Dreaming Forever - Circus Port continued

[worthallthis]

Welcome to Le Cirque des Rêves.
Continued! Information here.

The big ship pulls away from the docks at dawn, and Buck watches it go from just outside the circus gates. That's a lot of interesting people gone, now. Too bad, he'd really liked some of them.

He turns back to the gate, and pulls off his antlered hat to scratch at his messy hair. He's hoping he can hold onto the last of his performance high for another hour or two at least, because for now, he has to wait right here. If any of his new strays stuck around, now is the time they'd show themselves, ready to be wrapped into their new family. Or whatever.

He's not sure if he's hoping or not that he has to rearrange his wagon's sleeping arrangements. (Maybe he's hoping a little.)

Comments

[worthallthis]

"Remember the other circumstances of me showing up at the circus?" Buck says, voice going less animated. He hates talking about this, but he did offer. He did say he'd explain, and Steve should know. "Bleeding and on the run from the law? That was me, too. There was this group of us-- kids, really, just a bunch of stupid kids. There were these sailors and they had this chest. They were trying to sell it to some really fancy science types, so my pals figured, must be valuable, right? Broke in, jimmied the chest open, and out pops... well, this."

He shrugs his left shoulder, and the not-arm ripples under his sleeves, not even remotely arm-looking. "Except not pretending to be an arm, at the time, or even just a handful of squigglies like this. It, uh. It ate everybody else. Left quite a mess. From what I've found out since, the sailors were some kinda sea witches, and they'd been starving it to keep it weak? And we, dumb kids that we were, came along at just the wrong time."

[punched_hitler]

Steve can tell it's going to be quite a story, just by the way Buck's voice goes quieter, more subdued. And he's not wrong. His eyes maybe go to the arm again for a moment, but they don't stay there long before his gaze flicks back up to Buck's face.

"I'm sorry," he says at first, just because... that feels like it needs to be said. But once it is, he moves on, because clearly Buck has done all right for himself, and he seems at least okay with the arrangement he's got now. "It's funny, how life just -- does things you aren't expecting like that, huh? How sometimes it all comes down to luck." Whether good, bad, or dumb.

"So you two have been acquainted a while," he concludes, because Buck's not an old man, of course, but he isn't a kid any longer.

[worthallthis]

At the apology, Buck dredges up a smile again, a little rueful-- nobody's actually been sorry about a weird eldritch not-arm eating four boys and then his own left arm in years. Then he has some of his soup. He isn't bothering with a spoon, just drinking it like the bowl is a very large mug.

"Little over twenty years, now," he says after a swallow. "We get along, now, for the most part. It hasn't eaten anybody I didn't give it permission to in almost that long. But I didn't want you moving in not expectin' the extra wagonmate. And if you'd rather I find you somewhere else to stay, I can work that out."

[punched_hitler]

There's a lot of information packed into those few simple statements, and maybe they'd give someone else pause, but Steve just shakes his head. "No, it's fine. If you trust it enough to let people stay, then I trust you." Maybe he shouldn't, but he does. He feels like if Buck had wanted to double-cross him, he'd have done it well before now. And he also wouldn't have explained the arm to make sure Steve was okay with it.

"It's a hell of a way to lose an arm," he finally says, mostly only using his own spoon just for something to do with both hands, a way to make his meal last a little longer. "But a hell of a companion to pick up. It's probably hard to get the drop on both of you at the same time."

Not that he's trying; he's more trying to say that Buck's wagon is probably safer than the average, if that were a thing a person cared about.

[worthallthis]

Buck squints at him a moment, then cracks another grin, this one a bit more relieved. "You are one optimistic fellow, ain't you. All right, if you're sure. I don't really think it'll hurt you, or anybody who isn't trying to hurt me, just so you know. Clinton's been in here for ten years, now, not a peep-- Merlin almost three. But I didn't want to bring you in without you knowing all the facts."

The not-arm reforms itself back into a normal-looking hand. Well, mostly normal. There's an extra digit on the pinky, and it looks like it forgot fingernails again. Since they aren't going out in public for a while, Buck doesn't make it change.

"So you have any questions, before I go make sure Taura's all moved to her partner's wagon so you got room?" He did, at least, finagle to make sure if Steve showed up he'd get the biggest of the bed cubbies.

[punched_hitler]

"Sometimes," Steve admits with a smile that's a bit relieved, too; although it is a little easier to be optimistic off the Barge than on it, and he can't pretend otherwise.

And now that he knows, it's not like Steve's going to complain if the arm doesn't want to look entirely like an arm when no one who isn't in on it is around. Everybody deserves a break, and if it works for Buck, then it works for him.

"No," Steve's shaking his head, before he backtracks and, "I didn't mean to kick somebody out of their sleeping space, though."

It... sounds like everything's okay, there, but still. He hadn't wanted to cause too significant a disruption. But - this is a different Taura, he reminds himself. Maybe she doesn't mind.

[worthallthis]

"Nah, she's been wanting an excuse to move in with her partner for months. And, you know, I asked if she'd do it before I even knew for sure you'd show up." Or Misty would show up. One of the two. If both of them had, he'd probably be shit out of luck, though. "She jumped on it, so."

He shrugs, smiles all lop-sided. "Everybody knows about my problem with adopting people. I don't think she was even a little surprised."

[punched_hitler]

That does make Steve laugh, relaxing a little now that it sounds like he's not putting anyone else. "You have a problem with adopting people?" he says, with this stupid, knowing grin that isn't really hidden very well, even as he goes to spoon more stew into his mouth. "That sounds like an interesting problem to have. And one I guess I'm pretty grateful for."

[worthallthis]

"You'll be number three. Possibly four, if that poor gal who followed us from New Orleans shows up tomorrow," Buck admits, not looking particularly embarrassed or ashamed of it, at all. "Guess I'm just a big softie who can't say no to a pretty face. Finish that up, now, and I'll show you your bed." He makes good on his own words, too, by slurping the rest of his up, still spoonless. His table manners are slightly less pristine than Bucky's are.

[punched_hitler]

"Thank God for my pretty face, then," Steve says, teasing. "And your generous heart."

He does as he's told, finishing up by, admittedly, following suit and giving up on the spoon, just tipping the rest into his mouth.

"Good to go," he says, once he is, standing up. He does keep hold of the bowl and spoon, given that he assumes he should wash or rinse them and not just leave them lying around. He is trying to be pretty conscientious of the fact that he's new here, and hasn't done anything to earn his way yet. Not really. "Lead the way?"

[worthallthis]

The way is right up the steps into the wagon. The door opens in two sections, so you can open the top half without opening the bottom half, though Buck goes ahead and pulls them both. The inside is cramped but... in a cozy way. Buck doesn't have to duck, but Steve will. Taura would have had to bend practically double.

The wagon is split into two sections. Just inside is a small open space in the front with a table and benches and cupboards for storage, like the kitchen area in an RV, only with hooks dangling not only kitchen implements but knife sheaths, bundles of feathers, and a quiver of arrows. Beyond that a narrow passage with four bunks, one on top of the other on each side, just tall enough to sit up in and just deep enough to include a little personal shelf and locker against the wagon wall. Underneath each are more cupboards, presumably for more personal storage, and across each one is a little curtain that can be pulled for some illusion of privacy.

Buck beelines right to those, and pats the top bunk on the left. Its curtain is bright green with little blue wavy lines on it. "This one here's yours. I'm right underneath." A red curtain with little white stars in the pattern. "Merlin and Clinton get the other side. We can, uh, get you a different curtain is green ain't your thing."