8366/Past-Tense Perplexion

Past-Tense Perplexion
Date of Scene:	17 July 2019
Location:	A bar in the Bronx
Synopsis:	Felicia informs Bucky of who let on to her about his status of Winter Soldier - or previous status - and shares enough to warrant a visit to a bar in the Bronx.
Cast of Characters:	Black Cat, Winter Soldier

---

Black Cat has posed:
It was a high for the cat-burglar to meet the Winter Soldier. However, it's been nagging her, his choice of words on the Brooklyn rooftop by the mural: "was".

-- "was" the Winter Soldier.

How does somebody with mountains of killer moxy and infamously legendary status in the underworld basically hit the 'undo' button and become...a normal guy again? Felicia would have asked around, but unfortunately, inquiring about the Winter Soldier tends to turn heads and either stop up mouths or get them running about either conspiracy theories or whether or not she's a HYDRA operative.

Ew, HYDRA. Scummy, no-good, zealous ass-wipes. The Cat has never been a fan of them or their choices, having watched their burgeoning empire fall and fall again in failed attempts against what she considers to be a set of titans impossible to beat. Plus, who wants to live in a world under HYDRA? Not her. Her little slice of the pie is hers and hers alone. Hiss, bapbap.

As such, more than a little preoccupied with this slip of the tongue, Felicia's been haunting the rooftops of Brooklyn every night on the off-chance she might see the man once more. After all, his accent was local. She'd been waiting on him to say "toydy toyd and toyd" at some point. Mister James Barnes...of Brooklyn. A simple Internet search had confirmed his connections to Captain America -- "Steve", his initial slip-up -- and she'd winced to read of him being K.I.A. The amount of time spanning the date and the current times... It makes the fine hairs on her neck rise to consider it even as she swings up in an arc to land on the scalloped edge of an old brownstone by the river. The thin, spidersilk-strong silver grappling line drifts away behind her as she rises slowly to her feet and scans the surrounding rooftops, given her perch is two stories higher. The night wind lifts her loose hair to tickle strands at her face and they drift past the edges of her black domino mask. She lifts a hand to carefully comb them out of her line of sight with the recurved claws at the end of her white gloves.

"If I were the Winter Soldier, where would I be...?" she muses to herself as she crouches down on the ledge, far more sleek and curvaceous in her deeply vee-necked catsuit than any brooding antihero. Eat your heart out, Batman.

Winter Soldier has posed:
There's a pleasant, sweet smell drifting on the early evening air. Incense of some kind? She can even see it, a thread of silvery white smoke lifting into the stillness from a rooftop. A smoke signal? Surely not


She finds him sitting by another mural. This one of the Moon Landing, though the golden reflective dome of the astronaut's helmet doesn't reflect another astronaut, but the Manhattan skyline - all momentarily illuminated by a lantern he's brought. He?s found another crate to sit on, tucked himself into the shade of the wall, and is sipping lazily on another root beer.

The incense is a stick stuck in the gravel, smoldering away.

Black Cat has posed:
The city is beautiful, in its way, when the sun sinks low enough to only glance from the uppermost spires of the skyscrapers. Lights in regular, ordered windows begin to shine and below, the traffic briefly lessens before the hum of nightlife begins. Felicia's scan of the skyline does catch the thin silvery wisping of the incense. She frowns.

"Oh wow. I didn't think people used smoke signals anymore. How old-fashioned of him." As she straightens and takes up a run along the rooftop's edge, headed for a springing leap to start her short journey, the thief laughs to herself. "He is old-fashioned, I guess."

A handful of arcing leaps later, the Black Cat arrives with a tumbling descent. Gravel schuffs quietly upon her landing and she remains crouched, one leg extended gracefully out. A white-gloved hand lifts to twiddle fingers at Barnes.

"I like the effect of the lamp -- very practical of you," comments the blonde lightly.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Not surprised this time, either. At least that he shows. He does, however, lift his hands and give her a golf clap. "Didn't know if you'd show up when it was bright enough to see," he points out. "And light draws the eye at night."

Buck shifts, bootheel grating on the gravel. "It's Black Cat incense," he explains. "Figured....if anything could work, it might." ....what? He's not a magician. Not anything like, unless you believe the very weirdest of the rumors attached to the Soldier.

Black Cat has posed:
A soft snort escapes her. Pulling in her foot with a slow grace akin to a modern dancer, Felicia then rises up to her full height. It's a deliberate display on multiple levels, not counting for her own amusement and to subtly remind the Soldier that she's not some slovenly wanna-be roof-runner. The suit hides little muscular definition anyways.

"Cute. Well, it worked this time," and she nods towards the thin stick still emitting its blue-grey tendrils of smoke. "So if the light draws the eye..." The woman narrows her attention on him. "...you were expecting me to show up?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
He, however....well, not all that overtly impressive. His usual civvy garb, complete with the sleeve over the arm. "Yeah. Sooner or later."

Snipers are patient, after all, right? "I met and talked to Spiderman. He tried to deny knowing you, but man, that kid's a crap liar," Buck's voice is matter of fact. "He got all shirty when I called him on it, so rather than wait for him to try and pick up his balls in his hands and come talk to you, I figured I'd see if I couldn't find you again myself."

Black Cat has posed:
The black domino about her kohl-lined eyes is thin enough for the rise of her eyebrows to be easily seen. Felicia then squints as she places her palms on the rounds of her hips.

"I don't think Google Translate does old-timey jargon, so I'm going to assume that I know what you just said to me. You met Spidey -- good job. He's a good kid, but..." Her hand lifts palm-down and tips back and forth like a set of scales. "Yeah, you corner him about anyone with a nice figure and he can't string a sentence together. It's endearing. Kind of like watching a puppy fall down the stairs repeatedly."

Her jade-green regard scans over him and return to his face. "So you confirmed that Spidey knows me -- I'm not a liar. Tsk. What's'it to yah, soldjah?" The Bronx accent is playful.

Winter Soldier has posed:
"No? He had to google something I said. Instead, just, y'know, asking like a human being what I meant. Yeah, he had some girl he'd just met but was obviously pop-eyed over show up, and he was tripping over his own feet. He makes Steve look like Casanova."

He waves his human hand. "Anyway, what I was after asking him about you was just....how'd you know that the Soldier'd been made out of James Barnes? That's pretty highly classified info in most places." Despite his apparently casual attitude, his eyes are worried, gleaming in the pale light.

Black Cat has posed:
The new paramour is enough to make Felicia go markedly still, if only for a betraying second. It's more than long enough for someone trained in espionage to mark, especially when followed by a shift in weight and a fretting of the corner of her red-red lip.

Regardless, the Cat turns and begins to idly saunter over to the edge of the roof. "Let's see...how did I come across it..." Her tone isn't entirely coy. It's apparent she's having fun toying with him despite the wisdom of not doing as such. Pausing at the edge, she inhales and exhales, as if scenting the night air. "Would you believe me when I tell you that if you get enough liquor into //anyone//, they'll spill the beans? Especially if they're...a little cuckoo for cocoa puffs." A fingertail draws a circling motion alongside her head to indicate craziness as she glances over at Bucky.

Winter Soldier has posed:
She can't possibly.....well, no, Steve has an actual girlfriend, the impossible can happen, when it comes to good-hearted dorks. He's pokerfaced, lapsing into that remote stillness. Hunched forward, arms resting on his knees.

No sign of impatience, as he regards her. He's worked with the queen of the Widows, this kitty.....well, no one surpasses Natasha. "Yeah, I'd believe it," he says, promptingly.

Black Cat has posed:
The stoic facade has Felicia's lips curling at the corners. "I bet you don't believe everything you hear either," she murmurs. Her eyes fall to the incense stick. Stooping slowly at the waist, sure to face him, she plucks the stick from the gravel. Upon straightening upright once more, she continues talking. The glowing end of the incense writes in silver letters against the darkening night sky.

"It turns out that I was in the right place at the right time. Of all the gin bars I could've walked into..." She's sure to shoot Bucky a wink for the movie quote. "Anyways. It turns out that this musty old place I ended up at was a collecting point for retired CIA agents. I know, ballsy of me." Long clawed fingers spread on her sternum in mild dramaticism, as if even the thief can't believe she were there. "They'd been drinking for hours and this old guy, Hank, starts ranting about the Winter Soldier. I'd //heard// of you before, but this? This was something else. The rest of the guys at the table all rolled their eyes as he went on and on and //on//. He dropped a name -- yours -- at one point, said you'd been marked as K.I.A. and by god, the government's a liar!" A soft, lyrical laugh leaves her as she smiles at Bucky. "They're the worst, the government...aren't they?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
"Well, I didn't just fall off the turnip truck yesterday," he says, mildly. Watching her gaugingly, without any of the appreciation she might expect.

"Well, Mr. Hank was right in essence, if wrong in terms of intent. So far's I know, it took a long damn time for someone to figure out who I used to be. I mean, Captain America comes back from a mission, says this guy fell off a mountainside in the freezing ass end of the winter, they aren't gonna bust their humps looking for a body. And then .....well, I've lasted a lot longer than a guy from 1917 should." He rolls one shoulder in a half-shrug.

Black Cat has posed:
Felicia continues drawing random designs on the night air, not paying much at all to what the curling smoke is doing now. "You certainly don't look half-bad for one-hundred and two, buddy. Whatever your secret is, you should sell it to Almay...or maybe Avon. They'd pay you a pretty penny for it." The fingertips of her free hand, pointer and thumb, rub together to evince dollar bills.

"Still...how'd you get out of being the scariest damn thing this side of the Volga River? Seriously. That CIA agent was going on and on and I've never seen anyone get so uncomfortable at the nearby tables. It was like mentioning your name would summon you out of the shadows like Beetlejuice or something."

Winter Soldier has posed:
His smile is mirthless, thin, and gets nowhere near his eyes. If anything, he looks faintly sick - tipping his head back, exhaling slowly, as if to suppress nausea. "It's ....not somethin' you can bottle and sell. Believe me, they been tryin' since 1943."

He finally remembers the root beer bottle, picks it up, chugs half of it, adam's apple bobbing. Wipes his mouth with the back of his human hand, and intones, managing to make the little tune sound like a slightly off-key dirge, "I get by with a little help from my friends, mmm, I get high with a little help from my friends..."

Black Cat has posed:
Those red-red lips part in a subtle moue of concern. Silvery curls of smoke continue to rise from the glowing tip of the incense stick, but this has fallen still now.

"...christ on a cracker, what in the hell did they do to you...?" Felicia's voice has fallen to a pensive volume now. A few steps are a hazard in closing distance to the man with eyes containing all the sadness of the world. Still, she stops short of him and frowns down at Bucky, as if he were some sudden problem to resolve.

Winter Soldier has posed:
That smile broadens a few degrees, albeit on one side....going lopsided, heading for a smirk, before it turns into a purse-lipped moue. Still humorless, despite his attempt at a smile. And he looks up at her from under his lashes, and says, root beer bottle dangling from his hand, "Oh, sister, what didn't they do to me."

Black Cat has posed:
The thief purses her own lips now. "Am I supposed to guess at what they did to you? I don't think I want to. Look...never mind, don't tell me. My imagination can do it justice, I bet, given it's HYDRA." A disgusted shake of her head brings locks of platinum-blonde hair to fall forwards over her shoulder. "They're such douche-bags."

She then squats down before him, bringing her face down to his level. The incense stick is stuck in the gravel once more. Felicia's eyes search the man's face, her own gone unusually sober. "My guy's a doctor, if you need one." This is also an unusual offer. "His methods are a kind of strange, but...he still knows his stuff." Something twinkles through her eyes; it's probably the pun.

Winter Soldier has posed:
"No, you don't need to guess," he says, gently. "Yeah, it probably can." Buck's....not exactly huddled in on himself, but the whole line of his body's more defensive. Back against the wall.

The offer of help from a doctor makes his lips tighten. It takes him a beat before he can swallow, and then reply. "No, thanks," Voice still gentle. "I got doctors." When they can get him within range of sickbay, as it were.

Black Cat has posed:
"You've got doctors, but..." Felicia allows herself a small, prideful smile. "Not like him. Still, you ever want a second opinion... He's Doctor Strange." Stephen probably won't appreciate his services being offered up as such, but hey, he's not here to censor the Cat. "He lives over in Greenwich Village in the old brownstone house with the big weirdly-designed window. Have you heard of him? I bet Captain America knows him -- I mean, Steve."

Her eyes flicker over him again and, seeming to realize her error in assuming this distance, the thief gracefully shuffles back a half-leg's length. She takes up her crouch once more, comforable with her hands rested on her knees to hang crossed in the empty space by her shins. "You know I'm not going to eat you, right?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
"Heard of him, yeah," Buck concedes. But that's all. "Steve knows lots of people. I'll ask him." Hey, he's trying to be polite. Doctors, though. Ugh.

That question has him tilting his head at her, just a little. "I didn't think you were," he says, tone quizzical. Where's she going with this?

Black Cat has posed:
A soft, almost sympathetic chuckle leaves the thief. "You didn't think I was? You're almost back-flat to the wall now, Mister Barnes. I've got no weapons on me -- and besides, where would I keep them?" White gloves gesture at her own figure and the answer is clear enough: reeeeeeeeally probably nowhere.

"Like I said: I'm not going to eat you. We're just talking like civilized people," Felicia continues. "I mean, you're doing a great job of glowering though. I bet people tell you your face will get stuck like that if you keep doing it. It's a handsome face, we wouldn't want that." The blonde tries for a charming and obviously couquettish smile now.

Winter Soldier has posed:
It's on the tip of his tongue to say that people make that assumption about Natasha Romanoff *all the time*. But some last shred of discretion has him biting it back before he says something foolish.

He only snorts at that, rubs at his face with his human hand. "Sorry. Usually I've got a dog handy to keep people from getting too close." Lili would be firmly interposing herself between them, wouldn't she?

Black Cat has posed:
"A dog?" Felicia blinks at the idea - a dog making people give him space? "Oh. Ohhhhhh, yes, like a service dog. That's nice. I have a cat myself, but he's not useful." She frets at the corner of her lip for a moment, eyes downcast and to the side, before she rallies again.

"I mean, he's a cat. He sleeps a lot and he purrs when he snuggles with me, so I guess that's relaxing. He was a gift." The way she says this has the very faintest note of disappointment.

Winter Soldier has posed:
"Yeah, a service dog," he agrees, quietly. He doesn't seem particularly fearsome - this is the CIA's nightmare? The thing that had veteran agents looking over their shoulders in a smoky bar?

"I mean, you don't got mice, that's about all a cat's good for," he adds, mildly. Out of the pockets of his pants come the cigarettes and the lighter. Unfiltered Luckies, of course.

Black Cat has posed:
"I think you underestimate cats," opines the Cat lightly with a crooked grin of her own. Irony accepted. "There wouldn't be any mice in the house anyways, not with how the Doctor keeps house. I mean...maybe magical mice, but they'd be made of fluff and the off-chance he sneezed during a spell." A piece of gravel from the roof gets flicked off idly to one side and plinks off a nearby metal structure.

Winter Soldier has posed:
A glint of something in his eyes. No asking if she purrs and makes the Doctor relax - that's asking to get slapped, and she's been forthcoming so far. "This Hank....this bar, where was it?" he wonders, veering back towards that subject.

Black Cat has posed:
Her white teeth flash in a broad grin and she outright laughs at Bucky. "I wondered if you'd want to know more about that. What, you're going to go be the boogeyman at him now, since he blew your cover? I promise you, I was the most sober one there. Nobody else probably remembers crazy old Hank ranting."

Still, Felicia looks over her shoulder towards the north side of the city. "If you want to go see if he's still there blabbing, it's over in the Bronx. I think the name was something like...Rookie's Mark. Rudy's Mark? Rudy's...something," she mutters with a 'pfeh' to follow. "You can't miss it. It has a bright green four-leaf clover neon sign in the window."

Winter Soldier has posed:
Buck concedes the point with a tip of his head. "Maybe not. I'll just, uh, I just wanna talk to him. I'm not out to scare some old man." He takes a deep breath, sighs, and lights up. The light of the ember ebbs and brightens over the planes of his face. "I'll give it a look. Not a cop bar, is it?"

Black Cat has posed:
"Deeeeeeeefinitely not a cop bar. If anybody's got any military experience there, they're old fuddy-duddies like Hank. I mean, you see buzz-cuts now and then and there are some men there built like brick walls, but I don't think they're cops. Cops... I'm good at spotting them, even undercover." Felicia smirks to herself. It is a part of the job description, after all.

"I bet the bartender would point out who Hank was if you asked him. His name is Rob. He's a nice guy. He makes a mean Moscow Mule, if that's your kick."

Winter Soldier has posed:
"A'right," he says. "Thanks," Buck takes a deep drag, the cigarette held beween first and second fingers, shoots the smoke sideways out of the corner of his mouth. Politeness, of a kind. "Never had one. I don't really drink."

Black Cat has posed:
"There's always time to try something new," the Cat singsongs, her grin only growing. "It'll be a good experience for you, I think, finding Hank. He had a lot to say about you. You can let him know what's right and what's wrong. It'll make his day. Just...don't be too hard on his pacemaker."

Far below on the street, a car horn sounds and the clamor of New York-ese rises in the night. Felicia uncoils from her crouch and pads to lean out over the edge of the roof. Her murmur is wryly amused. "Somebody's having some bad luck...and I didn't cause it."

Winter Soldier has posed:
With that, he uncoils, slowly, from his seat on the crate. Takes a last drag from the cigarette, drops it and grinds it out under a bootheel. "The song of my people," he observes, stretching, one hand at the small of his back. "Well, thanks, Black Cat. I'll tell Hank you said hi."

Black Cat has posed:
Glancing back over her shoulder, Felicia then turns to curtsey again, precisely as she did the first time she came across this odd man on the rooftops of Brooklyn. Yes, this does entail a deep bend at her waist.

"You're welcome to, but he probably won't remember me or know who I am. I wasn't in this suit when I was enjoying my Moscow Mule there last time," she replies with a prim dusting of the black fabric over her hips, now that she's upright once more. "I'll leave you to plan. You're welcome to tell me how it went if you see me again, soldier."

Bucky gets a grade-A Rockette-style pose and salute along with a jade-green wink. "Good luck," she carols a last time before she simply...

...throws herself backwards from the rooftop in an arcing swan-dive. SURPRISE --

-- to swing away via grappling line.