Entries tagged with winter is coming

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thirty ✪ text

[Bucky's been avoiding announcing that he's back, and that he remembers. He's still uncomfortable being out in public with people staring at him, even though he has been out more than he had been when he first got back. Morgana cut his hair, and he's showering and shaving regularly, so he looks a little more like himself (except he's not wearing combat uniforms, and he's still covering up his left arm with long sleeves and a glove), but there's still something tense and on edge about him, something hollow and dead in his expression.

But something about Arthas' announcement, his manifesto, that because he's been wronged he's allowed to take this ship and everyone on it down with him makes something stir in him, something that sounds like Zola's saw and the hiss of the cryo pod and Pierce slapping him in the face, and it's hot and cold and angry, and he doesn't want to keep hiding. But he also doesn't know how to reconcile the idea that this is happening because wardens failed, because the system failed, and those people are long gone.

There's a lot he should probably say about himself, too, but Steve's already covered it. Everyone knows what happened, and there's a part of him that's still angry about that.]

i'm back. dillon and jean made me remember.

i'm still a warden. [Even if he's not sure he should be.] it's been a long time, for me.

[A really, really long time.]

[Filtered to Mickey, Jimmy, Stiles, Kira, Mason, Ben, Lydia, and Motorcycle Boy]

sorry.

[For not remembering, or weirding them out. He probably owes them more of an explanation as well, but he can't find the words of it any more than he could for the rest of the ship.]

[Private to Dillon and Jean]

thanks.

[Warden Filter]

who's taking responsibility for arthas?

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twenty nine ✪ spam

[Closed Spam]

( Read more... )

[Open Spam]

[So he sets out onto the ship. He remembers the Admiral - it doesn't bother him that he doesn't remember what he looked like, or exactly what he'd said, he's been given a mission and he's going to fulfill it - and he remembers the helicarriers, remembers failing, remembers the inexplicable surge of terror and guilt at Captain America's - Steve Rogers, the museum said his name was Steven Grant Rogers - last words and the equally inexplicable relief he'd felt when the badly injured man had started breathing again on the shore of the polluted river. But the rest of it is still... not there. Blurry.

It gets worse the more he walks around. He's still wearing the jacket, shirt and jeans, the sleeve covering his left arm, and he keeps his hands shoved in the pockets to further prevent anyone noticing. The baseball cap's still tugged down over his dirty, too long hair as well, shielding his eyes a little as he tries to get his bearings, exploring what parts of the ship he has access to, trying to attract as little attention as possible.

(People are staring at him. No one at the museum had paid him much attention, not even as he stared at his own face blown up huge in black and white, but here, people are staring at him, and it makes him want to vanish. He hunches in on himself, and tries not to meet their curious eyes.)

The Admiral had said he'd been here before. He doesn't remember. This isn't like any facility or place he remembers, not at all, but at the same time, the more he looks, the more he feels some horrible sense that he's been here before, the same, strange feeling he'd had staring at the photo of his own face starting to settle in his gut.

He feels bad. Not injured, but... Ill. Compromised.

He takes a seat in the dining hall in the corner, with his back to the wall, holding a mug of coffee in his human hand, but not drinking it, even though his stomach complains to be filled with something. The lights flickering as he walks through the halls don't bother him, but he stops to inspect some of the lingering signs of violence and death that still stain the walls, crouching, leaning in close, and frowning.

The infirmary is avoided entirely, and he spends a long time on deck, watching the stars.

Something about them seems different. He doesn't like it.]

[Spam for Morgana, after he's got his memories back]

[It's all too much. Way too much. So he - Bucky, James Buchanan Barnes - runs, because he doesn't have a choice. He can't stay there, can't talk about it, doesn't know what to fucking do, because there's no where to hide on a cruise ship of the damned where someone won't be able to find you.

He can't go back to his room. Steve will find him there, or Helena, or Ben, or someone else, and he can't face them right now. Can't face any of them, and he feels more trapped and boxed in and terrified than he's ever been, overwhelmed by the weight of memory and the years he's suddenly got crushing down on him.

Some combination of conscious thought and instinct has him standing outside a familiar door, knocking anxiously, wondering if this is just as much of a mistake as the rest of this was. But how could he have known? What the fuck is the Admiral's problem?]

[ooc: Dillon and Jean are going to pounce him and give him his memories back, but until then, enjoy your new and improved brainwashed assassin in recovery, Barge.]

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twenty eight ✪ voice & spam

[Voice, backdated to March 17]

[Bucky leaves T'Pol's body where it is. He wipes his knife on his pants, an automatic gesture that leaves another green smear of blood on his soaked uniform, and after staring at her for a moment, he walks downstairs to sit with Steve's corpse. And sits.

Maybe ten minutes later, he clicks on his communicator.]

Steve's dead.

[Bucky's voice is hollow. There's anger there, but it's smothered by the numbness he feels, the strange unreality of it all.

(It's being instinctively self protective, withdrawing instead of thinking about it. He doesn't want to think about what she'd tried to do to him, or what happened to Steve, so shutting down helps him focus. Keeps him from just staying sitting on the floor next to Steve.)]

So's T'Pol.

[The silence stretches for several seconds, even though he doesn't kill the connection.]

I need someone to take her to the infirmary. She's on deck. [I stabbed her, he thinks but doesn't say, because he can still feel her hands on his face and her thoughts on his, and he's got Steve's blood on his clothes and even though it's a more than familiar sensation, he thinks he's going to be sick.] I've got him.

[Open Spam, March 17th through 19th]

[The first thing Bucky does after bringing Steve to the infirmary is go to the inmate showers, strip off his bloody combat uniform, and stand under water that's so hot, it's almost scalding. He's practically catatonic, mouth drawn into a thin line as he just stands motionless under the hot, steaming water.

He turns up in the infirmary an hour or so later, sitting similarly motionlessly by Steve's bedside in a fresh uniform. He's got the shield next to him, clean now and leaning against the chair he's rooted himself to. He's largely unresponsive, even if people talk to him - or more accurately, his responses are just delayed, like he's shut out pretty much everything but the person in the bed in front of him - and he's got a mean five o'clock shadow going at some point. Hunger starts gnawing at him at some point, but for the first time in a really long time - maybe since the last time Steve was really, really sick - he totally ignores it. Even after the late shift starts, he doesn't move to leave. He doesn't even sleep.

(His thoughts feel sharp and brittle, like they had after Zola had been finished with him for the day and he'd been thrown back into a cell to sleep. Or try to sleep. It feels like what T'Pol had tried to do ripped a bandage off a wound that hadn't healed, and he doesn't want to fucking deal with it.)

But once Steve's up and around, Bucky vanishes. He's not in any of his usual haunts, not on the network, nowhere really.

(Thank god he's still got C-Rations in his room. 8v)]

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nineteen ✪ video & spam

[Bucky's taken a day, and he knows a few things:

1. He's an inmate here, so no weapons, limited boost from the serum, no warden areas and no asking the Admiral for any supplies.
2. People here are just as gullible and easy to fool as they had been on the normal Barge.
3. Steve is going to be a fucking problem.

So they'll still find out who he is eventually, but he's going to try to bide his time as long as possible. He's already seen himself mentioned as unaffected on Arthas' list, and he's not surprised, but he's also feeling more than a little self satisfied. He's done his homework.

He's in his cabin when he clicks on the video feed, wearing the blue Commandos jacket just like his counterpart usually seems to and smirks a little lazily at the camera.]

I know we're steal dealing with some pretty rough shit, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel good to be back in my right mind again. [He's seen the conversation with the Emperor. Pathetic.]

While we're still figuring out who's who, anyone who's interested and not currently a psycho: boot camp's starting up again first thing tomorrow. You guys all know what to expect by now.

Anyone got any questions, you know how to find me.

[He's going to need to figure out a way for someone to get him into the CES...]

[Spam, September 30 - October 3]

[This is a different part from what he's had to play before, but unlike his counterpart struggling to keep up a mask of indifference to the suffering of others, this Bucky's finding it incredibly easy to pretend like he cares about these people. He smiles, makes smalltalk, delicately probes for more information, and they just spill. There haven't been too many who have looked at him with anything but trust, and those who have viewed him with suspicion apparently haven't put two and two together yet.

So Bucky seemingly goes about life as usual, even if there's something maybe a little bit off about him. He's quick to brush it off as being bitter about his trip through the door, at losing a month to being out of his mind and terrified of everything, but it's still... a little odd.

Feel free to catch him in the dining hall, the gym, heading back to his room, or conveniently carrying too many things - books, usually, but sometimes equipment for boot camp - to be able to open the lock on a warden area by himself, and if you could grab the door, he'd really appreciate it, thanks. Boot camp starts up again, and is virtually identical to the routine that people had been running before Bucky had gotten too incoherent to continue, except sometimes his motivational barbs sound more like direct insults. But that's what a drill sergeant does, right?

The only thing that's really different is that he doesn't seem to be gravitationally pulled back into orbiting around Steve as much as he usually does. They don't not spend time together, but Bucky seems off on his own for most of the day, or talking with other people like nothing's wrong. Because it isn't. Everything's fine.]

[ooc: Tags will be coming from

shieldcatchesyou! Steve is going to officially out him on Friday. :|b]

Entry tags:

fifteen ✪ spam

[Open Spam]

[It's been over a week since Bucky was almost beaten to death maybe a couple yards from the infirmary, and he feels... fine.

Fine. Sore, tired, still healing, but fine, and that's so deeply unsettling that he really doesn't know what to do with it at all. At all, because he's gone this long without having to talk about what happened to him in any detail at all, and he definitely doesn't want to start now. It's just a lot harder to dismiss little differences like increased appetite and tolerance to alcohol and apparently painkillers now, too, as not a big deal when the deep black and blue bruises on his ribs have already faded to almost nothing, when it should take a friggin' month for broken ribs to actually start feeling better, not days.

He's scared. He's been scared of what this is going to mean for a long time, and two days ago, after he'd shooed Steve away, locked the bathroom door behind him and turned on the shower, he'd spent a distressingly long time staring at his own reflection in the mirror, wondering if now's the time his face is going to start peeling off to reveal some monster right out of a pulp underneath.

So he stays quiet about it, tries to pretend like he still feels like shit and doesn't want to do much - which isn't a difficult thing to pull off, because all of this means he is pretty fucking miserable - and if he's a little more sullen and cranky than usual, Steve seems to be chalking it up to the fact that he's got three busted ribs and a bad concussion, and leaves it at that. It works out for the most part.

But eventually, boredom does get the better of him. Sitting around in bed while you're recovering - unless you're really out of your mind with fever or whatever drugs were trying to help nudge you back along to health - is fucking terrible, no matter who you're with or where you are, and obviously it's not like he expects Steve to be keeping him company the whole time he convalesces. They can't both be sitting around in Steve's room feeling penned in and bored.

Bucky slips out of Steve's room sometime after his friend heads out to go for a jog, and as much as he wants to go for a run or punch the hell of something in the gym, he heads for the dining hall and helps himself to a giant stack of pancakes instead. Now that he's not as achey or metabolizing painkillers out of his system too quickly, he's even more ravenously hungry than usual, and winds up settling at a table near a corner, facing the door to get to work on finishing breakfast. The bruises around his eyes are gone, and there's still a bandage wrapped around his left hand - even though the cut's healed, he'd changed the wrappings himself so no one would get suspicious - and as much as he looks burned out and tired, he's in a lot better shape than he has any right to be, and kind of looks it.]

Entry tags:

fourteen ✪ voice

[Anyone on the second floor (or first or third, really) might have heard a couple gunshots, shattering glass and other signs of a fight not too soon before Bucky's post. Then there's another gunshot, and silence for a couple seconds before quiet voices start up - C'rizz and Bucky.

A while later, a post's on the network. Bucky's panting and his voice is hoarse and strained, either because he's exhausted or in a hell of a lot of pain (it's both), but he manages to let everyone know what the hell was going on anyway.]

Zane's dead. [That's it. That's all he wants to say about it, and it kind of seems like he's going to leave it at that before he bites out:]

We need fucking call signs or passwords next time this happens.

[And then clicks the comm off so he can figure out how he's getting to the infirmary, because he is definitely not being carried.]

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four ✪ spam & audio

[Open Spam]

[Bucky wakes up in his room feeling good. Great, even. Like himself again, and it's once he makes that realization - that he wasn't himself - that a lot of anger floods in, settles itself in his chest, and he's up and out of bed in an instant, needing to do something.

So instead of heading to the dining hall or the library, he goes right to the gym to beat the hell out of a punching bag until his hands are bloody, the firing range even if the targets aren't a challenge for him at all and the CES to go for a run until he's sweaty and out of breath. (The last one takes a while. Like, longer than it probably should, beyond just feeling physically fine after getting sucked through the door.) He's still wearing his uniform, and might have visible weapons on him on the run. In the gym, he's stripped down to a white t-shirt with the SSR logo on it, and the gun's nowhere in sight.

Eventually, he sheepishly wanders into the infirmary to clean up his hands, and then heads back to his room, fully intending on collapsing on the bottom bunk and just. Staring a hole in the mattress above him until he feels like actually sleeping.

Or, you know, a cat pretending to be a transgenic might have broken in while he was out, but regardless.]

[Public Audio]

[Later, Bucky clicks on the comm, takes a breath to say something, and then... hesitates. Because fuck if he knows what to say. He knows logically that it wasn't his fault, that it wasn't him, but he still feels like he needs to apologize, or say something about what happened.]

I'm sorry. I know that's not- I know he wasn't-

[He can't explain. Doesn't want to explain, doesn't feel like he should have to explain why he'd never want to work for the people who'd tortured and experimented on him, who've killed more good men (and probably women and kids, too, it's not like they'd had morals) than anyone's ever going to be able to count, but he still tries to grate out an answer.]

Look, [And he sounds exhausted and mad as hell all at once, but tries to force it into something else so he can explain, because he knows by now that a lot of you are going to have no idea what he's talking about.]

Where I'm from, HYDRA was the Nazi deep science division, before their boss basically decided Hitler and his pals were taking too damn long to take over the world and went rogue. I spent the last year trying to stop them and the Nazis with [Steve, fuck he misses him, but he's fiercely, selfishly glad he's not here right now anyway.] Cap and the Commandos. I'd cut my damn arm off before I'd ever work for them.

[... Probably not the best thing to say, considering how he'd showed up here. But there it is. They're the whole reason he's here - if that HYDRA goon hadn't gotten back up and fired on them, he wouldn't have gotten blown out of the train and died.]

I know how dumb this sounds. Believe me, I do, because it sounds like something out of a comic book, but it's what happened, and I'd still be back there taking them down if I hadn't gotten killed.

This is bullshit.

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three ✪ video & spam

['Sup, Barge. Bucky has apparently made his way onto the planet's surface, and has somehow got his hands on what looks like a sniper rifle - it's a Walther Gewehr 43, in case we've got any weapons experts around. Not an American gun. He's dressed in a heavy looking jacket Stiles might recognize except it's black instead of blue, and-

Hey. What's that patch on his arm?

Oh.

About that.

Did he forget to mention?]

You know, for a group of hyper paranoid, beaten down wrecks of human beings, you're all pretty easy to dupe. Come up with some sob story, get those doe eyes going, and you'll believe anything, won't you? [He grins, and there are too many teeth in it to look friendly.]

I've got some bad news.

[Bad news for some, anyway. Bucky certainly doesn't seem to think it's bad news. It's sort of refreshing, to go back to showing your true colors after playing the kicked puppy for a couple days.]

Ned's planning a break out tomorrow during dinner. Crichton's in on it, too, and they're trying to organize anyone else who's willing to come with. If anyone wants to go after 'em, now might be a good time.

My good pal Cassel's another one of the stowaways from that other Barge. I don't know what his game plan is, but you might wanna make sure that doesn't get too far out of hand before he gets a chance to make his move.

[And with that all said, he starts loading the rifle almost lazily, like he's got all the time in the world.]

See, back where I'm from? My bosses have an expression: cut off one head, two more'll take its place. [You've heard him talk about HYDRA before, what they were planning and how they were going about doing it. He just lied about his involvement.] I figure the Barge isn't all that different.

[When he looks back at the camera, there's a viciousness in his eyes and expression that makes him look like a predator] You can run, you can hide, but we're always gonna be here to catch you. You can think the ship's dying all you want, but that doesn't change that you're still gonna be here tomorrow, and so are we. And we're not going anywhere.

[He finishes loading the weapon, clicks off the safety like he's making a point.]

Anyone who's interested in heading out and getting supplies to fix the damn ship can come with me. Anyone who's pissed off their friends were dumb enough to trust the new guy gets a bullet between the eyes. I don't miss.

[It's not said as a challenge. It's a fact.

There's a beat of hesitation when he reaches to kill the feed, and then chuckles darkly.]

Oh, yeah.

Hail HYDRA.

[Slightly Backdated Spam for Morgana]

[He's known since he got the idea that this game was never going to last forever. Eventually, people would find out who and what he is, and there's no point in hiding it.

The disturbance just pushed the date up a little, and the crash on the planet? Well. We can't have people running off, can we?

So he's already planning on outing himself and the others when he steps out onto the alien planet in his jacket, rifle slung over his shoulder, gun at his hip. He's not planning on sticking around for the fallout, because he's got other work to do, more important things to discuss.

And then he spots Morgana, looking like she's apparently planning on investigating where exactly they'd wound up, too.

There's some small part of him that almost feels badly about what's going to have to happen.]

Where are you going?

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fourteen ✪ video

[The video clicks on seemingly of its own accord, and for a moment, it sort of looks like the only thing anyone will be seeing right now is the ceiling of one of the suites on the second floor. The lights are off, so apart from the glow of the screen, there isn't a hell of a lot illuminating anything in the room, and so it sort of seems like that might be that. The communicator fell over and clicked on by accident, or something.

If you're listening closely though, there's a thready, almost disassociated drone coming from somewhere to the left of the microphone. It's Bucky, and if anyone happened to be paying attention or walking around on the second floor, they might have heard screaming, earlier.

He's quiet now, voice hoarse, and he's just repeating his name, rank and serial number. The same thing over and over and over again, almost mechanically.

He doesn't move to get up to turn off the camera, but about three minutes after it started, the connection fizzles out in a burst of static and goes dark.]

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thirteen ✪ video/spam

[Bucky didn't really mind that flood one way or the other. There were worse things than being six years old again, and while getting some insight into Natasha's childhood was kind of horrific, he hadn't been one of the people she'd stabbed in the thigh so. Again, there were worse things.

He's out on deck, and since it's gotten colder, he's got his Howling Commandos jacket on instead of just his regular service uniform.]

So, New York's not exactly an easy place to grow up when you're a kid and you don't have any parents, and, you know, kids can be assholes. There were these kids who used to wait in an alley over near Tenth Avenue to jump kids and make 'em pay a toll to pass back and forth across the street. This one day, when I was about six, I was walking back to the orphanage and heard these kids picking on this scrawny blonde kid who apparently didn't wanna pay the toll. They were really trying to beat the crap outta him, but for some reason, he wasn't just running away or handing over the cash, and I'm thinking what the hell is wrong with this guy? When I say he was scrawny, I mean it looked like the wind could snap him in half, let alone some bully with a decent right hook. But he was still mouthing off at them and trying to land a decent hit, when any sane person woulda been high tailing it down the street.

But I'd seen these kids doing this routine for weeks, right? And I figured you know, if this kid can stand up to them, why the hell couldn't I? Takes guts not to run away from a fight. So I jumped in and helped him out, [And he grins sort of self deprecatingly, because this is sort of filling his feelings quota for the month and it's not exactly hard to figure out who he's talking about considering 1. the flood and 2. it's not as if it's a totally unknown story.] and the rest, as they say, is history.

[Private to Banner]

Thanks for looking out for me and Steve. You another one of his Avenger pals?

[Private to Peggy]

Is it really too much for you to call me Bucky even when you're a ten year old, Agent Carter?

[He is entirely just teasing you but lmfao. Really Peggy.]

[Private to Natasha]

[Ahaha what even to say to you Natasha. :c I mean it is extremely unsurprising that your childhood was awful - happy people don't become spies - but just. Holy shit. :c]

... I know being social's probably the last thing on your mind right now, but if you need anything, let me know.

[Spam for Ben]

[A while after Bucky made his post, he realized his item wasn't registering Ben anymore, which was, frankly, all kinds of concerning, because he really had come to care about the guy, even if he was nuts, and so he hurried down to his (former?) inmate's room to see what the hell was going on. The door was still the same, which was at least quasi reassuring, but that still didn't explain what had happened, so he banged on the door a few times, not bothering to filter the concern out of his voice.]

Ben? You in there?

[Forward dated Spam for Natasha]

[Bucky wasn't an idiot, he knew Natasha would need space after what had happened and considering the way she'd acted the last time they'd come back from being different people, he was pretty sure he wasn't high on her list of people she wanted to see. Admittedly, this was a little different than coming back from being married, but still. He'd kept his space.

But she still wasn't out and about, wasn't on the network and he hadn't heard from anyone else if they'd actually caught up and talked with her, yet, and he couldn't help it. He was concerned. So, not really expecting anything to actually come of this, because whatever their relationship was here - they weren't really friends, weren't really coworkers, but acquaintances seemed stupid, and since when did he have to categorize shit like this anyway? - it wasn't like they were actually close, he headed to her room and knocked on the door.]

Natasha? It's B- [He cut himself off, because she never used his nickname and he didn't really get why, but. He didn't get a lot of stuff with Natasha.] It's James. You in there?

Entry tags:

twelve ✪ spam

[Spam for the Hallways]

[During his first flood on the Barge, Bucky had swapped powers (or lack thereof, in his case) with Ben, and had experienced what it had been like to be a fully powered Transgenic for a few days.

Being a wolf - or a dog, he couldn't really tell which he actually was and wasn't sure it actually mattered when it really came down to it - wasn't all that different in some ways. His hearing and sense of smell was better, stronger, and it was strange to adjust to, even if at the same time, he could see where it could be really useful, to always have them around. He couldn't do the vaguely disorienting telescope vision thing Ben could, but considering he was now adjusting to also walking on four legs and not having hands anymore, he wasn't all that bummed to be missing out on another thing that would just make things strange and different.

At the moment, he was looking for Ben (operating the network with paws had turned out to be too frustrating to deal with, really), wandering the halls, sniffing around trying to pick up on the trail of his inmate, and generally keeping more or less out of the way while searching for the transgenic. There was definitely a strong urge to get someone to let him into the CES so he could go running and hunt something, and to have companions accompany him in doing it, and considering Ben definitely got that whole pack instinct thing, he seemed like a decent candidate for running off and doing stuff with, assuming he wasn't stuck as a squirrel or something right now.

... Actually, that might be pretty bad. There was a definite desire to chase after small animals he was doing his best to ignore. Worse came to worst, he could always probably bother Steve or some of the other dogs to do something.]

[ooc: Bucky can communicate with anyone for the sake of clarity and sanity. Also he's technically a wolfdog, so feel free to mistake him as either a large husky/malamute/something or a proper wolf.]