4372/A Greasy Hypothesis

A Greasy Hypothesis
Date of Scene:	11 December 2020
Location:	Copperpot Diner
Synopsis:	Scott rambles sleep deprived, Bucky delivers Jethro to Shield
Cast of Characters:	Scott Lang, Jethro Glass, James Barnes

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Scott Lang has posed:
"And none of them believed me! I had to practically DRAG the robot girl into my car and then Human Torch is there and he's talking about Namor! Who the hell cares about Namor? The man has wings on his ankles, nobody cares about a man with ankle wings. We all had to get our asses handed to us before they'd even begin to admit I was right!" Scott somewhat more loudly than necessary bemoans in the dirty little restaurant.

On the TV there's actually a brief segment on the incident he's talking about, but it's just as quickly replaced by sports which gets twice as long. Scott shakes his head, nursing a cola in front of him as he waits for his greasy food to arrive, the diner largely empty save the lone waitress behind the counter where he sits, a cook in back, and a rather, ahem, disheveled looking man on the stool next to him at the counter.

Jethro Glass has posed:
     "Scott" The disheveled looking man offers placing a hand down onto his shoulder, a brief pat. "The truth will come out." He pats twice on the spot firm in his nod.

     The waitress rolls her eyes as she passes by practically holding her nose as the stench of the cotten clothes dressed soldier sat at the bar next to Scott. Jethro smells like a combination of Whiskey, and deer musk, the stench of a hunter because to be fair that's most of what he did in his spair time living out in the not too far national park.

     "They just aint got the eye for truth." He offers a bit of a smile of off white slightly yellowed teeth as he pats scott once more before turning back to the counter top.

     One look at Jethro and it's clear the man wears everything he owns. From a cooking pot to a banjo to everything between one might need for living in the wild less the sort one might expect from a homeless man and more the sort from a man who never lives in one place for long.

     "Tell me more about the whole situation." He offers with a grity grumble in his voice as he digs into that plate of poorly cooked beef.

Scott Lang has posed:
"Yea see, that's why I like you old-timer," Scott says, the word feeling right to describe his counter partner even if there really wasn't much in the way of gray hairs about him. He just, FELT old, Scott naturally falling in with that lingo. The smell doesn't bother him, working in a lab with ant pheremones on just about everything had deadened him to things that stink. One never knew how much ants smelled till they were the size of a damn greyhound. Another noisy sip of his soda and he carries on his grousing...

"Terrorists! You'd think that would move some butts hearing that word these days but no, they still thought I was crazy. Just cause I happened to find out about it on a website that also reports on Elvis living out his days in Brazil. But I was RIGHT! They had to admit it after they blew up those three buildings. Damn bunch of kids with magic rings and hocus pocus and I..." the rest of Scott's complaints more of a non-distinct grumbling noise as he looks around the greasy spoon with some rather bloodshot eyes. He didn't give a sense of being drunk though, more just a general lack of sleep. Something confirmed as he lowers his voice and says, "But that's not the WEIRD thing."

Jethro Glass has posed:
     Jethro doesn't look at the man like he's insane, not one bit of skepticism in his eyes, just an earnest look of listening as he takes in the words. Sure he might not understand half of what Scott is saying as it rambles out of the other man's mouth, but he doesn't seem to have reason to avoid believing any of it.

     He nods his head slowly along sipping at that old cup of coffee. He'd insisted at having his own cup filled to the brim with inky black coffee. No creamer, no sugar just pitch black coffee freshly brewed, and unfiltered.

     "Sooner catch a weasel asleep'n move sun." He responds slowly shaking his head at the mention of Scotts friends not even moving at the mention of terrorists, even if he doesn't quite understand what the word means quite yet. He's still a smart man so he catches on a bit quick like to the general gist of things when Scott talks about blowing up a building.

     For a man who's out of his element he bobbs along just fine narrowing his eyes just a hair so he can catch each word and parse the sanity from the mix as he grits his teeth to parse out the grinds from his cup of coffee.

Scott Lang has posed:
Food arrives, the waitress setting it down with a clatter as she rushes by not wanting to linger near the weirdos, especially not when one was so, fragrant. The cheeseburger and fries was about as basic a staple as one could ask for though the one Scott had in front of him didn't look likely to win any awards anytime soon. He picks up a fry and waggles it like a pointer despit the lack of anything to point at. It's clear he's talking more to himself than anything, the hobo next to him serving as a sounding board for the insomniac hero.

"Yea that's what I said," he replies, REALLY showing he wasn't listening. "See the thing is, we got some scans of those freaking murder hippies and their rings and you know what we got? The stuff coming out of them it's like...ALIVE somehow. I mean, I didn't quite get everything the report was saying but those kids are barely controlling it, it's like whatever energy those little doohickeys of theirs put out is thinking on its own too. And that gets me wondering, you know, what if those rings are holding it back? If it all comes out, THEN what have we got to deal with?" Scott fairly whispers by the end, looking bleakly at his cheeseburger, before somberly adding ketchup, and morosely taking a bite. The most depressing of meals to be sure.

Jethro Glass has posed:
     "Thank you kindly ma'am. "Jethro offers with a friendly smile passing the woman a simple penny with? an indian on the surface? The woman scoffs at it a bit but tucks it away into her pocket. When she gets it home later and realizes that it's worth about 10,000 dollars she might change her tune a slight bit but that's for future her to come to grips with.

     Jethro bows his head and says a soft spoken prayer over his food taking his hat off as he mutters to himself with hands folded and eyes up towards god asking for protection as he eats his meal and to not choke to death on its contents.

     Jethro's food is really simple. Just a bit of beef on a plate. Nothing to mess up, nothing to write home about, just throw it on the grill, heat it up, throw some salt and pepper, throw it on a plate and call it a day.

     "Dealing with a bad batch." Jethro affirms with a slight motion of his finger as he sets down his coffee cup and digs into his food. The stuff is nothing good, nothing bad, it just exists but Jethro is mighty happy to have it in his stomach all the same. A warm smile crosses his face as he sets himself into the meal.

     "If dem rings keeping it back, and its still blowing a high water mark you're looking some rough tides friend." He agrees as he digs into it, cutting away into the well done hunk of meat not minding too much that it's overcooked. "Need to get em someplace safe, for everyone's sake, But you take em away, an you risk them rings not bein able to keep it in line like."

Scott Lang has posed:
"Yeah that's what I'm afraid of. Those kids might not even know what they're dealing with, hell might be controlling em for all we know. At least one of em was doing, SOMETHING screwy with the brains of the execs over there. Who's to say it ain't messing with all of them somehow? But I figure, you know, they're probably like magic or something right? So I try getting hold of some magic users and they all tell me to bugger off JUST BECAUSE one time! ONE TIME I told Dr. Strange I'm a magi too and I did that trick where you tell someone to look at the bottom of their shoe and it was his card he picked outta the deck. It's like my best trick and I told him 'hey maybe I should be Sorcerer Supreme' and he gets all HUFFY about it and next thing the whole magic community has me on some blacklist!" Scott really rambling now as he pounds a fist on the counter with a jingle of silverware and cups alike as he grits his teeth only to blink and look around in confusion.

"What was I talking about? Right the rings. So anyway, course I gotta do more digging on Google like a schmuck cause SHIELD won't approve me for their files and that's a WHOLE other story. So I'm looking and I find this story about Gaia, spirit of the Earth you know? And it's talking about how in times of need she has some champion she can call on and let me tell you, this thing sounds scary as all hell. And I dunno if it's it or not but, maaaaaannnnn I dunno. If it is, we don't want this thing running around," Scott finally finishes taking a big bite of his burger and swallowing with a glug of soda

Jethro Glass has posed:
     And there's the first sign that something might be wrong here. Jethro takes it calm and sets back a bit with his food. He flips the knife round in his hand for just a second half expecting a fight when the knife gets flipped round before he's able to recognize what's just happened. Instead he flicks it back round and returns to cutting his food.

     "Google." He repeats under his breath. More quietly. "Must be some Library". More loudly he affirms. "You need some way to hold em down without hurting em." He nods his head. "Sometimes best way to get someone where you want em is to give em exactly what they want exactly where you want em."

Scott Lang has posed:
"Hold em down without...yeah. Yeah we could probably do something like that! I mean we got scans on that stuff, we can figure out what'll contain it until we're sure taking the rings off is safe! Just need the proper box and then whack em on the chin for a KO and stuff em inside. Like all those bug collections Hank has...alright maybe without the pin through the mid-section," Scott muses, taking little note of the man or the dog stepping in behind him. Judging by the bloodshot look in his eyes he probably wouldn't notice if a meteor hit about then unless someone pointed it out to him. Something which finally catches up to him as he lays out a massive yawn.

"Alright well, that, that's something to sleep on I think. I think 37 hours without sleep is finally catching up to me," Scott informs as he doesn't stand so much as stumble off the stool using the counter for balance briefly. Not drunk, just tired, he swears officer. He fumbles around with his wallet for a bit before slapping some money down covering his and Jethro's meal both before clapping the man on the shoulder. "Thanks for listening man. Smartest feller I've talked to all week. Glad someone is keeping up to date with current events and knows what is going on," Scott compliments before he trudges outside. One can only hope he's taking a taxi home.

Jethro Glass has posed:
     Setting at the counter Is Jethro Glass. He's a man who is wrapped in medical tape and looks like he's a fresh release from the hospital. A temporary release at that. Though he's dressed in a rather simple set of cotton garb that looks rather out of place just at a glance it's clear the man wears his entire home on his back.

     A banjo, sleeping bag, camping tent the whole nine yards even cooking pot and more, he doesn't look like the type to live one spot for very long before moving on, and to someone who completed their history lesson he's dressed in the uniform of a Texas sharpshooter from the Civil war on the side of the confederacy.

     It does stand out a bit as he sips away at his coffee. Though he's lucky to manage to slip his bill over on Scotts tab at his own complete lack of finances. The grizzled man smelling of a lifetime spent hunting out in the wilderness and of steel and black powder that sticks with a man even in this uh higher society environment.

James Barnes has posed:
At first glance, Buck's inclined to dismiss him as yet another of the city's homeless or borderline homeless. He's slept rough in his own wilder days, when memory was only a strobe of inexplicable violence. But a second glance betrays that that isn't quite the case....and James makes no particular secret of his scrutiny, head tilted. Diverted for a moment by the waitress, and then ostensibly looking at the menu....but he's keeping a curious weather eye on the man at the counter.

Jethro Glass has posed:
     Jethro speaks up after a long moment of just enjoying his well done beef. He nods his head slowly as he speaks. "Nice dog, young Buck." The words are gruff and firm like an old well worn gravel path covered in glass. He looks at Bucky through the metal reflection on the order hangar behind the counter.

     The look in his eye is the glance of a killer, once that Bucky would be too familiar with, one that had seen more than its own fair shair of death. Death had long since become an all too constant companion many years prior in this man's life, and it showed a stain on his very soul a feeling the two men shared just sitting in the room across one another. Only difference was one had made the conscious choice.

James Barnes has posed:
There's that wolfish wariness in his face, as he meets the other man's gaze in that reflection. Only to jolt in a moment of unease, a crack in that reserve, at the mention of his name. There's the click of claws on the linoleum, as the dog turns to lay her head on his leg, and he ruffles her ears absently.

"She was a gift," he specifies. His voice is soft, rasping, though Steve's long sinced convinced him to give up the unfiltered Luckies. "You look like a man out of time," he adds. Tone carefully neutral....but Jethro knows the look of a man poised for violence, if it's needed.

Jethro Glass has posed:
     "Time travel." Jethro offers plain as day before sipping on his coffee. He grits his teeth to filter out the grinds from his coffee. The man is drinking as he looks through the reflection for a long moment rather than turning around proper to face him. "It's a huckleberry above my persimmon to cipher out how." He takes out a simple hand made tobacco pipe and stuffs it full from a simple leather pouch.

     The waitress gives him a dirty look but doesn't say a thing as she goes back to cleaning one of the nearby tables. He takes out a match and strikes it giving off a strong odor of white phosphorus. Lowering the match into the pipe he lights up and starts to puff away on his pipe. "Reckon otherwise I'm crazy"

James Barnes has posed:
That makes Buck grin, and it takes years off his face. He beckons the other man over - not like there's not plenty of room in the booth, even with that gear. "C'mon over. I sympathize. I sorta time-travelled myself, though not as far or as long, by the look of things. Late 19th century I'm guessing - you look like one of the toys soldiers I used to have as a little kid." It'll be refreshing to speak to someone who doesn't automatically know who Bucky Barnes is....and he's guessing that the lucky landing on his name was nothing more *than* luck.

A beat and he adds, "Sorry, but you can't smoke in here. At least, most places you can't, not these days."

Jethro Glass has posed:
     Jethro takes his time moving over to the booth sliding his way into position. He doesn't seem too comfortable with the different style of seating taking off his oversized pack as he sets it down into place on the bench beside himself lowering it down to get it out of the way. Man only gets one or two puffs before a calm nod is given towards the waitress.

     "Pardon didn't aim to change your inclination as sich." He puts out his pipe before tucking it back away in his pack lowering himself into place with a bit of a rough groan. His stitches becoming visible where it's apparent someone had done a bit of field surgery on him with far more modern equipment.

     "Got some learning to do off the reel." He offers as he slides his food into place settling himself into position still stinking of gunpowder, white phosphorus and death. The man also smells a bit of blood and fire like one fresh out of combat. "January, Eighteen Sixty five was last I lay eyes on the date, was atop Mt. Juarez New Mexico fit to die fightin my no good brother."

James Barnes has posed:
With two peoples' feet under the table, it's a big crowded for the dog. She clambers out to sit on the bench beside Bucky, smiling a dog smile. Not, apparently, an attack dog.

The waitress sets a mug down before Buck, fills it. He orders a plain hamburger for himself, some sausage (presumably for the dog), and a Coke. "You already eat?" he wonders of Jethro. "Man," he says, shaking his head. "I was born in nineteen seventeen....and I'm over a hundred, technically. How'd you end up here?" Clearly a story to be had. More than one.

Jethro Glass has posed:
     Jethro holds up the plate of half burnt beef that he'd been eating from. It doesn't exactly look like the most appetizing thing in the world but it seems he's been eating it all the same. "I's afeared they don't ezactly care for dixie folk as sich roun' these parts these days." He offers with a bit of a chuckle. Misreading the mood of the place.

     He still seems perfectly happy to dig into the burnt food best he can, eating away the bits that he can with what he can. He clears his throat a bit focusing his words slightly.

     "Short version is, my boys went out hunting, and my brother got overzealous and convinced himself the two li'l ones were 'fed spies, put their heads on pikes, and about a year later I find out, an' I get mad as a March hare,." He sighs a bit motioning with his hand. "So I take on a few of his boys in blue, then a few more, and well next thing you know they put me in charge of a mission to find El Dorado."

     He shrugs his shoulders. "And I might have been using it as an excuse to hunt my good for nothing brother." He sighs.

James Barnes has posed:
"There's better here, if you want it," The young man's voice is almost gentle, as if he feared treading on the other man's pride. "I can ...I can cover the bill."

Then he's listening to the story with no air of skepticism at all. It's not like he hasn't seen stranger in his own time....and he and Steve made the seventy year jump in their own ways. "So, uh, you're a Confederate, huh?" No judgement in his tone.

Jethro Glass has posed:
     Jethro Looks at bucky for a long moment and he pulls out his wallet as if going to show he can pay for himself before he pauses. He looks down at his own wallet for a long moment. All he has is Confederate States bills. His heart visibly sinks as he looks at that useless ricepaper, gold, copper, silver, and tin, and he just slumps a bit down in his chair. He runs his thumb across his chin sliding it from one side across to the other in silence.

     "I'm an American." He affirms in a defiant tone glad to have the distraction from the topic of not being able to afford his own meal. "May have picked a side to try and bring my brother to justice, but I was neutral long as I could be."

     He adjusts his position in the chair. "I'm a musician not a damn soldier, but every time something drags me back in." He chuckles to himself looking up towards that strange bulb hanging from the ceiling. "Ever since that Texas revolution."

James Barnes has posed:
That has Buck lifting his hands, palm out, in that old gesture of placation. "Hey," he says, "Listen, I'm in no condition to try and judge anyone, believe me. I don't know if anyone told you, but about eighty years after your war, there was one that affected pretty much the whole world. I was in that one..." His glance falls on that money. "Be careful of that. It's not legal tender, now, but there are those who collect antique bills and coins. It might get you some modern day cash."

A beat, and he says, recalling his manners, "I'm James Barnes, by the way. I usually go by Buck. Gave me kind of a start when you guessed that." The dog's looking between them, curiously. Like her owner's gestures might've been commands.

Jethro Glass has posed:
     Jethro raises an eye at the concept of a war even being able to affect the whole world. He pauses for a long moment looking across the table. "You mean like armageddon?" He pauses for a long moments contemplation at the very concept of such an unthinkable war. Finally he shakes his head. "Just got here today, was going on my way to hospital to talk to some Agent Marry Jane?" He shakes his head. "Apparently there's this shield group what'll help me out, according to that Spider-Man feller."

     He reaches his hand out across the table extending it towards Bucky. "Captain Jethro Glass, 1st Texas Sharpshooters" He pauses for a moment before realizing the confusion and letting out a low chuckle. "Naw son, Young Buck, as in a male deer, you got that level of fight in your eyes son."

James Barnes has posed:
"It was like Armageddon, and I'm not a religious man, but I would say that us being able to sit here in peace has gotta have something to do with the grace of God," Buck admits, as he shakes the offered hand. "Pleased to meet you, Captain Glass."

The mention of SHIELD makes him cock his head and grin crookedly. "Yeah? That's true. I was gonna suggest you talk to them. I'm sort of a member, but I got no real pull. I can guide you to where they are, though, see what they make of you? A man who's come more than a century into the future'll sure interest 'em."

Jethro Glass has posed:
     Jethro nods his head in silence pulling his hand back down to his side as he seems relaxed enough having sat his hat down to one side as would be considered polite enough in his own time to do when eating. "Might be starting to cotton a chance to you Mr.Barnes." He offers a smile of those slightly yellowed teeth.

     "Though I don't reckon I'll hold mucha interest to folks a few hundred years more advanced than me."

James Barnes has posed:
There's a firm shake of his head for that. "Nah. You're gonna be surprised, and not just for what you can tell the people who study the history of that time, I promise ya."

Then the waitress is showing up with his own burger and fries, and the sausage in one of those little paper boats for the dog. She eats daintily, nipping each piece up one by one. Her human is more frankly greedy - Bucky eats like he's afraid someone's going to come along and steal it from him.

Jethro Glass has posed:
     Jethro smiles at the dog being comforted at the least that dogs have remained the same if nothing else. He holds an arm against his side applying pressure where the stitches had been applied to the sabre wound across his chest. His clothes have been visibly torn open by something earlier.

     Jethro finds himself a member of the clean plate club in spite of the poor state of his food. He doesn't leave behind a single burnt scrap of food left to rot even though much of it is akin to charcoal on his plate. The nature of whence he's from one could perhaps surmise.

     "Anyway I tracked my brother to Mt. Juarez to the City of El Dorado" He sighs a bit. "Had a conniption fit when he couldn't just storm the place." He shakes his head. "Waited a coons age but he set up camp near the peak." He sets down his knife and fork. "Something about that treasure had him crazy as a loon. Saw fit to fix his flint the old fashioned way, and had a tussle"

     Jethro sounds overly disappointed as he speaks. "Went up there to kill the man, but looking him in the eyes there weren't none of him left in there, just greed eaten him inside out." He pauses a long moment. "Fit a while, an next thing I knew I wake up with that spider-man feller lookin over me tellin me about shield an whatnot."

James Barnes has posed:
"Listen, I bet you're still hungry. I know when I came in from the field I could've eaten a whole cow, horns to tail. Still can, sometimes. Pick whatcha like," Buck's in no hurry, and presumably Jethro isn't, either.

"El Dorado, huh. Sad how that works - love of money is the root of all evil, they say. Spiderman's good people....but SHIELD's the place you'll need to go." He takes a sip of Coke, ice chiming in the glass.

Jethro Glass has posed:
     Jethro nods his head offering a bit of a low friendly smile of those yellowed teeth. He lends a soft "Thank you kindly stranger." Not feeling too up to spitting on hospitality anymore as he nears the end of what has been a very long day.

     In silence he looks over the menu placing an order for quite a few eggs and a lot of beef. Not the most expensive cut, just a good bit of it. It's clear he hasn't eaten in quite some time.

     Finally when the waitress has gone away he speaks up again from deep in contemplation. "This was more'n that though, more'n just greed" Looking across the table. "Like that spark god gave the man was gone." He holds his hand to his chest. "We didn't grow together, parents killed by muggers when I was knee high to a steer, and he was off with kin, but I knew the man well enough to know he didn't get that way natural." He points to his own eye. "Something stole that spark."

James Barnes has posed:
"I wouldn't argue with you on that," James's voice is low, rough. "Not when I've seen what I've seen. There's a lot of things that can alter a man's mind and will." But he doesn't speculate further on what they might be.

Then he leans back. "Listen, after this meal, I'm gonna take you to SHIELD, if you agree. It's not a long trip at all. My bike can carry three." Apparently he's including the dog in that trio. "They'll be able to set you up, get you up to speed."

Jethro Glass has posed:
     And the rest of the evening goes fairly uneventfully. The two old soldiers swapping stories back and forth, over a good meal, and some good company. The atmosphere of the downtrodden little dinner feels a bit brother with company to keep things lively.

     Time flies fast as the sun fades from high to low in the sky and eventually the trio load up and ride off into the distance ready to face the new day.