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WHO? James Buchanan Barnes and YOU! Yes, YOU!! Right there!! Hey! Come back!!!
WHAT? James around BASE + dream stuff catch-all because life punched me and I lost
WHEN? After arrival to BASE through the dream
ANYTHING ELSE? I'll match whatever format you want. Feel free to hit up multiple if you want to since I didn't do a proper tlevel in the BASE log. :c Sorry for any trouble.

Unlike during France mission where it'd be weird af for someone with a metal arm to be going around, he's got his metal arm (it's the left one) showing around BASE. He had to tear off his left sleeves, so he could wear them right, so. Yep. That's a thing to consider for the BASE prompts too. Specifically for boxing/sparring, he’ll be in a tank top. For other BASE prompts, he’s in a plain shirt and BASE jacket like a decent human being. And yes his hair is tied back.

i. BASE - rec time best time: gym edition
Even if not for the fact that he's already fit, a part of him is more than simply grateful when he realizes there’s a space set aside for exercise. While his preference would be to also have access to some kind of track (God forbid a treadmill, but even in this instance he would likely conceded to using it), he also gets that this isn’t exactly the kind of place that would likely have everything a guy could ever want in terms of exercise. Especially with the clothes they’re offered in the state that they’re already in. The hoop is a nice touch though.

Occasionally he can be found playing eight ball by himself at the table, but most often, he occupies the sparring space, shadow boxing and shadow sparring as his mood sees fit. He’s quite skilled in all three, though more in the boxing and sparring categories rather than in billiards. His preference toward them is likely even obvious given how he’ll always work himself up into a sweat for at least a good hour before calling it quits, regardless of remaining partnerless and fighting a fake person for what would be questionably concerning had he been speaking with the fake person instead, but thankfully he is just trying to punch them. Or kick them. Or gut them with an invisible knife because using his real one would pose a hazard to everyone else in the immediate area.

Since the area is shared, he’s highly conscious of anyone approaching, smiling politely and moving out of the way if he thinks he’s obstructing someone’s path to another part of the room, but should anyone appear to be interested in joining (mostly with the billiards), he’s more than glad to had the company. And probably the practice that comes with it. Assuming he isn’t trying to help someone else improve, but he’s also quite open to offering advice, if anyone wants to ask.

ii. BASE - shooting range
They say practice makes perfect. In his case, Bucky doesn’t even remember how it came to be. In training, he’d certainly never strived specifically for riflery mastery, yet somehow along the way, he’d become one of the best, even going on to help train others after Steve had nabbed him for the Howlies.

Shot after shot, it’s not difficult to remain on mark, especially since the only compensation he needs to account for is the physical limitations of the weapon he fires. Idly he wonders how crazy it’d be to ask for simulated wind in such an environment, but even then, the range isn’t really long enough to practice distance shots in full. At least not at the level he’s since grown accustomed to after World War 2.

While he doesn’t particularly like thinking about the likelihood or necessity to ever shoot to kill (especially not anymore), the fact comes down to needing to remain on top of his ability to at all, regardless of why he’d learned the skill in the first place. Maybe there can be other reasons he’d be shooting. There’s certainly the likelihood of switching to non-lethal weapons in order to accomplish a task. But his time spent at the range is hardly joyous, grim determination often set on his face as an extension of the gravity with which he considers the matter.

He cycles through a variety of rifles, generally avoiding handguns altogether. Old to new, new to old, scoped, unscoped, occasionally modified, never quite beyond usable. Generally he keeps each session limited to one specific weapon, but occasionally he requests a second as spare. While under all other circumstances, he’s quite open to engaging others about him, he’s much more reserved in this environment, seemingly unable to entirely detach the task of shooting from being personable separately.

If approached, he’ll respond respectfully, but those who have spoken with him before outside of these circumstances will notice that he seems much more withdrawn than usual. Should anyone ask about information or advice pertaining to the weapons or his skill, he’s open to offering tips or even a basic lesson (probably with handguns).

iii. BASE - mess
Though the library is a fairly cozy place to settle oneself while reading, Bucky’s taken to finding an unoccupied space in the mess instead. Accompanied with a mug of artificial coffee with some artificial creamer and artificial sugar, sometimes he’s actually eating while reading. In fact, he typically takes his meals this way, with one of the book tablets as company (and very often a few birds that he’ll chat with between reading and eating).

Since the mess is where food happens, he knows people will be passing by quite often (it's why he chooses the mess to read in). When they do, he usually offers a smile and a greeting, but sometimes he might be far too engrossed in what he’s reading to notice. Especially when the crows start picking at his food that he’s clearly only in the middle of eating.

iv. BASE - hallway (outside showers)
Loitering isn’t the most polite thing for people to do, especially in the halls, but despite being fully aware of such things, Bucky finds himself often making conversation with the crows splashing near the showers, before and after he uses them himself.

This is of course (possibly) questionable to many people because why the hell would anyone actually spend so much time lingering outside of a communal shower area? (The answer here is someone who doesn’t like spending time in his room, for you readers at home, but of course, no one really knows this except for Bucky himself.) Regardless of whatever conclusions others may draw, the guy seems to spend an awful lot of time hanging out near the doorway, sometimes standing, sometimes leaning against the wall, sometimes squatting, and all (apparently) only for the sake of making conversation with the crows that like to hang around there.

Implausible as it may be, he finds himself there, sometimes blocking the hallway like an asshole, more often than any other person likely should. While it seems like something that would get tired, it almost becomes something of a routine, especially for Bucky who is actually doing it, but obviously also for others who happen to encounter the scene every Goddamn time they go shower (which is hopefully no one, but Bucky does take one regular shower at least once a day cycle and will do another if he happened to work up a sweat in the gym).

Maybe someone should report this guy. Or even subtly discourage him from being an obvious (not to him) creeper.

v. DREAM - let's go dancing
New York City, spring of 1940. Raucous cheer and lively conversation fills the open hall littered with adults of all ages as a swing band plays on a platform to the side of a spacious dance floor. Couples and groups are scattered about, dancing and laughing, whatever floats their fancy.

He’s there, of course. Cleaned up. Dressed to the nines. Though he can’t remember the last time he’s been in one, it’s like home away from home away from home away from home...

He remembers how it used to be, how he’d find a gal all by her lonesome, maybe even ignored by her friends, and give her something to smile about, let her go home with better memories than a bad night out with your friends. But here, after all this time, even looking as he had long ago, he can’t help but feel out of place.

Rather than finding a partner, he ends up at the bar, reliving the memory of drinking in a dream where he knows he remembers how to feel drunk, how to have fun, how to have a good time. Even knowing it’s a dream, having realized it quickly enough with when he even is, he doesn’t want to think. And least of all, he doesn’t want to wake.

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She's wandered into the rec room before, but for the most part, she hadn't been using it much. For one, she didn't really... get it. She understood the purpose, but looking at what was in it, it was largely a mystery to her. Aloy had stopped by to see others using the equipment out of curiosity, but she never lingered long. It was the equivalent of scouting so that she could pick things up through context clues, because it definitely annoyed her to feel like she was so far behind most of the people here. She was too proud to ask for help, but she'd definitely take what chances she could to learn a bit.

Aloy is out taking another "scouting" trip, and she steps into the room with a neutral expression at first as she takes in who might be here. When she notices Bucky, she gives a small nod, but seeing him practicing pool, her expression lightens considerably.

"Huh. Someone is actually using that thing?"

And... not how she would have guessed, though honestly, the pool table was something she didn't even have a guess for. It was some kind of game, but the fuzzy table and numbered balls just made that game all the more mysterious to her. As such, she's more curious to actually learn what this is than some of the other things here, and she approaches Bucky, though she's primarily looking at the table to see how he's actually using it.

"I couldn't figure this one out at all," she admits, then looks up to him, "It's... a game, right?"

When he first catches her presence, he offers a smile and a returned nod, but the way her curiosity clearly sparks after the fact leads to him huffing softly in pleased amusement as his smile broadens. There’s never anything quite like seeing the way a person’s face brightens in interest. He’s surprised to see it so plainly in a place like this, marvel having been lost to him for so long, but for all that he didn’t expect it, he’s all the more grateful he finds himself here, helping COST. After taking his next shot (3, back right), he stands to reply properly, having been leaned over to aim his strike when she’d entered.

“Yeah. Or. Well.” He laughs sheepishly, realizing his mistake only after agreeing so quickly. “It’s like a... Like a set of tools. And you can use those to play a few different games. If that makes sense.”

Moving then, he walks around the corner to prepare framing his next target, though he remains standing for the time being as he tries to explain further. “The main point is to get the balls into the pockets. The holes at the edge of the table, I mean. But you can choose different ways someone has to do that and what exactly it takes to win the game.”

He lifts the cue, about to lean in, but pauses to add an afterthought with a short laugh. “Also I’m playing by myself, but you’re actually supposed to play the game with other people.”

Aloy watches curiously as he taps the ball with the stick, but as simple as it is, she's suitably impressed to see just how it works. It's not at all what she would have guessed, since she had guessed it was some kind of game like she had seen children from Mother's Heart play, but made to be played on a smaller scale. She knows them by different names, but what she had in mind amounts to bachi ball or bowling. As such, seeing the ball sink into the corners makes it click together more, and she breathes out a soft huh.

"Yeah, I guess so. It makes a lot more sense seeing someone actually use it." Aloy shrugs, not quite sheepishly, but more just as a kind of physical punctuation. She considers explaining what she thought it was, but... That actually makes her feel sheepish. It's one thing to deal with her own ignorance in her world, but here, she does tend to feel somewhat more embarrassed about what she doesn't know.

"What is it called? Do the different... kinds, I guess? Do they have different names?"

Lup stands out, like she does almost everywhere. It's just part of the aesthetic; if she isn't loud and intrusive, she loses herself a little. Still, people usually pay more attention to incongruity than this. That's what cues her in to the fact that none of this is real, actually--because despite the lack of apocalyptic-level destruction or eldritch nonsense, her ripped t-shirt and beat-up jeans make zero impression on all these nicely-dressed nerds.

So it's another dream. As far as they go, this one really isn't bad. On the other hand, it clearly means something to someone; Lup hasn't been in a dream yet that isn't somehow significant. She just has to figure out what's important about this dance floor.

It doesn't take her too long scanning the room to recognize someone she's seen on BASE. Well, okay, recognize might be a stretch. She thinks she's seen his cheekbones walking around somewhere, the shoulders maybe, with longer hair and approximately zero swagger. He didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd make the effort to go out, period.

So the sulky dude at the bar who looks like someone dragged him here by his very smart soldiery hat is a solid bet. Worth trying, anyway. She shoves her hands in her pockets and stalks across the room, absently weaving around dancing couples. When she gets to the bar, she leans against it and--pokes him in the shoulder.

"Party police. You're being a fucking downer. What gives?"

Part of the difference between who he was before the war and the guy he’s become now more or less settles down to the fact that freedom was very much a limited thing, even when he’d taken his two year stint in Romania. The trouble with being a fugitive, being on Interpol’s most wanted list, is the limitations you have to force yourself to make in order to keep from being found. Add to it the fact that he no longer feels he really deserves anything good... Well, he does what he can, but the guilt is always there.

He brows raise when he’s approached, not really thinking that anything in his dream would have changed direction without his knowing. Unlike his new companion, he’s yet to end up in anyone else’s dreams too, so when he recognizes her as someone who’s been about BASE, the surprise shows (for once; it's a dream and his defenses aren't as high as they should be).

“Uh. Hey,” he offers lamely, unsure of why he’s suddenly thought her into the dream. It’s especially confusing as he’s not spoken to her before. Maybe it’s his presumption of her? “What’re you doing here?”

It’s then he notices her attire and— “...especially dressed like that.” He glances about, then. No one’s reacting. This doesn’t feel like how his dreams would usually go. What’s going on?

Henry takes showers pretty regularly, and with no actual jobs to do he finds himself sticking to a very specific routine. So it's not surprising to think he'd spot a shady looking man hanging outside the communal showers in the same spot every other time or so, either hanging out with the crows or just blocking the way.

"Oy, you there."

Towel around his neck, he exits the shower to face the man. He'd ignored him on the way in, but after seeing him so many times, it's time. Time to ask.

Given how relatively uneventful things are around the place, he’s done his best to keep to a schedule, but sometimes he gets rather carried away and gets distracted from doing what he’d intended to do. This is one of those days, where instead of proceeding to take his shower much earlier, he instead started making conversation with the crows and...didn’t stop.

Of course, he’d glanced when the guy had passed earlier. He’d be bad at what he does if he couldn’t keep track of the people (and crows!) around him. It’s certainly not the first time he’s seen the guy around either, so he hadn’t quite expected to be addressed when the man was leaving. Bucky’s a gentleman too, prefers not to look at people as they go. He’s not a creep after all, and most people usually like their privacy in that way too, where they aren’t being watched with their back turned, right?

But instead his attention is called to this—Irish?—dude for once, and his eyes end up on the towel (cute), back at the guy (bland), back at the birds (very cute), and back at the guy again (definitely very bland).

“Yes?” he asks slowly, shifting to face him. The birds conveniently continue chattering on without him, and even interrupted, the conversation doesn’t seem to fall apart.

There can be a handful of different reasons as to why this guy is just hanging out here, talking with birds, where people normally shower. He also imagines the guy realizes just how strange it is to be loitering about out here too, but either doesn't care what people think or figures he's being harmless anyway and people should just leave him be. Neither train of thought would be wrong, of course.

Also, while he wouldn't be flattered to know that someone finds him bland, he'd say it's a good feature to have. Being bland. He prefers that to standing out too terribly. That would interfere with his ability to do his job of blending in with the populace properly.

"Good conversationalists, that lot?" Gestures to the birds with a hand, taking one end of his towel and idly rubbing at his hair.

Considering both not caring about loitering and being generally harmless because he definitely totally hasn’t been peeping at all even slightly are very valid and likely the most possible reasons (it’s more than definitely a combination of both), Bucky’s surprise at being addressed is probably not surprising.

Bucky’s a fan of bland too, though. Comes with the territory of being assassins probably. Not that he’s aware that this man is also one. Yet.

At the question, he gives something of a relieved smile, glad it wasn’t some baseless accusation that he’s some kinda creep creepin’ on people because that’s the last conversation he’d like to have. Maybe ever. Especially considering he’s definitely a gentleman and not a creep.

“Yeah,” he laughs softly. “They seem to like talking about anything under the sun.” Not that there is one here per se, but it’s easy to forget that Earth isn’t exactly close anymore when they were in France not long before. “Have you tried talking to ’em yet?”

Yeah, fortunately for Bucky and any others wary of peepers, Henry didn't assume he was being a creep. Just generally a little strange for hanging around here to talk to the birds, of all things. Sure they knew how to hold an interesting conversation, but he'd never seen anyone take that much of a shining to them unless feeding them was involved.

"Yeah, a bit," he admits, eyeing one of the birds as it stares back at him. "Definitely more friendly after feeding them." Then he lets a beat hang in the air before he asks:

"Have you been sitting here all day?"

There’s certainly truth to it: the crows do tend to prefer company when food is involved. What Bucky’s noticed here though is that the birds are just having their fun in the puddles, so really, their attention is already on enjoyment, and he can just leech off of that emotion to get some amused chatting in on the side.

He’s a bit surprised at the question though. Though he has been here for a while, all day would be a bit much.

“No, just an hour or two.” Definitely two. “I usually talk to them before I go shower. Just get distracted sometimes.”

Something about the frankness of it all gets Henry to chuckle, as he continues to dry his hair in between words. He's only had a brief conversation with one of them before and never really had any reasons after that to continue striking up conversations.

"Yeah? And what was today's riveting topic?" At least, it sounds like it would've been interesting enough if it warranted getting distracted enough from one's necessary routines in life.

He doesn’t really know if the guy means the question in earnest, but Bucky’s always been the sort to give people a chance, even if he hasn’t any real clue. Besides, the guy is sparing the effort, so.

“What life would be like if we all had wheels instead of feet,” he answers with a soft chuckle. Nodding toward the birds, he adds, “Them too.”

The topic is strange. He didn't really know what birds normally talk about, and while he didn't expect this, it almost seemed logical. Of course they were discussing what it would be like if they all had wheels for feet.

"Huh. You don't suppose they'd find wheels an improvement, do you?"

Unless the crows were interested in including him in the conversation as well, he'll direct his inquires toward Bucky.

At this point, it seems the crows have moved on to something else (debating what can make bigger splashes in the puddles, from the sound of it), so Bucky is more than glad to oblige his new companion with further conversation on the topic, especially as he tends to wonder about such strange things himself, not realizing that they are often termed shower thoughts as they are thought of in the shower since he thinks of them just about everywhere he happens to be. Some could likely say he thinks too much.

“Well,” he starts, tapping his chin, “I understand that it would make taking off easier. They want the burst of speed so they can skip to gliding as quickly as possible. But landing would be dreadful. Breaks aren’t included with the wheels. In the scenario.”

"Then how about this one: Keeping the normal feet intact, but adding smaller wheels to the back end?"

He was trying to think of a good compromise, despite this conversation being absolutely and utterly pointless. But he's also never one for starting a conversation, only to abruptly cut it off without a satisfactory end. There's still doubts for that, it's an idealistic outcome at best, but a guy's gotta try.

"Like those wheelie shoes children are so fond of."

“Ooh, yeah, where you can use your toes as breaks?” It’s actually a pretty clever suggestion, a decent alternative that can provide some means of slowing down. That said... “I feel like it’d be really hard to put on shoes that way though. If you had a wheel in your heel? Unless we skip the shoes. But then our toes would be exposed...”

Even as pointless as the discussion is, clearly Bucky is taking it quite seriously.

“But, actually, I guess if it was normal to have feet like that, then they’d probably make different kinds of shoes to fit them anyway, right?”

He tries not to think about how much effort is being put into this nonsensical conversation. His current conversationalist is taking it pretty seriously, surprisingly enough, so he feels less weird about it.

"If we're done talking about the birds and glazing over the fact that they probably don't need shoes to begin with, then yeah. Wheels on our feet is all we would've ever known, and thus would've been incorporated into shoe designs over the centuries. They'd look at our feet now—"

As he gestures to his currently bare feet.

"—and think, where's this bloke's wheels? Did someone chop 'em off? Looks weird."

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v; i hope life stops punching you soon friend

forever and a day late; feel free to drop if you're not feeling this thread anymore though!

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im a super srs rper

just how i like em

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