(no subject)

[nerves_of_ice]

He comes downstairs after this with the body of his rifle slung over his shoulder, his green canvas ammo bag in one hand, and a hastily-scrounged pillowcase in the other. He casts one sharp look around the room, then takes everything to one of the larger tables off to the side.

The bag goes on the table first, then the pillowcase. He opens that and takes out a clean towel, which he lays out flat on the table.

Only then does he unsling his rifle and set it down on the towel.

Bucky takes a seat on the side with the better view of the room, and begins taking out the rest of the parts from the bag, one piece at a time, examining and testing each before moving to the next.

The drawn and grim look on his face bodes ill indeed.


[ooc: slowtime in effect as of 11:30 pm Mountain. thanks all!]

Comments

[cutting_edgex23]

X is careful to stay fully within his field of view as she approaches.

She also stops several feet farther back than has been her wont, pitching her voice just a little louder than normal to make sure it travels the distance.

Then --

"Bucky."

Beat.

"You will be working? Soon."

[nerves_of_ice]

It's probably just as well, tense as he is. He spots her approach from some distance away, and even knowing who she is he keeps an eye on her all the way to the table.

"Soon enough."

He picks up a recoil spring and carefully tests the tension before starting to go over each tiny curve of metal.

"Once I get my damn rifle back together."

The acid in his tone could etch sheet metal.

[cutting_edgex23]

X blinks.

Twice.

"You did not take it apart?"

That seems . . . problematic.

[nerves_of_ice]

"No," he grits out. "I didn't."

[cutting_edgex23]

X does not wince.

"You know who did?"

Whoever it was, they really liked raspberry jam.

Or jelly.

Or something involving raspberries, anyway.

[not_his_pa]

William's coughing and drinking tea with honey, he can't get sick though his door seems to have gone missing.

When he walks by Bucky, he stops to watch the rifle come together, he doesn't want to disturb him.

[nerves_of_ice]

"You sound like hell, kid."

Bucky's glance at him is sharp and assessing.

"Asthma?"

[not_his_pa]

"Asthma, what's that? Just a cold, it ain't that bad,"

There's no blood and he's being gentle with one arm as he had a close meeting with a tree while riding.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Uh-huh."

He gives him a closer look, then decides to leave it at that.

"If you say so."

[not_his_pa]

Bucky's got a intense look and William does his best to look healthy,

"I am, I know what it sounded like and looked like when Mark was sick. This ain't like that, just a cough cause it got cold. What kind of rifle is that?"

[flip_the_lights]

"Sergeant Barnes?"

Several tables over, Olivia -- sans casefile this time, but with a glass of something amber-colored again -- studies him with a look of mild concern.

(She's also still wearing her coat, despite it being comfortably warm in the bar.)

[nerves_of_ice]

From the way he reacts, turning swiftly and body braced, it's clear that he's on edge.

"... Agent Dunham. Hello again."

[flip_the_lights]

Just as swiftly, she holds up a hand: part reassurance, part apology.

"Hi," she says. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."

[nerves_of_ice]

"You're not," he tells her.

"Just been a long kind of day."

[flip_the_lights]

Olivia nods in understanding; her attention flicks down to the rifle, and back up to Bucky's face.

"Not helped by the bar, I'm guessing?" Quietly said.

[the_man]

Someone pulls out the chair across from him.

"So. How did it go?"

[nerves_of_ice]

One second he's examining a screw, the next he's shoved his chair back, his hand going to the stock of his rifle with automatic, unnerving speed--

--and in the next he's gotten control of himself once more.

"Doyle." A tight smile, with just a hint of ruefulness around the edges. "You move quiet for a guy as solid as you."

[the_man]

"I float like a butterfly," says Fury, resting his hands on the back of the chair, carefully out of striking distance. "And yet sting like a bee."

He raises his eyebrow at Bucky. "You're still alive, anyway. Good sign."

[nerves_of_ice]

At that, he manages a real smile.

"Hell of a lot better than the alternative, right?"

Bucky sets the rifle back down and waves the other man to a seat.

"That intel that you didn't tell me helped with that, by the way."

[the_man]

Fury sits.

"I got the note."

He leans one elbow on the table.

"Where you headed next?"

[define_hinky]

Well that is a ... grim man with a disassembled firearm.

Thinks the now-disastrously-more-awake Wendy Watson. The price of alertness during her bartending shift is that she's now gonna be awake all night. And she doesn't really relish the idea of lying there, alert and alone, in a strange new living space.

She sips her drink (now downgraded to decaf) and tries a vaguely friendly smile.

[nerves_of_ice]

He's been at it long enough to reassure himself that there's no serious damage, and as a result has started to relax by degrees.

Bucky's not smiling yet, not by a long shot, but the nod back that he gives is a lot less abrupt than it might have been an hour ago.

"Hello."

[define_hinky]

"Hey," Wendy says.

A nod, which isn't directed at the gun but also isn't undirected at it.

"Uh, how's it going?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"I've had worse days," he says, dryly.

Weirdly enough, it helps to remember that.

"You?"

[define_hinky]

"Mine was significantly improved by coffee," she decides.

She hefts her decaf.