Summary:The Barnes-Rogers household is dealing with not only dragons, but HYDRA too? What is this world coming to?! Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Post Valentine's…..it's a cozy evening at home. Still crummy and cold out. But in the Barnes-Rogers household, it's domestic bliss. Buck actually made meatloaf and pecan pie, among other things. And now he's loading the dishwasher and humming to himself, tunelessly. The Fist of HYDRA, up to his cybernetic elbow in suds that smell like lemons.
And there's the man who is supposed to be all that is proper — but he's seated on the counter lightly drumming one heel against the wooden cupboard doors beneath and eating through his third slice of pecan pie. Who doesn't like pecan pie? Steve won't say no to it.
And he's in the middle of an explanation that's being worked around the cheekful of pie as it stands. "So then, the dragon goes on to explain that he's always lived in this world — our world, outside of the dome — " The fork draws a circle in the air to include all of the apartment and beyond. " — but the dome's safe for him 'nd his…offspring? Hatchling. Baby dragon," the Captain decides with a wry little smirk. "But he asked me 'nd May 'nd the others to see about finding him a place outside of the dome again where it'd be safe. May volunteered somewhere in Asia, which…it's possible. Bet you don't know every corner of Siberia." Steve then forks more pie into his mouth. Mmm, pie.
He glances back over his shoulder, flicks the braid out of the way. Buck's got his hair in a neat queue - someone needs a haircut. "Man. I don't. I'm glad I don't. That's the biggest empty wasteland on earth. They're not thinking of showing him something there?" he wonders, that familiar little stitch between his brows. How odd it looks, sometimes - those expressions Steve knows so very well, on a face that tends to be cold and grim in repose.
Someone does need a haircut. Steve hasn't made mention of it yet, given he's never been one to step on Barnes' toes unless absolutely necessary. "'m glad to hear you don't know every corner of that place. If you did, I'd be wondering," the blond admits with a lightheartedness. There's pie; he refuses to sully this eating experience with bad memories.
"'nd 'm sure it crossed May's mind. The dragon seemed like he wanted to be left alone, so…it's not a bad idea. 's'not all isolated nothing out there. Creatures can survive. There's water, shelter somewhere, 'm sure. Dunno if the dragon wanted a cave or not, he was perched on an abandoned tower when we spoke to him. Oh, his name is Xathies. The hatchling was Nym, if 'm remembering correctly."
Buck knows it. It's a matter of finding a work-around to his absolute hatred of being half-reclined in a chair while someone does awful things to his head. "I wonder if we could get someone who cuts hair to do housecalls," he muses, half under his breath, as he runs his human hand over the braid. "Or maybe I should just go to some fancy salon that smells like perfume, and you can hold my hand while some pretty girl trims my hair…."
Then he's jerking out of that little reverie. "What does he need, him and his kid? What kind of food? There's a lot of pollution out there….and can they deal with cold?"
"'s'possible to find someone who does haircut house-calls. We live in New York, lots of things're possible." Steve gestures between himself and Bucky and then towards the sliding glass door leading to the balcony at the city beyond. "I mean, 'm telling you about a dragon who wants to potentially live in Siberia because he's tired of humans persecuting him. Dunno if he cares about the cold or not. Meant to add that you could join up in our little retinue to go help him out. Something about keeping a…Drow…?"
The Captain pauses. "I think she's a Dark Elf. She's trouble, that's all I know so far, we haven't sent in further reconnaissance. Could get a haircut after it's all said 'nd done. You'd fit right in to the place with the braid, given the medieval-like atmosphere." A little smile splits his lips and twinkles in his true-blues.
He snorts laughter. "Yeah. This place. It…..man, I remember when I saw you for the first time after your transformation. I was so sure that'd be the weirdest thing I'd ever see….." But there's an answering smile, a warmth in the pale blue eyes, as he grins back. "What do we know about this elf? They're something from Thor's territory, right?"
"Maybe? Thor would probably know better. Good point," Steve notes as he scrapes the remnants of the slice of pecan pie from the surface of his plate with soft sounds. "I'll reach out to him about it, see what he knows. The dome's weird, Buck. It's…" His brows meet contemplatively. "'s'like something out of a fantasy novel, so it's possible that Thor might not even know which kind of Dark Elf she is."
Regardless, he shrugs and looks around for the pie plate. Yes: slice number four is wanted. "How about you join my weird self for a run at the dome sometime? Know you've been busy, but Xathies told us to gather reinforcements because it's serious business once we get past a certain place. You're a force to be reckoned with." Bucky gets a subtle waggle of eyebrows and less subtle smirk. Cue dimple.
"Sure. Not like I haven't been trailing along after you for decades now," Buck says, mock-casual, as he rinses a dish, drops it in the dishwasher. "That'll be nothin' new. We heard from Thor lately?"
He picks up the pie, serves out another slice. He's had his share. No wonder he cooks - they both eat so much, their salaries'd just go to food if they ordered in all the time.
The Soldier's laid-back blip of humor makes his other half laugh again, the dimples now being showcased to counter the spotlight of his grin. "You say that like it was a terrible thing," Steve fires back with that same nonchalant tone. He accepts his slice of pie with a quiet 'thank you' and cuts off the first forkful. A question about his fellow Avenger has him glancing up.
"Last I heard, he was dealing with something like a security breach at the Embassy. Dunno if it's resolved or not. Surprise they haven't called me in, honestly, it's…" His pause is weighty and he looks to one side, likely enough of a deviation in conversation to earn himself a frown. "…one of the other Asgardians thinks it's HYDRA, Buck." Now he meets those pale eyes. "Proof's not in the pudding, but…"
Another snort. "I'm used to it. Where'd you be without me?" ….and then his expression goes sour, but there isn't that terrible bleakness in his gaze that heralds a flashback, like the flicker of heat lightning presages a summer thunderstorm. "Man, those guys are like a bad rash," Buck grumbles. "HYDRA? Still? Why'd they think that?"
"Kraken's involved." If the Soldier's memory permits, he'll know the name as one of the top leaders of HYDRA, a man who only answered to the Red Skull himself before he was counted as dead along with his master. "He's somehow still alive." Now Steve's speaking more tightly. "If you know the Asgardian named Fenris, he produced a piece of paper with orders to spy on the Embassy. On the back was a note to keep me out of it."
Which, for all intents and purposes, was likely left on there to get Steve INTO the entire affair.
- TO BE CONTINUED -