8326/A Second Shadow in the Gloam

A Second Shadow in the Gloam
Date of Scene:	15 July 2019
Location:	Brooklyn
Synopsis:	Bucky can't appreciate the street-art murals around Brooklyn without interruption, it seems. Felicia finds out that Barnes is more than he seems.
Cast of Characters:	Winter Soldier, Black Cat

---

Winter Soldier has posed:
The shadows are long on the rooftops of Brooklyn. Lili's at home, dozing in the airconditioned cool of Buck's rooms. But Buck himself is out and about, practicing a little urban infiltration....and investigating the high tide line of graffiti on the poorer rooftops of the borough.

So Barnes is sitting on a crate on a rooftop, munching stolidly through a sandwich, taking sips from a bottle set by his boots. He's got a battered pack by his side....and he's dressed in worn fatigue pants, a gray t-shirt (now more than a little sweaty), and a sleeve cover over the arm. At the moment, he's looking at a stylized mural of the Avengers, done in neon colors, sprawling over the brick wall before him.

Black Cat has posed:
Whyever Felicia is in Brooklyn is a mystery known only to the Cat herself. It might have been to steal anything from a bite to eat to a priceless heirloom. Regardless, the cat-burglar lands one roof over and behind the seated Soldier. It's for a breather and she takes her time, blowing a slow sigh and rolling her shoulders in her black catsuit. In her peripheral vision, the falling sun's glint from the bottle beside Barnes' feet catches her attention.

She immediately ducks and slinks down to the shadow of an awning boots-first, watching to see if she too was in turn seen.

It appears not...not at this distance. Most carefully, exercising extreme care not to make a peep of a sound, Felicia makes her way one roof closer to Bucky. Once on the same surface, she crawls up onto a nearby raised section of the building, perhaps an outlet for an indoor stairwell.

Her shadow stretches long and slinks across Bucky's lap, announcing her crouched presence without words. Long blonde hair falls loosely over her shoulders and behind her domino, jade-green eyes narrow in interest. What's this guy doing up here, of all places?

Winter Soldier has posed:
He doesn't seem startled to see her, somehow, looking up from his contemplation of the mural. As if this were an expected thoroughfare. The bottle proves to be root beer, of all things. How tame.

She gets a mute upnod in greeting, before he finishes the rest of the bottle, sets it down on the gravel with a mild clink.

Black Cat has posed:
Felicia's red lips rise at their corners in a smile which could fall to knowing by nature. Her own uptilt of chin coincides with a shifting of weight to one boot and the rest of her weight on this boot in turn, her spine straightening to center balance between her palm splayed on sun-warmed brick and her thighs.

"Come around here often, stranger?" Her voice is quiet and yet sweet, transparently interested, and contains a note of laughter -- she's fully aware of how it sounds like a terrible pick-up line heard at bars around the world.

Winter Soldier has posed:
That earns her a hint of a smile, the merest quirk of one corner of his mouth. The long, dark hair is pulled back into a neat tail. "Nah. 's my first time," he says, easily. Then he cuts his eyes to the mural. "That your work?"

Black Cat has posed:
Felicia eyes the mural. "Nope. I'm an art afficianado, not an artist myself. Besides, I would've made Thor's muscles bigger. He's a brick wall even out of his armor," she points out with the confidence of someone who's clearly met the man in-person. Her eyes fall to the empty bottle and back to this stranger's face. "I'm going to guess you're a local by the accent and the fact that you could make your way up here without A: letting anyone see, and B: without an ounce of worry."

Her smile deepens. "You have a name to go with that upnod?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
"Yeah, he is," Buck agrees, still in that mild voice. "They made Steve a little oversized. 's a presence thing, I guess." He nods again at her guesses. "Yep. Away for a while, but now I'm back. I'm James." He doesn't offer a hand. She isn't near enough.

Black Cat has posed:
"James. Nice to meet you." The greeting floats over to him alongside a jaunty little salute of two fingers from her temple and out. It might bring to notice the curled tips of the white gloves, like cat's claws. Rising to her feet with a self-assurred grace, Felicia let steps down from the raised rooftop's ledge and to the same level as Bucky.

"You're welcome to call me Cat if you'd like." A few sauntering steps bring her closer, but not enough still for a handshake. She's svelte in her suit, curved where appreciable, and her hands come to rest on her hips. "Now...I heard you call somebody 'Steve'. Not just anybody calls Captain America 'Steve'. What's your last name, James?" Oh yes, she's being blatantly nosy.

Winter Soldier has posed:
"Barnes," he says. Not disposed to play games with her. Not those games, anyhow. "Pleasedameetcha, Cat," he says, stretching his legs out. Big, battered combat boots scrape on the gravel. "You min' if I smoke?" HE apparently means it sincerely - he hasn't fished out the pack of cigarettes, yet.

Black Cat has posed:
"Oh sure, smoke if you want. Your funeral." Felicia has no idea this is a graduate of Zola's efforts and a super-soldier with immunity to cancer, but her filter doesn't extend to sympathies of nicotine. "Well...James Barnes." She repeats the name as if it might jog a memory somehow. "Hmm. It rings a bell. I'll remember later."

Another slinkity step closer and she eyes him from boots to brown hair. "So, you're...in the military?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
She doesn't recognize it....and that tickles him. "Don't mind if I do." He rummages in one of the pack's side pockets, comes up with a packet of unfiltered Luckies, and pats himself down until one of the pants pockets yields a Zippo. He flicks it alight with a chiming clink. "Used'a be Army," he says, lazily, and takes a deep drag. "While ago."

Black Cat has posed:
"Hmm. Bet you're happy to be out of it. No more goose-stepping and bugle-horns and sir-yessir." The Cat laughs to herself at the idea, given she's never had a single inkling of an inclination to join the reserves. This one's far too selfish to think beyond herself if not a close gathering of friends she's picked so very carefully over the years.

There's a nearby air duct outlet rising from the roof and given James's demeanor so far, the thief elects to sit primly upon it. He's not drawn a handgun or anything of the sort. "So you know the Avengers...?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
"Well, I liked it okay," he allows. Kids now....can they understand what a gift three hot meals, uniforms, and pay to send back to Steve was? Knowing that Rogers'd be able to keep the lights and the heat on, pay for food and medicine....His head shake is only mild, reminiscent. But he looks to her at that question. "I wouldn't say that. I know Steve. Rest of 'em, nah." No threat in his body language. He seems quite content to sit there like a bump on a log.

Black Cat has posed:
"Just Steve."

Those jade-green eyes narrow. "Hmm..." A handful of second pass as the Cat outright surveils the super-soldier comfortably seated with his cigarette and empty rootbeer bottle. He'll recognize the kind of visual profiling he's getting; anyone with half a reason to scamper at the first sign of danger as well as someone very used to profiling on the fly generally takes this amount of time.

"...no way," she then murmurs, mostly to herself, her tone full of disbelief. Some conclusion has been drawn.

Winter Soldier has posed:
He doesn't seem to mind the scrutiny, smoking with lazy deliberation. Stretching out his arm to ash to one side, delicately. She gets his profile for that little while: heavy lids, slightly too long upper lip, the mournful air he tends to wear in repose. Then he looks over at her, dark brows rising. "What?" he says, mildly.

Black Cat has posed:
The thief leans in towards him where she sits, her balance impeccable despite the distribution of her weight towards her shoulders. "...you're him." Her eyes fall to his left arm in particular, sporting its sleeve, and flick back to his face, full of suspicion and what appears to be a growing enthusiasm for their interaction. "Boy, do //you// have a reputation. What's this, some sort of good-old-boy routine?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
Buck's expression goes dry, at that. "I'm definitely a him, but I'm not gonna let you lift my tail to check, either," he says, brow furrowing. "Yeah, how's that? I'm easy, but I'm not cheap, that what they say?"

Black Cat has posed:
Settling back into her seating, Felicia daintily crosses her legs and lets one foot idly swing to a beat only she knows. Her lips have now curled enough and parted to reveal a sliver of white teeth.

"If I wasn't very sure you can pip an ace at a thousand yards, I might take you up on your little slip of tongue there, soldier." A beat. "I mean...the Winter Soldier." She lifts a hand and shakes a clawed finger, tick-tock, back and forth -- tsk-tsk. "You had me fooled for a second there. I'd say that you'd be //amazed// at how word travels in the underworld around here, but I bet you're not." Inhaling deeply, the thief rolls her shoulders languidly and grins coyly. "Boy, do I get to have bragging rights now. I met the Soldier and lived."

Winter Soldier has posed:
There's a moment where the blue eyes are very cold, indeed, as he looks at her. "You didn't," he says, after those few beats of frozen pause. "The Soldier's dead. He's long gone. I'm James Barnes." Tone flatter than a Kansas highway....but he seems very firm on that front. "'sides, what do you know about the Winter Soldier?"

Black Cat has posed:
The thief doesn't seem too perturbed by the dead fish look she gets in return for her semi-bluff. However, the wording of the man's reply only (unfortunately) piques her curiosity like a match on a pile of kindling.

"What do //I// know of the Winter Soldier? Gosh, I //guess// I'll stroke your pride..." Felicia demures with a wry twist of her lips. "He's scary stuff. He has a kill list a mile long and he's basically the Russian boogeyman. I seem to remember something about eyeliner too. It takes a brave man to wear eyeliner, da?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
"If he's Russian, and you think I'm local.....what makes you think I'm him?" Buck asks, as he taps ash to one side. His lips have thinned out....and then he closes his eyes deliberately. "Do I look like I'm wearing eyeliner to *you*?" No, no hint of kohl or warpaint or whatever it was. He seems pretty natural on the cosmetic front.

Black Cat has posed:
Swiftly and silently, Felicia closes the distance between them on an impulse while those eyes are shut. When Bucky opens his eyes again, she's standing and leaning in rudely close to his face. Her gaze flickers between his pale irises and she grins, her platinum-blonde hair falling loosely off her shoulders.

"Nope, no eyeliner right now. I think you're him because you're James Barnes and you...call Captain America by his first name. I pay attention," she explains airily and with a flutter of her eyelashes.

Winter Soldier has posed:
She got him - he jerks back, though he doesn't fall off the crate he was sitting on. "I am James Barnes," he agrees, hastily scooting back. "But I'm not the Winter Soldier. Not now." Semantics? Amnesia?

Black Cat has posed:
"Not...now...?" Her pitch sweeps up like the wave following a cat's tail. Felicia straightens slowly, leading with her chest, and again, her hands end up on her hips. One booted foot lands on the crate revealed by Bucky sliding away and she rests her toe there as if it belonged without contesting.

"You say that like you've got an on and off switch." Her head tilts coquettishly to one side. "...what turns you on, Soldier?" asks she so blithely.

Winter Soldier has posed:
"Nah. More like he got removed, like a tumor," he says, with a last drag on his cigarette. A plume of smoke blown off to the side - not rude enough to blow smoke in her face. The slang seems to escape him. "No switch."

Black Cat has posed:
The sense of anticipation, perhaps waiting for another smart comment to fly back across the proverbial court, gutters in her expression. It's replaced with a note of confusion. How...how did that compute?

"...I can see that, yeah. No switch," Felicia agrees with a note of complaint. "I guess that's a good thing. You can definitely pull off the Average Joe stuff without any of the murder-taint in your body language. Did you know that somebody, one time, told me that you had a murder strut? And that you were so good at it, you could do it in heels. Is that true?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
It fell flat as a clay pigeon, that. "I don't understand you. That doesn't make any sense," he says, as he grinds out the cigarette against a brick. "Never wore heels. People tell stories about the Soldier. Doesn't mean they're true."

Black Cat has posed:
Felicia's expression falls into the realm of concerned now. "You know, I get the impression that you don't get out much. A murder strut. Like, how you walk when you're wanting to get from point A to point B and you're going to go through anyone to get there?" A lifted finger gestures from her left side and then to her right side to accentuate her point.

She brings her boot down from the crate's edge and stands there now, contrapposto and svelte in her suit. An evening breeze flutters around the ruff at her suit's vee neckline and wristlets.

Winter Soldier has posed:
She's puzzled him, that's clear. That little stitch between his brows. "No, I don't get out much," he agrees, bemused. He's taken the Zippo out, begun to toy with it, lightly. "Never heard of it before." A hint of the old accent - nevah hoyd.

Black Cat has posed:
How the Cat's able to snap her fingers so crisply in those gloves has to be a quirk of the fabric itself. She does as such even as a relaxation of understanding comes over her face. "Oh, right, right. You know Captain America -- you're his pal. I forget, you're about as old as he is. You look good for a dinosaur." She winks at the Soldier.

"Anyways, walking like that's called a murder strut. Hearsay is that you were good at it." The thief's grammar makes conciliatory note of the past state of being Winter himself.

Winter Soldier has posed:
"I'm older'n him," he says, nodding. "By a little bit." Six months out of a hundred plus. "And....I dunno." He shrugs, flicking the Zippo open and closed with his thumb. "Who would you talk to that would even know?" he adds, curiously.

Black Cat has posed:
The Cat allows what should be a very familiar mysterious smile cross her lips. It's the look of self-satisfaction that all women wear at one point around men, if not to yank their chain then because they know they have a card up their sleeve.

"You haven't figured out who I am yet, have you? Spiderman likes to keep mum about things, I see," she replies evasively.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Buck shakes his head without hesitation. "No idea," he says, before wiping stray hair away from his brow. "I heard of Spiderman, never talked to him."

God, he's obtuse, this old relic. And to think, once upon a time, he was the suave one.

Black Cat has posed:
"He's a kick to talk to. You'll be more updated on your modern-day slang and pop-culture in five minutes with him than you would be trying to look things up online. If you get bored, ask your friend Steve. I bet he's learned a few things from Spidey."

Regardless, Felicia then picks up the imaginary hems of a dress-skirt and curtsies, her dip forwards far more pronounced than necessary to make her playful point. "I am the Black Cat, Mister Barnes. My reputation precedes me to those who are smart enough to pay attention. You got lucky today."

Winter Soldier has posed:
"We used to have higher standards for what we called 'getting lucky'," he informs her, utterly deadpan. "But I understand this is the 21st century and a very different age. Pleased to meet you, Miss Cat. Now....are you unlucky for those who cross your path? Or is it that you're a witch's familiar?"

...was that him trying to rally? He even bows a little, from where he's sitting.

Black Cat has posed:
The Cat straightens out of her curtsey and folds her arms, her lips pulling into a pursing.

"I bet you used to be a gentleman back in the Dark Ages too, Mister Barnes. I'm nobody's familiar and yes, I can be about the worst case of bad luck you could wish on yourself. I don't suggest it," she fires back in the same dry tone of voice.

Winter Soldier has posed:
"I've had about all the bad luck I could ever take, so have mercy, huh, sister?" he says, ruefully. "Yeah, I used to be okay at pretending I was."

There's that weary light in the blue eyes, as he regards her. She reminds him, for a moment, of Natasha.

Black Cat has posed:
"I don't toss the power around for fun. Like I said earlier, you got lucky," the thief repeats of herself more quietly yet. She recognizes the wounded look if not the flicker of recognition Barnes takes in her person. "It's not about mercy. Anyone who gets snake-eyes on my behalf had it coming."

She shrugs, arms still folded. "You're a nice guy, even if you're a jerk who pretends to be dumber than he is. Look..." Felicia waves a hand off her bicep and sighs. "Forget you saw me anyways. I don't usually do this idle chitchat stuff. Enjoy your...mural...gazing, I guess, Mister Barnes."

A jaunty little salute to make mockery of military poise and Felicia saunters off towards the nearby rooftop's edge and simply...drops off of it.

Like a lunatic.

-- to swing away via her grappling lines as Spiderman himself might, headed back towards Greenwich Village.