days of future past the ring of my asshole

[chopshopsuplex]

So she's learning Russian. So one of her...partners has been schooling her in the 'proper ways of the Russian'-- so what? It's still cold as hell, in the heart of the matter let alone the weather, and the only great thing they've got going for them in this area is the vodka.

And even that's starting to run out. Grease, grit, car parts scalped out in her bare hands? Fine. Running, fighting for her life, coding messages? That's what she signed up for.

"I did not sign up for camping," Gaby mutters to herself, goggle covered browns taking in the scene, the expanse of white that surrounds her, nearly blinds her.

It isn't camping so much as....rugged wild backpacking this time. Now, yes, maybe she'd gotten a little caught up in the riches and class and luxury of a spy's life but this is a rude wake up call.

If she could just get to the village she's supposed to find, then all would be well and her nose and toes and everything inbetween can warm up.

Up ahead, she spots the bumbling form of a man easily cutting through the snow.

"Ah, excuse me!" Gaby calls in her cobbled together Russian. "Can you help me get to the next village? I believe I might be lost." Funny enough, she won't have to play too hard at being the lost tourist this time around.

(No harder than with their target in the coming mission)

Comments

[chopshopsuplex]

Gaby waves to the suspicious woman, big smile on her face, as best she can as she's dragged away, pain pinging throughout her arm. She hisses and twists her arm to dig long, manicured nails into his skin. She doesn't bother to drag her boots because he'll manhandle her even more than that.

"And you're no lumberjack-- lo and behold! At least I was doing a much better job at not blowing my cover. Unlike some people. Now it'd behoove you to let go of me before you regret it."

That's when she really does let him have it, with a boot to the back of one of his knees, the arch of her foot straight on till morning.

"You're too much of a brute to be a friendly woodsman."

[sillaged]

Gun or knife? This might be the toughest decision Bucky's had to make so far since coming out of stasis. He stumbles when he takes the foot to the knee, and though his grip is tight the element of surprise had shocked him to release her.

From his chilly vantage point on the ground he eyes her ankle and with his metal hand and the extensive force within it, he grabs her and pulls, so hard that she's no choice but to end up joining him on the ground. Maybe they can make snow angels together, wouldn't that be just precious?

Regaining his footing quickly, he swiftly pulls out the blade at his waist, fingers fitting around the handle perfectly as he kneels over her and presses the tip just under her chin. His metal fingers squeeze her upper arm, it and the knife certainly threatening.

He's gotta admit, Hydra surprised him on this one with this woman. Why hadn't they told him? Another test of his skill, maybe? They always make adjustments and calibrations, tweaking every little aspect when he goes into the room. Surely this is just another way of testing that. The assassin formerly known as Bucky, now a constant test subject, number 748, code name: the Winter Soldier.

"Might wanna take things a little slower next time," he huffs over her, squeezing fingertips slightly more, "don't want em to think you're easy."

A shark-like grin pulls at his lips, revealing those pearly-whites.

"No, doll. Afraid my job description doesn't include chopping down trees and being friendly to Gretel here."

[chopshopsuplex]

She doesn't go down without a fight, exactly. Wide eyes take in the knifepoint, the solemn look in those baby blues, but she continues to squirm, her free hand in a vice like grip over the wrist that holds her possible future ventilation.

Defiance burns like a beacon in her gaze, and Gaby, too, offers something akin to a grin: except its a snarl, of lips curled over pearly whites that can still render flesh apart.

"As easy as you are? No, we wouldn't want that, soldier boy. If you don't want to be feeling very sorry for yourself in a few moments I suggest you unhand a lady."

She's frightened. She's absolutely frightened, her nostrils flare with every inhale that jars sharply into the bottom of her lungs, frightened of this soldier and just what he can do, so far away from them.

But she won't go down without a fight.

damn I need more winter soulja icons

[sillaged]

“Can you blame a guy for trying?”

Lips go from baring fangs to a tug of a smirk at the corner. Alright, so first mistake out of stasis: this is off-limits, any semblance of this--a faulty programming error he’s sure They will fix soon enough. The former life of past-pimpin’-dude Bucky Barnes peeks through at the most inconvenient times. But damn if she isn’t cute, yet deadly. A good combination.

He digs the point in a little harder, not even close enough to break the skin but still a threat. He lowers his voice, leans down again with every muscle and bone in his face hard, sharpened, honed in on the very real possibility of a vicious fight.

“Mmm...feeling sorry for myself isn’t part of the deal. Not real good at it, you see.”

Another drop in the volume of his voice.

“What are you really doing here?”

beams

[chopshopsuplex]

A sharp sniffle, of all things, sounds the moment he digs it in just that much more, and though she wants to flinch away, everything is screaming at her too, Gaby holds her ground and looks him dead in the eye.

It's obvious tremors of fear as well as cold have taken over her body, racking up and down her arms and legs, but she grits her teeth and ignores it.

"It should be, you're going to be going through that a lot in this life. And what I'm doing here isn't any of your business. I don't have any appointments, so I can do this all day. I'm sure you wouldn't want to be late for your job..."

[sillaged]

Just what the hell does she know about what he'll be doing in his life? He's not allowed to think that far but sometimes it's crept up like a fog rolling in on the horizon.

Finally Bucky slips the knife back into slim leather sheath and hauls her up, still just by the one arm. He's not letting his guard down again by far, but this is too risky. Too messy, already. Fuck! He's let himself really slip up this time.

"Maybe you can teach me how it's done, then," he practically spits as he drags her back toward town.

"Don't worry about my job - you're coming with me to it, anyway. My little lumberjack apprentice."

[chopshopsuplex]

The moment he starts to move her away from here, where someone could at least peek out of the windows from the flats above and see them, that's when a weight like lead settles in the bottom of her belly.

Now Gaby is, without a reasonable doubt, convinced he's a trained killer. Maybe like Illya, but very much...not. Doesn't have his warmth hidden behind the haunted eyes--

(though there is something there, and if she can exploit that...)

"I charge for my lessons. So I'd much rather you waive that and let me go instead. You wouldn't want your guest to be overwhelmed by a surprise arrival."

The little 'nickname' at least makes Gaby wrinkle her nose.

[sillaged]

Bucky laughs, curt and cold like his lovely, charming personality.

“Oh, I couldn’t pass up a lesson from Miss Subtle here. Do I just bite someone’s lip and get my way?” He snarls, vicious and yet still somehow full of some shit.

“What would make you say that? There’s much to be overwhelmed when it comes to him,” he grins, borderline dark and twisted. “And I think you’re just the one to help me. Call it...a sharp eye for skills.”

He’s not about to let this new, dangerous enemy out of his sight. Not when she’s much more than she looks.

[chopshopsuplex]

She doesn't have much to say, for once in her life. Just doe eyed and her teeth dug into her bottom lip, and then she's wrenching her arm away from him.

"Seeing as I won't get paid for it, I'd rather not if its all the same to you. Unhand me, or you might not have both of these hands in a moment."

Panic? Check. Unbridled anger coupled with horror that she's once again "captured?" Oh hell yes. But her bottom lip sets in a stubborn line. Probably trouble on the horizon. In three...

Two...

And up comes a snow boot to Bucky's crotch.

[sillaged]

Oh no she bettah don't.

"Bitch!" he spouts, then the equivalent in Russian, stomach in his throat and pain shooting through him. He doubles over but grits his teeth and struggles to straighten, hand going toward the other weapon strapped around one thunder thigh. His vision is slowly returning but instincts have kicked in and he's running on pure adrenaline.

"This again, hm? You really don't know when to quit, do you?"

He pants, hair sticking to his face and mouth. Stubble lines his jaw, which is still all clenched, bared teeth again. He's tired of the games, tired of holding back and giving her the opportunity to play the sweet little girl role.

Instead of turning to the gun, he grips her neck with his metal hand, fingers digging in on the sides as not to crush her windpipe (not unless he has to). He pushes his body hard against hers and tightens the grip a little.

"Neither do I."

[chopshopsuplex]

Tears prick at her eyes now, but that bottom lip remains stubbornly stiff, mouth parting wide to impart a scream and a snarl that razes from beneath her skin like a storm. It's hard to breathe, and his hand is colder than the snow that swirls around them, but at the same time, with the hitched breaths and the cold, cold fingers, anger, indignant and hot as a new flame swirls in her belly.

"Go fuck yourself. I'll never quit. That's the difference between us and you."

Fingers reach out for something to latch to, fumble through the many layers to dig nails into his skin, one hand fumbles towards his face, gets caught in shaggy hair, tugs hard.

[sillaged]

Bucky grunts with the pull on his hair, scalp stinging and eyes watering. But he goes with the motion of the ocean--that is, the tug. How easy it would be to snap that delicate, creamy neck of hers, but not before he finds out more about this mystery woman. Is it the annoyingly continuous target of SHIELD she's referring to?

"Just who the fuck are you with?" He snarls before grabbing her with his free hand; fingers close around her wrist again, squeeze like the ones around her neck, and twist to force her grip free.

No; she's most likely with some covert group unrelated to SHIELD completely. Just another enemy of Mother Russia and Hydra. Those are neverending, and as such, neverendingly hunted especially by Bucky. He curls his ankle around hers, foot ready to pull and maneuver her around for a face full of snow this time.

"Somebody unimportant, apparently, to send the likes of you."

[chopshopsuplex]

A sound that isn't quite a whimper but isn't quite a growl spills from her mouth as she attempts, in vain, to wriggle her wrist out of his grip, and squirms beneath the superior weight of his body, honed by the balance between life and death. As precarious as it is.

(she knows that much)

She doesn't know what he thinks, doesn't care as long as he never thinks to dispose of her for whatever he thinks--

"If you keep manhandling me you'll never find out. The importance of my task doesn't involve you, so there's no reason to inform you and blow both our covers with your sloppy tactician."

Gaby proclaims this with bared teeth and more confidence than she feels. It's a good thing her other foot is free, which she uses to stamp on his knee where she is.

[sillaged]

He lets go immediately - has to with the pain that radiates from his knee. Tears almost freeze to his thick eyelashes as he stumbles back and reaches again for the previously-abandoned knife.

He tries to lunge forward and ends up barely tearing through her jacket with a loud rip.

"Not manhandling you didn't work so well earlier when you got cheeky."

His stomach is still sore - along with everything else. Nothing like a good fight to get warmed up for what he should've done in the first place: ditch the girl, finish his mission, then get the fuck back to his superiors.

What the fuck is happening?

[chopshopsuplex]

Covered in snow from her backside to the inside collar of her coat, Gaby stands her ground (for now), hands at her sides; balancing on the balls of her feet, she's springloaded and ready to move at a second's notice. She breathes hard through her nose, tremors of rage or possibly fear-- or both-- course through her body.

"Maybe if you used your manners instead of being bullheaded you'd get better results. I thought you Russians had learned by now."

Apparently not. Unsurprisingly. Just keep him talking, Gaby.

too lazy to italics ;)

[sillaged]

Agile fingers twirl his knife again as he stares her down. He's so irritated and angry, not as much at her as himself.

He's a constant test subject, and knowing he's flawed... all of it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Which he's pretty sure wasn't the plan.

"[Yes, I forgot how far my manners got me last time. I thought it'd treated you so right, too.]"

Cocky smirks are his specialty, even though his eyes are hard as diamonds.

He steps closer, eyes narrowed as he tries to figure out the type of accent underlies her Russian. Not American - that's familiar to him somehow - but something else.

If he only could place it, he'd be able to identify the possible agencies she's with.

[chopshopsuplex]

"I'm not fond of this dance. I like wrestling much better. These sumo moves are too clumsy, there's no movement to it."

She can concede that much. Brown eyes never leave the slick motions of his knife, as if the metal slithers between his fingers and through the air itself, like it can hardly touch it.

Gaby doesn't want to be in the middle of that.

So she opens her mouth:

"Ah? No, ma'am, this man isn't robbing me! He's a street performer. Come and see for yourself."

The oldest, lamest trick in the book, accompanied by a pointed finger behind his shoulder. That's the moment she takes to pivot on her foot back the other way.