Owner	Pose
James Barnes	Yes, it's much more superheroic/villainous to go swooping from rooftop to rooftop. But it's also *cold* out there now....and if you're wanting to blend in with the mass of the city at large, no better way to do it than to mingle with the hoi polloi on the underground. It's Saturday night, it's still plenty busy, coming and going, Brooklyn to Manhattan and back. There's the comforting rattle and sway of the train. Passengers board and debark, bodies brushing by..... ....which means that it's honestly kind of hard to tell when the boy in the ball cap and parka and hoodie gets on. Of *course* he's just the kind of jackass to spread out like he bought real estate, denim-clad thigh leaned against hers. He at least seems to be absorbed in his phone.
Felicia Hardy	The young woman seated and absorbed in her own phone goes subtly stiff. Her kohl-lined jade-green eyes slide to lead her face in a quarter-turn towards him. They fall to his leg and linger as a subtle curl of disgust contorts her red-red lips. Felicia's braided hair gleams in the subway car's lighting as she shifts to one side, gaining herself a mere half-centimeter of personal space. A trite and quiet little 'hmph' leaves her as she looks back to her phone. She's in a deliciously-fitted hunter-green trench-coat lined with silvery faux-fur along its hood, neckline, and cuffs. Her riding boots, glossy and dark-brown, reach her knee and her blue jeans are tucked into these. There are some spectacularly-high heels involved. She momentarily takes account of where this kid's foot is in case one of the narrow points needs to be jammed into it. "Give a girl some space, eh, buddy?" Her tone is venomously polite.
James Barnes	He doesn't look up from his phone. Oh, god, he's got those stupid wireless earbud things in, surely he didn't hear her. At least, he doesn't respond....beyond hastily reclaiming that little fraction of space. Not much visible there - dark scruff on his chin, black gloves on his hands. Is he playing some game on his phone? Surely......there's a little animatronic sprite, rendered in old-school 8-bit definition, red, white and blue, leaping from platform to platform, winging his little pixelated shield at white star targets. Is that......it can't be.
Felicia Hardy	Slowly, Felicia sighs as she looks up from her own phone again. Her shift in weight, counter to his own, is to place the heel of her boot very lightly and deliberately on the flat top surface of his shoe. "Alright, buddy, you have three seconds to give me my space before I jam this between your metatarsals and make your mother very sorry she never taught you manners," the Cat says, now wearing a cold smile to match the tone of voice and looking dead at the side of the guy's face. ...wait.
James Barnes	That needle point meets the resistance of steel beneath the leather. Of course he's wearing steel-toes. All the better to kick the crap out of you with, my dear. There's the glint of pale eyes beneath the shadowed brim of his cap, the curl of a conspiratorial smile. And on his phone, he must've beaten a level, because there's a shower of red, white, and blue stars, and the little sprite sends his shield bouncing off the edges of the screen, catches it, and gives the 'camera' a thumbs-up.
Felicia Hardy	It is the steel-toed make-up of the boots along with Felicia marking the particular line of jaw, including scruff, which has her suspicious. Then comes the gleam of the ice-blue eyes and that grin: ding, memory brings to mind a face and a name. She scoffs into a closed fist -- no, coughs a few times because //she isn't laughing, damnit//. "You're a ballsy son of a bitch, you know that?" the thief murmurs, now smirking despite herself. "What the hell are you doing down here? Where's Fluffy?" To be of note, she leaves the heel on his boot and her own leg touching his with more pressure, as if she'd scoot him aside into his own seat by dint of force. Two can play this game, after all.
James Barnes	Good luck on winning the game of assassin footsie; he may not wear his jeans fashionably skinny, but it's all too clear he's all muscle in the thighs. And then he abruptly moves his foot, hooking his ankle around hers. Two can play at this game. She can feel what might be a steel shank there - no, that's a knife, palpable behind the leather. The grin broadens. "Me?" he asks, innocently. "I'm just on my way home from a busy night out. She's at home, dozing on the bed. Needed a nap." He smells cleanly of soap, the tang of metal, the faint trace of cinnamon gum.
Felicia Hardy	Good luck winning the game of assassin footsie against someone who can bench-press two tons when she focuses. Still wearing her coy grin, even despite the sobering reminder of a knife hidden away, Felicia begins to exert force against him now, from knee to hip. Guess someone's taking a slow slide along the bench at this point! "Gosh, even good girls need naps, it's true. I had one today, it was delightful. What kept you busy tonight, soldier?" The Cat wears her usual perfume overtop, its accents golden and sweet in vanilla and caramel; there's a floral note in whatever is keeping wispies from emerging from her braided hair.
James Barnes	He lets her push him, bumping over to the next seat....but she's coming along with, or so the way he's twined his leg with hers would indicate. He's shut down his phone, tucked it away, put a hand up to the bar at the end the section of seats they're on. A flick of a look for her - he's raised his head, no longer trying to conceal his face. Amused, indeed. "This and that," he says, cheerfully vague. "All done and heading him to my well-earned rest." Where does he live? Does she know? Does she guess?
Felicia Hardy	It's a little win, at least in her book, to shove the dreaded Winter Soldier down an entire seat. The platinum-blonde stops after a second and claims her territory by unfolding her legs and settling the free foot on the subway car's flooring. After all, the other is now counter-tangled around Bucky's leg -- touche. Felicia arches a delicately-manicured eyebrow at him. "A well-earned rest, huh? Hey, we all need those." The assassin gets another sly grin before some of the glee seems to melt from her face. It's replaced by something he probably recognizes as consideration. Of course, that's all wiped once more by an absolute glitter of charm. "So...friend of mine..." Felicia even //dares// to try and thread an arm through Bucky's elbow as she flutters her eyelashes. "Got a question for you, since we're stuck in this subway together. Poor us." A little pout of a red-red lip follows.
James Barnes	Well, it's his human arm she gets, at least. He permits it. He's being remarkably unflinchy, for him. But then, none of his HYDRA tormentors were beautiful, curvaceous young woman. Buck slants a look at her. Suspicious, but not with that frozen numbness. "Yeah?" he wonders. "How's that?"
Felicia Hardy	Now the red-red smile takes on a knowing and confident note. Hey, he didn't flinch away and he took the next step in the dance by responding with curiosity -- she laid the bait well. "Well..." Demurely, Felicia lets her eyes fall, as if shyness briefly overtook her in her line of thought. "...you see, there's this guy I've made friends with -- his name is Lucifer Morningstar. Have you heard of that name before?" Jade-green eyes slide up from his lap and to Bucky's face, guileless but for the keen glint in their depths.
James Barnes	"Uh," Buck says, eloquently. There's that bemused cant to his brows. Where is she going with this? "Like.......yeah. I mean, I've read 'Paradise Lost'. Is this some poseur trying to go for shock value, or are we actually talking about the Prince of the Powers of the Air, red tight and pitchfork, all that kinna thing?"
Felicia Hardy	"I mean, I haven't seen him in red tights yet or holding a pitchfork, but he's got that..." Felicia muses to herself. How to explain it? She ends up leaning very comfortably against the Soldier's shoulder as she leaves her arm wrapped around his, her gaze again somewhere else other than his face briefly. "I...don't want to say he's the real deal, but he's...like...kind of awfully damn close to it, which is...both really, really creepy as fuck and cool at the same time. It makes my brain hurt to consider the theological implications, so I just don't think about it very often." A finely-manicured hand is waved to shoo away the very idea. "But! He's cool and I think you should meet him." A beat. "That, and if I ever get in trouble with him, you'll help me, right? Because we're friends?" Poor Bucky. He gets another wistful look complete with a bit of curl into his body, as if Felicia were simply asking him to squish the next spider found in the bathroom.
James Barnes	"That's terrifying," he says, simply. "The idea that it might be him." James has that look like he suddenly *really* wants a cigarette. Amazingly, he's not trying to peel out of her embrace. Half-entwined, like they're just young lovers heading home after a night on the town. "And it's a hell of a compliment to think that I could do anything against the Devil."
Felicia Hardy	"Ohhhhhhhhh, it's //you//, come on now." The accolade is accompanied by a fond patpat on his knee, as if she'd reminded him of those mad spider-swatting skills mentioned earlier and how lethal he is with a rolled-up newspaper. "I'm not going to get myself in trouble anyways. It's more like..." Manicured fingernails of her free hand begin to tap on her own knee after she crosses her legs once more, assured of her victory in seat-claiming. "I mean, he has this...lady he keeps as a 'hunter' or something," -- and Felicia was //not// going to say 'lady' by the pause -- " - who was after me for a little. I told Lucifer to tell her to knock it the fuck off, but I don't know if she's going to do it or not even though he texted her about it. She's not too scary, I could've taken her ass out when we were fighting, but I chose to let her go. I have to be merciful sometimes," the thief asides with a look towards Bucky begging for agreement. "But I got the impression she was persistent and that's annoying as hell. Can I call you to help me out if she doesn't listen to the boss?" Another flutter of eyelashes.
James Barnes	"I'd have to know what she is, what she can do," Buck says, simply. And abruptly, any hint of flirtatious humor is gone. Oh, he's still letting her touch him, she's not getting the abuse flinching like previously. More like the mindset of the assassin disregards all that as irrelevant. Chaste as a plaster saint. "If she's something like him.....might be beyond my capabilities." He knows his skills down to the hair, and has never had the luxury of pride or arrogance. He didn't earn those skills or even want them, really, beyond where the war left him. HYDRA's endless refinements, taking him from 'tough and skilled' to 'the murderer of scores'....where's the pride in that?
Felicia Hardy	"Okay." Lightly, Felicia speaks now, her expression shifting in parallel to the appearance of the tightly-fettered militaristic mask. The charm takes on something icy and rarely seen, machinations behind those half-lidded eyes belied by the color of her hair. Whomever assumes this blonde is unintelligent generally meets their end at her whims. "Why don't you come with me to the club Lucifer runs? It's called Lux. You'd have to dress up." Glancing aside, she picks invisible lint from her pants leg and flicks it away. "And I mean...tuxedo, buddy. Nothing like this or this for either of us," and the thief draws attention to her own current get-up with a wave from her chest to her knees.
James Barnes	Has he *ever* worn black tie? Behind the translucent veils of Winter-obscure memory, there's a flicker of something. His head comes up, and his gaze is fixed on what looks like his own reflection in the dark glass of the car's opposite window, but really....nothing like. The memory of his own reflection adjusting a black bow tie in a hotel bathroom mirror, making sure that the tailoring really does hide the weapons he's carrying. The sure knowledge that his target will be there in the glittering throng - poison to be delivered in champagne glass. Then he snaps himself out of it with a little toss of his head, a horse straining against a halter. "I don't have one. I'd have to get one."
Felicia Hardy	Next Bucky glances over at his seat-mate, he'll catch furrowed brows fleeting away into an expression merely interested rather than concerned. Subtle tension bleeds again out of Felicia's body and she dares a small smile now. "Betcha you'll be quite the sight in one," she comments even as her grin grows more yet. "I've got a few numbers that'll do the job, I think. We'll figure out a time and a night, texts and all." His arm gets a squeeze. "You're a good friend, soldier." And interestingly enough, there's a kindness to be seen in the back of Felicia's calculating eyes -- sincerity -- trust.
James Barnes	HE remembers the Roaring 20s, the way even workingmen dressed, the way he and Steve aspired. "Yeah, I look great in one," he agrees. If it's sarcasm, it's subtle as smoke. Then a look for her, sidelong. "No," he says, quietly. "Not really."
Felicia Hardy	"Well, I think you are, so...what, you're calling me a liar or something?" Felicia smiles now, but it's a bit forced. "I mean...I think you're a good friend." She doesn't retract from her gentle hug about his arm, however, or the line of touch from knee to hip. That, after all, was his own offering to start with and the thief can hazard what it might have cost him, even if small by amount. "I do," the young woman then firmly states. "Even if you're a mopey donut sometimes."
James Barnes	"I think you don't really know, that's all," he says, after a little silence. And then James's finally unentangling himself, the better to pat himself down and find those terrible cigarettes. No, he can't smoke in here, can't until he gets out on the street, but just....having something to hold in his hands, an excuse for his restlessness.
Felicia Hardy	Felicia doesn't fight him in the least. She moves to aid in giving him his space and even scoots over a centimeter. The air feels cold now separated from his warmth and bulk. She looks aside for a second, lips pursed and frowning at herself, before she then offers out a hand. It's held above his thigh, palm up, clearly in offering as something to hold. Jade-green eyes try to find his own and if they meet, he gets a little shrug and tilt of her head, the Cat yet trying to be charming in a far friendlier manner now.
James Barnes	Which he misunderstands, because what he deposits in that importunate little paw is an unfiltered Lucky Strike, tapped out of the pack. Maybe she can save it for later. He used to, back when.
Felicia Hardy	Red-red lips roll shut against a surprised laugh before they purse yet again. "It's...okay, I don't smoke," she says, offering back the cigarette. "I thought I might...y'know. I dunno, you looked like..." For how suave the Cat can be, there's still that critical gap in smoothness at keeping up appearances now and then. Clearing her throat, she then looks pointedly down at where his phone last disappeared to. "So what game were you playing? It looked very patriotic."
James Barnes	Buck's expression is one of quizzical surprise, brow furrowed. Carefully, he takes it back, tucks it away. Waste not, want not. "Oh, okay," he says, in that mild voice. "Looked like what?" Then he grins, sheepishly. "Oh, it's this little Avengers game. You play different Avengers and collect stars for points. It's made for little kids, so....no violence in it." He hates modern video games, with their too-smooth endless scroll of violence.
Felicia Hardy	By the way the corners of her lips rise, barely parted to show teeth, the thief finds the explanation charming. "That's cute as hell. I'm not big on video games, but I was pretty good at Dance Dance Revolution once." By the way she arches her back and lifts her chin, this is a great point of pride for Felicia. "I used to be able to do most of the songs on Hard mode too. The secret is sneakers. If you play with bare feet, your feet stick. If you play in thin socks, it's too slippery and you might fall. Play it with sneakers with that little layer of fuzz on the bottom, not the pure rubbery soles." Looking askance, she then shrugs, her smile there but fading a touch. "You looked kind of lost for a second and...I thought you might want a hand to hold, but it's okay. Sometimes I read people wrong." Regardless, she reaches out to give his thigh another firm patpat. "This is my stop though, so you get to play your game now if you want. Look for my text, soldier. We'll go talk to the Devil together." Rising gracefully even as the car comes to a stop, Felicia then shoots Bucky a cheeky wink to go along with her grin. She sashays away, boots click-clicking, and it's delightful, no doubt, to watch her leave.