Steven G. Rogers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thekidfrombrooklyn) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
milliways_bar2012-11-30 07:36 pm
thekidfrombrooklyn) wrote in milliways_bar2012-11-30 07:36 pm
(no subject)
Steve comes through the door in his dress uniform, looking hollow-eyed and grim. He goes to the Bar and drops a pile of Army scrip on the top.
"A bottle of Atlantean, please," and then adds, "And some paper and a pen, and a poppy from Remembrance Day, if you have one."
The Bar delivers. Perhaps with an air of concern.
"Thank you, ma'am," Steve says and, in big dark letters that are nothing like his usual cheerful hand, writes:
IN MEMORIAM
SGT. JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES
1918-1944
and pins it to the bulletin board, along with the poppy.
He then takes the bottle and goes to the darkest, least visible booth he can find.
[ooc: Feel free to have your pup react to Steve's announcement, but please PM or email me before tagging Steve as he is in a Very, Very Bad Place. Thanks.
All threads millitimed to before the thread with Orpheus, please.]
"A bottle of Atlantean, please," and then adds, "And some paper and a pen, and a poppy from Remembrance Day, if you have one."
The Bar delivers. Perhaps with an air of concern.
"Thank you, ma'am," Steve says and, in big dark letters that are nothing like his usual cheerful hand, writes:
SGT. JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES
1918-1944
and pins it to the bulletin board, along with the poppy.
He then takes the bottle and goes to the darkest, least visible booth he can find.
[ooc: Feel free to have your pup react to Steve's announcement, but please PM or email me before tagging Steve as he is in a Very, Very Bad Place. Thanks.
All threads millitimed to before the thread with Orpheus, please.]
no subject
The bottle's not a good sign, though. It also makes 'How are you doing' a stupid question.
"What was he like?"
See if we can't get him out of this with a few good memories, even if it's bittersweet to think about them.
no subject
"Tough," he says. "He was tough. You don't go through what he's been through and come out without a little extra steel in his spine. He loved pretty girls. He was a crack sharpshooter. I loved him like a brother and I miss him so much I feel like there's a big gaping hole in my heart."
He drinks and wipes his mouth with his wrist.
no subject
He closes his eyes.
"It's hard to loose that sort of person. It feels like it will never heal." It's a heavy voice of experience. He opens his eyes, and looks at Steve.
"But the bottle doesn't help, son. And it will heal with time."
no subject
no subject
"What's happened to you that makes this brew special?"
no subject
Swig.
"I grew a foot, gained a hundred pounds of muscle, lost all my health problems, and became the perfect soldier."
Swig.
"My metabolism," he barely stumbles over the word, "is four times faster than average."
no subject
"Your metabolism may be four times faster than average, but it seems you can still get drunk. Don't kill yourself. Perfect soldiers are no good when they're drunk."
The also tend not to get drunk in the first place, but he doesn't say that.
no subject
"And even with all that it doesn't last long."
no subject
He stands and drains his pick-me-up.
"Life goes on. It's still worth living. There's still something worth defending. I'll see you around."
He'll get the story another time.
no subject
He knows all that.
Today, though. Today he's allowing himself to fall apart.