Who: Bucky and Open Where: Memorial wall on wheel 3 When: late Thursday night Open/Ongoing/No warnings atm
Bucky had come across the wall weeks ago, on his way from the hotel to the camp on wheel 4. He'd taken a longer, more circuitous route because he didn't want anyone to know where he was going, just in case. And because he wanted to see what this station was like. At the time, he'd scoffed at it. These people didn't care about their names on a wall, they were dead or gone. Now though, now that he had seen what this place and the people who lived here were like. He thought he understood a little bit more.
It wasn't for the people who were on it.
He went back to it Thursday night, long after he thought most of them would have been asleep. He wasn't a part of their community but it didn't mean he wasn't watching. Hadn't figured out who was gone. When he got there and saw that the name had not been added yet, he wondered why for a moment, but didn't dwell. Instead, he pulled a knife from his waist and set to work himself. The letters weren't as neat or practiced as the rest of the wall, but they were legible. He didn't have a lot of people, but even where he'd been, there had been a few. His father was one. And he'd missed his chance to talk to him again.
When the name was done, Bucky wiped the wall clean and put the knife away, just looking for a moment before he sat down on the floor, his back to the wall so he could look out the large window. Calm. Quiet. They were things he was only just starting to get used to.
"I'm glad you didn't die this time," he spoke out loud, his voice gruff with misuse.