IC Inbox

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This is the IC inbox for Bucky Barnes at Riverview.

Network name: user.name

This is the place to contact Bucky over the network. Contact by voice or text is perfectly acceptable, and there is no need to plot with me prior to posting in this inbox.

Note: As of the end of December 2017, Bucky has no phone, he has destroyed it. Consequently, this inbox can only be used for in person interaction. You are still more than welcome to post here without plotting with me first.

Comments

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[He's not an idiot, he can see that she's just trying to deflect the conversation onto something else, but he'll let it go. He's pressed her enough on this, the decisions she makes regarding what she tells others will always be her own.

The choice of subject change, though, does make him raise an eyebrow. He gets the implication, but he's unsure if he's actually read that right. Friends? Him?]

No.

[At least that's a safe answer, though he's looking at her warily now.]

I don't talk to anyone if I can help it.

[pundemic]

[She catches that wariness, ducks her head like it's something she can actively defend against.]

You talk to me. And I like that you do. I just think you'd have a lot to offer the other people here if you ever felt like-- you know, talking to them too.

[It's not like she's going to push him into it, or threaten to drag him shopping or something, but. She doesn't see a reason he shouldn't be surrounded by decent people who care about his wellbeing, either.]

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[He shakes his head, fingers clasping subconsciously over his left arm.]

You understand.

[How to not make sudden moves, why conversation can be stilted, why being alert is always a good thing, and that leaving suddenly shouldn't cause offence.]

Besides, I couldn't help but talk to you, you pointed a gun at me when we met.

[pundemic]

Mm.

[It's not really agreement or disagreement. It is hard to talk to normal people, where 'normal' entertains a certain value of ignorance to some of the shit they've both seen. His tolerance for it doesn't have to be as high as hers, because there are still plenty of days she wants to run away into the woods and scream her fucking head off.

His next statement, though, gets a startled laugh.]

Is that how you make friends? They have to point a gun at you first?

[advanced]

[He shrugs, a little awkward at the open sentiment. It might not be a big deal to most people, but this is a bit overwhelming for him.]

Considering you're my only one, odds look good that way.

[Steve. Clark. His brain whispers the two names at him, but he pushes them back. Clark isn't a friend (yet), he's a safety mechanism for if he goes nuts. And Steve-- Steve is a tangled knot that he is so not ready to unravel.]

[pundemic]

[Pal, you weren't supposed to take that quite so seriously. Ellie's expression goes through an interestingly sympathetic contortion before it settles back somewhere around neutral, and then she just leans briefly into his space, against his shoulder before she pulls back.]

Well. I guess I don't have to share.

[advanced]

[He snorts very quietly. This is so bizarre, to think of himself actually having a friend. There are a few long beats of silence, before he offers her proof of that friendship in a low voice.]

James. My name is James Barnes.

[pundemic]

[She always figured 'Mark' was a lie, but she also had no real expectation that he'd tell her for real. Her only real surprise is at him choosing to tell her about it.

She does, however, give him a bright smile.]

James. You know? I kinda like it.

[She had a book of names, once. Winston used to find things in the old mall, and sometimes he'd give them to her on the sly. Ellie being Ellie read even that dusty old thing about a hundred times. Books were so precious and rare, she treasured every one.

James is one of those weird names with a few origins, but one of the ones that stuck out to her was may God protect. You don't run into names very often where the meaning is either on the nose, or so obviously contrary. Like the rest of life, most people sort of fall in between.

She sort of toys with the fraying flap of her backpack. It's not a nervous fidget.]

Hey. Do you like music?

[advanced]

[She doesn't make a big deal about the name, or that she'd been given a false one before, and that's good. She understands. She'd probably even go right on calling him Mark if he asked it of her, but he won't. Perhaps he can try for a bit and see what it's like letting someone call him James, see if he can reclaim the name at all.]

Yeah.

[That's at least a fairly confident answer.]

I'm pretty sure that I used to dance a lot, so I must have liked the music that went with it.

[See, he can deduce things about himself.]

[pundemic]

[So she pulls out her cassette player. It's an old thing, scratched and worn in a few places. It's obvious that she could get something better here, that she's chosen not to. The tape inside says, to whatevers at the end of the world. <3 She and Riley used to joke about that. Being 'whatevers'. When they weren't sure if they were friends or girlfriends. Military prep was a complicated place, and they were so young.

It's weird to her, that she's older now than Riley was when she died. It seemed like she was just always chasing after her, one step behind in everything, and now...

She holds the player out for him.]

Can you do me a favour? And hang onto this for a while?

[It's sort of a double-edged sword. She wants to... be separate from it, for a while, and to make sure it's in the hands of someone who will treat it as carefully as she will. She can't keep clinging to the past, it's paralyzing her. She will never not be in whatevers with Riley, but... it's been a year. She has to keep moving forward. Baby steps.

Maybe this is poetic too.]

The batteries are brand new, so if you want to listen to it-- go ahead.

[advanced]

[He reaches out and takes the cassette player in his right hand, holding it carefully. He doesn't know why it means so much to her, but it's obvious that it does. It's so battered, and yet obviously lovingly cared for, and she's kept it even here where she has access to new things in more advanced technology.

It's a big thing to be trusted with.

That she's trusting him with it instead of someone else is both touching and slightly terrifying, but he wouldn't dream of throwing this back in her face. Instead, he carefully puts it into his backpack.]

I won't.

[Whatever it is, it's personal.]

But I'll have it whenever you want it back.

[He won't let anything happen to it.]

[pundemic]

I know.

[She wonders how many people know he's gentle. Not many. She gives him a slight smile, and then blows her hair out of her face with due teenage exasperation at it.]

Track six is my favourite. Now-- you got somewhere else you need to be?

[She likes the company, but he gets antsy sitting in one spot too long, and she doesn't mind giving him an out if he wants it. No hard feelings.]

[advanced]

[This is perhaps why they get along as well as they do, because she knows when he needs to be moving again. He doesn't have anywhere that he needs to be, but he nods all the same.]

If you need me, call. I'll come.

[It's not an offer he'd make to just anyone, but he means it.

Without another word, he turns and walks away into the trees.]