ARMS locker hahahha get it
28/2/15 09:58![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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kyouyasangels_incBucky wakes from a particularly restful sleep, a rare but welcome deep slumber. He thinks nothing is out of the ordinary (well, doesn’t think much about anything--it’s impossible until a shower) as he stumbles out of bed to shuffle to the bathroom. He doesn’t stop to check on the cybernetic arm he’d left resting on his dresser before going to sleep, because why would he need to? It’s not like it’s going anywhere, right?
He drops trou and switches on the shower, and finally after a long, blissful moment with the hot water, after which he feels remotely human again, he steps out and lazily towels off. Water beads over his skin on the parts he missed but he doesn’t bother to care as he slings the towel over his shoulder and makes his way back into the bedroom.
He goes about his business, pulling clothes out and tossing them onto the bed, before something catches his eye. Or rather, the absence of something--the absence of shiny silver glinting in the light cutting through the gap in the curtains.
“What the fuck.”
He pulls the towel down and loosely tucks it around his waist before retrieving a knife from under the piles of underwear in his top drawer. If it’s them, somebody to finish the job, he’s prepared (except the scant clothing - that could make for an awkward sitch, but one he’s not thinking about). He makes his way slowly over to his closet, peering in. Nothing. So, there’s one thing left to do: go out into the apartment and hunt down his limb. Maybe he just placed it elsewhere, though he knew that wasn’t possible.
Not today, Satan. Not today.
He drops trou and switches on the shower, and finally after a long, blissful moment with the hot water, after which he feels remotely human again, he steps out and lazily towels off. Water beads over his skin on the parts he missed but he doesn’t bother to care as he slings the towel over his shoulder and makes his way back into the bedroom.
He goes about his business, pulling clothes out and tossing them onto the bed, before something catches his eye. Or rather, the absence of something--the absence of shiny silver glinting in the light cutting through the gap in the curtains.
“What the fuck.”
He pulls the towel down and loosely tucks it around his waist before retrieving a knife from under the piles of underwear in his top drawer. If it’s them, somebody to finish the job, he’s prepared (except the scant clothing - that could make for an awkward sitch, but one he’s not thinking about). He makes his way slowly over to his closet, peering in. Nothing. So, there’s one thing left to do: go out into the apartment and hunt down his limb. Maybe he just placed it elsewhere, though he knew that wasn’t possible.
Not today, Satan. Not today.