[EP] dated for January 10th
Jan. 10th, 2012 12:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
onlyapassengerBucky had been counting the days to January 6th since the first of December, as eager to get his old arm back as he was for the initial change of scenery, but the date came and went with little ceremony and no magical return to the status quo. While he'd hesitate to call himself surly as a result of this, he hasn't exactly been a bucket of sunshine, either.
His temper short and his patience shot, Bucky's tried his damnedest to keep his chin up as the days stretch on, but there's only so much to be done about a clockwork arm that's been in a state of constant repair since the New Year. He's been going without it, lately, not wanting the hassle while he goes about his business, but this afternoon was meant to be the exception. He'd worn the damn thing so he could go get food for the house only for it to become dead weight before he could get to any shop. Closer to the Compound than he is to home, he ducks inside in the hopes he could fix the damn thing and go about this day, but even this plan doesn't go without obstacle.
Seated in the corner of the Rec Room, his left arm detached and laying motionless on a table, he's nearly done with the temporary patch up job when--
"Dammit," Bucky mutters under his breath, the tool he's using slipping from his grasp when he turns it a hair too hard and it catches. While he doesn't care to be doing such technical work out in the open in the first place, with limited options, he's making do. Still, frustrated, he backs up his chair and kneels to the ground to retrieve the screwdriver.
Distantly, he's aware he's attracted some attention, but at the moment, he doesn't care too much about saying hello.
A public EP, open to anyone; played in a private journal just because it's predated.
His temper short and his patience shot, Bucky's tried his damnedest to keep his chin up as the days stretch on, but there's only so much to be done about a clockwork arm that's been in a state of constant repair since the New Year. He's been going without it, lately, not wanting the hassle while he goes about his business, but this afternoon was meant to be the exception. He'd worn the damn thing so he could go get food for the house only for it to become dead weight before he could get to any shop. Closer to the Compound than he is to home, he ducks inside in the hopes he could fix the damn thing and go about this day, but even this plan doesn't go without obstacle.
Seated in the corner of the Rec Room, his left arm detached and laying motionless on a table, he's nearly done with the temporary patch up job when--
"Dammit," Bucky mutters under his breath, the tool he's using slipping from his grasp when he turns it a hair too hard and it catches. While he doesn't care to be doing such technical work out in the open in the first place, with limited options, he's making do. Still, frustrated, he backs up his chair and kneels to the ground to retrieve the screwdriver.
Distantly, he's aware he's attracted some attention, but at the moment, he doesn't care too much about saying hello.
A public EP, open to anyone; played in a private journal just because it's predated.