sam wilson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wingedman) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
riverviewlogs2017-04-24 08:10 pm
wingedman) wrote in riverviewlogs2017-04-24 08:10 pm
(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 Michael
But this time, his goal is a little different: Sam remembers his promises, and he keeps them. "I still owe you a drink," he points out to Michael with a smile. "If you're up for it?"
no subject
He's tired. He always is. Most nights, he works until dinner and heads back to the communal living quarters after he's grabbed something to eat. His social life is more or less in the same state as the wall: in constant disrepair.
It feels like a lot of effort to be around people. Saying no would be easy, and it would be safe, but Sam isn't just people. One way or another, Sam always manages to bring a smile to his face, and maybe Michel he needs that more than he needs another quiet night inside, and alone. There's plenty of time to be an introvert on another day.
"Yeah, I'm up for it. One drink." He grabs his jacket, pushing away from his desk and heading towards the door before he can change his mind.
no subject
"Good man." Sam grins brightly at him. "I could use some company tonight - and hell, if you ever manage to pry yourself away from that desk, you're more than welcome to come over to my place for dinner sometime." Anytime, really. Sam and Wanda both tend to cook for a crowd.
no subject
The halls are more or less empty. Only the singles and the workaholics are left in the building. Michael falls into both categories, and he rarely leaves before it's dark. He actually squints into the sun once they step outside, shielding his eyes to look at Sam.
"Sam Wilson needs company? That's hard to believe. I thought you had this whole town in your phone book."
no subject
"Yeah, that bright thing's the sun," he adds mock-helpfully. "Careful you don't burn to ash, I know you aren't used to being out in it."
no subject
Everyone has a dark side, and Michael doesn't usually struggle to find it. His sensitivity to the emotions, desires, and fears, of others is what gives him the insight to help people. Or exploit them.
"Does it have a brightness setting? I forgot my giant sunglasses at home."
no subject
"I don't think so, but you could try yelling at it." Yeah, because that's really gonna work, Sam.