33 Apocalypse, Basement, Saturday Morning
Jan. 19th, 2008 01:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
screwyoumarvelSteve woke up sprawled across a bed that was not his own. Which, considering he had gone to bed in his own bed last night, meant he rolled to his feet and came up ready for a fight.
...which did not come. Warily, he glanced about his surroundings, looking for clues. It was a large room, with the windows near the ceiling suggesting a basement. And it certainly wasn't a cell, it was too lived-in for that. The space was very tidy, with everything in its place (including a rack of weights that suggested the inhabitant of this place was in Steve's own weight class) except for an area cluttered with art supplies.
Wait. Art supplies?
Steve flipped open one of the sketchbooks and started looking through it. Teenager, teenager, landscape, battle scene, blonde woman, guy that looked a whole lot like Bucky would have during the war if he'd been a bit older, a bit taller, and a lot meaner. Also there seemed to be something wrong with his arm. But more importantly, Steve had been out of the art scene for some time now, ever since they'd shot him up with the Serum and made him something else entirely, but he still recognized his own damn hand. What was going on here?
After staring at the guy who looked like Bucky for a bit longer as if he might have the answers, he put the sketchpad down and headed for the door. Time to find some answers.
((Steve is Ultimate Steve, which means he's basically Steve only jerkier and with 'roid rage. At all times he'll be wearing basically the top half of the Captain America uniform (er, no cowl) with fatigue pants, since he doesn't seem to own normal clothes.))
...which did not come. Warily, he glanced about his surroundings, looking for clues. It was a large room, with the windows near the ceiling suggesting a basement. And it certainly wasn't a cell, it was too lived-in for that. The space was very tidy, with everything in its place (including a rack of weights that suggested the inhabitant of this place was in Steve's own weight class) except for an area cluttered with art supplies.
Wait. Art supplies?
Steve flipped open one of the sketchbooks and started looking through it. Teenager, teenager, landscape, battle scene, blonde woman, guy that looked a whole lot like Bucky would have during the war if he'd been a bit older, a bit taller, and a lot meaner. Also there seemed to be something wrong with his arm. But more importantly, Steve had been out of the art scene for some time now, ever since they'd shot him up with the Serum and made him something else entirely, but he still recognized his own damn hand. What was going on here?
After staring at the guy who looked like Bucky for a bit longer as if he might have the answers, he put the sketchpad down and headed for the door. Time to find some answers.
((Steve is Ultimate Steve, which means he's basically Steve only jerkier and with 'roid rage. At all times he'll be wearing basically the top half of the Captain America uniform (er, no cowl) with fatigue pants, since he doesn't seem to own normal clothes.))
