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

[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."