STREETS OF NEW YORK CITY // BUCKY

[STEVE]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]Steve hadn't had an opportunity to paint something for...a while. He didn't have easy access to it as a kid, since something about it would always set his lungs off, and when he got older, being on the road made anything more than sketching pretty out of reach. Not because he didn't have time, since there was plenty of that to go around, but more so that he couldn't carry all of it with him. Wasn't exactly a secret that Steve wasn't the biggest guy around -far from it- and it just didn't seem practical to drag around painting supplies. Especially when he was certain the first bully he faced would end up pitching all of it into a ditch somewhere. Not his idea of fun, believe it or not, so he made do with sketches, tried to imprint the colors in his head for when he revisited the drawings. He had plenty of those, at least, from trees to birds to people he'd met, and landscapes he wanted to quickly preserve on page. It was much more peaceful than getting into scraps with strangers, however necessary that could be.

Sunhaven, though, wasn't the road, obviously. They seemed to have a bountiful supply of just about everything, so he couldn't say why he was surprised when he stumbled into the art room, tucked away in the cafe he'd set about exploring. The small feline wandered in farther, gaze roaming the room, the instruments, the splatters of bright hues along the floor and walls. He was...hesitant to use any of it, because they'd given him much and it felt disrespectful to go on without asking, but he moved automatically, finding a blank canvas to prop up and jars of paint. He pulled over a container of brushes and a cup of water off to the side, before staring at the white expanse for several moments, chewing on his cheek.

Starting was the hardest part. There was this niggling hesitation to potentially mar the intimidating alabaster surface, and he wasn't sure how else to describe it, how to explain that a blank canvas could be impossibly terrifying.

After a moment, he dipped his paw in a blue jar, patting it on the ground, following it with a dab of yellow to mix a green to his preferences. He added red once it was sufficiently mixed, a brown hue taking shape. Steve wasn't certain what to do with the brown, though, which was such a versatile color that the options left him a bit winded. Or maybe that was the fumes agitating his lungs.

[buckingham barnes]

[ oh my god i am so sorry for the late response ;-;; ]

Bucky isn't exactly the most creative guy in Sunhaven. The arts really isn't his thing- he doesn't sing, dance, act, paint, etc. Out of the four things listed, the last art Bucky would do is painting. He's aware that painting can be relaxing, that it can relieve stress off of your chest. He thinks that's a very good thing, and people should consider painting in their spare time if they need something to calm them down. But if he knows this, especially with Asset relapses from time to time, then why doesn't he paint? Well, you see- from the little paint sessions Bucky's seen here and there, he noticed each person doesn't use a brush. They use their paws, generally whichever one would be their 'dominant paw'. In Bucky's case, that's his metal paw- and he isn't about to stain and ruin it. Despite knowing this, the maine coon didn't know why he was heading in the direction of the arts and crafts room. He has no use to it, even if he didn't have a prosthetic limb to get in the way of painting, he isn't that creative.

As the Warden got closer to the room, barely making a sound against the floor, the scent of fresh paint invaded his nostrils. How would he describe the smell of paint? The fumes are strong, and despite being used to the scent of blood and corpses, if he breathes in the paint fumes long enough, he might feel a headache coming along. Maybe that's another reason why he doesn't paint to relieve stress, ha! But if he's smelling fresh paint, there must be someone inside painting something. He knows his nose isn't pulling tricks on him.

As the former assassin padded up to the doorway, his gaze landed on Steve- who was mixing paint together to make another color. He could see the blank canvas in front of the smaller feline- he didn't know Steve liked painting. Well, Bucky doesn't know him very well- but he seems like a genuine, nice guy. A nice guy who picks fights with bullies who are twice his size. With asthma. Steve seemed quite focused on the color he just mixed together, the maine coon wondered if Steve even knew he's standing at the doorway.

Light blue eyes blinking, the former assassin decided to speak up. "You like to paint?" He asked, as he found himself padding near the tom, "I haven't seen someone using this room in awhile, it was surprising to see you in here."

[STEVE]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]//don't worry about it!! take as much time as you need

Steve had little else to do for an outlet growing up. Considering the amount of time he inevitably spent indoors, suffering through whatever illness had decided to ravage his lungs, he didn't have much to do. Staring at the ceiling while wallowing in his misery was a bit too pathetic and not at all stimulating, and one day, when his mother came back from the clinic she worked in, she'd brought him a small book with watercolors. Everything had...taken off from there, although he didn't get to keep the paints for very long. He used them while he was sick, and with his weak immune system, they had to be disposed of. Still, he had something to look forward to back then, and these days, too, when he had the time, and when he wasn't getting into fights in the most random of places. Maybe not an easy life, but people had worse ones.

He hadn't ever asked how Bucky came by the prosthetic, and wouldn't ask, but there was the chance he'd lost the limb later in life. What Steve had he'd been born with. He figured it was worse when people got used to something, only to lose it. That required more than a few changes they probably hadn't been ready to make, though Bucky seemed accustomed to it. Steve had been intending to sketch the prosthetic, if only because it was so much more advanced than anything else he'd seen.

If only he could figure out what to paint.

The small feline gave a full-body jerk when he heard a voice. He...didn't catch everything that was said, and so he turned from the paint to face the feline, embarrassed. Unconsciously, he wiped the paint on his face attempting to rub his cheek, and he sighed, shoulders hunching a bit. "I paint," Steve answered slowly, because that was the only word of the question he'd caught. "Probably doesn't look like it, though." He gestured to the blank canvas, huffing, before an abrupt idea lit up. The feline mulled it over, and then looked from the canvas to Bucky. "Do you...want something painted? Still haven't gotten to thank you right for those guys."

[buckingham barnes]

[ screams i promise next reply won't take me as long omg i'm so so sorry sksksk i know you said not to worry about it but ahhh this is very late XD ]

Bucky should have thought that he might've surprised Steve. While Bucky might've caught someone sneaking behind him with his enhanced senses, others don't catch it as easily. Nor do others have the skills or past like Bucky- being a former brainwashed assassin isn't common. For so long, the maine coon has been used to how his mind operates, rather than think of how others would react. As Steve turned to face him, Bucky saw a hint of embarrassment in the tom's eyes- he infrenenced it was about getting startled. A gentle, apologetic smile made it's way onto his maw. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," He said as he padded a little closer, before sitting himself down on the ground.

So, he guessed correctly- Steve does paint! While his canvas is blank, clearly he was trying to think of something. Steve almost looked disappointed that the canvas was blank- the slightly hunched shoulders, sighing, and huffing gave him that assumption. Though, the witty comment changed his mind, usually if someone was disappointed, they wouldn't make a joke like that. Steve clearly shows that he knows all and well about the patience an artist needs when not only coming up with ideas, but how to put it on paper. He was about to open his mouth to speak, when the devon rex eyes seemed to light up, looking at the canvas, and then onto Bucky.

"Do you... want something painted? Still haven't gotten to thank you right for those guys."

Bucky blinked out of surprise for a moment, ears pricked up at what Steve asked him. "Oh- sure! And it's really no problem," He mewed with a small sheepish grin, "Though, you took care of those guys more than I did." Bucky came in the back end of it all, those bullies were running off with their tails between their legs. Steve relied the bullies up, and attacked them, disregarding his clear size disadvantage. It felt like Bucky should be thanking Steve for his help, but would that encourage Steve to pick more fights with other bullies?

"What do you generally paint?" He asked after a few moments of silence, glancing at the paints Steve had out in front of him. Bucky wasn't an artist, he wasn't sure what would look good on that canvas. He was sure Steve came up with an idea, otherwise he probably wouldn't have asked Bucky that request. He was curious of what Steve would paint, as Bucky hasn't watched him paint before. Actually, he hasn't watched anyone paint before, so it'll be interesting to see how it's done.

[STEVE]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]//really, it's okay!! we all have times when we get busy or our muse doesn't work for us

It wasn't all that hard to startle Steve, depending on what he was doing. He wasn't afraid -there wasn't anything wrong with fear, but he more often feared for other people than himself at this point- but surprised. Taken aback. His hearing wasn't as great as other people's, and it was when he didn't always respond to his mother's louder entrances as a kid when she suspected something was wrong. Guess getting sick wasn't the only thing that could happen to him, but he was more than used to it by now. He just hadn't gotten the hang of placing himself where he could hear things better. He did it when people were talking, but when Steve was by himself, he never really saw the point. Probably should've expected someone would show up eventually, though he wasn't exactly a charmer. Wasn't much of anything- made a poor punching bag, too.

"'S not your fault. You could wear bells and I still wouldn't've heard you." The small feline shifted around, so he could keep his good ear to Bucky, while not entirely turned away from the canvas. It was always intimidating, staring at blank canvases; it felt like as soon as he pressed paint onto it, he would ruin the entire piece. Kinda funny that something inanimate could be so daunting, when he'd take on people three times his size no problem.

Bright eyes turned from the canvas to Bucky, head slightly tilted, like he was trying to figure out if the other feline was just messing with him. Normally, people scolded him, ignored the situation, laughed at him- nobody'd really thanked him, before. Steve wasn't saying he needed gratitude, because he didn't, but it was just...strange hearing it. "But you still helped. You would've done more if you could." Steve looked back to the canvas. "It's better to try to help than to not do anything at all." A small, crooked grin twisted his mouth. "But, if we're keeping count, Marina did all the work."

He poured a few dollops of paint on the floor, eyes slitted in concentration, and he almost missed the question. Almost. "Places. People, sometimes, but I don't get to paint a lot." Steve exhaled, the sound a bit regretful. "Have you ever tried?"