his position with all haste.

She probably also did not drop down from the ceiling like a creepy watcher.

(Threading carefully through the crowd, however, as soon as his scent started permeating this part of the bar -- that probably happened.)

"Hello."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Joe. Hi."

He doesn't quite smile, but something indefinable in his expression lightens for a moment.

[cutting_edgex23]

"You have been -- "

She pauses, looking for the right word.

" -- busy?"

[nerves_of_ice]

Whatever that brief brightness was, it's gone as though it had never existed.

"Yeah."




After a too-heavy beat of silence, he asks,

"You?"

[heard_of_her_now]

A woman with cool blue eyes is at the bar, a basket of freshly-cut garden flowers set in front of her.

(If he looks too closely at its contents, he may realise by the glint of almost-covered metal that flowers aren't its only contents.)

[nerves_of_ice]

Certain things are difficult to miss, for those who share a particular type of training.

The only sign is the half-flicker of an eyelid as he spots the hidden contents of the basket.

He nods a greeting, in silence.

[heard_of_her_now]

Once upon a time -- well, to say she used to go places unarmed hasn't been true in about forty-five years, but at least she'd leave the Sig-Sauer at home most days.

And then Milliways decided to make a habit of turning up at her kitchen door, so heavy weaponry it is.

She nods back, politely: there is almost no extraneous movement, which could be the result of childhood deportment training or could be the product of a different kind of education entirely.

"Good evening."

She's orienting herself by the light from outside, and positioned herself to have the best possible view of entry and exit routes without making it too obvious she's done so.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Good evening."

His accent is American, at least in English. He studies her with care, the way that he would a target, assessing everything that he can while giving as little away as possible.

It's professional courtesy, after a fashion.

He hesitates before he continues, but this is Milliways, and there are some things he has to learn ... or re-learn, as the case may be.

"Buy you a drink?"

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

Steve hasn't been around much either, to the point that when the door opened to Milliways he almost didn't believe it.

He nips right in, though, and scans the room for familiar faces.

One face in particular that always makes him smile.


He approaches carefully, not wanting Bucky to bolt, and says as soon as he's in eyeline, "Hey, Buck. Remember me?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Steve."

The corner of his mouth twitches upward in a slight smile.

"Yeah. Punk."

[thekidfrombrooklyn]

Steve laughs, and responds with a soft, "Jerk," as he takes the stool at Bucky's side.

The meals gets an approving look.

"Have I mentioned I've been learning to cook? Don't need to live on beans anymore."

[nerves_of_ice]

He gives Steve an eloquent look.

"You? Cook?"

[cute_bruiser]

Molly (biker boots and scuffed skinny jeans; leather jacket over a sky-blue 'I BEAT WOLVERINE IN A FIST-FIGHT AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT' shirt; tired eyes she almost certainly won't admit to) nods hello from her seat along the bar, looking out over the room.

She has a coffee that's more sugar and cream than anything else; every time she sips it she threatens to get cream (and gold glitter, and cocoa powder) on her nose.

Hey, he hasn't gotten into a fight in the bar in ages! She's perfectly willing to be nice.

[nerves_of_ice]

He nods back, and gives her a quick once-over.



"... sparkly," he observes, after a moment.

[cute_bruiser]

[OOC: Omg I am so sorry for tagging and ditching! Internet dropped out on me :|]

She grins. "There is no such thing as too much glitter, dude."

So it's convenient, really, that she's never really needed to be unobtrusive.

[nerves_of_ice]

[ooc: no worries! it happens!]

The corner of his mouth twitches in what might once have been an answering smile.

"Speak for yourself."

[v_knidh8er]

And there it is.
Cold yet burning.
The gaze of green eyes from a place that can't yet be seen.

They watch.

[nerves_of_ice]

When one's survival depends on hypervigilance, a person becomes extremely aware of even the smallest things.

A shift in the air currents.

The unexplainable feeling of being observed.

A sense of threat.



The Winter Soldier's had a long, long time to refine his skills.

Even as tension spreads through him, he stays still, observing with every sense he has.

[v_knidh8er]

No one moves.
No one breathes.
Heck, not one but braids even blinks.

Such is the level of control being exhibited by the remaining Rogue Loompas.

But even they cannot stifle the very air around them.
There's a pressure differential from the opening of the door in the wall.
One that someone sensitive to such things could pick up.

And the lingering smell of chocolate on the air.

Just there, off to the side.
Just below line of sight for an average man.

[onceaviking]

A timid vampire makes his way down the stairs.

His hair is rumpled and his feet are bare.

He's hungry.

He makes his way over to the bar, eyes wide and cautious.

[nerves_of_ice]

... this is different.

James eyes Northman, but says nothing.

Not yet.

[onceaviking]

Eric hesitantly walks up to the bar and says,"Can I have a TruBlood, please?"

The appearance of the bottle is expected - but it still makes him start.

He takes a sip and then he looks around, giving James a shy smile.

There is no hint of recognition in his eyes.

[runningred]

Jay's door opens a moment later, wheeling a rather beaten up and broken down bike. A neglected project in need of work. "Oh, hey James."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Jay. Hey."

He tips his head sideways toward the glass in front of him and the bar in silent invitation.

"Your bike?"

[runningred]

"It is now." Jay leans it against a wall and comes over to join James. "I've been laying low in Cambodia for a while now. Discovered a lot of the small villages needed bikes so I sold them newer, more sturdy bikes and bought a bunch of broken down vintage ones off them. I've got a friend here from the 50s so she's going to do them up for me."