Two truths and a lie

[worthallthis]

Who: Bucky Barnes/Sarge and OPEN
What: Event and catch-all
When: All month
Where: Various, will state in prompts
Warnings: None for now


I. Caught in the Rain - Truth

Even if the weekend is all drizzle, Sarge still comes out to the sports deck every late afternoon and into the evening to practice, run around the track, and teach self-defense to anyone who comes out and is willing to learn.

The rain weighing down his hair and clothes isn't unpleasant, really. He's not no problem with water. He's also never had a problem with telling too much truth, because he hardly really knows how to lie anymore. So hey, maybe nobody will even notice the difference? He sure won't, not immediately.

He nods or even waves to anyone who comes up to join him on the deck, offers water bottles to anyone who looks like they need it. Mostly, he doesn't.


II. A Cool Drink - Lies

Frankly, Sarge talks to people so rarely and certainly never after having a shower, that he doesn't put two and two together immediately. Also, his first bout with this weird phenomenon was truth-telling, which means it was hardly any different than normal.

Now he's got a one of those bottles of water that he's idly sipping from, sitting sprawled on the seats in the theater or maybe cross-legged on the floor in Playback, trying to struggle his way through an actual book. He looks up when anyone comes in, as if ready for a distraction.

Anything that comes out of his mouth will be the opposite of what he wants it to be. That'll be fun.


III. Safely Indoors - General

Now that he's worked out what the problem is, Sarge makes an effort to stay dry. This means his workouts indoors are done in Playback's indoor playground, he stays away from people for the hour and change after his daily shower by hiding either in his cabin or (if his roommate is there) in the rafters of the theater, and he doesn't eat or drink in company. One might find him sitting in the Drunken Sailor at midnight chowing down on whatever the ghosts there bring him, or even sneaking into the buffet to squirrel food and drink out, though he takes longer to do that, stymied by so many chocies.

He spends a lot of time prowling the halls restlessly, avoiding the open air unless it's sunny out, and plunking on the piano in John's. He's managed to work out the melody and some bare chording for a few tunes, though they're not ones that would be familiar to anyone who doesn't know music from the 1930s and 40s.

Comments

III

[diana_abel]

After feeling embarrassed by all the truth bombs she dropped, Diana got to a more introspective place about it. The fact of the matter was that she'd always been a little too honest for her own good. 'Honest to a fault,' Arty used to say, while Selene just rolled her eyes and cuffed her on the back of the head. Back home, it had been a serious problem. Masquerade and all. Yet, the more the Diana thought about it, the more she decided that being honest wasn't as bad in a place like this. No Masquerade, no lines to memorize. Life was just a lot easier with the truth.

Which wasn't to say she was anxious to get caught in the water again. There was honesty and then there was a lack of tact. And she prided herself on being the most socially adept in the Order.

So, okay, fine, she'd stay inside and avoid the pool for a while. It hadn't helped clear her head anyway.

What did help was her music, of course. And every night, she played a concert to the empty theatre, before taking a turn around the ship, her guitar thumping gently against her back.

And that's how she heard a familiar song pouring out of the bar with the piano. She knew it was live and not recorded, so Diana eagerly trotted into John's, startled when she saw who was playing.

[worthallthis]

His song, already careful and slower than it should be, falters a little as he glances over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps, of the guitar bouncing against her back, and the lack of heartbeat to go with both. And he slides her a brief flicker of smile when he recognizes the face.

"Hi, Diana."

[diana_abel]

"Hi," she said. It was an evening of surprises, it seemed. Not only could the guy play piano, but he smiled.

Diana had begun to fear that he didn't know how to do that.

To be honest, it was kind of a welcome sight. Not that it was at all her place, but she'd been kind of worried about the poor guy. Every time they spoke, he seemed a little vague and confused. But this was a marked improvement.

She walked over to the side of the piano, doing a little twirl along the way. "Glen Miller. Solid choice."

[worthallthis]

His smiles are rare, and usually small, but he has figured them out. Kind of.

"Is that what it's called?" Sarge asks, looking back down at the keys with something like surprise. "I just. I stumbled on the melody, and felt like I knew it, it just all kind of. Grew from there. I didn't know what it was called." Glenn Miller. He'll remember that.

[diana_abel]

"No," she said gently. "It's called In the Mood. Miller wrote it. A long, long time ago." He seemed to have some kind of residual brush of the 1930s and 1940s around him. Diana couldn't figure why, especially since he wasn't a Cainite. But given the fact that there were apparently an infinite number of universes out there--and the Captain was pulling in passengers from all of them--she supposed that it was pointless to stress out over that particular detail too much.

Who knew what was and wasn't retro at any given point? Even she had a hard time keeping track, and she was the height of fashion, in the Order.

Or at least the first runner-up, depending on who you asked.

"Music is funny that way," she said. "Sometimes, it just sneaks up on you. Catches you by surprise. And rocks you to sleep."

[worthallthis]

"In the Mood. By Glenn Miller." He repeats it dutifully, nodding, fixing it to memory. "Thank you."

Then he looks sidelong at her, with her guitar. With her singing, before, another song he knew. "Do you know any other songs. By that person. Miller."

[diana_abel]

"Tons," she replied, walking a little bit closer, since he seemed to be in a slightly better place than he had been, the last time they spoke.

The urge to drape herself across the piano was there.

But that was always there.

She settled for propping her elbow on the side, softly singing the first couple of lyrics to The Story of a Starry Night:

This is the story of a starry night,
The faded glory of a new delight
One breathless meeting,
Two lips repeating...

I

[lightconductor]

"You are committed, to be out here in this," Watson says.

A bit of drizzle is no reason to avoid his daily constitutional around the ship, because he can't sit around in the cabin or the bar all day. "It's probably warm enough that the major concern is slipping. How are you?"

[worthallthis]

"Tired and a little grouchy, but the rain is actually helping," Sarge answers, pushing his wet hair out of his face and standing up straight at being addressed. "I don't usually go out in it. But it's kind of nice."

He focuses fully on Watson('s left eyebrow) and asks, "You?"

[lightconductor]

"My leg aches in the rain," Watson says, susceptible to a little more truth than he might otherwise indulge in, "but it's not cold, which helps."

He shrugs. "So if I seem tired and grouchy, the rain makes it worse, in my case. Ah, well."

[worthallthis]

Sarge frowns at that, concerned. "You should get out of the rain, then. If it hurts. I can walk with you. If you want."

[lightconductor]

"I'm fine, Sarge. I'm rather used to it, by this point." He offers a smile, only slightly strained. "And I'm used to much more miserable weather than this. Though I suppose it's probably not wise for anyone to be out in this rain indefinitely."

[worthallthis]

"I can't get sick," Sarge comments, shaking his head a little. "Can't get infections at all. So I'm fine, too. And it's not raining hard." He looks around at the drizzle, frowning a bit. "Why are you used to worse weather."

[lightconductor]

"My dear fellow, England is not known for its Mediterranean climate." Watson laughs, either to diffuse the tension or at his own little joke. "And this leg of mine has always ached when it rains. I've had a remarkably easy time of it here, in fact, so far be it from me to complain too much."

More than he would normally say, at least so casually.

"Never getting sick is be a good excuse to not worry about it, though."

ii.

[decohere]

Ava's mostly just wandering as she passes (quite literally) through Playback, trying to stay out of the rain but needing to get in some exercise.

She almost quietly drifts by the person reading, until she realizes it's Sarge. "Been awhile," Ava comments lightly, to warn him of her presence. "Reading anything interesting?"

[worthallthis]

"Yes, it's riveting," he answers, but he immediately puts it down at the familiar face and the chance for conversation, so that might... not actually seem true.

[decohere]

She takes it as sarcasm, not necessarily a sign that he's lying. Ava huffs a small laugh.

"Strange place to try reading anyway." She hops up to sit on the edge of the pool table. "How have you been, lately?"

[worthallthis]

"Excited about everything. Looking forward to whatever is coming next."

And he says it so flatly. His expression is not one for excitement. Honestly, Sarge is not one for excitement, himself.

[decohere]

That's well beyond sarcasm, actually. Even if she didn't know Sarge better.

"Went and got yourself wet, I see," Ava remarks, reaching over the table to lazily push one of the balls with enough force to roll it right into one of the pockets.

"Honestly if this all is the worst we face this month, I'm not mad."

[worthallthis]

Sarge opens his mouth, shuts it, and looks around. Then nudges his now-empty cup of water with a frown. "What does water have to do with anything."

Apparently questions can come out without being lies. That's something.

Nobody's explained this to him yet, and his previous interaction resulted in truths, and Sarge pretty much always tells the truth anyway.

III - John's

[the_infant_death]

It's midnight, and here is Claudia, drifting in silently. She does politely adjust her course to come into his peripheral vision a fair distance away, and pauses there, clearing her throat above the music, that he might acknowledge her presence before she ghosts closer.

"You've improved," she offers, when he pauses in his playing. "I'm impressed."

She has the usual cup of blood, covered, in her hands, and stands at attention at the bench, to the side instead of behind.

[worthallthis]

"It's just the one song," Sarge admits, tucking his hands down against his knees when he finishes it. "I remembered it. On accident. And put it back together in pieces."

[the_infant_death]

" 'In pieces' was how I learned to play the songs from the operas we attended. The melody, the bass, the harmony. It is, admittedly, not the easiest technique, but you have put it back together well."

It's the highest of compliments from her, if only poor Sarge knew it. She gives him a small little smile, lips closed. "I do not think I recognize the song, however. Music, it seems, has changed a great deal."

[worthallthis]

He does duck his head shyly at the compliment, even if he can't know how much it means. It's still a compliment to brand new skills. It still means he's doing well at something. "I don't recognize the music from the ship, here, much either. Dianna says this one's by someone called Glenn Miller."

[the_infant_death]

"Ah, so you know Diana." Claudia doesn't speak much to her room mate. In fact she tends to avoid her. Adult vampires are...unsettling. Claudia is acutely aware her powers are paltry compared to a grown vampire, and the danger remains too present in her mind for her to be more than polite at Diana.

"Perhaps you can show me the scales we were working on last?"