worthallthis | The Last Voyages: IC Inbox

yes. and of course not that shit is horrible

I imagine it is an unwelcome surprise for you. Stay aware. Steve and I tried to take it down, but it just crops back up.

I will be there soon.

When he gets there, the door is open a little, waiting for him, so he doesn't have to knock or enter any codes or anything. B is sitting on the empty bed frame like it's a couch. A metal couch with no cushions, but still. Vesta is taking up most of the mattress on the floor, spread out like only a cat can do.

The basic metal desk has been moved over to in front of the bed, so they can play their chess facing each other properly.

Godric, as always, hesitates in the doorway before stepping through. It's mostly a habit to test out the boundaries, to ensure that B hasn't rescinded his invitation (not that Godric thinks he will). But he would rather not look silly slamming into an invisible barrier.

"Good evening, B," he greets, going then to Vesta and greeting her softly in Latin, as he should. He kneels down momentarily on the mattress and slowly brushes his fingers along her fur.

"How are you?" he asks B in Gaulish. Then, to give him a hint: "And don't simply say fine."

It takes the second comment for B to realize Godric is talking to him and not the cat-- he'd been listening, but not expecting to respond. He blinks once. Then repeats it, a little more haltingly than before, but still with pretty good pronunciation. "How are you. How are you? I'm--"

He has to pause, then frown, and come up with something other than "fine". "Okay?"

The two might sound similar, especially since Godric peppers Latin in it out of habit, but he's glad to know that B is paying attention.

He sets himself on the other side of the board and arranges only the pawns. Godric is no master at the game, but he knows the rules easily enough. Well enough to teach it, at least.

"Have you stayed away from the mistletoe?"

Vesta flips her tail at him for removing the petting, but subsides easily enough.

Making a small but still visible wrinkling of his nose, B says, "Trying to." This is one thing his hypervigilance is good for. He spies the stuff pretty quickly and easily.

Then, because he actually thinks it's kind of clever of him, he bends to grab the coat he's been wearing out and pull the little doll-- a sock stuffed with another sock and with fabric paint on it to make hair and blue dots for eyes, a tin foil arm stuck to one side-- out of his pocket to show Godric. "This works, too. People can kiss that."

Well, that is damn clever and Godric reaches for the little Bucky doll and laughs. "Extraordinary! How did you think of that?"

The game forgotten for the moment, he just marvels at the ingenuity.

It's kind of hideous, all in all, but it is still clearly meant to be him. Baby's first attempt at making something like that, and all.

The praise is weird, and he hitches one shoulder with an almost shy sort of duck of his head. "Didn't want anyone touching me. Thought maybe the magic plants could be tricked." Or impressed by the creative measures to get around them, he supposes, but he's not ascribing that much intelligence to a bunch of plants.

"The magic plants." He smiles and pats the little thing gently. "Well, I do hope it works for you, B. The mistletoe doesn't...bother me. I haven't had any negative experiences yet. But I don't like how it forces others to do things they wouldn't like."

He links his fingers together on the desk. "Are you ready to start?"

"You don't mind being touched," B points out blandly. He's less worried about what other people will do and more worried about what he'll do, to be honest. (Well, and a little bit worried about what other people will do, on an instinctive level.)

He sets the doll back to one side-- giving it a little pat of his own first-- then focuses on the board. "Are you black or white today."

He's right. Godric doesn't mind being touched, though it is a strange feeling for him. He doesn't actually explain that to Bucky, though. It involves too much backstory and feelings and other things that he doesn't think anyone else needs to hear. He's told one person and that seems enough.

"Black today."

He makes his first move, sliding a middle pawn forward.

"Have you been practicing?"

He doesn't know either of those words, but from the word-order he's gleaned from other phrases, he can guess which one is "black" at least. (Well, he's pretty sure it's two words, and not one long word.)

He blocks the pawn with his own after a moment of thought. "No one to practice with. Except Vesta. And she doesn't play fair."

"She does seem to be more interested in cheating by knocking over all the pieces." He gives the cat a quick look, arching a brow. She looks innocent enough.

He moves another pawn beside it, offering it for sacrifice. "But you can practice by yourself. Play against yourself."

If he doesn't take the pawn, that one will take his, so he swaps it with his pawn. "I can try that." Chess isn't something he ever really considered that he'd practice-- or not anything like chess, he frankly could not have envisioned a game with little carved pieces like this... ever. But if Godric thinks he should, then he will. He does want Godric to enjoy playing with him, after all. "Are there strategies I should learn."

"I don't know," he tells him with a shrug. "I play because it's...enjoyable. I have never been much of a strategist, I think. I studied wars and I followed them, but I was a warrior, in my heart. I never would have made a good leader."

He moves the bishop through the opening, ready to take an opposing pawn across the board.

"Even when I was Sheriff, I did not feel like a competent leader. Sometimes my plans did not work out the way I wanted them to because of unforeseen variables. Because I have spent so long alone, I sometimes don't understand how people- vampires or humans- think any longer."

Well, let's just. Stick another pawn out in the row next to that one, so if the bishop takes the first, the pawn can take the bishop. That works, right?

"I know people pretty well. I'm still not a leader." There is nothing that is going to make the fucking Asset into a proper leader, ever, he's sure of that much. The very idea is terrifying. "So don't think it's that. Maybe it just ain't a skill you've got. Like knitting or singing or something."

Yeah, that's a teeny tiny bit of Brooklyn slipping out, there. It's been happening on very rare occasions.

Bucky doesn't move the way Godric anticipated, so he changes his strategy a bit, picking up and moving his knight instead.

"Perhaps not. They said I could have been King of Texas. Magister. Part of the Authority. But I didn't want it. I would have been leading people with views I fundamentally disagree with."

He leans his elbow on the desk, the tip of his thumb between his teeth as he thinks.

He pops out another pawn, the start of a defensive perimeter. "Who would want that, anyway." There is no part of B whatsoever who would want to be king of anything. He pauses to review his understanding of politics and geography, burned into him by HYDRA. "There's a king of Texas?"

"For vampires, yes. King of each of the states. Sheriffs underneath them." He always liked the protective aspects of being Sheriff, but when he couldn't protect his people anymore, there didn't seem to be a point. And he doesn't need authority to protect them.

"The people who want power are generally the least qualified to have it," he remarks, taking one of B's pawns and setting it aside.

Ah, but taking that pawn leaves the knight vulnerable to B's own bishop. He debates the merits of letting it be drawn out briefly, then just does it. These are low-stakes battles. The only thing won is gloating rights, and he's not good at gloating. Bye-bye, knight.

"Only people with power I didn't get sent to kill were HYDRA," he admits. "So. Kind of proves the point."

He has to admit when a move is a good one, and he pushes a pawn forward, smiling serenely. Time to try and new tactic.

"Who were they?" he asks softly. "Do you remember?"

He tucks both hands down at the question, so he doesn't break any pieces. The metal arm makes a low mechanical buzz, some of the plates shifting under his multiple layers of sleeves, but at least it's not the whine of preparing for violence. "Alexander Pierce, Secretary of Defense. Last handler. Rogers promised to take his head off if he shows up here. K. Karpov. Don't remember a first name. He had. The Words. Some. Short, round asshole with. With. Glasses. Tech with a fucking bow tie. Field command Brock Rumlow."

So yes, he remembers some of them. Most of the technicians, doctors, and teammates are faceless, nameless right now, but he has a few of them.

Less concerned with the names and more the memories, Godric just listens, letting B go over each one in that halting sort of way that he's grown used to.

He sits back, arms crossed, running his hands along his skin like he's cold. He's not, of course, but he's thoughtful. Worried.

"And you were never told why?" He thinks he knows the answer, even as he says it. It's more of a rhetorical question anyway.

"It's your move."

"I know." Godric is an ancient vampire. He can wait a minute or two more while he makes sure the metal arm is under control. And his emotions, too.

Looking down at the board without really thinking about the pieces, he says, "We were bringing order. Give the world the freedom it deserves. Don't know the details of how exactly. If they ever told me, they're gone now." Though he did make some educated guesses based on the mantra "order only comes through pain" and the amount of guns on that helicarrier.

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and now we all discover how bad Gail is at envisioning chess board moves XD

I'm good to a certain point, then it's just vague! No worries!

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