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| Cut and Thrust; (Tag: Winter Soldier) | |
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| Topic Started: Jul 22 2015, 09:31 PM (306 Views) | |
| Whetstone | Jul 22 2015, 09:31 PM Post #1 |
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Timeframe: July 20th, 2015 - 2:30 am Location: Shield Helicarrier - Training Deck Cut - Thrust - Strike - Parry - Reverse - Cut - Thrust - Stab It was all wrong. René went through the motions, the complex dance of combat training that sharpened muscle memory and built a layer of calm detachment between action and thought. It was the same routine as a thousand other days. The same actions. The same place. A quiet area on the training deck, a place like the helicarrier never truly went to sleep and a place like this was never truly abandoned but at 0100 the steel training hall was as dead as it could ever really be. Here and there, scattered across the floor a handful of senior agents went out their own routines, lost in their own thoughts as they prepared to begin or end their day in a sheen of sweat and mind-numbing exertion. The blue-cushioned floor and the blue padded walls lit by the harsh halogen lights that never dimmed like the rest of the ship in an false imitation of the setting and rising sun. Always harsh. Always fake. Always subtly 'wrong'. But how long had it been since things had been right? It FELT wrong. René was dressed in standard training gear, the white muscle-shirt made of sweat-wicking material clung tight to his body performing it's job admirably despite the exercise having gone on longer than any designer had intended. His warm-up shorts flicked softly with the speed of his footwork, his powerful legs darting forward and sweeping back with speed and grace as he moved through complex stances and rhythm. His powerful arms darting forwards and backs in tight jabs, sweeping haymakers and powerful straights that struck the training pillar with a force that had already begun to tear the leather covering it. The hardwood rod, a well balanced, if archaic piece of training tech meant to approximate the weight of a standard shield issue combat blade moved like an extension of his body, jumping from hand to hand between breaths and striking in ways that would seem to an amateur almost independent of the punches, elbows and knees that interspersed it's dull impacts against the pillar. Other trainers and agents, men and women of supreme skill and talent snuck glances at him between their own activities their expressions carefully neutral. If they were impressed they would never show it. Even if they did René wouldn't notice... Not today. Because it was all fucked up. It was all wrong. René saw the data that the machines spit out. He knew that he was at his peak. He -knew- that he was as good... Better... Than he had been before Korea. The doctors. The machines. The Assistant Director. They all told him he was fully recovered. But it all felt wrong. It was all as fake as the training blade in his hand. Wooden. Not real. Not lethal. Not honed. Not -sharp-. Why else was he still here? A year later and no new assignment. No new placement. Why? Was it because Fury knew something the rest of them did not? Did he see a hesitation that René himself was not aware of? Did he see a broken tool with that damn Cyclopean eye of his? A year of fake sunlight. A year of fake hours. A year of fake weapons. Did Fury thing that his edge was gone? How could René prove he was still the same man he was before Korea to a man who knew everything? Or did have nothing to do with training. Nothing to do with how sharp he was. Maybe that eye read deeper. Because Fury knew just what he was really made of... "RAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" René's vicious war-cry broke the almost sacred reverie of flesh striking leather and snapped his mind back to crystalline focus. The leather bindings of the pillar in front of him were sagging and torn. The training blade in his right hand... No... The hilt of the training blade was gripped so tight that his knuckles were white. The splintered upper section, broken by a particularly violent impact against the training pillar lay on the ground near his feet, smashed apart from the abuse it had suffered. While he had been lost in his training and thought's René had been unconscious of his surroundings. But his face colored slightly as he became aware of a few lingering gazes on his broad back. His breath was heaving. Heavy. He let his head dip forward, letting his forehead rest on the battered pillar in front of him as he fought to bring his adrenaline down. Absently he pushed a finger through a whole in the inch thick leather where his mutation had abraded away the leather. He could feel the sweat running down the back of his neck and his temple. His hair was lank with it. He glanced towards the wall where the digital clock spelled out the time in bright-bloody numbers. 0233, he had been at it for almost an hour and a half solid. Impressive. But his body would ache for the rest of the day. He welcomed the ache. It was worth it for the rush. The feeling of life that would suffuse him and bury his doubts for a time. He closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment before he stepped back and bent down to gather up the broken tool. Reverently gathering the splinters and dropping them into his open palm before leaving his claimed training area to dispose of the remnants. As he reached the trash-chute he hesitated for a moment before dumping the splintered remains down on the winding path towards the incinerator. Turning he made his way back to his claimed place, pausing long enough to grab a quick drink from his water bottle and to towel his forehead dry before he began once more. Slower. Calmer. Easier. This time without a false blade. He would make it right. Because René would train for another two hours no matter how much it would hurt, before he humiliated himself like that again. Before he allowed emotion to interfere with practice. Before he let anyone doubt that he was ready to be taken off the bench. |
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| Winter Soldier | Jul 23 2015, 09:02 AM Post #2 |
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He's Fast. Strong. Has a Metal Arm.
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"What if I was asleep, Old Man?" "You weren't, Older Man, so stop skulking around in the shadows and do as you're told." "I brutally murdered the last people who told me that, Fury." "Yeah, but you like me better than them." "Well, you don't stick me in a freezer when you're done with me, so..." "He needs you, Barnes. Not many people understand this sort of thing the way you do." "..." "The Quinjet's parking on the roof as we speak." "You owe me." "I know." [align=center]*****[/align] Helicarriers were never quiet even at half past two in the morning, though there were quiet places if you knew where to find them. Bucky Barnes knew them all. Hell, he'd spent weeks sneaking about in them, half out of his mind, learning to be who he was again, trying to find purpose... Was that really only two years ago? His mind torn between what was true and what he thought was true? Struggling to remember his own name? "2:30 in the morning..." he murmured as he headed down the hall, following the intel regarding his particular quarry, "How come people can't have nervous break downs in the daytime when someone else can handle them?" He watched the man in the training room through the monitors placed in the control room. He wasn't using the full systems of the training room, which could produce 'opponents' or 'moving targets' for skill maintenance and enhancement, but it was pretty clear that he wasn't really trying to keep himself at tip top shape. The guy was punishing himself, and having read the dossier prepared for him on the ride over, Bucky understood why. Checking the training room's Occupant Status Monitors, basically a Big Brother system linked to the bio-chips embedded in the name plates and id tags of each and every person on this floating air craft carrier, Bucky saw that the man had been at it long enough to have slipped from the green All's Good status, to the amber Might Want to Take a Break... he was still a good long way aways from Oh Shit Sit Down though, so there was some wiggle room. "At ease, soldier," Bucky said, taking a position at the mouth of the training cubicle. "Getting a little late to start another session, don't you think?" He folded his arms over his chest, the short sleeves of his grey t-shirt revealing the mismatched composition of their make up. There was nothing bur his metal arm to identify Bucky Barnes as the Winter Soldier, his short hair framing a handsome but otherwise unremarkable face. He was a big, broad man, who moved too quietly for his build and was too calm, expression unreadable. "Marceau, is it?" he asked, pronouncing the name perfectly, accented as if he was born speaking French. Bucky extended his metal hand, his left hand, purposely, a test that only he understood, "Barnes, James... Jim's fine, Bucky's better... The Eye in the Sky suggested you might be in need of a friendly ear. I'm no one's idea of Mr Congeniality, but I listen good. Wanna take a break and grab a coffee? Morning muster's in three hours. This might be your one chance to get a a cup while it's fresh." |
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| Whetstone | Jul 23 2015, 01:42 PM Post #3 |
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René had just begun to fall back into a rhythm of movement when a voice removed him from his state of concentration once again. He paused with his arm half extended for a sharp right cross and settled back into a relaxed posture before turning to face the entrance to the training cubicle. He was ready to frown, ready to send whoever it was scurrying off with a stern look or a waved excuse. What he was not ready for was Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier was a legend, right up there with Romanov and Barton. One of the best in the business... René was a decade past hero worship, but men with reputation like that had earned consideration and respect. Winter-ops were some of Shields most classified intel, but René's own security level gave him access to some basic reports and some of his methods were required reading in advanced training courses for the newer recruits. René allowed some of the tenseness to drain from his posture as he made his way towards the bench where his towel an water-bottle lay. The bottle was almost empty and he squeezed the remaining lukewarm liquid into his mouth and swallowed quickly before speaking. "Just some late night endurance training. Gotta stay ready." He said in a way that was not convincing, nor meant to be. As he approached the other man he wiped his hands on the towel and hung it around the back of his neck. His left hand slipped out to grasp Bucky's proffered mechanical hand in a firm shake, as smooth and confident as he would with anyone. Ambidexterity was a requirement in this kind of work and if you could kill equally well with both hands... You could damn well shake with them as well. "Exactly, not many people pronounce it correctly the first time. But you can call me René. Just don't use the middle name. I tried to get Hill to declare it an organizational secret but I am still waiting to hear back from her." He gave a half smile and if Bucky did not attempt to extend the handshake withdrew his hand back to grasp the the towel and begin padding his neck and face dry. René did not pause in the motion even when Bucky mentioned why he had shown up. The eye in the sky only meant one person. René's half-grin became a tight line as the implications of that statement dripped through his mind in a sickly way. Of course Fury knew how he had been acting. Of course Fury knew he was anxious. Ready to move. Why send James Barnes instead of assignment papers? René forced the smile back onto his face a heartbeat later flipped the towel casually back over his shoulder. "I know our boss does not miss much... But I did not think I still warranted that kind of scrutiny from the eye. I was beginning to think I was just here in case they needed something polished." René allowed himself a self-deprecating smile and tilted his head slightly. "Don't look like your arm needs any work done so maybe you are just here to talk. But..." He made another small frown. "You've tasted the café on this thing right? No matter when you get a cup it seems like it's been there for a day." He allowed the false frown to vanish after a breath and nodded. "But who could refuse an invitation from Bucky Barnes himself? Not me after he's come all this way." René gestured for the soldier to lead on rolling his neck slightly. "So why do you think your here Bucky? Just because your a good listener?" All throughout his words to Bucky his accent had been almost imperceptible, a slight burr on certain vowels or an elongation of others. His tone was a melted baritone that admirably hid any traces of exhaustion he might feel after his round in the simulator. |
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| Winter Soldier | Jul 24 2015, 03:26 AM Post #4 |
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He's Fast. Strong. Has a Metal Arm.
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"Just some late night endurance training. Gotta stay ready." the Agent said, unhesitatingly shaking his metal hand, not even blinking at it. A test passed. Good. Every action was a reaction, every move was a thought. Bucky was always good at reading people, a good judge of character which became something quite different during the cold and dark times. It was damn easy to kill when one was able to read the victim like a book. "Endurance, huh," Bucky said with a nod, "Always good to push one's self now and then." He smirked when René complimented his accent and said, "I've always had an ear for languages, put it to good use during the war." He didn't mention which war, but it had pretty much served him when he didn't even know it was serving him. The smirk became self deprecating as René mentioned the middle name, and he said, "My middle name is Buchanan, why do you think I go by Bucky? In my day, seemed an acceptable alternative to Junior." René seemed open to stopping, toweling his face and neck and cracking wise about the helicarrier's coffee. Bucky snorted, "That's what coffee's supposed to taste like, son. Motor oil and charcoal, thick enough to stand a fork in it, and strong enough for it to spit back in your eye if you dare try to put a drop of milk in it. Don't tell me you're a fan of that caramel colored sugar cream that people try to tell me is coffee. I don't know if I can help you if so." Nevertheless, they headed for the mess hall, and the conversation turned to the reason they were here together at this moment. "Well, the way I see it, René, that's really up to you. I'm here because I was asked to be here by a man who I respect and who doesn't ask for idle favors. This is a man who made me a Defender when I wasn't even sure I was able to be a person anymore. You want to know why I'm here. I'm here because that man asked me to be. So you tell me why. What does he see in you?" |
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| Whetstone | Jul 24 2015, 04:21 AM Post #5 |
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René fought back a short bark of laughter as Bucky described his ideals of coffee to him. René cast a long eye in his direction as they made their way towards the mess with even tempered strides. But he said nothing as Bucky continued on, addressing the heart of the matter. René was silent for a good ten paces after the Soldier turned the question back on him. When he spoke the words came easily. "You've read my file. I'm everything that says I am." His tone shifted slightly, it was something Bucky would recognize easily. The tone of a man responding to questions at a mission debrief, someone who was answering questions as a formality. Someone who knew that the man asking the questions had the answers and was just looking for confirmation and nothing else. "Former SOC, recruited into DGSE after discovery of certain genetic properties. Head-hunted out of the DGSE by Shield. Specialization..." He paused for a heartbeat. "Deep-cover threat removal. Top-Level assignments. Solo work." René could not keep just a slight hint of pride from his otherwise deadpan tone at that. It was the truth after all, he was one of the best... Still was. The pride vanished in the next breath. "Then the incident in Hanoi." He had been forced to eliminate a fellow Shield agent. Extraction was not an option. Neither was leaving him behind. René's faced darkened slightly and he kept them straight ahead. "Cleared for operations. Work resumed. Last year an op went south in a certain rogue state. Held in enemy hands for a period of one week before a daring rescue led by a classified hit-squad got me out. Declared fit for duty both physically and psychologically after extensive..." He kept himself from using the word invasive. In some ways that had been worse than the Torture, the Korean's had not been able to figure out how to cut him. Sure they figured out blow-torches and hammers worked just fine after a while. But Shield knew just what buttons to push from the start. They had probed him for cracks. Weaknesses. They told him they found none. "... Tests." He finished a hairsbreadth later. "Currently on station aboard the Shield Helicarrier, awaiting reassignment..." 'For the past six months.' René wanted to scream those last words, but he kept them to himself. Bucky was here because Fury wanted to test him. He could not afford to fail. "The Boss knows all that." René raised a hand to brush some hair from his eyes and forced another half grin onto his face as they rounded a corner on the final stretch to the mess hall. He slowed his movement by half a step, clearly wanting to finish his thoughts before they reached their goal. "I know what the paper says he sees. I know he can't afford to keep a man like the one in those files on the bench. Not now. Not with the world the way it is." René gestured vaguely and turned his head to glance at Bucky straight on. "But I know he looks at the big picture. That one eye in the sky notices things the rest of us miss." René could feel his nails biting into his palms as he continued. "Which is why I am worried." René really couldn't say why he was admitting these things to Bucky... Maybe it was the man's reputation? He wouldn't be telling just anyone these things for the asking... Maybe Bucky's timing was just that good. Maybe it was Fury's? "What does he see that I don't? That the trainers. That the shrinks. That the assistant director. That everybody else missed? You asked me what I think he must see? I think he must see a crack." René pushed open the door to the mess, flashing a smile towards Bucky as he did so. The room was almost painfully empty, with just a few men and women clustered around tables meant to seat hundreds wiping sleep from their eyes or fighting back yawns. "But listen to me natter on like an old woman. Some spy eh?" His tone was jocular but his eyes were level and deep. "Let's grab that monster of a café you described and I will tell you about why the french are the only people who should be allowed to brew it." |
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| Winter Soldier | Jul 25 2015, 07:12 AM Post #6 |
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Listening to the other agent's idea of who he was, Bucky didn't smirk, or smile, but it was amusing to hear how he described himself, the pride that filtered through his otherwise deadpan voice. It faded quickly as he moved into the less shiny elements of his career, but there was still a sense of surprise that he was benched. As they wandered through the halls, and into the mess towards the large tin containers of thick black coffee, Bucky said nothing, but he heard the voice of a thousand other soldiers and agents in the other man's voice. He was the first to admit that he dwelt on his long and troubled past more than he should, and he was fairly confident in his own skills, but there was a distinct level of self importance that he wondered about. Was it this generation? Or possibly the generation before. Age was difficult for him to judge, time was still difficult for him. He felt like it was only a few years ago that he was side by side with Steve, after all... As Bucky poured himself a mug of coffee, shunning the sugar and cream as he had promised, he cocked an eyebrow as René described Fury and attempted to figure out the Director's mind. As if that was at all possible. No one could figure out Fury, the man made a living being unpredictable. There was no way he would allow himself to be understood or predicted, even if it made logical sense. You expect him to go right and he would go left... or up... or down... or stay exactly where he was. Infinity Formula or not a man doesn't live as long as Mother Fury's baby boy by being predictable. " I know he can't afford to keep a man like the one in those files on the bench. Not now. Not with the world the way it is." Bucky held up his hand and said, "Hold on a minute there, René, yes indeed he can afford it, because no matter how impressive an agent is, or thinks he is, Fury has redundancies built in the system. There's not a single one of us, Fury included, who is indispensable. If he's benched you, there's reason for it, but I don't think he's the one who benched you. He wouldn't send me here, otherwise." He took a sip of the hot coffee, and said, "Just a hunch but I'm going to guess this is one of his... evaluations, and you don't seem to be faring too good at it." With a nod of his head he indicated an isolated table in the far corner, "Let's go discuss French coffee, huh?" |
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| Whetstone | Jul 25 2015, 10:56 AM Post #7 |
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René was quiet for several minutes after Bucky's admonishment. He sat across from the other man with his hands wrapped around his mug, feeling the heat leach through the ceramics. "Your right, I am not am I?" He was sitting across from a living legend, a man who had accomplished amazing things, horrible things. "Redundancies on redundancies. So many shell games going that you forget we are spies not a carnival act." How must it sound to Bucky? The complaints of a man like him? Weak. Self important. René wanted to start over... But things were never that simple. "Maybe getting told that to my face will help. Maybe it won't. What I know won't? This coffee." He took Bucky's offer of a change of subject in stride, damage done with a first impression was never fixed by trying to fix it, you just made up for it over time. "I can see the appeal for you." He mused turning the mug and watching the thick liquid churn in the mug. "Masculinity ritual right? Drinking coffee like this, worse than this is a kind of survival charm. If this stuff can't kill you what can the enemy hope to do right?" René gave a small chuckle as fonder memories filtered in and he gave the other man an almost playful look. "Back in the army we had our deprivations. Piss poor food. Crappy tents. But we always had top-notch coffee. Rich, thick and well brewed." He chuckled softly and took a sip of the stuff in front of him. With an expression that said he could still remember the taste... Of fonder days. "Sounds poncy right?" He smiled gently and took another sip of the gritty substance in his mug. "Talking about the past and bitching about the future. The kind of thing every soldier does. But I stopped being that kind of soldier a long time ago. Now it just makes me sound ungrateful." Was he? Ungrateful? "But I don't really mean it like that. I look around myself every day and see some amazing things. Amazing people. I am sitting across the table from a man my Grandfather told stories about... On a ship that flies. Speaking of which, he would kick my ass if he was not dead and I didn't offer to buy you a drink sometime and thank you for your service." René flushed slightly, awkwardly as he held out his hand again. "So thanks. From us." Whether or not the Soldier responded or not René moved on quickly. "Amazing things and shitty coffee. Pretty good tradeoff. " René was silent for a few moments, enjoying the simple pleasure of warmth on his hands. As the adrenaline wore off they were starting to ache. He could feel his tense muscles starting to relax and the dull ache of training seep into them. It was a good thing. It reminded him what it was like to feel like he had accomplished something. "Sorry about earlier... Fury might have sent you here to listen but I said to much. To much time sitting around with nothing to do but punch iron and stew." He took another sip of his coffee. "Too much time alone. Too much time being a paranoid prick. Too much time dwelling on what I've done. What I haven't done." René gestured absently with his mug. "Too much time not acting like the man on that paper." He chuckled a bit and leaned back. Eyeing Bucky in a different way from before, as though something had just occurred to him. "Damn... Fury really does see everything don't he?" He left the last words to hang in the air, cryptic and amused. Even if this was a test. Even if he had already failed. There was no more point in dwelling on it.no matter how bad he wanted to get back in the field. |
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| Winter Soldier | Jul 26 2015, 08:22 AM Post #8 |
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He's Fast. Strong. Has a Metal Arm.
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The idea that he was being tested apparently hadn't occurred to Marceau. That was the beauty and the deviousness of Nicholas J. Fury. He was a spy. He was the spy. Part of that was mental manipulation, in ways that had been honed over seventy plus years. Luckily, the guy was quick on the uptake though, and he understood Bucky's meaning. If he had to explain this to him like one might explain it to a child, this would have been a very short meeting. Bucky had never had an abundance of patience, except for Steve who made him be a better person, long before either of them were who they were now. They sipped their coffee, and René joked about it being a masculinity ritual. Bucky smirked, "Well, I don't know how much you know about me and my life, but in my day, at the risk of sounding my age, a good black coffee put hair on your chest and made your balls drop. You couldn't take it, well... the man who wanted too much sugar or cream just wasn't American. Spent more time than I want to admit drinking tea, but while I'm still fond of a good sturdy vodka, my russian disdain for coffee didn't stick once I remembered I'm a Brooklyn boy." The other agent stuck his hand out, and thanked him for his service, mentioning his grandfather. Bucky wasn't entirely comfortable taking thanks for his time as a soldier, considering that so much of that time was as a tool of the enemy, but the sentiment was pure and honest, and he clasped the man's hand, with his flesh hand this time, saying, with a nod, "Thank you for yours, Agent. People forget sometimes the real depth of the sacrifices we make as soldiers. They think they understand, but it takes another soldier to appreciate what the front is like, the things we have to see, the things we have to do." He released René's hand and drummed his flesh fingers on his metal arm, "Coming back with all your limbs doesn't mean you came back intact." Again the Agent denigrated himself, commenting on Fury's all-knowingness. "Yeah, well, when I first met Nick, he was an eighteen year old member of the 332nd Fighter Group, people called them the Tuskegee Airmen. Colored boys back then were fighting for a world that saw them as beneath them, but they did it because it was the right thing to do, because their freedom was not as important as the promise of freedom for their sons and daughters. Nick was shot down behind enemy lines, ended up in a camp with a bunch of other men, mostly white, and he took charge, lead those men out and to safety, and I can guarantee you not one of them were concerned over the color of his skin. They followed him, because he was their best chance. He's one of the finest tacticians I've ever met, one of the finest men I've ever met." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small white envelope. Bucky set it on the table, and slid it over to René, "That's why I don't hesitate to give you this. Assignment to the Defenders, team I'm on. Bunch of men and some women who have been through hell and back and are working together to keep others from having to lose themselves. This is a trial membership, mind you. You don't work well with others, or don't feel it's a match, no muss no fuss, you'll be reassigned. But... if it works for you, we need good men who can make the hard choices. I think you fit that bill." |
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| Whetstone | Jul 26 2015, 01:58 PM Post #9 |
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René was quiet for several long moments after Bucky put the letter on the table. Part of him wanted to snatch it away the moment he brought it out. But he forced himself to wait. To think it over. Defenders. He had heard of them of course. Some of the best, involved in some of the hardest operations and well in the mix of things when everything starts going to hell. After finishing his coffee René reached out and took the paper, drawing it to his side of the table with two fingers. "I'm in." He said evenly, he would have taken anything at this point. Anything to give himself something to do. But this. This was more than just anything. This was something more. "I won't let either of you down." He added after a moment, his eyes level and straight as he looked at the man across the table from him. "Not how I expected the night to go..." He mused after a moment, gripping the envelope tightly. The Defenders. They say that you never see the good things coming and René had certainly not seen any hint of this in his months of idle training. Even if it was only a trial-posting it was an amazing opportunity. A chance to get out of the endless monotony of waiting. A chance to move up from the missions he had been on before Korea, to have a team again. To operate against more than arms-dealers and rogue states. To fight the enemies that fought the world. He smiled after a few moments and gestured with the letter across the table, already feeling a great darkness lifting from his shoulders. "You know, if we're on the same team it won't be so hard to buy you that drink." He chuckled and gently set the letter aside on the table resting his elbows on the metal in front of him as he allowed a note of professionalism to creep into his tone once again. "What can you tell me about the team? It's members?" It had been a long time since René had worked with others, he had been picked out for solo operations early and he had missed the camaraderie of his squad in the army and his team in the DGSE vaguely like a dull ache in the back of his chest since. There was no guarantee that this Defender's team would be anything like that of course. But it was something, even if it was just a name that brought disparate people together. That in itself was more than he had felt that he had for a long time. Shield was one thing, an organization that never knew what the other floor or man down the hall was doing. Not the same thing by a long shot. Something to be proud of of course. They were doing good work. The best work. But that was not enough all the time. Even the Widow and Barton had found teams after time had passed. People they relied on and operated with effectivly. You could not play it alone forever... The man across from him knew that too. |
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| Winter Soldier | Jul 28 2015, 07:36 AM Post #10 |
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He's Fast. Strong. Has a Metal Arm.
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There was a pause before Whetstone took the envelope with the re-assignment papers in it, and Bucky wondered for a second if he was going to reject the offer. But then it was accepted and Marceau's entire demeanor changed. Bucky understood this entirely. When all you value is your ability to serve, to be idle is painful. Some men needed direction. Those men tended to become soldiers. Asked about the team, Bucky frowned, "Well, it's actually pretty hard to describe our team. There's some public faces involved while some of us remain in shadow mode. We don't entirely have a set roster, members coming and going on occasion. Our HQ is out of the Flatiron Building, top three floors, and there's a lot more potential for collateral damage, too much for my liking, but I'm not the bossman on this one." He tapped his fingers against his chin and said, "How do I describe our teammates? Well, there's me, of course. There's my partner Jac Falsworth, aka Spitfire. She's a speedster, granddaughter of one of the men I served with in the War. She's hyper, passionate, and stubborn, not a good combination for guys like us, I know. But, she keeps me sane, and that's not always been an easy thing to do. Who else is there? Sabra. Ruth Bat-Seraph, formerly with the Mossad. Don't let her gruff demeanor throw you for a loop. There's no one else I'd rather be back to back in a firefight with. Jac's older brother Brian is part of the team, goes by the name "Destroyer" and if you think I'm a sullen s-o-b, well, he makes me look like a circus clown at a kid's party. " Bucky paused to take a sip of his coffee before continuing. He glanced at René wondering what he was picturing as he listened. "On the public side of things, we have the Maximoff kids, twins. Pietro and Wanda. He's fast and she's weird, but they're high profile mutants. That nutjob Magneto's kids. Piet's married to a nurse, pretty thing named Avery. Green skinned with some plant abilities. Just had twin girls. Cute things, also green. Don't let that startle you. The Maximoffs... they were raised as gypsies over in Transia, so they have all of that going for them. Wanda's beau is Simon Williams, mutate, not mutant. Ionic powers. Friendly to the point you might think he's brain damaged. Just an overall decent guy though. Their kids sometimes hang out at the HQ, a speedster named Tommy and a reality warper named Billy. There's some time travel involved with their birth, I can't say I understand it one bit, frankly, but who the hell am I to judge someone's history, right?" Shaking his head in amazement at the team laid out like that, he gave Whetstone a smirk and said, "You certain you still want to join after hearing what kind of insanity you're about to be part of?" |
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| Whetstone | Jul 28 2015, 11:33 PM Post #11 |
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René listened with dedicated attention as Bucky went over the basic makeup of the team. Highlighting some of the defining characteristics of the members in a way that lead René to believe he was not quite used to defining the other members in such a brief way. Perhaps he was not used to defining them at all? He arched his brow at the mention of children on site and open relations between members. But strange as that was they were not things that he was particularly bothered by. Fraternization was against policy but happened regardless of what the rules said and it's not like the kids running around were -his- or anything. Time-travel? Well that was new. Strange. Unsettling. But then he was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth and if it was something he needed to understand, he had very little doubt that it would be elaborated on in the files on the team. Once Bucky finished speaking René tilted his head and chuckled. "I am not that easily intimidated. I'm still in." He turned his mug gently between his fingers, feeling the smooth ceramic becoming even smoother under his touch. "Though I admit there is alot to take in. I think i'll be able to handle it. If not you'll have your answer to how this trial period will work out pretty quickly." "Seems like you have a pretty powerful line-up." He sat his cup aside and interlaced his fingers together. "Heavy hitters more than operators... With the obvious exceptions of course." He gestured vaugly across the table in the Soldier's general vicinity and smiled. "Not that it's a bad thing... I think it's about time I had someone on my side with a nom de guerre like 'Destroyer' or who can..." He waved his hand vaguely. "Warp reality." He took a moment to think and then smiled. "I don't suppose the Boss told you what role he envisioned me taking on this team?" In truth he did not even really know what the team did. With a name like Defenders one could make some assumptions, but assumptions had a way of being wrong and although he did not recognize most of the names Bucky gave a couple, specifically Magneto's children stuck out at him. They did not seem the type you would deploy to a South American nation to assassinate a Drug Baron... Wipe out a cartel maybe. His expertise had always leaned towards the covert rather than the overt. "You said your based out of the Flatiron building... Does that mean I should pack my bags? Or is that just where we meet not live?" It's not that he would mind leaving the barracks behind, after all one place was as good as another to someone like him. He did not really have many 'friends' aboard the Helicarrier and the things he needed to live comfortably could easily fit in a decent footlocker and duffel bag. Though he imagined he would miss the training facilities if that was the case, the Helicarrier was one of the best places to train in the world bar none. Things were really looking up. |
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| Winter Soldier | Jul 29 2015, 06:42 AM Post #12 |
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He's Fast. Strong. Has a Metal Arm.
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Bucky's smirk remained as Whetstone processed what he'd been told. "The world has changed, René. I watched it happen even if I wasn't entirely aware of it. In my day, it was human against human. There were the occasional exceptions. Namor, of course. Jim Hammond. Toro... Cap himself was, I suppose if you think about it, a mutate. Super soldier was just the name we knew back then. But your people, mutants, I mean, you changed the rules. I was a brainwashed killer for seventy years, trained to superhuman abilities, given chemically induced longevity and stamina, but the genetically evolved? You guys changed the world and the way we do business has to change too." He looked at his metal arm, holding it up, "Before this? I was just a man who was able to keep up with the likes of Cap and the Kingfish because we were mostly just fighting other men. Mad geniuses, and canon fodder hordes, but for the most part just men. If I hadn't been enhanced by Hydra and the other instruments of my torture and brainwashing, I would be obsolete. I wouldn't be able to be the deadly boogeyman I was, and in most ways still am. That means our teams have to change, our organization. With the Scarlet Witch on our side, we can travel to the other side of the world and end up in Doom's water closet while he's taking a bubble bath. With Wonderman, we have an ionic diversion, a nearly immortal decoy to shred his way through any welcoming enemy army, while the rest of us infiltrate to free hostages. We have strength, stealth, speed, flight, magic and mayhem on the side of what's good and just, and through them, we have a public face to show the world that might only makes right when it is right." Finishing his coffee, Bucky dropped his hand and said, "Cap... he was a public face. He was the shining boy, every girl's dream, every man's idol. He couldn't be that without men like me behind him, being the death and darkness that war really is. That's how the Defenders works. Half of us are the public face. Half of us are the shadow. We work together to save the world, to keep the balance in the very very unsteady world. You decide which role you want to fill, Marceau, but I am pretty sure I already know." |
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| Whetstone | Jul 29 2015, 02:27 PM Post #13 |
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René gave a small smile as Bucky went over the kinds of things that the team could do. It all sounded impressive but René was less intimidated and more amazed. It was truly a group of impressive individuals, men and women who could do things with ease that would take him months of planning if they were possible at all. But René was not ashamed of that. As Bucky elaborated a little on his own past René nodded his head softly and understood. He truly did. He could not empathize with the other man, he did not have the background nor was empathy something that came easily to him. But he -did- understand. Living among giants had a way of making a man feel small, but Bucky had made a place for himself. Carved a niche in the mountain of giants. As Bucky set aside his coffee, spoke of shadows and light René let his smile slip away, replaced by a more serious expression. "Then we're in agreement. I've spent so long in the shade I'd burn in the light." It was true, René could not be a public side of such an organization. The things he had done precluded that kind of future for him. But it was not an unwelcome kind of future. He would do whatever it took to accomplish a mission. He was used to wading through bodies and blood. He was confident in the face of certain death. He could kill anyone to see the mission through. That is what the SOC had begun and Shield had finished. He understood Bucky on that level, the man across from him had done things that he could never find peace with. Even since his escape from Hydra and the Soviet Union, he had done things that broke lesser men. René had been on the edge of breaking because of memories like those, the doubts and the memories. Men. Women. Children. People whose futures ended abruptly because of his actions. Happiness stolen from the world. Lives ruined. All to tip the calculations and swing the tide back towards 'good' and 'proper'. René was a good agent because he understood it was not his place to judge such things. He slept fine at night when he had a purpose. Before this offer he had no purpose and the memories had slipped in to fill that gap in his soul. To fester and pain him in a way that torture never could. "You sure this just is not about you being outnumbered?" He spoke, his honeyed baritone covering a smile in his tone. "Sounds like the only other 'agent' in a classical sense is this Sabra." He rolled his shoulders and reached up to catch the towel that almost fell from them when he did so. "I bet this is all some elaborate plot to swing the numbers back your way." He was teasing and his tone made that clear. "But I won't complain. It will be good to do something. Anything again." He untangled his fingers and laid his hands on the table, palms up with a much broader grin. "I'll need to get used to working with others again. Maybe you'd like to join me for a training bout sometime?" The best way to get to know someone was to spar with them. It was a truism that René believed exclusively. Sometimes it felt like he knew men he had killed better than he knew those people who worked with him. "Not tonight." René held up his hand in a defensive posture with a smile. "For all my talk about endurance training and training at unexpected hours. I think a sparring match with -the- Bucky Barnes would deserve me at my peak." René allowed his gaze to move from Bucky's face, down his arms and across his shoulders. Sizing him up in an obvious way intended to convey a level of respect. Deep down René thought it would be interesting. He had read about and heard a little about how the man across from him fought. He knew that he was exceptional. But that was all second hand. Was he better? Was he all arm? René hoped Bucky agreed so he could find out. |
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6:56 PM Jul 11