[for Jason]

By necessity, Bucky isn't a heavy sleeper. There's no telling when he could be called away for some crisis (particularly with the rate that they seem to crop up around him), and being constantly aware of his immediate surroundings has served him well in both the past and present. It's a been a rare night these past couple of weeks that hasn't seen him in bed with Natasha, but the small hours of this particular morning find him alone in his room as he wakes with a start, startled from a nightmare whose details escape him the moment consciousness hits.

There are, immediately, more pressing matters.

His arm is caught in the sheets, which wouldn't be strange in and of itself were the arm a familiar one... But it's not. Heavy and hissing with steam, it takes some effort for Bucky to pry himself out of the bed, clockwork gears jammed from the bedding's interference. Last year, his pajamas had changed with the cold weather, but even in the dim light, it's clear to see that the Island's newest trick is far more elaborate than its last.

"What the--" he starts, too disoriented to work up any proper sense of rage. Feeling unbalanced once he finally manages to get to his feet, he nevertheless rushes out of the new room. "Jason!"

[december] winter wonderland

There was never going to be a debate.

A change in environment this drastic practically begged for immediate exploration; while they'd each been provided with a(n all too) convenient map by their increasingly creative wardens, Bucky didn't want to trust the information. He knows London, has spent enough time there in his youth to have a decent grasp of the land, but if they're meant to believe this is still the Island -- and they are, given that the map's got the Compound marked down as being off of York Road -- a closer look is certainly called for.

Wrangling his new, bulkier arm into a coat had proven a challenge -- he might take to just cutting off the sleeve next time -- but undoubtedly the bigger one was accepting that his favorite gun had been transformed into an unreliable antique. His combat knife, at least, escaped more or less unscathed; it's a small favor, but at this point, he's not about to look any gift horse in the mouth.

And hell, at least Virginia seems happy enough. Her breed's made for this kind of change in weather, and she seems eager to get going, though Bucky's already decided he'll walk her rather than ride.

Huffing out a sigh that turns into a wispy cloud before his eyes, Bucky turns to look over the small group assembled for the occasion, the lot of them dressed in fashions older than at least a couple of them combined.

"Well," he says wryly. "This brings me back."