9377/A Russian Winter Walk

A Russian Winter Walk
Date of Scene:	31 December 2021
Location:	Coney Island
Synopsis:	The questions of life and disrupted purposes continue...
Cast of Characters:	James Barnes, Wanda Maximoff

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James Barnes has posed:
It's not exactly a winter _wonderland_ but it's something.

New Years is almost upon them, and for some reason, Bucky texted Wanda to meet him at Coney Island. He's waiting for her on a bench towards the end of the boardwalk, bundled up, with his baseball cap and his coat. he doesn't really feel the cold all that much, but he's still human underneath the super soldier serum and the metal arm.

It's after dark, but at this time of year, that means maybe early evening at most.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Not nearly so many people at Coney Island as there would be in the summer, so that's one point for finding Wanda.

Her restlessness has been problematic as days wind down. Sleep proves elusive for more than snatches, the tossing and turning after the sun sinks past the horizon. Half-eaten cartons of Chinese and Thai food attest to disrupted appetite. In the end, Bucky catches her between flicking restlessly through stories on her phone while waiting for her toenails to dry, a half-hearted attempt to reset.

Shrugging into a heavy winter coat, she looks a lot like other people on the street or boardwalk. Bucky is likely to spot the giveaways, most notably a gossamer scarf in sparkly gold or the measured gait.

She cases the sea and sky on her way to the bench, as though half-expecting something to emerge from a cloaked cover perhaps.

James Barnes has posed:
Nothing shows up from cloaked cover. Not yet, anyway. If Hydra or AIM or something is hiding in the clouds waiting to ambush them. Bucky isn't even looking her way, but when she's only a few feet away, he stands up and turns on his heels, smiling at her. There's something about the perceptive powers of someone trained like him. He probably spotted her a hundred yards away and then timed when she'd get to him.

He holds a hand out for her. "Privyet."

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
The bench isn't so far away. Not a reason to hasten her pace, though every instinct screams to keep moving for reasons Wanda cannot explain. She fidgets when halted there, Bucky choosing to rise and smile. Hers is a reflexive reply, but the way her nail grooves along the bloodied etched mark of her broken cuticle almost unconsciously expresses some unnamed anxiety or other such trouble.

"Dobryy vecher," she answers, slipping into Russian with ease. "You are good?"

It's almost as if she expects he isn't.

James Barnes has posed:
"I am." Bucky watches her for a moment, and then he reaches closer to her, taking her hand and pulling her a little closer, until he's got his arm pressed against hers, and can look her in the eyes with very little distance between them.

"But I'm sensing that you are having a rougher time." He leans forward and presses the visor of his cap against her forehead, bopping her gently.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Disrupted sleep and appetite are one thing. Her hand presses into her hipbone, locating a spot to the side of her abdomen, and massaging in. "Nerves," Wanda replies. "I may need to pause now and then." As much as she's wiling to admit, she carefully manages around the slippery part of the boardwalk. Patches of ice or slush present a danger to anyone.

Her gaze tilts up to match Bucky's and she ducks under his cap to kiss his cheek, no need to knock the questionable hat off. "Don't worry too much. That would make two of us unsettled, mm?"

James Barnes has posed:
He accepts the kiss to the cheek with a smile and then slides his arm around her waist, releasing her hand and pulling her in closer. His arm slides up, around her shoulders, squeezing her slowly.

"I'm Bucky Barnes," he whispers to her, leaning his head down and kissing her temple. "I don't get unsettled." The most blatant of lies, but he delivers it sweetly. "Do you want some Coney Island hot dogs for dinner?"

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
"I am Wanda Maximoff, and they think I am crazy when I start looking uncomfortable," Wanda says without much inflection to the tone, having long since learned to accept the frightened or distrustful looks thrown her way. "Father's legacy, you know? Now Lorna making statements on television about Genosha and Atlantis... As if this week were not headed south already."

Complaining doesn't come naturally to her and she bites her tongue, shifting so Bucky can walk without running into her or taking awkward crab steps to rearrange their path. The boardwalk stretches out in its chilly glory, washed by neon lights and the occasional discarded chip bag. "Hot dogs? I..." Her head shakes. "Not sure they would stay down. Maybe some fries won't do any harm."

James Barnes has posed:
"I haven't been paying attention." Which means that he has, but will pretend to remain oblivious so they can skirt the issue. "I don't think you're crazy when you look uncomfortable," he says, after a few steps. "I just assume I need to reposition."

He gives her a cheeky grin. "Well, some of the hotdogs are more tummy friendly, but we can find something that you're more willing to hold onto." He squeezes her shoulder. "Come on. Harold is still open until tomorrow noon."

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
She looks askance at Bucky and then gestures up at the sky. "My sister's the queen and she talks about dual citizenship for mutants. Important, I agree. I might need to talk to Namor eventually about diplomatic options. Probably something Lorna needs -- but these days, trying to get close to her has been hard. So busy."

More than that, but too many fish to fry at once for a limited number of spoons keeps her from broaching the topic for long. "You had your share of politics. Sorry," she adds, and goes back to messing with her cuticle. Not ideal, but it's not even a thought passing consciously. Following after the super-soldier is an easy choice. Bucky gets a faded smile. "I'll go with fries, maybe a bottle of water. Don't think hot dog places have much fresh fruit. How have you been faring? Holiday madness, all this."

James Barnes has posed:
"Yeah, well, that's what happens when people get responsibilities, I guess," Bucky says with a shrug. "Loss of perspective as to why they took those responsibilities on. Unless of course it was sheer power-grabbing in which case, well, they are on the money." He squeezes her again.

He doesn't seem to mind talking about it, but it's not his favorite subject. After all, politics rules his life in a more direct way than most people. He shakes his head at her question. "I've been staying in a lot, except with you. No missions lately, either. A lot of podcasts."

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Responsibilities rest heavy on the head with the likes of Steve, Clark, and pointy-eared detectives. Shaking her head, Wanda vaguely smiles. "You know Namor at all? He was about in the war, I thought. Plenty famous in our circles for coming out about what he was long before anyone else did." The fresh air is bracing, tangy with brine. Bucky is a stable force when she wobbles a bit. "Ever bother you, the lack of missions?"

A casual question, but one that stretches between them. "It's all wrong. We should be practicing. Training. Looking at screens. Project something coming down the pipes."

James Barnes has posed:
"I don't think I met him," Bucky says with a shake of his head. "If I did, it's one of those things that got a little lost." He holds his free hand up and waves it a bit next to his head, shrugging.

There's a short shrug. "Sometimes. I'll be showering or laying down to sleep and thinking I should be out there doing more. But the truth is that we're saturated with people like us. This world is full of us. Sometimes we _get_ to have a break, Wanda."

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
<<Always time to rediscover or reintroduce yourself and see what he does.>> The vibrating pace of her thoughts has a bit of a rough edge, too fast. Like someone who drank an awful lot of espresso or coffee late at night, Wanda's inner voice is a bit too edged and crackly. "Let's get that food."

The restaurant or a coney cart cannot be that far away. Bucky's wisdom takes her some time to really address, mulling over the suggestions while they cross that lengthy distance. "Are we though? When was the last time the Avengers did a mission? When we were asked to guard anything? It's funny, that. I don't know what we need to focus on at this point. We have had breaks. So far it's worrying me."

James Barnes has posed:
"Most of my missions I get from SHIELD, not the Avengers," Bucky points out with a shrug, still holding her close. Harold's is definitely a coney cart, and it's not that far away.

"I think the hardest thing, when you're like we are," Nexus Being, Winter Soldier, at some point those things take you far enough away from _normalcy_ that they can be eternally different from each other while still sharing that lack of _normal_ and being the same in that sense, "the hardest thing to do is consider what to do when there's nothing _extra_ to do. Nothing super. Nothing magical. Nothing heroic. Just... living life for a week or two."

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
"SHIELD seems more organized that way. Though I am concerned how quiet..." Wanda grimaces. "I don't know what normal is at all. My sister rules a country. My brother never slows. Maybe asking them is a good start. How to... do day to day or week to week." She's trying but the sense of it being off still remains with her, and chewing the inside of her cheek is an improvement for the moment over her stinging fingers.

Harold's gives a good direction and then a distraction. Holding still under a pale storm is tricky but she still holds his hand until they reach it. "What do you suggest?"

James Barnes has posed:
"That is kind of what I mean. We tend to forget that we can still _do_ all those normal things." He knows that he forgets, quite often. "But," he adds, squeezing her again as they reach the coney cart, "this sort of thing helps." Out here, on a walk, with her.

"I'll take a chili dog and a Coke, and she'll have a plate of fries and some, uh," he glances at Wanda. "Ginger ale?"

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
"What is normal, anyway? We don't have jobs in the same way. I do yoga, I study magic. Cook. Not the life we dreamed of when we were children, but then what was that life anyway?" Wanda looks up to the man serving Harold, and if he shows any sense of identifying her, then so be it. "Ginger ale," she agrees softly. "That would be great."

Payment is her business, dropping a few bills on the counter and tucking another into a jar for tips. "So you can't say you pay for all the dates. You come up with ideas, I will cover that." A little ribbing never hurt Bucky. Her expression softens a bit. "You know how to ski?"