[ time was weird before either of them ended up through that well - though for bucky, perhaps a little more so. between the blip, the ice, the fact the well itself messed with timelines, the fact that sam's been here almost ten months, but not for bucky - it's weird. it's all weird. sam's gotten better at accepting the weird and moving on.
does he, in fact, know that today is bucky's birthday? no. however, he knows it's got to be somewhere around here, and considering the presents just got finished. it's close enough, given what this place considers some sort of Christmas festival and then the breaking into spring, so. sam decides that today is as good of a choice as any.
it's early, but not that early. early enough that sam's awake, has been for a bit now, and most of the city is starting to rise as well. it's the kind of early where sam considers it fifty-fifty that bucky is either awake because he woke up, or awake because he didn't actually sleep (he's still not sure how his nightmares are going, hasn't had the chance to check in with him about that).
either way, sam does sneak down the hall with his packages - because yes, they are wrapped. he sets them carefully down in front of the door, knocks three times very loudly, and then is back through his own door. bucky knows where sam lives, if he wants to come by and do all this in person, but for now when he opens his door he's going to find, wrapped in some loose cloth because parchment is freaking expensive and sam uses all his: one (1) letter which he can read before or after the others, one (1) well-made black cloak that may have some wolf imagery embroidered into the trim, three (3) nicely made throwing knives that geralt may or may not have helped sam pick out, and one (1) jar of what appears to be spices of some kind, with no label.
when bucky decides to open the letter, he'll see sam's tight scrawl. ]
HAPPY BDAY YOU OLD FART
THIS TIME SHIT IS WEIRD BUT WE'RE AROUND THAT POINT HERE IN CADENS SO WHY NOT FIGURED YOU NEEDED SOME OF THIS SHIT ANYWAY AND NOW YOU DON'T OWE ME ANYTHING FOR IT
THE KNIVES ARE FROM A BLACKSMITH A FEW BLOCKS OVER IF YOU WANT MORE OR NEED THEM FIXED UP, THAT'S WHERE YOU WANT TO GO
THE JAR IS MY OWN CREATION - STILL HAVEN'T PERFECTED IT, BUT GETTING THERE GOOD ON EGGS, MOST MEAT, PROBABLY ISN'T BAD ON SEAFOOD BUT HAVEN'T TRIED IT YET I KNOW YOU CAN KINDA COOK SO YOU CAN FIGURE IT OUT.
( Yeah, once you've been in and out of a freezer for decades, lost your mind, and traveled through time (or universes, more accurately), the passage of it gets a little nebulous and a little less important on a macro scale. Deadlines are one thing — the earth is gonna explode next week, sure, that's worth keeping track of. Peacetime passages, though? June, December, March, what the hell's the difference? Especially in the damn desert.
Still, he appreciates the sentiment.
He wakes up at the crack of dawn every morning, sleep or no sleep, Sam's not wrong about the status here. He has, as it turns out, slept — nightmare free, even. Go figure. That means the day's already off to a good start.
It still takes a minute for him to answer the door, though. Old habits die hard. He's got to pull a shirt on, tuck a knife in his belt, and do a little scoping before he opens it. Paranoia, et al.
Not exactly what he expected there. A few puzzled seconds pass before he scoops up the haul, squints in either direction looking for the body that dropped them off, and then retreats back into his quarters.
The letter comes first. It leaves him snorting softly, amused and a little fond. The contents get turned over and studied, the knives tucked away on his person, and eggs cooked with a couple pinches of the spice blend.
It's not bad, he's gotta admit.
Come just after lunch, he goes to knock on Sam's door. Once opened, his greeting is a mock-official: )
[ after dropping off the gifts, sam has a few errands he ends up running - both because there is always something he needs to pick up, drop off, or check up on, and also because there is always going to be a little left over energy when it comes to gifts. either way, it takes sam a couple of hours before he's back in his apartment, grabbing a bit for lunch, probably looking over something on the singularity theories he has been working on (it's a conspiracy wall, and he knows that it looks that way, but there's only so much he can accept and becoming that guy is not one of them.
still - the knock on the door comes and sam is opening the door soon after, seeing bucky there, having come to collect on the offer of drinks. he grins, easily, with an unnecessary- ] The old machine himself. [ before he nods and turns back to the apartment, leaving the door open for bucky to come in behind him. red makes a noise off in the corner, where he's settled up in his nest, just as he always does when bucky comes. it's almost as if this red knows about bucky's dislike of redwing, but who really knows. (magic....) ]
I'm trying to figure out if it's morally right of me to make you do birthday drinks. Shots for every year might actually get you drunk, but at the same time, it might bankrupt me. [ sam says as he heads over to grab his pouch of coin, his cloak, whatever other ye old medieval items he carries with him day to day, and then turns back to bucky. ]
[ he takes the comment for what it is and takes the wheel, nodding once and heading out of the inn he's been living out of for months. he assumes bucky will follow, which is why he doesn't really wait or check as he makes it out of the main lobby and into the city proper. ]
You really did that? The chugging the bottle thing? God damn. [ because yikes, he does feel sorry for you, man. sam has gotten exceedingly drunk for less than great reasons while he's been out in this city, he can't even imagine what he'd do if that was off the table.
as they talk, sam takes them down the next block or so, to one sam hasn't been too recently, if only for the change of pace. ]
( Accompanied by a noncommittal little shrug, a sway back and forth. )
Had a couple at your awkward universal reunion dinner, but that didn't seem like the best place to start doing experimental tequila shots.
( The mental image he's got for that is hilarious and devastating in equal measure. Then again, who knows, maybe if he'd gotten suitably sauced with Stark it would've solved everything.
Or he'd have gotten his arm fake-blown off again. Coin toss.
...And yeah, he did the chugging the bottle thing. You would too, if you were just coming out of being a brainwashed assassin with a river of blood on your hands and no context for why the thought cars these days have gotten insane crosses your mind. )
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freightcars) wrote2022-02-07 08:27 pm
![](https://i.imgur.com/BGBVs8U.jpg")
cadens apartment.
does he, in fact, know that today is bucky's birthday? no. however, he knows it's got to be somewhere around here, and considering the presents just got finished. it's close enough, given what this place considers some sort of Christmas festival and then the breaking into spring, so. sam decides that today is as good of a choice as any.
it's early, but not that early. early enough that sam's awake, has been for a bit now, and most of the city is starting to rise as well. it's the kind of early where sam considers it fifty-fifty that bucky is either awake because he woke up, or awake because he didn't actually sleep (he's still not sure how his nightmares are going, hasn't had the chance to check in with him about that).
either way, sam does sneak down the hall with his packages - because yes, they are wrapped. he sets them carefully down in front of the door, knocks three times very loudly, and then is back through his own door. bucky knows where sam lives, if he wants to come by and do all this in person, but for now when he opens his door he's going to find, wrapped in some loose cloth because parchment is freaking expensive and sam uses all his: one (1) letter which he can read before or after the others, one (1) well-made black cloak that may have some wolf imagery embroidered into the trim, three (3) nicely made throwing knives that geralt may or may not have helped sam pick out, and one (1) jar of what appears to be spices of some kind, with no label.
when bucky decides to open the letter, he'll see sam's tight scrawl. ]
no subject
Still, he appreciates the sentiment.
He wakes up at the crack of dawn every morning, sleep or no sleep, Sam's not wrong about the status here. He has, as it turns out, slept — nightmare free, even. Go figure. That means the day's already off to a good start.
It still takes a minute for him to answer the door, though. Old habits die hard. He's got to pull a shirt on, tuck a knife in his belt, and do a little scoping before he opens it. Paranoia, et al.
Not exactly what he expected there. A few puzzled seconds pass before he scoops up the haul, squints in either direction looking for the body that dropped them off, and then retreats back into his quarters.
The letter comes first. It leaves him snorting softly, amused and a little fond. The contents get turned over and studied, the knives tucked away on his person, and eggs cooked with a couple pinches of the spice blend.
It's not bad, he's gotta admit.
Come just after lunch, he goes to knock on Sam's door. Once opened, his greeting is a mock-official: )
I believe drinks were discussed.
( Play acting, obviously. )
no subject
still - the knock on the door comes and sam is opening the door soon after, seeing bucky there, having come to collect on the offer of drinks. he grins, easily, with an unnecessary- ] The old machine himself. [ before he nods and turns back to the apartment, leaving the door open for bucky to come in behind him. red makes a noise off in the corner, where he's settled up in his nest, just as he always does when bucky comes. it's almost as if this red knows about bucky's dislike of redwing, but who really knows. (magic....) ]
I'm trying to figure out if it's morally right of me to make you do birthday drinks. Shots for every year might actually get you drunk, but at the same time, it might bankrupt me. [ sam says as he heads over to grab his pouch of coin, his cloak, whatever other ye old medieval items he carries with him day to day, and then turns back to bucky. ]
You got a place in mind or does it matter?
no subject
( Take the wheel, Captain. He still only has a small handful of places he visits around here. Hasn't had enough time yet to branch out. )
But I'll go ahead and do you and your coin purse a favor: I could chug the bottles and it wouldn't do the trick.
( Trust him, he tried. Practically drank half the Tequila in Mexico once, not even a dent. )
no subject
You really did that? The chugging the bottle thing? God damn. [ because yikes, he does feel sorry for you, man. sam has gotten exceedingly drunk for less than great reasons while he's been out in this city, he can't even imagine what he'd do if that was off the table.
as they talk, sam takes them down the next block or so, to one sam hasn't been too recently, if only for the change of pace. ]
You try in the Horizon, yet?
no subject
( Accompanied by a noncommittal little shrug, a sway back and forth. )
Had a couple at your awkward universal reunion dinner, but that didn't seem like the best place to start doing experimental tequila shots.
( The mental image he's got for that is hilarious and devastating in equal measure. Then again, who knows, maybe if he'd gotten suitably sauced with Stark it would've solved everything.
Or he'd have gotten his arm fake-blown off again. Coin toss.
...And yeah, he did the chugging the bottle thing. You would too, if you were just coming out of being a brainwashed assassin with a river of blood on your hands and no context for why the thought cars these days have gotten insane crosses your mind. )