rightfootforward | File #002 audio;

[Caught up in the semi-urgency of his search, it’s hard to remember a time when swinging from one bare, sometimes creaking branch to the next felt clumsy and judging distances between himself and the next target had been a challenge. He tries to keep stock of his surroundings while on the move, but unfortunately, her new feather dress will make her that much more difficult to spot against the snow-blanketed backdrop. Sporting his shades and his custom-tailored khaki green jacket which contrasts his red hair, he is not nearly as camouflaged.]

Agent Carter?

[He calls out along the way, but the snow has a way of dampening the sound.]

[The going is slow, rough, cold and painful, but she's an agent and British and to hell with complaining even if snow is the devil's work on earth. She trudges forward, leaning heavily upon her makeshift crutch and then--

Agent Carter?

The sound of her name gets her to swing her head up and she hears the creaking of branches and the soft thud of snow up ahead, just out of range, just barely there.

She coughs and stops moving, calling back.]

Captain Spencer!

Hang on!

[It’s an almost unexpected response when many of his shouts have gone unanswered - - and he feels a sudden pang of relief as he swerves and makes for her, releasing a branch after a prodigious swing and landing solidly on his feet with a grunt. He straightens carefully, sweeping his gaze across the landscape. And that’s when he spots her with her makeshift crutch. Breath misting in the air, he closes the distance in a few hurried strides.]

Edited (Crap, I knew something was off. Dag nabbit!) 2013-01-17 05:56 (UTC)

[Good Lord, she didn't think she would ever see someone do something like that. Even after seeing Hydra weapons, Stark's inventions and Erskine's formula, the thought of people being able to use machines as a part of their body was still a long way off.

But fascination with his machinery aside, she is more concerned with making sure he doesn't worry and she straightens, taking part of her weight off the crutch.]

Captain. Thank you for being so prompt.

[His tinted shades hide the flicker of concern in his eyes as he looks her over, but the pursing of his lips says enough. She’s a sorry sight and in this weather – but he thinks it best to keep that observation to himself. Every second counts against them as it is and he wouldn’t be surprised if she were suffering frostbite. Her gratitude’s quietly acknowledged.]

You'll want to hold that thought until you're indoors.

[Turning aside, he then sinks to one knee, draping a hand over his thigh. Welcome to Spencer airlines, where hitching a piggyback ride is perfectly free.]

Alright, get on and hold on tight.

[Unfortunately the cable jutting out from between his shoulderblades won't be disappearing, though it can at least be moved aside and pressed flat to an extent against his back without causing much discomfort so it doesn't thrust into her face.]

Let me know when you're ready.

((ooc: Lawl, I was going to say, 'sans tacky loincloth' and then add, in the worst pun ever, 'guess he's going commando'. /facepalm))

Edited (so much fretting and editing /fistshake) 2013-01-17 06:50 (UTC)

[...oh Lord, does he mean for her to ride him back? As if her situation couldn't get any more awkward or ridiculous... But then again, she is out of luck and nearly out of time with the cold and refusing help, even ridiculous help, would be stupid. She pauses for a moment and then, keeping her head high, manages to limp her way over and climb on, leaving the stick behind. She situates the New Feather dress in order to be decent and then nods]

Whenever you are.

[He waits to feel her cold arms looping around him, and it’s not until he pushes onto his feet and straightens that he can fully appreciate the extra weight he’s now bearing and understand he’s ~~fucked~~ in for a challenge. With an arm to spare, he reaches back to try and offer support while training his prosthesis on the nearest sturdier-looking branch in their midst. His metal hand is powerfully spring-launched off on the end of a cable, securely latching on like a grappling hook.]

Hope you don’t get motion sick --

[Such is his attempt at injecting some levity into the situation before he swiftly reels them towards the branch and up off the ground, their bodies swaying lightly while dangling in the air. The first order of business is to build some momentum – which is not at all unlike being alone on a swing set in a playground, relying on the positioning of one’s body to catch some major air. Back and forth they go with greater speed and power, until near the end of one swinging arc, he lets go, his stomach dropping out as lets he himself fall before extending his hand once more and snatching hold of the next branch. They're on the move; so far, so good.]

[ooc; forgot to say: AWFUL JOKE IS AWFUL XD;]

Hard--

[She doesn't get a chance to finish her sentence before the jerk from the launch cuts her off. After that, it's far more important to hold on and not fall off than to talk as they gather speed and go flying through the air.

It's like flight and parachute training. The sensation of her stomach going into barrel rolls as she flings herself out of a plane, the feel of the machine itself rolling to one side as it avoids enemy fire, or the rush of jumping to reach a helicopter buzzing by for extraction. Her arms tighten just slightly and her mouth sets in a grim line, but otherwise she's fine and she lends her own weight to the swing as she gets used to the rhythm of it.]

[The support is quietly appreciated, Peggy.

It’s easy to want to mentally shift into auto-pilot and keep his gaze fixed forward while their surroundings sweep past them. But swinging demands that he must always keep his wits about himself, constantly trying to gauge the closest target within sixty five feet that might support their combined weight in a short span of time. A half-minute of brisk swinging goes smoothly and uneventfully, though he’s beginning to feel the straining pull of muscles where the metal molded to form his shoulder port and grafted over part of his left side meets flesh. He sets his jaw. Trying to remember the way he came is no difficult task, at least – the river is again his guide and he remembers passing the dome along the way. She’d be indoors and warm soon enough, looked over by capable people...

A punctuating, bone-like snap of a branch jars him to attention and they’re suddenly dropping, and faster than he’d have expected.]

Shit—I got you!

[Pulse pounding in his throat, he extends his arm to grab for something, narrowly missing it. It’s all he can do now to let himself land forward as not to crush her, instinctively attempting to thrust his bionic arm out to help absorb the shock of the fall. Still, making impact sends a hard, vicious jolt through reinforced bones and jostles his sunglasses off his face. He pauses a moment to collect himself despite his dizzy spell, adrenaline thrumming and throbbing through him as he breathes and breathes.]

...Sorry.

[He offers after a moment, under his breath. Of everything, it would seem his pride suffered the worst blow. Half-turning his head, he asks:]

You okay?

[It was only fitting that he ask before taking to the skies soon enough.]

[The icy wind whipping by made it harder to gauge their surroundings, especially since she wasn't used to flying like this. It's too late to say anything before she sees the branch they've latched onto is breaking, and then they're falling. The ground rushes up to meet them and Peggy braces for impact, ready to drop and roll if the situation calls for it. She even goes as far as to lean forward, ready to roll away from Spencer in case he went down.

The impact is jarring - the vibrations from the landing jolting through her and reminding her that her injuries are worse than she wanted to admit. It feels like being hit by a car and through the gaze, she realizes that stitches have opened and she's bleeding. Quickly, she wraps an arm around her right side, trying to hide it.]

Yes. [Her voice is strained and she knows she's paler than she wants to appear.] I'm fine. You?

[Given that he can’t comfortably turn his head at present to catch much more than a bit of motion in his peripheral vision, he only has her voice to gauge how she’s doing. Her answer isn't the most convincing, but he doesn’t call her out on it – rather, he’ll take it as motivation to get his ass into gear that much sooner. He climbs to his knees.

It’s while reaching to pluck his sunglasses off the ground and slide them back on that he falters suddenly, noting the long, thin stick thrusting out of his sweater like an arrow, the fabric around it stained with a darkening blot of blood. His mind still reeling and with his heart thundering in his ears, it takes him a moment of watching the stick remain stiffly in place with the shallow rise and fall of his chest to appreciate just how much of a freak accident this is. Well, shit. Just his luck.

He surfaces sharply from his thoughts as he remembers she’d asked him something.]

…Hanging in there. [He manages a little breathlessly, slipping on his shades with practiced nonchalance.

There’s no way he’s yanking it out even if it doesn’t seem very big. With it acting as a plug, it would be less of a problem until he could have it looked at. Ah, hell, the thought of having it extracted bothers him infinitely less than the trouble of having to explain how it even came to pass. There is nothing dignified about face-planting and impaling yourself on forest debris hidden under snow while attempting to do a good deed. Nice work, Captain, he muses grimly.

Shaking off his daze, he wills himself to his feet to a grunt.]

Clinic's up ahead.

[It didn’t hurt; not yet, at least. Endorphins and adrenaline worked wonders. But tomorrow, especially... oh, that is something he's not looking forward towards. But he'd worry about it later.]

But... we might have a problem. [As much as he was loath to admit it.]

Edited (Me and my editing tendencies. :I) 2013-01-25 17:09 (UTC)

[Might have a--

She turns her head and immediately spots the stick shot straight into his chest. The blood around the wound and his lack of breath says enough. For now he's got adrenaline working for him, but as soon as that wears off, shock will set in. She frowns and puts a hand lightly on his shoulder.]

If it isn't far, I'd rather walk.

[Pride be damned, his wound is worse than hers.]

Captain, if you would.

[Spencer glances up slightly at the light pressure of her hand against his shoulder.]

It’ll be a few minutes on foot. [He hadn’t anything to stabilize the stick with and she hadn’t any shoes. Yet, all things considered, the optimal course of action seemed obvious enough to him. There's a pause as he looks momentarily to her feet.]

…But I need you off the ground, Carter.

[He wouldn’t be the man he was if he hadn’t his bouts of recklessness, however well-intentioned. But he just couldn’t rest in good conscience knowing that in just a few minutes' time, she could be suffering from frostbite bad enough to warrant the amputation of her toes; or worse. Not to mention he hadn’t appraised her wounds to any great length. How long had she even been out here?

As he saw it, either way he’d suffer shock – until then, the least he could do would be to be useful for as long as he could until they found aid. She could call him an idiot all she liked, if she were the sort -- but it'd have to wait.]

I’ll make it. Just get on and I’ll take it from here for as long as I can. [Given that he'd seen her traveling earlier using a stick as a makeshift crutch, he figures he wouldn't be moving any slower, at least.] No swinging - just walking.

Captain, the longer we stand here talking, the closer you are to shock.

Put me down.

[Cold or no, she can survive it and she's not going to let him potentially permanently damage his arm just for her. She uses her most authoritative voice to order him and points to the ground.]

[He makes a point of adjusting the positioning of his arms as to offer greater support, his gaze hard with resolve and fixed on the horizon. She wasn’t his ranking officer nor was he hers, but her steely, authoritative tone does not go unnoticed. Under different circumstances, respecting her request would have been simple enough.]

I’m not going to debate this with you, agent; you and I both know we don’t have the time.

[The answer is in as level a tone as he can muster before he begins plodding through the snow, dead branches cracking underfoot. A beat passes before he thinks to add, lowly and wryly:]

You can kick my ass for it later.

[Ugh, men could be so stubborn. But she herself just said they couldn't argue any longer and now that they were moving, struggling against it would be counter-productive. She hunkers down, keeping an eye on his chest wound and testing her side with her fingers as they walk.]

Know that I'll be taking you up on that.

...Thought you might. [He cracks a short-lived smile despite himself, forging on.]

File #002 audio;

In which Spencer is secretly George of the Jungle

taaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarzaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan

I just thought of a bad joke. :I

:I ohno what is it

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Yeah, it's kind of horrendous.

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On the next episode of Dragon Ball Z...