February Catch All

[rzhavyy]

Who: Bucky Barnes (rzhavyy) & Others
What: Catch All for the rest of February
When: All month
Where: Around
Warning(s): Rumlow is gross, will add as needed.

Comments

RUMLOW

[rzhavyy]

[Bucky actually works a job these days. It's not for the money, which mostly he just collects for a rainy day, keeps for when things get bad, because he can almost feel those tendrils of dissent in his veins. He was a soldier, and then made into a weapon of the cold war, he can all but taste the coming conflict. But for the moment, he has this.

It's nothing special, just a bit of routine, a bar that he puts some hours into. Also, it's for the gossip, the things that people say unguarded. Spying wasn't primarily what he was made for, but in this climate it's useful. Passive information gathering as he serves drinks and on occasion helps the bouncer put down a fight or two.

It's easy work. He doesn't tell Steve where he works, because he knows he'd insist on stopping by, and that wouldn't go over well since Steve's more publicly an Olympian, . Bucky can blend into places like this: seedy, gruff, cheap beer and strong drinks that tend more toward paint thinner than anything else. Black market deals made in shadowy corners.

Then he recognizes the face that walks in the door, the scars on his face, and he sets his shoulders as he finishes filling the pint glass he sets in front of another patron. Just what he needed.]

[ukase]

[A man (or woman) wanted to know what was what and who was who, they circled the drain with all the other low-lifes that walked the fine line between lawfulness and lawlessness. That meant finding and spending time at the local watering holes, some of the best places for information, a back-room deal and a drunk and disorderly fight. It was also a great place to find the kind of people who were just plain lonely for information and wanting to talk about where they had come from, giving away tips about themselves.

This had once been his entire world. The dark. The seedy. The violence. The gang life.

Then Frag had been grasped and molded into something that was order in the chaos, using his raw talents to survive the pure hell of HYDRA initiation processes for soldiers and all those double-lives and head-on-a-swivel had placed him in the ultimate double-agent standard that he had lived until everything had gone to hell, and he was left right back where he started: alone.

This wasn't the first bar he had spent an evening of his time at, but it was the first one where he walked in the front door and knew there was definitely something worth staying for. He ran fingers through his styled hair and swaggered his way towards the bar, ignoring the way that eyes followed him as he moved. They were looking at his scars, muted in the dimmer light and not nearly as bad as he suspected they were supposed to be (he had both ear lobes after all), but they were plain as day against the rest of his tanned skin.

He hopped up on one of the open stools as if he owned the place and rested his forearms on the clean table top, his eyes shifting naturally to find the very, very familiar face of the bar-keep. Like nothing was amiss, he raised a hand to ask for service.]

Beer, if you would. Minus whatever rat poison you'd put in it for your own benefit, eh? [A beat.] What do they call you around these parts?