Bᴜᴄᴋʏ Bᴀʀɴᴇs ★ Wɪɴᴛᴇʀ Sᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ (serzhant) wrote in themandalay, @ 2017-07-17 00:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | bucky barnes, natasha romanoff |
WHO: Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanoff
WHAT: Bucky's trying to readjust after.... well, everything
WHEN: 16th July, Very Early Morning (before plot update)
WHERE: Outside Coco's Bakery Restaurant → Streets of Vegas
RATING | STATUS: Low → Medium | In Progress
Vegas. It was the place that never slept. With streets full of people, lights that never switched off, it was the complete opposite of where he'd lived for the last few years. In Bucharest, the streets became quiet; all but the street lamps went dark. It was familiar, comforting -- unlike this place. It was hard enough to sleep, plagued by his relentless nightmares, but being here made it worse. The quietest times were in the morning and afternoon, the time when people recovered from their night-time adventures. He saw them often, returning to their hotels or homes, their shaky steps because of alcohol or drugs -- or both. Yet he viewed it from a distance. It was like peering through a window, covered in dirt and dust. He'd never be part of that world. The cool air brushed over the back of his neck, even while the horizon tinged with muted colour. Dawn wasn't far, and the heat would return. Soon, he'd go back to the hotel and make an attempt to sleep. He had lost count of his steps somewhere past the five thousand mark, the numbers blurring together. When the hotel slept and the civilians partied, he walked around and observed -- and immersed himself in what memories he had recovered. A collection of women came toward him, giggling amongst themselves even while stumbling over their steps. He could smell the alcohol on their breath, could feel their gazes on him as he walked past them. He could make out the words their lips formed, even though it wasn't his native tongue. In the past, he would have smiled and responded. But that was a long time ago -- before he'd fallen from the train, before he'd become the Winter Soldier. It mattered little that he didn't do that now; it was what the world would forever see him as. And he couldn't ignore that fear inside him, that he might be nothing more than what HYDRA made him to be. Even if Steve and others said different. The ambient lighting from a storefront passed over his face, despite the dark baseball cap he wore. He stared, both at his faint reflection in the clear glass and what was on the other side of it. It was a restaurant, closed because of the early hour, and there was no food in the displays. It reminded him of places in Brooklyn, places he and Steve used to dream about going to eat -- but never did -- because money was so skint. "You're out early," he commented, his gaze not moving from his reflection in the clear glass storefront but knowing that there was someone all the same. Someone he knew. |