riverviewlogs | turn back time;

Entry tags:

turn back time;

who: Bucky and OPEN
what: Various prompts spanning Prijata, the AU, and just random things.
when: The month of June
where: Around and about
warnings: Panic attacks

notes: Because this spans pre-AU and during-AU Bucky, I don't mind if anyone wants to tag in more than once to interact with both bits. Open to new or existing CR. If there isn't a prompt you like, just PM me and I'll work one out with you!

[i: Prijata; around the abandoned city and Quarantine]

[Bucky has been delivered a lot of unexpected things for the Prijata celebrations, gifts from people he never expected to get anything from, and gifts from anonymous sources. They're all thoughtful - food vouchers, clothes vouchers, survival equipment - but there's one gift that really takes him by surprise. A dog. An actual dog. The letter that comes with it states that this is a service dog designed to help veterans, she's his to borrow for six months and then either give her back or take her full time.

The things is...

He has no idea how to take care of a dog. It's not something he had as a kid, and the Soldier certainly wasn't given pets. He knows common sense things, like that she'll need to be fed and walked, but that's about it. Which is why he can be found in one of several places:

a) skulking around the various pet shops of Quarantine with a black lab trotting at his side.
b) sitting out in the outskirts of the abandoned town, throwing a stick idly for her and watching her return it.
c) awkwardly hoisting said dog into his arms so that he can climb the side of a building.]

[ii: Good and bad; at night down an alleyway; cw: panic attacks]

[Maybe it's being given the dog that's meant for a specific purpose that brings it to the surface, but Bucky has been dwelling more and more on his time as the Soldier. It leaves him on edge, tenser than usual, and less willing to mingle with the crowds. He doesn't sleep for as long as he can, unwilling to leave himself vulnerable to attack, but in the end he's only human.

Whenever he does manage to get some sleep, his dreams are far from pleasant, enough that he's not exactly a silent sleeper. The occasional moan might draw attention to his hiding spot, and anyone who tries to disturb him will find that he's not in the mood for it at all.]

[iii: Sergeant Barnes; AU plot; the park]

[It's absolutely amazing!

Of course he's been here for a few months now, but it's still mind boggling that he could be living in a place where there were people from all sorts of places and times. It's like one of those dime novels he used to read, all aliens and fanciful technology. He can still barely believe cell phones are a thing, he can only imagine how much this might have enhanced the war effort back home.

The only problem is... he doesn't seem to have a place to stay. All of his stuff was down an alleyway with him, and that's not exactly ideal. He's dressed in world war two uniform, having not quite got round to getting changed yet, with the insignia of a Sergeant clearly visible. Though he's obviously still Bucky, same face and same body, there are differences that might make him hard to identify. He's clean shaven, he doesn't walk with the wariness of a predator stalking prey, and he's smiling.

He even raises a hand in a friendly and lazy sort of greeting, friend or newcomer.]

[iv: Wildcard; anywhere; anytime]

[Got something you want to do with Bucky or Sergeant Barnes? Put it here, and let's do it!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Sleep?

What was sleep? Will had an uneasy relationship with the concept at the best of times, and current events could not be couched in those terms.

After jolting awake for the fifth time in four hours, the profiler had given up on the attempt and gone to help himself to a shower. If he kept trying to force the issue, he ran the risk of sleep walking and that was a dangerous habit in a world he knew, let alone this place.

Washing off the stink of nightmare sweat, he cleaned up and changed clothes before heading outside into the dark. Some may have argued that walking around a strange city (world) in the dark wasn't high on the list of good self-preservation tactics, but Will already felt better as he walked along.

He made a couple of turns, no exact destination in mind, simply learning the city at this point. His path drew him along an alleyway that seemed completely non-descript except for the soft moans he heard echoing from the dark. Tilting his head, Will paused and waited a moment, gauging if those were moans of distress or moans of privacy please.

It sounded like the former, rather than the latter and so he turned and began to pick his way down the dark lane.

Letting his ears guide him, when he got to within five feet of the shadow that appeared to be the source of the cries, he stopped and crouched down on his heels. ]

Hey. [ He called out, voice low but firm. ] Are you alright? Hey!

[There's a dog that makes it out of the shadows first, standing between the sleeper and Will like a guard, though it doesn't make any aggressive moves.

Unfortunately, the call of a voice isn't enough to rouse him at the moment. He kept going until his body near collapsed of exhaustion in the hope of staving off this sort of situation, and he's in deep with his memories. His voice, low and hoarse and cracked, mumbles pained sounding Russian from the darkness.]

Failed to-- target was-- No. Please.

[ When Will saw the lab, his body posture softened and he relaxed the features of his face. He was careful not to smile, aware that the gesture could be interpreted as aggressive when working with canines, but instead he kept his movements slow and calm. ]

Hey there, [quick check] girl. You keeping watch over someone? That's a good girl, it's alright I'll stay right here.

[He held his hand out, palms up but otherwise made no motion towards the dog. He didn't speak Russian, so the words meant nothing to him, but the growly voice was familiar.][ Will spoke the man's name (or the name he was given) waited a moment and then spoke to the dog again. ] Are you looking out for Peter, girl? That's a good girl, I didn't get to meet you when Peter and I met the other day. Do you remember Peter?

[ He continued to speak in a voice pitched at a normal tone, alternating between talking to the dog and to the man, deliberately using the name over and over. ]

Peter showed me some interesting places to visit, outside the city walls. Has he taken you to any of them? I think he might have a hard time getting you up in a tree. Peter, this is your dog, yes?

Edited (html fail) 2017-06-06 01:33 (UTC)

[It's the sound of another voice so close that eventually rouses him, not the fake name that means nothing to him in this charged moment. He just hears someone close by, and his brain registers it as a threat, pulling him from sleep to wakefulness in the space of half a second.

All suddenly goes very silent, before Bucky surges out of the darkness in an attempt to pin Will to the wall aggressively.

The dog whines, trying to insistently push herself between Bucky and Will in the way she's been trained to do, trying to use her paws and wet nose to give him anchoring points and bring him back to reality. It doesn't work. Yet.]

[ As movement came at him from the shadows, Will tensed but otherwise allowed himself to be carried back and up until his shoulders slammed into the wall.

'Allowed' himself. Really there was shit all he could do to counter the attack, executed by a man who was significantly larger and infinitely better trained than Will himself. As he often did, in these circumstances, he relaxed and made no move to physically antagonize his attacker any further.

He'd like to avoid broken limbs if at all possible.

Instead, he went limp in Bucky's hold. Aware of the dog, attempting to nudge and draw her master's attention, he was reminded of the way Winston would follow him when he went on his little strolls while still fast asleep. ]

Your dog is worried about you, Peter. [ He said, keeping his voice level and calm, attempting to connect auditory stimulation to the physical contact from the dog. Rebuild reality through all available sensory input. ] So am I. It's Will, Will Graham; remember? We're both in a city that calls itself Riverview.

[That's strange.

Usually his targets either begin to sob and break down in fear, or they fight back in desperation, very rarely do they go still and talk to him so calmly as if he's not even a threat at all. As if he's a friend. Not since-- not since the helicarrier, a bloodied face refusing to fight him any longer, accepting a probable death in order to get through to Bucky.]

Steve--?

[His voice is rough with sleep and fear. But of course it's not Steve, this man is too small and looks all wrong, it's not even close to Steve. Will. Will Graham, the name finally sinks in, and the memories start to connect, but not enough for him to let go yet.]

What are you doing down here?

[ They were going to have a pretty deep inventory of names by the time everything was said and done.

Had Will ever seen Steve Rogers he would have had to laugh at the idea of being mistaken for him. Will might weigh as much as one of Roger's arms; soaking wet ... with his gun on his hip.

But what he wouldn't laugh at, was a mind so fractured that it could look at his face and make such a jump in the effort to right itself on the sea of confused memories.

The profiler continued to remain limp and calm in that deadly hold and for once he had no trouble making steady, unflinching eye contact with Bucky. ]

I don't sleep well. [ He answered the question with direct honesty. ] Gave up before I ran the risk of disturbing the others in our quarters and I've just been ... walking.

[ It would have been natural to ask Bucky the same question, but Will suspected it would drive the man back into guarded silence. Bucky's mental state seemed too fragile to risk that. ]

Who is your new friend? [ He asked, tilting his head slightly to indicate the well trained Labrador. ]

[A part of his mind is already trying to perform damage limitation, trying to come up with excuses to cover this over. Will is a profiler, he's good at reading other people, and he really doesn't want to give him any more ammunition than he already has to figure Bucky out.

He finally lets his hands drop, his left one briefly catching the distant streetlamp at the end of the alley and glinting metal. He didn't have his gloves on while sleeping, possibly a mistake he'll need to rectify in the future.]

Huh?

[He glances down, almost surprised to see the dog.

A couple of steps takes him back and, even though he's not overtly aggressive any longer, his entire posture is rigid and ready to move. The dog inserts herself between both of them at once.]

She's a service dog.

[Why did he say that? Stupid. He needs to think before he speaks. It's true, but Will didn't need to know that.]

[ It was Will's job to notice the smallest hints of evidence and interpret it. Even when he was adjusting to finally having his feet back on the ground and recovering the ability to breath without any sort of hindrance.

The glint of light off the metal arm, brought the arm to his awareness (you know, just in case being hauled up by it hadn't done the trick) and with that awareness came the rush of conclusions.

He'd already determined that 'Peter' had a military background. Defined by the way the man had identified vantage points, the way he moved and the way he'd shut down their previous conversation when the topic had come up.

A military background and an extremely functional artificial arm. It was an assumption -of course- but the quick conclusion supported that those two went together. He'd seen the artificial limb that Miriam Lass had been equipped with (on the FBI's guilty dime) and it wasn't a big jump to connect the level of technology a government had access too against private routes.

Peter's general demeanor and habits built a picture of a man who had suffered; was still suffering, so whatever his career had been ... however he'd come to have that arm ... the story wasn't a good one. Layer in that the man had what Will could see was a well trained service dog and that pointed towards significant PTSD.

Again. If the whole getting throttled up against the wall hadn't been a big indicator there.

So where did that leave us? Highly trained, military, with significant physical trauma and even more significant PTSD. There had been an abuse of personal autonomy there, the type that would fracture a mind being forced to split between it's nature, and the reality it was being forced to bend too.

Right. Here there be minefields.

Eyes back on the dog, Will hunkered down on his heels. It was deliberately adopted posture and one he didn't mind, as his face lit up with a genuine sort of joy as he watched the lab. He made no move to try to draw her too him or otherwise interfere with her job; he was simply a man who liked dogs. ]

You didn't have her when we met on the wall. Is she a recent addition?

[He might not know the exact conclusions that Will is reaching, but he can feel himself being analysed as if he's inside an x-ray machine. Idiot to mention that she's a service dog; that, combined with Will already guessing his military career the last time they met, probably just confirms it.

Not that he'll ever guess the truth. Surely he can't.

Bucky still feels as though he's caught in the middle of fight or flight. He wants to just take off out of here, escape this conversation and this situation, and he wants to beat Will into the ground for daring to guess anything about him and until he understands it's never to be spoken of. He does neither. Instead he bends just slightly and fondles Sasha's ears gently with his flesh hand to get her to settle.]

Yeah.

[He's always given to brevity in speech, but it's even worse at the moment. With the lingering memories of the Soldier in his head, it's hard to push any words out, which gives everything a choppier sound, even if the tone of his voice and his expression are both very carefully neutral.]

She was a gift, this festival. You should go before I hurt you.

[ Do you imagine yourself hurting me?

...

Shut up Hannibal.

Will mentally backhands the older man's voice in his head, pushing him to ask such a question of the real man before him.

He remains in the crouch for a moment longer, before slowly pushing himself back up to his full height. ]

A thoughtful gift. I love dogs, collected a pack of strays as a makeshift family back home. Better than people, most of the time.

[ He gave her one last look and then placed his focus back on Bucky. The voice and expression did not go unnoticed and Will gave a small nod, though he made no move to step away. ]

I'll go. But first, I need to know if anyone else -and this includes yourself- is at risk of getting injured in my place?

[ At the end of the day, as hopelessly screwed up as his own head was, Will still did what he did to protect innocents. He wasn't going to walk away from a beat down he may have earned, only to see it visited on someone else. ]

[He can't tell if Will's deliberate calm is soothing or aggravating, possibly a little of both. He should lie here and say that nobody's in danger, but he can't do it. He refuses to downplay the risk that he poses to other people, it's the only good thing he can do in a lot of circumstances.]

I don't know.

[It's the most honest he can be.

He doesn't want to hurt anyone, but it always seems to inevitably go wrong and he finds himself with blood on his hands again. Perhaps that's just who he is now, a soldier through and through.

Sasha, now that Bucky is no longer actively freaking out, finally turns around and noses at the newcomer in happy greeting. She's a good dog with an excellent temperament, but she has to have that to be this kind of service dog.]

[ Oddly enough, it was the uncertain truth that spoke volumes over a convenient lie.

It told Will that Bucky was at least aware enough to understand the risk. It may not mitigate the risk but it went a long way; at least in Will's messed up books.

He gave a nod in response, before his attention was drawn down to Sasha and for the first time, ever, a genuine smile touched his face. He turned his palm over, so she could nose to her heart's content but otherwise he respected her role and function and made no effort to pet or distract her, merely spoke softly and encouragingly. It was hard though, that probably showed on his face; he really did love dogs.

After allowing himself a moment of dog time, Will withdrew his hand and shoved both into the pockets of his trousers. He looked back to Bucky for a moment and gave another nod but didn't bother with any words.

Anything he tried to say would just be trite. Better to remain silent.

Shoulders folded, making himself even smaller than he already was, Will looked to his left and his right, before shrugging to himself and heading to the right. He didn't appear to have any particular destination in mind, simply walking for the sake of something to be doing. ]

[He doesn't know whether the admission will make Will stay.

It's the sort of thing that would make Steve stay, Clark too, so that they could be noble and heroic and make sure that he doesn't hurt anyone. But it's the sort of thing that Ellie wouldn't because she understands when it's important to walk away, and it seems that Will knows that too. It notches up the respect that Bucky has for him a little, though it's still a long way from overshadowing the wariness.

Not that Will is going to make it very far.

Being left alone lets all of this crash down on Bucky's head, how close he came to hurting an innocent person just because he can't control his own damn head, and it sends him into a bit of a tailspin. He ends up crouched against the wall in the darkest part of the alley, shaking from head to toe, trying not to freak out audibly.

Sasha decides the best thing would be to fetch that other human back, so she goes streaking out of the alley and follows her nose to reach him, immediately trying to nudge him back in the direction of the alleyway.]

[ There were quite a few people who would argue just how 'innocent' Will could claim to be, however at the moment that was not important.

Head down, he was simply walking along, already sunk deep into the recesses of his own mind for company that he might as well be walking along in his memory palace, as the reality of where his feet are taking him. He doesn't hear Sasha's approach and almost misses her entirely, until she shoves her cold, wet nose into the palm of his hand.

She doesn't use her teeth, but rather shoves her broad head and muzzle in between Will's arm and his body, trying to guide his arm to turn around. It's enough to shake him out of his thoughts and he frowns as he looks down and recognizes the dog. ]

Hey, hey, hey. What are you doing here? [ The words are soft spoken and Will starts to crouch down, but this isn't what Sasha wants and she butts against his thigh, an action that suggests movement on his part. ]

Shouldn't you be with ... [ Will begins, and if a dog could look exasperated at a human not.getting.the.point, Sasha might have managed it. However, her training saw her circle around him purposefully before drawing away, back towards the alley, as she barked twice.

Really. Was she going to have to draw him a road map?

Will frowned, earning himself another pointed bark, before he straightened up and began to walk back. ]

Alright, alright. [ He soothed, though it was his movement that seemed to reassure the dog more than his words or voice. She turned and trotted slightly ahead, her training seeming to want to draw her back towards Bucky as quickly as possible, though she paused periodically to ensure Will was still following.

He hadn't gone far and so their return was probably fairly quick, all things considered. Sasha, obviously, reaching Bucky first as Will brought up the rear. Though the light was crap in the alley, it was impossible to mistake the curled, shaking form and he winced.

To be honest, usually it was Will curled up in a ball with the shakes, and when these breakdowns happened, it was usually Hannibal drawing him back to himself. The thought of employing any of the older man's tactics was instinctively abhorrent to the profiler, though even as he indulged in the uncharitable thought, he was forced to recall that Hannibal was ... a brilliant psychiatrist.

If you carved out the homicidal narcissism.

Leaving it to Sasha to make physical contact, Will hunkered down on his heels but maintained a distance, giving Bucky room to breath. ]

Peter? [ He called the name. ] You told me, to call you Peter when we met so that's what I'm going with here, but it's not important. I need you to listen. [ Though Will didn't raise his voice above it's soft tones, he began to measure his words out, snapping them softly at the ends so they came across as very basic, calm, commands. Simple and easy to follow. ]

Take a breath, through your mouth, and hold it. One.Two.Three and exhale. One.Two. Take a breath, through your mouth, and hold it. One.Two ... [ If this made any sort of impact, Will would continue it, until Bucky lifted his face to look at him. ]

[He doesn't realise that Sasha has even left the alley until she reappears with someone else in tow, and in that moment he kind of hates Clark for giving her to him. He doesn't want people around him now, he's on a knife edge and he might end up really hurting someone and then having to add that blood to hands already stained irrevocably red.

The problem with orders, is that a part of Bucky is still inclined to follow them by instinct. It's what he doesn't want to admit to himself, that the Soldier and Bucky aren't two separate identities, they're what happened to one person being brainwashed and tortured. He can't just remove one from the other.

Will might notice how Bucky immediately complies and matches his breathing to Will's, a perfect calm, while the rest of his body stays tense and shaking in a weird juxtaposition to his now regulated breathing.]

[ It may have been slightly less than noble or heroic, but Will had been banking on the ingrained military part of Bucky to respond to his 'orders'. Still, he held his breath and prepared himself for a variety of responses, even an attack if it came.

However, he breathed a small inward sigh of relief when he saw the other man match his breathing patterns to the tempo Will dictated.

For a few minutes that was all he asked of Bucky. Simply to focus on the basic human need to get oxygen into the body and carbon dioxide out, at a steady rate to avoid hyperventilating or otherwise further pushing the body into the natural fight or flight response.

Letting Sasha do her job -hush Bucky, this Clark was an amazing friend to get you such a good dog- Will remained in his crouch, letting time pass before he spoke. Again, he used the calm voice with the steady slightly clipped words. ]

I want you to tell me the following. What is your name? Where are you? What time is it?

[ Yes, a part of Will was cringing and feeling the need for a hot shower with a wire scrub brush and some Bactine just for repeating those words. Another part of him (the part that wore Hannibal's face) was smirking and yet another part was trying to throttle both former instances.

And off in yet another corner, his psyche was laughing it's ass off at the ludicrous idea that his hopelessly fractured mind could offer anyone, any sort of hope in this area.

Okay, note for the future. Need to train Sasha to get a functional human being for this sort of crisis. ]

[It's not helping.

Will might not be able to tell because Bucky is a fairly unique case in this, but following this sort of order is only sinking him further into panic despite the fact that his breathing is completely regulated. It's orders, it's feeling himself instinctively reply to them and know that the Soldier is still there inside his head. He's so frightened, scared of following the wrong order one day and not realising until it's far too late.

Then again, Will might notice when Bucky's metal fingers dig hard enough into the solid concrete floor to literally gauge out huge grooves.

Name. He's asking for a name, and a part of him doesn't know if it's a test. A way to see if he remembers that he's the Asset and weapons don't have names, or maybe a trick to get his real name. It's all a bit jumbled in his head, and he finds himself spitting out a harsh defiance instead.]

I'm not your soldier.

[He's his own to command, his choices are his own.]

Будет!

[ About the only thing Will could lay any sort of claim of pride on when it came to himself, it was his adaptability. If something wasn't working, he knew how to pivot and change course.

It also helped that a part of him wished he'd been able to be as defiant as Bucky was being, when this particular head game had been played on him. Nope, he'd failed that test in spectacular fashion.

Still, despite being aware of the hand digging into the concrete just a few feet away, Will smiled. ]

No, you're not. [ He agreed in that same calm voice. ] Unfortunately, at this moment, you're not yourself either and you need to get back to this reality, here and now.

If you can do that on your own, then I'll be on my way. However, if you don't think you can get yourself back here? [ Will simply reached his hand out towards Bucky, offering help. He didn't force it on the other man, and he didn't let that deadly looking arm drive him towards fear. ]

[This is his reality, that's the problem.

The hand coming towards him means help, but he doesn't see it that way. It's just someone getting in his space, albeit still from a respectful distance, and it feels like the hand of HYDRA coming for him for disobeying. Back to the machine, back to be wiped, back to be reprogrammed.

The knife is in his hand, pulled from a concealed pocket in his sleeve in seconds, and he throws it viciously and efficiently with the aim of pinning that outstretched hand to the wall behind him if possible.]

[ Well.

The was a record, even for him. It usually took him at least half a month to work his way up to being knifed by someone. This time he managed it in about a week.

Will had no super human powers. Hell, most of the time Jack had always kept him behind the ERT teams in an effort to keep him from tripping over their feet. The one time he had managed to shoot someone, he'd been working a fever of over a hundred and five; in other words, blind shit house luck.

The motion registered with him but Will simply wasn't quick enough or in a good position to avoid the expert throw. Maybe if Bucky had been off his aim, there would have been a chance, but he'd simply left himself too vulnerable. The knife sliced expertly through his wrist, throwing him backwards as it drilled towards the brick (or was that wood) behind him.

Will tumbled back with the blow, aware of his arm getting pinned up and away from his body. He hung there for a moment, the pain radiating but not unmanageable, at least not to the extent of driving him towards trying to remove the blade. Instead laid back, one leg now folded awkwardly beneath him, the other sprawled out in front of him. ]

Right.

[ He said simply, looking back over his shoulder and reaching to pull his arm down, careful not to dislodge the knife. Getting his sprawled legs under him, he awkwardly worked to gain his feet. ]

I'm not going to be able to return this too you right at the moment, I'd rather not bleed out. But I'll slip it under the door to your room as soon as I get it removed.

[ The calm had leeched out of his voice, but it left behind no anger or judgement. Merely, exhaustion.

Feet under him, Will curled his knifed arm in towards his body to hide it from any passersby, and began to retreat down the alleyway. ]

[A part of him demands that he follow and finish the job. He doesn't leave witnesses alive, he doesn't leave targets to whisper about who came after them. He'll be punished for failing, he'll--

But he doesn't move.

He just watches with hard and merciless eyes as Will retreats, until the darkness swallows him and there's nothing left to see. It takes some hours for him to realise what he did and feel the guilt sink in. Will won't have to come and look for Bucky to give the knife back, the next time Will is somewhere relatively isolated, Bucky will simply drop down from a nearby roof or tree beside him.]

[OOC: Time jump to post this network event. ]

[ Despite being a 'public' place, Will had managed to find a corner of the library that was relatively uninhabited. Well, that and the fact that he was haunting the place in the wee hours of the morning might have contributed to the lack of people.

He was sitting at a large table, books and papers sprawled out around him and a notepad at his left elbow. A glass of whiskey (shhh if he had to smuggle it in) sat off to the side, little more than a finger full of the amber liquid still in the tumbler. Despite the privacy of the immediate area, the profiler still wore his sleeves turned down, the right cuffed tight, with an additional safety pin, so that the bandage beneath wasn't visible.

He had pulled a document close for review and was painstakingly attempting to make a note on the notepad. Painstaking, because he was right handed and was attempting to make the note with his left hand. ]

[Bucky actually looks physically slightly better than he has in a while. Clark made sure that he had a bath, something to eat, and some fresh clothes; so he looks less like he's rocking the hobo chic at the moment, and more like just another unremarkable young man. He is, however, wearing gloves again.

He hesitates at the end of the table, keeping enough distance to keep himself out of reach, and so hopefully Will might be less scared of being in the same vicinity of him.]

Why didn't you go to the police?

[He meant to say sorry, but somehow the word got lost along the way and became something else.]

[ If Will had heard or recognized that he was no longer alone -before Bucky spoke- he gave no indication of it. He may have been aware, on that lizard brain level when we recognize we're being watched, but he didn't have Lecter's ridiculous nose as an early warning system.

Head down, he didn't immediately respond. He about had this note nailed down and just needed to.finish.it.and ... there.

Setting the pencil down, he shook out his left hand and sat back turning to look at Bucky. There was no anger, resentment or fear in his expression. He looked more curious in return, if anything. ]

Why would I? [ He asked in return. ] It was my error of judgement. You were responding to a threat assessment.

[ After a moment, he leaned over towards the messenger bag he had scavenged from somewhere. Pulling out a small hand towel, he set it down on the table and pushed it towards Bucky, before drawing his hand back. Inside the towel, as promised, lay the knife. It had been meticulously cleaned, the blade oiled to reduce the risk of any water damage. ]

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Let's do the Time Warp aagggaaaaiiinn

and now I can't stop humming that...

My work here is complete \o/