Difference between revisions of "1725/Hello Little Girl"

From United Heroes MUSH
Jump to navigation Jump to search
(Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/07/29 |Location=Hyperion Hotel |Synopsis=The Winter Soldier visits Fred. |Cast of Characters=160, 229 |pretty=yes }} {{Poses |Poses=:'''{{#var...")
 
 
Line 4: Line 4:
|Synopsis=The Winter Soldier visits Fred.
|Synopsis=The Winter Soldier visits Fred.
|Cast of Characters=160, 229
|Cast of Characters=160, 229
|Tinyplot=Tayaniye
|pretty=yes
|pretty=yes
}}
}}

Latest revision as of 06:56, 14 August 2017

Hello Little Girl
Date of Scene: 29 July 2017
Location: Hyperion Hotel
Synopsis: The Winter Soldier visits Fred.
Cast of Characters: Winifred Burkle, Winter Soldier
Tinyplot: Tayaniye


Winifred Burkle has posed:
Winifred Burkle has been a busy Angel Investigator. With a growing group of conspirators and helpers that are gathering together to rescue Sam and Claire, she's been traveling a bit. She's, actually, on her way back from Sam and Dean's apartment after breaking in to try and find some of Sam's hair for Harry's use. Unfortunately, she couldn't find any. Cursing Sam's neatness, she is returning to the Hyperion. As this was not an emergency, she didn't feel the need to borrow/steal Angel's car. Therefore, she's taken public transportation and walking back from the bus stop now.

It's not exactly late at night, but darkness has fully fallen, the street lamps illuminating pools of sidewalk and street. The former PhD student is not hurrying, but there is a purpose to her steps as she makes her way to the old hotel that is now her home. A messenger bag is crossed in front of her chest and her hands hold at the strap as she walks forward. Her eyes are focused forward, though they scan toward the cars that pass.

Winter Soldier has posed:
It's quiet despite the fact it's not really too late at night. This is a rather more residential part of town, and commuters have already gotten home for the evening. Such it is that Winifred Burkle has an uneventful walk back, getting in to her hotel without issue and ascending the stairs to her room. Top floor, but it's only five stories, so not that bad.

There's a man in the hall when she gets up there, a nondescript-looking fellow in a leather jacket. Kind of warm weather for a full leather jacket, but maybe he's a biker of some kind: his jeans are heavy-duty enough for it, and he's wearing boots. He's seated by the window at the end of the hall, smoking peacefully where ventilation will carry at least some of the smell away. He doesn't spare Fred even one glance as she passes by.

So far so good for Fred, on the getting home thing. Except-- when she reaches her door, her key won't work.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
At her door, Fred stops and looks down the hallway. The hotel is not functioning any more and the people who stay here are those who work for Angel or those they know. The man at the end of the hallway is given quite a look. Who is he? Why is he here? It's possible Angel has given a room to the smoking man because he has nowhere else to go.

A frown is given as an unbidden shiver rolls down her spine. Shifting the bag on her shoulder, she turns from him. Her keys are already in her hand and she quickens her steps to her doorway. Once there, she fits her key to the lock only to find that it will not turn.

Her brow furrows. Pulling the key out, she looks at the key and then the lock. Fiddling with the knob, she inserts the key again and attempts to turn it. Why is this not working? Her key has always worked before.

Winter Soldier has posed:
The man at the end of the hall seems peacefully indifferent to Fred's intense side-eye. He doesn't even look at her. Maybe he's a friend of Angel, or some other random vagrant someone felt sorry for. He certainly has that wanderer's air to him, a certain scruffy indifference to the world around him that suggests a man with no roots. His hair is long enough for it, shaggy and brown, scraping a jawline that shows a few days' worth of growth.

He doesn't pay her any mind, in fact, up until her key fails to turn in the lock.

"Having trouble?"

The man perched on the sill at the end of the hall seems to have noticed her distress. He's looking at her now, head canted, the cigarette removed from his mouth to dangle between two fingers.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Standing against the door, Fred looks at the man now that he is paying attention to her. There's a frown on her face. The last thing she wants is to accept help from the man smoking on the windowsill. "Oh, you know, just a stuck lock. You know old doors and stuff. I'll be okay, thanks!" In fact, she has the lockpicks that Sam gave her in her pocket, however she feels uncomfortable bringing them out with a stranger nearby.

"Not used to seeing other people in the hotel. Do you know Angel? Or are you here for someone else?" Her voice is curious as she starts to fiddle with the door and the lock without the picks in back pocket. Instead, she takes a card from her bag and tries to do this the old fashioned way even as she makes small talk.

Winter Soldier has posed:
She asks who he's here for. He doesn't answer at first, and when he does, it's not the question she asked. Not at first.

"Really," the man says instead, rising from his seat. The cigarette goes back in his mouth, his hands go in his pockets, and he starts to saunter closer. "No trouble for me to take a look."

He comes in close, close enough she can smell the leather of his jacket. And something else beneath that. Something sharp and inhumanly metallic. He leans in at her shoulder, standing over her, and his left hand settles against the door with a heavy sound of contact. It's gloved. Who wears gloves this time of year?

He pushes. His arm /whirs/. The door strains and pops open, drifting open an inch.

"I'm here for you, in fact," he mentions.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
The hairs on the back of Fred's neck rise. She remembers Sam warning her that they know about her, may know about the Hyperion. However, she settles. As the man moves up, she straightens, moving a bit to the side.

He's too close for comfort as far as she is concerned. The gloved hand makes a heavy sound against the door. The gloves are strange, it certainly makes her wary and she does not like how close he is to her. Despite her shift, he is right there, over her shoulder.

Then, the bomb drops. He is here for here. The shift in her demeanor is immediate and swift. The door pops open an inch and she tosses herself through it, grabbing the handle and throwing it backward against the leather coated man and holding her shoulder against it. This may be actually useless, but she doesn't know what else to do. A retreat through the hallway is impossible due to his boxing her in.

Winter Soldier has posed:
The man's quizzical blue eyes watch her as she slides under his arm and through the opening door, whipping around behind it and shoving hard to try to push and barricade him out. She might as well be trying to push a brick wall over.

His left hand lifts and the door slams against its palm. Her full weight and the weight of the door should have at least buckled his arm, if not sprained his wrist, but not a millimeter of him moves. It's like trying to slam a door shut on a steel bar. Fitting, given the fact that is literally what she is trying to do.

"I've heard about you," he continues, as if she weren't putting up a struggle, "but I haven't met you. I thought I'd fix that. Express some appreciation. You're keeping Sam very well-behaved."

He pushes on the door. His left arm spins up audibly like a piston. "What I'm not sure about is if I should reunite you both."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Fred shoves at the door and shoves at it, but it budges not one inch. There's a fierceness to it, her face a furrowed brow of determination and anger. "Metal Arm Man." She's not using the name that Claire used on him at the moment.

She's keeping same well-behaved? That increases her rage meter just slightly. Seeing that she can't completely shut the door against him, she backs up quickly. A hand reaches into her nightstand drawer and a gun is pulled out, holding it up against the man who says he wishes to reunite her with Sam.

"I've heard about you," she hisses at him. "Soldier." She doesn't actually know his codename, but Angel's description of him sticks in her mind. The gun is held competently, but she is shaking slightly. "Stop it. Just...just leave Sam alone. Please."

Winter Soldier has posed:
The Winter Soldier looks around the edge of the open door to observe Fred's intent attempts to shut it. His expression is aloof and interested, the look of a cat contemplating the fluttering struggles of a bird.

Metal Arm Man, she names him. /Soldier/. He grins, a crooked rakish smile that springs up from out of nowhere on his features; it looks more like it belongs on the face of a wholesome, all-American boy-next-door than it does on the face of an international Russian killer. His casual English, unaccented, just contributes to that oddity.

She's heard of him. "I'm sure you have," he agrees, and a sharp whine of his arm heralds him slamming the door abruptly open. Lucky she backed up an instant beforehand, or she'd be thrown against the wall. She's gone for her gun and is holding it on him now, her grasp competent but shaking, and he pauses in the midst of entering the room.

Just leave Sam alone, she demands.

He shrugs eloquently. "Sam has had a lot of strange things happening to him lately," he explains. "In the end, he might thank us for providing some guidance on the development of his unusual qualities."

His gaze flicks down to the muzzle of the gun. "Are you going to use that?" he asks, his lidded eyes bored.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
The oddity, the All-American smile and accent on The Winter Soldier's face certainly unnerves Fred. This entire situation is nerve wracking. This is the man is someone she has planned EMPs and magnet bombs against. However, planning and actually being in front of the man of their plans is different.

"You're //torturing// him," she hisses. "If there is anything strange happening to him, it's your fault." She certainly does not believe that Sam will thank them for what they are doing to him. "Where is he?" She's intent on that. Her focus is on finding where and how to help Sam. The idea that he might be studying her for some sort of reason is secondary to her.

As for whether she is going to use the gun, it remains up and pointed at him. "I'll shoot you if you come toward me." Who knows if she will actually be able to make the shot, though. Frowning, she studies him. "People think you might be able to be saved, but this is who you are, isn't it?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
Where is he? she demands. "Now why," the Soldier inquires reasonably, "would I tell you that? It's interesting that you seem real certain we're torturing him, though." His half-lidded blue eyes study her without blinking. "How would you know that?"

She informs him baldly that if he approaches, she'll shoot. He blinks once.

Then he closes distance with one, two long strides. His gloved left hand lifts smoothly into the line of her weapon's fire. If she pulls the trigger, the bullet will drive straight into his palm-- and deflect off, with a sharp sparking ping of metal on metal.

Half a second later, his hand vises shut around the muzzle of her weapon. His head cants, the mechanisms of his prosthetic winch steel fingers indomitably shut, and he crumples the barrel of her weapon into uselessness.

"You've been making plans, haven't you?" he asks. His voice is as harsh as the grinding of metal being crushed flat in his grip. "Let me tell you something. There's planning, Miss Burkle, and then there's execution. One is a lot harder than the other. So consider this your warning not to interfere."

He's not smiling anymore. "I don't know what this obsession is that people have with 'saving' me, but you should all start thinking about saving yourselves."

He stares at Fred a few moments more, as if silently mulling some decision. "Where is the brother?" he asks, presently.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
"You're keeping him against his will and saying you are 'helping' him. That generally implies torture," Fred spits back at him. "Brainwashing, who knows what else. It's never anything good."

As good as her word, when he steps forward, her finger pulls at the trigger and she shoots at the Winter Soldier. It's a straight shot, but he has ways of deflecting that. And then he closes the distance and closes his hand over the barrel of her gun, crushing it. She lets it go as he does so.

This is her warning not to interfere in the rescuing of Sam Winchester. She no longer has a weapon or anything with which to counter the man in front of her, but she attempts to look defiant. The truth is, she is terrified: both for herself and for Sam.

"I don't care about saving you," she tells him, the truth ringing in her conviction, the words hissed. "You are a menace and if I have to go through you to get to Sam? I will do it without hesitation." The question about Dean is met with a surprised look. They don't hvae Dean. It was a worry that festered in the back of her head. "He's looking for you," She tells him, even if she doesn't know that to be the exact truth. It might as well be.

Winter Soldier has posed:
The Winter Soldier is silent in the wake of Fred's defiance. His gaze is faraway, absent with thought; his left hand lowers back to his side, now holding the remnants of her weapon. He came to assess her, and now he knows: she has nothing else to wield against him. He can smell the utmost degree of her fear hanging in the air. The kind of fear a person emanates when they have nothing left to their name but brave words.

He has encountered it so many times, over the course of his long, long life, that he can instantly recognize it.

I don't care about saving you, she snarls. And Dean? He's looking for you. The words bring a brief smile to his face. "I'm sure you will try," he says, of her threats to go straight through him to get Sam. He opens his left hand and lets the twisted shape of the gun, no more than a warped piece of metal now, drop at Fred's feet.

"Well," he decides. "I think I'll leave you here, after all. The pining, it keeps him sad and docile."

And with that, he turns his back to walk right back out the door.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
The assessment on Fred's resources and state of mind is not wrong. He's done this for long enough to know exactly when a civilian like her has little to offer in the way of active resistance. With the gun crushed in his hand, she attempts to stand her ground, but when it drops with a muted clunk against the plush carpet at their feet, she can't help a small wince. That was her defense and he crushed it without a blink or a change of expressions.

"I'll do more than try," she assures Bucky, though she is sure to him it sounds mostly like bravado. However, she is sincere in those thoughts. While she might have allowed him to leave, his parting words cause a snarl of rage to cross her face.

She knows this has no point, that he is stronger than her in every way, but the instinct and the anger take over when he tells her how the have been using her to get to Sam. The threats against her have made it easier for them to hurt him and something inside her refuses to remain still. When he turns her back to her, she takes her thickest book - a veritable tome - and she lunges forward, attempting to brain him with it and also kick between his legs.

Winter Soldier has posed:
He is more than half expecting her to try something. His turned back, after all, is a blatant insult and thus its own form of invitation.

Such it is that when Fred loses the last scrap of her patience and lunges to attack, he seems prepared for it-- or at least braced against being struck. She strikes home, both times, though hitting him is like hitting a stone wall and not a human being, no give to him at all, little real effect yielded on his preternatural resilience. He staggers once, twice.

Then, a deep growl emanating up from his chest, he turns sharply to backhandedly /bat/ at her with his left arm. It is not a hard hit, not by his standards, but behind it is strength sufficient to scoop a woman her size from her feet and send her into the wall.

"Don't test me," he warns, before turning away again.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Fred is not a super soldier, nor is she a woman of boundless strength. Her attack hits home without seeming to do any sort of damage or even effecting the Winter Soldier. Then, the backhand hits her squarely against her face and she goes tumbling.

With a crack against the wall, Fred slides downward. The book slips out of her hands, hitting the ground wth another soft slap. It might not have been strong for the Winter Soldier's standards, but it was certainly strong enough to curtail the expected attack from Fred as well as slow any other attempt. A bruise is surely already forming on her cheek and shoulder. However, she slowly pushes herself upward, almost as if she is intent on attacking again.

Her room, though, is small and the determined stride of the Winter Soldier easily takes him out of her range before she can even push herself to a standing positoin. While she remains ready and poised for a few moments, she slumps back against the wall, a hand moving up toward her sore face. "We'll do this again," she promises. And next time? She'll be prepared.