( just another day for brainwashing )

[traumatology]

WHO: bucky barnes
WHEN: during part 2 of the mission
WHERE: gut's bind
WHAT: ~ possession ~
WARNINGS: probably violence


( starters in the comments )

Comments

[downswing]

( To think, he has now become the strange, barely tolerated breed of companion — the natural, gregarious conversationalist. Wangji, son of Lan, has never stood so accused. And yet, Bucky now transgresses into the assumption.

He makes a point of leaving Bucky an open path, the chance to walk undeterred. A cloying, dusty, hopeless corridor — how could Lan Wangji ever possibly deprive him of it? )

I walk to your side. Intending no disruption.

( Blandly, far too literally, the tension of his body only visible in the righting of his arm, how it hangs steeled, fingers clutching in a fist carved loose to turn, at any moment, on his hilt. His sword, if need me. )

What ails?

[traumatology]

I'm fine.

( is he? he thinks he is but he's not. bucky, the man who's body was currently in, was physically fine but this would leave a mark when he came back.

getting harder and harder to trust anyone or anything.

he glances over at the man who's still walking with him, annoyance on his face now. )

Why are you still walking with me?

[downswing]

Our paths align.

( ...because Lan Wangji trails after Bucky. A petty adjustment, when truths stretch and yawn and a man burdened with thousands of learned disciplines 'cannot lie' but may gently, precariously omit.

Now, to avoid any provocation to name where they are headed. It is no simple thing, falsity. Wei Ying must be applauded his native talent to flourish and elude, in the face of perpetual challenge. )

I trouble you?

( Conversationally, as if — the tendrils of sinister energy that yet cling to Bucky are not a tentative indication. The Gut's Bind is a foul place, unimproved by the presences of undeath that cling. )

[traumatology]

No.

( yes. he's lying. he's not troubled but he is annoyed and while he can't exactly pinpoint why, he knows that it's due to the man beside him not leaving him alone.

he could do something about that, he knows, make it stop, make him go away but he doesn't )

I don't understand why you don't have better things to do and why you insist on walking with me. You won't like where I'm going.

( a warning. )

[downswing]

You have yet to name it.

( Once more conversational, academic. As if he has born hundreds, thousands of similar conversations, wrestling the youth of Gusu Lan towards a logical conclusion. Ferry a child back to his senses, and he will rediscover his footing. This, Bucky is yet to learn.

...slowly, slowly. As simply and elegantly achieved as the next turn through the corridors, gently pivoting while a slew of paladins flock and fumble, swarming in. He murmurs the silhouette of excuses, nods apologetically, lets them by.

They are obstacles here, tolerated nuisances. Foreign and strange. )

Where do you flee?

[traumatology]

It doesn't matter.

( not to him, at least. he doesn't know why this man is insistent on sticking close to him. there are plenty of other people for him to attach himself to.

he makes a face, grumbles, eyes growing darker. )

I'm not fleeing.

[downswing]

( They are two panthers, prowling. Growing increasingly, tirelessly irritated with the aberration of each other's behaviour. He wants, very badly, to grit his teeth and bare them. Wants to claw.

Instinct does not prevail over reason. Walk on, ignore the crowds. Ignore the cloying, blood-curdling, impetuous toxicity of the Gut's Bind and its magical volatility. )

What, then, are you doing? ( There must be a point to this, a destination. An end purpose. )

[traumatology]

( finally, the patience of the paladin that's currently in bucky's mind snaps and he growls, shoving at wangji and keeping it up until he's back him into a wall. )

I was trying to be nice but if you're going to continue to ask stupid questions, maybe I'll do what I planned on doing to someone else to you.

( seems fitting, doesn't it? )

[downswing]

( And what is that? But he knows, his spleen knows, his bone marrow, the gritty and grime of him. There is a look and a scent that men bear when they intend, worse than to kill — war's practicality — to put the hurt in those around them.

To torture, to slaughter, to make sport of bloodshed. An empty, flayed quality to their engagement. And Lan Wangji, who has never been accused of an excess of conversation, must wonder, now, when and where he learned his words.

How he can use them to stall. To glean. )

Namely?

[traumatology]

( his jaw tightens almost to a painful extreme and his hand twitches withe want of wrapping his hand around the man's neck. he could do it, squeeze and choke the life out of the other man.

the fact that the man continues to talk and talk and talk is distracting but he's not going to answer.

he shakes his head. )

Leave me alone.

( and then he let's the man go and starts walking away again. )