(no subject)

[the_variant]

While Sylvie has given up trying to find a source of power for the TemPad, she hasn't given up trying to get out of this place. Everyone tells her it's impossible, but she has to believe they just aren't smart enough to manage it, that they've become complacent, comfortable, and don't bother trying. She isn't going to stop, though. She can't stop. The rest of these people don't understand just how important it is that she get back to the TVA.

Her current plan, besides anything she might be able to manage with Walter's help, is to find a thin spot in Darrow. They have to exist. If she can find one, she'll be able to leave, slip between worlds, find herself a proper source of power for the TemPad she has tucked in her jacket, and make the bloody thing work again so she can have some hope of undoing what she's done in the first place.

Although, no multiversal war has come to Darrow just yet, which she has to assume is a good thing.

Still, she's trying. Dressed in a pair of stretchy black jeans, black boots, and a deep green shirt beneath her black jacket, Sylvie has traced a source of power to downtown Darrow and realized a little too late that she's sensing some other powered person in this place rather than something that can actually help her get out of here.

Too late because she's inside a dance club. Too late because she's already in the crowd, the music pumping, bass pounding, drunken idiots stumbling around, feeling each other up in dark corners and on the dance floor. Some big guy is nearly humping some poor girl who looks like she's barely able to stand and Sylvie steps hard on his foot and puts herself between them, then shuffles the girl back off toward her friends. This isn't why she's here. She isn't some do-gooder hero like Loki tries to believe himself to be. She needs to get out.

The big guy looks confused, but simply turns to find someone else to dance with. Which is when he sidles up next to Sylvie. He's smaller than the other man, his hair is dark, pushed back from his face, which is pale, with sharp angles, hollowed cheekbones, and for just a second Sylvie's heart skips in her chest.

But then the features resolve. Become someone else. Attractive enough, but not the man she was hoping for in that moment. Her gaze flicks over him, unimpressed, and then she pushes past.

"Hey, wait," he says, grabbing her wrist. "That was really cool of you, helping that girl."

"Let go of me," Sylvie says, wrenching her wrist from his grasp. He backs off a few steps, holding his hands up, then disappears into the crowd. And that's when someone grabs her from behind. Big hands on her hips, a warm body pressed against her back. It's all under the guise of dancing, but Sylvie's not an idiot, and she can feel every bit of the intention in the move. Without thinking, she throws an elbow back and it slams hard into a man's nose. Then she turns and a green blast of energy flies from her hand to his chest, plowing him back through the crowd on the dance floor.

A few people protest, but even then, almost no one has even noticed what's happened.

Comments

[number1_himbo]

Luther misses whatever happens to cause the green light and stumbling nearby, but it's just a little too bright, arcs out in a way that suggests something besides a glowstick. The disruption seems small enough, and honestly, he feels comfortable enough in this setting, just one bigger body in a small sea of dancers. He can drink just enough to get a buzz, and then lose himself in the pounding bass.

So he's in good spirits as he heads closer to the source of the light, and moving with the crowd, he maybe sort of shimmies over, trying to cover a little ground and not lose the beat.

Comfortably aware of his body for once, Luther manages to move delicately, if maybe not in the most attractive way. It takes him a moment to notice her, an unfortunate moment in which he's still dancing. He can't just leave, though. What if she's not okay? "Hey," he calls, dancing a little closer, but keeping his distance. "You okay?"

[the_variant]

Of course he's here. And he's dancing, no less, which causes Sylvie's eyebrow to arch, taking him in curiously. He's a big man, exceptionally big, and he's not exactly what she'd consider the best dancer in this place, but Sylvie isn't here to dance and so such a thing doesn't matter to her.

In general, none of this should matter. It wouldn't, except that she's still stuck here, has been for weeks, and Sylvie hasn't been anywhere for more than a few weeks since she was a child.

"I'm fine," she answers, then lets her lips curl slightly as she watches his dance moves. "Are you?"

[number1_himbo]

"Uh, yeah," Luther says, and then a couple seconds later, he gets the full effect of her expression and tone with the words, and sort of-- well, stops. Or he tries to stop, scrubbing the back of his head casually with one massive hand. This would work if it weren't for how he somehow clogs up the flow of traffic, causing a small pile-up of fellow clubgoers.

Shit.

It takes a couple of seconds to extricate himself, including picking one young man up gently under the armpits and setting him aside. He's lost his groove now, so he might as well let her yell at him some more. "I have to say, you don't seem like someone who's into--" His hand waves. "All of this."

[the_variant]

While he causes a bit of a scene, Sylvie only watches. When he picks someone up and sets them aside, she only watches. She could help, but there's something inherently hilarious about watching a large man trying to be gentle and she's in the need of hilarious more often than she'd like these days.

"I'm not," she answers. "I thought there might be a thin place here. Somewhere it'd be easier to slip between worlds."

Then her smile grows more amused. "I wouldn't have thought you would be interested in this either."

[number1_himbo]

"A thin place," he repeats, but it's more thoughtful than anything, almost too quiet under the music. The concept sounds interesting, even if he's as sure as ever that no one gets out until this places decides it's time. And admittedly, were he without his siblings, he'd be searching a hell of a lot harder for a way out.

There's only five of them now.

How many more would he have to lose, he wonders, the thought so sudden and bleak his head spins, before he's also rabidly hunting down answers. Maybe it's this that makes him more forthcoming than usual, or maybe it's just something about her.

"I wasn't, but it turns out... it's a good place to get a little lost. Out of mind. Out of body." Luther shifts uncomfortably, feeling his size all over again. The sea of dancing people swallows even him up, if he lets it, and on the right nights, he usually doesn't have to dance alone.

[the_variant]

He's uncomfortable with his size, Sylvie notes, something she might have noticed upon their first meeting if she hadn't been otherwise distracted. And his size is, to be honest, impressive, but he wears it almost as if someone who isn't used to it. Like someone wearing high heels for the first time.

She smiles a little, trying to imagine him wearing high heels.

"And plenty of people who look at you and see someone physically able to toss them around, if that's what they're into," she teases with a smirk, reaching out to tap his chest with just one finger. Not one day of her life in Darrow has been good, but at least, right now, she can be entertained.

[number1_himbo]

Luther swallows hard-- a gulp, he'll be able to admit in less embarrassed times. He's wise enough to admit Sylvie scares him a little, and sometimes more than others. Someone could probably make something of the way that he handles that, emotionally, the way it draws him. He couldn't really argue with that.

So there's just a little whiplash, between that state of mind and the way she taps his chest.

His cheeks get hot, and he's not sure, in that moment, if she's making fun of him. It doesn't seem like the kind of thing someone so hellbent on getting out of here would do, but he can't be sure.

"I guess that's true," he says, low and quiet (at least comparatively so). "For better or worse."

[the_variant]

She could reach out so easily. Touch his face, enchant him, get inside his head and see where all this comes from. It's tempting because Sylvie likes to have information. Knowing things is what has kept her alive for this long, it's what kept her free of the TVA, and having something on a person usually means they'll be happy to owe her a favour. So long as she doesn't tell.

But she's afraid doing so right now might reveal too much of her hand. Darrow's inhabitants don't know who she is or what she can do and she would prefer to keep it that way for as long as possible.

"So how'd you get so big?" she asks, head tilted as she flicks her finger up from his chest to tuck under his chin, lifting his head slightly. "Did you eat your Wheaties?"

[number1_himbo]

Yeah, he's in trouble here.

Luther's aware that he's allowed to make a lot of different choices here. He could lie, or brush it off, or he could just... shimmy back into the crowd. But something about the power in that single, slender finger keeps him from choosing anything but the truth.

"I almost died on a mission. Saved by an experimental serum, but..." He shrugs, glancing away, jaw tightening. "It changed me." No extra embellishment-- she can see what it's made him into, why he would want to forget the extra bulk and the stares. "I never really liked Wheaties," he adds, with an almost imperceptible shrug, as if this is an important detail.

[the_variant]

A mission. That's a specific choice of words, not the sort used by someone who almost died doing something utterly normal and it catches Sylvie's notice, though she leaves it for now. Instead she just gives his chin a gentle tap with the pad of her finger and then drops her hand.

"How long ago?" she asks instead.

How long has he been this uncomfortable in his own skin? How long since he's last felt like himself? It's a sensation Sylvie understands in a certain sense, because while she's perfectly comfortable in her own body -- and the body of anyone else she needs to inhabit -- she's never felt like she belongs anywhere. Not since her home was destroyed.

[number1_himbo]

Most of the tension rushes back out of him at that light touch, the music seeming louder again, the bass in his bones. Up until this very particular exchange, he'd have put money that she was as likely to throttle him as anything else.

"Depends on if we're counting the couple of years I spent in an alternate timeline," he answers, again sticking to honesty. "Six years if you don't, eight if you do. I go with eight, and mostly try not to think about how that isn't going to add up right if we ever ended up back in the right place and time."

Luther lets out a slow breath, the music gone out of him even if he's relaxed again. "I'm going outside, if you-- if you wanna--"

[the_variant]

Does she want to?

There's nothing in here for Sylvie, nothing interesting, nothing of note. The only source of energy is the other big guy by the bar, the one even bigger than Luther, but Sylvie is rather certain he's some sort of god and she has no interest in tangling with another one like that. So she nods.

"You were allowed to spend two years in an alternate timeline without anyone coming for you?" she asks. "You must have altered so much of history."

[number1_himbo]

Luther waits until they're outside to answer her, finding himself not exactly surprised that she'd ask such a relevant follow-up question. He thinks maybe he's more surprised to be the one getting the question (despite the fact that he's the only one here to ask). With blue lights catching his features where they leak out from the club, he gives Sylvie a sheepish grin.

"My brother was the one who sent me there. By accident, and my other siblings. We got scattered over a period of a few years, and Five was the last one to show up. He was definitely trying to keep us from wrecking the timeline, but more in the sense of preventing the Apocalypse than just changing history." An awkward shrug. "I guess we wreak havoc on pretty much all of our timelines."

[semi_stable]

This was a terrible idea.

A woman at the coffee shop that Bucky frequents had asked him out the other day, and against his better judgement, he'd said yes. He thought that maybe it would distract him, that maybe he could blow off a little steam, but he isn't that guy anymore. He hasn't blown off steam since the 40's, since he had both of his arms and a lack of severe trauma that zapped all of his social skills.

When she asked him to go dancing, he was hesitant. He used to love going dancing, but that was back in his own time, before dance clubs with heavy bass and lasers and godawful synth music. He's having an awful time, and the woman doesn't seem all that surprised when Bucky bails on her as soon as she finds some friends. It was stupid, thinking he could go on a date like a normal guy.

On his way towards the exit, he hears a bit of commotion and looks over to see a guy grabbing Sylvie around the waist in a way that looks very much against her will. Bucky's first instinct is to rush over and help, but then he remembers who he's dealing with and pauses a few feet away instead, crossing his arms as he watches.

Just as he suspected, Sylvie throws him off. The flash of green light that sends the guy sprawling back is more of a surprise, but the whole thing is amusing enough that he can't help but to press his tongue against the inside of the corner of his mouth as he smiles.

"I guess I shouldn't ask if I can cut in," he quips as he steps up next to her, watching as the guy starts to pull himself to his feet. For a moment, he stumbles forward as if he's looking for another round, but he looks at Sylvie and then over to Bucky, who lifts his metal hand to give him a wave, and then turns away with a grumble.

[the_variant]

"Not if you want to keep your hand," Sylvie answers, although there's amusement in her voice, in her eyes. Bucky is, at the very least, not quite as infuriating as most of the people she's met here. He had known more about her world than the rest and he had tried to help, too, which is something Sylvie can appreciate it, even if she doesn't trust it.

People don't just help one another for no reason. Not even the do-gooders Loki had found himself in league with.

"Now this doesn't strike me as your kind of scene," she comments as she pushes hair back from her face. "It's loud." And not even in the fun way, where things are exploding or she's caused a bit of chaos.

[semi_stable]

"Well, I've only got the one, so--" Bucky lifts his non-prosthetic hand from where he had his arms crossed, looking at it for a moment as if pondering, and then clicks his tongue and shakes his head before crossing his arms again. "I better take a raincheck on that."

When she turns to look at him, Bucky can't help but to raise a brow, amused by the entire situation.

"You took the words right out of my mouth," he tells her, because it certainly doesn't seem like her type of joint, either. "Bad date. I was just making my escape. What's your excuse?"

[the_variant]

"I thought there was a source of power here," Sylvie answers, though the slight curl of her lip indicates she didn't find anything. "But I think it was only... ugh, that guy."

There's an enormous ginger at the bar, downing some sort of whiskey drink. He's wearing a denim jacket over a white t-shirt and looks a little rough around the edges, but there's something about him. Something that makes the hair on the back of Sylvie's neck stand on end.

He's a god, sure as anything, but she doesn't want to stick around and find out what kind.

[semi_stable]

Bucky follows her gaze to a large man at the bar, and raises a brow at the sight of him. Usually, he doesn't worry about fighting someone, given his enhanced abilities and mechanical arm, but there's something about that guy that tells him that maybe it wouldn't be such an uneven match.

"Let's get out of here," he calls out to her over the music, looking at her and jerking his chin toward the exit as he turns to head toward it, working his way gracefully through the crowd. Whether she'll follow or not, Bucky isn't sure, but he's leaving and he wouldn't terribly mind the company. It's not as if him and Sylvie are friends or anything, but she certainly isn't normal. These days, he seems to find himself drawn to people who aren't.

He doesn't have to pretend quite as much around them.

[the_variant]

For a moment Sylvie considers staying just to be contrary, a tendency she developed long ago, mostly so that she could annoy Thor whenever he was being a complete imbecile, which was often, but in the end she follows him through the crowd.

The air outside is blessedly cool in comparison to the club and Sylvie inhales deeply, then looks over at Bucky.

"Did you just abandon your date?" she asks, an eyebrow raised. She almost sounds impressed.

[semi_stable]

Honestly, he's a little surprised that she comes with him, but he knows that if he says that, it'll be a whole thing, so he just smirks slightly as he watches her head tip back.

"I told her I was leaving," he says as he reaches out to tug off his leather gloves, first his right hand and then the prosthetic, and tucks them into the pocket of his dark denim jacket, the same one he showed up with.

"I used to like going dancing," he admits, huffing out a breath before gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb and shaking his head a bit. "I don't know what the hell that is, but it isn't dancing."

[the_variant]

"An excuse for fully clothed and terribly public dry humping," she answers, glancing back over her shoulder. "How unfulfilling."

She had meant what she'd said to Loki, there had been people for her here and there over the years. Most of the time, Sylvie only had sex when she had an excess of energy that needed to be released somehow and having an orgasm had seemed like the less destructive option. She had often treated physical intimacy as a transaction, something to serve its purpose before she moved on with her plan.

With Loki, maybe she'd have thought different. Now she doesn't know.

"What sort of dancing would you do, then?" she asks, looking at Bucky again.

[semi_stable]

Bucky certainly never considered himself a prude, but he wonders if maybe he is by today’s standards. Or maybe not, because he doesn’t care what any consenting adults do with each other. It’s just that he can’t imagine letting loose like that in public. He can’t really imagine letting loose at all anymore.

“Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t danced in about eighty years now,” Bucky tells her, putting a bit of emphasis on the word to hint that it isn’t the only thing he hasn’t done. He certainly wasn’t going on dates as the Winter Soldier, and afterward he just always felt so awkward, like he has no idea how any of it works now. Or if he even deserves to feel pleasure and intimacy like that at all, after all he’s done.

“But if we’re talking strictly dancing,” Bucky tells her, smirking a little as he does. “I was all about swing dancing. Or maybe a little Rumba, if I was feeling frisky.”

[the_variant]

"What a shame," Sylvie says, her gaze flicking down the length of Bucky before she looks ahead again. "Although it isn't as if I haven't gone eighty years before."

Maybe longer, now that she's thinking about it, but time means something different for those like her. She looks to be in her thirties by Midgard years, but Sylvie has been alive for closer to fifteen hundred. She's been on the run for most of that, longer than a millennium, and there wasn't always time for a quickie in there.

"Rumba," she echoes, looking amused. "I suppose dancing -- real dancing, that is -- was never high on my list of skills to develop."

[semi_stable]

“It is, isn’t it?” Bucky asks with a barely there chuckle, as if he’s just now realizing this for himself. He was so awash in guilt and shame for so long that his libido seemed to remain dormant, and by the time that it started to wake up, he was in this whole new world and had no idea how to navigate such things.

Sylvie’s comment makes Bucky realize that as old as he is, she’s older. Whatever terrible things he’s done, she’s done worse. He’s killed so many people, and she’s probably killed more. For some twisted reason, he finds this comforting. It’s not as if he’s glad that she’s experienced such awful things, but it makes him feel less alone, and like he doesn’t have to pretend.

“Well, there’s no time like the present,” Bucky says suddenly, twisting to face her and holding out his hand. The music from the club is spilling out onto the street, making his chest rattle from the bass, and while it’s not exactly the right music for a Foxtrot, he can make it work. “Come on, I won’t bite.”

[the_variant]

"I'm not worried about myself," she answers, giving Bucky's offered hand a skeptical look, her eyebrow raised. It reminds her, painfully, of the night on the train, when she'd fallen asleep in that booth and woken up to Loki singing and dancing with the people at the bar.

She's furious with herself for still thinking of him so often, for wanting him to be here. For wanting it to be his stupid hand being offered to her now and that anger pushes all other thought aside as she reaches out to take Bucky's hand.

Better him than dwelling on some other variant who will never find his way here to her.

"So you're going to teach me how to dance?" she asks. "A fifteen hundred year old Asgardian god? You are rather confident, aren't you?"