milliways_bar | (no subject)

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Bucky stares at him for a second, and then the look in his eyes turns flat. His expression smoothes into absolute blankness as he lets go of the Loompa squad member. His glance doesn't waver from the Loompa leader.

"You need help," he repeats again. "For something that's already happened. My help."

A beat of silence.

"Why?"

Braids is startled to be dropped, but doesn't make it more than a three-count before he bolts over to the chair Dreads is in.

"Now that the smoke's gone
And the air is all clear
Those who were right there
Got a new kind of fear."

Dreads holds out a hand, and on cue Braids reaches into one of the pockets of his jumpsuit and retrieves a hat.

A bloodied hat.

"You'd fight and you were right
But he was just too strong.

That's why we say, hey man: Nice shot.
What a good shot, man."

Edited 2017-02-02 06:09 (UTC)

Flat and cold:

"You want me to kill somebody."

Now both Braids and Dreads are looking at him funny.
Dreads opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He's...quite literally befuddled.

But then, Braid's face lights up with an idea. He holds up a finger to Bucky, before standing up on his tip-toes to whisper in Dreads' ear.

Dreads blinks.
Pulls a face.
Gives Braids a look as if he thought the other Loompa was crazy, but eventually shrugs.

"This is the tale of Winter Soldier
Winter Soldier is who?
He is the subject of our tale
and the predicate tells what Winter Soldier must do

Winter Soldier walked down the street
Winter Soldier walked
Winter Soldier talked to his Cap
Winter Soldier talked
(Hello, Cap. You look good.)
Winter Soldier was lonely
Winter Soldier was

Winter Soldier is the subject of the
sentence, and what the predicate says,
he does.

Dreads stops, just to see if Bucky is keeping up.

Edited 2017-02-02 06:31 (UTC)

If looks could kill, the two Loompas might well be lying dead on the ground from the force of his icy glare.

But the message is clear enough: they want him to do something, and they're having trouble figuring out how to use their damned code-language to tell him what it is.

(All the languages he knows, and now he's having to learn interpretive song. пииииииздец, бляяяя....)

He jerks his head in a single sharp nod, indicating that they should continue.

Okay, well that's some headway at least.
Though, that look? They've seen that look before.
If not from the High Commander, than from the Wonka himself.

Braids cowers a bit, but Dreads stays strong, mostly because someone has to.

"We Oompa Loompas are a peaceful sort,
We Oompa Loompas are.
Who the Slenderman used for sport.
Who the Slenderman used.
Find a sacrifice he did bid
The Slenderman bid

The Ooompa Loompas are the subject of this sentence,
and what the Slenderman said we did.

The Winter Soldier was himself asleep.
The Winter Soldier was.
In his room Oompa Loompas creeped.
The Oompa Loompas creeped.
Even though the rules did forbid.
The rules did forbid.

The Ooompa Loompas are the subject of this sentence,
and what the Slenderman said we did.

His expression doesn't soften, exactly, but the lethal edge to it fades.

The merest flicker of memory teases his mind, of talking about this with someone - the bartender. Right.

"Right," he says aloud. "Okay. I'm listening. Go on."

Yeah, this is where the plot gets...difficult.

"The Winter Soldier was a real good shot.
The Winter Soldier was.
The Oompa Loompas found that they were caught.
The Oompa Loompas found.
But one called Hat was the one he hit,
The Winter Soldier hit.

The Winter Soldier is the subject of this sentence,
And it was our friend Hat he hit."

He draws a sharp breath.

James flicks a glance at the hole in the wall, then back to the two Loompas in front of him.

"... Hat. That's his name? Is he ...?"

He's not sure how to ask.

Braids, ever the empathetic, interrupts.

"Oh, oh he's still alive."

But Dreads cuts him short.
Don't get ahead of the story, says his expression.

"Now free he took a gun and a stand.
He took a stand.
To Slenderman he tried to command.
He tried to command.
But the Slenderman overpowered the kid.
He overpowered the kid.

The Slenderman's the subject of this sentence.
And rest of can't say what he did."

Thus, you see, their problem

Realization dawns, and with it, a thunderous expression.

"Are you telling me that мудак still has him?"

There's a swell of what can only be called Death Metal music, as all four Loompas very emphatically respond:

"NEIN!"

He flicks another fast glance at the wall, with its mostly-hidden occupants, then focuses on Dreads and Braids.

"Okay." A beat. "But he did something. To your friend. Hat."

"They say when Slendy was defeated,
They found him deep within the cave.
Since then he ain't yet come to
And we've no one left to run to
We think he'll never be the same."

The pieces are starting to fit together in a way that he doesn't like.

He'd shot the Loompa called Hat while under attack - which, frankly, he can't regret - and somehow, it broke whatever kind of hold the Slender Man had. Evidently Hat had then tried to fight back against Slendy, and ended up in some sort of coma, unconscious ever since.

And now here the others are, asking him for help. His help.

"I'm not a doctor," he says, baldly. "Or a scientist."

He can't really help the way his voice hardens with loathing on the last word, but he doesn't let it stop him.

"There might be one trustworthy one here, though - maybe she could do something. To help."

Curtis trusts Dejah, anyway, and from what he himself has seen and heard, she seems to ... care.

"What do you want from me? Some kind of extraction operation? Guard duty?"