sam wilson (
wingedman) wrote in
riverviewlogs2017-04-24 08:10 pm
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(no subject)
who: Sam & others
what: late April/early May catch-all
when: see above
where: around the city
warnings: none yet, will edit if applicable
Getting superpowers is the last thing Sam expects, but early one morning, he's woken up not by a noise, but by a feeling in his mind. (And, okay, by the sound of wings beating against his window.) Outside is the largest damn bird he's ever seen, a white gyrfalcon easily the size of a hawk. It cocks its head, looking quizzically at him before hopping in through the open window.
:You.:
Yep, Sam definitely hears that in his head. And while he knows the other Sam has a psychic bird, he's never shown the first sign of any sort of a rapport with his feathered friends. "Me?"
:Everything else, quiet. I hear you, come find bondmate. Strange place, not-home, need mind-friend to hunt with.: Images come along with the words, images and feelings - the confusion of being in a city, a familiarity with wilds and deep forests, the desire for someone to share his mind with.
(Does everything talk around here? Sam wonders for a moment.)
"Do you have a name?"
:Name? Hatched outside the Vale, never had a name.:
He thinks about calling him Redwing, but that would just be confusing, not to mention inaccurate. "Right. Well, we'll have to think about that, then." Not that he has any idea what to name a talking bird. Or how to feed him - although he's probably capable of hunting for himself. Sam's seen enough wildlife here, not to mention past the Perimeter, that it's pretty safe to assume there's plenty of food for a bird. (Maybe he can ask Bucky to bring in some smaller game.)
Right now, Sam just sinks back in bed with a sigh. He really doesn't know how to cope with this kind of thing.
--
open prompts:
i
It's early in the morning, and instead of jogging, Sam finds himself at one of the city's open markets. The bird (still unnamed) can hunt for himself, but he likes to have meat around for him, just in case. And he knows damn well he can't just go to a butcher's and buy it; it's got to be fresh. Which is why he's got a couple of packages under one arm; one of them happens to be leaking animal blood through the white paper and onto the sidewalk as he heads back home.
Sam pauses at a stall with fresh baked goods - he's not passing up the opportunity for cooking ingredients, either - and leans in to look at some pastries. "What do you think?" He asks the opinion of a fellow shopper; maybe they've tried the food before, or maybe they've got a thing for pastries. It never hurts to get a second opinion.
ii
Sam's alone in the gym - or so he thinks - when he tugs off his tank top and lets a pair of wings slide out of his back. There's a metal frame at the top of the wings, made from a light alloy; the wings themselves appear to be made of light, a rich, transparent ruby red. Sam's not flying with them at the moment; instead, he continues his sparring routine. It's important to get a feel for them even on the ground, to know how having them extended affects his combat - same way he'd practiced with the jetpack. (Which he hasn't abandoned completely; the harness is in a corner, and the discarded tank top appears to be sweaty enough that it should be obvious that he's worked out with the extra weight on his back, too.)
He hears a noise and swivels on the balls of his feet mid-strike, and the wings fold into his back again. "Sorry, I thought I was alone in here."
[ooc: Character-specific closed starters to come in the comments! In case you're curious, Sam has acquired a Tayledras bondbird (basically a psychic bird) and bird telepathy, plus a nifty new pair of bionic wings.
I'm also totally open to firefly prompts, but would like to discuss them first! Drop me a pm or a plurk if you're interested.]
what: late April/early May catch-all
when: see above
where: around the city
warnings: none yet, will edit if applicable
Getting superpowers is the last thing Sam expects, but early one morning, he's woken up not by a noise, but by a feeling in his mind. (And, okay, by the sound of wings beating against his window.) Outside is the largest damn bird he's ever seen, a white gyrfalcon easily the size of a hawk. It cocks its head, looking quizzically at him before hopping in through the open window.
:You.:
Yep, Sam definitely hears that in his head. And while he knows the other Sam has a psychic bird, he's never shown the first sign of any sort of a rapport with his feathered friends. "Me?"
:Everything else, quiet. I hear you, come find bondmate. Strange place, not-home, need mind-friend to hunt with.: Images come along with the words, images and feelings - the confusion of being in a city, a familiarity with wilds and deep forests, the desire for someone to share his mind with.
(Does everything talk around here? Sam wonders for a moment.)
"Do you have a name?"
:Name? Hatched outside the Vale, never had a name.:
He thinks about calling him Redwing, but that would just be confusing, not to mention inaccurate. "Right. Well, we'll have to think about that, then." Not that he has any idea what to name a talking bird. Or how to feed him - although he's probably capable of hunting for himself. Sam's seen enough wildlife here, not to mention past the Perimeter, that it's pretty safe to assume there's plenty of food for a bird. (Maybe he can ask Bucky to bring in some smaller game.)
Right now, Sam just sinks back in bed with a sigh. He really doesn't know how to cope with this kind of thing.
--
open prompts:
i
It's early in the morning, and instead of jogging, Sam finds himself at one of the city's open markets. The bird (still unnamed) can hunt for himself, but he likes to have meat around for him, just in case. And he knows damn well he can't just go to a butcher's and buy it; it's got to be fresh. Which is why he's got a couple of packages under one arm; one of them happens to be leaking animal blood through the white paper and onto the sidewalk as he heads back home.
Sam pauses at a stall with fresh baked goods - he's not passing up the opportunity for cooking ingredients, either - and leans in to look at some pastries. "What do you think?" He asks the opinion of a fellow shopper; maybe they've tried the food before, or maybe they've got a thing for pastries. It never hurts to get a second opinion.
ii
Sam's alone in the gym - or so he thinks - when he tugs off his tank top and lets a pair of wings slide out of his back. There's a metal frame at the top of the wings, made from a light alloy; the wings themselves appear to be made of light, a rich, transparent ruby red. Sam's not flying with them at the moment; instead, he continues his sparring routine. It's important to get a feel for them even on the ground, to know how having them extended affects his combat - same way he'd practiced with the jetpack. (Which he hasn't abandoned completely; the harness is in a corner, and the discarded tank top appears to be sweaty enough that it should be obvious that he's worked out with the extra weight on his back, too.)
He hears a noise and swivels on the balls of his feet mid-strike, and the wings fold into his back again. "Sorry, I thought I was alone in here."
[ooc: Character-specific closed starters to come in the comments! In case you're curious, Sam has acquired a Tayledras bondbird (basically a psychic bird) and bird telepathy, plus a nifty new pair of bionic wings.
I'm also totally open to firefly prompts, but would like to discuss them first! Drop me a pm or a plurk if you're interested.]
for Stephen
:Not magic.: The bird's voice sounds testy in his head, as if they've gone over this multiple times. (They have, but Sam just wants to check with an expert. What does a bird know about magic?)
"I keep sort of...feeling other birds, too," he continues. "Like. Around the edges of my mind. I know they're there - not many of them, not unless I leave the city. I haven't tried to talk to any of them yet, though." In case he makes his psychic bird jealous, which is a sentence he'd never thought he'd actually utter, and yet, here he is. If anyone's going to understand the situation, or at least not bat an eyelash at it, it's probably Stephen Strange.
no subject
But then Sam was continuing so he withheld any commentary, attention shifting more to him at the moment.
"It sounds to me like whatever this is, it's not him, but you. I mean, if it was just your new friend here who was the source of it, you wouldn't be feeling all those other birds, right?" Usually anyways. It made sense to him, anyways.
no subject
(He's going to get a lot of first-hand experience with birds in the future, he suspects suddenly.)
"And he speaks in sentences." Sort of, but he wouldn't really expect birds to communicate in English at all.
no subject
Not that it helped much, but it was more information than Sam had started with.
"English? Hm. Might just be how the link works; translating bird thoughts into a form that you can understand. I imagine if you were to see what he was getting from you it'd be the reverse."
no subject
Which brings him to his next point. "I get pictures and feelings from him, too, along with the words. I don't know what he gets - honestly, I'm not sure how the hell he understands what I'm saying." Obviously Sam hasn't tried speaking mind to mind with the bird yet, because the concept hasn't occurred to him. Look, he's a normal person, he's allowed to be really bad at this kind of thing.
no subject
Stephen is totally understanding that problem, going from 'Muggle' to 'Magic' isn't the easiest switch to make. But Sam is... a friend? Companion? Something like that, which meant that he'd certainly try and help.
"I take it you haven't mastered the return side of the psychic conversation then?" It was a stab in the dark but really, it made sense. These kinds of links tended to be easier to work with when both parties were using them instead of one trying to speak a language it was debatable the other even understood. "It's possible that you are somehow subconsciously or instinctively accompanying your spoken responses with some form of response he can understand. It's not unheard of, but it tends to be imperfect compared to simply using the bond without the distraction of speech, at least in those I've used."
A small shrug from him as he looked from Sam to his bird.
"Of course this link could be entirely different and I'm completely off-base, but take the advice as you will."
no subject
The bird shifts from foot to foot impatiently, rustling his feathers. :Hunt now?: he asks, clearly bored with the inspection.
"Yeah-" Sam closes his mouth, frowns a little as he tries to think at the bird instead. :Go ahead. It's getting late, you'll need the light to hunt.: He doesn't know if the bird heard him - how is there any way to tell? - but his feathered friend tries to preen his hair before he takes off from the branch, so Sam takes that as a good sign. (There isn't exactly much hair to preen, unfortunately, but it's the thought that counts.)
"Gotta make sure he doesn't eat the talking mice," Sam comments wryly. "Although sometimes he brings a peace offering back for them - they like snakes and birds." God, his life is the weirdest.
no subject
And it seemed he was starting now, Stephen nodding as he watched the process. It seemed to be working, it would just depend now on how complicated the communications could be before the bird couldn't understand the concepts. If that was something that could happen, assuming he was right about translations.
"At least he's trying to be nice. Beyond that it'll just be a matter of which is stronger- his reasoning ability, or his prey drive." Practical enough a consideration, no matter how unpleasant it might be. But if Sam kept on top of things, mousy genocide could be happily avoided. "I imagine if he's well-fed he'll be less inclined to go after them too."
Were there fireflies starting to come out? Maybe. Not like Stephen was paying the insect life much mind right now.
no subject
Rainbow lights twinkle in the air around them, but Sam doesn't pay much attention to them, beyond how nice they look; most of the initial warnings about the fireflies happened while they were out on their mission, and they'd had bigger things to worry about then (literally). Right now, he's just enjoying having a yard, a nice little green space to escape to whenever he feels like it. It's a novelty for someone who's spent most of his life living in the city.
"You wanna grab a beer?" Normally he'd offer dinner, too, but with Stephen...well, he doesn't have any eldritch horrors on hand, and for the sake of his kitchen, he'd rather not try cooking any.
no subject
Well if he had it anymore it would be expensive as hell. He's learned lots of really expensive lessons.
If he'd heard anything about the fireflies it didn't really register, he'd been too busy with research to pay much mind. Which meant he thought nothing of swatting away the one that landed on him and bit, frowning at the multi-colored insects with a raised brow,
"Sure, that sounds good." Even if he'd been considering bailing, if he was honest he did like the idea of settling for a bit with a drink. "Before these fireflies eat me alive."
no subject
"C'mon, then." Sam slaps at one that lands on his own neck, his fingers coming away purple, and gestures for Stephen to follow him inside through the glass doors. He heads straight for the fridge, snagging a pair of beers, and cracks them open before leading Stephen into the living room. Thankfully, the mice seem to be elsewhere right now, leaving them in relative silence.
no subject
"Been awhile since I've actually stopped for a breather. Kinda a nice change." ...Why had he said that out loud?
no subject
"Of course, once we go too long without any action, people are gonna start getting antsy," he added. "There's a fine line between relaxation and boredom." One that Sam didn't really understand in the same way the rest of the superheroes did, but he was still new to the whole hero business.
no subject
Stephen accepted the beer with a murmured thanks, letting himself ease up just a little as things remained quiet.
"And then you've got those of us who see relaxation time and wonder just what's going to crop up to wreck everything this time." He took a long drink before he continued, in a wry tone. "Like Pavlov's Dog, except with quiet time triggering paranoia."
Or was that just him? It could be, he wouldn't be entirely surprised if that were the case.
no subject
"No offense or anything, but you seem kinda paranoid most of the time anyway."
no subject
Stephen didn't seem too offended by the observation, just offering a small shrug as he tilted his head back against the cushion. It wasn't like Sam was wrong, after all.
"You're not wrong. But then I've kind of learned the hard way that not being paranoid tends to lead to some... bad results." A twist of his mouth into a grimace, because god damn when he says bad results? It's the understatement of the century.
no subject
(Maybe they should be drinking something harder than beer.)
no subject
Look, Stephen wouldn't argue with something stronger to drink. Because he's fairly certain while he might give a basic explanation, he didn't know that it would be quite so much as this.
"They already destroyed thirteen other dimensions that I know of, I buried the Sorcerer Supremes of each one. I got pulled into this place in the middle of them trying to decide which of us Earth-born magic users to start the 'purification' with."
It explained just how much of a wreck he looked like when he first showed up, that much was for damn sure.
no subject
"There." He poured a healthy amount into each glass and passed one to Stephen. "I can't even imagine what dealing with something like that must've been like."
Pants-shittingly terrifying, if he had to make a guess.
no subject
"It was fucking terrifying. Frustrating." He stared down at the vodka in his glass before draining about a quarter of it in one go, relishing the burn of the alcohol. "Exactly the sort of threat I should have seen coming."
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