[ It somehow manages to fly backwards, hit a tree, ricochet against the back of Bradley's head with hopefully a satisfying sound, then zigzags from tree to Nazi throughout the clearing like a runaway pinball.
Then it smacks into Bucky, square in the chest, defies the laws of physics as it flies straight up in the air, spins in suspense...
[ How many times does he have to be hit in the head in one week, huh? How many metal objects does one person have to get hit with?
These title cards don't mean anything to him. Maybe the turn of the story where they've decided on the villain. Wiwaldi was always big on their narrative.
He watches and waits for Bucky to get back up. There's no way it's already over. ]
[ It's not. Bucky struggles onto his elbows--or, well, elbow, since his right arm isn't doing so hot still--but it's clear that the card has him shaken. ]
I-I didn't...I wouldn't...
I can still save him!
[ As he gets to his feet, his sleeve gets caught on a tree root poking out of the ground. It rips, revealing his metal arm...but not as the smooth, almost human-like replica that was there before. No, it's much more mechanical. A machine more than a human limb. His image shudders, and part of his face now almost appears to be ripped off, too; an exposed skull of rudimentary robotic parts. Rivets down the temple connecting two metal seams, a hydraulic joint at the jaw. A red camera-like lens for an eye. And what flesh remains has gone a waxy pale white with patches of frost blooming here and there. Like frostbite. What remains of his lips is blue.
Bucky gapes at the hand, the new type of machinery in the exposed arm, but then grits his teeth and forces himself up. He's unsteady--is it due to the shield hitting him? The revelation of the card? The transformation?
It doesn't matter. Because in this moment, he looks every bit a killing machine as he raises the shield again and flings it with what looks like lethal force and precision. ]
[ Bucky doesn't even look human, even from as far away as Bradley's standing. Something is wrong. The story's declaration did a number to his opponent. It seems he's been assigned.
If he had more time to ponder it, he would. Is this a personalized nightmare? Knowing this hotel, it could be.
He dodges out of the way, quickly realizing he didn't need to.
One of the Nazis gets back up. The shield clangs against their head, sending it back Bucky's way. ]
[ and it catches him in the jaw. Well. That's great. Bucky secures the shield to his back for now and rushes Bradley. If the shield won't work, then he'll fight without it.
As he rushes, he tackles a Nazi, grabs their combat knife, and then shoves them away. He runs at Bradley and drives the knife right into his throat--or he tries, because the tip of the blade curls softly against his flesh like a foam toy. ]
Damn it! Shit!
[ He throws it away (and it flies off-screen somewhere into the sun) and throws a punch at Bradley instead. ]
[ The only real weapon they've got is the shield on Bucky's back. Guns? Fake. Daggers? Fake. Knives? Fake.
Shield? Real.
While he's successfully rushed his nails shift slightly to give way to claws.
He gets punched on the side of his face at the same time he claws at Bucky's throat. It's a struggle for survival as he tries to get his hands on the shield. ]
[ Bucky recoils once the clawing starts. Can't let him get leverage, can't let him get an edge in--
He tries to kick Bradley in the gut. More distance to work with, and plenty of leg power to put him down. Unfortunately, it's like Bradley is suddenly made of rubber, and Bucky's leg rebounds. He's sent stumbling back, arms pinwheeling for balance that he can't catch, until he slams into a tree and falls forward. He lands in the dust looking like a fool. And a bouncy ball.
But Bucky doesn't give in. The one thing Bucky never does is give in. The only thing he's good at is keeping at it, no matter how ugly things get. No matter how much shit the world throws at him. He can, and he always will, slog through it to get to the other side.
He rolls over and forces himself to sit up, supported by his elbow. ]
I'm not a traitor. He gave it to me! I'm supposed to keep it safe for him!
[He might've been made of rubber for the moment, but he was still kicked. The air rushes out of his lungs in a cough as he stumbles backward. His preference is a gun, but he can at least hold his own when they're this close. Bradley has no plans to go down without a fight.
His entire life has been about survival. Kill or be killed, it's always been easy at home. That was the climate, hard and cold. Whatever warmth you had, you had to fight for it. Bradley's holding onto that thought, the drive to stay alive for his hostage.
But he looks down at Bucky and there's a familiarly there. Not the same, not exactly. Sometimes the people you want to save you can't. It could just be the way they are, or circumstances outside of either of your control.
What else is there? What can he say? Everything rings hollow to his ears. They're going through these motions, desperate to keep their important people safe. No matter what the outcome, somebody is going to die here today.
This place is what's screwing me over! How the hell am I supposed to save my hostage when I'm dead?!
[ He twists away, haphazard and rolling over onto his side. He throws the shield at him in one swift motion--but it's off-balance from the roll. The shield ricochets wildly across the trees and even some of the Nazis again--but completely misses Bradley. Instead, the shield's terminus is...slamming into Bucky in his back, sending him sprawling back into the dirt with another grunt. ]
It doesn't matter what happens to me so long as he gets out okay!
[It's not as though he can argue that. The hotel situation is what got everybody into this mess to begin with. There's so much people will tolerate for themselves, but not if it means their friends or family are on the line.
Bradley walks forward to pick up the shield, heavy and solid in his hands. Something real.
The things he's saying are so familiar, echoes of the past. Words he heard centuries ago now.
[ There's a part of Bucky that knows it's over. He's on the ground, already injured from Thursday. Bradley has his shield, the only thing that seems to leave any damage here. And even when Bucky still had it, it seemed the whole world here turned against him, rerouting every attack, every harm against him. Even his own blows.
The dignified thing to do would be to lay down and accept this.
But Bucky isn't dignified. And he doesn't just accept things. Even if it's futile, as long as he can move, then he will. If anyone wants to beat him, they'll have to do it until he's cold and soaking in his own blood. ]
Figure a way back--[ he laughs a little, cold and cynical. ] Oh, you can believe I'll crawl my way back out of the grave the second I can! But that's not the damn point!
[ He stares at the shield in Bradley's hands. Does he even understand what he's holding? The weight of it? The honor of it? The years of battle this shield has seen, what it's meant for countless people across America and around the world, the way it galvanizes people to believe in and work towards good even when it seems impossible...
The shield is all that matters, in the end. ]
I can rot in hell for all I care, but the world needs him!
[Bucky is on the ground, injured. The worst Bradley's gotten isn't even half of what Bucky's received. It'd be easy for Bucky to give up now, and accept the coming blow. The fact he doesn't is familiar too. Fight, rage, try to stay alive.
If they could both walk away, he'd be glad for it. If they could have a proper sparring match, without their hostages on the line-
The weight of the shield doesn't mean anything to him. He doesn't have the same background. Nobody's ever told him about the history of the thing, and how much it means.]
Then get him back.
[His fingers clasp tightly around the shield. He brings it down, straight into Bucky's throat.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Then it smacks into Bucky, square in the chest, defies the laws of physics as it flies straight up in the air, spins in suspense...
suspense...
suspense...
Wow, this shield sure has been spinning in the air for a while, huh? Looks like the story's moving on without it!
This particular card has Bucky frozen in place and reeling. ]
What?
[ The shield finally drops, crashing into Bucky's head and sending him falling to the ground like a ragdoll. ]
no subject
[ How many times does he have to be hit in the head in one week, huh? How many metal objects does one person have to get hit with?
These title cards don't mean anything to him. Maybe the turn of the story where they've decided on the villain. Wiwaldi was always big on their narrative.
He watches and waits for Bucky to get back up. There's no way it's already over. ]
no subject
I-I didn't...I wouldn't...
I can still save him!
[ As he gets to his feet, his sleeve gets caught on a tree root poking out of the ground. It rips, revealing his metal arm...but not as the smooth, almost human-like replica that was there before. No, it's much more mechanical. A machine more than a human limb. His image shudders, and part of his face now almost appears to be ripped off, too; an exposed skull of rudimentary robotic parts. Rivets down the temple connecting two metal seams, a hydraulic joint at the jaw. A red camera-like lens for an eye. And what flesh remains has gone a waxy pale white with patches of frost blooming here and there. Like frostbite. What remains of his lips is blue.
Bucky gapes at the hand, the new type of machinery in the exposed arm, but then grits his teeth and forces himself up. He's unsteady--is it due to the shield hitting him? The revelation of the card? The transformation?
It doesn't matter. Because in this moment, he looks every bit a killing machine as he raises the shield again and flings it with what looks like lethal force and precision. ]
no subject
If he had more time to ponder it, he would. Is this a personalized nightmare? Knowing this hotel, it could be.
He dodges out of the way, quickly realizing he didn't need to.
One of the Nazis gets back up. The shield clangs against their head, sending it back Bucky's way. ]
no subject
As he rushes, he tackles a Nazi, grabs their combat knife, and then shoves them away. He runs at Bradley and drives the knife right into his throat--or he tries, because the tip of the blade curls softly against his flesh like a foam toy. ]
Damn it! Shit!
[ He throws it away (and it flies off-screen somewhere into the sun) and throws a punch at Bradley instead. ]
no subject
Shield? Real.
While he's successfully rushed his nails shift slightly to give way to claws.
He gets punched on the side of his face at the same time he claws at Bucky's throat. It's a struggle for survival as he tries to get his hands on the shield. ]
no subject
He tries to kick Bradley in the gut. More distance to work with, and plenty of leg power to put him down. Unfortunately, it's like Bradley is suddenly made of rubber, and Bucky's leg rebounds. He's sent stumbling back, arms pinwheeling for balance that he can't catch, until he slams into a tree and falls forward. He lands in the dust looking like a fool. And a bouncy ball.
But Bucky doesn't give in. The one thing Bucky never does is give in. The only thing he's good at is keeping at it, no matter how ugly things get. No matter how much shit the world throws at him. He can, and he always will, slog through it to get to the other side.
He rolls over and forces himself to sit up, supported by his elbow. ]
I'm not a traitor. He gave it to me! I'm supposed to keep it safe for him!
I'm supposed to keep him safe!
no subject
His entire life has been about survival. Kill or be killed, it's always been easy at home. That was the climate, hard and cold. Whatever warmth you had, you had to fight for it. Bradley's holding onto that thought, the drive to stay alive for his hostage.
But he looks down at Bucky and there's a familiarly there. Not the same, not exactly. Sometimes the people you want to save you can't. It could just be the way they are, or circumstances outside of either of your control.
What else is there? What can he say? Everything rings hollow to his ears. They're going through these motions, desperate to keep their important people safe. No matter what the outcome, somebody is going to die here today.
Bradley can't let it be himself.]
This place is gettin' to ya.
[Lunging for the shield.]
no subject
[ He twists away, haphazard and rolling over onto his side. He throws the shield at him in one swift motion--but it's off-balance from the roll. The shield ricochets wildly across the trees and even some of the Nazis again--but completely misses Bradley. Instead, the shield's terminus is...slamming into Bucky in his back, sending him sprawling back into the dirt with another grunt. ]
It doesn't matter what happens to me so long as he gets out okay!
no subject
Bradley walks forward to pick up the shield, heavy and solid in his hands. Something real.
The things he's saying are so familiar, echoes of the past. Words he heard centuries ago now.
He hesitates.]
Figure a way back to this hotel.
no subject
The dignified thing to do would be to lay down and accept this.
But Bucky isn't dignified. And he doesn't just accept things. Even if it's futile, as long as he can move, then he will. If anyone wants to beat him, they'll have to do it until he's cold and soaking in his own blood. ]
Figure a way back--[ he laughs a little, cold and cynical. ] Oh, you can believe I'll crawl my way back out of the grave the second I can! But that's not the damn point!
[ He stares at the shield in Bradley's hands. Does he even understand what he's holding? The weight of it? The honor of it? The years of battle this shield has seen, what it's meant for countless people across America and around the world, the way it galvanizes people to believe in and work towards good even when it seems impossible...
The shield is all that matters, in the end. ]
I can rot in hell for all I care, but the world needs him!
[ Cap is all that matters. ]
no subject
If they could both walk away, he'd be glad for it. If they could have a proper sparring match, without their hostages on the line-
The weight of the shield doesn't mean anything to him. He doesn't have the same background. Nobody's ever told him about the history of the thing, and how much it means.]
Then get him back.
[His fingers clasp tightly around the shield. He brings it down, straight into Bucky's throat.]