9092/How Much Trouble Are We In

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How Much Trouble Are We In
Date of Scene: 06 September 2019
Location: Rooftop of New York City
Synopsis: Summary needed
Cast of Characters: Black Cat, Winter Soldier

Black Cat has posed:
The rooftops of Brooklyn haven't changed much in the past few weeks since the Soldier and the Cat crossed paths. If anything, they retain more heat from the day's lurid and beating sun. The temperatures are beginning to lessen, but not to any large degree -- pun intended.

Felicia isn't about to play about with wall-paints or sprays in her cat-suit, given the chance of staining the specialized fabric, but she does have a military-grade glowstick set up again in a large jam jar hung on a nearby nail. Patiently, she waits, sitting primly with ankles crossed on a strut. It extends out from the derelict remains of what could have been some concrete-lined third-story rooftop space dedicated to heavy machinery.

After all, from another burner phone came the text to Bucky's phone: <<Hope your luck has changed - meet me where the green light glows along the river.>>

Felicia checks her nails idly and glances around, her expression a touch concerned behind her domino mask. At least the air is soft and cleaner at this height above the streets. The breeze plays in her loose platinum-blonde hair.

Winter Soldier has posed:
The spiderfolk and the cat ladies and the bat clan all swing gracefully on their lines and cables, swooping like birds over the streets, leaping like they've got fairy tale seven league boots.

Grouchy Soviet cyborgs, however, have to do this crap the ordinary way. So rather than popping up out of nowhere, there's the patient metallic clang-clang-clang-clang of combat boots on the fire escape, followed by a metal hand clamping fingers into the soft brick of the parapet. Like nothing so much as a Terminator. Followed by a dark-haired head, and a body clad in a sweaty gray t-shirt and fatigues.

Bucky in summer smells like soap, sweat, and warm metal. Then he's squinting at her, as he swings his legs over to let boots crunch down on gravel, and says, in his best Bugs Bunny voice, "You called?"

Black Cat has posed:
As a cat might observe from atop the fridge, Felicia does the same once she hears the methodical footsteps making their way up the fire escape stairwell attached to the side of the abandoned building. It gives more than enough time to set herself up to an appropriately slouchy sit, letting her nearly rest her cheek on her shoulder as she watches the dark hair appear. Bucky gets a small smile, red as can be, true enough.

"I haven't watched that stuff since I was knee-high to a grasshopper," the thief singsongs from on high. The strut is about a dozen feet up, putting the Cat's booted feet about level with her guest's face. She doesn't deign to come down either; rather, her jade-green eyes linger to hold his own after she indulges in a silent down-and-up once-over.

"You don't look any worse for the wear. How's it working for the God of Asshattery?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
Something shifts behind his eyes, shadow behind shadow, like a tiger in the jungle. For a moment, it's the sleeper who looks out at her for a long, gauging moment, as if wondering if he could make the leap and bring her down with a clutch of those alloy fingers.

Then he looks down and shakes his head, not so much in denial as if to clear it, pushes his hand through his hair. It's loose for once. A glance up. "I'm doing okay. He's smart enough to not set me on anything I wouldn't want to do anyhow. You doin' okay?"

Black Cat has posed:
When Bucky averts his gaze, the Cat allows herself a hard swallow and a shiver. That: that is what she fears most, interacting with this man -- that the Russian boogie-man whose name is still whispered amongst some of her comrades with fear will show before her.

"Hmm. Smart." Delicately snide, the Cat rolls her eyes to one side. "Yeah... I'm fine," she admits, almost grudgingly. A silvery nail of her suit-glove curls up old wood beneath it as she drags it along the surface of the strut. "The Doctor's safe and found...and he's got something to do instead of worry himself sick over the state of the world."

Bucky gets a squint now. "What's he up to, your boss?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
For all the world like a dog with some cat half-treed on a fence or a fire escape. A toss of his head to get the bulk of that hair over his shoulder, a gesture that should be absurdly girlish, and somehow isn't. He doesn't sit, doesn't fold himself down to rest. Just continues looking at her, blue eyes level.

"I dunno," he says. "He doesn't confide in me, he doesn't tell me things. I'm just a puppet he likes to play with, now and again. Glad to hear the Doc's okay. He tryin'.....well, nevermind. You shouldn't tell me anything about that. That You Know Who might get outta me, one way or another. What you don't know, you can't be made to betray."

Black Cat has posed:
"Right. That's why I didn't tell you //precisely// what the Doctor was up to." Felicia doesn't seem happy for it and her slouch is definitely erring towards annoyed rather than sultry. Her gaze scans across the city; someone with a wisdom of the layout will recognize her attention towards Greenwich Village in particular. Regardless, the shadows pass from his face and she sits up to indulge in a stretch with fingers interlaced and inversed above her head. Needless to say, the view is flattering.

"You should be more nosy. I bet he'll get cocky and tell you things, since you're so good at acting servile." There's a twist to her nose despite the wry little smile down at Barnes. The thief belongs to no one, in her own estimation. She settles palms on the beam again, now swinging her ankles back and forth beneath her.

Winter Soldier has posed:
"I'll try," Buck doesn't sound terribly convinced. He gives up, props himself against a pillar. It's the first time he hasn't concealed the hand - no glove, though there's still one of those compression sleeves on the metal arm. "I don't think he'd much care, though. I .....what'm I gonna do to him?"

He lets his hair fall forward to veil his face, looks down at his boots. No protest as to *why* he's so good at being submissive.

Black Cat has posed:
"Put that metal hand around his throat and shake him like a rag doll?" Near silently but for the brief slither of suit-leather on the beam, the thief drops down at his level now. Her palms land on the rounds of her hips and she takes up a contrapposto pose as if it were second nature.

"I mean, just a suggestion," she continues with a charming note, as if she were attempting to convince Bucky to do this very thing. "No such thing as Shaken Asshat Syndrome in my book. I slapped him hard enough to make him stumble." Her eyes fall to the silvery hand, rise back to his face. "I know you're acting nice, buddy, and that's fine. It's safe. But if things get unsafe? You hit him -- for me." A flutter of lashes follows.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Now he looks up at her, and there's desperation in his face. "I can't. He has something over me .....he'll break my mind apart like an egg, if I mess with him. It's not a matter of being certain if I can take him physically or not. It's not that...."

Though the image is so tempting - that pale face empurpled with blood, above the grasp of those metal talons.

Black Cat has posed:
How wide her jade-green eyes go. Felicia almost brings up her fingertips to cover her mouth; instead, regaining momentary lost composure, her hand ends up fisted and tucked to her sternum. A deep sound in the back of her throat is, regardless, concern.

"That...bastard," she whispers, as if saying it any louder might summon the Trickster God to their locale. "Look, um...have you ever..." A white tooth frets the corner of her plumped bottom lip. "I mean, you fight fire with fire, so...maybe you could fight magic with magic? I kinda...know a guy?" Awkward offer, ahoy, complete with subtle wince about her darkly-lined eyes.