Soldat

HYDRA's fist unfortunately-- Can someone please hit the defrost button?

[buckeye1917]

Hi, thought I'd do a reintroduction post since I've added in roleplaying ->

(All pictures were found on Pinterest)

MISSION PERIMETERS:

• // all ooc text will look like this

• Don't be a jackass, be respectful & patient with me n' others

• I swear A LOT (but if we are rping and you'd like to keep cussing to a minimum then we can do that)

• I'll write 1st & 3rd POV

• Not a fan of ai

• NO nsfw and preferably little to no romance

• I say no romance because this blog focuses on the Winter Soldier era of Bucky and I just don't think the two really mix well

• angst, action, and comedy (banter) are my forte

• Asks are OPEN, I will respond as quickly as possible

• I'm not really used to online etiquette so I'm kind of shy but warm up quickly

• Lastly, I am relatively new to both Tumblr and the Marvel rping community (some of y'all are Tumblr veterans at this point-- they should make a badge for that... have they already made a badge for that?) so if you have any advice I'll take it graciously.

Alright that's all for now, I'll hopefully add in tags and different things as I get the hang of it 🫡

[rpmemes-galore]

Go on anon and pretend to be a journalist. Ask my muse the hard-hitting questions. Make them squirm. Make them admit things they don’t want to.

[metalbvcky]

Parallels between Steve & Bucky

[buckeye1917]

Should I make a roleplay account for my mutant oc?? I feel like he'd fit right in with a lot of the other rps/mutants on here

[buckeye1917]

@theraccoonwhisperer-arno is the new oc!!

[buckeye1917]

Should I make a roleplay account for my mutant oc?? I feel like he'd fit right in with a lot of the other rps/mutants on here

[magpiesmemes]

REBLOG THIS IF YOU'RE A MARVEL ROLEPLAY BLOG

This includes Multimuses with Marvel characters! Personal blogs please do not share, this is for roleplay specific blog please and thank you!

Ideally please put muse names and sources (IE. Steve Rogers/616/headcanon) in the tags to help people find characters they want to interact with when looking through the reblogs! OCs welcome to reblog - just specify 'OC' in the tags, maybe something along the lines of 'shield agent', 'Guardian of the Galaxy', 'Mutant', etc. if you'd like to add additional info!

[buckeye1917]

is your icon you in bucky cosplay? it looks rad as fuck

// yes it is and thank you!! Made it myself :)

[musingswithmemes]

Send "📞" for a random phone call from my muse!

(If you cannot see the emoji send "Phone")

[splattermemes-deactivated202007]

lazy roleplayer symbol meme

Send in a symbol and I’ll:

@ : reply to one of your open starters

?? : write you a starter

+ : go through the memes you’ve reblogged and send one in

!!! : write a headcanon about our muses

% : write a drabble about our muses

$$$ : go through your wishlist tag and write a starter based on one of the posts

♬ : write a starter based on your blog music

… : write a headcanon based on one of the aus in your verse page

^^ : go through your muse’s aesthetic tag and write a starter based on one of the posts

# : write a headcanon based on one of your side muses / npcs

[carlos-thatcher]

The soldat keeps glancing at Carlos' right eye. Each time he quickly looks away from the scar. He wasn't supposed to, he knew that, but it kept grabbing his attention. It reminded him of some of his own scars.

[ @buckeye1917 ] (mod: hii! Carlos sounds really interesting!)

Carlos gives The Soldat and unamused look. His fingers come up to brush against his scar. "Soldier, is something interesting you, perhaps you should share it with me." His voice is cold, his good eye burns into The Soldat as he stares at him, waiting for him to speak.

(Hi!! Thank you!:))

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat hurriedly glances away, slightly grimacing. He knows he made a mistake. The back of his neck turns a light shade of red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Sir. It's ah--" he stumbles on the next words. What reply would get him in the least amount of trouble? "Nothing"? No, that never ends well. "Your eye"? What kind of thing is that to say to your superior? Mumbling is not accepted either. He was at a crossroad, almost just waiting for Thatcher to punish him.

(//ofc! I'm excited to learn more about him!)

[carlos-thatcher]

"Stop your mumbling Asset, speak what is on your mind." Carlos fingers brush against his knife on his belt, giving the Soldat a warning look. His good eye slowly drifts away from him, scanning the area around them, seeing how many people are in the room. "I know you are aware of punishments for being unable to speak when asked a question."

(Yay- excited for you to learn more!:))

[buckeye1917]

He feels a few pairs of eyes watching the exchange. I shouldn't have looked, he thought regretfully. The Soldat needs to say something, quickly. He must not keep his superior waiting. The Soldat does not look away from where Thatcher's hand rests on the knife, quietly he clears his throat. "Your eye, Sir." The Soldat forces his muscles to relax, waiting for a fist or blade from Carlos.

[carlos-thatcher]

"Ah, curiosity getting the best of you Asset?" Carlos gives him an annoyed look, but he drops his hand down from the knife, instead he tucks his hands together, looking the Soldat over. His good eye flicks over him carefully, studying him. "I was blinded by a knife on a mission." He explains tapping his fingers against the scar.

[buckeye1917]

He hesitates on feeling relieved that Thatcher simply folds his scarred hands together. The cold gaze of the other man made the Soldat feel smaller, more awkward, than usual. He keeps his icy eyes trained on Carlos' mouth, never looking him directly in the eyes. That is not permitted. The Soldat nods once, showing he's listening; but once again he isn't sure how to respond. He isn't sure if he should respond but even in this uncertainty, "I'm sorry, Sir," slips out. Not that he is necessarily apologizing but that he is sorry to hear that it happened. For some reason the Soldat feels empathetic towards his superior, perhaps because he's worried that he made Thatcher angry.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos nods very slightly. "Thank you, Soldier." He taps his fingers against his hands, keeping his good eye on the Soldat, so many times he'd wished he could do something more to help him. This conversation... or whatever this was, was a good start. Carlos shifts back to lean against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your last mission, did you succeed?"

[buckeye1917]

He falters for a split second. When was the last time he'd been thanked? Genuinely thanked? His attention quickly resumes to Carlos' question, though. The mission: take out an agent that had gone rogue and bring back the files he had taken. It was almost routine at this point. "Yes, it was a success, Sir."

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos presses his lips together, that sends a pang to his heart, success... he hates that word so much. He shakes his head slightly and brushes the feeling aside. "Good. The file, do you have it on you?" Carlos holds his hand out towards the Soldat for it. He eyes him with a small frown.

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat notices Thatcher's subtle head shake. The gesture and what it could mean buzz around in his tense muscles. When Carlos holds out his hand the Soldat immediately gives the file over to him. "Yes, Sir." He's not allowed to see what's inside of it, he's never allowed to do that. It's not necessary. Again he notices the frown, since that's where his gaze usually falls, and a feeling of dread clings to him like mold or rust.

(// I might fall asleep so apologies if the next reply takes a little longer! :))

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos immediately starts flipping through the file, looking it over. He traces his left hand over the words, a wedding ring is on his finger, it glints in the light before he snaps the file closed and tucks it into his jacket. "Well done, Soldier." He gives the Soldat a nod, but his jaw ticks, something like barely restrained rage burning in him. He folds his scarred hands together again, leaning back against the wall. "Your next mission is tomorrow, You will be told it in the morning."

(You're fine! I'm probably going to fall asleep soon too, lol)

[buckeye1917]

The gold glints into his eyes, it's not exactly abnormal for HYDRA agents to be married, for the most part it doesn't matter to him. For the most part, that is. A small burst of relief ripples through his chest when his superior nods and says, "'Well done,'". It's gone by the time he's told his next mission is so soon. That means that he'll be sleeping in a cell rather than put in cryo-freeze. Not that any of this was particularly pleasant but sleeping in a cell often meant bad things would happen. Still, he nods solemnly, "Yes, Sir."

Six guards escort him to the 8x8 concrete room. It's entirely empty. As the thick metal bars that make up one of the walls shuts all he is left to do is to find the best corner to curl up in.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos watches the guards escort him away. He sighs deeply tucking the file away. Why did the Soldat have to be so good at his missions. He shakes his head and moves to go to his quarters. But he finds himself walking by the Soldat's cell on the way. He pauses, glancing him over as he takes in the bare cell. He presses his lips together and keeps walking. Returning a few minutes later he taps in a code and the cell opens. Carlos steps in with a blanket in his arms. "Soldier." He calls out, setting it beside him. "Tell me, were you injured on your mission?"

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat startles, sitting straight up, though he wasn't completely asleep to begin with. He takes in Thatcher and the blanket, looking at them confused. The Soldat knows that if he was injured and did not properly report it then he'd be in serious trouble. The issue is that he didn't notice he was injured until he laid on the cold concrete and felt a twinge in his metal joint. The twinge grew into an ache which grew into a throb. Now he looks up at Carlos, tired and resignedly, "Yes, Sir." Then he waited for, at the very least, a scolding.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos sighs deeply, letting out a frustrated breath. He sets the blanket in the Soldat's lap and leans forward, studying him carefully before sitting in front of him. "Where are you hurt Soldier? Shirt off." He stands and exits the cell, returning a moment with one of Hydra's medical kits. Carlos sits back down in front of the Soldat, sorting through the supplies. "Do not lie to me Soldier." His eyes flick up, the usual cold and detached look is lessened bit, a spark of almost kindness in them.

[buckeye1917]

He stares in disbelief at the blanket that was set on his bent legs. Something unusual is happening, he can feel it but it's still strange so his never lets down his guard. Then the words "Shirt off" an order, he obeys, inwardly grimacing. The reaction isn't just from the growing pain in the metal limb or from the frigid temperature in the cell; in past times the order turned into "Undress" entirely. He shook his head trying to rid himself of the memory but the deep feeling of dread had already planted itself in his chest. He watches the other man's every move with silent caution. Thatcher comes back with the kit bearing a red cross on the front. He wouldn't lie. Even if he did, he's rather terrible at it. "My left shoulder, Sir." He tries flexing the metal fingers and sharply inhales with pain. He hates showing how bad it hurts, he feels like he's complaining-- and complaining isn't allowed.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos frowns and slips on a pair of gloves. It pains him to see the Soldat in pain. "Your shoulder..." He reaches out and takes the blanket, draping it over the Soldat's right side, letting it cover what he doesn't need to see. "It gets cold in here." He says voice clipped, cold and clinical. His hands then shift to the Soldat's shoulder, fingers gently pressing where metal meets flesh, his touch is gentler then anyone else's in Hydra. "How did you hurt it Soldier?" He runs his finger over the plates, brow pinches in concentration. He reaches back and grabs an injection, popping the lid off. Painkillers... a luxury the Asset usually doesn't get.

[buckeye1917]

The warmth of the blanket soothes the goosebumps that were starting to form on his forearm. Thatcher's gestures, gentle yet calculated, didn't make any sense to the Soldat. He could not possibly fathom that this gentleness would come without a cost. He resists to urge to flinch at the gloved hands examining his joint, though they weren't as void of compassion that others' usually were. "Must of been when I broke the safe's door, Sir." He answers quietly, almost afraid that if he spoke too loud he'd break whatever strange spell that seemed to encapsulate the cell. The Soldat eyes the injection warily. Usually when he got injections it was to knock him out, sedatives. He then, however, spots the words printed out on the side, "anti-inflammatory, painkiller". His gaze shoots back up to Carlos, again never quite meeting his eyes. Did he know that the Soldat never got these, never was allowed to? What would he have to do to return this gesture. In HYDRA, good things never come without a cost, without it being held over one's head.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos gives him a look, his expression unreadable. He slowly moves the blanket to the side and takes his right arm, carefully sliding the needle into it. He presses down and releases the medicine. Carlos pulls the needle out after a moment, wiping an alcohol pad over it then shifting the blanket back over the Soldat's right side. "Exactly how does your shoulder hurt?" He slides his gloves off and replaces them with new ones. His eyes flick back to the Soldat's shoulder and he runs his fingers over it.

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat stares straight ahead at the slight pinch of the needle. It wasn't so bad compared to everything else he'd been through. "It aches, Sir, and pinches," he raises the arm slightly, "when I raise it." He still couldn't quite understand why Thatcher, a high ranking agent, would be here; kneeling on cold concrete to help an asset that he didn't need to. He could have just called someone else and told them to take care of it. But here he is. For right now the Soldat feels a sense of cautious gratitude. He shifts slightly to let Carlos have a better angle at seeing his whole shoulder.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos frowns and touches his shoulder, he runs his finger over one of the plates. "Ah... I see... this plate..." He taps by his left eye, pupil shrinking as he studies the Soldat's arm. "Hm..." He hums in consideration and shifts his arm up, moving the plate back into place. "It was in the wrong place... pinching your skin a bit." He grabs a cream and smooths it over the irritated skin where flesh meets metal. "When is the last time you had maintenance done on your arm, soldier?"

[buckeye1917]

The shifting plate came first with a flame of pain and then with relief as it popped back into place. The coolness of the cream cools down the red angry flesh. "Thank you, Sir." He says, still quiet. The Soldat thinks for a moment, trying to remember when his arm was last worked on. It has been a while he realizes. However, being in and out of cryo-freeze meant measuring things in normal amounts-- days, weeks, months, years-- was nearly impossible; he instead measures them in missions. He counted seven, no, eight. It has been eight missions. "Eight missions ago, Sir."

[carlos-thatcher]

"Eight missions..." Carlos scoffs and crosses the room, he pulls out a device and taps on it, sending out a mission. "You are do for maintenance... Eight missions." He sounds highly annoyed as he closes the device, walking over to the Soldat. He hates how he was treated, wished he could do more to stop it. "Let's get you dressed... out of these mission clothes." He reaches out and grabs a normal shirt, a rare thing for the Soldat to have. His calloused hands easily tug into over his head, helping the Soldat into it. "Let me know if the arm causes you more pain, understand Soldier?"

[buckeye1917]

His worry grows at the superior's annoyance. Surely he should have done something better. Maybe reminded someone that the arm needed worked on? Maybe not rough it up so much in the first place? He should gave done something better and he's certain he'll get punished for his inadequacy. For a second he studies the device in Carlos' hands, trying to see what it said before remembering what happened last time he tried taking a look that he wasn't ordered to. His gaze has dropped to the floor whenever Carlos' words come again. He sits there in utter disbelief as Thatcher carefully helps him. Soft fabric contrasts the usual rough leather that the suit is made out of. It's just a plain grayish t-shirt, but it fits him nicely and doesn't put any extra pressure on the recovering joint. "I understand, Sir, thank you." The Soldat still could not figure out why Thatcher is doing all of this. Being... kind. Gentle. Something he had nearly forgotten existed.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos stands and brushes his hands off on his jacket. His eyes scan over the soldier for a long moment, like he's looking for something that was lost. "Seargent." Seargent slips out instead of Soldier. Carlos folds his hands in front of himself, spinning his wedding ring around on his finger, cold eyes locked onto the Soldat. "Seargent, in a while, a few months I presume, your mission may be to take out Captain America, Steve Rogers." He pauses in his speaking, waiting to see if there is any sort or recognition in the Soldat's eyes. "Are you aware of who I am talking about, Seargent?"

[buckeye1917]

His ears prick at the word, "Sergeant". Sergeant. He has heard many people be called that. He's heard himself be called that too. His head starts spinning, like the ring on Thatcher's finger. The words absorb yet also cling to the air in the cell. Heavy. Drowning. Yet this breath feels deeper and more true. "... Steve Rogers." His eyes shot up, finally meeting the other man's. That name. It hits him in the chest but he doesn't know why. It makes his body feel like it stopped existing, but he doesn't know why. He searches for any memory, any reason, why that name would mean so much. Blurry visions of the past fade in and out, none giving a clear answer. He hadn't realized that he pressed his eyes shut, leaning his right arm on his knee with his back firmly pressed to the wall behind him. He hasn't answered Thatcher. Carlos says the title again; bringing the Soldat's eyes to meet his for a second time. An indescribable look across his face. A mix of everything. Confusion. Panic. Denial. Recognition. Hurt. Longing. Despair. The Soldat, or Sergeant perhaps, doesn't say anything for a minute, then, slowly, just one word comes out. "... Steve?"

[carlos-thatcher]

The soldat keeps glancing at Carlos' right eye. Each time he quickly looks away from the scar. He wasn't supposed to, he knew that, but it kept grabbing his attention. It reminded him of some of his own scars.

[ @buckeye1917 ] (mod: hii! Carlos sounds really interesting!)

Carlos gives The Soldat and unamused look. His fingers come up to brush against his scar. "Soldier, is something interesting you, perhaps you should share it with me." His voice is cold, his good eye burns into The Soldat as he stares at him, waiting for him to speak.

(Hi!! Thank you!:))

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat hurriedly glances away, slightly grimacing. He knows he made a mistake. The back of his neck turns a light shade of red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Sir. It's ah--" he stumbles on the next words. What reply would get him in the least amount of trouble? "Nothing"? No, that never ends well. "Your eye"? What kind of thing is that to say to your superior? Mumbling is not accepted either. He was at a crossroad, almost just waiting for Thatcher to punish him.

(//ofc! I'm excited to learn more about him!)

[carlos-thatcher]

"Stop your mumbling Asset, speak what is on your mind." Carlos fingers brush against his knife on his belt, giving the Soldat a warning look. His good eye slowly drifts away from him, scanning the area around them, seeing how many people are in the room. "I know you are aware of punishments for being unable to speak when asked a question."

(Yay- excited for you to learn more!:))

[buckeye1917]

He feels a few pairs of eyes watching the exchange. I shouldn't have looked, he thought regretfully. The Soldat needs to say something, quickly. He must not keep his superior waiting. The Soldat does not look away from where Thatcher's hand rests on the knife, quietly he clears his throat. "Your eye, Sir." The Soldat forces his muscles to relax, waiting for a fist or blade from Carlos.

[carlos-thatcher]

"Ah, curiosity getting the best of you Asset?" Carlos gives him an annoyed look, but he drops his hand down from the knife, instead he tucks his hands together, looking the Soldat over. His good eye flicks over him carefully, studying him. "I was blinded by a knife on a mission." He explains tapping his fingers against the scar.

[buckeye1917]

He hesitates on feeling relieved that Thatcher simply folds his scarred hands together. The cold gaze of the other man made the Soldat feel smaller, more awkward, than usual. He keeps his icy eyes trained on Carlos' mouth, never looking him directly in the eyes. That is not permitted. The Soldat nods once, showing he's listening; but once again he isn't sure how to respond. He isn't sure if he should respond but even in this uncertainty, "I'm sorry, Sir," slips out. Not that he is necessarily apologizing but that he is sorry to hear that it happened. For some reason the Soldat feels empathetic towards his superior, perhaps because he's worried that he made Thatcher angry.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos nods very slightly. "Thank you, Soldier." He taps his fingers against his hands, keeping his good eye on the Soldat, so many times he'd wished he could do something more to help him. This conversation... or whatever this was, was a good start. Carlos shifts back to lean against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your last mission, did you succeed?"

[buckeye1917]

He falters for a split second. When was the last time he'd been thanked? Genuinely thanked? His attention quickly resumes to Carlos' question, though. The mission: take out an agent that had gone rogue and bring back the files he had taken. It was almost routine at this point. "Yes, it was a success, Sir."

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos presses his lips together, that sends a pang to his heart, success... he hates that word so much. He shakes his head slightly and brushes the feeling aside. "Good. The file, do you have it on you?" Carlos holds his hand out towards the Soldat for it. He eyes him with a small frown.

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat notices Thatcher's subtle head shake. The gesture and what it could mean buzz around in his tense muscles. When Carlos holds out his hand the Soldat immediately gives the file over to him. "Yes, Sir." He's not allowed to see what's inside of it, he's never allowed to do that. It's not necessary. Again he notices the frown, since that's where his gaze usually falls, and a feeling of dread clings to him like mold or rust.

(// I might fall asleep so apologies if the next reply takes a little longer! :))

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos immediately starts flipping through the file, looking it over. He traces his left hand over the words, a wedding ring is on his finger, it glints in the light before he snaps the file closed and tucks it into his jacket. "Well done, Soldier." He gives the Soldat a nod, but his jaw ticks, something like barely restrained rage burning in him. He folds his scarred hands together again, leaning back against the wall. "Your next mission is tomorrow, You will be told it in the morning."

(You're fine! I'm probably going to fall asleep soon too, lol)

[buckeye1917]

The gold glints into his eyes, it's not exactly abnormal for HYDRA agents to be married, for the most part it doesn't matter to him. For the most part, that is. A small burst of relief ripples through his chest when his superior nods and says, "'Well done,'". It's gone by the time he's told his next mission is so soon. That means that he'll be sleeping in a cell rather than put in cryo-freeze. Not that any of this was particularly pleasant but sleeping in a cell often meant bad things would happen. Still, he nods solemnly, "Yes, Sir."

Six guards escort him to the 8x8 concrete room. It's entirely empty. As the thick metal bars that make up one of the walls shuts all he is left to do is to find the best corner to curl up in.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos watches the guards escort him away. He sighs deeply tucking the file away. Why did the Soldat have to be so good at his missions. He shakes his head and moves to go to his quarters. But he finds himself walking by the Soldat's cell on the way. He pauses, glancing him over as he takes in the bare cell. He presses his lips together and keeps walking. Returning a few minutes later he taps in a code and the cell opens. Carlos steps in with a blanket in his arms. "Soldier." He calls out, setting it beside him. "Tell me, were you injured on your mission?"

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat startles, sitting straight up, though he wasn't completely asleep to begin with. He takes in Thatcher and the blanket, looking at them confused. The Soldat knows that if he was injured and did not properly report it then he'd be in serious trouble. The issue is that he didn't notice he was injured until he laid on the cold concrete and felt a twinge in his metal joint. The twinge grew into an ache which grew into a throb. Now he looks up at Carlos, tired and resignedly, "Yes, Sir." Then he waited for, at the very least, a scolding.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos sighs deeply, letting out a frustrated breath. He sets the blanket in the Soldat's lap and leans forward, studying him carefully before sitting in front of him. "Where are you hurt Soldier? Shirt off." He stands and exits the cell, returning a moment with one of Hydra's medical kits. Carlos sits back down in front of the Soldat, sorting through the supplies. "Do not lie to me Soldier." His eyes flick up, the usual cold and detached look is lessened bit, a spark of almost kindness in them.

[buckeye1917]

He stares in disbelief at the blanket that was set on his bent legs. Something unusual is happening, he can feel it but it's still strange so his never lets down his guard. Then the words "Shirt off" an order, he obeys, inwardly grimacing. The reaction isn't just from the growing pain in the metal limb or from the frigid temperature in the cell; in past times the order turned into "Undress" entirely. He shook his head trying to rid himself of the memory but the deep feeling of dread had already planted itself in his chest. He watches the other man's every move with silent caution. Thatcher comes back with the kit bearing a red cross on the front. He wouldn't lie. Even if he did, he's rather terrible at it. "My left shoulder, Sir." He tries flexing the metal fingers and sharply inhales with pain. He hates showing how bad it hurts, he feels like he's complaining-- and complaining isn't allowed.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos frowns and slips on a pair of gloves. It pains him to see the Soldat in pain. "Your shoulder..." He reaches out and takes the blanket, draping it over the Soldat's right side, letting it cover what he doesn't need to see. "It gets cold in here." He says voice clipped, cold and clinical. His hands then shift to the Soldat's shoulder, fingers gently pressing where metal meets flesh, his touch is gentler then anyone else's in Hydra. "How did you hurt it Soldier?" He runs his finger over the plates, brow pinches in concentration. He reaches back and grabs an injection, popping the lid off. Painkillers... a luxury the Asset usually doesn't get.

[buckeye1917]

The warmth of the blanket soothes the goosebumps that were starting to form on his forearm. Thatcher's gestures, gentle yet calculated, didn't make any sense to the Soldat. He could not possibly fathom that this gentleness would come without a cost. He resists to urge to flinch at the gloved hands examining his joint, though they weren't as void of compassion that others' usually were. "Must of been when I broke the safe's door, Sir." He answers quietly, almost afraid that if he spoke too loud he'd break whatever strange spell that seemed to encapsulate the cell. The Soldat eyes the injection warily. Usually when he got injections it was to knock him out, sedatives. He then, however, spots the words printed out on the side, "anti-inflammatory, painkiller". His gaze shoots back up to Carlos, again never quite meeting his eyes. Did he know that the Soldat never got these, never was allowed to? What would he have to do to return this gesture. In HYDRA, good things never come without a cost, without it being held over one's head.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos gives him a look, his expression unreadable. He slowly moves the blanket to the side and takes his right arm, carefully sliding the needle into it. He presses down and releases the medicine. Carlos pulls the needle out after a moment, wiping an alcohol pad over it then shifting the blanket back over the Soldat's right side. "Exactly how does your shoulder hurt?" He slides his gloves off and replaces them with new ones. His eyes flick back to the Soldat's shoulder and he runs his fingers over it.

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat stares straight ahead at the slight pinch of the needle. It wasn't so bad compared to everything else he'd been through. "It aches, Sir, and pinches," he raises the arm slightly, "when I raise it." He still couldn't quite understand why Thatcher, a high ranking agent, would be here; kneeling on cold concrete to help an asset that he didn't need to. He could have just called someone else and told them to take care of it. But here he is. For right now the Soldat feels a sense of cautious gratitude. He shifts slightly to let Carlos have a better angle at seeing his whole shoulder.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos frowns and touches his shoulder, he runs his finger over one of the plates. "Ah... I see... this plate..." He taps by his left eye, pupil shrinking as he studies the Soldat's arm. "Hm..." He hums in consideration and shifts his arm up, moving the plate back into place. "It was in the wrong place... pinching your skin a bit." He grabs a cream and smooths it over the irritated skin where flesh meets metal. "When is the last time you had maintenance done on your arm, soldier?"

[buckeye1917]

The shifting plate came first with a flame of pain and then with relief as it popped back into place. The coolness of the cream cools down the red angry flesh. "Thank you, Sir." He says, still quiet. The Soldat thinks for a moment, trying to remember when his arm was last worked on. It has been a while he realizes. However, being in and out of cryo-freeze meant measuring things in normal amounts-- days, weeks, months, years-- was nearly impossible; he instead measures them in missions. He counted seven, no, eight. It has been eight missions. "Eight missions ago, Sir."

[carlos-thatcher]

"Eight missions..." Carlos scoffs and crosses the room, he pulls out a device and taps on it, sending out a mission. "You are do for maintenance... Eight missions." He sounds highly annoyed as he closes the device, walking over to the Soldat. He hates how he was treated, wished he could do more to stop it. "Let's get you dressed... out of these mission clothes." He reaches out and grabs a normal shirt, a rare thing for the Soldat to have. His calloused hands easily tug into over his head, helping the Soldat into it. "Let me know if the arm causes you more pain, understand Soldier?"

[buckeye1917]

His worry grows at the superior's annoyance. Surely he should have done something better. Maybe reminded someone that the arm needed worked on? Maybe not rough it up so much in the first place? He should gave done something better and he's certain he'll get punished for his inadequacy. For a second he studies the device in Carlos' hands, trying to see what it said before remembering what happened last time he tried taking a look that he wasn't ordered to. His gaze has dropped to the floor whenever Carlos' words come again. He sits there in utter disbelief as Thatcher carefully helps him. Soft fabric contrasts the usual rough leather that the suit is made out of. It's just a plain grayish t-shirt, but it fits him nicely and doesn't put any extra pressure on the recovering joint. "I understand, Sir, thank you." The Soldat still could not figure out why Thatcher is doing all of this. Being... kind. Gentle. Something he had nearly forgotten existed.

[carlos-thatcher]

The soldat keeps glancing at Carlos' right eye. Each time he quickly looks away from the scar. He wasn't supposed to, he knew that, but it kept grabbing his attention. It reminded him of some of his own scars.

[ @buckeye1917 ] (mod: hii! Carlos sounds really interesting!)

Carlos gives The Soldat and unamused look. His fingers come up to brush against his scar. "Soldier, is something interesting you, perhaps you should share it with me." His voice is cold, his good eye burns into The Soldat as he stares at him, waiting for him to speak.

(Hi!! Thank you!:))

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat hurriedly glances away, slightly grimacing. He knows he made a mistake. The back of his neck turns a light shade of red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Sir. It's ah--" he stumbles on the next words. What reply would get him in the least amount of trouble? "Nothing"? No, that never ends well. "Your eye"? What kind of thing is that to say to your superior? Mumbling is not accepted either. He was at a crossroad, almost just waiting for Thatcher to punish him.

(//ofc! I'm excited to learn more about him!)

[carlos-thatcher]

"Stop your mumbling Asset, speak what is on your mind." Carlos fingers brush against his knife on his belt, giving the Soldat a warning look. His good eye slowly drifts away from him, scanning the area around them, seeing how many people are in the room. "I know you are aware of punishments for being unable to speak when asked a question."

(Yay- excited for you to learn more!:))

[buckeye1917]

He feels a few pairs of eyes watching the exchange. I shouldn't have looked, he thought regretfully. The Soldat needs to say something, quickly. He must not keep his superior waiting. The Soldat does not look away from where Thatcher's hand rests on the knife, quietly he clears his throat. "Your eye, Sir." The Soldat forces his muscles to relax, waiting for a fist or blade from Carlos.

[carlos-thatcher]

"Ah, curiosity getting the best of you Asset?" Carlos gives him an annoyed look, but he drops his hand down from the knife, instead he tucks his hands together, looking the Soldat over. His good eye flicks over him carefully, studying him. "I was blinded by a knife on a mission." He explains tapping his fingers against the scar.

[buckeye1917]

He hesitates on feeling relieved that Thatcher simply folds his scarred hands together. The cold gaze of the other man made the Soldat feel smaller, more awkward, than usual. He keeps his icy eyes trained on Carlos' mouth, never looking him directly in the eyes. That is not permitted. The Soldat nods once, showing he's listening; but once again he isn't sure how to respond. He isn't sure if he should respond but even in this uncertainty, "I'm sorry, Sir," slips out. Not that he is necessarily apologizing but that he is sorry to hear that it happened. For some reason the Soldat feels empathetic towards his superior, perhaps because he's worried that he made Thatcher angry.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos nods very slightly. "Thank you, Soldier." He taps his fingers against his hands, keeping his good eye on the Soldat, so many times he'd wished he could do something more to help him. This conversation... or whatever this was, was a good start. Carlos shifts back to lean against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your last mission, did you succeed?"

[buckeye1917]

He falters for a split second. When was the last time he'd been thanked? Genuinely thanked? His attention quickly resumes to Carlos' question, though. The mission: take out an agent that had gone rogue and bring back the files he had taken. It was almost routine at this point. "Yes, it was a success, Sir."

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos presses his lips together, that sends a pang to his heart, success... he hates that word so much. He shakes his head slightly and brushes the feeling aside. "Good. The file, do you have it on you?" Carlos holds his hand out towards the Soldat for it. He eyes him with a small frown.

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat notices Thatcher's subtle head shake. The gesture and what it could mean buzz around in his tense muscles. When Carlos holds out his hand the Soldat immediately gives the file over to him. "Yes, Sir." He's not allowed to see what's inside of it, he's never allowed to do that. It's not necessary. Again he notices the frown, since that's where his gaze usually falls, and a feeling of dread clings to him like mold or rust.

(// I might fall asleep so apologies if the next reply takes a little longer! :))

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos immediately starts flipping through the file, looking it over. He traces his left hand over the words, a wedding ring is on his finger, it glints in the light before he snaps the file closed and tucks it into his jacket. "Well done, Soldier." He gives the Soldat a nod, but his jaw ticks, something like barely restrained rage burning in him. He folds his scarred hands together again, leaning back against the wall. "Your next mission is tomorrow, You will be told it in the morning."

(You're fine! I'm probably going to fall asleep soon too, lol)

[buckeye1917]

The gold glints into his eyes, it's not exactly abnormal for HYDRA agents to be married, for the most part it doesn't matter to him. For the most part, that is. A small burst of relief ripples through his chest when his superior nods and says, "'Well done,'". It's gone by the time he's told his next mission is so soon. That means that he'll be sleeping in a cell rather than put in cryo-freeze. Not that any of this was particularly pleasant but sleeping in a cell often meant bad things would happen. Still, he nods solemnly, "Yes, Sir."

Six guards escort him to the 8x8 concrete room. It's entirely empty. As the thick metal bars that make up one of the walls shuts all he is left to do is to find the best corner to curl up in.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos watches the guards escort him away. He sighs deeply tucking the file away. Why did the Soldat have to be so good at his missions. He shakes his head and moves to go to his quarters. But he finds himself walking by the Soldat's cell on the way. He pauses, glancing him over as he takes in the bare cell. He presses his lips together and keeps walking. Returning a few minutes later he taps in a code and the cell opens. Carlos steps in with a blanket in his arms. "Soldier." He calls out, setting it beside him. "Tell me, were you injured on your mission?"

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat startles, sitting straight up, though he wasn't completely asleep to begin with. He takes in Thatcher and the blanket, looking at them confused. The Soldat knows that if he was injured and did not properly report it then he'd be in serious trouble. The issue is that he didn't notice he was injured until he laid on the cold concrete and felt a twinge in his metal joint. The twinge grew into an ache which grew into a throb. Now he looks up at Carlos, tired and resignedly, "Yes, Sir." Then he waited for, at the very least, a scolding.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos sighs deeply, letting out a frustrated breath. He sets the blanket in the Soldat's lap and leans forward, studying him carefully before sitting in front of him. "Where are you hurt Soldier? Shirt off." He stands and exits the cell, returning a moment with one of Hydra's medical kits. Carlos sits back down in front of the Soldat, sorting through the supplies. "Do not lie to me Soldier." His eyes flick up, the usual cold and detached look is lessened bit, a spark of almost kindness in them.

[buckeye1917]

He stares in disbelief at the blanket that was set on his bent legs. Something unusual is happening, he can feel it but it's still strange so his never lets down his guard. Then the words "Shirt off" an order, he obeys, inwardly grimacing. The reaction isn't just from the growing pain in the metal limb or from the frigid temperature in the cell; in past times the order turned into "Undress" entirely. He shook his head trying to rid himself of the memory but the deep feeling of dread had already planted itself in his chest. He watches the other man's every move with silent caution. Thatcher comes back with the kit bearing a red cross on the front. He wouldn't lie. Even if he did, he's rather terrible at it. "My left shoulder, Sir." He tries flexing the metal fingers and sharply inhales with pain. He hates showing how bad it hurts, he feels like he's complaining-- and complaining isn't allowed.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos frowns and slips on a pair of gloves. It pains him to see the Soldat in pain. "Your shoulder..." He reaches out and takes the blanket, draping it over the Soldat's right side, letting it cover what he doesn't need to see. "It gets cold in here." He says voice clipped, cold and clinical. His hands then shift to the Soldat's shoulder, fingers gently pressing where metal meets flesh, his touch is gentler then anyone else's in Hydra. "How did you hurt it Soldier?" He runs his finger over the plates, brow pinches in concentration. He reaches back and grabs an injection, popping the lid off. Painkillers... a luxury the Asset usually doesn't get.

[buckeye1917]

The warmth of the blanket soothes the goosebumps that were starting to form on his forearm. Thatcher's gestures, gentle yet calculated, didn't make any sense to the Soldat. He could not possibly fathom that this gentleness would come without a cost. He resists to urge to flinch at the gloved hands examining his joint, though they weren't as void of compassion that others' usually were. "Must of been when I broke the safe's door, Sir." He answers quietly, almost afraid that if he spoke too loud he'd break whatever strange spell that seemed to encapsulate the cell. The Soldat eyes the injection warily. Usually when he got injections it was to knock him out, sedatives. He then, however, spots the words printed out on the side, "anti-inflammatory, painkiller". His gaze shoots back up to Carlos, again never quite meeting his eyes. Did he know that the Soldat never got these, never was allowed to? What would he have to do to return this gesture. In HYDRA, good things never come without a cost, without it being held over one's head.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos gives him a look, his expression unreadable. He slowly moves the blanket to the side and takes his right arm, carefully sliding the needle into it. He presses down and releases the medicine. Carlos pulls the needle out after a moment, wiping an alcohol pad over it then shifting the blanket back over the Soldat's right side. "Exactly how does your shoulder hurt?" He slides his gloves off and replaces them with new ones. His eyes flick back to the Soldat's shoulder and he runs his fingers over it.

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat stares straight ahead at the slight pinch of the needle. It wasn't so bad compared to everything else he'd been through. "It aches, Sir, and pinches," he raises the arm slightly, "when I raise it." He still couldn't quite understand why Thatcher, a high ranking agent, would be here; kneeling on cold concrete to help an asset that he didn't need to. He could have just called someone else and told them to take care of it. But here he is. For right now the Soldat feels a sense of cautious gratitude. He shifts slightly to let Carlos have a better angle at seeing his whole shoulder.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos frowns and touches his shoulder, he runs his finger over one of the plates. "Ah... I see... this plate..." He taps by his left eye, pupil shrinking as he studies the Soldat's arm. "Hm..." He hums in consideration and shifts his arm up, moving the plate back into place. "It was in the wrong place... pinching your skin a bit." He grabs a cream and smooths it over the irritated skin where flesh meets metal. "When is the last time you had maintenance done on your arm, soldier?"

[buckeye1917]

The shifting plate came first with a flame of pain and then with relief as it popped back into place. The coolness of the cream cools down the red angry flesh. "Thank you, Sir." He says, still quiet. The Soldat thinks for a moment, trying to remember when his arm was last worked on. It has been a while he realizes. However, being in and out of cryo-freeze meant measuring things in normal amounts-- days, weeks, months, years-- was nearly impossible; he instead measures them in missions. He counted seven, no, eight. It has been eight missions. "Eight missions ago, Sir."

[carlos-thatcher]

The soldat keeps glancing at Carlos' right eye. Each time he quickly looks away from the scar. He wasn't supposed to, he knew that, but it kept grabbing his attention. It reminded him of some of his own scars.

[ @buckeye1917 ] (mod: hii! Carlos sounds really interesting!)

Carlos gives The Soldat and unamused look. His fingers come up to brush against his scar. "Soldier, is something interesting you, perhaps you should share it with me." His voice is cold, his good eye burns into The Soldat as he stares at him, waiting for him to speak.

(Hi!! Thank you!:))

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat hurriedly glances away, slightly grimacing. He knows he made a mistake. The back of his neck turns a light shade of red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Sir. It's ah--" he stumbles on the next words. What reply would get him in the least amount of trouble? "Nothing"? No, that never ends well. "Your eye"? What kind of thing is that to say to your superior? Mumbling is not accepted either. He was at a crossroad, almost just waiting for Thatcher to punish him.

(//ofc! I'm excited to learn more about him!)

[carlos-thatcher]

"Stop your mumbling Asset, speak what is on your mind." Carlos fingers brush against his knife on his belt, giving the Soldat a warning look. His good eye slowly drifts away from him, scanning the area around them, seeing how many people are in the room. "I know you are aware of punishments for being unable to speak when asked a question."

(Yay- excited for you to learn more!:))

[buckeye1917]

He feels a few pairs of eyes watching the exchange. I shouldn't have looked, he thought regretfully. The Soldat needs to say something, quickly. He must not keep his superior waiting. The Soldat does not look away from where Thatcher's hand rests on the knife, quietly he clears his throat. "Your eye, Sir." The Soldat forces his muscles to relax, waiting for a fist or blade from Carlos.

[carlos-thatcher]

"Ah, curiosity getting the best of you Asset?" Carlos gives him an annoyed look, but he drops his hand down from the knife, instead he tucks his hands together, looking the Soldat over. His good eye flicks over him carefully, studying him. "I was blinded by a knife on a mission." He explains tapping his fingers against the scar.

[buckeye1917]

He hesitates on feeling relieved that Thatcher simply folds his scarred hands together. The cold gaze of the other man made the Soldat feel smaller, more awkward, than usual. He keeps his icy eyes trained on Carlos' mouth, never looking him directly in the eyes. That is not permitted. The Soldat nods once, showing he's listening; but once again he isn't sure how to respond. He isn't sure if he should respond but even in this uncertainty, "I'm sorry, Sir," slips out. Not that he is necessarily apologizing but that he is sorry to hear that it happened. For some reason the Soldat feels empathetic towards his superior, perhaps because he's worried that he made Thatcher angry.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos nods very slightly. "Thank you, Soldier." He taps his fingers against his hands, keeping his good eye on the Soldat, so many times he'd wished he could do something more to help him. This conversation... or whatever this was, was a good start. Carlos shifts back to lean against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your last mission, did you succeed?"

[buckeye1917]

He falters for a split second. When was the last time he'd been thanked? Genuinely thanked? His attention quickly resumes to Carlos' question, though. The mission: take out an agent that had gone rogue and bring back the files he had taken. It was almost routine at this point. "Yes, it was a success, Sir."

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos presses his lips together, that sends a pang to his heart, success... he hates that word so much. He shakes his head slightly and brushes the feeling aside. "Good. The file, do you have it on you?" Carlos holds his hand out towards the Soldat for it. He eyes him with a small frown.

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat notices Thatcher's subtle head shake. The gesture and what it could mean buzz around in his tense muscles. When Carlos holds out his hand the Soldat immediately gives the file over to him. "Yes, Sir." He's not allowed to see what's inside of it, he's never allowed to do that. It's not necessary. Again he notices the frown, since that's where his gaze usually falls, and a feeling of dread clings to him like mold or rust.

(// I might fall asleep so apologies if the next reply takes a little longer! :))

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos immediately starts flipping through the file, looking it over. He traces his left hand over the words, a wedding ring is on his finger, it glints in the light before he snaps the file closed and tucks it into his jacket. "Well done, Soldier." He gives the Soldat a nod, but his jaw ticks, something like barely restrained rage burning in him. He folds his scarred hands together again, leaning back against the wall. "Your next mission is tomorrow, You will be told it in the morning."

(You're fine! I'm probably going to fall asleep soon too, lol)

[buckeye1917]

The gold glints into his eyes, it's not exactly abnormal for HYDRA agents to be married, for the most part it doesn't matter to him. For the most part, that is. A small burst of relief ripples through his chest when his superior nods and says, "'Well done,'". It's gone by the time he's told his next mission is so soon. That means that he'll be sleeping in a cell rather than put in cryo-freeze. Not that any of this was particularly pleasant but sleeping in a cell often meant bad things would happen. Still, he nods solemnly, "Yes, Sir."

Six guards escort him to the 8x8 concrete room. It's entirely empty. As the thick metal bars that make up one of the walls shuts all he is left to do is to find the best corner to curl up in.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos watches the guards escort him away. He sighs deeply tucking the file away. Why did the Soldat have to be so good at his missions. He shakes his head and moves to go to his quarters. But he finds himself walking by the Soldat's cell on the way. He pauses, glancing him over as he takes in the bare cell. He presses his lips together and keeps walking. Returning a few minutes later he taps in a code and the cell opens. Carlos steps in with a blanket in his arms. "Soldier." He calls out, setting it beside him. "Tell me, were you injured on your mission?"

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat startles, sitting straight up, though he wasn't completely asleep to begin with. He takes in Thatcher and the blanket, looking at them confused. The Soldat knows that if he was injured and did not properly report it then he'd be in serious trouble. The issue is that he didn't notice he was injured until he laid on the cold concrete and felt a twinge in his metal joint. The twinge grew into an ache which grew into a throb. Now he looks up at Carlos, tired and resignedly, "Yes, Sir." Then he waited for, at the very least, a scolding.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos sighs deeply, letting out a frustrated breath. He sets the blanket in the Soldat's lap and leans forward, studying him carefully before sitting in front of him. "Where are you hurt Soldier? Shirt off." He stands and exits the cell, returning a moment with one of Hydra's medical kits. Carlos sits back down in front of the Soldat, sorting through the supplies. "Do not lie to me Soldier." His eyes flick up, the usual cold and detached look is lessened bit, a spark of almost kindness in them.

[buckeye1917]

He stares in disbelief at the blanket that was set on his bent legs. Something unusual is happening, he can feel it but it's still strange so his never lets down his guard. Then the words "Shirt off" an order, he obeys, inwardly grimacing. The reaction isn't just from the growing pain in the metal limb or from the frigid temperature in the cell; in past times the order turned into "Undress" entirely. He shook his head trying to rid himself of the memory but the deep feeling of dread had already planted itself in his chest. He watches the other man's every move with silent caution. Thatcher comes back with the kit bearing a red cross on the front. He wouldn't lie. Even if he did, he's rather terrible at it. "My left shoulder, Sir." He tries flexing the metal fingers and sharply inhales with pain. He hates showing how bad it hurts, he feels like he's complaining-- and complaining isn't allowed.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos frowns and slips on a pair of gloves. It pains him to see the Soldat in pain. "Your shoulder..." He reaches out and takes the blanket, draping it over the Soldat's right side, letting it cover what he doesn't need to see. "It gets cold in here." He says voice clipped, cold and clinical. His hands then shift to the Soldat's shoulder, fingers gently pressing where metal meets flesh, his touch is gentler then anyone else's in Hydra. "How did you hurt it Soldier?" He runs his finger over the plates, brow pinches in concentration. He reaches back and grabs an injection, popping the lid off. Painkillers... a luxury the Asset usually doesn't get.

[buckeye1917]

The warmth of the blanket soothes the goosebumps that were starting to form on his forearm. Thatcher's gestures, gentle yet calculated, didn't make any sense to the Soldat. He could not possibly fathom that this gentleness would come without a cost. He resists to urge to flinch at the gloved hands examining his joint, though they weren't as void of compassion that others' usually were. "Must of been when I broke the safe's door, Sir." He answers quietly, almost afraid that if he spoke too loud he'd break whatever strange spell that seemed to encapsulate the cell. The Soldat eyes the injection warily. Usually when he got injections it was to knock him out, sedatives. He then, however, spots the words printed out on the side, "anti-inflammatory, painkiller". His gaze shoots back up to Carlos, again never quite meeting his eyes. Did he know that the Soldat never got these, never was allowed to? What would he have to do to return this gesture. In HYDRA, good things never come without a cost, without it being held over one's head.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos gives him a look, his expression unreadable. He slowly moves the blanket to the side and takes his right arm, carefully sliding the needle into it. He presses down and releases the medicine. Carlos pulls the needle out after a moment, wiping an alcohol pad over it then shifting the blanket back over the Soldat's right side. "Exactly how does your shoulder hurt?" He slides his gloves off and replaces them with new ones. His eyes flick back to the Soldat's shoulder and he runs his fingers over it.

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat stares straight ahead at the slight pinch of the needle. It wasn't so bad compared to everything else he'd been through. "It aches, Sir, and pinches," he raises the arm slightly, "when I raise it." He still couldn't quite understand why Thatcher, a high ranking agent, would be here; kneeling on cold concrete to help an asset that he didn't need to. He could have just called someone else and told them to take care of it. But here he is. For right now the Soldat feels a sense of cautious gratitude. He shifts slightly to let Carlos have a better angle at seeing his whole shoulder.

[carlos-thatcher]

The soldat keeps glancing at Carlos' right eye. Each time he quickly looks away from the scar. He wasn't supposed to, he knew that, but it kept grabbing his attention. It reminded him of some of his own scars.

[ @buckeye1917 ] (mod: hii! Carlos sounds really interesting!)

Carlos gives The Soldat and unamused look. His fingers come up to brush against his scar. "Soldier, is something interesting you, perhaps you should share it with me." His voice is cold, his good eye burns into The Soldat as he stares at him, waiting for him to speak.

(Hi!! Thank you!:))

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat hurriedly glances away, slightly grimacing. He knows he made a mistake. The back of his neck turns a light shade of red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Sir. It's ah--" he stumbles on the next words. What reply would get him in the least amount of trouble? "Nothing"? No, that never ends well. "Your eye"? What kind of thing is that to say to your superior? Mumbling is not accepted either. He was at a crossroad, almost just waiting for Thatcher to punish him.

(//ofc! I'm excited to learn more about him!)

[carlos-thatcher]

"Stop your mumbling Asset, speak what is on your mind." Carlos fingers brush against his knife on his belt, giving the Soldat a warning look. His good eye slowly drifts away from him, scanning the area around them, seeing how many people are in the room. "I know you are aware of punishments for being unable to speak when asked a question."

(Yay- excited for you to learn more!:))

[buckeye1917]

He feels a few pairs of eyes watching the exchange. I shouldn't have looked, he thought regretfully. The Soldat needs to say something, quickly. He must not keep his superior waiting. The Soldat does not look away from where Thatcher's hand rests on the knife, quietly he clears his throat. "Your eye, Sir." The Soldat forces his muscles to relax, waiting for a fist or blade from Carlos.

[carlos-thatcher]

"Ah, curiosity getting the best of you Asset?" Carlos gives him an annoyed look, but he drops his hand down from the knife, instead he tucks his hands together, looking the Soldat over. His good eye flicks over him carefully, studying him. "I was blinded by a knife on a mission." He explains tapping his fingers against the scar.

[buckeye1917]

He hesitates on feeling relieved that Thatcher simply folds his scarred hands together. The cold gaze of the other man made the Soldat feel smaller, more awkward, than usual. He keeps his icy eyes trained on Carlos' mouth, never looking him directly in the eyes. That is not permitted. The Soldat nods once, showing he's listening; but once again he isn't sure how to respond. He isn't sure if he should respond but even in this uncertainty, "I'm sorry, Sir," slips out. Not that he is necessarily apologizing but that he is sorry to hear that it happened. For some reason the Soldat feels empathetic towards his superior, perhaps because he's worried that he made Thatcher angry.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos nods very slightly. "Thank you, Soldier." He taps his fingers against his hands, keeping his good eye on the Soldat, so many times he'd wished he could do something more to help him. This conversation... or whatever this was, was a good start. Carlos shifts back to lean against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your last mission, did you succeed?"

[buckeye1917]

He falters for a split second. When was the last time he'd been thanked? Genuinely thanked? His attention quickly resumes to Carlos' question, though. The mission: take out an agent that had gone rogue and bring back the files he had taken. It was almost routine at this point. "Yes, it was a success, Sir."

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos presses his lips together, that sends a pang to his heart, success... he hates that word so much. He shakes his head slightly and brushes the feeling aside. "Good. The file, do you have it on you?" Carlos holds his hand out towards the Soldat for it. He eyes him with a small frown.

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat notices Thatcher's subtle head shake. The gesture and what it could mean buzz around in his tense muscles. When Carlos holds out his hand the Soldat immediately gives the file over to him. "Yes, Sir." He's not allowed to see what's inside of it, he's never allowed to do that. It's not necessary. Again he notices the frown, since that's where his gaze usually falls, and a feeling of dread clings to him like mold or rust.

(// I might fall asleep so apologies if the next reply takes a little longer! :))

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos immediately starts flipping through the file, looking it over. He traces his left hand over the words, a wedding ring is on his finger, it glints in the light before he snaps the file closed and tucks it into his jacket. "Well done, Soldier." He gives the Soldat a nod, but his jaw ticks, something like barely restrained rage burning in him. He folds his scarred hands together again, leaning back against the wall. "Your next mission is tomorrow, You will be told it in the morning."

(You're fine! I'm probably going to fall asleep soon too, lol)

[buckeye1917]

The gold glints into his eyes, it's not exactly abnormal for HYDRA agents to be married, for the most part it doesn't matter to him. For the most part, that is. A small burst of relief ripples through his chest when his superior nods and says, "'Well done,'". It's gone by the time he's told his next mission is so soon. That means that he'll be sleeping in a cell rather than put in cryo-freeze. Not that any of this was particularly pleasant but sleeping in a cell often meant bad things would happen. Still, he nods solemnly, "Yes, Sir."

Six guards escort him to the 8x8 concrete room. It's entirely empty. As the thick metal bars that make up one of the walls shuts all he is left to do is to find the best corner to curl up in.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos watches the guards escort him away. He sighs deeply tucking the file away. Why did the Soldat have to be so good at his missions. He shakes his head and moves to go to his quarters. But he finds himself walking by the Soldat's cell on the way. He pauses, glancing him over as he takes in the bare cell. He presses his lips together and keeps walking. Returning a few minutes later he taps in a code and the cell opens. Carlos steps in with a blanket in his arms. "Soldier." He calls out, setting it beside him. "Tell me, were you injured on your mission?"

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat startles, sitting straight up, though he wasn't completely asleep to begin with. He takes in Thatcher and the blanket, looking at them confused. The Soldat knows that if he was injured and did not properly report it then he'd be in serious trouble. The issue is that he didn't notice he was injured until he laid on the cold concrete and felt a twinge in his metal joint. The twinge grew into an ache which grew into a throb. Now he looks up at Carlos, tired and resignedly, "Yes, Sir." Then he waited for, at the very least, a scolding.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos sighs deeply, letting out a frustrated breath. He sets the blanket in the Soldat's lap and leans forward, studying him carefully before sitting in front of him. "Where are you hurt Soldier? Shirt off." He stands and exits the cell, returning a moment with one of Hydra's medical kits. Carlos sits back down in front of the Soldat, sorting through the supplies. "Do not lie to me Soldier." His eyes flick up, the usual cold and detached look is lessened bit, a spark of almost kindness in them.

[buckeye1917]

He stares in disbelief at the blanket that was set on his bent legs. Something unusual is happening, he can feel it but it's still strange so his never lets down his guard. Then the words "Shirt off" an order, he obeys, inwardly grimacing. The reaction isn't just from the growing pain in the metal limb or from the frigid temperature in the cell; in past times the order turned into "Undress" entirely. He shook his head trying to rid himself of the memory but the deep feeling of dread had already planted itself in his chest. He watches the other man's every move with silent caution. Thatcher comes back with the kit bearing a red cross on the front. He wouldn't lie. Even if he did, he's rather terrible at it. "My left shoulder, Sir." He tries flexing the metal fingers and sharply inhales with pain. He hates showing how bad it hurts, he feels like he's complaining-- and complaining isn't allowed.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos frowns and slips on a pair of gloves. It pains him to see the Soldat in pain. "Your shoulder..." He reaches out and takes the blanket, draping it over the Soldat's right side, letting it cover what he doesn't need to see. "It gets cold in here." He says voice clipped, cold and clinical. His hands then shift to the Soldat's shoulder, fingers gently pressing where metal meets flesh, his touch is gentler then anyone else's in Hydra. "How did you hurt it Soldier?" He runs his finger over the plates, brow pinches in concentration. He reaches back and grabs an injection, popping the lid off. Painkillers... a luxury the Asset usually doesn't get.

[buckeye1917]

The warmth of the blanket soothes the goosebumps that were starting to form on his forearm. Thatcher's gestures, gentle yet calculated, didn't make any sense to the Soldat. He could not possibly fathom that this gentleness would come without a cost. He resists to urge to flinch at the gloved hands examining his joint, though they weren't as void of compassion that others' usually were. "Must of been when I broke the safe's door, Sir." He answers quietly, almost afraid that if he spoke too loud he'd break whatever strange spell that seemed to encapsulate the cell. The Soldat eyes the injection warily. Usually when he got injections it was to knock him out, sedatives. He then, however, spots the words printed out on the side, "anti-inflammatory, painkiller". His gaze shoots back up to Carlos, again never quite meeting his eyes. Did he know that the Soldat never got these, never was allowed to? What would he have to do to return this gesture. In HYDRA, good things never come without a cost, without it being held over one's head.

[carlos-thatcher]

The soldat keeps glancing at Carlos' right eye. Each time he quickly looks away from the scar. He wasn't supposed to, he knew that, but it kept grabbing his attention. It reminded him of some of his own scars.

[ @buckeye1917 ] (mod: hii! Carlos sounds really interesting!)

Carlos gives The Soldat and unamused look. His fingers come up to brush against his scar. "Soldier, is something interesting you, perhaps you should share it with me." His voice is cold, his good eye burns into The Soldat as he stares at him, waiting for him to speak.

(Hi!! Thank you!:))

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat hurriedly glances away, slightly grimacing. He knows he made a mistake. The back of his neck turns a light shade of red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Sir. It's ah--" he stumbles on the next words. What reply would get him in the least amount of trouble? "Nothing"? No, that never ends well. "Your eye"? What kind of thing is that to say to your superior? Mumbling is not accepted either. He was at a crossroad, almost just waiting for Thatcher to punish him.

(//ofc! I'm excited to learn more about him!)

[carlos-thatcher]

"Stop your mumbling Asset, speak what is on your mind." Carlos fingers brush against his knife on his belt, giving the Soldat a warning look. His good eye slowly drifts away from him, scanning the area around them, seeing how many people are in the room. "I know you are aware of punishments for being unable to speak when asked a question."

(Yay- excited for you to learn more!:))

[buckeye1917]

He feels a few pairs of eyes watching the exchange. I shouldn't have looked, he thought regretfully. The Soldat needs to say something, quickly. He must not keep his superior waiting. The Soldat does not look away from where Thatcher's hand rests on the knife, quietly he clears his throat. "Your eye, Sir." The Soldat forces his muscles to relax, waiting for a fist or blade from Carlos.

[carlos-thatcher]

"Ah, curiosity getting the best of you Asset?" Carlos gives him an annoyed look, but he drops his hand down from the knife, instead he tucks his hands together, looking the Soldat over. His good eye flicks over him carefully, studying him. "I was blinded by a knife on a mission." He explains tapping his fingers against the scar.

[buckeye1917]

He hesitates on feeling relieved that Thatcher simply folds his scarred hands together. The cold gaze of the other man made the Soldat feel smaller, more awkward, than usual. He keeps his icy eyes trained on Carlos' mouth, never looking him directly in the eyes. That is not permitted. The Soldat nods once, showing he's listening; but once again he isn't sure how to respond. He isn't sure if he should respond but even in this uncertainty, "I'm sorry, Sir," slips out. Not that he is necessarily apologizing but that he is sorry to hear that it happened. For some reason the Soldat feels empathetic towards his superior, perhaps because he's worried that he made Thatcher angry.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos nods very slightly. "Thank you, Soldier." He taps his fingers against his hands, keeping his good eye on the Soldat, so many times he'd wished he could do something more to help him. This conversation... or whatever this was, was a good start. Carlos shifts back to lean against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your last mission, did you succeed?"

[buckeye1917]

He falters for a split second. When was the last time he'd been thanked? Genuinely thanked? His attention quickly resumes to Carlos' question, though. The mission: take out an agent that had gone rogue and bring back the files he had taken. It was almost routine at this point. "Yes, it was a success, Sir."

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos presses his lips together, that sends a pang to his heart, success... he hates that word so much. He shakes his head slightly and brushes the feeling aside. "Good. The file, do you have it on you?" Carlos holds his hand out towards the Soldat for it. He eyes him with a small frown.

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat notices Thatcher's subtle head shake. The gesture and what it could mean buzz around in his tense muscles. When Carlos holds out his hand the Soldat immediately gives the file over to him. "Yes, Sir." He's not allowed to see what's inside of it, he's never allowed to do that. It's not necessary. Again he notices the frown, since that's where his gaze usually falls, and a feeling of dread clings to him like mold or rust.

(// I might fall asleep so apologies if the next reply takes a little longer! :))

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos immediately starts flipping through the file, looking it over. He traces his left hand over the words, a wedding ring is on his finger, it glints in the light before he snaps the file closed and tucks it into his jacket. "Well done, Soldier." He gives the Soldat a nod, but his jaw ticks, something like barely restrained rage burning in him. He folds his scarred hands together again, leaning back against the wall. "Your next mission is tomorrow, You will be told it in the morning."

(You're fine! I'm probably going to fall asleep soon too, lol)

[buckeye1917]

The gold glints into his eyes, it's not exactly abnormal for HYDRA agents to be married, for the most part it doesn't matter to him. For the most part, that is. A small burst of relief ripples through his chest when his superior nods and says, "'Well done,'". It's gone by the time he's told his next mission is so soon. That means that he'll be sleeping in a cell rather than put in cryo-freeze. Not that any of this was particularly pleasant but sleeping in a cell often meant bad things would happen. Still, he nods solemnly, "Yes, Sir."

Six guards escort him to the 8x8 concrete room. It's entirely empty. As the thick metal bars that make up one of the walls shuts all he is left to do is to find the best corner to curl up in.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos watches the guards escort him away. He sighs deeply tucking the file away. Why did the Soldat have to be so good at his missions. He shakes his head and moves to go to his quarters. But he finds himself walking by the Soldat's cell on the way. He pauses, glancing him over as he takes in the bare cell. He presses his lips together and keeps walking. Returning a few minutes later he taps in a code and the cell opens. Carlos steps in with a blanket in his arms. "Soldier." He calls out, setting it beside him. "Tell me, were you injured on your mission?"

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat startles, sitting straight up, though he wasn't completely asleep to begin with. He takes in Thatcher and the blanket, looking at them confused. The Soldat knows that if he was injured and did not properly report it then he'd be in serious trouble. The issue is that he didn't notice he was injured until he laid on the cold concrete and felt a twinge in his metal joint. The twinge grew into an ache which grew into a throb. Now he looks up at Carlos, tired and resignedly, "Yes, Sir." Then he waited for, at the very least, a scolding.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos sighs deeply, letting out a frustrated breath. He sets the blanket in the Soldat's lap and leans forward, studying him carefully before sitting in front of him. "Where are you hurt Soldier? Shirt off." He stands and exits the cell, returning a moment with one of Hydra's medical kits. Carlos sits back down in front of the Soldat, sorting through the supplies. "Do not lie to me Soldier." His eyes flick up, the usual cold and detached look is lessened bit, a spark of almost kindness in them.

[buckeye1917]

He stares in disbelief at the blanket that was set on his bent legs. Something unusual is happening, he can feel it but it's still strange so his never lets down his guard. Then the words "Shirt off" an order, he obeys, inwardly grimacing. The reaction isn't just from the growing pain in the metal limb or from the frigid temperature in the cell; in past times the order turned into "Undress" entirely. He shook his head trying to rid himself of the memory but the deep feeling of dread had already planted itself in his chest. He watches the other man's every move with silent caution. Thatcher comes back with the kit bearing a red cross on the front. He wouldn't lie. Even if he did, he's rather terrible at it. "My left shoulder, Sir." He tries flexing the metal fingers and sharply inhales with pain. He hates showing how bad it hurts, he feels like he's complaining-- and complaining isn't allowed.

[carlos-thatcher]

The soldat keeps glancing at Carlos' right eye. Each time he quickly looks away from the scar. He wasn't supposed to, he knew that, but it kept grabbing his attention. It reminded him of some of his own scars.

[ @buckeye1917 ] (mod: hii! Carlos sounds really interesting!)

Carlos gives The Soldat and unamused look. His fingers come up to brush against his scar. "Soldier, is something interesting you, perhaps you should share it with me." His voice is cold, his good eye burns into The Soldat as he stares at him, waiting for him to speak.

(Hi!! Thank you!:))

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat hurriedly glances away, slightly grimacing. He knows he made a mistake. The back of his neck turns a light shade of red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Sir. It's ah--" he stumbles on the next words. What reply would get him in the least amount of trouble? "Nothing"? No, that never ends well. "Your eye"? What kind of thing is that to say to your superior? Mumbling is not accepted either. He was at a crossroad, almost just waiting for Thatcher to punish him.

(//ofc! I'm excited to learn more about him!)

[carlos-thatcher]

"Stop your mumbling Asset, speak what is on your mind." Carlos fingers brush against his knife on his belt, giving the Soldat a warning look. His good eye slowly drifts away from him, scanning the area around them, seeing how many people are in the room. "I know you are aware of punishments for being unable to speak when asked a question."

(Yay- excited for you to learn more!:))

[buckeye1917]

He feels a few pairs of eyes watching the exchange. I shouldn't have looked, he thought regretfully. The Soldat needs to say something, quickly. He must not keep his superior waiting. The Soldat does not look away from where Thatcher's hand rests on the knife, quietly he clears his throat. "Your eye, Sir." The Soldat forces his muscles to relax, waiting for a fist or blade from Carlos.

[carlos-thatcher]

"Ah, curiosity getting the best of you Asset?" Carlos gives him an annoyed look, but he drops his hand down from the knife, instead he tucks his hands together, looking the Soldat over. His good eye flicks over him carefully, studying him. "I was blinded by a knife on a mission." He explains tapping his fingers against the scar.

[buckeye1917]

He hesitates on feeling relieved that Thatcher simply folds his scarred hands together. The cold gaze of the other man made the Soldat feel smaller, more awkward, than usual. He keeps his icy eyes trained on Carlos' mouth, never looking him directly in the eyes. That is not permitted. The Soldat nods once, showing he's listening; but once again he isn't sure how to respond. He isn't sure if he should respond but even in this uncertainty, "I'm sorry, Sir," slips out. Not that he is necessarily apologizing but that he is sorry to hear that it happened. For some reason the Soldat feels empathetic towards his superior, perhaps because he's worried that he made Thatcher angry.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos nods very slightly. "Thank you, Soldier." He taps his fingers against his hands, keeping his good eye on the Soldat, so many times he'd wished he could do something more to help him. This conversation... or whatever this was, was a good start. Carlos shifts back to lean against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your last mission, did you succeed?"

[buckeye1917]

He falters for a split second. When was the last time he'd been thanked? Genuinely thanked? His attention quickly resumes to Carlos' question, though. The mission: take out an agent that had gone rogue and bring back the files he had taken. It was almost routine at this point. "Yes, it was a success, Sir."

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos presses his lips together, that sends a pang to his heart, success... he hates that word so much. He shakes his head slightly and brushes the feeling aside. "Good. The file, do you have it on you?" Carlos holds his hand out towards the Soldat for it. He eyes him with a small frown.

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat notices Thatcher's subtle head shake. The gesture and what it could mean buzz around in his tense muscles. When Carlos holds out his hand the Soldat immediately gives the file over to him. "Yes, Sir." He's not allowed to see what's inside of it, he's never allowed to do that. It's not necessary. Again he notices the frown, since that's where his gaze usually falls, and a feeling of dread clings to him like mold or rust.

(// I might fall asleep so apologies if the next reply takes a little longer! :))

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos immediately starts flipping through the file, looking it over. He traces his left hand over the words, a wedding ring is on his finger, it glints in the light before he snaps the file closed and tucks it into his jacket. "Well done, Soldier." He gives the Soldat a nod, but his jaw ticks, something like barely restrained rage burning in him. He folds his scarred hands together again, leaning back against the wall. "Your next mission is tomorrow, You will be told it in the morning."

(You're fine! I'm probably going to fall asleep soon too, lol)

[buckeye1917]

The gold glints into his eyes, it's not exactly abnormal for HYDRA agents to be married, for the most part it doesn't matter to him. For the most part, that is. A small burst of relief ripples through his chest when his superior nods and says, "'Well done,'". It's gone by the time he's told his next mission is so soon. That means that he'll be sleeping in a cell rather than put in cryo-freeze. Not that any of this was particularly pleasant but sleeping in a cell often meant bad things would happen. Still, he nods solemnly, "Yes, Sir."

Six guards escort him to the 8x8 concrete room. It's entirely empty. As the thick metal bars that make up one of the walls shuts all he is left to do is to find the best corner to curl up in.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos watches the guards escort him away. He sighs deeply tucking the file away. Why did the Soldat have to be so good at his missions. He shakes his head and moves to go to his quarters. But he finds himself walking by the Soldat's cell on the way. He pauses, glancing him over as he takes in the bare cell. He presses his lips together and keeps walking. Returning a few minutes later he taps in a code and the cell opens. Carlos steps in with a blanket in his arms. "Soldier." He calls out, setting it beside him. "Tell me, were you injured on your mission?"

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat startles, sitting straight up, though he wasn't completely asleep to begin with. He takes in Thatcher and the blanket, looking at them confused. The Soldat knows that if he was injured and did not properly report it then he'd be in serious trouble. The issue is that he didn't notice he was injured until he laid on the cold concrete and felt a twinge in his metal joint. The twinge grew into an ache which grew into a throb. Now he looks up at Carlos, tired and resignedly, "Yes, Sir." Then he waited for, at the very least, a scolding.

[carlos-thatcher]

The soldat keeps glancing at Carlos' right eye. Each time he quickly looks away from the scar. He wasn't supposed to, he knew that, but it kept grabbing his attention. It reminded him of some of his own scars.

[ @buckeye1917 ] (mod: hii! Carlos sounds really interesting!)

Carlos gives The Soldat and unamused look. His fingers come up to brush against his scar. "Soldier, is something interesting you, perhaps you should share it with me." His voice is cold, his good eye burns into The Soldat as he stares at him, waiting for him to speak.

(Hi!! Thank you!:))

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat hurriedly glances away, slightly grimacing. He knows he made a mistake. The back of his neck turns a light shade of red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Sir. It's ah--" he stumbles on the next words. What reply would get him in the least amount of trouble? "Nothing"? No, that never ends well. "Your eye"? What kind of thing is that to say to your superior? Mumbling is not accepted either. He was at a crossroad, almost just waiting for Thatcher to punish him.

(//ofc! I'm excited to learn more about him!)

[carlos-thatcher]

"Stop your mumbling Asset, speak what is on your mind." Carlos fingers brush against his knife on his belt, giving the Soldat a warning look. His good eye slowly drifts away from him, scanning the area around them, seeing how many people are in the room. "I know you are aware of punishments for being unable to speak when asked a question."

(Yay- excited for you to learn more!:))

[buckeye1917]

He feels a few pairs of eyes watching the exchange. I shouldn't have looked, he thought regretfully. The Soldat needs to say something, quickly. He must not keep his superior waiting. The Soldat does not look away from where Thatcher's hand rests on the knife, quietly he clears his throat. "Your eye, Sir." The Soldat forces his muscles to relax, waiting for a fist or blade from Carlos.

[carlos-thatcher]

"Ah, curiosity getting the best of you Asset?" Carlos gives him an annoyed look, but he drops his hand down from the knife, instead he tucks his hands together, looking the Soldat over. His good eye flicks over him carefully, studying him. "I was blinded by a knife on a mission." He explains tapping his fingers against the scar.

[buckeye1917]

He hesitates on feeling relieved that Thatcher simply folds his scarred hands together. The cold gaze of the other man made the Soldat feel smaller, more awkward, than usual. He keeps his icy eyes trained on Carlos' mouth, never looking him directly in the eyes. That is not permitted. The Soldat nods once, showing he's listening; but once again he isn't sure how to respond. He isn't sure if he should respond but even in this uncertainty, "I'm sorry, Sir," slips out. Not that he is necessarily apologizing but that he is sorry to hear that it happened. For some reason the Soldat feels empathetic towards his superior, perhaps because he's worried that he made Thatcher angry.

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos nods very slightly. "Thank you, Soldier." He taps his fingers against his hands, keeping his good eye on the Soldat, so many times he'd wished he could do something more to help him. This conversation... or whatever this was, was a good start. Carlos shifts back to lean against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your last mission, did you succeed?"

[buckeye1917]

He falters for a split second. When was the last time he'd been thanked? Genuinely thanked? His attention quickly resumes to Carlos' question, though. The mission: take out an agent that had gone rogue and bring back the files he had taken. It was almost routine at this point. "Yes, it was a success, Sir."

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos presses his lips together, that sends a pang to his heart, success... he hates that word so much. He shakes his head slightly and brushes the feeling aside. "Good. The file, do you have it on you?" Carlos holds his hand out towards the Soldat for it. He eyes him with a small frown.

[buckeye1917]

The Soldat notices Thatcher's subtle head shake. The gesture and what it could mean buzz around in his tense muscles. When Carlos holds out his hand the Soldat immediately gives the file over to him. "Yes, Sir." He's not allowed to see what's inside of it, he's never allowed to do that. It's not necessary. Again he notices the frown, since that's where his gaze usually falls, and a feeling of dread clings to him like mold or rust.

(// I might fall asleep so apologies if the next reply takes a little longer! :))

[carlos-thatcher]

Carlos immediately starts flipping through the file, looking it over. He traces his left hand over the words, a wedding ring is on his finger, it glints in the light before he snaps the file closed and tucks it into his jacket. "Well done, Soldier." He gives the Soldat a nod, but his jaw ticks, something like barely restrained rage burning in him. He folds his scarred hands together again, leaning back against the wall. "Your next mission is tomorrow, You will be told it in the morning."

(You're fine! I'm probably going to fall asleep soon too, lol)

[buckeye1917]

The gold glints into his eyes, it's not exactly abnormal for HYDRA agents to be married, for the most part it doesn't matter to him. For the most part, that is. A small burst of relief ripples through his chest when his superior nods and says, "'Well done,'". It's gone by the time he's told his next mission is so soon. That means that he'll be sleeping in a cell rather than put in cryo-freeze. Not that any of this was particularly pleasant but sleeping in a cell often meant bad things would happen. Still, he nods solemnly, "Yes, Sir."

Six guards escort him to the 8x8 concrete room. It's entirely empty. As the thick metal bars that make up one of the walls shuts all he is left to do is to find the best corner to curl up in.