The Last Voyages: IC Inbox

[worthallthis]

There is no voice message here. Better hope you got the right box.

Comments

[ukan]

The reaction isn't completely unexpected, so Lark just takes it in stride. "No? Why not?"

[worthallthis]

"I'm not creative. That's. That's Steve, not me." Which is also kinda not true. Bucky Barnes was pretty great at telling and making up stories, but he doesn't remember that. (James-the-train-prisoner was good at telling and making up stories, but that's not him.)

[ukan]

"I meant as a collaborative project. I provide the words, you create the rhythm and the feel to go with them. It becomes a sort of translation."

[worthallthis]

That's still creative. It's still making something. His expression is all but blank as he tries to reconcile the idea with his... his sense of self, whatever that even is. Even if he's a person (a person who cares) he's still been twisted around so he's made for destruction. "I don't know if I can," he finally says.

[ukan]

"If you can't, we have more music to learn than we can ever actually get to," Lark shrugs. No pressure. "But I've seen you analyze the songs I've showed you, and I think you have a better sense for what melody fits what lyric than most people do." A slight grin. "Better than Elton John, anyway."

[worthallthis]

B can't help it: he snorts at that, somewhere between amusement and derision. "Let me think about it," he says. "Maybe after Steve wakes up." And half his brain isn't dedicated to that, on top of the person thing, on top of the graduating thing, on top of the fear. His brain is not in the happiest place right now.

[ukan]

"Fair enough. Here; let me find something easier to listen to." Namely, something easy to remember with very little thought. Something without much darkness to it. Eye of the Tiger.