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Instinct says go high. All the better to see what might be coming. So he's found a rooftop on a building, a nearly derelict tenement just begging to be condemned. Once upon a time, when this place wasn't an utter wreck, someone kept racing pigeons. The actual dovecote is a collapsed pile of wire and laths, but the little shed the pigeonkeeper used for storage and tending it still standing. So Buck's made it into part of a passable squat. There are camouflage tarps over the bits that leak, a cot set up in the driest, most windproof part….and out on the gravel of the roof, he's created a little cooking hearth out of layers of carefully arranged brick and bits of concrete.
That's where he is at the moment, crouched comfortably in the lee of the shed, tending the little fire with scraps of wood from the shed, and cooking something that smells surprisingly delicious. Some of the pigeons were dumb enough and tame enough to come within reach after being coaxed with bread crumbs….and pigeon stew can be damned good eating.
*
Pidgeon would do in a pinch. Certainly less gamey than rat or alley cat, but it couldn't hold up to dumpster dived chicken. Seth's fingers were still greased from the latter as he moved along the fire escape that bordered the derelict building. The occasional rattle of a window latch echoed between trash filled alleyways as he tried the locks, having been pressed out of his most recent bed by a man with better drugs and a smoother tongue. Lacking both of these things, it was difficult to endear himself to people, and thus the blonde and scraggly youth made no effort to be ingratiating.
Having experienced no luck in finding a way into the building, Seth was considering a descent when suddenly then the ladder breaks through the rusted pins that held it in place. Seth manages to go hand over hand in a few desperate, scrambling motions like a half starved cat clawing to safety out of a gutter even as the twisted metal fell into a heap underneath his dangling feet. There's a sigh, half-defeated, as he hangs there looking down at the crumpled mess below that he had nigh been a part of before articulating his disappointment eloquently,
"Well fuck."
*
The guy already on the roof looks up from his cooking, rises, and comes stalking over, boots crunching on the gravel of the rooftop. The stew won't boil over, in the meanwhile, it looks like. Just out of arms' reach, Bucky puts a boot up on the crumbling parapet and looks down past Seth hanging there like a lost kitten. "Buddy," he says, with no particular ire in his voice, "You just wrecked my back stairs." How'd a guy who's gotta mass at least half-again what Seth does use that wrecked escape? Then he's leaning over and more or less hauling Seth up onto the roof without any apparent sign of strain.
*
Even an average bloke could lift Seth without much effort, considering that his beanpole frame was lithe and rail thin with hard muscle and an unhealthy appetite for nicotine. Thus Seth is deposited unceremoniously on the rooftop, grateful for his feet again even as he dusts himself off without a suspicious glare at the other individual that narrowed his bright blue eyes to slits. If Bucky had a television, he may recognize the stranger, but fortunately, most circles Seth ran in didn't trouble themselves over material wealth.
"Not your buddy."
Came the curt huff, his feet setting on the roof carefully as he eyed the other with marked suspicion and an edge to his stance that suggested he would take flight at the slightest provocation.
"And sounds like you'll make due just fine, what with being fancy enough to have multiple step options."
Combative little cuss, Seth's gaze flicked over the pot of stew, the small shelter, his step beginning to ease backwards just a bit in the event this other hobo became territorial.
*
"Always gotta have more then one exit," replies Bucky, easily. He's got longish hair tied back, a worn military surplus coat, old jeans, the kind of henley shirt that keeps you warm just about anywhere. He keeps his distance, now that Seth's safely deposited on the roof. Not as tall as Seth, but more heavily built - his face is worn and weary, but he seems healthy enough. He follows the kid's gaze to the stew. "There's enough if you want some. Pigeon, bread, and herb stew."
*
Seth was hungry. It was hard to hide it, the extra bob of his throat as the smell produced too much saliva for his mouth, the gaunt angles of his cheekbones already beginning to reform after his re-entrance to the street, and the dark circles that threatened to swallow up his gaze. Still, he wrinkled his nose and ignored the offer, peering instead back over the ledge of the rooftop with a furrowing of brows as if beginning to puzzle over just how this guy got up that now deceased staircase.
"Why, ya' got people looking for you?"
He asked in a fashion that now sounded distinctly concerned about there being only one exit as opposed to accusatory.
*
HE's already turned back to the cooking dinner, as if it were all one to him whether Seth stays or goes. "Something like that," allows Bucky, tone detached, incurious. "The internal stairs work, and are sound," he adds. "You just gotta get in via the back cellar doors. They did have it locked, but I broke it." A determined squatter, it seems.
*
Seth is measuring what he says, moving about the roof to double check the door to the internal stairs. Seemingly satisfied by the exit, he meanders back to the company at hand, keeping a distance from the modest cooking space and its bounty.
"The interior abandoned?"
Always opportunistic, the vulture was tilting his head just a tad, a few stray hands of long, greasy hair falling across his dust stained brow.
*
"Yep," agrees Bucky. "Still water from that pipe, though," And he nods at one of the little upright pipes, with a spigot on it. This place must've had some kind of AC unit on it, ages ago. "There're cups in the shed, if you want a drink." Apparently the prospect of Seth possibly rummaging through his stuff doesn't dismay him.
*
Seth had heard of the whole 'sharing is caring' theory but had never experienced it, and it was obvious by the twitching of his hands, the constant flitting of his gaze, that he distrusted it in the other vagrant. Shaking his head to dismiss the offer of a drink of water, he pulled out a battered carton of cigarettes and pulled out one of the few remaining sticks. Setting it between thin lips, he lit it and breathed life into the end before pondering out loud,
"Anyone set up down below?"
*
Bucky shakes his head. "Nah. Bottom couple floors were locked up too tight. I had to come in from the outside - went up the other fire escape." Oh, so he does have front stairs, too, for real. "You're welcome to, if you want. Hard to get in and out of, real dark, though," he adds. Like it really is his property to dispose of. Seth may not want water, but he does - meandering into the shed and returning with a couple of blue enamel mugs.
*
Seth nods once as if this was as formal as a rental agreement, the mention of how dark it was receiving no comment other than a light shrug. Gray smoke wreathed from between his lips as he edged a bit closer to the stew pot despite his suspicion, like a feral dog looking for scraps but not overly eager to step inside the campfire light.
"S'why you're up here? Instead of down below?"
A nod to the ramshackle effort at a shelter from converted pigeon coop.
*
Kai arrives from Tenement.
*
Kai has arrived.
*
So, Natasha scared him right out of his previous squat. But Buck's found another one, on the roof of a condemned tenement. He's taken over the remains of a pigeon keeper's shed, and on the gravel roof in front of it, he's made a little hearth out of bricks and bits of building stone. There's a pot of something cooking on it.
Buck's also got a guest, it seems - Seth is eyeing the cooking food warily. Kai….well, the elf's been told, if obliquely, where to find Bucky. There're still working fire escapes, and one of them's been lowered to where it can easily be reached. "Yeah," Bucky says, almost absently, as he fills a pair of blue enamel mugs from a spigot.
*
And here is the elf, Hjuki the Hero of Hell's Kitchen, making his rounds. It has been a productive evening. Healing for the hurt, blankets and some thrift-store castoffs for the homeless, and food for the hungry; Loki just said it had to be spent on food, not who would be eating it. Since he's in the neighborhood, he decides to break into Jack's place for once. See how he likes it. So he comes climbing up the stairs, satchel slung over his shoulder. "Jack?" he calls.
*
Seth turns his attentions to the sound of footsteps on the interior staircase, lips turning down in a small frown as he knocked ash away from his cigarette and looked between the now named 'Jack' and the newest occupant of the rooftop. The youth made no motion to greet the other stranger, instead casually shifting his weight and moving a few steps to ensure nothing was between him and the other staircase. Taking a long drag, he stood slender and sallow on the periphery of the little encampment. What a pity, he may have been pretty with a bit of effort but the street wore hard on those who were born and bred into it.
*
"Hello, Kai," Bucky's never cheerful, but this is as close as he ever gets. Hospitality, of a grungy but well-meant sort. Though there are only concrete blocks to sit on. "Want some pigeon stew?" He….really caught actual pigeons with his hand. And made them into food. Okay.
*
Kai is normally not one to turn down free food, but he glances at the pigeon shed, the stew, the pigeon shed. "Nah, man, I ate that block of cheese before I left." He comes over to see what the state of Jack's dinner. Then he looks at Seth, and he smiles. It's a nice smile for a nice face, and in the dim light, his eyes glint brightly. "Hey, there. You with this guy?" he asks the stranger. "Why don't you come over where it's warm?"
*
Any moment, the young man was about ninety percent certain a Saturday morning cartoon special would begin with lessons about friendship. This was just too weird. Those bright pieces of moonlight glittering in the eyes of the stranger gave him pause, and then he sauntered a bit closer with that skepticism still definitive of his stance.
"I got nothing worth stealing."
As if to emphasize this, his hands spread ever so slightly - thick jacket patched too many times to the point of threadbare, salvaged shoes that didn't match, a pair of jeans that was a bit too small for most legs but still hung loose on him. With this declaration passed, he introduced himself casually,
"Name's Seth. Apparently I'm this Jack's new neighbor. Hear the rent is cheap."
*
He starts dishing pigeon stew into a set of metal bowls. "That's fine. I'm not a thief." Says the man who totally stole Kai's drug stash from the not as secret as Kai would've liked hiding place. "And nothing's cheaper'n free," he adds. To Kai, he says, "I talked to Steve today." …..who the fuck is Steve?
*
Kai's smile broadens when Seth steps closer. It's a gentle thing, that smile. Kai knows what it's like on the streets even if — right now — he doesn't live on them. He walks among the people, as it were. Caution bordering on paranoia had every place here, and who's he to say otherwise? "No one's going to steal from you," he says. "Here, I've got a couple dinner rolls left over." God knows where he got them, but he produces them from his satchel and offers one to Seth, one to Bucky. They've got a little charcoal dust on them, but it's like eating art, right?
Kai settles across the makeshift hearth from Bucky, sitting cross-legged on the ground. He's not in beatnik garb tonight. It's well-worn jeans and layers of shirts. "How's Steve?" he asks. "Who's Steve?"
*
At the end of the day, Seth had to balance what they were actually capable of doing to him. As neither potentially nefarious Good Samaritan evidenced telekinetic abilities that could collapse his lungs or some ability to parasitize his mind, the mutant admitted defeat with a huff and settled onto a concrete block as the conversation turned towards 'Steve.' Stubbing out the cigarette that had burned down to nothing, he accepted the dinner roll and bit into it with a modicum of self-restraint. Somebody had taught the boy manners with a fist and a belt, and no matter how hungry he was, he wouldn't lower himself to forgetting such lessons.
Reaching into the tattered confines of the jacket, he pawed around for a moment before finding the small fifth of vodka tucked carefully where it had been stashed after initial filching. Now he set it proudly down on the hearth, as if he was contributing something of meaning to this meal.
*
That has Bucky giving Kai a rather cock-eyed look. "Steve," he says, in that 'well, duh' tone of voice. And then there's a few beats of what can only be described 'pause'. It's like he's a record skipping a groove. "Oh," he says, when it's clear that no, he hasn't told Kai about Steve. "Steve was my friend, during the war." And might be made of cotton candy and kittens, if Sergeant Delusional over there is only bringing him up now. "He…..he might be able to help me."
Then he accepts a roll and dips it into the bowl of stew, after leaving the other bowl where Seth can reach it easily. The bottle of vodka's greeted with raised brows. "Stolichnaya, eh?" And look, it doesn't even send him into a flashback.
*
Kai perks up when the vodka is brought out. Please and thank you. He flashes Seth that warm smile again. It's safe here, Seth. Honest. "Everyone calls me Kai," he says. Reaching into his satchel, he takes out a battered tin cup, which he sets beside the vodka bottle to regard speculatively. Does he want vodka? He knows full well he wants that vodka right now, but there's something about the polite process of should-he-shouldn't-he that seems proper somehow. Maybe some of his dreadful grandmother's teaching has been passed on after all.
He decides that yes, vodka, and he pours some into his little cup. It hasn't been used to give anyone sketchy a drink tonight, so he feels pretty good about this. Once he's poured, he sets the bottle back down and peers at 'Jack.' Then he says, "Oh! Jack, that's great!" His voice is a delighted hiss, not carrying too terribly far. "You'll have to keep me posted."
*
Seth shrugs at the question posed to his alcohol selection, admitting with a cheeky grin that finally surfaced with Kai's smile plying it into existence,
"It was closest to the door."
Ah, at least one of them was a thief, and an unabashed one at that. The bowl of stew is collected after it has sat a long enough time to be obviously not beholden to anyone else. Who knows? Maybe this Steve guy will show up too and there will be a party?
The stew was a bit greasy, a bit over salted, but none of these things mattered to Seth who hadn't eaten in two days and was just now realizing it. On his ashen tongue, it tasted like the finest steak served at the best restaurants in the sprawling city down below. He savored it, pausing only to ask a question in turn,
"What'cha need help with?"
*
The prospect of vodka…..well, at least he's got manners enough not to swig from the bottle. Buck pours himself a shot into his mug, intones a few syllables in something that isn't English, and knocks it back. Then he starts in on the stew. Salty indeed, that's a craving the Soldier seems to have - maybe it takes more electrolytes to deal with tht arm? He's all but inhaling it, though he's surprisingly neat. But he pauses long enough to say to Kai, "Yeah, I will. HE might be able to help me get somewhere safe." Seth's question makes him glance that way, as he wipes at his mouth. "Not getting killed or kidnapped…"
*
Kai gives Seth a wry shake of his head, but no lecture. He'd be one to talk. "The old five-fingered discount," he says. He knows that one. What. He's a hero, not a saint. After taking a swig from his cup, he says, "Yeah, man, I'd like it if you didn't get killed or kidnapped. What would I do without you, alley cat?" Probably have his drugs pilfered and his fridge ransacked less. He lights a cigarette off the hearth, takes a puff, and says, "You know the drill, if you need any help etcetera."
*
Seth smirks as he nods quietly, ignoring the discomfort of the other person out of confidence in this subject matter and not callousness.
"Know the feeling."
Usually Seth won the 'Whose kidnapper is worse?' game but if they were to compare notes, Bucky may take this round. Unfortunately he doesn't have any particularly good advice or resources to offer in this arena, all of the ones he possessed currently dedicated towards avoiding an interdimensional television producer. Still he asked for the sake of conversation,
"Where's safe?"
*
"I dunno, or I'd be there," replies Bucky. Man, that slug of vodka's really put a shine on things. He doesn't drink much, so it's punching above its weight. "Or on the way," Then he's scraping the bowl, before scanning the roofline hopefully. There might be more stupid pigeons. Only then does Seth's reply settle in. "Yeah?" he asks, mildly. Hey, here's someone he can legitimately kill - someone else's kidnapper.
*
Kai glances between the two. "I want to say my place is safe, but…" But his place is in Hell's Kitchen, and the lock can be bypassed by really giving the door a go with one's shoulder. Not to mention the guy who keeps getting in through the window. Kai shrugs. His own experiences with killers and kidnappers go unspoken, and instead his attention is drawn to Bucky's scanning. "I didn't eat all the cheese," he admits. "There's still half a block. Do you want it?"
*
Seth is only halfway through his own dinner, nodding mutely at the sentiment as he savors another lingering bite and takes another swig of clear liquor off the bottle. He pauses, realizing that he was supposed to be sharing instead of independently indulging in a gutter, and sheepishly rubs off the mouthpiece of the bottle with his jacket hem. It didn't seem particularly cleaner after this effort, but it was the thought that counted.
"Yeah, usually I can get myself out of most messes. I ain't particularly useful and my personality doesn't endear me. Just got done sorting out quite a mess of a misunderstanding though and the bloke on the other side of it has a grudge."
As the conversation distracts to cheese, he seems more than happy to abandon the topic, something uncomfortable in the way he shifted as if the cement block he sat on wasn't properly cushioning that bony butt.
*
"I could do with a bit, but I'm sure skinny here needs it more," Buck allows, setting aside his bowl. He'll wash it later. And apparently he got his tact shot off in the last war he was in, somewhere around Carentan. "I wish I could say it was safer when I'm in it, but…." He shrugs, and there's that funny metallic sound.
*
Kai considers the pair, then he delves back into his bag for what's left of the block. It's wrapped in cloth so there isn't any charcoal on it, and it is what he's claimed it is: about a half-block of mild cheddar with bites taken out of it. "I didn't find anyone out there starving for cheese, dig, so those are just my teeth." He offers the block to Seth. "Who's this bloke?" he asks. "I deal with trouble. That's my jam, man. That's how I get my kicks. I'm not a killer, but I can beat people up." Yeah, right. This little guy.
*
Seth accepts the block of cheese, pulling loose a knife from a pants pocket and cutting off a portion of it cleanly. The blade had been honed carefully, despite the worn and battered nature of its hilt, and it had little trouble with the warmed dairy product. When he had a small serving, he passed back the remainder of the block and shook his head at the offer,
"I think he'll forget 'bout me. He's just fussin' because he's one of those Hollywood types and I didn't follow the script. 'Sides, I'm good at disappearing. Out of sight, out of mind."
He didn't mention that it had taken a team of incredibly powerful mutants to even extract him from Mojo's grip, and thus Kai defeating the menace was inconceivable.
*
Bucky looks faintly disappointed….and then confused at his own disappointment. Hard to be dangerous when you have the attention span of an infant parakeet. He's got a pocket knife of his own - one of those that's also made to be a meal kit, the kind boy scouts used to carry. He cuts off his own share, hands it back to Kai. Aw, manners. To Seth, he notes, "Got a blanket, if you need one." It'll end up a whole nest of squatters.
*
"Ugh, I hate the ones who expect you to follow a script," says Kai, beatnik and professional rebel. He takes another drag off his cigarette, the dinner of champions, and looks into the air as he blows a plume of smoke, watching it dissipate. Without looking, he takes the cheese block back and just bites into it. Cutting off slices are for those who have utensils. He passes the block to Seth again. He finally looks back to the pair. "Do you need a place?" he asks Seth. "My place is kind of small and sometimes I get unexpected visitors, but I think my couch might be free tonight." He glances to Bucky, co-chair of said couch.
*
Seth waves off the cheese and laughs at the offer to cohabitate with Kai. No matter how sweet and well-meaning the youth seemed, and despite that he kept producing food from pockets of his attire, Seth wouldn't sleep well with a stranger in the room.
"Nah, sounds like the floors below are my kind of space and nobody is too keen on taking up residence in them so I should be alright."
The knife is tucked away, the now emptied bowl set beside the remaining vodka still set out for communal consumption as Seth stood and smiled at the additional offer from Jack,
"Know I don't look it, but I stay pretty warm. 'Sides, I don't like accruing favors. I owe you dinner now. And a staircase, but that second ones gonna take a while."
That was a lie. He could just ask Lorna politely and she might remeld the metal into being. Then again, she would also chastise him for living here and eating pigeon stew plus add in a chapter on how happy he would be at Xaviers or something. Wasn't worth the irritation at present.
"Well, I'm going to go find myself a little hole to sleep in down below. Thank you."
And despite his abrupt move to depart, the gratitude was heartfelt.
*
"I'll be sleeping up here," Bucky says to Kai, more quietly. "Sleep well," he adds to Seth. Apparently even he feels compunction about moving in and taking up Kai's couch. OR he's too edgy to sleep indoors. It feels too much like Russia, apparently.
*