James hadn't been planning to look around as soon as he stepped past the front door, figuring maybe he'd be barging in, but then Rumlow gives him the all clear and on second thought, maybe he does want to poke around after all.
He roams the house. His posture's loose, casual; nothing about it would've made him stand out from another civilian in the crowd aside from the empty sleeve where his left arm should've been. But there's something ingrained in the Soldier to clear a building and even if James strolls around instead of prowling with his finger on a trigger, he's still thorough as he goes from room to room. The place is overall pretty spartan, but there's a few little touches here and there: a few tattered books tossed carelessly, a picture frame with Rumlow and some old lady who might be his mom (in reality just an actress, composited in). Setting down the photo, James idly wonders if Rumlow still talks to his mom or he's estranged or maybe she's no longer alive.
He's never mentioned her. Probably a reason, so he reminds himself not to overstep boundaries and ask.
Next there's a guestroom that's really more of an office with a twin bed shoved incidentally in the corner and a few dumbbells against the wall. Bathroom's small, with just enough space to cram in a toilet, sink, and a combo shower/bathtub. There's already towels there, the colors in neutral grays and white. For a second he'll study the bathtub, frowning a little, puzzled. Can't shake the feeling something's missing with the shower but...unaware the correct answer is "the chain and collar you're always supposed to wear, per regulation", James eventually finishes his sweep in the kitchen.
Rumlow will find him staring over the steel sink, out the window where there's a yard outside and a wooden deck and absolutely zero concrete walls to box someone in. From here there's another view of the foothills he'd been talking about just a few minutes ago. You could do dishes and just quietly gaze out the window and relax.
"Cozy," James remarks and means it. "Too bad it's not permanent."
no subject
He roams the house. His posture's loose, casual; nothing about it would've made him stand out from another civilian in the crowd aside from the empty sleeve where his left arm should've been. But there's something ingrained in the Soldier to clear a building and even if James strolls around instead of prowling with his finger on a trigger, he's still thorough as he goes from room to room. The place is overall pretty spartan, but there's a few little touches here and there: a few tattered books tossed carelessly, a picture frame with Rumlow and some old lady who might be his mom (in reality just an actress, composited in). Setting down the photo, James idly wonders if Rumlow still talks to his mom or he's estranged or maybe she's no longer alive.
He's never mentioned her. Probably a reason, so he reminds himself not to overstep boundaries and ask.
Next there's a guestroom that's really more of an office with a twin bed shoved incidentally in the corner and a few dumbbells against the wall. Bathroom's small, with just enough space to cram in a toilet, sink, and a combo shower/bathtub. There's already towels there, the colors in neutral grays and white. For a second he'll study the bathtub, frowning a little, puzzled. Can't shake the feeling something's missing with the shower but...unaware the correct answer is "the chain and collar you're always supposed to wear, per regulation", James eventually finishes his sweep in the kitchen.
Rumlow will find him staring over the steel sink, out the window where there's a yard outside and a wooden deck and absolutely zero concrete walls to box someone in. From here there's another view of the foothills he'd been talking about just a few minutes ago. You could do dishes and just quietly gaze out the window and relax.
"Cozy," James remarks and means it. "Too bad it's not permanent."