[Bucky Barnes; R] The Ink And Paint Club: Chapter 1 Character/Series: Bucky Barnes/Maria Hill; Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: R Notes: Yes, that is Wind Waker, no, I am not ashamed of myself for including that. Title: The Ink And Paint Club- Chapter 1: Save The Date Author:yuuo Word Count: 2371 Summary:"Okay, so what the fuck is that thing?" Bucky asked, staring at the TV.
"Okay, so what the fuck is that thing?" Bucky asked, staring at the TV.
"I have no idea," Steve said, walking his character- Link, who Bucky still wasn't sure why he wasn't the title character in the series - around a room in some temple. "It looks like an undead alien from Roswell."
"With hoop earrings," Bucky added. He grabbed his tablet. "Have fun killing it, I'm going to find out what the hell that ugly thing's called."
Steve glanced over at him. "You know, I don't know why you even put that down. You look up every creature in this game instead of trying to find out what it is through the story."
Bucky didn't look back up at the TV or at Steve while he scrolled through the wikia page on the game's monsters. "The game never tells us. I just want a name instead of 'that fabulous alien thi-'" He was interrupted by the game emitting a horrible screech and Steve swearing. He lowered his tablet, staring. "That thing is eating your head."
"I noticed," Steve said, sounding irritated, loudly bashing the buttons on his controller. Link managed to get free, and Steve had him skitter away from the monster. "Okay, while you're looking for a name, find out how to kill it, because it paralyzes you when you get near it."
"Try throwing bombs at it," Bucky said. "Bombs make things go boom." He went back to his tablet, leaving Steve to figure out how to kill the monster without getting his head eaten.
"Well, the bow and arrow is useless," Steve said, annoyed. "Fine, I'll try bombs. So help me, if this works, I'm smothering you with a pillow."
That got Bucky to finally look over at him. "Why? What the hell did I do?"
"Your stupid logic of 'throw explosives at it' would've actually worked." The bomb on the game exploded, and Steve frowned. "Okay, it hurt it." He gave Bucky the side eye. "I want to know why your 'blow it up' tactic always seems to work."
Bucky shrugged. "Because it's a good tactic." He just about went back to his tablet when their personal phone on the coffee table pinged with a text message. "I got it." He leaned forward and grabbed the phone, eyeing the message from Maria. "It's for me anyway."
Care to take me on a date this week, Bucky?
He set aside his tablet to reply. "Oh, and those things are ReDeads, by the way. I dunno why they're not just UnDeads, but this game is weird." Any excuse to see your beautiful face.
"What, were they dead, then alive, then dead again?" Steve asked.
Bucky looked at his tablet. "Doesn't say, just that that's what they're called."
The phone pinged. I could come over for that.
Bucky smiled at the text, glancing up briefly to watch Steve trying to navigate a room full of poisonous fog with black ground hole monsters- a quick look at the tablet showed that they were called 'Floormasters', what a weird game -then went back to the phone. "I see you got by the ReDeads," he said, somewhat distracted by the text he was reading. You're free to. Might save Steve from my running commentary on his game for awhile.
"I did," Steve said, sounding grumpy. He sat back, head tilted back. "And I don't think I like the room I went into after that."
"Being defeated by a video game?" Bucky said, entirely too amused for his own good, if the dirty look Steve shot him was any indication.
"Just talk to whoever's texting you," Steve said. "All right, trying that again."
Or add to it, was Maria's response. Bucky could practically hear the amusement in her words.
He deserves it. Anyway, you had an idea for a date? Bucky set the phone aside. "For your information, my girlfriend. She has an idea for a date that probably doesn't involve annoying you for awhile."
Steve paused his game just long enough to point sternly at Bucky. "You are hereby ordered to go on that date right now. This game is giving me enough grief without you adding to it." He went back to that poisonous fog room.
"Weren't you just here?" Bucky asked, watching Steve work his way through a very crude maze. The poison fog kept him from using any weapons, and the Floormasters were everywhere.
"Yes," Steve said. "If you get caught by one of these things, they send you back to the room before and you have to start over. And I can't kill them."
Ping. There's a supperclub in town called The Ink And Paint. Sound familiar?
"And you don't have fast enough reflexes to avoid them?" Bucky asked incredulously while he replied to his text. That's the place from that Roger Rabbit movie you showed me, wasn't it? Did Disney open an attraction?
Steve grumbled. "I do. But I'm not perfect. This is only my second time through this room."
Ping. No. Not Disney, but its site says it's modeled on the movie. If you take me, I'll even dress up nice for you.
Bucky smiled. "Steve, I got a great girl, you know that?" A chance to see you in a pretty dress? You know I'm there.
"What'd she say?" Steve asked. "Ha!"
Bucky's eyebrows raised, mouth open to respond, staring at the screen. "I see your victory over the fog maze is more important than your question."
"Shut up. What'd she say?"
Ping. Name a time and day and come pick me up.
"She found a supperclub set up like the places we used to go to," Bucky said. He set about finding out the club's hours and location, and the approximate date. They took reservations, and Bucky wasn't sure if that was annoying or not. They were probably booked on Friday and Saturday, but those were the days that were most likely to have better entertainment. If he could snag them a reservation, it meant they wouldn't have to wait forever to get a table.
Hell with it, he'd see when the first Saturday night he could get them a reservation was.
Steve paused his game, watching Bucky set the tablet aside in favor of the phone. "Here in town?"
"Yeah," Bucky said, dialing the club's number. As he expected, they were booked pretty solid for a few weeks. That wasn't good enough, so he threw out the weight of his name, something he'd never really had cause to do, not in a situation like that, and was surprised to see it work. Once he'd recorded the date and time into his calendar, he hung up. "You know, it's kinda disgusting how a person can be so important that they kick other people out of line that were in front of them."
Steve had gone back to his game. "And yet you took advantage of that anyway."
Bucky shrugged. "I'm kinda ashamed of it, but yeah. And that is a big ghost thing you're carrying around."
Steve didn't look over, clicking away at the buttons on his controller. "Yes, yes it is. I'm finally at the dungeon boss. So it sounds like you're going out this Saturday?"
"Yeah," Bucky said, texting Maria the time and date. "Seven of the clock, this Saturday. Early enough for supper, late enough to not have to wait forever for any star shows they might have. I'll let you know if the place is any good, if you were thinking about taking Sharon."
"I might," Steve said, flinging the giant ghost into a wall of spikes. "I never felt comfortable in places like those."
Bucky looked from the TV to Steve. "Steve? That's because you usually had to leave because the cigarette smoke made you have an asthma attack."
"Thanks for reminding me of that," Steve said, managing to give him a dirty look without looking away from the TV.
"You're welcome," Bucky said. "My point is, you might enjoy the place more now that you don't have to worry about asthma attacks. And it's not like you can even legally smoke inside anymore, anyway."
Steve didn't answer at first, scowling mightily at his game, before sitting back. "And on behalf of asthma sufferers everywhere, I thank the government for passing those laws."
"Too bad it came too late for you," Bucky said, returning to playing the completely unhelpful peanut gallery.
He realized a problem, thankfully before Saturday. He had precisely two dress shirts, three ties, and one pair of nice slacks, all of which he'd worn in any combination since dating her. It might be nice to not look the same all the time, like that teacher who wore the same outfit for school pictures every year for thirty years. Or however long it was.
After finding out from Maria just how nice was 'nice', Bucky realized that not only did he need more nice clothing in general, but she was wearing a style from his day to fit in at the club. Which meant he really needed to find something to wear to go with her. He wasn't about to make his lady stand out in an uncomfortable way by making them look mismatched. He was more of a gentleman than that.
Fortunately, there was pretty much nothing you couldn't find in Manhattan except maybe a Wal-Mart, and that included vintage clothing stores.
When did he become vintage?
Damnit.
Even though they were far from a pair of teenage girls who had to critique each other on cut and color choices, Steve offered to tag along once Bucky had informed him such a place existed. "I need nice clothes too," he'd said. "I'm in the same dire straits that you are."
"Good, I have someone to bitch to about how things don't fit now that my shoulders are two different sizes," had been Bucky's reply. Steve's answer to that was an eyeroll and a long-suffering sigh.
"Good lord," Steve said, eyeing a price tag on a pair of men's slacks designed to their era. "Even accounting for inflation, these pants are about ten times more expensive than anything I could've bought back then."
Bucky peered past Steve's shoulder at the price tag. "Yeah, I couldn't've afforded those either. This is top line stuff."
"Do either of you gentlemen need any assistance?" a floor saleswoman asked, walking up behind them.
Steve glanced over his shoulder. "Hm? No, we're fine."
"Those are a good choice," the saleswoman said, persistent and not leaving. What, did she think they were shoplifters she had to aggressively sales pitch at? "That style became popular at the start of World War II, when restrictions went into place and rayon became a common material to make clothes with."
Bucky looked at Steve. "Do you wanna tell her or should I?"
"Your way might be mean."
Bucky glanced at the confused saleswoman. "I am nice to ladies, I'll have you know," he retorted, then turned a bit, holding out his hand. "James Barnes. This is Steve Rogers."
The woman stared, then turned bright red and wide-eyed, belatedly taking Bucky's offered hand. "Oh my god! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't recognize you! You know this better than I do I guess, don't you? If you have any questions about what we have, that's something I can definitely help you with. We just got a shipment in this morning, and I put everything out." She looked like she was trying really hard to be useful to make up for her perceived previous blunder.
Bucky didn't think it was much of a blunder. People weren't exactly easily recognized from behind, after all. "Thank you. We'll look for you if we need you." Take the hint, lady. He wasn't comfortable with a salesperson standing over his shoulder while he tried to decide if a pair of pants in a style that he hadn't worn in decades would fit or not.
She nodded, assured them once more that she was available if they needed her, then wandered off, although Bucky suspected that she might not have wandered far. As long as she wasn't breathing down their necks.
Bucky stared as Steve pulled out a pair of grey slacks. "What is it with you and grey? Don't do grey, grey is boring, grey is what you always wore. Don't you have any sense of variety?"
"Grey was about the only color I knew for certain what it looked like," Steve argued. "I'm used to it."
"And you can see colors now, Steve," Bucky said. "Use that imagination of yours to be a bit more creative than grey."
Steve pointed to the slacks in Bucky's hand. "Uniform brown? And you say I have no imagination? You have absolutely no room to talk."
"Hey, I looked good in that uniform," Bucky said. "Fine, point taken. Take your grey and go find the fitting rooms. Heathen."
"Thanks for the permission, Sergeant," Steve said, shoving at Bucky's shoulder as he walked away.
"Kiss off, Captain," Bucky called after him, then muttered under his breath "jackass."
Despite the squabbling, Bucky thought they both walked away with good choices and finally some nice clothes for their closets. Both had been fairly minimalist in that regard. They were taken men with regular dates, it was time to fix that. Their ladies deserved them looking good.
And thank everything holy that Steve added some goddamn color to his wardrobe. It took some convincing, mostly in the form of mocking until Steve gave in just to prove Bucky wrong. It was a tactic that never failed to work, even though Steve had to know that he was being played like a violin.
Steve, of course, had pointed out that Bucky's every day wardrobe consisted of shades of grey and black, and that Bucky was a hypocrite for being critical of Steve's clothing choices. Bucky answered that with a one fingered salute.
With nice clothes now in his closet, all that was left was to wait for Saturday.