[The voice addressing him is definitely familiar-- a soldier, he can smell the gunpowder; someone wearing old clothes, too, he can smell the leather and hear the materials of his clothes brushing against each other, and the noise is different from old-fashioned... of course, the fact is one that doesn't make much sense.]
I think I'd make a rather poor assistant, not even knowing what I'm supposed to assist with. [No, he knows -- this Bucky, he's the one who works here (and curiously enough has the same name as someone who should be long dead), and apparently this is some kind of gathering to bring more people to try different sports... or eat, as most people here seem to be doing. Free food holds a universal appeal, it seems.]