capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

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(no subject)

WHO: Bucky, Donna
WHERE: Titans Tower -> Central Park
WHEN: Backdated to whenever we said this was happening ICly.
WARNINGS: Nope!
SUMMARY: Bucky shows of his motorcycle, they go to the planetarium in Central Park.
FORMAT: Whatever works best! It's easiest for me to start logs in paragraph form, but I have no attachment to it when it comes to tagging.

If there was one thing about the future Bucky loved, it was probably his motorcycle. Which figured, because it was a 1937 model that had just been spruced up some. (His second week here, he'd gotten a good look at the front seat of a car and all its workings, and it very near turned his stomach. Did everything really have to light up like that?) His bike had some newfangled paint on it that made it shine extra, but it was still something he could wrap his hands around and understand. So he was eagar at least to take it out for a bit, show it off.

He hadn't been to the Planetarium before, neither. Some of what Donna had said had made him think— there was really a lot in this place for a person to see. So yeah, he figured seeing was something he ought do more of.

And that is where he was, standing outside of Titans Tower, not wearing a proper helmet.

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Swinging off the bike himself, Bucky gave her a look that said real clever at that four-zed comment. Seeing her hang in the air like that startled him— but only a little. He was used to all this powers mumbo-jumbo, after all, even since before he got stuck here. But he was always going to be a tourist. Someone born in Indiana, not Atlantis, who'd made it to age fifteen without bursting into flames.

"What? No," he said, shaking his head when it'd worked its way around what she was saying. "I'm not Captain Midnight, I don't have much in the way of bells and whistles."

With a small "ah" sound, Donna threw a glance back at the bike, then moved in close to link arms with Bucky.

"That thing's absolutely gorgeous, by the way." Her words were colored with a near-dreamy tint as she spoke. "You get a lot of envious souls stopping you on the street, Bucky? Asking you what model it is, where'd ya get it, all of that?"

"Nope, actually. Most of the time I'm on it I'm riding away, and on the whole people here are too busy with themselves to notice much." He paused, considering. "There was one guy who asked me about it once, though. He was real loud about it, too, wore a furry hat."

With that, Bucky hunched over in his bike's own rear-view mirror, to straighten his hair out. Even going slow will get your hair mussed something awful, and he wore his as long as military regulation would permit. He did keep a tin of pomade in his inside jacket pocket, so he could fix up some. It was a bit embarrassing to be doing it with a girl just standing right next to him, but it'd be worse if he went walking around with his hair sprouting every which direction.

The sight was a bit amusing -- she wasn't used to men grooming like that in front of her, let alone being consciously aware about their image in such a way, but it wasn't exactly an unwelcome sight. She placed a hand over her mouth, turning her head subtly as if to pretend she'd seen something much more interesting in the distance so Bucky could properly have "alone time" with his hair.

Donna had hoped he couldn't see her tightened and stifled smile that her fingers tried so desperately to cloak. She knew guys could get a bit insecure about looking "feminine" or metro or whatever new slang they were calling it these days. However, he did come from a different time, so maybe the context wasn't as embarrassing?

"Wow, this part of the city is a lot nicer."

The thing about mirrors is that they let you see what's behind. He did feel awkward; but there was nothing to do about it, so best to press on. If she wasn't going to comment about it snide, then he didn't have to respond. They could mutually ignore each other. And change the subject.

"Sure, s'where all the rich people live. You'd think with everything that happens in the park these days, people'd be less keen on living by it." Seeing a sign that pointed towards the elevators, he started walking. His shoes had real soles, the kind that clicked on concrete.

"Everything that happens in the park?" She quirked an eyebrow up, patting the back of her hair with the palm of her hand to feel if it had been untamed by the wind. Nope, still smooth. "Dare I ask?"

She walked alongside Bucky, trying to match the sound of his "clicking" with her heels. It was an obsessive compulsive thing. She liked when feet were "married."

"Well, there was that whole radioactive dinosaur problem. Which got sorted right quick, I s'pose. But every time something big happens, it seems to happen in that park." There was that time with the scores of naked folk being filmed, but Bucky figured that was something to omit in polite conversation. Or even in polite thought. He'd pretty much shoved that event outside of his memories.

Reaching the elevator, he pushed the button to go up. He wondered how long they'd have to be waiting.

"A radioactive dinosaur. Huh! I've missed out." There was a punctuated tone of disappointment in her words, exaggerated for effect, though sadly half-genuine. She had been itching for action -- the kind that didn't lead to too much destructiveness or any death, of course.

"Anyone try to look into that? Why the park seems to be the center for ... misfortune?"

She was thankful for the conversation, as it drowned out the terribly awkward elevator music.

The dinosaur debacle wasn't as much fun as all that. People had died— but then, people who die here come back. Usually. It was unsettling to think about. The park, though, Bucky could talk about the park.

"Think about it. It's the only wide open space around— if I there was something big and terrible that could wreck buildings just by staring at them, you bet your bottom dollar I'd be leading that thing into the park, instead of some place where people saw fit to build apartments. The water'd be better, but it's a bit of a tactical headache, right?" He leaned back against the metal railing, placing his arms across the bar. "Does make you wonder if the insurance premiums on this place haven't gone up a few notches, though."

She flashed him a smile as he spoke, gaze drifting to the interior design of the elevator. Her fingers clasped together by habit, filling the spaces in between one another, and it didn't take her long to decide that Bucky had a pretty nice voice.

"I was expecting some glowing pit in the park that freakish things constantly emerged from," Donna paused after she shared that, uncertain of how those words would make her look. She glanced over at her reflection in the wall of the elevator. "But I suppose it makes sense to actively make sure things happen in the park. Probably less innocent bystanders hurt that way!"

"That'd be the portalmajigger, wouldn't it? You'd think someone woulda set a sentry over that thing. It's where all the hell comes and goes."

The elevator door opened, with a heavy sound, and he started walking out. It was an impressive place, with high ceilings and swept floors. There was a cart of colorful brochures in the corner. He couldn't help but wonder how much this was gonna cost him. Normally, Bucky was extremely frugal, but it wouldn't do to appear cheap in front of such a nice lady.

She bounced her gaze to cover as much as she could in her field of vision, awed and pleased with the design, and she buttoned up the sleeve of her blouse as she walked. It wasn't crowded at all, and Donna had assessed that the few individuals that had passed them in the hall looked like engineer majors, or perhaps biochemists. She noticed there weren't many girls around, and that for such a large and spacious place, there was not as much chatter filling the air as one would expect.

She looked over at Bucky, adjusting her line of step so her shoulder was just barely separated from his.

"Gee! This place looks so ...important," she trailed, giving a glance over her shoulder. "Do we just go straight to the ticket counter, then?"

No snack stand that she could see. Damn.

"Unless you think we oughta try sneaking in." It'd probably save them a few dimes, and might even net an adventure. How good was museum security, anyway? Bucky was pretty sure no one ever tried to steal the whole planetarium. It seemed much harder to take than the traditional exhibit. Not that he was plotting anything, but golly, did the future have to be so expensive?

There weren't many people in line, so it didn't take much waiting. It did turn out you had to pay seven bucks on top of the normal entrance fee if you wanted to see the planetarium. Grimacing at the thought of money leaving his wallet, Bucky looked closer at board of prices behind the ticket-lady. "Hey, waitasecond," he said. "I'm a student."

"Sneak in?" Ooh, that. That wasn't a very morally upright thing to do, even if it sounded fun. She suddenly felt a pang of guilt, wondering just how expensive this all could possibly be, and the fact that she suggested it made her feel even worse. She didn't even have a job to pay him back with just yet!

She sheepishly looked over at him, folding her hands behind her back and rocking on her heels, raising an inquiring brow when he mentioned being a student.

"You have your I.D. on you?" She shot him a smile, wondering if baking Bucky a nice cake or a warm batch of cookies or pie would somehow hold him off until she could pay him back fully. Of course, with the time he was from, such a concept probably seemed unheard of with him and wholly unnecessary.

"What? Yeah, I guess so." Going to school was something Tom had dragged him into. His whole philosophy on education was mixed up by this future and his different opinions. He wouldn't have brought it up, except, well, five dollar discount. The piece of plastic lay flat on the counter, now, between his palm and the glass.

It was an odd thing; Bucky didn't think much about generosity. He forked over the money for Raymond's ticket to France without so much as thinking about it. It was only his own self he didn't like to spend for.

A profound stillness in her mannerisms followed as Bucky paid; the abrupt shift of her thoughts on to financial matters threatened to sully her bright mood, so instead she rested her hand against his elbow gently, through the soft material of his jacket.

Donna moved forward to peek over his shoulder, and then gave him a look of warm gratitude. "This is very sweet of you, Bucky. You're a real gentleman -- I'll pay for our next outing, okay?"

"If you want to, sure." he said. "But I can afford this." It was true, he had plenty of money, these days. It was just inflation that got to him— and growing up, he'd always had to scrounge. He didn't want to insist, either way. It was a crummy thing to feel yourself in debt. So, he changed the subject.

"Say, how much did popcorn cost when you're from?"

"I don't know! I've lived in Manhattan for so long, and things are always pricey there, but I'm pretty sure before Reagan came it was only two dollars ... maybe two-fifty?" Her hand slid around to hook right at his elbow, and she gripped on to his arm in a ladylike manner.

"It's probably ridiculous by now."

"Six bucks, last I went to a theater. Up from fifty cents to get the ticket and refreshments." And hang, what could a person buy for fifty cents, these days? Nothing good, that's for sure. "The future can go stuff itself, for all I care."

He paused. That was maybe a bit too heartfelt. "But I never lived in New York before this. It's nice to be able to stick to someplace, for a while."

She laughed and rolled her eyes upward, unable to keep that grin off of her face as she thought of, well, how disappointing some aspects of the future were. Stuff itself, indeed.

"It's obvious that movies must have become so terrible that they need to make a majority of their money through food and beverages. I can't believe some of the films I've recently watched!" She paused after her exclamation of distaste. "Well, some were good. Very ... realistic. But I swear, there's just too much nudity and violence."

"I only saw the one, you know? And I think I got too distracted, with all the noises, and the colors— it was flashy, I'll say." He laughed. "I didn't follow the plot." He'd thought the explosions were pretty, though. In their own particular way.

"I don't think that'll be a problem here, though, do you?"

"Unless the constellations have gone up from their PG-ratings, I don't think we'll have to worry about seeing any of that at this planetarium, no," she said lightly, mentally cursing the air conditioning in this place.

"Y'know, I did just think, though ...how advanced these things must have become now that it's the future. I bet we'll be blown away."

"I sure hope so," he said, scowling in his head at the price tag. "We gotta wait fifteen minutes, though, or so the sign says."

There was one of those signs announcing the next showing, with the clock hands pointed to fifteen. There wasn't much of a crowd lining up yet, but you had to figure one would turn up soon, before the opened the doors all official.

"Well, that's fine by me," she insisted cheerily. "We can just talk for fifteen minutes!"

To Donna it seemed unlikely that Bucky would be too impressed with anything she had to say. She was used to feeling older than everyone around her, but with him, there seemed to be a daunting feeling that he had been more experienced than her, and inevitably she knew she had to fight the fear of being overbearing, or the conversation dying. This was certainly different than being out with her husband, albeit not in exactly a bad way. So, she was determined to be confident and bombastic for the duration of her time with Bucky, going mute at no challenge, and offering intelligent and quirky insights to the nuanced and the inane.

Now, if only she could find a conversation topic.

Asking him about college? A girlfriend? No, no, that might come off wrong. How about career path? Or maybe she could get him to talk more about Steve?

"So, what do you wanna talk about, then?" He knew better than to mention the war, and truth be told, outside of smalltalk and taking 'em dancing, he wasn't quite sure what to do around girls. Especially when he wasn't romancing them. Especially these modern ones. Oh, he wasn't a hopeless case, and once he got to talking he could keep right on going, no problem. But he was stuck in the same place Donna was when it came to what was appropriate.

Bucky wasn't much of a private person. But girls were different, weren't they?