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Open event log!
Who: Bucky Barnes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
godwins) & open!
What: Event log, Bucky is sick, &c.
When: The week or so after the bombing.
Where: Around Olympia, and in the clinic.
Warning(s): Illness?
I.
[ Bucky was right up close to the bomb, when it went off. He dove behind a cart of oranges, or something that looked like oranges, shoving someone else . He hadn't seen it coming, of course, but he wasn't surprised either— at least, his reflexes weren't. He'd been in London, during the Blitz, and most of him still wasn't used to peacetime. After his ears stopped ringing and his fingers stopped shaking, it was a sense of duty that filled him up. He was a member of the guard. He was gonna go catch whoever did this.
And so, he's spent the better part of an afternoon running across the city, chasing rumor to rumor. If his hands feel a little more clammy than usual, he ignores that like the soreness in his limbs. Bucky is sure he's got one of the Shady Man's associates cornered at the end of this alleyway, and he's about to move in when he hears someone behind him. He turns his head around, to see who's standing there.
It makes him a bit dizzy. ]
II.
[ The fevers give him bright dreams, all in technicolor— an ferris wheel at an Indiana county fair, a fire in the Bavarian woods, hands reaching out to him, covered with ash. They leave a taste in his mouth when he wakes up, like cotton balls, but he doesn't remember them otherwise. Bucky's never been sick before, not that he can remember, and he decides he doesn't like it.
He might be in bed in his apartment or in bed at the clinic. It all runs together. If someone comes to visit Bucky during his convalescence, he'll be doodling in a notebook, mapping out the dimensions of the clinic so that he can make an escape. What he says, though, is always the same. ]
Cripes, this is boring.
godwins) & open!What: Event log, Bucky is sick, &c.
When: The week or so after the bombing.
Where: Around Olympia, and in the clinic.
Warning(s): Illness?
I.
[ Bucky was right up close to the bomb, when it went off. He dove behind a cart of oranges, or something that looked like oranges, shoving someone else . He hadn't seen it coming, of course, but he wasn't surprised either— at least, his reflexes weren't. He'd been in London, during the Blitz, and most of him still wasn't used to peacetime. After his ears stopped ringing and his fingers stopped shaking, it was a sense of duty that filled him up. He was a member of the guard. He was gonna go catch whoever did this.
And so, he's spent the better part of an afternoon running across the city, chasing rumor to rumor. If his hands feel a little more clammy than usual, he ignores that like the soreness in his limbs. Bucky is sure he's got one of the Shady Man's associates cornered at the end of this alleyway, and he's about to move in when he hears someone behind him. He turns his head around, to see who's standing there.
It makes him a bit dizzy. ]
II.
[ The fevers give him bright dreams, all in technicolor— an ferris wheel at an Indiana county fair, a fire in the Bavarian woods, hands reaching out to him, covered with ash. They leave a taste in his mouth when he wakes up, like cotton balls, but he doesn't remember them otherwise. Bucky's never been sick before, not that he can remember, and he decides he doesn't like it.
He might be in bed in his apartment or in bed at the clinic. It all runs together. If someone comes to visit Bucky during his convalescence, he'll be doodling in a notebook, mapping out the dimensions of the clinic so that he can make an escape. What he says, though, is always the same. ]
Cripes, this is boring.