1965-05-12 - Follow the Leader
Summary: Hard to get the Bucklings to agree on much, even if you're Patient Zero.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
bucky rogue 


.~{:----------: features=+views :-:}~.


|ROLL| Rogue +rolls 1d100 for: 89


With the coming of the full moon, an extraordinary event unfolds. They happen to be awake. One rises from sleep in that deep night hour, quickly followed by another. Kyr is not the quietest of the wolves — that goes squarely to Volya as a dubious honour, for the man might outfox a black-tip reef shark on the hunt. He is, however, durable and outstanding at locating any sort of meal. Chased up from the kitchens, he carries a loaf of bread, a jar of pickles, and some kind of plastic container probably full of jam or flour or plankton soup for all he knows. They shall all depend on his whims at the cabinets and fridge, theft no small matter for those who may otherwise not be noted living within the mansion.

Adam waits by the door. Matvei slumbers; Volya predictably grooms his hair with his fingers and looks sprawled. Genya has some kind of effort at exercise going on, but not very much. Orel's hair sticks out in all directions while he lies on his stomach, still keeping off his otherwise perfectly healed back. Probably by demand of the others.


Buck's up, himself. Perhaps tugged along by the bond. Perhaps only dealing with his own restlessness. He comesdown the hall from the suite he shares with Scarlett - he insists on sleeping just with his girl, a good portion of the time. No totally surrendering privacy.

No questions as he comes to the sleeping den, or so he thinks of it. It's a pack mind, after all.


Matvei asleep might bedim their connection some. Such things remain the province of wiser minds, astute about fractured oddities experienced by descendants of a spear line, rather than the distaff. Nikita is folded up not far away; whatever newspaper he somehow acquired is beside the red-framed Time magazine, another of Life, and another surrounding collection of poor Village rags. They aren't particularly organized. None of the others read; the real scholar is napping.

"Food," says Kyr. They speak in Russian behind these doors, shameless about it. Food might as well be the dinner bell rung, the clanging triangle struck. At once Adam assists in tearing up the loaf. Volya bothers to open the jar of pickles some, and places the jar on Genya's back, much to the tattooed man's lack of amusement. Upon that scene will Bucky come, several sets of eyes turned his way before he even steps through the door. A chunk of bread goes his way.


"We can go down and get something to eat. I can cook you guys a proper meal, if you're hungry. There's pasta and bread to start with," Buck offers, softly, even as he snatches the bit of bread out of the air, takes a bite. "Soup, too."


Several curious and incurious looks turned upon him surely give no sense of comprehension. The humble lift of those defined brows, the hidden tilt of a head; Orel looks up. Nikita stops mid-flip of a page, and if he does anything more than skim the pictures, one would be hard-pressed to know. Kyr holds the unknown jar, and looks mildly taken aback.

"People are out," Genya mutters, pickle jar still in place on the flat of his back. Down, dip, and up, he has to make do. "Not good to go out."

"What's pasta?" That, Orel.


«Noodles. With sauce made of tomatoes, meatballs. IT's good,» Buck says, dropping into Russian. "It's late. You won't bother anyone. I mean, Steve knows you're here and it's okay. We're not going out of the house, just down to the kitchen." Almost coaxing. It'll be good for them, right?


All they speak is Russian, relying on Adam or Kyr to translate out of bad English into comprehensible language. If they understand more, they aren't showing it. Volya pulls a blanket up over himself and promptly goes onto his side, prized chunk of bread to satisfy him. He takes a bite and swallows, poor for avoiding heartburn, and cares naught. His body burns hot but deals with deprivation as there is.

Orel rumbles some uncertain noise of that. "Supposed to stay here." That much decided, he nods to Genya. The tattooed super-soldier cracks a bit of a yawn. Convincing, no doubt, that he's wide awake and a guardian. All leaves the brothers vaguely capable of following Bucky. Though Adam watches it all with a degree of suspicion, Kyr with his jar.


«C'mon. You don't have to scavenge like alley-cats,» Buck coaxes, looking wry. «TRust me. It'll be okay.» Motioning them up, but giving no orders. They'll come because they can be convinced, or want to.


«Not scavenging. It's better up here,» mutters Kyr. He holds close to Adam, and clutches the jar rather defiantly. The burning curiosity in the awake ones counts for something.

«I think you go. But I stay,» Orel adds. Genya is still somewhat awake, and that leaves Kyr and Adam to maybe have their way tracing doubtfully after Bucky.


He lifts his hands - reluctant to resort to any kind of overt dominance. They make their own choices, but they can't lurk in Steve Rogers's attic forever. Buck just regards them patiently from the doorway.


Dominance is a thing determined in subtle ways — posture, tone, the dozens of cues no one consciously thinks about. Matvei is something of the glue linking them together, and absent Lazar or Volya tend to be the most independently minded anyhow. With Genya on babysitting duty for their nearly fatally wounded brother, that leaves Kyr and Adam to trail like ducklings in the goose's wake. Trudging along is easily enough done. The attic may not be entirely acceptable, but the hour is late and they are all convinced of their own activities.


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