silentspringlogs | Part Four: The Encounter

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Part Four: The Encounter

Who: Arthur Lester and PEOPLE
When: April/May catch-all
Where: All over Sweetwater!
Open/Closed: OPEN
Applicable Warnings: Discussion of torture and missing persons, general malaise and paranoia.

Solo
It's been... difficult in a way Arthur can't quite elaborate on.

Or, well. He can. It fucking sucks. But it's something he doesn't, because he doesn't want anyone pitying him more than he already has to fucking deal with. Because he knows (feels incredibly strongly) that everyone already sees him as useless - or worse, helpless. And he can fucking take care of himself, he managed it before Parker decided to hitch his cart onto this dead fucking horse.

Washing and drying his clothes, he can manage: he and Helly had to learn how to use the machines together to begin with. Ironing, he can't - he's not even going to pretend he won't burn himself, or set something on fire somehow.

Sorting is right out. So the meticulously matched suits of months past are gone completely; Arthur's new look, as May stretches on, are completely mismatched. At least to some degree his suits are still fine; all of his suit colours work together, so instead he just looks visibly rumpled, his tie is slightly but visibly uneven - at least he can shave and style his hair alone, but it's a rather disparate and unbecoming image, especially with the whispers he keeps leaving in his wake, about being constantly arrested and kidnapping that poor driver and maybe he's faking that he's blind--

It's difficult to keep up a foul mood all month, but by God is this place making him want to try. At least the other Book Club members (or whatever the fuck they're calling themselves) at least know that he's still up for a conversation if they find him in the diner, or the library trying to keep up studying Braille. Or even just on the street, having finally mastered his cane by sheer brute force.

With John

...and then he's not alone.

Because there's a teenager with him pretty much constantly from then on. A golden-haired youth with brown eyes that hangs out nearly exclusively on his left side, talking incessantly. It's not like it's a one-sided discussion, Arthur is clearly engaged and listening, replying even, but most of the time it's just the teenager talking at him about - pretty much everything, but a casual listener will definitely notice that it's mostly about the things around them, describing what he's seeing for Arthur.

And it's not subtle how John is staring down anyone who tries approaching them, to the point of glaring when people get too close, but there's the definite impression that if anyone wants to talk to Arthur in private - yeah, that's not happening. The child is coming too.

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Sorry about the eyeroll, Bucky.

"You don't talk about it because you can see it. He can't. Jesus fucking Christ. Unless you stumble around in the dark all the time, you understand the need to see people. He's just doing it with words."

And that's all he's saying about it. Instead, he's going to focus on serving himself lasagna. It's awkward, because he's literally never done anything like this before, but he's smart and he can figure out 'cutting implement' allows him to cut a piece and then he has to take that piece and put it on his plate. He's doing it with all the focus of a surgeon, though.

Eventually, he gets to the point where he can cut a piece off and carefully stick it in his mouth, at which point his eyes go very wide. He opens said mouth, then closes it, then puts a hand over his mouth and chews as quickly and as quietly as he ever possibly could, before he pops up again.

"Lasagna is delicious, Arthur!"

He still doesn't got it, never had anyone other than a handful of Wakandan elders try to accommodate him ambling around with one arm because he's far more soldier needing a non-physical kind of rehabilitation than he is a struggling amputee, but there's a certain weariness on his face that seems to have developed over years of not really understanding why other people have their hangups and beliefs and concerns that Bucky hasn't developed in HYDRA captivity. He accepts it without further question the way he almost shuts down and accepts far too many things at face value so as to get past the disagreement and arguments, and just shrugs. Mostly for the kid to see, it seems. He might not look a hundred and six years tired but he's fast feeling it.

Bucky manages not to scrub his face at least and breathes out an almost inaudible sigh.

"I have no other missing limbs. I don't know what else is relevant." The suspicious-looking kid can describe whatever Bucky sinfully left out in their last five months together.

"And you? Are you some kind of alien?" Not that he automatically assumes everyone on the planet will have tried lasagna by a certain age. He's got the rebellious teenage swearing down pat maybe. But it's also the questions - who pays a visibly non-food-delivery-service for food? - and the way he cuts into it. Nobody's real name is John Doe. A fully grown man wouldn't acknowledge a kid as a partner, let alone take them on any dangerous adventures where partners tend to venture. From where Bucky is standing their relationship looks more parasitic than anything else. Arthur is dependent on the young man's eyes. And John Doe needs an Earthly guide, or at the very least help him navigate the social environment and all their unspoken rules and customs that dictate their behaviour.

For all Bucky knows, they both had a hand in killing the lady of the house and that's why it smells like bleach in here. But he'll save his theorising until he figures 'John Doe' out. As long as they're not harming anyone, it's not his business to pry.

A more cynical part of him, jaded by the sheer lack of empathy and assistance he's received for his blindness, wonders why he bothers. Wonders if there's even a point to the efforts when it feels like Bucky consistently fails to hear what he's trying to say no matter how he rephrases it. It's... in a word, exhausting.

But he also knows, objectively, that it's only through other people, when (if) they do, giving him the same grace that he can function at all. And, more subjectively, he doesn't want to be the kind of person that gives up on trying to empathise and help other people.

So he just sighs, heavy and tired, and finds a seat to rest in at the kitchen table.

"Bucky, John Doe," he echoes. "He's from my world. Suffice it to say that whatever John was isn't entirely relevant when he's stuck in a human body now. He chose that name, for the record," he adds dryly, "and while I'll admit it's obvious he's not had much experience with humanity before he met me, I've been working with him as my eyes for long enough that I trust him explicitly. Anything you have to say to me, you can say to him as well."

John rolls his eyes a little, because he's either four months old or 300 million years old, very much depending on how you reckon his existence.

"'Alien' is fine. Wrong, but fine. Let's just say this is my first time having a physical body."

He looks over at Bucky.

"...how did you make the lasagna taste good? Numbers made food and it wasn't nearly so good."

"Right." So, his actual eyes or whatever. That explains a lot about the ill-fitting young meat suit and Bucky unconsciously adjusts how he might interact with John. If he can handle self-introductory trees and snarky raccoons, he can handle whatever white elephant they're dancing around.

"Velveeta. It's plastic sludge Americans market as 'cheese'." Bucky probably doesn't make it sound nearly as appealing as it tastes but if there's ever a good time for Bucky to impart pearls of wisdom like 'never trust anything American made', now might be it.

"So how does he know when to sleep and shit?" Bucky asks Arthur with John Doe in their presence. First time in a physical body and all. Bucky is expecting some... teething issues.

Arthur makes a face at the question. Purely because - what the fuck.

"I would... hope that a human body comes with the instincts related to basic upkeep?" he comments with a befuddled frown. "Regardless, he was in mine for some time, so the, er. The tasks themselves are... familiar."

John glares over at Bucky, but this is much less actually angry and much more 'huffy teenager'.

"I'm also right here. You can just ask me."

And jokes on you, Bucky: he doesn't know that plastic or sludge are bad descriptors for food. Especially when it's delicious.

Bucky sideeyes the kid. The lack of trust goes both ways. Also he can't help but flash Arthur a dirty look that thankfully goes unseen.

"Too much info. I don't need to know," he remarks curtly. After all, why overshare when they've been so vague with their arrangement thus far?

"So can you tell me about book club or are you still pissed off?"

Arthur can't see the dirty look he got, but he's definitely sending one back. You literally asked him. Fucking Americans.

But he forces himself to simmer down a bit, because he can at least give a status report. "After we investigated the barrier together, I got Numbers and Wrench to help me investigate if there were other ways out of town - if we're trapped here, then there has to be a way supplies are coming in."

He sighs, less crisply now. "The other two learned that there are delivery trucks that do just that, and we tried tailing one, but we weren't able to follow it, suggesting it's not something like a gateway that opens. So, to follow, we hijacked one of the trucks and forced its driver at gunpoint to drive us out of town."

There's no shame in the admission, just a sort of pragmatic resignation.

"We were caught, of course, and, er." It's only now he hesitates, glancing towards the sound of John's cutlery, but his mouth sets into a grimace. "We were arrested, and... tortured."

"He's side eyeing me, as if you and I are going to give him different information," he says with a roll of his eyes, "and he gave you a dirty look afterwards."

What part of 'his eyes' did you miss, exactly?

But the mention of torture makes him go very very still and look very very young for a moment.

"Torture. Arthur, what do you mean 'torture'? What did they do to you?"

The tone is quiet, aching, and the undercurrent is a desire to murder every last one of them.

He listens in silence, to the point where it might seem like none of what Arthur had said actually registered. But Bucky is just processing. He's familiar enough with barriers that only certain people can cross. He didn't see any evidence of that kind of familiar tech when they went investigating though. And he's not really sure what the hell the three of them were thinking. Did they think they were going to find the answers to everything as soon as they rolled out in a delivery truck?

"Did you learn anything crom the driver then?" Bucky seems wholly unconcerned about the torture talk. Like it's a normal part of their existence here - which it sort of is - and it's a fairly uneventful thing that happens to everyone.

Oh - he didn't expect John to sound so affected by it, and his face pivots towards the too-young voice with a look of concern.

"It's- I'll explain later, John," he says quietly, trying to go for soothing and probably missing the mark, given the content. There's nothing gained in upsetting him more now by going into it when they're trying to report something.

To Bucky, then, his tone goes back to level and closed off. "Not from the driver himself, but we were able to discover that using a vehicle from outside the town, o-or even being in the same vehicle as a local doesn't work either. So there's got to be something marking us, independent of the locals that prevents us from leaving no matter what."

John looks absolutely livid, but the knowledge that he can't talk inside of Arthur's head and say everything he wants to say about that-

No! Not later, Arthur! What the fuck do you mean, torture!? Who tortured you!? I will fucking kill every single one of them I swear to fucking Christ-

The (silent) litany will continue as wide brown eyes stare hard enough Arthur might feel it.

He's jamming lasagna in his mouth before he screams.

"What, like a chip or something?" Bucky isn't above cutting himself in a few places to satisfy his own paranoia - maybe he'll even find whatever supersoldier serum inhibitor they might have planted in him - but they're probably not at that level of investigation yet. Besides, it doesn't necessarily have to be something physical. It could just be a waste of random stabbings.

"Guess they want something from us the locals can't give." Only, as far as Bucky's concerned, he can't see any common thing that they might have that the locals might not. Everyone came here from different places and times with different abilities and knowledge.

"How's the driver?" It was a pretty shit plan and Bucky's not sure anyone came out unscathed.

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Part Four: The Encounter

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