logsinthenight | Holiday Prep Etc

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Holiday Prep Etc

characters: Bucky/Soldat and various/OTA
location: Invincible, the village, the gymnasium
date/time: Dec 17 - 22
content: Catch-all for December non-event scenes
warnings: Just Bucky's usual occasional disassociation and swearing

I. Sneaking is easier when you're trying to kill people - OTA

The Soldier knows a little bit about Christmas. They know you're supposed to give gifts to people you care about, to show that you care. Maybe they know that those gifts don't have to be actual, physical things... but maybe they want them to be.

But they're also supposed to be a surprise, which means while the Soldier is working on those gifts, they have to keep moving around to keep the people they're for from seeing them. Which is a pain and a half, when living in a very small town with limited safe places to sit still for long periods of time, and even more limited light sources. So for the course of a week, after the Night Market leaves again, the Soldier can be found in a back corner of the Invincible, in a back corner of the library, in a back corner of the gym, and even on the Invincible's roof or up a tree when they get desperate. They always have one of several projects in hand, most of which include fabric of various kinds and colors, and a needle and thread. Come find the Soldier in a weird place, ask them why they're sneaking around or what they're working on, and watch them try to hide the evidence....

They do corner Crowley at one point for help with one gift, though. Hopefully the demon can keep a secret.

II. Winter gardening - Bodhi and Misty

Winter makes gardening harder. Keeping chill off the plants, turning the soil so it doesn't completely freeze, that sort of thing. That obviously must mean that Misty needs more help, right? Of course it does.

And Bodhi Rook needs more to do, and also maybe time with one of the people that make the Soldier feel a little better about, well, everything. Since Crowley would probably overwhelm the poor guy, Misty it is. The Soldier doesn't drag Bodhi along, because dragging is rude and would require touching, and also apparently getting too close to Bodhi means not being able to see for a minute or two, which is awkward. But they do coax him along with the promise of actual work to do, leading the way to Misty's place at their usual time.

III. Who wants to fight the Winter Soldier? - OTA

Of course, holiday and market and everything else aside, teaching at the gymnasium twice a week still happens. The Soldier doesn't always have students, but they always show up, just in case anyone needs to practice breaking holds or falling without hurting themselves, or working with knives. They are a careful, patient teacher, taking the most basic of beginners in particular, but also available just to spar before and after "class" or on days when no one shows up.

And sometimes sparring sounds like fun, anyway.

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Bodhi comes willingly, no dragging required. Soldat's somewhat scattershot strategy did land on one thing that'll work. Having something real to do would have brought him along to much worse things than gardening. As it is, he knows nothing at all about plants. He's a city boy. But he has a pair of hands and he takes direction well. That should be enough. Hopefully.

He trails at a reasonable distance to keep that blindness thing from kicking in and tries not to enjoy the excuse. "I didn't know you even could garden in the winter. I mean, that sort of gardening, green stuff that actually grows up a distance from the ground gardening..." Yeah, he blathers.

"What's up?"

Crowley doesn't mind being cornered by the human soldier person. He's been working on his own gifts for a while now, which at the present moment means miracling a big pile of shoes clean. He's given out his first batch of presents already, now he's just got a few more to hand out. The whole germanic business with the shoes made a whole lot more sense back on Earth, now it seems a bit silly, is all Crowley is saying.

"So the shoe thing was you," the Soldier says first, looking down at the shoe with half a smile. They're not distracted, or stalling, but this still does require a comment. "Thought it probably was." The Queen shirt was probably a big give-away. "Why a shoe?"

He shrugs. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Crowley turns to look at the human soldier person. He has a little smirk on his face that he doesn't try to hide, then turns back to the pot of hot sugar he's working on the stove, turning it into candy.

"I suppose whoever did that was probably thinking about old Germanic traditions of hiding treats and presents in shoes for the holidays."

"Suppose so," the Soldier agrees mildly, with the kind of expression that says they know exactly what Crowley is not saying. But they're not going to harp on it; if Crowley wants to keep pretending not to do nice things, he can. Like Aziraphale said, they have to be easy on him, the way Crowley is patient with them.

So they just say, "I'm working on Christmas gifts, too. Will you help a little? With Aziraphale's gift?"

"Oh, yeah?" he says, casting them a glance over his shoulder. "Could do. What did you decide on, then?"

That's good, Crowley thinks. The human soldier person reaching out, finding connection, making gifts. Not all that surprising that they've done it with Aziraphale, the angel is ever so good at making people want to be his friend.

Don't worry, Crowley, they have gifts for you, too. Trying to figure out what thoughtful thing to make the demon was hard, and they're still not entirely happy with their end decision. But their decision for Aziraphale is rock solid... just needs help to pull it off. "I need fabric. Like what his waistcoat and that damn bowtie are made out of. I couldn't find anything close in the general store."

"What, tartan?" Crowley says. "Don't tell me you're indulging him in that mistaken fashion choice of his." Color Crowley intrigued, though. He waves a hand over the sugar, freezing it in its cooking process and informing it that its not to cook any more until he's ready for it. It will, of course, not think twice about obeying orders (at least someone in this damn town listens to him!)

"I can probably whip some of it up. How much do you need?"

"Just a square meter, at most," the Soldier says. And wrinkles their nose. "I want him to actually wear what I give him, maybe. Replace the damn bowtie." Look, they hate that thing, and not just because it's a poor fashion choice, though that doesn't help. It will make all members of this household feel better if that particular association gets mitigated at least sometimes. "White and paisley too maybe? For variety."

"If you can get him to replace the bowtie, you're performing more miracles than either of us have ever done in our lifetimes," Crowley says.

Crowley raises a hand, focuses on his miracle, and a square meter of cloth appears out of thin air. It's Aziraphale's favorite tartan. He hands it over and produces another, with a white and black paisley.

"What's it going to be? A cravat?"

"Yes. And a necktie. And an ascot. And a continental tie. Two of each. Options." They catch the paisley out of the air, setting it on top of the tartan.

Looking at the folded fabric, expression as blank as they can make it, they add, "There was a doctor, a really bad one. Who wore bowties. So I hate seeing it on him, now. Anything else would be better. So this is a kinda selfish present." They feel a little bad about it, but not super bad. Hopefully Aziraphale likes it anyway.

"I didn't know, either," the Soldier says. "But I didn't know a damn thing about gardening before dying, either, so I just do what Misty says. We have some partly made greenhouses. It helps, I think. Have you ever tried to grow anything before?" If so, maybe he'd have an edge the Soldier hadn't had, from the start. Being more trained to kill things than nutrure them did kind of leave a hole on their education.

Crowley considers this. "One with that---what did you call it? HYDRA?" He nods. He knows without a doubt that if the human soldier person told Aziraphale this, the angel wouldn't hesitate to change his wardrobe. But that would require admitting how they felt, which might be more than the human soldier person is up for.

"He'll love it. He wore cravats before. Never a tie, but I bet he will."

Yeah, they've considered sharing with Aziraphale, but Aziraphale is a lot more intimidating than Crowley is, and even if he reacts well, the angel's attempts at apologizing would also be uncomfortable. Crowley just lets things like that roll by, pretending he doesn't care-- that's so much easier. "I hope so. Gifts are supposed to be for the other person. And they are. Just. For me, too."

They hold the fabric against their chest with a helpless little shrug. "Shouldn't take too long to make, at least. I've gotten a lot better with sewing, with all these gifts."

"Rather the font of unexpected talents, you," Crowley says. "Cooking, now sewing. Did someone teach you or did you remember that from your life before?"

He waves a hand over the sugar and it starts cooking again. He gestures to the human soldier person to come over.

"Here, it's about to hit the soft ball stage, you can get in on this."

"Cooking I learned here, sewing I remembered," the Soldier answers, setting the fabric aside so it can't get splattered or burned or otherwise in the way, and peering at the pot curiously. "Used to mend things, patches and seam repair, some alteration. So we could use clothes longer. Soft ball stage?"

Crowley points at the thermometer sticking out of the bubbling pot of sugar water. He pulls a bit of the sweet out and drops it onto the plate nearby. He offers it to the human soldier person.

"Let it cool, it'll be soft, like a chew. Get it a bit hotter, it'll get to the hard crack stage, that's where we want it. Something to do with science and how the molecules work. Never really understood that bit."

"Okay. So we get it a little hotter. Or shape it first and then heat it?" Depending on what Crowley is getting at, here. They accept the plate, considering whether to risk the metal hand getting too sticky by picking it up. They decide not to, not wanting to gum up the plates, and wait a couple seconds more before taking the bit of candy off the plate and trying it.

His right hand is bandaged the next time he appears at the gymnasium. His left, broken by the teeth of one of the forest spirits, is all but healed. It doesn't close quite as well as it did before, and it's still a bit tender. But it not his dominant hand, and so it's of little consequence.

The other hand is covered in burns, and since it is his dominant hand, it speaks to reason that he should sit out this training session. But he does not wish it. His blood is hot, and his fingers are itching to grip the hilt of a sword. A knife, a gun, or even just his fists. He does not care. After the students and others have left, Javert pulls the Soldier aside and asks him to spar. It's not an unusual request, as it's one he's made before, but given his lingering injuries, it is perhaps not the smartest one.

No, maybe not the smartest one, but that isn't the kind of request the Soldier is going to turn down from their handler. They can tell there's tension here, for some reason, and if their handler needs someone to take it out with, they're comfortable with being that someone. They already know how best to fight with Javert, given their respective strengths and weaknesses, and they can just add "avoid the right hand" to their mental list of requirements for the match.

So once everyone else is gone, they set their lantern aside and pick two of their longer knives to work with, more appropriate options against Javert's preferred weapon. They move to the middle of the biggest mat and settle in wait for Javert to determine just what kind of fight this is going to be: slow to loosen up the tension gradually, quick and brutal in self-challenge, or "need someone sturdy to beat on".

"Let it get a bit hotter and then shape it," Crowley says. "Shapes better when it's hot. The chew'll be soft. Should taste a bit like peppermint and vanilla, if I've done it right."

He looks at his ingredients and scowls at them, informing them with a look at how much they've disappointed him. They don't react, but if they could, they would shiver in fear.

"I can't eat anything right now, so I can't, you know, taste it."

"It does. Taste like peppermint and vanilla." At least they've noticed Crowley and his problem keeping food down, by now. And also put together where it came from. So they don't have to ask. "Tell me when you want it pulled off the stove and shaped. I can do it for you."

They heal faster. And they can sacrifice their metal hand to a little stickiness if they must, anyway.

[ jason isn't looking for anyone as he browses the library-- but when he comes upon the soldier? he doesn't seem phased or startled. after all, sometimes, you just gotta move around.

move around with various boxes and gifts. ]

.. Hi. Nice stash you've got here.

[Most of it isn't even wrapped or boxed, just piles of fabric I'm various stages of construction, with a couple larger pieces used to cart the smaller ones around. The Soldier glances up, momentarily ready to gather things up to keep one of the planned recipients from seeing, but it's the guy from the museum. None of these are for him, so they relax, and explain,]

Christmas is almost here. I have to finish these in time.

[ ah yes. christmas festivities. the type of thing he doesn't typically engage in. and so he's inclined to leave him be, except... well. he knows some stuff about the spirits. and so he'll sit close by, book in hand. ]

Depends on how fast you work, considering all the investigating you're doing with the spirits.

[The Soldier blinks, then looks vaguely sheepish. They still owe Cao Pi that intel put up on the network, but gifts took precedence. And before that, the mission with Daylight. And before that not putting Owl Friend at risk by letting people know about them while the intel-seeking submarine people were here. (Just admit you're stalling, pal.)

They absolutely do not admit it, and instead say to Jason,]

Well. It was mostly just sharing coffee with my one friend, and being patient with their Morse Code hooting. It wasn't. Investigating, exactly, for most of it.

Nah, it's smart. Useful stuff.

[ more than he figured they were ever going to get out of Robin or Will, given how paranoid both of them were. it was definitely worth trusting the spirits more in this case. ]

So, the morse code helps overcome the language barrier.

Yes. Quite a bit. Whether it's the translation magic or because they know English and just can't speak it, it translates the code to English letters. They are teaching me bits of their language, but I don't always have the range, and I can't use the ocharinas properly.

[Dumb metal fingers not covering holes well enough.]

Morse is easier, just takes a long time.

Javert draws his sword, and this time, it isn't one of the blunted training weapons, but the one he carries with him. It has only ever tasted the blood of spirits. He would never turn his blade on another person, not unless he had good reason for it. So this, coupled with the tension the Soldier feels rolling off of him, is quite unusual. Javert may be a fighter, and a police officer, but he has never been violent.

He falls into his stance with his blade pointed at the other man, and when he lunges toward him, he does so without warning. His sword clashes against the Soldier's knives, intending to push him back or disarm him somehow. He isn't superhuman, though. His strength cannot match that of the Soldier's.

Ah. It's "need someone to beat on". Well, they can handle that. Javert isn't cruel, like other handlers, and they have a sliver of trust that he won't try anything that falls truly into the torture category. Just angry attacking. They let themselves be pushed back one step before deflecting, to give their handler the satisfaction of his own strength. It isn't even a deflection with anywhere near their full strength. Instead, it's just enough to fend off the sword, letting it side aside off the blade of one long knife while the Soldier gauges whether the push and clang of metal will be enough, or if Javert will need blood drawn today to cool his temper.

He recovers from the deflection quickly enough, thrusting his sword in the direction of the other man's shoulder. The one that's not metal, but made of flesh, toward a spot that isn't covered in body armor. He's not out for blood, exactly — but the adrenaline rush of causing another man pain. He won't be satisfied until he has it. Whether his blade connects with him or not, Javert shoves the Soldier back, trying to drive him into a corner.

It's always tricky, balancing a handler in this kind of mood. And it's been a while. But it comes back, like the last time the Soldier had to take a beating. The rules: give a little, like a normal human would have to give, so he feels powerful; don't give too much, or he'll think it's an attempt to end the fight too soon; don't dodge, or he'll get frustrated; don't react to pain, or it will get worse; and never, ever score blood on the handler. It can do this.

So the Soldier doesn't side-step the thrust, lets it cut through the fabric of the shirt-- the tactical armor is still in pieces, so its only protection is layers of warm clothing-- but doesn't feel it bite skin. It steps back once before catching the blade and deflecting again, pulling the knives to one side and giving Javert a small opening on the flesh shoulder side again to try another cut.

That one will draw blood, if Javert takes it, across the Soldier's bicep.

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Holiday Prep Etc

II

1. Keep a secret?

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Re: II

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iii, dec 18

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i.

Re: i.

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