Patient 001 - Michael (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
touchofdeath) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
backyardbbq2017-05-17 10:28 pm
touchofdeath) wrote in backyardbbq2017-05-17 10:28 pm
PSL: shit let's be mountain men
[See, when Michael decided to move to a secluded mountainside home forever ago, he did that because it was, well, secluded. He had a hard time getting along with people, partially because of the whole 'stealing lifeforce with a single touch' thing, but also because he had a rather high opinion of himself and thought he was always right. Even if he did end up being right most of the time, people tended not to like his cockiness.
Ah well. He'd accidentally taken enough years of life to outlive anyone he pissed off, so he wasn't too concerned with that. If people got offended, they got offended. He would just limit his interactions with people to the once a season, 'stop by for supplies and then go home' kind of deal. It had worked for over three hundred years by that point, and he didn't plan on changing his routine.
Or well, he wouldn't have, if the war hadn't happened.
Michael didn't really keep track of politics or country boundaries. He spoke enough languages to get by, and he never had any trouble buying supplies, and that was enough for him. His little patch of land in an evergreen forest in the middle of nowhere was remote enough that nobody ever came across it. Even now, when that one country- Germany, he thought, that sounded like the right name- started taking over other countries, the military never really came marching through his garden. This land had no strategic value, which was exactly why Michael had picked it to make his home on.
But with the invention of airplanes, suddenly his peaceful mountainside life was interrupted by loud buzzing overhead. Whereas there was no foot path through the mountains, it was very easy to just fly over them, and fly over them people did. The noise was so annoying that Michael just silently willed the war to end itself, just as every other war had done in the past. Humans fought over stupid shit all the time, but eventually the fighting always stopped. This time would be no different.
Then one afternoon, the buzzing turned louder, and then it became a horrible crunching noise. Michael bundled up quickly, making sure to cover up against the harsh winter winds, and went to investigate.
Yep, that was a plane crash. Whoever had been flying it had flown too close to the trees and just sank into them, tearing a harsh, straight line through the forest. The plane itself was mostly intact, but it was on fire, and cargo was strewn all about. And judging by the lack of screaming, everyone inside had died. Maybe. But Michael decided to investigate further, just in case some lucky soul had survived.]
HEY! If there's anyone still alive in that thing, give me a sign!
[Because like hell is he going into a burning plane if there's no survivors in there.]
Ah well. He'd accidentally taken enough years of life to outlive anyone he pissed off, so he wasn't too concerned with that. If people got offended, they got offended. He would just limit his interactions with people to the once a season, 'stop by for supplies and then go home' kind of deal. It had worked for over three hundred years by that point, and he didn't plan on changing his routine.
Or well, he wouldn't have, if the war hadn't happened.
Michael didn't really keep track of politics or country boundaries. He spoke enough languages to get by, and he never had any trouble buying supplies, and that was enough for him. His little patch of land in an evergreen forest in the middle of nowhere was remote enough that nobody ever came across it. Even now, when that one country- Germany, he thought, that sounded like the right name- started taking over other countries, the military never really came marching through his garden. This land had no strategic value, which was exactly why Michael had picked it to make his home on.
But with the invention of airplanes, suddenly his peaceful mountainside life was interrupted by loud buzzing overhead. Whereas there was no foot path through the mountains, it was very easy to just fly over them, and fly over them people did. The noise was so annoying that Michael just silently willed the war to end itself, just as every other war had done in the past. Humans fought over stupid shit all the time, but eventually the fighting always stopped. This time would be no different.
Then one afternoon, the buzzing turned louder, and then it became a horrible crunching noise. Michael bundled up quickly, making sure to cover up against the harsh winter winds, and went to investigate.
Yep, that was a plane crash. Whoever had been flying it had flown too close to the trees and just sank into them, tearing a harsh, straight line through the forest. The plane itself was mostly intact, but it was on fire, and cargo was strewn all about. And judging by the lack of screaming, everyone inside had died. Maybe. But Michael decided to investigate further, just in case some lucky soul had survived.]
HEY! If there's anyone still alive in that thing, give me a sign!
[Because like hell is he going into a burning plane if there's no survivors in there.]
no subject
There could be an entire army waiting and wailing for him outside what's left of the MiG, but he can't hear anything over the pounding in his head and the crackle of the flames devouring the engine in front of him. Lucky for him a branch broke through the windshield at just the right angle that it popped open the cockpit hatch. The bad news, though, he got a face full of trees whipping him in the face. He can hardly see though the swelling that's taken over his face, but he knows he's only got moments before the fuel ignites and Bucky Barnes becomes nothing more than a story. A good story, but a story nonetheless.
So he fumbles for his seat belt with numb, bloody hands until the familiar click unfastens him from the pilot's seat. The rest is bull-headed will as he pulls himself over the lip of what was once the hatch and rolls to safety. Or his death. Bucky's got no clue how high up he is. It could be a five foot drop or thirty! But it's better than burning alive. The ground finds him fairly quickly which is good for his lifespan, but still disaster on his bleeding body. He can't help but cry out when something snaps in his leg, rendering what other escape plans he had now useless. He'll die here, then, of exposure or blood loss. Probably blood loss. At least now no one can profit from his method of death. ]
no subject
The bad news is that his rescuer seems kinda freaked out by all of this.
But who could blame him? He had never seen a plane up-close before, and now he was trying to rescue some guy who just crawled out of one as a fire raged around them. A guy who was alive, but seemed to be injured.]
Shit! Hey, hold on there, I've got you!
[It probably would have been smarter to just pick Bucky up and carry him, but that ran the risk of Bucky accidentally touching his exposed face. If that happened, the man would be dead before Michael got him to safety. At least with his coat and long gloves on, Bucky couldn't accidentally touch his skin there. So instead he grabbed for Bucky's arms, to try and drag him away from the burning wreckage before it exploded. Because that would explode, right? Modern things always exploded.]