(no subject)

[nerves_of_ice]

"Go. Go! Take this journal and write down everything you can remember. It will help, I promise you."

"Princess--"

"Do not argue. Find somewhere quiet, where you won't be bothered."

"The kids aren't a bother."

"They are also not quiet."

* * * * * * *

It's been a long time since he's been here, enough that if pressed he couldn't actually say how long. He hadn't exactly meant to come, either, but he'd been thinking about finding somewhere out of the way when he walked out of Shuri's lab, and there's no question that Milliways fits that description better than anywhere else.

About ten minutes later, Bucky Barnes is settled in at one of the quieter booths in the back, the journal open in front of him. (A close observer might notice that each page is subtly embossed with the logo of the Wakandan Design Group.)

He's holding a pen in his right hand and tapping it against the blank page. From time to time he sets down the pen and picks up the cup of coffee waiting beside him instead. A swallow or two later, he repeats the process, swapping cup for pen.

His left hand is immaterial to the whole process, as it's entirely absent. A series of gauze bandages are barely visible under the collar of his shirt, and his left sleeve is neatly pinned shut over where his arm used to be.

Comments

[abyssum_invocat]

"What are you writing?"

Sinthia looks much the same as she did the last time she saw him, if...slightly more whole than then too. She looks over him carefully from her chair in front of a bottle of vodka and an icy shot glass. "And what happened to your arm?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Nothing, yet."

He remembers her, oh yes. Schmidt's daughter, who'd seen him in the factory, who'd been through hell of her own. He'd had to leave all too abruptly last time they'd talked, the first time they'd met.

He makes himself take a careful breath, and nods a greeting to her.

"Got it torn off in a fight," he says, finally. "The repair process is ... complicated."

Especially since it's not just a matter of repairing the physical arm, but so much more.

[abyssum_invocat]

"Oh," she says lightly, watching him breathe and looking away.

"I'm sorry." She's not sure what to say about someone she's fairly sure she had a hand in torturing. She still doesn't remember, and it's sudenly uncomfortably clear again. "Are you...alright? Without it?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Thanks," he says, more gently than most might expect.

"You know what? I am. I'm -- taking the time. Figuring a few things out."

[cute_bruiser]

"Bucky!"

Say goodbye to any chance of being able to write, Bucky... There's a skinny young woman throwing herself at you for a hug.

(Although she does spot the newly-missing arm in time to adjust hugging style for it.)

She totally believed you were definitely coming back, obviously!

Obviously.

[nerves_of_ice]

He jerks back against the back of the booth, automatically prepared to defend, to react--

--and somehow, somehow manages to realize in time that this isn't a threat. He catches her with his right arm, letting her hug him.

"Hey, Sparkle."

He sounds tired, but amused.

[cute_bruiser]

"Hey, Espresso."

She grins at him, although she might be slightly pink around her ears as it occurs that possibly her response was a bit of an overreaction. Oh well, too late now.

"Long time, no coffee break."

[canttrickmeanymore]

Peter comes down into the bar and sees the only person he's recognized from outside the bar since he got here. Of course it's not someone he really knows at all. In fact, the only time they met, he was kinda, not really beating him up, but trying to slow him down.

Doesn't meant he won't talk to him though. He will. Because, again, the first person he's recognized from back 'home' since he got here.

"If you make marks on the page in the shape of letters you get words," he says, grinning a little. And maybe taking his life into his own hands by teasing him. No one ever said he had good self-preservation instincts.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Is that so."

His tone is as dry as desert dust. He glances at the seat across from him, then back at Parker in as what's as clear an invitation as he's likely to get.

"Even if I leave out the vowels?"

[canttrickmeanymore]

His grin gets bigger. The dry tone doesn't faze him at all.

He and his bottle of root beer slide into the other side of the booth.

"You'll get weird shorthand that way, but you could try."

[starrydome]

Sometimes, when we sit down to put words on paper, the words simply won't come.

Elrond has gotten himself a mug of streaming, fragrant tea.

His eyes take in the tapping pen, the pauses, the clean bandages, the empty sleeve.

If their eyes meet, there'll be a dual offer in his. Solitude or company.

Both equally valid options.

[nerves_of_ice]

Old habits die hard, especially the ones that are linked to survival. Sometimes it's not worth trying to let them go at all.

On the next time he absently scans the room, checking for threats and lines of sight, he notices Elrond. After a moment, he nods toward the empty seat across from him in a clear invitation, should he be interested.

[starrydome]

Elrond smiles and makes his way over.

"Well met," he says, as he sits down. "It has been done time since last we spoke."

And events have quite clearly transpired.

Elrond is the very picture of calm, dressed in robes of light grey and pale lavender.

[5ame_heart]

When the door slides - not swings - open, it's to another bar, loud and dark despite the brightly coloured lights that flash there. Packed with men whose attire, voices, and faces when you see them, all appear to identical to the casual observer.

One of them is shouting over his shoulder as he enters, "yeah, hold that thought..." before he discovers bar has kidnapped him in the middle of an R&R evening, which just seems rude.

He's in armor: white, plastic looking stuff that's still taken more of a beating than it looks like it can hold, painted in blue stripes and a detailed depiction of a blaster canon on one shoulder.

Fives gives the bar a once over for his usual friends, but heads straight across the room to see to the task he was originally intending to perform before the door appeared.

On the way back, he gets himself a fresh drink (and his feed interface - a contact that slips easily into one eye) and glances around for someone to impose his company on. Likely the first person to make eye contact with him, if we're honest.

[nerves_of_ice]

As he looks around the room, he may well notice someone watching him.

Armor has a certain look to it, even when it's armor like this, which he hasn't seen before.

He doesn't try to evade being noticed, but tips his head back in a slight nod of acknowledgement.

[5ame_heart]

For all that he's wearing it because it's the only clothing available to him, Fives doesn't currently have the attitude of someone wearing it - he hasn't come in from a battlefield or even a briefing, and it shows.

But for all that, there's a look even to a soldier on downtime, and he recognises it. He returns the nod with a knowing, but friendly friendly enough smile and, grabbing a bottle of something from the bar, heads over.

"You don't mind being disturbed?" With a nod to the journal.

[alongfallfromgrace]

"Forgive this one's intrusion - Bar has given me far too many bao, please, would you like some?" Wei Ying is going to have to have words with Bar (and Zenigata, and Sunshine, and Lan Zhan) - the plate of bao he's hefting is nearly twice the size of his head, there's no possible way he could eat this much, even if he were so inclined. "I can have a waitrat vouch for me if you'd like, but there's so many."

[nerves_of_ice]

That is the politest offer he's heard around here in a while. Bucky blinks at him over his coffee cup.

"Trying to get you to make friends, or eat more, or both?" he asks, amused.

[alongfallfromgrace]

"Probably both." Wei Ying allows, with a wry grin. His frame under those robes is underweight and undermuscled, the combination of abuse and lack of training creating a lot of work for the new resident. "Probably worried I will get into trouble if left to my own devices for too long."

[magic_by_accident]

At a table not far away, John has been counting the times the man swaps pen for cup without writing anything.

Finally he takes pity upon the lad and decides to join him. Company must be better than frustration, yeah?

He sits himself down, whisky and cigarettes in hand, and says by way of introduction, "If you need a subject, I've led a fascinating and varied life, and I'm in need of a biographer."

[nerves_of_ice]

He huffs out a breath in a chuckle.

"Then you'd do better with someone who can actually write. Fascinating life, huh?"

[magic_by_accident]

"I could dictate," he offers and lights a new cigarette.

"Fascinating. Music and magic and travel and bouncing around in time, and that was just my twenties."

[they_see_me]

Peeeeeeeeeep!

Hi Bucky!

He gets a sudden rush of beeps, equal parts concerned and shocked. In short, where the KRIFF is all BB-8's hard work his arm!?

[nerves_of_ice]

"Hey, little guy."

He doesn't know exactly what BB-8's saying, but he's got a pretty good inkling.

"Listen, I'm sorry. I haven't spent as much time studying Binary as I should. But I've got some free time right now, so I'll work on it, I promise."

His tone shades wry as he continues,

"But I bet you're asking about my arm. Or, er, lack of arm. Yeah?"

[they_see_me]

Well, in BB's defence, he did at least remember to say hi first.

But... yes.

Where in Alderaan's name is Bucky's (somewhat badly designed, hazardous-to-droids-everywhere-but-still-kinda-cool) feat of technology?