A Blackhawk walks into a bar...

[zerocharliexray]

Zinda's good cheer is never fully diminished, but there are a few clouds graying up her sunny sky today. Still, she's whistling as she strolls into the bar, kitted out in full uniform: every pleat on her skirt ironed to a precise knife-sharp edge, her gloves spotless white, her hat and boots polished until they shine. The poppy on her breast is as red as fresh blood. If she looks like she was lifted straight from a Memorial Day parade, it's because...

Well, she was.

She parks her shapely behind on a barstool and lays a white-gloved hand gently on the glossy wooden bartop.

"Champers, if you please, missy," she says, and smiles when the glass and bottle materialize. "You're aces, hon."

A few photos get laid out carefully next to the glass: black-and-white shots of a bunch of flyboys, mostly. She sets them all out and fills her glass, then lifts it.

"You're on the wing, fellas," she tells them. "At ease."




[Tiny tag: Zinda Blake]

Comments

(I couldn't resist; it's Memorial Day, after all)

[thebesteverseen]

It's been a while, but ten minutes and a free drink, before he went back to fixing the old roof, didn't look bad by any means. If he's surprised about what he walks up on at the bar, it doesn't show as more than respectful acknowledgment.

"Friends of yours?"

He marks it down as at someplace else matching home.

STEEEEEVE

[zerocharliexray]

She glances up and those forget-me-not blue eyes of hers crinkle at the edges in a smile. "Family, more like. My old squadron."

Seven men, all different races and creeds, all wearing a variation on the same uniform she's got on right now.

(Something about that long handsome face of his looks familiar, but she can't quite put her finger on it.) "Reminiscin's no fun on my own. I got this bottle to kill; wanna lend a hand?"

It Needed To Happen Finally!!!

[thebesteverseen]

"Be my honor."

The words are out without much thought, and maybe that'll make this longer than ten minutes, but no time'll be passing out that Door. He can still hear Danny snapping up a fuss last night (all plaintive fire and flying hands) about his being as dense as a door for not wanting to do anything with the day but fix the roof and maybe the attic, after the morning service at Hickam.

Steve held out a hand, still polite as Hawaii was sunny. Starting with the obvious, that gets out of the way he's not a civvy. "Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett."

[zerocharliexray]

"... Huh."

She's looking at him a little more closely now, as she shakes his hand. Her own are still in her gleaming white gloves, but she pulls them off as Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett sits down. "That's funny. I knew a Steve McGarrett once –

"Long time ago."

[thebesteverseen]

Steve takes that with an easy enough grace. The woman doesn't look familiar, and while his surname isn't common, it's not as unique as some come either. Plus, that whole multiple-whatever that this place was connected to. He lets it roll, settling all six-plus feet of him onto the stool, with an easy breezy,

"Is that good for me, or bad for me?"

[zerocharliexray]

"Neither, probably," she grins, pouring a coupe glass full of champagne and passing it over to him. "Unless somehow you were in Hawaii in the summer of 1941."

She says it with a laugh. He doesn't look that much like her old pal.

[thebesteverseen]

Steve's face doesn't turn shocked. It's a tighter thing than that. A narrow that hazes the line of a look that's suspicion more than shock, private territory touched, even when he hasn't hazarded into either area at all. It keeps the coupe in his hand and nowhere near his mouth. Knocks Memorial Day full to the side briefly for looking at her.

"I'm in Hawaii now. Grew up there."

With an uninvited blade-sharp claw ascending his spine.
"My grandfather was an ensign who went down with the Arizona in '41."

[zerocharliexray]

Zinda's mouth makes an almost perfect "o" of surprise. "No foolin'?"

She blinks at him, and sure – that face is familiar. After a second her own breaks into a grin like sunshine flooding across the ocean. "You could knock me over with a feather! Hey, how about that? Your gramps was an old war buddy of mine. He'd be tickled pink about this; I can hear him laughin' now."

She beams at him. "I'm Zinda Blake. And it sure is fine to meet you, Steve McGarrett."

[thebesteverseen]

It's jarring. She brightens, but Steve doesn't. Can't.
It doesn't line up. Even with the pictures.

"An old war buddy of yours?" Parrots back from her words, trying to combine all these things but coming up at smoke and shards, and the only trained response he has to both. "How's that possible? You don't look much older than my kid sister."

Then the question flies out, last in the flood, one he didn't even know was coming until it sucker-punched the back of his teeth, momentarily a too young and stumped need all caught up in those hazel eyes of his, right in the middle of that serious face: "Are you coming in from then?"

[nerves_of_ice]

It's early in Wakanda, long before sunrise, but after the third dream he's decided to call it quits for the night. Bucky ducks into the bar for a cup of coffee - or two, or three - before the sun comes up.

(He's pretty sure it'll be a good idea for him to have all his wits about him later. Shuri had mentioned that she wanted to stop by, and he's not sure why.)

When he spots Zinda he smiles, quick and bright -- but it fades into something much more intent as he draws near and notices the pictures laid out in front of her and the bright red poppy on her uniform.

"Hi," he says, quietly, sliding onto the next barstool over. Bucky nods at the flower. "Is it November for you? Or May?"

[zerocharliexray]

Now there's a familiar voice; she swivels on her barstool and smiles at him. "Bucky Barnes," she says. "It's May."

She lifts the bottle invitingly. "I never knew an Army boy to let a lady drink alone."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Yes, ma'am," he says, abandoning the thought of coffee for the more important matter at hand. "Especially not on a day like this."

He accepts the glass that Bar materializes for him and holds it out to Zinda.

[zerocharliexray]

The glasses are the old-fashioned kind; coupes, not flutes. Zinda pours a measure into his, then lifts her own.

"For all those who went before," she says, a familiar toast. She might have a few specific faces to remember today, but she's got more than enough in her to think of all the others, too.

[nerves_of_ice]

"For all who went before," he echoes, raising his own glass. "Never to forget."

Not ever again.

It's good champagne, not that he's surprised. Bucky sets the glass down for just a second, long enough to touch the edge of one of Zinda's pictures.

"Your Blackhawks?" he asks, although it's not really a question.

[zerocharliexray]

"Sure."

She pulls the photo in question over. "Andre, Olaf, Hans, Chuck, Wu Cheng, Stanislaus... and Bart, there."

The man once known only as Blackhawk is tall and handsome, black-haired and blue-eyed, and the finger she traces over his face is gentle.

She's in the photo, too: a trim blonde girl of nineteen or twenty, surrounded by her squadron.

[nerves_of_ice]

"It's a good picture." He says it quietly, studying each face with clear respect.

[zerocharliexray]

"Sure," she says again, and gives the photo a fond glance as she sips at her champagne.

"Boy, would they ever make fun of me for mopin' around like this, though. They never could stand for it."

[starrydome]

Elrond had walked up to the bar to order a light meal.

He is distracted by the photographs (they are always so fascinating to him), and looks over. Curiously.

He looks like an illustration from a fairy tale. A long outer robe, edged with embroidered vines, long dark hair beset with tiny, silver stars, and so on.

[zerocharliexray]

The shush of rich fabric brushing across the floor catches her attention and she looks over and up as her mouth drops open.

"Jiminy Christmas," she exclaims, eyes wide. "Who the heck are you?"

[starrydome]

He seems a little surprised at her retraction, but then he smiles, and gives her a slight now with a hand to his heart.

It's a warm smile. Genuine and kind.

"My name is Elrond Half-elven," he replies.

[zerocharliexray]

It's a nice smile. Zinda's own shines out like a sunbeam. "Zinda Blake," she tells him.

"Nice to meetcha, Mr. Half-Elven. Whew, that's a mouthful, ain't it?"

[starrydome]

"Please," he says, "Elrond is fine. I merely say it as it seems that many here will always give their own name and a family name of sorts. And that is the closest I have to that."

And all the other names, Lord of Imlaladris and what have you, are not needed here.

[zerocharliexray]

"Well, okay then, Elrond," she says, and plants a booted foot on a stool to shove it out in invitation.

"You can call me Zinda. Tell me: are you a drinkin' man?"

[starrydome]

Not as such, but he recognizes the invitation and replies, "I enjoy a drink occasionally, yes," as he sits down on the offered chair.

[zerocharliexray]

"Then have one with me," she invites. Another old-fashioned coupe glass materializes on the bartop and she pours a measure of champagne into it, pushes it over to him.

"I'm not against drinkin' alone on principle, mind, but days like today it's better to have company."