Plucked from one war and dropped right in the middle of another. Sounds about right. Strangely enough, they look about the same in their own ways. Bombed out and all that. The ferris wheel is a unique touch, though. So is the rest of it as he slowly slinks between two faded vendor stalls. Bucky would have guessed he'd been dropped onto the set of another cheesy Hollywood horror movie, but his acting skills are reserved only for propaganda shorts instead. A shame, though. He's already come up with the perfect title too. The Horrors of Coney Island! God, what a waste of a great idea, seriously.
In the hollow of a stall with all boarded sides still standing, Bucky starts cutting what strips of reflective material from his windbreaker. He may need to find some mud to drown out the garish orange color of his backpack too. Buncha limp-dick jokers thinking this is funny. If he wasn't so devoted to staying alive, he'd make sure they were all laughing out the other side of their faces.
He stops cutting suddenly when he hears the crunch of hard-packed earth and gravel. Gently, Bucky rests his supplies on the ground and slides oh so slowly up the side of the stall, following the person's movements with his ears. His hard earned knife is held tight in his hand while he keeps his breathe even, refusing to let adrenaline dictate his movements. his knife can't waver an inch. He'll wait for an exposed back, or if they come inside the stall, he's more than confident in his speed to disarm and neutralize them before they will know what's what. And as they come closer, all he can hope is that it isn't a child. He's already crossed that bridge once, but he would rather not do it again.
Bucky Barnes (the cool one) | Marvel 616
In the hollow of a stall with all boarded sides still standing, Bucky starts cutting what strips of reflective material from his windbreaker. He may need to find some mud to drown out the garish orange color of his backpack too. Buncha limp-dick jokers thinking this is funny. If he wasn't so devoted to staying alive, he'd make sure they were all laughing out the other side of their faces.
He stops cutting suddenly when he hears the crunch of hard-packed earth and gravel. Gently, Bucky rests his supplies on the ground and slides oh so slowly up the side of the stall, following the person's movements with his ears. His hard earned knife is held tight in his hand while he keeps his breathe even, refusing to let adrenaline dictate his movements. his knife can't waver an inch. He'll wait for an exposed back, or if they come inside the stall, he's more than confident in his speed to disarm and neutralize them before they will know what's what. And as they come closer, all he can hope is that it isn't a child. He's already crossed that bridge once, but he would rather not do it again.