2019-12-21 - Brooklyn Flea Market Holiday Wares


Prospective Christmas shoppers peruse the Brooklyn Flea Market and appreciate the holidays.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Sat Dec 21 07:04:01 2019
Location: RP Room 2

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Theme Song



Williamsburg, Brooklyn has always had the honor of hosting the Brooklyn Flea (Market), a gathering of eclectic odds and ends and the rare true treasure offered up at an extremely discounted price. Why not check the place out? Singular Christmas presents are sure to be found. Given the late afternoon is clear if cold, sunlight falls into the interior of 25 Kent Ave on the 8th floor. A broadly spanned room means many, many tables with wares on display and the crowds are larger than usual with the holidays hopping.

Steve himself is incognito in his civilian clothing: a thermal long-sleeve beneath his motorcycle jacket, jeans and combat boots, and on his head, a knitted stocking cap complete with pompom. Barnes insisted he wear it, given it was made with love and knitting needles wielded by one hand human and one hand cyborg.

"What'd'you think Agent Barnes would like here?" he asks the cat perched on his shoulder quietly, his ear close enough to catch the reformed ringing of her collar's bell. He's standing off to one side eyeing the whole affair and looking vaguely perplexed.


"Ammo." A voice answers Steve from behind. "Always a practical gift." The woman smiles gently, waiting for the man to turn and spy her. Should he, he'll find Betty dressed for the weather in jacket, leggings, scarf and boots. Gloved hands hold a few bags by their handles of twine, each stuffed with rice paper and possibly some odds and ends. "I think you're too handsome to hide, honey." Winking, she strides closer and looks to the feline upon the man's shoulder. "Hello, sweetie. You're a pretty thing aren't you?" She questions adoringly before averting her eyes back to Steve's own.

"Who's your friend?"


Without a client at the moment, most people would be a little concerned…but this was as close as Amelie got to having a holiday, and this was perfectly timed to almost be 'normal'. Walking between the stalls, the French woman was dressed relatively normally, her hair tied back and her form wrapped in an overcoat to fight the windchill. Currently in the middle of inspecting some decorations, she turns her head lightly at the discussion that just so happened to occur behind her.

A soft giggle, her hand comes in front of her mouth on reflex before she tilts her head. "A practical gift," she comments in accented tones, "woman after my own heart." Of course, after that interaction her eyes are inevitably drawn to the cat at Steve's shoulders, a soft 'awww' escaping her lips. Another sucker for cute animals it seemed.


« I truly doubt there are any knives in this place even worth considering, » the bell attached to Agent Melinda May's collar chimes quietly while the woman-currently-turned-cat herself mrrs and mrrehs. While the blond super soldier is not actively walking, her perch on his shoulder is stable enough that she's not having to use her claws. Or, considering a nearly severe jostling at the hands of a clumsy pedestrian, a whip-thin tail curled around his neck in an attempt at being prehensile. Her ears prick forward then flick about and as she turns toward the man's face to look in that direction, her whiskers arch as she catches a whiff of very faint and subtle from scents the hat. Those that she recognizes as Barnes are unsurprising, but the metallic scent — specifically his arm and hand — clue her in to a bit more.

She's about to offer a completely different suggestion when two different women speak up near them and she cranes her neck to look at Betty then Amelie in turn, her ears going flat and her tail fwapping Steve's back a couple of times. Great. Now she'll have to prod at the man or something to try and convey her suggestion to him.


"You're not wrong," the Captain murmurs back to May. He smiles to himself at her whiskered sniffing, knowing she'll be able to suss out who knitted the hat. However, someone speaks up and Steve turns in place upon hearing the suggestion to see one miss Betty Brant there, already plagued with parcels. He grins, dimpling, at her easy-going greeting and approach.

"Barnes wouldn't say no to ammo," he agrees near sotto-voce, as to not draw curious ears — but too late, and he glances over at Amelia with a more polite smile now.

"We're all about practical at my place," he reveals to Amelie. A glance over at the tortoise-shell cat perched on his shoulder and he introduces her to both women: "This's Shanzha." Not May's real name, but the false one she's using while stuck in her current guise. There's no familiar reaching to fluff at the cat's chest or tickling under her chin. If anything, there's a respectful coexistence between the broad-shouldered man and the feline.


"I don't think I'd get anything from here on that level, honey. But, y'never know!" Shrugging, she blinks and looks Amelie's way. Offering a nod, she steps out of the way incase the woman knew Steve as well. That and not being in the way of foot traffic is a good thing. It's May, however, that gets her attention. The look of the feline, the swish of the tail - it makes her frown. "Ah, sorry Shanzha. Don't mean to ruffle you up. I just know your friend here." She explains, motioning Steve's way with her head.


A blink comes at the grumpy cat, Amelie giving a little tilt of her head before she looks up at Steve. "Shanza's not big on contact?" the question comes with another little chuckle before she folds her arms, hugging the small bag of purchases so far to her form. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to interupt your meeting. This is…an excitable time of year, non?"


Shanzha studies Betty for a moment, her ears losing some of that unamused flatness. She tilts her head at the young French woman, her eyes studying even as her nose twitches slightly, taking in scents, and her tailtip twitches along Steve's jacket collar like someone tapping a finger thoughtfully.

Then, even though she's perched on his shoulder, she scratches at her collar with one back foot, setting the bell to jangling LOUDLY right in Steve's ear. It's a wordless request to remove the bell from the collar (the collar itself can't be removed for some odd reason) so she doesn't unintentionally speak up and freak out the Muggles.


"Shanzha is her own cat. You didn't interrupt though, no worries. It's busy around here, that's for sure. I came to see if there was anything that struck my fancy for me or my other half," the Captain explains to Amelie, thumbs hung on his pockets in an easy-going poise. "Anything you saw that was — "

Steve pauses when the cat collar's bell jangles dead in his ear. He flinches before turning to look at the cat, his face leaned away as to not stick his nose directly into HER ear. Hazarding at what she might be asking him, the man deftly and carefully removes the bell from about May's feline collar. He pockets it carefully, making sure it's deep enough not to fall out if he gets bumped.

"Anything either of you saw that you think is worth taking a look at?" he asks as his finished question, glancing between Betty and Amelie both.


"I found some old books I think Hank would like. He probably already has them, but they'll warm up his new place well enough." Betty offers, watching after the cat and that hellish jingle as it shatters the space beside Cap's ear. To Amelia, she offers a beaming smile complete with rosey cheeks. "Mmhmm! It really is. Makes me a lil nervous, though, but it'll pass I'm sure. It'll be nice to have a holiday and just let it go smoothly."

Blinking, she perks up slightly. "Oh! I meant to ask you," she addresses Steve. "When did you want to do more training with me? Bucky can join, too. I should probably train with a number of different people, y'know?"


With Betty pulled away, Amelie's left to shrug before looking down to the bug in her arms. "A few things, decorations, some cakes and these neat little…" She's one arm into the bag before she blinks and gives a sheepish little smile. "I'm sorry, this is my first Christmas in the United States. I have gone a bit 'overboard'."

A little tilt of her head, she does give a raise of an eyebrow. "Training? You are a sporting team or something?"


Staying perhaps surprisingly still for a regular cat as she lets Steve remove that bell, May mrrps and leans against his ear briefly to convey her thanks to the man for correctly deducing what she wanted. Settling a bit more securely on his shoulder, she ears and attention focus on Betty again. This woman knows McCoy. So possibly not as much of a Muggle as she'd been presuming.

Then the woman steps away to answer a phone call, and May's attention is set right back on Amelie. Her ears forward, nose twitching, unblinking attention. What manner of person would consider one small bag of items 'overboard'? Someone who's not really had access to STUFF so freely offered before. Her head tilts slightly, but then she remembers that she had a suggestion for Steve.

She mrrs and mrrehs in her scratchy Siamese-like voice to get Steve attention, then tries her best to convey the word she's wanting to while patting at Steve's hat with one paw and doing so extra carefully so as to not snag her claws in the knitted fabric. "Mrrarrrn."


"We'll talk," Steve quickly offers to Betty as her phone call pulls her away. He looks to Amelie and then to her packages as she shares her excitement with them. It's infectious; the Captain's smile deepens into something more friendly yet at her demuring.

"It's understandable, 'nd nothing there's going 'overboard'," he opines. May's little paw touching at his hat has him carefully turning his face towards her again. His gaze travels to her arm and up to where she's pushing at the knitted garment.

"Oh, that's an idea, yeah — yarn." Steve sounds pleased with the suggestion and gives Tortie-May a quick grin. "Not a sporting team, no," he goes back to speaking with Amelie. "Self-defense. Never know what's going to come at you when you least expect it. Might as well be prepared."

"Ah," Amelie grins, a little flush at the opinions of if she had indeed gone overboard. Still, her head tilts to the side with a knowing nod. "You are completely right of course, it makes for quite a few health and confidence advantages."


Tortie-May mrrs her agreement with Steve and Amelie's opinions about learning self-defense, though there's really not much else she can offer in that regard right this moment. Though, she could likely STILL demonstrate how to effectively fight against someone larger.

Craning her neck up to look toward the various tables and booths, her tail curls around Steve's neck again for balance as she tries to spot some likely places to start shopping. DAMN her inability to see colors like she's used to. But… she sees someone offering sweaters? That's a start.

She leans a bit toward that direction and mrreps. That way.


The Captain nods towards Amelie. "Absolutely. More of it should be taught. There's no reason to be caught off-guard — 'nd not only with the physical stuff. Might as well cover things like getting out of a crashed car 'nd escaping from a fire too, right?" Steve shrugs his bare shoulder as not to jostle May perched on his other one. Her little sounds garner his attention and he looks in the direction of her small pointed face. Oh, the sweaters? Yarn — right.

"Figure we're going to go look at some of the booths with the knitted stuff. I didn't catch your name. Captain Rogers," he says to Amelie, then offering her a hand to shake if she feels so inclined.

"Amelie Chevalier," the French woman offers in introduction returned, a little shift of her glance towards Cat-May and then back to the Captain as she returns the handshake while hanging onto her Christmas 'loot' with her other hand. "You are in the military? Or was your parent a nautical enthu-…" she begins before trailing off and bringing her hand to her mouth again. Had she recognized Cap, or merely thought her comment rude?

"Forgive me. Perhaps it is a European sense of humor."


With a quick jog back, Betty huffs and sighs. "Sorry guys. Just Jonah." She explains, a wiggle of her phone before tucking it away into her side bag. Her own loot was being held in one hand now, each finger hooking to a handle in a somewhat awkward manner. "So! You guys figure out any good swag to grab yet?"


Tortie-May's eyes fall back onto Amelie when she introduces herself, and she actually huffs faintly at the woman's reaction to mentally parsing the way Steve introduced himself. But, as she's not driving this shopping trip, all she can do is perch and wait for Steve to get a move on. Not too abruptly, though, please. She doesn't want to dig any MORE holes in this jacket's shoulder.

Betty returns and May's ears flick in the reporter's direction, one of them likely brushing against the side of Steve's face like butterfly wings. And, just to test the waters, she mrrs a sort of welcome back.


"Nothing to forgive — in the military. 'm used to introductions as I said, so excuse me. Steve Rogers," the Captain amends with a polite smile. Now he wonders if his civilian cover is truly blown. After all, the hat only hides so much of his blond hair and there's no hiding his jawline or build beneath the leather jacket.

He glances up at Betty's return. "No problem, Miss Brant," he says, waving a hand to dismiss any apology. "Got the sudden inspiration to take a look at those tables over there, with the knitted sweaters. Maybe some yarn'll stand out." He gives Tortie-May a little confidential smile, barely a moonbow's curve.


Was she getting sassed by a cat? What strange night! Still, her gaze flicks back up from the greeting kitten towards Steve and Betty and she waves a hand. "We just sort of stopped to chat for a bit," she answers the reporter before giving a little embarassed laugh. "I have distracted you all quite a bit. My apologies!"


"Oh! We're doing introductions! Sorry about that. I'm Betty. It's lovely to meet you." She offers to Amelie, free gloved hand now out for a shake. "Distracted? I doubt it. Markets like this are a good place to get distracted, right?" Shake or not, Betty keeps her smile. Looking to the cat as it makes a sound, she steps closer and offers out said hand, only after pulling the glove off with her teeth and allowing the animal her scent first. "Grrr, 'tod ye t' 'aw 'e 'eddy, Stee'." She muffles toward Cap, fabric between her teeth.


Shanzha looks down at Betty from her current vantage point, and perhaps strangely for a cat, instead of sniffing at the offered hand she sets her right paw in it and presses lightly as if doing the cat-has-no-thumbs version of a handshake. Then she mrrehs again at Steve, arching her whiskers and leaning toward the aforementioned booth again. Let's go. Talk AND walk.


Steve nods, acknowledging Betty's stance on things — no one's being distracted in a place like this, full of distractions. He does, however, give the woman a perplexed look. He knows some odd languages, but Teeth-Muffled Glove is not one of them. His name was involved though, this much he can tell.

"Nothing to apologize for," he reiterates regardless. "It was nice meeting you, Miss Chevalier. Gotta go look at some yarn before it disappears. Hope you have a good holiday season." He believe he understands what Tortie-May is suggested by her body language. "Help us with some yarn, Betty?" The offer to continue walking is extended and as such, they all move over to the booth to peruse the wares. Some acceptable yarn is found and a visit to the bazaar can be marked as successful!

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