farsickness | 001. Longing

001. Longing

WHO: Bucky Barnes & You
WHEN: 1 April
WHAT: Arriving
WHERE: Edge of the forest, Gazin
WARNINGS: An Intro thread, which is its own warning.

the forest

Plenty of things have prepared Bucky for situations like this. Both in the war and later, as HYDRA's asset, he'd been dropped into the middle of the woods and given little more than his own innate sense of direction and the stars overhead to guide him to his target or back to civilization, whichever the case may be. These woods, though, shouldn't be here.

He's been running. He's good at running. He's been running for a year, maybe more, but the land beneath his boots now isn't the land he's used to. He'd been weaving his way through city streets the last time and now he's here with a chunk of memory blank in between. Had he been conditioned? He tries to remember if he'd been activated, racks his brain to see if there's any target he'd taken out or any mission he'd accomplished, and he comes up with nothing. It's disconcerting. At least when he's under, he remembers everything even if he wishes he hadn't. The not knowing sometimes is worse the bloody memories he carries along with him of murders he'd committed as a hostage in his own mind.

He picks a direction and starts walking, deciding to stick with it until he comes out into some sort of field. Forests end, eventually, and he's good enough in the woods to survive a long hike. He keeps his tread soft and when a branch snaps, he goes stock still and slowly turns his head to see if he's been spotted.

gazin

It's a long walk until civilization but Bucky eventually finds it in the form of a small village that seems like it's been lifted from some sort of fairy tale. There's no internet, no phones, no electricity but there's what seems like a bar that has food and drink. He's aware he has literally nothing to trade with and nothing of value but he goes to the bar anyway and asks the barkeep if he can trade labor for food; he's got the strength to do anything the man wants but he's going to need food if he's going to be capable of doing it. It's a good enough prospect, apparently, because a few minutes later Bucky has dark beer and some sort of meat pie in front of him.

He's picked a table sort of in the back and while he can't hide in the shadows completely, he's far enough back that no one is behind him and he can see the door and the rest of the room from where he is. He doesn't have a knife and the food had only come with a stubby one. Bucky pockets it anyway, choosing a weapon over no weapon.

He doesn't have a glove to cover his left hand and he tries to obscure it, tries to keep candlelight from glinting on the bright metal.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Claire was doing pretty well, all things considered. Her routine had been long since established and in the weeks since her arrival and has become something of a friend to all. Citizens of the town of Gazin have taken to calling her their Medicine Woman and she didn't mind. It was better than the names the nurse was called back at Metro General.

The day is turning out to be a decent one. Winter was giving way to Spring and the snow was practically gone. The walk she decided on taking about an hour earlier had her outside the gates, past the arrow sign where most arrive and within view of Vasari forest.

That's when she noticed someone approach and as they get closer, Claire is pretty sure she knows he's brand new to this world.

Slowing to a stop, Claire offers a smile. "You must be new. Did you just arrive?"

Bucky blinks at her for a moment, confused about the words "new world," but it doesn't look like this woman is shocked by his appearance and he doesn't feel the need to bolt before she gets a good look at his face. Bucky shrugs and surreptitiously slips his left hand into his pocket in hopes it'll escape her notice.

"New enough," Bucky says. He doesn't want to reveal he is absolutely new and expose a weakness and fairly new implies he knows how this place works and can handle himself in a fight. He usually picks up on the local customs quickly and blends so he hopes he can here.

"If you gave me directions, I'd be grateful. I haven't gotten my hands on a map yet."

Luckily for him, Bucky's hand does escape Claire's notice, at least for the moment. But that's only because his accent is what catches her attention first and a small little smile plays at her lips before gesturing ahead of where she's standing.

"Gazin is that way," she answers, taking another step forward, encouraging the new addition to the World to join her. "That's where I'm headed, too. I can show you where things are if you want."

The invitation is there, though Claire is quite aware that some people prefer to deal with new changes on their own.

Bucky's not one to trust easily, not after everything that's happened, but he's in a place where he has no intel and no way to get it other than by talking to people. If there was any other way to navigate this place, he would give it a shot alone, but for right now he doesn't think there's harm in following this woman for a little while. She doesn't seem to be armed so his lack of weapon isn't nearly as concerning; besides, his left arm is always a weapon.

He nods, content to follow for now. "Show me in. Better to go ahead and know what I'm dealing with up front than to find out later and end up with it blowing up in my face."

He prepares for everything, true, but it'd be nice to know what to prepare for up front.

He's acting the same way Matt had after regaining consciousness on her couch. Claire understands that need to be wary and judging by the way he's looking at her, he feels he has reason to. So, in order to help, she keeps a wide radius and uses a soft tone to speak to him with.

"That won't happen here," she says, proceeding to walk. "I've been here a few weeks now and people here aren't really like people in the bigger cities on Earth. Like New York."

She purposely looks his way, that little smile still on her lips as she tilts her head his way.

"Speaking of, that a Brooklyn accent I hear?"

It's been a long time since Bucky's felt like his accent has any Brooklyn in it. HYDRA and the Russians had tried to make him nationless, had tried to erase any and every regionality from his voice and to know that the Brooklyn has crept back in almost elicits a smile from him. He keeps his face straight.

"Brooklyn, yeah. Haven't gone back in a while, though. You said New York...you gotta be from the city to peg me so fast. What neighborhood?"

Claire nods, almost as if she was going to guess that next. Accents were interesting and even if you think it's gone, it only takes someone from the area to hear it.

"Harlem, originally," she answers casually as they walk. "But I've lived in Brooklyn and the Bronx and now I'm in Hell's Kitchen. Or was before landing here."

A pause and Claire looks at him curiously.

"What made you leave?"

She's from the city and now that he knows it, Bucky can place it. He can hear the blend of her accents, the way they layer on one another, and he shakes his head a bit at her question. It's too much to explain, really. He doesn't even know if Steve knows everything about the time he's lost, the time that he was under HYDRA's control.

"It's a long story but I've just been...busy. Unable to go back." It's not really the best explanation but Bucky isn't as good a liar as he wishes he was. It'd been easy as the Soldier. The Soldier had no past, no future, only the present. The Soldier only had muscle memory and a target - no more and no less. Bucky has more blanks than pieces and putting his mind back together has been arduous.

"Not getting back any time soon, either, if I wound up here." This looks like it's on the other side of the world from New York and he doesn't recognize it from any of the other places he's landed over the years. It looks utterly foreign to him and he has no memory of it.

Cassandra comes in with an empty basket and a pouch full of gold (courtesy of the baskets previous contents). The barkeep gives her a nod and a smile, and she grins back and nods herself. She’s been coming in here fairly regularly since her arrival.

It would be hard to miss how the stranger tries to keep his left hand out of the light, and just as hard to miss the glint of metal when he doesn’t quite manage it. Some sort of prosthetic? Not that it matters, it would stand out just a touch no matter what it was, here. In a world more like her home than she suspects his is. It’s an easy enough fix, however, and she ducks out as quickly as she came in.

Returning a few minutes later, she wends her way over to his table and tosses a pair of gloves on it. “I had to guess at the fit,” she warns. “But I think I managed to get it close enough.” She’s always been able to guess at what would fit someone at not much more than a glance.

Bucky is more than a little shocked when the woman tosses the gloves on the table but he tugs them on all the same. Keeping his hand covered is the best for now; if he reveals the prosthetic, he wants it to be on his own terms. Weakness is always a liability and he's weak enough not knowing the lay of the land and the people who have their fingers on the pulse of this town.

"Thank you," he says, mouth flashing a ghost of a smile before falling back into a much more serious line. "I get too much attention when people can see it and my shirtsleeve wouldn't have hidden it forever.

Cassandra gives him a little smile in answer. “You’re welcome.” She understands more than he knows; there are certain things she tries her best to hide, although her scars are far easier to hide or disguise than his arm. (And fit a bit better into this world, even if she’s not certain that vampires exist here.) She’s fortunate.

So the gloves are the least she can do. “We’re all a bit... behind the curve when it comes to the ins and outs of this world. Undue attention on top of learning the lay of the land is rarely conducive to anything good.”

"I'd like to stay hidden, if I can. I'm used to pulling away and seeking the shadows," he agrees. "I need to keep hidden until I know how this place works and where everything is. You seem like you have experience with that, at least."

Bucky isn't normally much of a talker but it's unfortunately necessary in this situation. He needs to know what kind of people are here, who are threats and who are bystanders, and he really needs to get a chance to survey this place and make a map of his own.

He sounds a bit like her, honestly. Preferring to go unseen and unnoticed. Even if she was very rarely allowed the luxury of doing so in Whitestone. It’s gotten better since she left. Cassandra nods. “I do. I can help, if you’d like. I’ve been here... a month or two now, I think, and have settled in and learned the lay of the place. The pattern to life in Gazin.”

She indicates the seat across from him with a tilt of her head. “May I?”

"You can, yeah. I was trying to hide but since you found me, you might as well sit down," Bucky says, shrugging a bit. He doesn't like revealing much of himself to others but he thinks this will be safe enough - especially if he's going to learn about Gazin in exchange.

"Where I come from isn't anything like this. This is...what my world was like centuries ago."

It’s difficult to hide from a rogue, Bucky. (Particularly one who hides in exactly the same fashion, albeit for other reasons.) Cassandra settles into the seat across from him, already pulling out a slip of paper and a pencil.

“It isn’t?” She asks curiously, beginning to sketch out the beginnings of a map for him. “It’s closer to my world that I’ve seen in... a while. Mine has more magic, I think. And more dragons, potentially, although I’m not necessarily counting them out after what I’ve heard tell about being in the forest.” And what she’s seen, for that matter. “But very similar in technology and atmosphere.”

"Mine's...there's guns and tech," Bucky says. "Computers, if you've heard of those. I don't know if there's other people like me here who'd talk about those things."

Bucky's still trying to learn about the modern world too, more or less. He hasn't had a chance to catch up with the times since he's been in and out of cryo and he's been through a crash course the last few years.

"Less dragons there too. I've never seen a dragon in my world."

"Sorry, mate," a very petite shape says, moving out of the cover the last of the trees gave her. Her voice a melodic blend of Australian and Irish, gravelled with a whiskey finish. Her brown hair is a little sun lightened, curled in natural waves and her face is delicate with hazel green eyes.

"Didn't mean to intrude." She'd left her mount back in a stable, a marvellous shaggy footed beast of a warhorse that had only been partially trained. good with bangs and surprise magic attacks but a little loose on tight commands. One day she'd find the right name for him. But tentatively, he was Thunder because he was smoke grey fading up from deeper greys nearing black with a nice gradient. Not that she needed to be thinking of her horse right now.

"Out for a walk myself. Yours isn't a familiar face, though. Lost or...just trekking about?"

It's a voice he hadn't expected, if anything. Bucky's been used to Russian, mostly, and he hasn't heard anyone speak English in an accent like this woman's. He blinks for a moment and decides how he wants to respond.

She doesn't look as if she's armed and if it came to a fight, he thinks he could take her easily or, better, quickly put miles between them in a run. He exhales softly and follows along with something that feels natural enough.

"Can't be lost if you get found by someone, right?"

"Then you're just found, so," she grins at him, "point well made. This place isn't the best to walk alone even if you do look like you can handle yourself. There are creatures who might decide you look tasty."

Merlan eases the space between them and pulls out a tiny figure of a dragon that had a soft blue sheen of light coming from its eyes. there's a sturdy clip at the fork of the tail so it can clip onto anything from a buttonhole to the end of a zipper.

"I made a warding, it'll tell you if one of the creatures is coming your way. The colour of the eyes will change from the colour it is now all the way up to red for severe threats," she says with a broad smile as she extends the wooden dragon charm to him and an outstretched palm.

"If you need anything, go straight back this way until you come to my clearing. I have a forge and I can repair almost anything, honestly. I'm also a mage. Guess you could say I'm out on patrol. My name's Merlan. Merlan Margaret O'Keefe."

It's a lot to process at once but she isn't asking anything of him, just telling. If there's something he needs protecting from that this dragon is going to warn him about, he's ended up in a place a hell of a lot stranger than he was before and that's saying something, considering he's supposed to be getting the senior discount and doesn't look a day over thirty.

"Bucky. What are you patrolling for, exactly? What's actually out here?" She's not wrong about him being able to handle himself, no, but since she's willing to talk, he's more than willing to listen and see what information he can get from her in the process.

"Hellhounds, hydra, wyverns, wraiths, goblins, harpies, kobolds tree-folk, things that mess people up when all they want is a stroll. Basilisks are quite a challenge and hags are just awful. They smell like a sewer, for one thing. I do have a book on all of this, if you'd like it. And maybe some tea or coffee?" She scrunches up her nose a little.

"Gotta be neighbourly once and a while. I run a forge, make magic, and can fix just about anything broken. I managed to weave magic and machine together back home. Once you get past the creatures, it's not too bad a place to live. My place is warded against most of the creature-features, so it's safe. I've been working mostly with blades today. And some whittling. The charms have been going quickly."

Merlan...talks. She talks quite a bit. Bucky isn't comfortable with talking but people who talk manic-panic like this usually have good information so he takes it in as she does. He knows vaguely what a hellhound is but "hydra" stops him cold for a second until he realizes she must mean the monster the organization was named for, not the organization itself. God.

"I guess I'll take a book," Bucky says. Books are good. He can read it and absorb it on his own easier than he'll keep up with it from her. Coffee sounds good, too, so he nods his head toward her a little.

"If you don't mind having me in for a little bit, I'd appreciate the coffee."

"Well, alright then," she said with a nod. "Follow me for reading material and coffee."

She did talk an awful lot, especially when there was an awful lot of information to be, well, dumped. Her forge is neatly placed at the middle of the clearing with a house a little further back and stables closer to the house. It's not grand by any means but it's decent and there's room to spare.

Bucky isn't used to five-star accommodations by any means so Merlan's forge and house look perfectly fine to him. He thinks he might like to live in the middle of nowhere, dangerous fairytale creatures notwithstanding.

"Nice place. You've really settled in, haven't you?"

"I suppose I have," she said sounding a little surprised. "It seemed prudent to establish a place that I could defend if needed and here it was, waiting for me."

A flick of her wrist and the kettle began to heat as she moved to a small cabinet above the sink and brought down two cups. She had worked hard to make a proper French press and had been pleasantly surprised by her successful results.

Magic kept the cold things cold and the things she wished hot, hot. It was all based upon the laws of thermodynamics only magic fueled, which honestly was the same branch only few orders of degrees above it. No one had asked for a primer on magic, so she left go of the thought to find sugar, some cream for them - should it be wanted. Merlan took hers with both because she had a sweet tooth. Her guest might surprise her, though her first thought was black.

"Make yourself comfortable, anywhere you wish."

The chairs at the round kitchen table are cushioned, neatly handstitched in various golden hues made from several different kinds of fabric and are very soft. Little fanciful tassels hand here and there, serving to tie the cushions in place. Little touches like this adorn the small house and there is a wooden couch with a pale knotted afghan strewn over ts frame by a large fireplace. Before it is a low tea table with more cushions in emerald and saffron colours stacked two by two.

Forest

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Gazin.

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I am SO SORRY for the lateness on this.

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Late but no one curr: FOREST

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it ATE my tag

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