milliways_bar | (no subject)

"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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"And here I thought I could help," John says with a wry huff.

"But if Steve is so important to you, the other controls probably refer to things that are just as important." He flips back through the pages. "The day you were captured, the day you joined the Army, the day you met your sweetheart--" He glances up. "Assuming you had a sweetheart."

There's no way a man this good-looking didn't have a sweetheart.

"Just to name a few possibilities."

He shakes his head at the last.

"Not for a long time," he says. "And she - they didn't know about her, when they were programming me. They wouldn't have wanted me to remember her, either."

Something flattens in his tone.

"In fact, they sent me to kill her, too."

"I take it you didn't," John says.

"Not for lack of trying."

John studies him. "Did all of this take place before Vienna?"

"No."

He thinks about that, then adds,

"We were already -- things had ended a long time before Vienna, though."

"I see." He looks through the pages again. "I'm sure there are other things that they might have used -- moments in your life that were life-changing, for good or ill."

"Must be. It's just a matter of finding all of them, I guess."

John hands Bucky the notebook. "I've written a few things in all capitals, as they struck me as of greater importance. Maybe start with those."

The pages are covered with his tidy, tight handwriting. Words like "107th" and "Brooklyn" and "POW" are written larger than others.

"Thanks, man." He glances down at it, observing all the work, and closes the cover before he looks up at John.

"Let me buy you another drink. I owe you at least that for listening to all that mess. Maybe you can tell me a bit about what you've got going on in your life, hm?"

"Ta. I'd love a coffee." He lights up another cigarette before he speaks.

"Well, if we're going into the same depth of autobiography, to start at the beginning -- my mother died giving birth to me and my father called me 'killer' until the day I left home."

He waves at the nearest waitrat and hisses a breath through his teeth.

"Sounds like the kind of guy to hold a grudge."

"Yeah. So I left home when I was about fifteen -- home was Liverpool, I've lost the accent over the years -- for London, to seek my fortune in the style of many English heros.

"I found two things that would decide the course of my life: music and magic. My life would have followed a very different path if I'd chosen music, but I chose magic, and here we are." He shrugs. "I send demons back to hell, try to solve supernatural murders, and not that long ago rescued a deceased super from Hell so he could help untangle the multiverses."

His eyebrows rise steadily at the end of this, but the waitrat runs over before he can respond.

"Coffee for John here, and -- want anything in it? Or to go with it?"

"Black is fine. I should probably sober up a little.

"I'd love some drop scones along with it."

"Coffee and drop scones," he concludes, and as the rat runs off, he looks back at John.

"Do I even want to know how you got into hell to rescue someone?"

"I called in a favor, that's all."

He grins at Bucky.

"Must have been - pardon the expression - a hell of a favor."

Dry as dust.

John smirks at the pun.

"From the Devil himself, yes."

Oh, look - his eyebrows have gone right back up again.

"Sounds like there's a story there."

"Oh, there is, old son. Lucifer decided to leave Hell because he didn't want to rule it anymore. Luci is ... more about punishing evil than causing it, but even punishing evil-doers loses its novelty after a few millennia.

"He could get himself out of Hell, no problem, but he couldn't get his head lieutenant out, a demon called Mazekeen. So I stepped in.

"A few years later I needed to get into Hell but couldn't use my usual methods because of the thing going on with the multiverses affecting my magic, so I called in the favor with Lucifer."

Edited 2021-02-28 03:13 (UTC)

"So... the devil took a holiday, found himself overthrown, and got you to take care of a coup of hell so he could get back in?"

Looks like those eyebrows aren't going back to their normal position any time soon.

Before he can continue, the waitrat returns with their order and presents it to John.

John takes the plate and both mugs, and inhales the scent of coffee with relish. "Mm, delicious." He puts Bucky's mug in front of him.

"No, not overthrown. Lucifer can get himself in and out of Helly by flying. He's still an angel, y'see, even if he is fallen. But Maze and other demons don't have wings, and Lucifer couldn't transport her out." He waves a scone. "It's complicated for demons because of their lack of a physical presence in the earthly plain."

"And that's the problem you solved."

He shakes his head and raises his mug to John in a salute.

"You must be quite a magician."

John salutes him in return. "Ta, mate. I do my best."

He pushes the plate towards Bucky. "Try a drop scone. They're a lot like American pancakes, but better."

(no subject)

nerves_of_ice - 2021-02-28 03:56 (UTC) - Expand

magic_by_accident - 2021-02-28 04:05 (UTC) - Expand

nerves_of_ice - 2021-02-28 04:09 (UTC) - Expand

magic_by_accident - 2021-02-28 04:15 (UTC) - Expand

nerves_of_ice - 2021-02-28 04:22 (UTC) - Expand