Bucky Barnes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
imfollowinghim) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lastvoyages2015-07-20 10:38 pm
imfollowinghim) wrote in lastvoyages2015-07-20 10:38 pm
Entry tags:
thirty two ✪ voice & spam
[Public, post attack]
[This broadcast comes not long after everything's finally died down. Jim Barnes, one of the senior big game wardens, is standing over the corpse of a Utahraptor. It's not a pretty sight - the raptor's head's been blown off, and there's blood all over Jim's khaki jacket - but Jim's expression is set in that same flat, unapologetic scowl as usual.]
Anyone sees any more wounded or trapped raptors, don't keep quiet about it. We need them gone.
[Filtered to Park Staff]
I need teams out here to help get these things out of here before the souvenir hunters come looking for something to bring back home.
[Open Spam, throughout breach]
[There comes a time after you've watched your squad get ripped apart by raptors where you start wondering if you're crazy. If something in you had just snapped so permanently on that shitty tropical island infested with those monsters that you're never going to be anything close to human or normal ever again.
That thought definitely occurs to ex-marine, current big game warden Jim Barnes once the tourists start filtering in, and he really fully realizes how fucking stupid this all is. He'd come here because there's something about it that he can't just walk away from - part of him likes hunting and observing these animals, like they've got him in some weird hypnotic trance - but these people are idiots. Who the fuck wants to come here after what happened with InGen?
So Jim keeps to himself, as usual. He smokes outside the mess hall, watches people come and go outside the gate, acts as a body guard to some self important rich people, and just waits for the inevitable.
Which comes about four days in, and part of him feels like he never left Isla Nublar. Putting these creatures down before they get away with mauling anyone else feels right in a way not much else has since that day.
After the attack, he helps with body disposal and putting down the last few raptors nosing around the compound scavenging. When that's done, he spends a lot of time supervising the crews rebuilding the walls and fences keeping the Jurassic out, crouching on one of the higher intact structures with a rifle in hand. Perhaps unsurprisingly, he's less focused on the other employees and more on the jungle beyond the wall.]
[ooc: feel free to encounter Jim wherever, whenever throughout the breach. :|b]
[This broadcast comes not long after everything's finally died down. Jim Barnes, one of the senior big game wardens, is standing over the corpse of a Utahraptor. It's not a pretty sight - the raptor's head's been blown off, and there's blood all over Jim's khaki jacket - but Jim's expression is set in that same flat, unapologetic scowl as usual.]
Anyone sees any more wounded or trapped raptors, don't keep quiet about it. We need them gone.
[Filtered to Park Staff]
I need teams out here to help get these things out of here before the souvenir hunters come looking for something to bring back home.
[Open Spam, throughout breach]
[There comes a time after you've watched your squad get ripped apart by raptors where you start wondering if you're crazy. If something in you had just snapped so permanently on that shitty tropical island infested with those monsters that you're never going to be anything close to human or normal ever again.
That thought definitely occurs to ex-marine, current big game warden Jim Barnes once the tourists start filtering in, and he really fully realizes how fucking stupid this all is. He'd come here because there's something about it that he can't just walk away from - part of him likes hunting and observing these animals, like they've got him in some weird hypnotic trance - but these people are idiots. Who the fuck wants to come here after what happened with InGen?
So Jim keeps to himself, as usual. He smokes outside the mess hall, watches people come and go outside the gate, acts as a body guard to some self important rich people, and just waits for the inevitable.
Which comes about four days in, and part of him feels like he never left Isla Nublar. Putting these creatures down before they get away with mauling anyone else feels right in a way not much else has since that day.
After the attack, he helps with body disposal and putting down the last few raptors nosing around the compound scavenging. When that's done, he spends a lot of time supervising the crews rebuilding the walls and fences keeping the Jurassic out, crouching on one of the higher intact structures with a rifle in hand. Perhaps unsurprisingly, he's less focused on the other employees and more on the jungle beyond the wall.]
[ooc: feel free to encounter Jim wherever, whenever throughout the breach. :|b]
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Hey.
[He looks around, expecting a stampede maybe]
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What?
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Show me.
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Is this a normal day for you?
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[It comes out so flatly, it's kind of difficult to tell if he's trying to joke at Lark's expense for pointing out the obvious, or just saying it. The truth is somewhere in the middle.]
[Private]
You call me if you find any wounded raptors.
[Private]
[Private]
[Private]
[Private]
[Private]
[Private]
[Private]
Private
[Letting him know, because normally she'd be on this with him, enthusiastic and capable and right there, as much as possible.]
I don't know who's covering my shifts yet, but I'll get them to coordinate with you.
Private
[He doesn't acknowledge the rest of it mostly because he assumes she'll know he heard and will try to figure it out, even if having her out of commission is definitely not great. Furiosa is one of the few people he actually feels like he likes around here.]
Private
[She thinks less, but he knows how that dance goes. You can't push to hard or you fuck yourself up, but they're so conservative.]
Private
[At least until she's better, he means. No use sticking around here if you're just going to wind up getting killed because you're hurt.]
Private
[She agrees, eyes closing.]
Topside, until the doctor clears me.
Private
Take it easy.
[spam]
Eventually, Steve comes up on Jim; he's facing away, but the outline looks eerily familiar, even as he steps up and says what he's been saying to any compound staff who will listen,] Let me help. You can't tell me you guys can't use an extra pair of hands.
[spam]
But this is still something of a curve ball. He'd never expected to see skinny little Steve Rogers ever again after high school, and definitely not after everything had gone so fucking badly. He hadn't even thought about him in what's got to be years at this point, but he definitely remembers him now.]
What the hell are you doing here?
[spam]
He wants to say something, but anything he could say I remember you, How have you been, Why are you here? sounds stupid, so he settles on what he would've said, had it been anybody else. But the recognition is pretty clear in his eyes.]
Press, [he says shortly, by way of explanation - he's taken off the lanyard and ID, although it's stuffed into his pocket, the lanyard with the newspaper logo is hanging out a bit.] But I thought I could actually help out, since you have your hands full with - [he gestures vaguely to outside.
Finally, he can't help but add,] Barnes, right?
[He knows he's not wrong.]
[spam]
So it's easier to just nod, and then ignore it, treat him like he's any other member of the press or whatever. They do need extra hands.]
How much can you lift?
[spam]
But he shouldn't take it personally. This is a crisis.] Uh - about fifty pounds, I guess.
[His look dares you to give him shit about it.]
[spam]
Door needs to be moved out of the way, and the debris needs cleaning up. There's a bucket over there. [He points.]
[spam]
[He actually means it, too. No one else has taken him seriously. But then, from what he remembers, Jim never really treated him as the same type of useless invisible thing most people did in school, even if he usually had a little more to say, too.
It's probably just stress. Steve starts surveying what needs to be done, nodding a little to himself and figuring he'll deal with the glass first, and the door second.] I don't need a babysitter. You've probably got real work to do.
[Which maybe makes it contradictory to say, a minute later, like he's starting a conversation as he works,] It's nice to see you again. You know, current circumstances aside.
[spam]
Anyway, Jim doesn't move to leave - he'd rather be doing something than just sitting around or continuing to bicker with his bleeding heart colleagues who don't understand that tranqing a pissed off Carnataur isn't a fucking option - and starts picking up bigger pieces of glass with his bare hands. Steve gets a brief look at his comment before Jim goes back to picking up glass.]
Are you going to mention all this in your article?
[spam]
He glances over when the other starts helping, but that's fine, too. Maybe he just needed an excuse to get to some of these areas cleared, although he's not outfitted and equipped like someone on a cleanup crew.
At the question, Steve laughs a little hollowly, but takes a minute to answer as he drags a bigger chunk of debris out of the way.] If I didn't, people might think worse things than if I did.
I'm going to tell the truth, though. [He pauses, breathing a bit harder, once he gets the chunk clear of the ruined doorway.] Shit happens. It was handled - it's being handled. I read the waivers I signed when I got on that shuttle.
[He doubts most other people do, though.]
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[Jimmy sounds small, almost resigned, when he replies. There's cuts and bruises all over him, but he didn't break anything (miraculously) and he's still going. Sitting in his room makes him stir-crazy, and he needs to do something. He figures Jim can help him with that, at least.]
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[It's not a no, he just wants to be sure. If you're going to pop stitches while doing clean up, you're no good to anyone, even if staring at the same four walls gets tiring.
He knows.]
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We need to withdraw from the compound and establish new parameters for interaction with them. Slaughtering them en masse is not an acceptable course of action, you savage.
[HIS BABIES!!!]
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Tranquilize them. They can be released outside of the compound or contained for study, not killed.
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I'm going to bring you a tranquilliser gun.
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Maybe we can have that dino barbecue the cooks are always coming up with excuses not to do. Eat some of them for a change.
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More murder for the rest of us. Least they can't arrest me for meat yet.
response to public broadcast;
Unfortunately, it's the sight of that forlorn Utahraptor corpse that does it. She bursts into tears.]
H-how--why did you--
[She knows they were hunting. Hurting people and animals. But they were animals. They couldn't know better.]
no subject
That, and he's never had the rosy eyed visions of these creatures that other people have.]
no subject
We have t-tranquilizers, you--you could've--
[The words dissolve into tears again.]