7121/Chasing Winter

Chasing Winter
Date of Scene:	28 July 2021
Location:	Moscow, Russia
Synopsis:	James Barnes has been 'scrambled'. The Winter Soldier and Bucky fight for domination whilst Sharon and Wanda track him down. PT 1.
Cast of Characters:	Sharon Carter, Wanda Maximoff, James Barnes

---

Sharon Carter has posed:
'Dear Bucky. Or. Dear Dobbie.' Sharon says into the voicemail. Bucky's phone would have been ringing nonstop if he didn't turn the phone off, it all went straight to voicemail. There was no telling how many times Sam had called him, but Sharon was probably on the fifteenth dial.

'This is Sharon calling again. You know, your little sister? The one you call a B-word every god..' There was a hiss over the receiver, then it hangs up.

Sitting in the ops room along with another STRIKE member, Sharon pressed the edge of her phone to her lips. "So no movement at all? No cell-tower pick ups, nothing?" She asks of the tech there.

"Not a one. He turned his phone off."

"What a fucking dick." Sharon exclaims, then dials the number again.

No ring. Voicemail.

"YOU (CENSORED) (CENSORED) (EXPLETITIVE), I SWEAR TO GOD WHEN I FIND YOU I WILL (CENSORED) (PIKACHU FACE) (CENSORED) and (CENSORED) (CENSORED) AND THEN I WILL SHOW STEVE AND SAM AND BEAT THEIR (CENSORED) AND (CENSORED) THE WHOLE LOT OF YOU! YOU (EXPLETITIVE)!"

Sharon drops the phone down upon the desk as she launches into a stand, pacing. She knows how he is when he gets like this. This couldn't even be considered a rescue mission. It would be a capture.

"If I may." The Agent says. "Why not call an Avenger?"

"Sam? I think he's looking already."

"No." The Agent says. "There -are- more. She's a lady.." The reason as to why this was mentioned? A pure crush. Even thinking about the woman causes his cheeks to burn bright. If one were to look in his room, underneath the mattress, there would be a full dossier on Wanda Maximoff. Newspaper clippings, drawings, symbols, much like a high school girl would to their favorite actor or actress.

"She -is- a liason of ours and I.. I could see if someone could find out if she's available.."

"Do it. I don't care. This isn't going well at all."

There was ALMOST a squeal from the man as he bolts from his chair and out of the door. If there was any chance that Wanda Maximoff was going to come to the Playground? He needed to shave. He needed to freshen up. He needed to order an Edible Arrangement with white chocolate covered doves!

YEEHAAAH!

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
It so happens one Sam Wilson knows where to find other Avengers. He even has a room in a compound occupied by several such heroes at various points of the day. On any given Sunday, or a midweek evening, at least a couple must be in residence. Shawarma Night holds a reverent respect. Training requires attendance signoffs or Steve could start pouting. Check-ins might be brief but managed by Tony Stank's Technicolour AI Project.

Said bird-man also happened to be in a war with boop movies and strutting eagle gifs with the centre of the unknown universe. Text chats blowing up with cute pictures and pithy comments, also about Steve Rogers or the likelihood of invading the Brooklyn Zoo to meet cats with New Yorker attitude, last for hours. Tap into his GPS signal and it remains stationary, in fact, at a brunch restaurant for the better part of two hours.

Or just send word through SHIELD-approved and HYDRA-spied methods from that dingy little corner of their new playground! Maybe even call up FRIDAY. Assuming that's what Tony uses these days.

The 'full' dossier on Wanda Maximoff is fully fledged with question marks and more question marks. Whole sections stand in place for actual fact. "Her twin is a degenerate and unreliable narrator" and "her twin brother is a liability" lie underneath a heap of connections establishing her as Genoshan royalty thanks to the dead-not-dead-was-dead-still-dead? Erik Lensherr. The world knows him as Magneto.

Picking a target with an actual bone to pick with HYDRA? Not bad for the genetic stands. Sharon could do a lot worse. Maybe more reliable hopes for infil or exfil, but someone with diplomatic immunity and a corset - the same thing - has to be good. Point for Agent Friendly.

He needs to freshen up. Sharon has to worry about suspicious serial killers. Wanda is currently vexed by staring at an arrangement of red washi tape and crepe paper. The purpose might be really artistic except that it happens to represent a whole continent, and the threads of magic weaving around her fingertips indicative of being up to something. Someone's going to destroy the Avengers tonight on 'Ticket to Ride' or 'CSI: Belarus Abduction.'

"What's that?" she asks the phone. Oh man. Personal attention from an AI, totally secure. "You're on broadcast." Meaning hello, the tower is listening. Or some nosy incarnation of Tony-level eavesdropping, just assume...

Sharon Carter has posed:
"..this line, my line is private." Sharon says into the phone. It was odd. As fresh and sparkily SHIELD tends to be, nothing could ever compete with the ingenius that Tony cooks up. "I doubt that anyone would really care anyways." Sharon says with a forlorn tone. But she does get right down to business.

"I'm a friend of Sam's. He's one of yours?" Sharon was now pacing, rubbing the back of her neck. "Anyways, I'm not.. okay.. I'm Sharon Carter, or Agent 13 of SHIELD, second in command to STRIKE division, and I'm calling to ask a personal favor."

The Agent, was already in the shower. Singing loudly, he would get to see his favorite Avenger. The order for the fruit-flower arrangement was already placed.

"I need help finding someone. James Barnes. They called him the Winter Soldier."

That poor agent, he's lathering his hair for the visit.

"I don't know what else to ask or how else to ask, but to say that I really, really would owe you one. Anything, it doesn't matter. I feel if we don't get him back soon, he'll be lost."

Truth and sincerity in all forms; women know when women speak in these tones that it's in earnest. No hint of a lie. It was just a truth that may or may not come true, the prophetic beings.

James Barnes has posed:
    A rap on the door before another S.T.R.I.K.E. agent enters the room. Little dude named Larry. Larry likes long walks on the beach with his toy poodle and playing D&D in his off time. But he's working today. ...and he looks afraid, very afraid. Why? Well, because he has pictures in hand and those pictures might not be good news for Agent-13. The woman, well, she kind of has a temper.

    "Uh..." he stammers. "....ummm... there's been a sighting, four hours ago..." He offers out three different images as he continues, "...two confirmed dead, fifteen injured."

    In one of the images the Winter Soldier is marching his way right over top a parked vehicle, big ass honkin' missile throwing bit of weaponry in his hands. Next one, chaos, vehicles overturned, things on fire, people running in panic. Third and final, The Winter Soldier standing next to a man that may be familiar to Sharon depending on the files she's read. It's not Zola, but it *is* a known handler for the program, from when they had their claws in Bucky last.

    "Moscow. Nothing in the news anywhere, no word as to who the targets may have been, they're covering it up."

    Seems they went big with the first mission for their boy once they got him back? "Rumor has it though... it was one of their own that was preparing to flee, defect... forego death by tooth capsule."

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Fresh and sparkling SHIELD tech tends to be two or three versions behind Tony, right? He probably offloads the good stuff by a deal with Director Fury. The civilian-brand versions lack the cool features and get all the back doors for abuse -- for the good of the nation. Stark Tech stocks have nothing to do with it, surely.

Sharon at the end of the line doesn't quite register instantly. Wanda keeps fussing with a bit of taste stuck on her thumb and her middle finger. Oh, blast. Getting those careful bits of tape down at random means tracking a forested stretch of Poland and vaguely moving back and forth. No commitment to artistic achievements yet.

Divining by letting the universe nudge her along usually requires long bouts of disconnection after meditation. Disconnection by way of letting things flow. "Hello, Agent Carter. A relation to Chief Carter?" Probably expected since the gesture at a helpful pop-up holograph gives salient details that the Avengers Mansion databases can pull out. At least as much information as they trust the witch with.

Radiohead has a really catchy suggestion for what to do with witches.

"Sam Wilson, if you mean 'Sam,' is one of my friends." Poor guy has a limited circle of privacy and outing him to SHIELD on a verified SHIELD line stands as a lesser transgression. She hesitates, cupping her chin with her palm. No sticky tape on her cheek.

It falls down her decolletage instead. That poor agent might get a nosebleed. "Red skies in morning," she replies. "You know the old mariner's rhyme? It's coming. You better bring a coat." Why? Because you ask those things as she turns, idly flicking her fingers.

A curl of dancing sushi on a thin strand of tape flutters to the table. The map. Go when you say go. "How soon do you need suit up? Coordinates?"

Sharon Carter has posed:
At the rap on the door, the phone itself was replaced with a pod that was stuck within her ear. Larry enters, and the file was taken from his hand and brought along the ride of a pace back and forth. While he gives the information, Sharon looked as if she turned soccer mom with the look that someone set her child to the sidelines. She was not happy.

"He's causing hell." She mutters quietly.

"Yes, I'm her granddaughter. And yes, I meant to say his last name..." She almost said Sammy, that possibly would have gotten a joke told -at- him for his expense. "No, just the bible verse. For the sky is red, and in the morning it will be foul weather today." Quoted, possibly not perfect.

With a chin lift towards Larry, she makes the motion of her coat. Get it. She was already armed.

"Moscow. 55.751244, 37.618423. I don't know how far we are behind but I would like to get going now. Quinjet to pick you up?"

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Red skies that swirled through her dreams. What was it Sam learned over eggs benedict? 'Snow falling on the stars, burying them.' Something to that extent. Wanda sits up and glances back at the map, all scraps and disorderly bits, culled from a recycle bin or a craft shelf used by the various other artistically-inclined Avengers. William, who handles the grounds, will be in the unfortunate position to explain to anyone why the auburn-haired sorceress was last seen striding out from a doorway a few moments later.

"Ivanovskaya Ploshchad', in front of the belltower," she murmurs. "Elevation? Is he at ground level? We are in an ugly spot otherwise." The golden domes surrounded by lovely cobbled streets spring to mind, memories of stoic police officers and military guards aplenty. Do the math, and come up wincing. "You are prepared for the single most heavily-guarded square mile in the west?" It's technically not quite the west, but for one foot in, and the old man jealously guarding his control won't have it that way.

Outside, crossing to a particularly nicely manicured stretch of green lawn. Her hand touches the stately sugar maple growing to the sky in a healthy spread of twinned vertical trunks, branching out into a crown of leaves. Still too hot. The phone is at her ear, then. "Quinjet is too slow for this. Wrong people see you violate Russian airspace, gig is up. You need to go dark, so let's go dark. I assume you're not airborne. Stay on the ground, give me your address. I'll open a door at the fire exit for you."

Creepy? Could be.

Sharon Carter has posed:
Her jacket. Few knew what that meant and May made sure to have Sharon brief everyone on her requirements, wishes, lingo..

"Bring me a veil." She calls out to Larry.

The Photostatic veil; tooled to her preferred appearance that was almost similiar to hers but not quite. The face that she would wear would look like a sister, done purposely to gaslight where need be. But this was important.

Nearly a few months ago, Sharon escaped from Russia. Sharon and Russia were -not- friends. Showing her face there was a risk that needed to be taken.

"Ground level, picture I see he's in the street. It's mayhem."

If Larry returns with her coat, good for him. If not?

Sharon was already on the move through the Playground; if she didn't have the items she would get it. Veil. Bullet proof vest, a impromptu added addition, her jacket.

One pass through the hallway and she stops, doing a double take at a baseball bat against the wall. That itself was taken too and slung upon her shoulder. "Uh.. I think we're in Delaware.." Sharon says, heading to the hangar, but taking the stairs down instead of opening the door to the platform above. Once out of that door to the hangar, she presses her hand against the fire exits.. "If you've ever seen a map of Delaware, we're that spot that looks like trees on Google Maps."

It's not trees.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
A nanomask is plenty creative as an option and kudos to the spy for the forethought. No one needs a problem incited by a misplaced call, recognition coming up on the radar. Double-edged sword about having some kind of private face.

The Avengers have timed messages and instructions dispatched should things go wrong. 'Wrong' can mean a meteoroid positioning itself conveniently between Moscow and St. Petersburg, putting twenty million souls by the former alone in range of a Tunguska-esque event if dad feels up to the mood. 'Bad' can result in warp speed results. She doesn't like to think about those things.

Conventional methods to travel the world are well and good. 'Trees on Google Maps' requires a bit of swiping around. Delaware isn't that big. Seconds pass. "Please veer east." Of course, they are headed east. Then with a circuitous gesture with her hand, Wanda Maximoff disappears from sight through a radiant circle rippling with green leaves and psychedelic colours. Passage from tree to tree is actually somewhat easier for a witch. Cheapening the experience by falling back on teleportation rings or flashiness isn't her style. Stepping out from the nearest tree to the Playground that wasn't put down by their landscaping crew, she is there.

A pair of black sunglasses are extracted from her black coat, put on her nose. Changing her hair blonde with brown roots can wait. They need to know her, first. Small matter to wave her hand smartly at what presumably is a secondary exit with no dummy sign over it, and set off some kind of incoming mark to security systems at SHIELD's hidden base. Just a bit of twinkling.

"Much too hot here. I would have thought Quebec or Nova Scotia a better choice at this time of year?" Yes, that conversation is coming from a few hundred feet away.

James Barnes has posed:
    It isn't until after Sharon is gone that Larry disappears to use the bathroom... and set up equipment that's foolproof in it's un-hackability. A message sent...

    <<Carter, Sharon and Maximoff, Wanda. Not travelling traditionally. Put asset in place for the welcome party. I thought they would send more after him. Two will be enough to send the message.>>

    Larry, you dirty dog you.

Sharon Carter has posed:
Sharon pushes the door open, then looks around at the exterior. Being out on -this- side of the Playground was odd. She never thought to wander outdoors unless she was leaving in a vehicle..

"Got it."

Her ear was tapped as the call is killed, the veil soon shaken from her pocket and stretched out. Fingers dance along the inner console to program, and soon the veil itself hung upon her palm as she begins to rub the front of her neck..

It didn't take her long to hear the voice that she's heard over the phone, her eyes glance up towards the sky with a wrinkle of her nose. "One would assume it was to be close to the President. Just in case." At least, that's what Sharon figured.

"We could have been in Washington State." Humid, horrible..

With Sharon closing in and feeling that she could be easily identified by Wanda, she finally presses the veil against her face starting at the tip of her nose, so that the nanites could mold to her skin. The face was.. close.. but bore freckles and a slightly wider nose and fuller lips.

The fact that Sharon didn't question how Wanda had gotten here so fast, meant that this was extremely important. Questions will come later.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Washington State, either blissfully temperate or full of flaming lodgepole pines and sweltering, airless buildings. There is no in-between. Not really up to Wanda where SHIELD chooses to put itself.

The blonde woman approaching the sorceress earns a wave. "I come all this way and see no coffee shop in sight! An uncivilized street." Like you do. "Must be somewhere selling a decent latte. Have a car?" Of course they have a car somewhere, but Quinjets and flashy sports cars aren't entirely keeping with 'underground spy agency with limited budget' when they go to deal with various marks. Few are living phantoms.

"You have to catch me up. Tell me how you like living in the sticks." A fraction of hesitation there. Slang isn't familiar entirely for Wanda to regularly use it. Sharon will have to give allowances under her veiled face. "It must feel claustrophobic coming back out into the city. People everywhere, always monitored when you walk around. If it's not a traffic camera, it is someone at a window because the apartments are so small."

Beware, the lay of the land isn't friendly in that faraway town, a red square at its heart. "Tell me on the road. With luck we won't be too far from a proper drink."

James Barnes has posed:
    Perched on a rooftop, the Winter Soldier lies in wait for his next mission armed with a long range, high caliber rifle, a scope to beat it all and the exact coordinates that his next targets will be landing, if they stick to what Larry knows.

    His handler there as well, smarmy little bastard that man, Vasily Vasiliev, try saying that five times fast. He was the last one to bring The Winter Soldier back in to the HYDRA fold, very likely the one that stole him from under Sharon's very nose during her time with an alter ego on the run right here...

    Didn't they... there was that one night in the basement of that little run down house on the corner? It's gone now, at least the front of it is, a car blew through only four or so hours ago when it was veered off course by heavy artillery. The car's since been removed. They shared some memories in that place, they certainly did and now it's gone. Gone like Bucky is sure to be if they don't find him.

    On that rooftop Vasily asks, "What is the mission, Soldier," of course it's in Russian, they're in ... Russia. "Kill them both," The Winter Soldier replies, flat affect. "Even the little Bitch?" he asks, not quite so flat with that.

    Confusion colors Vasily's expression as he studies their asset, he's not sure what to make of it that question. It's not the first time that the song and dance between Sharon Carter and Bucky Barnes has left people confused, Powers willing, it won't be the last. "Yes, both of them, kill both of them," he snaps, tone all order and command and 'finish the mission soldier'.

    "Both of them," Winter replies, flat affect back again.

Sharon Carter has posed:
Sharon works her face well, fingers prying against her cheeks one side and the next. It was hard to do one handed, it was certainly not in tandem and it would be odd to use the butt of the bat that she carried. "You'd be amazed, I don't know if you've visited our other space before the fall, but the squints have created a coffee to die for. Or, they found a place to buy the rook."

The rook was a NY based coffee company. The flavors immaculate. Shipping extremely pricey. All on the dime of the government of course!

But methods of transportation be damned; Sharon's car was parked not too far away from the Playground, a SUV black Nissan Rogue that totally fits an unconventional look for a spy. Just a regular girl, in the world, doing alright.. "This way."

As conversation goes while Sharon leads the way to her vehicle, this one was pretty light. Both arms lace and hang upon the bat as it rests upon the back of her neck, using it as a mean to stretch and get ready for the fight that may or may not come. "Too quiet." Shaorn admits. "We do have places out in the city, I travel back and forth to stay with my parents. It's been years." And they're grateful to have her home! "No strangers in the windows there. Or Mrs. Carter would pitch a fit." Hell, it would be hell for that poor person.

As they come upon the clearing of the vehicle, Sharon presses the tiny button upon the drivers side doorhandle. The locks click double-time, notifying the women that the doors were unlocked and ready to be opened.

"I wouldn't mind a Chern right about now. Chern and bacon.."

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Any sort of coffee will do. A bit of caffeine in the veins never hurts before a mission, and not everyone needs to be cold, cunning, and devoid of emotions. She can at least wish.

Sharon is left to drive, and Wanda remains buckled into the Rogue's passenger side. "At our destination, people will be in the windows. Everyone is noticed. The destination is ringed in several religious buildings with open sightlines and bad approaches. Assuming we aren't going to get a tour guide, we have to keep in mind what we can get into -- and can't get out of. Locals and seasoned tourists will know how to get in and out. Any thoughts on what they would want to see first?" She lays out the land of the Kremlin without saying as much.

"Like we might want to see the Tsarsky Kolokol. It's close by to the hostel." Bucky. "But it's a small confined space, which makes getting any shots tough even with a crowd. We won't be the kind of tourists who stand on a bench, making an embarrassing attraction of ourselves. Best to be like the Russians themselves, indistinguishable from them." Where did Pietro leave that tracksuit?

"The observation deck is highest spot in the area. Then another lower brick tower, popular but small. We don't have balconies to get a view. I don't remember Borovitskaya Ulitsa having much to recommend it. Trees and nice gardens," she adds. Nothing out of the ordinary as they swerve their trajectories, and she skims a look over her phone and the downloaded topographic maps. "What is the plan? It will not be a nice grab and snatch. Better to be like ghosts."

Sharon Carter has posed:
A woman who lives on the edge; Sharon starts the car up as soon as she gets in with a push of the button and brake sans seatbelt. She wastes no time to pull away, her rightful assumption was to hit up the local coffee shop in hopes that they serve something with the word 'Death' inside. Truthfully, it was needed. Perhaps Wanda was psychic; Sharon gets no sleep.

"I've spent five years in Russia recently." She confesses. "With James involved, the Krem will have that area in total lockdown. If we can get in somewhere west of the area just outside of the perimeter that they haven't touched, we'd have our way in. Though, lacking the proper attire we'd be stopped immediately.." She thinks on that. What -would- they want to see first? Need to see?

"Tsarsky Kolokol should just be out of the range of the mayhem. Nearly all Russians mind the business that pays them. We mind ours but keep eyes to the skies. Knowing James, he'd be up there."

She winds the corner into the city proper, which was nothing to look at. A McDonald's is passed, nearly nose wrinkled at, and an infamous Taco Bell. She could smell the Nacho Fries.

"Plan?" Sharon inhales and blows out of her lips as if she were tired, then shrugs her shoulders. "We see him, corner him away from civilians and any who can interfere, smack his temples together and get back to the states. Simple."

Sharon frowns, she wasn't much of a second in command, nor one who could give accurate orders..

"Which makes me wonder.. if we're going to be in Russia soon.. from America? How the hell are we going to get there?"

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
"Are you sure you want me to put you in the bell?" Yes, this is a serious consideration. "You have maybe seven meters to work inside. One entrance but full protection from thick bronze." Wanda extends her fingers to indicate a relative thickness of several inches. "It is close enough to the hostel that flushing out any tourists at the end of the day from the tower will cross in front of you. I don't see how we cross Sobornaya Square safely without additional measures to stay out of sight." She has the benefit of getting in and out, though the underground complex of the Kremlin is thoroughly terrible. FSB, GRU, and the Winter Soldier.

She pinches her fingers to the bridge of her nose and gestures at one of the fast food places. Nice spot to put a car for a bit. Sharon's driving is solid, normal, not speed freak at all. It's almost disappointing. "He is not going to be lured into the open, is he? That means sneak up on him, very difficult to do; or distract him until he can be shut down. Perhaps if my name were Natasha, this might be feasible." She makes no comment on the blonde's abilities. None.

Still, they have to face the obvious as she stares at the menu without really seeing it. "I don't work with conventional assets, Agent Carter. We get in by walking through a magic door and coming out the other side. Good protocol may call for rolling a saloon car over the border from Finland, hitting Moscow, and having several backup drivers watching the crossings at Vaalimaa and Vartius is good craft but also predictable craft. Do we really have the luxury? I was taught to hunt a man and take him down without him seeing me coming. The only way I do that is by twisting luck in our direction with a few plausibly deniable acts, or we commit several criminal acts including the abduction of your target by throwing him through a hole I rip in space."

Code name "Scarlet Witch" is not for show. "For the sake of his rehabilitation or current state of mind, I would like to avoid this last option. Because he may be terrible and frightening at what he does, but he is still a person. I am an Avenger. He deserves at least to be treated better than a walking corpse from a shot halfway around the continent he did not see coming."

James Barnes has posed:
    "What's the mission?" Because that Little Bitch business really unnerved Vasily a little. It seemed too personal?

    "Kill them both," flat. The smarmy bastard smiles, high powered binos in hand, scanning the surrounding area. "That's right." Good Soldier, it's implied in tone if not voiced.

    It pleases the Winter Soldier to please his ... masters? There won't be reward for his success, but there also won't be punishment for his failures if he succeeds.

     Brains recently re-scrambled remember, at first, only the pictures he was shown of these new targets. But brains are tricksie things. Especially when combined with matters of the heart. He looks up from the scope he's been staring down, just a slight raise of his head. A flash, just a brief thing. The blonde one. The little Bitch. Why that? Why that name? Why does he keep thinking that? The blonde one, a laugh... Big Bitch... she runs her hand back through her hair. Her cheeks puff up before she blows out a sigh of irritation? Frustration? Impatience, that's it. Impatience.

     Kill them both, complete the mission, maybe they won't put him on ice if he does. He hates that, waking with so much time just gone. Be good, complete the mission, be the asset, the rest doesn't matter.

     He drops back to sighting again, scanning, panning this way and that, patient; ever patient. Unlike her, unlike the Little Bitch.

Sharon Carter has posed:
"The bell?" It was considered. Sharon doesn't say anything else. Now her mind was working, not focused on the road but focused on the task at hand. Scenarios were played out as Wanda spoke what could be done, Sharon attempting to predict results before the action. Visualizing what was not forgotten and the possibility of her face being seen..

It wouldn't be an international incident, but they'd have to worry about a lot more than Bucky.

The gesture was noted and Sharon does a slow stop, pulling into the third McDonald's they've passed since leaving the Playground. Queuing up, Sharon already had her head hanging out of the window to see if what she had a taste for was there, -clearly- avoiding the burger route because.. gross.

"I think I can lure him in the open. It's really my fault as to why he is like this.."

But magic. Sharon remembered a time when she told others she had never seen it done; vampires. Yes.. Magic? No. So this would be a treat, if they weren't working to save a friend. But she understood where Wanda was coming from, and once they were at the speaker, she calls out.. "Ice coffee, minimal ice, large, and a vanilla ice cream cone." She looks towards Wanda, then tilts her head in the direction of the speaker, then adds..

"He deserves to be treated as if he is more important to the world, because the world doesn't treat him as kindly enough.."

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
"The Tsarsky Kolokol, it is the Tsar Bell in front of the coordinates you gave me. We do not have much to work on for going there. I am not exactly comfortable with blitzing in, winging it." This from the literal scion of Chaos, the Elder God of darkness making this person of all beings his chosen vessel. Wanda is what she is.

"See? We are in a good place. You think you can lure him out. All we need is that. Not much more. Swift move, remove him safely from the board until we know what we are dealing with." Wanda lays out those terms to Sharon in hopes they might make some sense to her, and meet iwth approval from the agent. It's her target. It's Steve's friend. That is enough.

The question of whether Sharon is to blame gets an arched eyebrow. A what? And then she is ordering an ice cream cone? Not a bad choice. "May I have a swirl cone? I will hand over some money to you." She has it somewhere in there, and passes it off to the blonde with ease. See, it's not coffee, but ice cream, mm.

"Everyone is important to the world. He is that. We agree, yes? There won't be any lobotomies or frying him with magic. People fear that." Because that is a myth and a reality; she can do it. Why leave others afraid?

"When you get your cone, head over there and park. We will be moving quick. I need a destination you have in mind, if any."

Sharon Carter has posed:
"That would have been my first thought. Going in, winging it." As the money was handed over for the ice cream, Sharon tucks it into the overhead. She was a simple girl at the end of the day, and appreciated surprise money for a soda to drink on the way to where she was going, or a treat at a local gas station for no reason at all..

"Swirl cone, and that's it." Sharon calls out to the greeter, then pulls up in the cue, already fishing out her credit card from the compartment that supported her elbow during a chill. It was plucked in her mouth as she uses both hands to steer now, then taken and held onto as she waited for the line to move. "Just let me know how close we'd have to get to him for it to work. I wish I had that serum that they had, I would be able to keep up." In combat, and out.

As they pull up to the window, credit was exchanged, receipt and credit returned, all which was thrown into the backseat of the car. They move up again, this time Sharon tapping her fingers upon the steering wheel in an unseen beat. "The bell. If I only have seven meters, that's all I need. If you can make it to the entrance to grab both of us safely, with minimum interference from the Krem and anyone else? That'll be good. Final destination? Your choice, we just need him back."

Second window produces the iced coffee and two cones. Sharon takes the coffee which was shoved in between her legs, top popped off, cone dumped right in upside down. She'll eventually stir once she parks.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Who doesn't love a swirl cone? Chocolate and vanilla soft serve wrapped in a ribbon of artificial flavours are the kind of satisfying creation of American culinary culture that a girl from a dirt-poor corner of Europe can't help but resist. It's always the little things. Wanda smiles when they approach the second window, where food and extra napkins will probably be a helpful addition before they go into walking into the lion's den.

Where the lions have opposable thumbs and Kalashnikovs, and a hereditary hate of blondes. Possibly also a taste for gourmand perfumes, the kinds that purl with warm rice milk, cinnamon, a dash of pistachio, and orange blossom honey.

"Good. The bell is directly outside the tower. You will have line of sight if he is at ground level. Clear run across the road into the park, and there will be at least two police on duty at any point. One directs traffic. The other is also on foot." Numbers are given with a precision that doesn't come from random searches, but something speaking to assembling details like Steve calls up Avengers. "Your retreat is either away from the bell tower into Sobornaya Square, or directly south to Cathedral of the Archangel. Either way, this is a walled compound. Brick walls, watchtowers, military. Fall back is Spasskaya Bashnya, the clocktower, as it's right by a public washroom. Lots of people, da?"

Her ice cream cone is going to most definitely be a delicious treat, nipped and munched playfully.

Sharon Carter has posed:
To the directed space is where they go. Sharon didn't waste time putting the car into park, shutting off the engine, and now focusing upon her.. iced-coffee-ice cream-concoction. It was swirled in by the crisp pastry of the cone, the pastry itself discarded out of the window which makes her cringe, and half open the door to retrieve it. Eventually.

But the straw was immediately captured by her lips, a deep exhale.. and soon an inhale, all the while listening to Wanda's instructions and taking down viscous liquid with eyes that shift to ensure that no one watches her become atrocious. This came from her mom; who watched her enter into a hot dog eating contest when she was thirteen, and made a mess of herself while the parent -laughed-. It was a good memory, Sharon was a mess.

"Cathedral should be optimal. Decent enough space, minimal civilians, I doubt there's going to be a mass or a gathering at this time of day."

The coffee was almost gone, the chill was waking up her bones and setting her on high alert. "Wanna try some?" She tilts the concoction towards Wanda.. then grins. "Maybe should run to the washroom, he would give me time to wash my hands, right?"

That.. was not funny..

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
"Given the way orthodoxy goes in Russia, you would be surprised. This goes quick then." She shakes her head at the coffee offering. "No, I'm good for that. On the way back, maybe. Give me a two minute headstart, then come on."

Wanda heads out of the car, the passenger side door pulled open to accommodate spilling into the parking lot. There are few amenities around, a wall and a stretch of anonymous Delawarean retail. Probably more offices that have nothing but a flimsy desk and the occasional package delivery, aging yellow signs from UPS and FedEx stuck to the door. That will do, as she surveys what she sees.

The ice cream gets a long lick or a few others. They taste good, chocolate and vanilla coming together, but still the chances to eat it all are low. Especially since bringing along anything McD's branded into Russia is a big no no. She leans against the doorway into that defunct office space used as a legitimate site of one too many corporate shells, casually looking at her phone and sweeping through a few details. Eventually after a couple bites, she tosses the cone into a trash can summarily cleaned up every couple months. Infrastructure problems, man.

Still looking over the phone gives every impression of being occupied. With the training from some of the better spies anywhere - a redhaired one, for example - she can pass as no one special. Nothing to see here. Deep brown hair flashes in where red wasn't before. The marks being brushed lazily against the metal doorframe are visible only to a mystic, otherwise she seems to be avoiding one of the yellowing flappy reminders that a package delivery attempt for 10/13/20 was made at 4:22 PM and will be available for pickup in Wilmington, in case someone has a desire to see the 'city'. Alternately drowning oneself is a prospective escape from the Hall of Tortures that is the whatever state.

Two minutes ticking over and her spellcraft should be prepared for the kindling mark to act as a door, the first anchored to the Tsar Bell in front of a great belltower, the tallest in the Kremlin.

Sharon Carter has posed:
"Alright."

As Wanda exits the car, so does Sharon. She doesn't follow her however, only bending to pick up the discarded remainder of the cone to walk it to the garbage, all the while finishing up her own iced, milky drink which was soon tossed in there as well. With her hands dipping into her pocket, she fishes out the keyfob to pop the trunk, her eyes upon the surroundings as she stands in front of it. Movements were contained to not be seen out of the width of her body; which was hard to do.

The bag was dragged closer towards her as she leans in, jacket unzipped. Stun gun soon shoved in the empty holster upon her left, as well as a few clips that line her belt. She didn't, and isn't going to shoot Bucky, but if someone else comes, they would be fair game.

The two blades that are usually stuck upon her side were grabbed and wrapped with a towel. A bottle of water was picked up, cap snapped off, and drank about halfway to wash out the mucus from the milk product. This would have been more than enough time needed for Wanda to perfrom her cantrix and Sharon to be prepared.

And lets not forget the baseball bat she found in the hallway.

With the stance of a true Louisville slugger, she approaches the direction of where Wanda went. It was now or never.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
The sigils set by the displacement of energy per the Mystic Arts grounds like to like. They won't survive two uses, a one-way alternative from Delaware and a return trip. Coming off the landing, Wanda descends the steps as Sharon comes up them, murmuring in passing, "Door's open. I left you five minutes."

The phone comes up to her ear, crackling static picking up on an open line as the signal bounces through Avengers-approved channels, probably not even bouncing off the nearest tower but uplinked to a stationary constellation of satellites free to track her whereabouts and relay that back into the computers fuelling the superheroes' ability to respond to various threats, but apparently not catching the ghostliest assassin this side of an actual murderous spectre. "Right. Draw a cross inside for an immediate exit," she explains to no one and someone. FRIDAY? JARVIS? Whomever is configured to respond by matching up voiceprints and fluctuations. "I'll be there. See you soon." She goes round the office building to a stretch of unremarkable mixed use commercial developments that peter out into sorry post-war bungalows with an abundance of small cars, browning lawns, and signs in favour of freedom of the press or their mayoral candidate in the upcoming race.

Sharon is likely on her own. Comms are great, technology an excellent connection, but pulling the office door open means she appears to step into the generic lobby. She doesn't, though, the portal bending inward to give her an excellent vantage of a brass bell and shadows where day is probably advanced pretty heavily the seven hour timezone difference between Delaware and Moscow.

Another portal leads to a tower in the square, and the benefit for using the Mystic Arts for this one means a darn *window* to see through before leaping blindly. A compact mirror used for cosmetics can be used to look in from a sidelong vantage too!

Assuming no one is IN that tower, be it a pigeon or the spectre of Soviet boogeyman tales, she will go through. If it happens to be the roost of the Winter Soldier, well, that window shuts.

Sharon Carter has posed:
"Alright." Sharon looks back towards Wanda, watching for just a few seconds then turns to the door. Bat was left upon the floor at her feet as she straps the blades to her back. Both criss-crossed, so that each can be withdrawn without hassle. At an arc. Superhero style.

Twas but a moment before Sharon moves, bending to pick up the bat, swinging it with one hand and stepping through the door..

To her.. it was but a flash. There was nothing dizzying about going through this portal, nothing that would make her fall to a knee in a crouch. It was like a path of a blackout. One moment you're there and you're here the next, but the internal adjustment to the time zones, the way the body works, causes her eyes to close and her head to lower downward, fingers reach to pinch at her nose with a little bit of a hiss.

Push it down and back. The magic was potent.

She takes a breath. Feet begin to move as if she were about to enter into the ring of a contender, a few little quick hops to get herself to become limber and active, shaking out her arms and accidentally ringing the inside of the bell with the swipe of the bat she clung unusually hard to. And a jerk, both hands up, covering the ears and another accidential strike of the bat.

THROOMMMMM!

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Wanda's magic carries costs, it truly does. But the traditional approach favours sending non-practitioners to places quite safely without the jarring sudden stops or awful sensations of vertigo. Bit different the path she takes, scooping up whatever leyline energy thrums around this neck of the woods to reach that neck. Because be it resolved to keep the batteries replenished and high before diving, just like all good submariners know.

The dark-haired woman becomes another tourist when she hits Moscow. Changes go down quick in the belfry, stripping down to a perfectly sensible tanktop. A rubber ring on her thumb gets sacrificed to haul her hair up into a ubiquitous ponytail, the hairstyle of Slavic champions. The big black sunglasses are cheap, and oblige anonymity. A couple smart tears and shreds turn her leggings into punk tights, split with so many gaps they'd make a babushka blush. Her cloth belt comes unfolded, turned inside out to show streaky blue, green, and red threads in dark rainbows, hauled down to barely cover her to the upper thigh. Smearing her kohl eyeliner and lipstick on the discarded shirt sleeve takes her from respectable girl to insolent young thing, resting bitch face perpetuated behind a flat stare.

She leans near the window as her work is complete and that bell bong rolls loudly through the damn square.

The bell that has never been hung, never been rung, never serving with a clapper in the great onion-dome towers. Sharon Carter, you've got a brass pair.

The game's afoot, and now the witch ghosts her way through the belfry. No bat, though, he's busy hiding in Wayne Manor. Grabbing a discarded Russian brochure, she looks to read it or use it for landmarks. That's why you come up a tower, right? The board is set, the pieces might move, and the Maximoff sister waits to twist those threads of fate how she wants. How they need.

James Barnes has posed:
    If it took a week, as long as he was fed and watered, the Winter Soldier would lay there waiting patiently.

    Vasily, however, isn't so disciplined. The man's getting lazy, bored, not paying as much attention as before, he even dismisses the ringing of the bell as nothing worth more htan a glance that shows him... nothing.

    It's no wonder than, that when Wanda and Sharon make their arrival, it's The Winter Soldier that spies them first down the scope of that rifle, deadly thing that it is... soldier or rifle? Matter of opinion. Sharon sealed her own fate with that attention drawing gong, it seems.

He spies the auburn haired beauty first when she leans in the window, but he shifts the scope to check for the other, the blonde, there behind, baseball bat, coming in all bells and gongs just like... Lil Bitch. There's no particular order of it, just kill them both, so he leaves 'crosshairs on the blonde. It happens in a second, it really does, it's like a life flashing in front of someone's eyes before they die, the way little flashes are just put *back* where they belong. Flashes of that sassy smile, the sway of her hips, the determined way she walks when she's obsessing with a mission or a case or when she's just straight pissed off. ... the feel of her touch on his shoulder to comfort. A hug.

    There's no name there but Lil' Bitch, nothing concrete, nothing solid, just tiny holes in that Swiss cheese brain filled by just the sight of her. She looks different, but he knows it's her. His brow creases. She's his mission. His finger tenses on the trigger. But... she's the Lil Bitch. His finger squeezes slowly, even pressure. She's his mission.

    Anyone else wouldn't have managed it, wouldn't have been able to pull the shot at the *last* possible second, the half a beat when something screamed in the back of his mind, 'DON'T DO IT!'

    The bullet that should have exploded her head like a watermelon hit with a hammer whizzes past Sharon's ear instead and explodes a hole in the tower - small hole, but a hole. She can likely feel the wind off of it. He missed. The Winter Soldier NEVER misses, unless... he aims to.

    The fired shot gets Vasily's attentions, binoculars swing that way. "Kill them!" barked, firm, but not overly loud.

James Barnes has posed:
    If it took a week, as long as he was fed and watered, the Winter Soldier would lay there waiting patiently.

    Vasily, however, isn't so disciplined. The man's getting lazy, bored, not paying as much attention as before, he even dismisses the ringing of the bell as nothing worth more htan a glance that shows him... nothing.

    It's no wonder than, that when Wanda and Sharon make their arrival, it's The Winter Soldier that spies them first down the scope of that rifle, deadly thing that it is... soldier or rifle? Matter of opinion. Sharon sealed her own fate with that attention drawing gong, it seems.

    He spies the auburn haired beauty first when she leans in the window, but he shifts the scope to check for the other, the blonde, there behind, baseball bat, coming in all bells and gongs just like... Lil Bitch. There's no particular order of it, just kill them both, so he leaves 'crosshairs on the blonde. It happens in a second, it really does, it's like a life flashing in front of someone's eyes before they die, the way little flashes are just put *back* where they belong. Flashes of that sassy smile, the sway of her hips, the determined way she walks when she's obsessing with a mission or a case or when she's just straight pissed off. ... the feel of her touch on his shoulder to comfort. A hug.

    There's no name there but Lil' Bitch, nothing concrete, nothing solid, just tiny holes in that Swiss cheese brain filled by just the sight of her. She looks different, but he knows it's her. His brow creases. She's his mission. His finger tenses on the trigger. But... she's the Lil Bitch. His finger squeezes slowly, even pressure. She's his mission.

    Anyone else wouldn't have managed it, wouldn't have been able to pull the shot at the *last* possible second, the half a beat when something screamed in the back of his mind, 'DON'T DO IT!'

    The bullet that should have exploded her head like a watermelon hit with a hammer whizzes past Sharon's ear instead and explodes a hole in the tower - small hole, but a hole. She can likely feel the wind off of it. He missed. The Winter Soldier NEVER misses, unless... he aims to.

    The fired shot gets Vasily's attentions, binoculars swing that way. "Kill them!" barked, firm, but not overly loud.

Sharon Carter has posed:
It's hilarious, or would be. Brass pair, Sharon rang the bell purely by accident, but it announced her arrival like a shining star in the night. It wasn't intended, but at least she knew where to -look-.

Part in because, she felt the heat against her cheek and heard the wind cut against her ear. She heard the smack of the metal that pierced an old relic that eventually, someone would point out and call maintenance. Someone high priced, sure. Able to restore artifacts to pristine yet old conditions.

Diana, where are you?

The photostatic veil wasn't meant to take that much of a burst of heat; it was tuned to the temperature of the wearer, and something that shocking causes the visage that Sharon wears to momentarily glitch. Her hand grasps her throat, eyes to the hole to make sure no one is peering in, then to the ground to see a tuft of hair which was dragged by her foot and to the corner of the bell so that she could bend, snatch and stuff.

"Alright.." She says quietly, reaching into her pants pocket to retrieve a case. She opens it, dipping her finger into the liquid, drawing it up towards her right eye to pry it open further to press the lens against her eye. With a quick blink, it lights up, zooming in and zooming out, her head dipping toward the entrance to get a quick glance and blink, picture snapped.. brought up.. zoomed..

"Really? Bucky?! You fucking shot my hai.. Oooooo.." Finger curls into a fist, bat slung upon her shoulder. Sharon walks out loud.. proud.. with a smack to the face of her hand to fix the veil to its previous visage.

And in that direction is where she looks. Towards Vasily, to Bucky.

She would stand there a good moment before she cuts out and runs for cover, crossing the path with Wanda her goalpost.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
The target for SHIELD has a superlative record of hitting at such breathtaking distances that he might be a Canadian. Giving no opportunities for him to pick her off with a shot only Lorna or Erik might deflect near spontaneously ranks high on her list of things to do. Decisions, decisions.

Sharon resides inside the bronze Tsar Bell at street level, sheltered within the great swooping curves that resemble an inverted tulip glass. The chip taken out from it faces away from the Kolokol'nya Ivana belltower, its open door pointed at the row of spindly trees and green lawn across Borovitskaya Street. A dangerous run by all matters, but if she's inside the bell then it gives some protection from a sniper. Outside, not so much.

From the protection of an adjacent shorter tower to Ivan the Great's trademark gold-topped pinnacle, Wanda sees the drama around the bell monument in plain sight unfold. Sunglasses and an impromptu but significant costume change down to her hair colour and style give the Scarlet Witch anonymity, room to work. The click of a shot *is* audible with great certainty. Depending on Vasily's location, there is a fair chance she even hears him across the sloped rooftop. The cop stationed by the road at all hours of the day likely sees something go wrong, already shouting at the damn tourist not to be a nuisance and desecrate the big bell. That's even before the Winter Soldier's shot.

After is another matter.

For the surer sake of safety, she hits the wooden floor in the contained octagonal belfry. Wizards like heights, okay? She reaches out into the aether and twists, fingers curling as the blossoming scarlet energy forms fully. This is her birthright, the power that spells the difference between one degree or two. The one that shifts the wind across Ivanovskaya Square. A bullet jams in the smoothly oiled machine. The one that makes a finger slip on a trigger or sends a van around the corner at just the right moment. Binoculars fuzzy for a second, showing nothing where there was something. Small effects work.

Sharon is running, and so the firmer pull sends a silent clarion out into the world by its very literal nexus. A cry to swerve in her favour. Save the damned. <<Let me have the save. Is it too much to ask?>> The Little Emperor finally show, or Lenin's stiff body come staggering out? You ask, you don't know what youll get. Bigger shifts turn invisible around her, bending possibilities in a sphere of good fortune that's every bit as effective as a mandala-disk shield. Having that at the ready helps when trouble wants to show up.

Stairs counted off beneath her feet lead to a check of the higher floor in the tower, and the line of arched windows vaulted over the ground. If nothing else, she has to catch as catch can.

James Barnes has posed:
    Except, well, there isn't another shot from the Winter Soldier. Not quite *free*, not that exactly, but somewhere near there. It's always how his runs started back then, some little niggle of a memory, some little flash of a past they sought to completely erase would give him just enough of a burst of free will to just *run*.

    ...and that's what he does now. Rifle abandoned, but naturally still armed to the teeth, he runs. Across rooftops, no conscious goalpost in mind for him, he just runs. Leaping from one to the next, a scary moment when the next is taller and he barely catches its edge by fingertips to drag himself up and over.

    Vasily picks up that discarded rifle and takes aim at the fleeing asset. It jams. He struggles with the thing for a moment or two, trying to clear that jam.

    No *conscious* goalpost, but there's one little sassy blonde that, should she spot his path, figure it in her head? She might just figure out his subconscious and where it's leading him.

    Right into the middle of the mess of the earlier mission, to that house... the Hostel... the one with a car through its front wall now, the one where 'Devan' and Sharon spent more than a few nights together, in the basement, between clearing the Moscow streets of an overrun of vampires.

Sharon Carter has posed:
The second of the spindly tree was hidden behind. Her cellphone retrieved from her backpocket and held upright as some sort of mirror that would show what was behind her and up. This is made easier by the crouch, hoping to avoid it being shot out of her hands, but there she could see a commotion. No.. one person. Vasily. Was Bucky on the way down to her? On that particular side where she remembered Bucky perching, he would have used that as a point of egress. That side of the building with one arm, as it was the quickest. And he could run -fast-.

Phone was clutched against her chest as she breaks away from the trees, a light jog produced, her eyes scanning the ground and then the rooftops. With a sideways turn to avoid an ill placed rock, she sees him. Right out the upper corner of her eye.

He's on the move.

And he's not coming -to- her.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck.." Sharon swears to herself as she begins to run into that direction. It was a jog, once again, so that she could try to redial the number at which she was connected to Wanda. There was a hope that it was her cellphone number.

"Come on come on.." Wanda is a being of magic. If she prayed properly, would Wanda answer?

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Pray too hard to Wanda Maximoff and the Chthonic Answering Service might intercept the message instead of the intended recipient. Chthon is like the robocall king, much to the irritation of the messaging service rerouting communications to the good earth.

Smartphones properly handle that. Sharon will have a delay as a result of the high-level encryption software and the satellite uplink requires some neat dodging the cage of Russian and Latverian technology prevalent in this quadrant of earthly orbit. Somewhere a Doombot is swooning someone wants its attention. But no... it's just that blonde lady instead of the vaunted Masked Man. One day, Richards!

<<Make it quick.>> Russian, of course. No self-respecting interloper in the Kremlin trusts English and Belarusian or Ukrainian options might be pushing it. Wanda goes with what she expects works for her conversational companion. "Eyes on ten, keep the archangels on your right side." Good side, right side, they're technically the same turn of phrase with punctuation when she reaches a wall and the options boil down to leave by the window or doors. Who the heck takes the door?

It's summer. A window shouldn't be that sticky, slithering the pane up into the wood frame and dropping a storey to the ground in a crouch when the coast looks clear.

What's one man running away? Is he visible? <<Skoda on your left, someone's gone and left it.>> She notices these things. A life on the run does that. What if time is running out?

James Barnes has posed:
    That subconscious goalpost, that's where they'll eventually find him, slipped in through a broken window in the back. The Winter Soldier, big scary boogeyman, the Fist of HYDRA? Well, he's tucked himself away between the wall and a water heater. It's really a basement, one sneaked into all those years ago because renting space in the Hostel was too much a risk, too much on the radar.

    The Best Eyeliner Ever makes his baby blues all that much brighter, even in the dim lighting of the basement. Mind fucked again by HYDRA and so very recently, brains all a-scramble, holes everywhere, memories flashing and firing in confusing bursts. That scary boogeyman, armed to the teeth, serum enhanced and metal arm? He looks like a damned scared, lost child in the moment.

    His confusion, his fear, his pain? It's something worthy of the attention of the Cosmos, that's certain. It's a huge thing, it really and truly is... it screams out despite him trying to make himself small and hidden in his little corner.

Sharon Carter has posed:
Good. That means she sees. Wanda could hear the way Sharon ran, quiet. Though every now and then an exhale of a breath to know that she was alive.

"Good copy."

The phone wasn't hung up, but now she was handsfree. It look like a five point star across her back, now with a case flying behind the blonde haired woman as she puts both earbuds into her ear and discards the phone to the back pocket. Still connected.

<<It's not far.>> Sharon replies in Russian. It was not perfect, and yet if she stays away from full sentences, she would be considered a local.

<<Can you follow me and relocate egress?>> If he is going to where he is going, then something must have rattled him. He must be scared, hurt.. or luring her to her death. And should she knock on the door...

No.

Through the window she would leap, head first, hands in front of her like Superwoman, a press of fingers against the ground and a roll tumble that breaks the baseball bat against her back. It hurts like hell, but in true Natasha fashion, Sharon keeps her poise low, hand upon the ground, other upon the fat end of the broken bat in preparation to hurl as a distraction before she attacks.

Eyes dart left into the area, and right. Yes. She remembers this place. It was so long ago but she remembers this place. Not much has changed but the smells and who ran in and out when it was cold outside. Or dark.

"James.." Sharon says quietly, slowly rising.. both hands now upright as she glances around the room. She spoke, hoping that Wanda could hear her, hoping that Wanda would be the guardian angel to tell her what to do next. Because in all reality, Sharon has never broken anyone from a mental abduction.

James Barnes has posed:
    Nothing, for a long few moments there's just nothing, but... staring. Those intense blue eyes surrounded by all that black. It's creepy really. Then, "Who are you?" His brow furrows, creases forming, deep.

    "Lil Bitch..." It floats up from somewhere stolen from him, for the moment. Keeps coming back to that, over and over again, keeps coming back to that.

    "You should go..." The Winter Soldier stands. "They'll come." He knows that, of all the things he knows that one to be the truest, they'll come, they always do. "It's not safe."

    But what he doesn't know is why it matters? If she's safe? She's his *mission* right?

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
<<I can.>> Yes, Wanda is pretty sure she can do that. Moving fast through the Kremlin gets attention from all the wrong people. An uncompromising stride requires some deviations in speed by the witch, keeping some speed like she intends to be somewhere at a given time. Not a run, please.

She builds deep and establishes an alinear route that crosses around the cluster of religious buildings. Vasiliy is out there, dealing with jammed ammunition. Sharon may have some time bought on her behalf, pulled out in front and nosing away from where their paths would have intercepted.

The dark-haired woman with her big sunglasses keeps on her way, looking out for signs of the blonde. For certain the Maximoff speaks Russian fluently, and she hears the conversations happening around her. Romanian tourists admiring the pretty gold domes and the formidable red bricks are passed by, nothing there worth wasting time on.

They have to get through the gates that guard the outer walls of the Kremlin. It's always been the heart of Russian power, six centuries and more, and a pretty tsaritsa would have been condemned to a tower for life. Where is he, some handsome devil out there, a man stretching and turning with a firearm at hand?

The eerie pull of intuition hauls her into some direction, dragged out of true. No, that yellow building isn't it. Keep going, and she follows that call, dragged into the current wherever it will lead.

<<Confirm. Eyes on?>>

Sharon Carter has posed:
Hearing the voice in the shadows, Sharon lets out a sigh.

He doesn't know her. But then he does. But then he tells her to get safe.

She doesn't respond to James, not yet. It was important that Wanda gets there before 'They' come.

<<Yes.>> Sharon replies in Russian.

<<He doesn't even know who I am.>>

And by the will of that emotion, if Wanda would be able to act on that with her intuition, Sharon would be a beacon.