7184/A Teenaged Reckoning

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A Teenaged Reckoning
Date of Scene: 02 August 2021
Location: Brighton Night Market
Synopsis: Bucky faces a teenaged reckoning but can't remember. He tells Nadia he is neither James or the Winter Soldier and flees with Wanda's help. The Red Room is remembered, it is not a happy memory. Meanwhile Nadia goes to tell Steve these new revelations.
Cast of Characters: James Barnes, Nadia Pym-van Dyne, Wanda Maximoff




James Barnes has posed:
    The Brighton Beach area is where Bucky's been spending all of his time since being jerked back from the gates of Hell by Sharon and Wanda. Some may think it's the last place he would want to be, after all the 'Russia' is thick with this place, it truly is.

    Currently he's making his way through the market, not any real destination in mind, just wandering really. From time to time he stops to exchange words with this person or that, just pleasantries really, he's quickly become a common face in these crowds, but he's typically accompanied by a pretty little auburn-haired witch. Most of the pleasant conversation seems to deal with that fact 'where's the pretty one?'

    And all of it is in Russian, Bucky doesn't speak a word of English to any of them.

Nadia Pym-van Dyne has posed:
Tonight, rather than accompanied by an auburn haired witch, Buckyy is instead stalked by a brown haired wasp. It wasn't hard to find Buckyy, even if she hadn't added her own technology to his arm she hadn't removed Shuri's either. The signal from the quantum beacon leads her to a place Nadia has never been, Brighton Beach. For all that Nadia was raised in Russia and spent most of her life there, she has few if any happy memories of the place and a whole slew of bad ones leaving her with very little desire to interface with the pockets of Russian culture found in America. That isn't to say she can't blend in though, that's Red Room 101 and among Russians? It's easy mode.

There was no one there a few moments ago, there was definitely no one there a few moments ago. But now there is someone in that space as Nadia appears among the crowd wearing a rather subdued outfit compared to how she can sometimes dress, cutoff jean shorts and a simple black T-shirt with a stylized chrome looking decal affixed to the back.

<James. Are you okay?> These are the first words out of Nadia's mouth in Russian, as she calls to Bucky from a short distance away behind him. Concern is evident in her voice. This isn't the usual bubbly teenager, this something very serious to her, personal even.

James Barnes has posed:
    Note, anything spoken from this point forward is in Russian, unless otherwise indicated.

    Bucky freezes when someone calls his name, because that is his name, right? He still feels, most of the time, that it should be Devan, asking if he's okay. He's mostly kept his alone wandering to nighttime, when there was less chance of things like this, today might not be any different; maybe his usual company just isn't immediately seen, but not far from the immediate area? He turns, slowly.

    She knows him, that's obvious between that shindig Steve insisted upon and now this, here. His eyes narrow slightly, brow furrowed, pensive. What the fuck did Wanda say about this one that night? Pym something?

    "I'm fine." Keep it short, keep it to the point, avoid details.

    <<Wands, cornered.>>

Nadia Pym-van Dyne has posed:
Nadia's eyes move to his Bucky's ears and then back to his face. "You don't seem fine. You're not wearing your earpieces that block out the words. You disappeared to Moscow of all places and then reappear acting strangely." Nadia's voice seems intended to be non-threatening, softer. This isn't the yelling Nadia from the party nearly losing control to an emotional trigger. She can see the freezing up, she knows something isn't right.

"Why did you go to Russia? What happened to you there? I want to help you, but I can't understand any of this. Please talk to me." She doesn't move any closer just yet, keeping her distance for the time being.

James Barnes has posed:
    Moscow... what happened to him? Questions, question he hasn't answers to outside of flickering, confusing bursts and flashes of fragmented memories. He's aware of what happened, but the awareness is based on the absence of clear memories. He knows what that means, the loss of things, the holes.

    Bucky's eyes narrow into a squint, like there's a gong suddenly banging in his brain to bring on the mother of all headaches. His head drops a little, right hand reaching up to press his thumb to brow, right between his eyes.

    One wouldn't think that fragmented memory flashes could cause physical pain, but they certainly seem to be doing just that.

    Surrounded in a cabin.
    Can't move, strapped in a chair.
    Blinding lights overhead.
    Vasily's voice.
    That mouth guard.
    Fear, terror, can't stop it, those words...
    Bright, loud, confusing jumbles of terrifying moments that make no sense but make all the sense in the world.

    <<WANDA!>> Oh, fuck, oh God, help?!

Nadia Pym-van Dyne has posed:
Nadia takes a half step back as she watches Bucky, watches him not answer any of the questions, watches the questions themselves seem to cause him pain, a sense of alarm setting in. There's one more question though. "Who are you? Which one are you?" Trepidation in her voice, almost like she is afraid of what the answer might be. Yet he was with Wanda. She didn't even know he knew Wanda. None of this makes sense.

Nadia's eyes remain firmly on Bucky even as she becomes less sure of her decision to come here, what if he /has/ become that person again. Steve needs to know, Sam needs to know, they'd know what to do. Where even is Wanda?

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
This close to the sea, wearing a long tunic over leggings gives mild protection from a persistent breeze. Wanda passes easily through Brighton Beach. Her auburn hair and big sunglasses perched on her head match a good number of women, as much as her lightly accented Transian. It's not easy to tell apart from Russian. A reusable bag hangs from the crook of her elow while she navigates the byways of the Night Market.

Fairy lights shine off the sunglasses and the mixed media rings on her fingers. She stoops to inspect a stack of colourful plates laid out in a stall hawking mostly household goods. Chipped tiles hint at icons in their jewelled shades. Nearby three older women chew the fat, the oldest of them disapproving and shaking her head. 'Says that her husband of eight years walked out. She never saw the inside of the church in all that time. The Metropolitan would not know her from Eve. What nonsense!' They sip their tea and cast shade, like Russians do.

<<Turkmen carpets on your left, ten stalls up. It opens to a garden with chess. Clear on the left, drops three feet. Circle around and it takes you to Brighton Beach Avenue.>>

The exchange of hard cash for hard ceramic plates nets another weight to whatever softly fills out the bag. She tucks the plates away when that call for help sets her in motion. Many Avengers get attention of all sorts when they go out. They seek the public eye, romance it, and put a ring on the limelight. Not the witch, who eases through the crooked stalls and tends to avoid notice. Two of the older women shuffle ahead of her, bound past Bucky.

'What does it say about her family? If it were up to me, I'd set her straight.' This as they brush closer, a shield for the redheaded woman coming at another angle crosswise. One Wanda Maximoff in plain sight, the other hardly worth seeing, are both on the field.

James Barnes has posed:
    "Neither," Bucky replies through teeth grinding and jaw clenched against it all. Then he just turns and runs, following the directions Wanda laid out in his head.

    Ten stalls, Turkmen carpets, left, garden with chess, three foot drop - and Brighton Beach Avenue.

    He never once looks back to see if he's being pursued, his only goal, his *mission* as it were, is to make it to Brighton Beach Avenue, to get clear of it all.

    ... and take cover in the nearest recessed entry to a building, alley, anywhere that's dark and quiet and off the streets so he can sit his ass down hard and just breathe; because the whole encounter's left him struggling a little to do that, it really has.

    Wanda, all taken up residence in his head like she has, would be aware of it, the panic threatening to consume him and keep him running.

    ... but then he remembers, choices, he has them. Deep breath, another, one more... and in his mind's eye, he's on a pier near Coney Island, on a bench, next to Steve. He's not going to jump today, the water's too rough.

Nadia Pym-van Dyne has posed:
'Neither' Nadia listens to Bucky's answer as she tries to wrap her head around it. It's at least better than the answer that she didn't want to hear, if he was telling the truth, though judging by the pain he seemed to be in trying to remember, it seems likely that he was.

When Bucky makes a break for it, Nadia frowns. It wouldn't be hard to catch him, it's not like he can hide from her and she can fly. But as the gears turn in her head, she doesn't chase. 'Neither', she's still processing that answer. She definitely needs to talk to Stever, and probably Sam, and Natasha, too. Everything about this is incredibly troubling, and if there's one thing she has learned over the past year it's that she shouldn't try to do everything herself, no matter how much she might want to.

But then Wanda is there, in plain sight. Mixed emotions swim across Nadia's face when she see's her. She likes Wanda, has trusted her in the past, but what was said at Steve's party seems to have touched a pretty deep nerve in the girl normally able to shrug off almost anything with a smile and a laugh. Nadia has questions though, so many questions and her desire for answers seems to be at war with the teenaged desire to flee an emotionally charged confrontation particularly when she has been on the edge of a down cycle recently. But for the moment, she remains in place, watching.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Ten stalls pass the book vendor, the tea merchant, the spicer and two people hawking tracksuits, Adidas trainers, and probably counterfeit stuff whipped up in China or a Romanian sweatshop. The last before the carpeted spot where would-be grandmasters reminisce about the good old days is a spot full of spitting potato pierogi being fried up on a grill, hawked by the People's Pierogi Republic and a mocked up Polish flag bearing that favourite snack. Onions and cheese hiss away over the click of clocks and pieces being plunked across particoloured boards. Games of skill, games of fortune.

The physical impression of Wanda crosses the path through the market before the chess garden. Taking another avenue bisecting the narrow night market, she carries bread in a plastic bag. Countless foodmongers hawk their palatable to dubious nosh like pickled herring and kraut. She smiles when merging into the way, halted to look back and forth, getting her bearings. With nothing immediately engaging her, she carries herself how she wants to be. Part of the crowd. Part of the world.

'The winter with my generation, women danced in the snow, one day on Nevsky Prospekt, with Stravinsky in their hearts and silk wrapped round their toes,' she sings to herself.

An obstacle, but not long, as she looks north to misdirect and weaves that way with a hopeful purpose.

The real witch maintains the spell and the perception-masking veil, hand in her pocket. Concentration forks in three directions, so she moves with the flow until it's time to push off. With the older women screening her, no one's stupid enough to push them along without consequences. Like a hard wooden cane, the dreaded correction from babushka.

<<That's good. Deep breaths to taste the salt. Is it warm or cold, that wind?>>

James Barnes has posed:
    <<Warm, it's August, there's a storm coming in though, it'll be cool later.>>

    Bucky's breathing slows to more manageable levels, not nearly so desperate and panicked.

    He's still not ready to move from whatever shadows he's found himself to hide in though, no, that might take a little bit.

    <<How'd she know I was in Moscow?>> His heartbeat is quickened by his own question. <<Who is she?>>

    ... nononono, think about the pier and Steve and the salt air, not Moscow. His heart thuds, his breaths gasping things again. <<I didn't kill her, in Moscow, I didn't kill you, didn't kill her. My choice.>> Seems important, in the moment, for him to remind himself of that.

    <<Steve jumped the next day, almost drowned, but I was there...>> And Steve's still alive right, so... know how that ended.

Nadia Pym-van Dyne has posed:
Nadia has no interest in distractions it seems, or perhaps she's just seen the illusion trick before. Either way when Wanda doesn't approach and moves on the hurt teen in her wins out over the questions and Nadia simply turns and starts walking away. There are other places to seek answers, others who need to know. 'Neither' That answer is stuck front and center in her mind.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
<<I'm not going anywhere as long as you want the company.>> Want, it all comes back to that. What Bucky wants plays a fairly strong role in how Wanda responds, and she leaves the offer open-ended, a bit like bringing in the mail and putting it on the counter or table.

<<She is Janet van Dyne's daughter. The Wasp, a founding member of the Avengers and an outstanding fashion designer.>> Those facts come tinged with a certain respect for the woman and her achievements, but personal calculations are withheld from the link as much as the witch can manage. No one around her much notices her, too caught up in their own business and eased along by a magical nudge to not see a thing. <<The young lady was part of a program based in Russia. A relic of Soviet times. I don't know personally how she knew your whereabouts this time, but she's worried for you to be here.>>

She enters one of the stalls with a soft back of black sheets strung behind the perforated boards used to hang photographs and other art. The irregular overlap is easy to slip through when the proprietor is interested much more in watching a soccer game on his phone, not paying heed to anyone dipping in or out. That puts her up against a somewhat anonymous brick row of shops, their backs turned to service alleys that riddle the Brighton Beach area. No spacious lanes here. <<Do you want to speak with her?>>

The choice is always there. The choice isn't made by the witch, though crimson light weaves and bleeds over her fingers. Probabilities.

Her other self continues up to one of the dining areas, and sits down. How much she 'sees' through that physical illusion is another matter, and Nadia may well not have crossed her sight when she hunts something.

James Barnes has posed:
    Young lady, program, Russia, relic of Soviet times... strikes nerve.

    Two words, mostly unbidden thoughts that come to the fore regardless. <<Red Room>>.

    ...and then he's on his feet in a flash and on the run again. He's fast, fast enough to draw attention from people on the streets. No more communication, not verbal anyway, just a broken mind screaming in pain and the man it resides in doing his best to outrun what can't be outran.

    Choices, yes, he has them but this time... fear, confusion and pain fucked the choices sideways and threw them out the window. He's not running by choice, he's running out of instinct, blind... no destination in mind other than away.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
<<Former.>>

One word that sings over the connection. It's too late to think about grabbing a car, calling out, helping somehow. The witch isn't running through the warrens cut out of the underbelly of Brooklyn. Even at a full bolt, Wanda stands no chance of capturing a man running flat out away from her, not at those speeds. She sighs, the crackling weight yoyoing from one extreme to the other. From here, where to go? Walk in a circle and just pick out a random direction?

The illusion up ahead will hold out on examining a menu politely, drawn off into her own thoughts for the moment.

When she reaches a crossroads, there won't be any Bucky there, more than likely. Another few minutes, and she will walk away and then vanish into the ether.

Bloody shadows tinge fear and sick instinct to seek shelter away from the night market, away from the noise. Another night of walking a minefield in circles. Blind pain, blind fear snap at the wolf, and how do you track a wolf going to ground?

James Barnes has posed:
    Where that wolf ends up to ground, well it's the same place he goes every single time he retreats to a 'safe place' in his mind. He doesn't know that's where he's running while he's running, it's instinct guiding, a subconscious pull to a place that's never been ripped away from him, ever... it's the same place he'd try to go right before they put him back on ice, the place he'd try to hold on to every single time they stuck that guard in his mouth.

    It's a pier, just outside of being considered Coney Island proper.

    Maybe Wanda, or even Nadia will find him there, under the pier, far enough from water's edge, tucked in against one of those wooden supports, knees drawn up, face buried in them and, well, if not found soon enough... sound asleep; or more likely just 'shut down' in the guise of sleep when his battered mind decided, on its own, that enough was enough.

Nadia Pym-van Dyne has posed:
After clearing the night market proper, Nadia just seems to disappear as she becomes small enough to be beneath notice for most. Taking to the sky on her bio-synthetic wings, she flies towards Avengers Mansion. Glancing down at the tracker she carries, she sees Bucky on the move again and sighs.

'Steve will know what to do.' She thinks to herself. 'Steve always knows what to do.'

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Brooklyn, baby!

The great borough stretches practically to the Rockaways. Brighton fronts Coney Island, but it's not exactly a hop and a skip. The trudge to the boardwalk takes Wanda some time to get. Elevated rail rattles by noisily to further smother the wolf's path. Wolf-tracks aren't exactly obvious if you don't know where to look.

So she walks quietly with the dishes and other bits in her bag, taking the scoured path back and forth until some kind of visions provide a hint. Before, hopefully, Bucky gets slapped awake rudely by a wave.

James Barnes has posed:
    He'll wake before that, Bucky never sleeps more than a few hours when he's in an actual bed. When he does come around, the first thing Wanda might sense is a not of 'the fuck did I end up here' panic.

    The second thing will be his voice again, quiet and testing, as if he's not even sure she's still there. ...and probably a word she has no want or need to hear from him, not in this moment anyway.

    <<Sorry.>>

    Then silence, but not absence, for a few moments, long few. <<It was me, she's just a kid, Wands. It was me.>>

    Another few beats, three four, the sounds of waves crashing, Coney in the distance with all the happy people. Same sounds she hears every time he 'goes there' in his head.

    <<Coulda really fucked up running like that...>>