this is the kind of city that has TEETH clawing for the skies ; it’s a forbidding fence of spires & needles struck up & shrouded in gloom. it’s a far cry from the gold sprouts of wheat brushing against bare legs in an indiana autumn & it’s a long way from the pure desolation sprawling for miles upon miles in siberia.
he skulks along the edges of the buildings, boots tucked into bricks laid right up to the corners. it’s not so different than new york, age grimy & browning the fine architecture. but there’s a frenetic unease jolting underneath his skin that he doesn’t get in the black openness of space. for once, he isn’t happy to put his feet on the ground.
with an index finger, bucky taps the side of his domino mask for the night vision.
everything lights up in a tornado green. there’s a tip for weapons trafficking through the pier after midnight, just another in a long trail of breadcrumbs.
❛ i’d apologize for crashin’ your party, ❜ bucky says to the barely there flutter of a cape out behind him. ❛ but i’ve got a little business to attend to on your turf & i’m hopin’ you won’t mind if we share. ❜