Once upon a time, in a land not so far away...
You wake to the feeling of being watched. Of a set of unfamiliar eyes, of warm breath on the back of your neck. A jolt back to the land of the living, and it's gone. No matter how quick you are, how sneaky, the source of the disruption has long since disappeared, so you have no choice but to try and ignore it. To continue on with your day and try to set that moment of strangeness aside.
You eat, drink, speak with others. Perhaps you explore a little. Whatever it is you choose to do for the day, that feeling from the morning won't return. And by the time the sun sets and the moon glows brightly above, you've likely set those moments of strangeness aside. It's not like it's anything new, after all.
It's the same again for the next few days. No better, no worse. Something best ignored, right?
A speck of blood on the doorframe. That wasn't there before, was it?
A snap of twigs in the distance. A crunch of leaves.
Claw marks gouged deeply into the door.
Into the wall above your bed.
Scraps of red fabric, turned darker with blood. Pieces of fur. Of flesh.
Do you run and hide? Do you fight? Whatever you choose, it's definitely time to make sure your body parts aren't scattered next...
...what a horribly big mouth you have.
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Since first waking up on the island, characters have been stuck with that feeling of being watched. It isn't a constant. Isn't more than a few seconds at a time, dotted throughout the day. Investigation has never turned up much, and there's never been any sightings of the cause of it all.
Until now.
Throughout the first half of the week, characters will find themselves suffering from that feeling of being watched on a far more constant basis. Rather than it being a one-off, few seconds occurrence each day, that feeling will last for minutes at a time, and on multiple occasions.
However, it isn't until the fifth day that they'll start stumbling across physical signs of their monitoring. There are claw marks on doors. Spots of blood on the paths outside. A crack of twigs in the forests, or the imprint of bloodied paws in the snow.
Ten days in and those signs start finding their way indoors. Wet footprints, tinged with red. Claw marks in the walls, the floor. Torn sheets and the smell of wet...something. Whatever it is that's been watching you, its finally decided to come and say hello.
Two weeks in and characters will begin to have sightings of the creature, its fur dark and its eyes a glowing yellow. At times it looks like a wolf, prowling in the distance. At other times, it's walking on its hind legs, almost human were it not for the muzzle full of gleaming sharp teeth. Get too close, and it slips away like a shadow, gone between one blink and the next. It decides when to reach out to characters, not the other way round.
It's after characters finally get a good look at the creature that it starts leaving...gifts. Characters will start to find familiar items from their home worlds amidst the mess. The remains of a childhood pet, perhaps. Photographs of loved ones, faces torn almost beyond recognition. It's only once it delivers its final gift that the creature retreats to the trees again: a blood-splattered item of clothing that clearly belongs to the person the character misses the most at the time, alive or dead.
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no subject
Waking up with a start isn't a new experience. Waking up in a location — or hell, a decade — different from the one in which he went to sleep isn't exactly new either. But it's not something that should happen now, he thinks. And there's something about opening his eyes and looking up at the sky that makes him uneasy.
That's not hard, these days.
He takes a breath to say his name to himself (James Buchanan Barnes, his name, he can't forget it, it's his name and he knows it now, it'll not be taken from him again) before rolling to his feet. The feeling of unease is growing and there's enough in him that's still the wild, feral thing that HYDRA made him to have him gathering up that pack without a second thought and moving silently away from where he'd woken. Reconnaissance skills help a little, the brain making a mental map with the small clearing as its starting hub.
He's been in every conceivable wilderness terrain but this just feels off. He can't put words to it but that's hardly important. What's important is the instinct that prompts him to keep moving.
He also can't explain why he feels compelled to be moving in this particular direction above all others, but he still keeps moving.
Lakeside / Shortly After Arrival;
The lake is a lake; big enough certainly, with structure and geography that doesn't match anything in his memory. Then again, his mental map of the earth is hardly complete; if it didn't relate to a mission, he hadn't needed to know it. And the rest is just— lost. Incomplete. Something on which he cannot dwell, not in this moment.
He turns his attentions instead to surveillance, what he is able to see: a town, perhaps? Habitable looking buildings anyway, though it's hard to discern more from this distance. What he can discern is that there doesn't appear to be much activity, or so it looks. A closer look is probably in order.
He makes sure his left sleeve is tugged far down on the wrist, overlapping the gloves he'd fortunately found in the pack he still carries. Right now, subtlety is probably for the best. Only once he's sure that there's no hint of metal showing does he start to make his way toward the buildings.
My What Big Eyes / Day 5;
The sense of unease Bucky had felt on waking in this strange place hasn't abated. Though lodging had been logical he still treats it as a temporary thing; mistrust runs too deep and the impulse to keep his life transitory is still strong. That impulse, and the unease, had grown as of late with the feelings of being watched.
Even so getting up for a morning run in the predawn hour has become a habit, both as a training regimen and a way to settle the mind — as much as the mind would settle, anyway. Though he's found few enough satisfactory answers to his questions and added little to the journal he keeps, the routine still helps.
The claw marks on the door frame put him on immediate alert, however. He'd heard nothing in the night — concerning, with his skills — and to think that something had gotten so close as to gouge wood so deeply without his notice concerns him deeply. And it begs the question: is it an isolated incident or not? Had anyone heard or seen anything that he somehow had not?
Or — the truly uncomfortable thought — is his brain betraying him once more?
Wildcard;
Whatever idea you have I'm likely willing to roll with it; feel free to drop a prompt or PM this journal if you'd like to discuss anything. While I tend to write my starters in prose, if you prefer to tag in brackets I will shift to match.
Arrival - aka paranoid Bucky, wanna meet paranoid Loki out for a stroll?
The key to success - and sanity - was to somehow discover by whom he was being watched, and whether it was or wasn't the person he suspected he might be being watched by, right now.
Being toyed with. Because wouldn't that be fitting?And so, while he tries to make himself look like he's just walking around at leisure, he's keeping his senses sharp, keeping the maximum awareness possible for an Asgardian prince, every second, though that might be... an overload, in too long a time, he knows.
A hunter cannot hunt many days and knights without a moment's rest, a swimmer cannot swim without a break for years, he knows. He knows that he cannot be over-aware forever. But for now, he isn't sure who's observing him, so he, he, he needs to be. Aware of every living being around here, in the closest proximity. Even if it's tiring. Just for now.
At the same time making himself look calm and pleased at confident. Because he had that feeling, in the morning (truly?) of being watched, that's why he'll look carefree. It's imperative.
After all, if he looks rattled, he's already lost first battle. And he won't.
And so he needs to be hyper aware - and cheerfully, lazily carefree. Easy peasy. No problem, unless somebody looks into his soul.
And then he crosses paths - well, not yet, and if he will cross paths, it'll be very deliberate on his part - with somebody.
Just some Midgardian. A stranger, at that. Fine, then.
Let's cross paths while pretending to ignore him. Might be nothing, might be a spy of whoever's observing. But might be nothing. And he won't know if he hides, so, no hiding.
"Hello. New around here? Because I am. And currently looking for directions. A map would be nice. I've been walking in circles!"
I'm so sorry this took forever, Life Happened this week
And like any predator, Bucky knows when he's being watched.
Oh, there's talent here, he won't deny it. It takes a lot to be able to hide from him, especially to the point that he's not sure how long he's been watched. And then there's the part of his brain that reminds him that this could all be coincidental and he's not actually being watched. But it's always been safer to assume the former than the latter and Bucky knows, more than anything else, how to survive.
Step one: blend in. If you're on the run, the last thing you want to do is actually run. So when the stranger's path crosses his own Bucky paints a look of mild surprise on his face, hands shoved into his pockets.
"Hello." He returns the greeting simply, eying the other man up and down. His brain automatically kicks into analysis: tall, slight build, some grace in the little bit of movement that he's seen. Interestingly lacking in accent, at least from the few words exchanged so far. He keeps his own posture loose, relaxed, easy. Casual.
Step two: you don't have to worry about winning the fight if you can avoid the fight in the first place.
"New's a nice way of putting it." There's little sense in pretending otherwise, especially as he's taking the question as confirmation that he's not the only one who woe up where he hadn't gone to sleep. "Can't much help you with either one of those things, but the walk's not too bad."
No problem!
If they were both kidnapped - and many others, Loki wasn't exhaustingly godly hyper aware right now for nothing - there had to be a reason for it.
They had to have something in common.
Now let's see.
He offers a hand. For a handshake. Don't all Midgardians do handshakes?
"Unfortunate, but understandable."
"Loki Odinson, from Norway. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr...?"
no subject
Handshakes are easy. Handshakes are ultimately harmless, especially to someone who can crush a normal man's hand in his grip. Bucky's not trying to do that though, simply offering a firm yet brief clasp of their hands before taking his own hand back to himself. And he's thankful, not for the first time, that it's typical convention to shake with the right hand; it just makes his life easier right now.
"Barnes." Does he need to offer more than that? He'd rather not, even though he's not sure why. Still, he'll keep his silence unless the other man presses. "Sorry I'm not the man with the answers."
That's a thing, right? Commiseration over a common occurrence? Shared confusion? He's pretty sure it's a thing, and pretty sure it's something with which he can play along. Bucky rolls his shoulders, adjusting the strap of his bag across his back, all idle movements that mean very little.
But, looking on the bright side, at least it's not raining.
yay, he decided not go into your mind for now. XD
Not now. Not until he knows whether the man may be useful in any other way. If he doesn't need him, then he can check his memories for clues. For now, Loki doesn't do anything.
Because, yes, a Midgardian is so wary and reserved, even outloud - who the Hel introduces himself with just a surname?
"That's fine. I have no answers, either. Do you have, however, any plans?"
A simple question, really. With thousand different possible meanings. How the stranger may interpret it may be just as telling.
yeah, that would not have ended well...
The question though is not unexpected; what other question can there be? It is, he thinks, at the heart of this entire situation: what now?.
"Exploration," he says with a shrug. "Securing food and shelter are the primary objectives. Then figuring out where, exactly, this is. And why I'm here."
It's all very practically laid out, because Bucky is nothing if not practical. Secure the basic needs of survival first, then sort out the rest of it. He imagines this Loki must have similar aims. "You?"
no subject
"Same thing. I suppose we could do it together, if you wish. After all, if I had any appointments, I'd already be late for them."
Like, he thinks, my appointment with death, after my neck and I think that part of spinal cord, snapped. But he won't say that aloud. This could be funny if he was as suicidal as yonderyear on Bifrost, but. If he could live, he'd live. After all, he's made a promise to his brother. Hmmm...
"Before coming here, I had a small, well, accident, and thought I may die. Accident, or a robber at my and my brother's ship... details, details. I know, I know, I was probably just overdramatic and barely hurt."
Giggles, barely audibly. That's stress, he can't quite help it yet.
"How about you? Did you hit yourself in the head or anything before coming here? I'm trying to determine whether we were teleported here, or perhaps, just crudely taken while unconscious."
no subject
What can it hurt, anyway?
His companion does seem to be fond of talking, though. It's not a negative assessment, more just an observation. Then again, a rock is probably more talkative than Bucky, in all honesty. But perhaps somewhere in his words there might be a clue or two to offer up as to why they're here. It might be a long shot, but it's better than no shot at all.
"Went to sleep. Woke up here." What he doesn't say is that he's pretty sure he would have woken up for anything disturbing his sleep; it's near impossible to sneak up on him. That makes this whole appearance here more than a little disturbing, because how — and how heavily — had he been drugged to not realize his own kidnapping? "Would love to know how it was managed."
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What Big Eyes
Bucky will find that where shoe prints should be in the dirt, instead, there's paw marks. They're nowhere near the size of the beast that left the claw marks. But they are similar even if smaller in size. There's definitely someone just beyond his sight in the tree line, peering out from around the edges of the bark. If approached, he won't run, but he's definitely reluctant to come any closer. This man is a human and Tsume learned a long time ago that humans aren't kind to wolves, even when they have the illusion of looking human on their side.
I'm sorry for my slow!!!
Animals aren't the only predators in this strange place.
He becomes aware that he's being watched as he nears the trees, and it slows his steps. As far as he can tell it's only the one figure, but that really doesn't mean much; a single person can still be very much a threat. But threats rarely hide the way it looks like this figure is hiding. Bucky figures it's either a very elaborate facade or there really is no threat. He decides to gamble for the latter; if it turns out it's the former, well, it's not like he's unarmed.
"Who's there?" His voice is neutral enough, curiosity mixed with caution and carefully so. "Why are you hiding?"
No worries!
He's been watching Bucky for a while now. A lone wolf doesn't get far in any world. Better to find people he can turn to, even if they are only humans. At least he knows how to deal with people. Keep them at arm's length and he never has to worry about getting hurt.
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Looking around — no obvious ambush points, nothing hostile that he can detect — Bucky folds himself into a seated position on the ground. He's more than aware of his own physical size; taking steps to minimize it just makes life easier sometimes. Looking relaxed while being on alert is something he's long since perfected.
"Well, I'm just going to sit right here then, and you can decide if you want to come over. What are you doing out here?" And especially this early in the morning, when few people are even awake.
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In response to Bucky's question, all Tsume says is "Hunting." Which seems odd considering that he doesn't have any sort of weapons or equipment to trap animals with. But those are things for humans. Wolves need nothing to hunt with but their own fangs. Indeed, Tsume's been keeping well-fed the past couple of days. There's far more prey here than at home.
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Maybe Bucky isn't the only one who's gone in search of their source. Even so, it's strange to him that his young companion seems unarmed; it doesn't match the wariness he reads in his posture. Maybe there's some sort of strange ability at work here but it seems odd to him that anyone would come hunting without some sort of supplies or weapons — unless he's very good at hiding them.
He runs a hand through his hair, brushing it back from his face. "What's your name?"
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"Tsume," he tells Bucky. There's no last name that comes with it. Wolves don't exactly have those.
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"Bucky." The lack of surname doesn't bother him, but it does mean he doesn't offer his own. He cocks his head to the side. "Been up for a while today, hunter?"
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With the others off somewhere, Peter had taken the opportunity to continue his search of the remaining cabins, hoping to scavenge up whatever supplies he could. With a metabolism like his, he knows his supplies won't last long otherwise. And there's only so many times he can ignore the fact that his plate is a little fuller than the others when they sit down to eat.
It's by the time he's leaving his sixth cabin of the day that his senses pick up, throwing him on high alert. His grip tightens on his pack, fingers curling back under his sleeve to the webshooters hidden beneath his hoodie. Scanning the area, he laments once again that he isn't wearing his costume. That he can't ask Karen to scan the area for him. So instead he's stuck looking around to try and find the source of the disturbance. To spot--
"Woah."
The word escapes on a breath, and Peter finds himself relaxing almost automatically. Sure, the last time he saw the man, the two of them were fighting against one another. But that doesn't detract for the fact that, that is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. The war hero. Captain America's best friend. The...new arrival?
"Mr. Barnes. Sir?" Darting down the street with all the enthusiasm of the teenager he is, Peter skids to a stop in front of Bucky, a wide grin on his face. So much for subtlety?
"Hi. My name's Peter. I know we haven't met properly before, but I wanted to say hi and see if you needed any help. I, uh- I'm a friend of Mr. Stark?" Which means he can trust him, right?
I feel like I need to apologize in advance...
He's decidedly not used to random teenagers running up to him all bright smiles and enthusiasm though, and it instantly puts him on guard. Even worse than bright, enthusiastic teenagers are bright, enthusiastic teenagers who know his name. Bucky's not even fully sure of his own self at times — more often than he prefers to admit — which makes the recognition more than a little uncomfortable.
Stark. The name causes a slight widening of his eyes, because it's a name Bucky knows, a name he remembers. Stark, Howard and Maria: secure cargo and eliminate targets. A dark road. A December night. He shakes his head, as if that can forcibly remove the spectres of the past. It can't; he knows, he's tried.
He still remembers all of them.
"I don't know you—" There's wariness in his voice and tension across his shoulders. It's an uncomfortable thought, HYDRA using agents so young, but it's not an unfamiliar one. And even though he hasn't found any evidence of HYDRA here, it doesn't mean that they're entirely absent. It's improbable perhaps, but certainly not impossible. Even if he does think the wide smile and open eyed enthusiasm doesn't match anything of the HYDRA attitude. Maybe this kid is just a really good actor.
A really, really good actor.
He shifts his weight just slightly — balanced, ready to run or fight without looking like he's about to do either. It's second nature anymore, his training as much a part of him as his arm. "What do you want?"
nothing could possibly go wrong here
"Sorry." Well, it's a start. Clearing his throat, Peter nods to himself as he moves on to attempt number two.
"My name's Peter Parker, sir. And if you're Sergeant Barnes, then that means we're from the same world. I haven't seen you around here, so I thought that meant you'd just arrived. Which is why I came over. To try and help. Sir. Not that I know all that much, but I've been here for a while already, so I could show you around if you'd like? Or uh..."
He huffs, fighting his urge to fidget as he realises that he really should stop talking and give Bucky a chance to at least respond first. But with nerves taking the lead here--
"It's up to you. I mean, I know you'll have no problem here. You're you. Even that thing out there-" A brief nod towards the forest. "-wouldn't dare to mess with you. You'd kick its ass!" Never mind that none of them have even gotten close to reaching it. Their group hunting trip had been a complete failure, and he doubts that will change any time soon.
"If you want me to go though, I will. But...if we're from the same world, we should try to stick together, right?"
just watch, he's going to end up adopting the spiderchild
It's better than being called the Asset.
He's still not sure how to feel about the teenager in front of him. There are nerves at play here — either that or he's just overly talkative — and his attention snaps right back to the conversation. It's vaguely uncomfortable to be so easily recognized, especially by someone who apparently knows him. What else does he know of what Bucky is?
Does he know Bucky's triggers?
And what is this business about arriving here? Bucky files that away in his metal catalog of this strange place. He's going to have to start writing things down soon, he thinks. It seems that it might be a little more convoluted than simply being kidnapped by HYDRA.
He allows his gaze to follow that nod, looking off into the forest. Something is apparently out there; is that why he's been dealing with feelings of unease? Bucky can't say for sure because everything in this place has been outside of his realm of experience. But he makes a note of it regardless, along with a note of its apparent danger.
Interesting.
Also interesting is the offer laid out by this Peter Parker. An easy out; an easy way to slip away from an uncomfortable interaction. But practically speaking it would not be smart to so easily abandon a source of information about this place. "You can show me around," he says cautiously, returning his attention to the teen. "After that, we'll see."
the custody battles may end up literal
Turning back towards the nearby buildings, Peter begins to make his way over, his steps slow despite knowing that Bucky would have no trouble keeping up even if he started running. But now that he has the man's agreement to be shown around, Peter is taking the brief respite to try and work out where he should be taking him. It's not as though there are all that many places to visit here.
"Um, so...most people have moved in to the buildings a little closer to the lake than this. These buildings kind of need a lot of work still." As a look towards the almost caved in roof of the building they pass may attest to. He's only out there looking for supplies. There may not be many of them on the island, but with more people seemingly turning up by the day, he knows their meagre supplies really won't last them all that long.
"I'll show you where I'm staying. There's spare rooms if you want, but-" A shrug. He doubts the implied offer will be taken up. "So far, you're the only other person here from our version of Earth. But Mr. Starlord and Miss. Gamora are from the same universe as us. They're from space though." Which is literally the coolest thing ever, as far as he's concerned. Never mind that there's some kind of time...thing there too, given that Quill remembers the two of them meeting before.
"Oh right." He turns to face Bucky, walking backwards now and relying on his senses to keep him from walking in to anything. Digging in to his pack, Peter pulls out the small pouch that holds his mirror shard. "So, this is gonna sound really weird. But this thing kind of works like a phone. You can talk to other people on the island with it if they're holding theirs too. Which is kind of helpful considering there's no cell phone reception here. But if you ever need to get ahold of anyone, you can use that."
we should probably try to avoid that
It's definitely something he's going to have to figure out.
"I have shelter." It's dismissive, but not meant to be insultingly so. Bucky doesn't know who to trust; privately, he's not even sure he can trust his own mind. Sharing lodgings with another person isn't exactly high on his priority list. He supposes that there is the idea of safety in numbers, but that's for normal people. Unaltered people. People who aren't trained the way he is.
He is listening though, listening and watching Peter's body language. Either there truly is no deception here, or the teen is an excellent actor. Something is telling Bucky that it's the former as opposed to the latter, and he makes a note of that impulse. It's not quite like the instincts that warn him of danger but it still feels natural — which is a strange thought maybe, considering how much of this place seems weirdly, inexplicably unnatural.
He is mildly impressed at Peter's skill in walking backwards, though. It's not as easy as it looks.
"So. We're from the same place but it's only one version of Earth, one that includes people from space, but now we're here with other people along with something lurking in the forest. And the buildings are falling apart but the mirror is a cell phone. Did I miss anything?"
Disbelief and mistrust war in Bucky's voice, despite an attempt to keep the tone level and flat. But that is probably the longest single stretch of words that he's spoken to anyone since arriving here, good job Peter!
but where's the fun in that?
"Time travel is also a thing." An addition that's said a little more flippantly than it probably should be. But given how strange this entire situation is, it's not really as unbelievable as it probably should be. He's already had his own freak out, thankfully in private. So the details are a lot more digestible to him than they once were. It probably also helps that he's watched a movie or two (thousand) before.
"We haven't found anyone from this place yet. Everyone seems to have been brought here like us." Though, that's not entirely correct.
"About a week ago, the mirror lit up really brightly in the night, and then there was a girl screaming on it. We never found out who that was, and she never responded to anyone. But..." There's a helpless expression on his face as he looks down at the pouch in his hand, fingers tightening briefly around it. "She sounded scared. I don't know if she's--" Alive. "Here anymore. But we couldn't find her."
it's all fun and games until someone loses an arm... oh wait...
It's fantastical to be sure, but it's also the kind of fiction that Bucky poured over in his youth, when he could get his hands on novels secondhand or borrowed from the library. Time travel and alien worlds and flying cars and futuristic machines; once it had all made his imagination light up. Certainly he's seen the evolution of some of technology himself but have they progressed even further than that perhaps?
How much further? And at what cost?
He's not long to dwell on it though, still keeping pace with Peter's walking and digesting every word he says. And even daring to offer a few of his own. "So it's similar everywhere? I had attributed it to the snow of where I arrived versus the milder temperatures further south." What he doesn't say is that the lack of neighbors is more comfortable for him, at least right now. Though that does bring up a concern around whether or not there really is something dangerous about. Strength in numbers isn't just an idea with no merit.
"No physical signs of natives, and only one point of contact through the, uh, mirror?" He looks to Peter for confirmation of getting the details right. Bucky isn't expecting the emotion so clearly painted across his face though. He's pretty sure that it reminds him of someone, but that's not an avenue of thought he's going to chase right now, not in present company. Still, it surprises him to hear his next words. "And how many of you looking have experience finding people who don't want to be found?"
how dare
it's fine this is all fine
lies it's never fine
sure it is, with just a few words: longing, rusted, seventeen...
THAT IS THE OPPOSITE OF FINE
SHHHH WE CAN FIX THIS
more lies!
I mean we could just wallow in suffering instead