steve rogers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
decommission) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2015-08-25 03:42 pm
decommission) wrote in thecapitol2015-08-25 03:42 pm
we'll put it together (open)
Who| Steve Rogers (AU) and (OPEN)
What| Wandering around after his arrival
Where| Training Center (roof and d9 apartments)
When| Mid-late Tuesday
Warnings/Notes| None yet. Will edit if necessary!
THE ROOF
He needs air. After bolting out of the sub-levels and briefly heading into the streets above (almost as bad as the basement, everything outside is too quick and unfamiliar) he finds himself on the rooftop of the Training Center, standing near the railing. There's a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, his gaze fixed on the city below. Just a few hours ago he was sitting in a small, humid apartment, barely listening to the music on a tinny radio of Peggy's and wondering how much longer he'd even be there. Now - the scene from earlier replays in his head over and over as his mind struggles to process and reconcile his current situation into reality - none of the information properly sinking in yet, none of the names or places or sights prickling any sense of familiarity.
Like everything about his past couple of weeks, it's a work in progress.
A hand runs through his hair and he sucks in a deep breath before abandoning the railing for the rest of the garden, eventually stopping in front of a marble statue carved in some amorphous shape. He reaches out, running his hand over the smooth surface. He might as well be sleep-walking right now, holding his hand there for so long, until his mouth starts twisting.
"I'm not killing for anyone."
The amorphous marble blob, understandably, doesn't respond. He has the sudden urge to laugh, feels it threaten to bubble in his throat - but there's nothing funny about any of this.
DISTRICT 9 APARTMENTS
When he finally takes the elevator back down to the apartments, it's out of hunger. There's a very obvious communal kitchen and dining space when he first enters, but first he runs a slow check of the rest of the floor for a concrete count on rooms and exits. Once he makes it back to the common area and the kitchen his demeanor is one of intense concentration - though on what would be anyone's guess. He doesn't actually take anything, seeming to prefer poking around at the cabinets instead.
Should any footsteps approach from behind, he won't turn around - instead his stomach gives a greeting for him in the form of a loud growl.
THE CAPITOL
For the rest of the day he can be found moving through the streets, shoulders hunched and hands shoved in his pockets. His pace isn't leisurely, he's not someone looking to be stopped. When he does stop, it's at a bar where he finds a seat at a stool shoved up against the wall, not ordering anything and slow to strike up conversation with the workers. There's something rigid about his posture when he actually does get to finding the person he's looking for and the talking part: some sort of abbreviated job interview for a barbacking position set up by the Escort that had accosted him in the Training Center.
For someone his size, that tense sort of demeanor comes off vaguely aggressive and when the conversation is over the bartender appears somewhat relieved to return to what he was doing. Steve lingers at the bar - you look like you could use this had been what the man said a bit nervously when their business was done, sliding over a glass full of some amber liquid. Steve had nodded his thanks, waiting to give a suspicious glance at it once the bartender's back was turned. He leaves the glass there, and if anyone sits next to him with an eye for it he'll eventually jerk his chin toward the drink without making eye contact.
"Haven't touched it." His tone is more neutral than friendly, but it's clear that he's offering the drink up for free.
What| Wandering around after his arrival
Where| Training Center (roof and d9 apartments)
When| Mid-late Tuesday
Warnings/Notes| None yet. Will edit if necessary!
THE ROOF
He needs air. After bolting out of the sub-levels and briefly heading into the streets above (almost as bad as the basement, everything outside is too quick and unfamiliar) he finds himself on the rooftop of the Training Center, standing near the railing. There's a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, his gaze fixed on the city below. Just a few hours ago he was sitting in a small, humid apartment, barely listening to the music on a tinny radio of Peggy's and wondering how much longer he'd even be there. Now - the scene from earlier replays in his head over and over as his mind struggles to process and reconcile his current situation into reality - none of the information properly sinking in yet, none of the names or places or sights prickling any sense of familiarity.
Like everything about his past couple of weeks, it's a work in progress.
A hand runs through his hair and he sucks in a deep breath before abandoning the railing for the rest of the garden, eventually stopping in front of a marble statue carved in some amorphous shape. He reaches out, running his hand over the smooth surface. He might as well be sleep-walking right now, holding his hand there for so long, until his mouth starts twisting.
"I'm not killing for anyone."
The amorphous marble blob, understandably, doesn't respond. He has the sudden urge to laugh, feels it threaten to bubble in his throat - but there's nothing funny about any of this.
DISTRICT 9 APARTMENTS
When he finally takes the elevator back down to the apartments, it's out of hunger. There's a very obvious communal kitchen and dining space when he first enters, but first he runs a slow check of the rest of the floor for a concrete count on rooms and exits. Once he makes it back to the common area and the kitchen his demeanor is one of intense concentration - though on what would be anyone's guess. He doesn't actually take anything, seeming to prefer poking around at the cabinets instead.
Should any footsteps approach from behind, he won't turn around - instead his stomach gives a greeting for him in the form of a loud growl.
THE CAPITOL
For the rest of the day he can be found moving through the streets, shoulders hunched and hands shoved in his pockets. His pace isn't leisurely, he's not someone looking to be stopped. When he does stop, it's at a bar where he finds a seat at a stool shoved up against the wall, not ordering anything and slow to strike up conversation with the workers. There's something rigid about his posture when he actually does get to finding the person he's looking for and the talking part: some sort of abbreviated job interview for a barbacking position set up by the Escort that had accosted him in the Training Center.
For someone his size, that tense sort of demeanor comes off vaguely aggressive and when the conversation is over the bartender appears somewhat relieved to return to what he was doing. Steve lingers at the bar - you look like you could use this had been what the man said a bit nervously when their business was done, sliding over a glass full of some amber liquid. Steve had nodded his thanks, waiting to give a suspicious glance at it once the bartender's back was turned. He leaves the glass there, and if anyone sits next to him with an eye for it he'll eventually jerk his chin toward the drink without making eye contact.
"Haven't touched it." His tone is more neutral than friendly, but it's clear that he's offering the drink up for free.
no subject
"What, you wanna hear mine first?" She can tell there's something unpleasant swirling in his head, so instead of waiting for a response to that, she dives in. "Well, I grew up in Brooklyn, my father was in the military, I met y- Steve when I was around nine. My dad always wanted one of his kids to serve in the Army, and as you noticed, I'm a woman, so that wasn't going to be easy. I became a nurse practitioner and joined the Army Nursing Corps, then America joined the Allies in the war and I went to Europe. While I was gone, Steve became a super soldier, and..."
She briefly trails off in her summary, and then starts on a slightly new train of thought, "Well, the Steve Rogers I know grew up skinnier than a fence post and saw the doctor on average around fifteen times a year... but inside he was a bigger man than most." Might as well tell him her Steve's story too, since his reply to her question about himself could be interpreted that way too. She also thinks that it will yield better results in getting to know this Steve. Maybe.
"Wasn't perfect, though. Stubborn as hell, and closed off in a lot of ways. And he had the frustrating habit of fighting bullies who were always bigger than him. Like one of those tiny stray mutts that wandered around the neighborhood in Brooklyn all the time during the depression. They always had a bone to pick with someone, but at least he had specific targets for his righteous, pint-sized fury."
She smiles a bit to herself, then straightens her back in a bit of a stretch, letting out a breath and settling back to normal. "Then he let a German scientist test that super soldier serum on him, and after that... everyone finally saw the hero he always was." It seems like that should be the end, and it kind of was, but she adds on as an afterthought: "You know, since he was bigger and could actually win his fights."
She looks over at him a a couple moments after finishing, observing his reaction, searching for... something.
no subject
It's when she gets to the part about another man named Steve Rogers that he looks back at the wall behind the bar again, mouth twisting. He understands certain parts of himself - or the way he used to be once - has those memories of back alley brawls and getting patched up in an apartment, sometimes unbearably cold and sometimes unbearably humid. He's read files about the experiment, about his unit's missions - has patches of memories from those too. He's heard Bucky and Peggy argue about how best to handle him, sometimes right in front of him - what each of them thought he could or couldn't handle during the interrogations.
He can tell from the way that she talks that this Bucky holds the same sort of affection for another man with his face (for a person he used to be, just like Bucky and Peggy).
When she finishes, he's silent for a few more seconds before maneuvering toward a question again.
"What year was it when you were brought here?" She looks to be in her twenties, so sometime during the war or directly after.
no subject
"It was.. October 25th, 1944." She had to pause a little mid sentence to mentally make sure that was correct. When in war, sometimes the days and months can run together, but that summer was particularly hard to keep track of as the situation in Poland came to light. Nurses were needed, so she left the SSR and the commandos for a bit to help. She purses her lips as she realizes that all of that was actually quite recently and she'd been compartmentalizing it until now when she let her mind wander back. She sighs and props her elbow on it the counter and leans her cheek against a fist, then she moves her eyes to him again.
"And you?" She boomerangs it back to revert her focus.
no subject
"March 4th, 1945." It's the first date that comes to mind, and not one he remembers too clearly. But he quickly makes the decision to lie instead of trying to explain the time discrepancy.
She doesn't need to know.
no subject
"You know, my first thought was 'that's not too far from when I'm from'... But we're whole worlds apart." Her voice loses a bit of the dry humor and flattens out, "Almost forgot."
She spots the bartender and flags him over, she asks for whatever it was Steve had just had in front of him and then he leaves again. "... I still didn't get your story. But I caught on that you don't really want to tell it." She heaves a breath and traces the side of her thumb in a groove on the bar counter. "That's fine. March 4th, 1945 tells me enough for now."
This is Steve Rogers, picking her battles with his defiant, stubborn streak is a practiced skill. So far, this one gives off that vibe and she has a sixth sense for it now. And this isn't one of those things that's worth trying to tear his walls down over. Especially not after they literally just met. Though, it's hard for her to incorporate that into her head because she knew him nearly her whole life...
no subject
His eyes follow her thumb as it traces the counter, distracted for a second before he responds. "Sounds like you've already got most of it anyway."
His story. That's not a complete lie. He was also small once, also an experiment (though more than once), and supposed to be a hero. Once.
no subject
"So it's all the same? Your Bucky was just taller and scruffier?" Like her Steve was clean shaven. And she guesses his Bucky was a soldier and not a nurse... unless not, you never know. And he might also be her same height, now that she thinks about it. Short men exist, as Steve has proven. "Or maybe he was a shrimp like you."
She's smiling at him in that good natured messing around with Steve way, kind of more than ready to be done with the heavy angst and escape into something simpler. Fake it till you make it, and this whiskey is definitely helping, though she's not drunk.
no subject
"He's not." His smile is faint but more natural when he says that, like his face is remembering how. Sitting and talking like this is almost familiar, but it still feels off - and though she's not pushing for answers from him, he's not sure he can sit through many more questions. Not today.
He eyes the door again and a moment later starts to stand. "I need to head back." To the Training Center.
no subject
"Alright... I'm in district 11." In case... she doesn't know what, but just wants him to know. Instinctively still treating him like she would her Steve, and trying hard to reign it in.
It's especially difficult since everything about him sets off alarms that have her needing to figure out what makes him so different and help him. It's concern and hope that the explanation isn't as horrific as her gut keeps trying to tell her it is. But she looks at his eyes and sees something like what she would see in her own when she looked in the mirror after being rescued. Only it's a thousand fold in him and it has her holding the glass tighter when she looks up and meets his gaze as he stands.
But he seemed to smile a bit just now... that's something that kind of helps ease the twisting in her chest.
no subject
"District 9." He's not yet sure that he needs to avoid her, but there's no hiding where his room is. As far as he's been able to tell Tributes can travel freely between the floors. He tries to smile at her again, back to an awkward, faint twitch of one side of his mouth, gone as quickly as it appeared. Without another word he gives a short nod and starts heading toward the exit, ready to jump out of his own skin.
He's a coward, running off from her.