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

[zerocharliexray]

"Y'know, I don't even recall that they said 'sorry'!" she laughs.

"Anyhow, ol' Iron Diddle Daddle showed up about then and we all got into some fisticuffs. I saw Queeny sneak off to a big ol' gun up on a cliff and followed her – I wasn't so sure we could trust her, mind. And when I saw her aiming at the Blackhawks down below, I was spittin' nails, I was so mad."

She shrugs, gestures with her glass. "Turned out she'd been aimin' at the other fellas and I screwed up her shot. They managed to corral the Blackhawks pretty quick after that, put 'em in a big glass room and started pouring sea water into it."

[nerves_of_ice]

"... I guess that's one way to take out a whole squad," he says, a little dubiously. "And for all you knew, she could have been in league with the Iron Duke."

He shakes his head.

"So how'd you get them out?"

[zerocharliexray]

"Well, I undid a rope on a nearby flagpole and swung across the gap between us to draw fire," she explains. "And since I swung straight past the glass wall, the Iron Duke's men shot it out for me, neat as you please."

[nerves_of_ice]

Bucky laughs at that.

"Nice work."

[zerocharliexray]

"Not bad for a first day, huh?"

She's laughing too as she drains her glass and tops it up again; his too. "I never could understand why so many bad eggs went the 'costumed supervillain' route; seems like an awful lot of upkeep. But they're still doin' it in Gotham and everywhere else in the future, so I guess somethin' about it musta caught on."

[nerves_of_ice]

Bucky grins.

"Costumed superheroes too, I'd wager."

[zerocharliexray]

"Them too," she chuckles. "That's my bread 'n butter these days, cartin' around the Black Canary and Huntress 'n the Skipper."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Same goes where I'm from," Bucky tells her. "I just try to think of it as a uniform."

[zerocharliexray]

"I guess my uniform kinda counts, too."

She's never thought about it as a costume, but then, she's never had to have a secret identity. Everyone already knew Lady Blackhawk and Zinda Blake were one and the same.

[nerves_of_ice]

"I'll say it does," Bucky tells her. "It counts for whatever you want it to."

[zerocharliexray]

"Speakin' of uniforms," she teases, giving him a thoughtful look. "I don't think I know what your rank is, soldier boy."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes," he tells her. "United States Army. Originally with the 107th, detached for special service with the SSR."

[zerocharliexray]

"SSR?"

She's grinning. Zinda's often grinning, but it's especially nice on a day like today. "That the fancy official term for the Howling Commandos?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Strategic Scientific Reserve," he tells her, with an answering smile. "The Howling Commandos, as Steve's squad, we were part of it."

[zerocharliexray]

"The military sure loves its abbreviations," she laughs, sipping at her glass of champagne.

"Somehow I never got an official rank, myself, but they sure do love to trot me out for the dog and pony shows these days. I guess it's all part'n parcel of bein' a fossil."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Wait, you didn't?" he asks, sounding a little startled at that. "What about the rest of the Blackhawks?"

[zerocharliexray]

She shakes her head.

"Bart was in the Wojska Lotnicze i Obrony Powietrznej, the Polish Air Force – I think – but I never could get him to confirm it. Technically, we were civilians."

[nerves_of_ice]

He rolls his eyes at that.

"Nothing like letting the paperwork get in the way," he drawls. "Maybe the next time they want you to show off for them you could suggest some kind of retroactive status for yourself and the boys, if you want it."

[zerocharliexray]

"Hell," she says, laughing. "I deserve it just for all the recruiting I did for them back in the day with that poster!"

[nerves_of_ice]

"You sure do," he agrees, with a warm smile.

[zerocharliexray]

"Maybe I'll just ask for some back pay," she says, and gives him a wink as she drains her glass and stands.

"Well, Sarge, it's been a pleasure; you brightened this day up for me considerable. But I oughta get back to the others for now."

[nerves_of_ice]

He grins at that nickname, quick and bright.

"Good to see you, Zinda. You take care."

[zerocharliexray]

She steps in close enough to give him a quick one-armed hug around the head and drop a kiss into his hair before stepping back and ruffling it. "You too, sugar. See you soon, I hope."

She tosses him a crisp salute, then turns to the door in a swirl of skirt and blonde curls, humming as she saunters off. The melody floats back through the bar until the door closes behind her.

"He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way..."