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Details on his illnesses and disabilities, and how they would've been seen/perceived/treated - http://historicallyaccuratesteve.tumblr.com/page/7
The world seemed to have built of references to movies he had not seen, songs he had never heard, history facts and rumors that had not been in any of his SHIELD briefings or come up immediately in the spiraling searches through the internet in his attempt to catch himself up on more than seventy years of time in just two. It had made the small notebook he kept in his back pocket and carried with him always one that had dog-eared pages, the corners worn soft by handling despite his attempt to keep it with its precious lists inside neat as he could. People, he had found, were eager to drop hints and give directions on what they believed was the most important for him to know - war stories, modern art, 'indie' music, cultural trends he had never heard of and didn't quite understand (what were 'beatniks' anyway? and how did they relate to something called a 'hipster?')
For every line he crossed off in understanding, he added three more. For every movie, six more came out in theatres and he was told there was another one he just <i>had</i> to see. Where he had attempted to meter it out by decades, pop culture had exploded beyond those tentative boundaries, and he had given up doing more than seeing what he came across first or pushing items to the front of the proverbial line according to how often they were referenced or how integral he was told they were by people he thought he could trust on the subject.
Which brought him to a movie, and a girl, and a bucket of popcorn.
Actually, it brought him to the first of three movies (he had been warned, loudly and violently, off the prequels and so counted only three as needing to be seen) and a gorgeous, powerhouse warrior woman, and a whole lot more than one paltry bucket of popcorn. Each.
"Sif?" he began, wondering not for the first time whether he should have reconsidered Sam's offer of back up with the way his stomach flipped at the sight of her face turning toward his and how unaccountably worried he was over literally tripping over his own feet when her eyes settled on him. "I don't know about you, but I'm thinking we should raid the concessions stand."
For every line he crossed off in understanding, he added three more. For every movie, six more came out in theatres and he was told there was another one he just <i>had</i> to see. Where he had attempted to meter it out by decades, pop culture had exploded beyond those tentative boundaries, and he had given up doing more than seeing what he came across first or pushing items to the front of the proverbial line according to how often they were referenced or how integral he was told they were by people he thought he could trust on the subject.
Which brought him to a movie, and a girl, and a bucket of popcorn.
Actually, it brought him to the first of three movies (he had been warned, loudly and violently, off the prequels and so counted only three as needing to be seen) and a gorgeous, powerhouse warrior woman, and a whole lot more than one paltry bucket of popcorn. Each.
"Sif?" he began, wondering not for the first time whether he should have reconsidered Sam's offer of back up with the way his stomach flipped at the sight of her face turning toward his and how unaccountably worried he was over literally tripping over his own feet when her eyes settled on him. "I don't know about you, but I'm thinking we should raid the concessions stand."
Don't take your guns to town, son
Aug. 1st, 2014 11:02 pmWhatever else he had been made or not made to be, Steve could not deny the persistent itch between his shoulderblades at so long spent inactive. He had thought, when Natasha had laid the file into his hands and pressed a kiss to his cheek with her goodbyes at Fury's gravestone, that the search for Bucky would keep him sufficiently occupied. That he could immerse himself in the search for the man who had been his friend and not be shaken loose by anything shy of rooting out Hydra's bases and burning them to the ground (if, as he suspected, Bucky didn't get to them first).
Discovering the man had returned to the Nexus ahead of him had seemed to have made that task easier. Both were proved to be a lie. Bucky remained nearly within reach but often just out of sight or pulling at his thoughts with no clue as to where he was, or what he was thinking, and even meeting him again on a run had not solved more than that the other man was caught in the midst of the struggle to stake out who he was in the present first and foremost, and determined to see that Steve was aware of that fact. And, for all that he wanted to press and reach out and grab his friend to drag him back in, Steve could not deny his friend the ability to make his choices when it had been kept from him for so long.
There was only so much training he could do. So much running he could do around the grounds, boxing he could do in the gym. There wasn't room enough to get to try his hand out again at parkour (several S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had gone twitchy after he'd run up a wall at one of the on-site gyms after seeing a video of it on youtube), and he hated to hog the pool save for late nights doing laps to loosen his overtense muscles.
All of which drew him to the idea of one of the doors. Of exploring and seeing what was out there in these worlds within worlds, and where he knew a handful of people within the hotel, there was one in particular he thought of in stretching his proverbial and literal legs outside the Nexus' boundaries. Divided as they had been on a great number of issues, and as different as their two lives had been, the friendship that had sparked up between Natasha and himself had become one he depended on. Their meetings were less frequent than he might have supposed for the fact of their living in the same strange pocket universe (if that was what it was) but where it might have been easy to drift away from her without a shared goal immediately at hand, he found that he liked her company. They had drawn too deep an understanding between themselves for him to want to let it go, and whether passing meetings in the hallway, a shared meal, or a run out on the grounds, Steve was never disappointed in the easy camaraderie they shared.
He stopped before the door to his room, raising a fist and knocking a short rhythm on the wood before stepping back to wait.
Discovering the man had returned to the Nexus ahead of him had seemed to have made that task easier. Both were proved to be a lie. Bucky remained nearly within reach but often just out of sight or pulling at his thoughts with no clue as to where he was, or what he was thinking, and even meeting him again on a run had not solved more than that the other man was caught in the midst of the struggle to stake out who he was in the present first and foremost, and determined to see that Steve was aware of that fact. And, for all that he wanted to press and reach out and grab his friend to drag him back in, Steve could not deny his friend the ability to make his choices when it had been kept from him for so long.
There was only so much training he could do. So much running he could do around the grounds, boxing he could do in the gym. There wasn't room enough to get to try his hand out again at parkour (several S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had gone twitchy after he'd run up a wall at one of the on-site gyms after seeing a video of it on youtube), and he hated to hog the pool save for late nights doing laps to loosen his overtense muscles.
All of which drew him to the idea of one of the doors. Of exploring and seeing what was out there in these worlds within worlds, and where he knew a handful of people within the hotel, there was one in particular he thought of in stretching his proverbial and literal legs outside the Nexus' boundaries. Divided as they had been on a great number of issues, and as different as their two lives had been, the friendship that had sparked up between Natasha and himself had become one he depended on. Their meetings were less frequent than he might have supposed for the fact of their living in the same strange pocket universe (if that was what it was) but where it might have been easy to drift away from her without a shared goal immediately at hand, he found that he liked her company. They had drawn too deep an understanding between themselves for him to want to let it go, and whether passing meetings in the hallway, a shared meal, or a run out on the grounds, Steve was never disappointed in the easy camaraderie they shared.
He stopped before the door to his room, raising a fist and knocking a short rhythm on the wood before stepping back to wait.
As little as he could really say what he expected to come of his search for Bucky, if there was any hope of finding something of his friend there in the man who had been through more than he could have imagined in the long years he himself had slept, Steve could not help but feel himself getting frustrated at his own inability to make it all better. He wasn't a fool, he understood that it would be no easy matter. That as much as he might want to be able to snap his fingers and have Bucky be himself again, that aggravating, steady force in his life who had picked him up and dusted him off in that Brooklyn back alley and never once failed him, such things were impossible.
How many times had he read the file Natasha had given him? How many times had he attempted to read around the blacked out sections that detailed missions in an attempt to better understand what had been done to his friend?
He could not think of what he had found there in the meticulous notes regarding procedures and experiments and not feel sick. No more than he could look back to Bucky stepping out of the shadows while he had been out on a run and not want to clench his fists at the sheer helplessness he had felt at being able to make things right. A helplessness he felt at that very moment.
Where he would not retreat into himself and attempt to forget the world or the fact that he did have friends there in the Nexus, Steve decided that the gym and a weight bag were his best bets at shaving off something of his frustration. There was a sort of calm found there in wrapping his fists tight, remembering those long ago lessons Bucky had given him on technique and style. As there was in stepping up to the bag and finding a rhythm to the strikes of his fists against the canvas, to feeling his body pull in familiar ways, to the in and out of his breathing as he attempted to forget the difficulties of the world for canvas and flesh and bone.
How many times had he read the file Natasha had given him? How many times had he attempted to read around the blacked out sections that detailed missions in an attempt to better understand what had been done to his friend?
He could not think of what he had found there in the meticulous notes regarding procedures and experiments and not feel sick. No more than he could look back to Bucky stepping out of the shadows while he had been out on a run and not want to clench his fists at the sheer helplessness he had felt at being able to make things right. A helplessness he felt at that very moment.
Where he would not retreat into himself and attempt to forget the world or the fact that he did have friends there in the Nexus, Steve decided that the gym and a weight bag were his best bets at shaving off something of his frustration. There was a sort of calm found there in wrapping his fists tight, remembering those long ago lessons Bucky had given him on technique and style. As there was in stepping up to the bag and finding a rhythm to the strikes of his fists against the canvas, to feeling his body pull in familiar ways, to the in and out of his breathing as he attempted to forget the difficulties of the world for canvas and flesh and bone.
Godmodding Info
Mar. 1st, 2014 11:22 amCHARACTER NAME: Captain Steve Rogers
CHARACTER CANON: Marvel Cinematic Universe
[OOC]
Slowtagging: Sure
Canon-puncturing: In his own 'verse there are Captain America comic books, action figures, t-shirts, a whole section of the Smithsonian devoted to spilling every detail of his life and how he came to be Captain America, so you're welcome to it.
Offensive subjects (elaborate): The man's been through World War II, so he's hardly a fainting violet, but probably best to message me first on stickier topics.
[IC]
Hugging this character: Probably might startle Cap a bit, but I don't think he'd actually mind.
Kissing this character: It's happened in canon, being suddenly kissed, and he'll freeze and slowly disentangle himself (as politely as possible) if he's not interested.
Flirting with this character: Would probably make him blush, and amuse me.
Fighting with this character: Cap's got a bad habit of mouthing off to bullies that got him into trouble all his life, but he's a bit more circumspect now that he's got the brawn and Olympic-level physical ability to back it up. Best to message me.
Injuring this character (include limits and severity): I'm usually up for roughing up poor Cap, but best discussed via dropbox.
Using telepathy/mind reading abilities on this character: Not a problem for me, but again...dropbox.
General Warnings:
[GODMODDING]
Godmod Mode disabled.
Phone Mailbox
Mar. 1st, 2014 11:20 amTEXT MESSAGING ENABLED.
Uh...This is Cap- Steve Rogers, leave me a message after the- the thing and I'll get back to you.
Uh...This is Cap- Steve Rogers, leave me a message after the- the thing and I'll get back to you.
