{I am up against the wall

[forasecond]

Who: Five + Various
When: Month of September
Where: Around town
What: Various threads through the month.
Warnings: Depression/anxiety/PTSD mentions or descriptions; assassination/mass murder/themes of war; flippant references to child abuse/neglect/violence; mentioned and played out use of alcohol (which looks like underage use, all considered); will clearly mark if-when anything comes up.

I have killed a man and all I know

Is I am on the run and go

Comments

[forasecond]

Well, that's nice and vague. Annoying. "Well, none of this is going to be particularly hard to cook, long as you know how to make a decent fire and can find some kind of cookware in one of the houses," he shrugs. He's eaten worse, personally.

[worthallthis]

Well, he can make a fire, he's done that already, so that's a start. And he's seen cookware, even if he hasn't... actually... chosen a house yet. (He's an asset. Assets don't get their own homes. He mostly just sleeps in corners of public spaces, or in eaves.)

"I don't know how to cook anything," he says after a beat. "Most of my nutrition was liquid."

[forasecond]

"It's easy once you get the hang of it," he shrugs. He had never had to cook before the post-Apocalyptic wasteland he'd ended up in. That's part of what Grace was for, after all.

Five isn't exactly offering cooking lessons, here. But... he could possibly be persuaded. Or they could find someone a little more suited to the job. Someone more patient. Less irritable.

[worthallthis]

Any irritability or impatience would probably pale next to what the asset is used to. He'll put up with a lot. The problem is, he doesn't really know how to ask for help.

"Oh," is what he says. Then: "What is the easiest." Asking for intel, on the other hand, he can do.

[forasecond]

"It's all the same, really," he says, grabbing a can at random off the shelf. "Open it up, put it in a skillet, and heat it over the fire. Meat's trickier, but we'll worry about that once someone manages to take down a deer or something."

It's weird. Really weird just how much he doesn't seem to know or remember. It goes far below the surface, deeper than simple personal memories. Whatever the hell that HYDRA group did to him seems to have even affected procedural memories in him.

[worthallthis]

Ironically, if he manages to bring down a deer, the asset would know exactly what to do to make it edible. Scrounging up meat on the Western Front is somewhere in his brain. He just doesn't know it yet. But he files what Five says away to try later, taking one of those cans himself. The exact one Five picked up, in fact. It looks like some kind of beans.

Well. Even if it's horrible, it will at least hopefully make him feel better. He is desperately in need of nutrients, and it's not like he's had to worry about taste any time that he can remember. "Skillet over a fire. Okay."

And just in case, he shifts the can to his right hand, pulls off his left glove, and gives the top of the can a poke with his metal thumb, pressing until it dents a little. Good, he can get it open without dulling his knife, he thinks. (Enjoy that sight, Five. Your companion has a whole-ass metal hand.)

[forasecond]

Five went years without the luxury of eating for the sake of more than bare-basic survival. How good something was or wasn't really didn't matter, he just had to make sure he didn't die that day. Every day. For forty-five years. It was a rough and exhausting time, but he learned a number of useful skills in all that time, too. Skills he's glad to have, especially now that he's found himself in this strange, frozen tundra of a town.

"Like I said- easy." he nods a little. If watching that minor display affects him at all, it's hard to tell. Is a metal prosthetic really the strangest thing he's ever seen? No. It barely registers as more than just that- a prosthetic.

He tips his head to the side a little, "What am supposed to call you, anyway? You remember a name yet?"

sorry for the delay! month-end close kicked my butt

[worthallthis]

He slides a glance sideways at Five, expression going, if possible, even more blank. "I haven't remembered anything." Which isn't entirely true, he's had a flash here and there of things with no context-- mostly mission things, he thinks, with the snow and trees-- and he's been told that he has a name. But he doesn't want it. And he certainly doesn't want anyone here calling him that.

"If you need a name. Just pick something. I don't care."

no worries! I tag most reliably abt 3 days a week anyway 😂

[forasecond]

“Really?” the doubt is strong in that one word. Sure, he can but he hasn’t remembered whole swaths of things, depending on just how deep all that memory blocking HYDRA put him through really went, but… nothing at all? He’s doubtful. But he also doesn’t push it beyond that one tiny word of call-out, either. There’s a balance to these things.

“My father numbered us because he didn’t see fit to give us names. My siblings chose names for themselves, but I never bothered… need is a strong word, but I’d think it might be useful to have something to introduce yourself by, unless you just wanna be That Guy With The Metal Arm around town.” Just a thought. It’s really not so much that Five thinks he needs a name, strictly speaking, but some sort of moniker would probably be useful.

[worthallthis]

"People can call me the asset," he says, frowning faintly. He's already said that much. "Or the soldier. HYDRA called me that, too. The. Winter Soldier?" He thinks the STRIKE team were laughing when they mentioned that one, but it has more of a ring to it than soldier on its own. "Though I am also fine with. That guy with the metal arm."

There aren't exactly a lot of them around, after all. It is effective, if a bit long.

[forasecond]

“You’re not somebody’s property anymore,” and while he may have turned his number into a name in spite of his father’s desire to distance them from the concept of being people… even Five can’t say he’d feel right calling the guy the asset.

“How about…” he thinks about it for a long moment, mulling over a few possibilities. “Vesper.” A reference to the ‘evening star’ of Roman myth. Maybe a little on the nose, given the insignia on his metal arm, but… hey. He’s only named one person in his whole life and she’s a mannequin so…

[worthallthis]

He doesn't even have to think about it. He just says, "Okay." He is completely unaware of the connotations, but it doesn't sound insulting, and even if it was, he isn't sure he'd care. He's been called worse.

It reminds him, incongruously, of church bells. He doesn't know why.

But it's not bad. So he adds, "I can answer to Vesper."

[forasecond]

That way-too-easy acceptance is unnerving in a way Five can't quite articulate. Something about how incongruent it is to his own defiance of people ever making decisions for him, maybe. Just sits very wrong underneath his skin.

"Found anything of interest in looking around town yet?" It's easier for him to switch into something of a work mode than making casual conversation, and Five is pretty sure that's probably more comfortable for Vesper, too.

[worthallthis]

The asset (Vesper? he doesn't know yet if he wants to use the name himself) considers, then reports, "Not much that's useful. Clothing. Canned goods. Blankets. A few tools, though nothing small enough yet to do repairs on the arm if necessary."

He considers, then adds, "Wolf tracks out in the woods. Not a danger yet, but possibly could be if they decide the human population is easier prey than deer and rabbits."