logsinthenight | Routine Adjustments, Catch-All Log for February [Open+Closed prompts]

Entry tags:

Routine Adjustments, Catch-All Log for February [Open+Closed prompts]

characters: Soldat etc, open and closed prompts
location: Various, see each prompt
date/time: February 4 - 15, non-event stuff
content: Some new additions to the usual routine, some quiet grieving, and some dancing
warnings: Just the usual Bucky shit

I. Expanded Patrols, All Over + Invincible [Open]

With downtown open, and so far away in the snow, patrols take a little longer. Soldat spends a week in early February balancing locations until they find the optimum route for the morning and afternoon patrols (or, the 0500 and 1600 patrols, since there's no real morning or afternoon in a world of endless night). After that, snow and ice or not, they can be found reliably following one looping path or the other, depending on the time of day. Sometimes with company, sometimes not. Sometimes stopping at the scrapyard to give the dog-spirit a treat and sift through the junk in search of something useful. Sometimes wandering the halls of the school, wondering what it would have been like to attend one. Sometimes glowering at the mall downtown with the stupid crocodile spirits in the lower level.

And after, lingering in the warm Invincible tavern room and kitchen, listening to people, playing music softly on their tablet, and munching idly on sandwiches or whatever Midge has made that day while they play a newly remembered boredom-dispelling game: solitaire.

They're willing to segue into poker, should anyone come to join them before they get up to clean their dishes in the kitchen and go home to sleep.

II. Expanded Hours, Gym [Open]

Wednesday and Friday, like clockwork, after the 1600 patrol along the downtown loop, Soldat is at the gym with Javert and Jason for weapons and survival lessons or, if no one shows up for those, sparring and practice. Because practicing outside is kind of dumb when it's freezing, and because the trees behind Aziraphale and Crowley's cabin are starting to look rather worst for wear, Soldat winds up adding another day during the week-- sometimes Monday, sometimes Saturday, whenever they have time. They just show up at the rec center and throw knives at things, slash at imaginary opponents all across the gym floor, and hit things with the flesh fist (the metal one doesn't need to practice; it's a machine).

Feel free to join in. Or watch and wolf-whistle. Whatever.

III. Fading Hope, Church [Open]

Between actual routine activities, Soldat has spare time. They don't normally like spare time, and try to find useful ways to fill it, but the first week or so of February, it's good that they have it, because they spend most of it in the church.

Scarlett, their very first friend since Steve Rogers, had an obituary. Scarlett has been gone for possibly weeks. Scarlett might still come back, and Soldat wants to be there when she does. Or at least find her as soon after as possible. Make sure she's all right.

So they sit in a pew near the back, feet propped unrepentantly on the pew back in front of them, and hold a notebook over their knees, sometimes writing (slow and halting, occasionally hasty scribbles), sometimes just staring at the blank pages. Waiting.

IV. Buck Up, Sad Boy [Closed to Misty]

Scarlett is gone, apparently for good, but. Well. They're not. And other people are not. And they can only wallow in Sad for so long before the Sergeant nags them into doing something they enjoy, even with the Asset apparently enjoying the mope. So after clearing out Scarlett's things from her old room (boxing up the more personal effects in their own room, distributing her canned food supply to the store), they head to Misty's.

They have a plan. This will cheer them both up, they hope. So they knock, tablet already out and clutched to their chest, and hope she's awake.

V. Dragged Along for Research [Closed to Sora]

The library is not really Soldat's favorite place, but here they are anyway, trailing along behind Sora, looking around at the books in a somewhat blank and lost manner. There's so damn many. How do you even know where to start.

Thankfully, that's what hyperactive teenagers are for. Start them in the right direction, Sora. Or at least start them somewhere.

VI. Wildcard

Got an idea not on here for something you'd like to do with Soldat before the memshare event? Hit me up, I am open to p much anything and everything.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That's what practice is for. There's an actual upswing song coming up on the tablet, and they're gonna put these three steps together. "Yeah, I spent too long searching through the music there, the other day." While sitting in the church waiting for Scarlett, they don't say. That would ruin the mood. They're going to have to talk about it sooner or later, but they're going to go with "later". At least one more song.

They judge Misty competent enough for the moment, so when the song does change over, they just pick her up around the waist and swing her right into position for the first. "Okay, in order. For four measures each." Please know what a measure is, Misty.

"It makes everything a lot more livable, I'll say that much. This, I wish we'd just had from the get go." She'd been losing her damn mind, fretting about batteries and battery sustainability. The swing passes without comment, but her expression shifts briefly into absolute elation. Huge, huge leap, not the coveted hug but something nearly as good.

Wouldn't even imagine cuffing him had he expressed doubt in her understanding of the term, even. Friendly contact is just that potent.

"Gotcha." And she'll do as instructed - stilted initially, a few lulls to check herself against what he's doing, but it's recognizably the motions intended. Unpolished, but there. It's taking real effort not to say anything too positive and jinx herself, but she's getting it.

Aw, Misty. That look. What did they do to get that look? Surely not manhandle her around... people don't generally like that, do they?

They sit on that, mentally, while guiding her through the rotation of moves, and throwing in a lift and spin of their own at the end, not something she has to do anything with but accept, just to see what she does.

Her tastes are bizarre and intense-leaning enough on either end of any spectrum to place her well outside of 'general', more often than not. It's a uniquely lighthearted gesture. The bone-deep satisfaction of normal contact but with energy, with pep, that asks nothing of her. It helps that he's him, strong and safe and in sore enough need of encouragement she can abandon any gunshy leanings.

She follows right along, and the instant she can process what's happening that look is back with a vengeance. An additional laugh, gleeful bordering on girlish without more time to develop. She is decidedly an enthusiastic fan. "Hey-!"

That's the look. That's it again. How could something like this get that look? It's an equation they feel like they're missing a few pieces from.

The song ends, transitioning into a much slower piece again, and suddenly it's too much. They set her down, take their hands back, and step away, looking sheepish and awkward. It actually lasted a lot longer than it could have. Still feels like an utter failure now that it's over.

"Guess you like dancing, too," they say.

"There's strong odds it'll start growing on me," she murmurs back, all grin and incrementally regained breath. It'd be embarrassing were it anyone else, but as is she's content to be pleased enough for the both of them. "Helps that you're a pretty great teacher."

The shift in his mood isn't unnoticed, but it's better to glide alongside than halt and call out altogether. Keep demonstrating that she's, frankly, psyched. "It was fun! You were great! And if you're winded," too delicate to be a jab, but it isn't intended to be serious anyway, "You can sit a minute. I'd say that was a promising first go at it, from my end."

"We'll do it again," they say. "Later." Like another day. Another week, maybe. But they will. They won't feel like shuddering all over and hiding their face forever. Just maybe for a few minutes. The arm buzzes through a rippling calibration loop, and they back up to drop onto the couch and put their head in their hands.

It was great. For four songs' worth. Do they have a limit to even good touch? Half an hour at most? Jesus, that's not fair.

"Scarlett isn't coming back," they say into their hands. Misty probably knows they've been keeping watch a couple hours a day at the church, for this mysterious person Misty probably hasn't even seen around. "I got her things out of her room so someone else can use it."

"You know where I live, whenever you've got the urge." Both earnestness and an offer of time, two birds, one stone. He'll need a minute, she knows enough to expect. Doesn't join him on the couch, instead nudging the coffee table slowly back into place and sidling into the kitchen for water. The rooms are open concept enough neither is really out of the other's range of vision, but small concessions can pay off sometimes. Worth the shot, giving him a moment.

Bad news comes as she's settling into a chair opposite him, and she looks appropriately crestfallen to hear it. Never met the woman, but it's nothing enviable. Infuriating, actually, knowing that were they anyplace else she could be dragging people back to life by the hair if she were so inclined. Voicing any of this won't be much help. Soldat's still there, and clearly hurting over it. Has been for some time, she realizes, as the gap fills in and she frowns a little harder. "I am so, so sorry." Useless but not untrue, and not unnecessary. "I didn't know her well, but that's - horrible."

She's at times still fuzzy on the workings of things over at the celestial household, but presumes he's still on a couch, which prompts, "If you don't have the room for anything important, you can keep it here? It'd be safe at least, mementos are important. And if - I don't know, if there's anything I can do to help..." ...He knows where she lives.

"She doesn't. Didn't. Have much. It's in a box under my bed." Check it out, they do in fact have a bed now, it's great. The music is still playing, and they try to focus on that, drop their hands and just lean their elbows on their knees. "She was the first one. She told me she could be my friend. Showed me how. Used to call me Tinman."

And then spent weeks avoiding them before she disappeared.

"I don't understand people, sometimes," they say, a little mournfully.

Fair enough, and probably better anyway. She abandons the chair to just...sit on the floor, a couple of feet closer. Closest to reassuring she can make herself without anything by way of contact. A friend, gone. This hurts.

She can at least smile, a little mournful herself. "We sure don't make it easy for anybody else, do we? Most, anyway." He's remarkably communicative and cooperative. She almost envies it. "Everyone's just a walking ball of issues. Sometimes people mesh enough to see right to the heart of it, sometimes they just like the trouble anyway. I wish I had something...concrete, to tell you, but any one rule for everybody'd be a lie."

"I know. Everyone's a little different. And sometimes it makes sense. You make sense. Crowley. The kid, most of the time. But sometimes it just. Doesn't." Like with Scarlett. Or Eleven. Rosinante. They clasp their fingers together, rubbing the metal thumb over the others, staring down at them, the closest to a fidget they really ever get. "I'm glad for that first memory malfunction. Don't know what I'd do without you."

"Anything specific ever nagging at you, I wouldn't mind sitting down to puzzle it out together." A meek offer, but heartfelt. It's a frustrating issue on its own, she can only imagine from his perspective.

That statement hits right in the gut, if she's honest, and for a split second she's nearly misty-eyed for it. A comically weak spot she wasn't prepared for. It's good to feel useful, great to feel needed. It's all she can do to smile until her head catches up with her mouth. The first ever she'd said it, she only realized afterwards, was via text, and could use shoring up. This is as good an opening as any. "It's mutual, you know? I love you. I really do. Never met anybody who made as much sense as you before, and it's - well. Nothing about her was your fault. I promise."

Oh, hell, now they're crying again. Just a little, but it's enough to need to sniff and look down, half-hiding their face in hair and scrubbing at one eye. Seriously, all this weeping has got to stop, it's actually getting annoying. (No. What would you know, Asset? You hardly have feelings. No.)

"Don't know what love feels like," they admit, feeling very small and unworthy. Soldat wants to tell the truth, but doesn't want to hurt her, either. It feels like something they should reciprocate, they're just not sure how. If a not-person is even capable. (C'mon, pal. We still doin' this? It's not like anything's changed, Sergeant. Ain't it? No.) Well. Maybe a few things have changed.

"Not shocked," she says, gently. Warmly. It'd sting from anyone else, terribly, but his is a unique case. He's trying. Desperately, she wants to prove it can be waited out. So the smile stays, if wistfully. "It's a big, big thing, and that's something I bet they beat out of you early. It's not gone forever, Soldat. Promise. You'll get the hang of it later, it's just playing safe."

She really believes this.

"And in the meantime, I'll just keep it going! Steady example for you to get used to. It's alright."

Joke's really on both of them, since the only problem is lack of recognition and understanding, rather than feeling. They'll get there. Maybe even soon.

Doesn't stop Soldat from feeling utterly worthless, right now, though. Misty deserves better. As evidenced by her encouragement in the face of their admission. This is probably a moment the deserves touch, too, but they used up all that with the dancing. (Goddammit. Why do we gotta be like this? Don't look at me, pal. I don't know anymore than you do. Awaiting orders. That's real helpful, thanks, Asset.)

At the very least, they know what gratitude feels like. "Thank you," they say, rubbing away another few tears. "You deserve to get it back."

Don't go saying that now, or she'll get going. Somehow her expression manages to soften further. Not certain who deserves what these days, even more uncertain of her own place in it all - she must have deserved hell, in some fashion, but maybe that's Catholic guilt talking - but it's nice to hear. She rubs the back of her neck, bordering on sheepish.

"And you're worth waiting for. So this works, and we're still going to manage fine. Lean on each other when we need it. Not too shabby a deal." An incline of eyebrows, clearly angling for a smile. C'mon, it hurts seeing that mug sad.

One of these days maybe they'll feel like they've done something to earn her unconditional acceptance like this, been a good enough support for her. Until then, they're just... gonna soak it up and feel vaguely guilty about it, apparently. Not guilty enough to stop, though. Soldat is only half-Catholic.

If it's a smile she wants, it's a smile she gets, even if it's a little bit pathetic still. It does come with eyes up to her face, though, which is good. "I keep doin' this to you lately. I'm a mess." In regards to all the emoting. Is it better to be emotionless and hide everything but compliance, or to cry all the damn time?

"You've got a lot coming to the surface, Soldat. I really don't mind. Like it, even! Almost like you trust me or something." Little smile. Encouraging. Easing him toward greener mental pastures, but not pressuring. Shame she can't hug him, but they'll live.

"I like knowing you can do that with me. I like talking you through it, when I can. It's nice to help." As stated: he's worth it.

"I do. Trust you." It's not the same as love, but it's almost as unfamiliar. It is something they can recognize, at least, and it makes their voice and breathing settle a bit to do so. They actually trust Misty not to hurt them. When's the last time they thought that about someone? Steve, in ancient memories, maybe. Crowley they can touch without getting too overwhelmed, but the same trust isn't there, because Crowley still takes months-long naps and refuses to wake up and talk. Sora is kind, but Sora is young and unsteady and they're going to hurt each other just on accident tripping around each other's issues.

But Misty won't hurt them. Even if she's not herself. Even if they're not themselves. They actually believe that. She's proved it again and again. It's truth, not just wishful thinking.

This is maybe a bigger revelation for Soldat than it should be.

In a world where so many people are so easily abused or taken advantage of, with no recourse or justice, Misty's largely sworn off the stuff. But it feels rare and precious to offer it, and affirming to hear it explicitly returned. He's been so beaten down she can let herself believe that it really means something. It's not born of convenience. It's too tender a moment to beam, but the widening of her smile is unmistakable.

"I'm honored, and I won't take it for granted. And I think it's a pretty great start." It's a wondrous thing, and a foundation for more of the same. There's growth ahead. She's sure.

Another couple sniffs, and they think the waterworks are done. Unless one of them says something else sappy, or something. Their smile is still wan, but at least it's back now, and they finally tuck their hair back behind their ears so she can actually, properly see their face. It really is getting long. They oughta start... doing something with it, Jesus.

Apparently they ran out of words, as well as capacity for touch. After a moment of trying to find something to say, they just give up, and push slowly to their feet to head to the kitchen. They're gonna make coffee or cocoa or something, okay.

Nothin' but smile, Soldat. Watching idly after him, she resettles back in a real chair. Crisis averted. Slowly ebbing toward normal.

"This is nice. You know, I'm all for the surprise visits."

Surprise visits. Soldat isn't really great at spontenaity, but they do take note of that, at least. Where they might have time in their schedule to stop by at other times than to look for tasks. (Maybe when we have nightmares during the second sleep cycle. Seein' Misty after a nightmare? Sure that's a good idea? Better than anybody else. And she'll let us cook or just make folded animals. Orders. Not orders, Asset. Choices. Mission?)

They huff a little sigh out at the Asset's single-mindedness, but then, it's not like that's unfamiliar. A couple words squeeze out for Misty: "Can try." They start the coffee and decide, you know what, those mochas at the Night Market were good. They're gonna mix the coffee and the cocoa and see how it goes. It's an experiment.

"Not a demand, just being appreciative." But she'd be pleased with it, certainly.

Taking the return to clipped statements to mean he's still a little raw on the rebound, she'll curl up rather than immediately make efforts to continue conversation. Without her moving, the volume on his tablet increases slightly. It can take the place of conversation while he works - keeps the vibe pleasant, keeps silence at bay. Environmental filler.

Misty, you are the actual best. The music helps fill the silence, makes them feel less like it's hanging over them. They busy themselves in the kitchen for as long as it takes to brew enough coffee for both of them-- it's still the equivalent of midday, it shouldn't bother Misty, and it doesn't really affect Soldat anyway unless they have like eight cups-- by cleaning a little and then looking for some cheese and crackers to bring over with it. Fruit is ruled right out, as tasting gross with coffee.

They finally pour two steaming mugs and mix some of the chocolate powder into both, then bring the whole lot in with some careful balancing of coffee mugs and plate of snacks. "Experiment," they explain when handing Misty her drink.

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