ten_fwd | [Holodeck 5:] Buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks... [for whathemademe but OTA]

Current Location: Deck 10, Holodeck 5

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[Holodeck 5:] Buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks... [for whathemademe but OTA]

Keeping track of the seasons isn't always easy, but Steve knows the date here is for the end of March, and even if the calendar back home says "April" that still means one thing.

Baseball season.

He hasn't used the holodecks in a while. Akito has been taking up a lot of his free time, and while he's fine with that the kid has started getting on his case about brooding too much. Peggy's been gone for a month now. She's probably not walking through his door again, and that's a good thing -- for her. It just reminds him of what he's missing.

To stave off any ill-conceived attempts to set him up on dates or push him around to other people, Steve has left Akito to his own devices for a few hours. He didn't really have a goal in mind when he ended up at the holodeck. He thought maybe he'd stop in Ten Forward for something to eat, but his feet just kept going after he reached the lounge, and didn't stop until he was standing in front of the computer panel currently telling him the holodeck was vacant. He frowns for a few minutes.

"Computer, um. Are there any baseball fields on file?" he asks. The computer gives him an affirmative answer, and starts listing off more baseball fields than he knows what to do with. "Whoa, wait. Uh, sorry. How about Ebbets Field?" Another affirmative, and another long list of options. Steve rubs the back of his neck. "OK. Ebbets Field, Flatbush, New York, Earth, around the year..."

He thinks back over some of the games he's seen, but he doesn't feel up to taking a walk down memory lane tonight. He's tempted to ask about the 1920 World Series, but as he's forming the words another thought occurs to him. "April 15, 1947. Jackie Robinson's first game with the Dodgers."

There is another affirmative chirp, and at last the Computer says, "You may enter when ready." Steve pockets his hands and steps inside the holodeck doors, and with such shocking clarity it almost knocks the wind out of him he finds himself in the bleachers at Ebbets Field, just as he remembers it.

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Jack, despite being present on this ship for what the calendar tells him is his equivalent to a month, hasn't quite settled in. It's a long sight better than what he left, but he doesn't....feel....right. He's made a friend or two, but that's about it for him. It doesn't help that he doesn't exactly have anything to do on board, yet. He's been thinking about trying to find some sort of job , but isn't sure if that entails signing on for Starfleet or not.

He's been very ill-informed, mostly due to his desire to not talk to people. He used to love people more than he does.

He's going to go ahead and blame Silas for that. He can blame Silas for everything and be safe there.

Jack comes across the holodeck, and remembers vaguely someone telling him that it was a fun time. The concept seems too good to be true, almost too fun, if it works. Jack's dug deep to find how terribly people could degrade themselves to make themselves interesting to him, he's not sure he wants to dig deeper into his own imagination.

It looks like someone's already using it--but it's unlocked. Jack looks around to see if someone stops him going on--or, listens for the computer telling him access is denied, but there's silence as he enters the deck.

And then noise, the sound of a crowd, the warm breeze of a real spring day. It's a game--baseball--and everyone around him's dressed in old fashioned clothes. Jack smiles a little and looks around until he finds an empty seat. He makes a mental note to find who made this fantasy and thank them later.

One figure might stand out from the rest.

Steve's standing in the aisle at the bottom of the stairs next to the railing. Unlike the rest of the simulations, he's not coming or going, hunting for a seat, cheering, reaching for nuts or crackerjacks, or in any other way acting like he belongs here. His clothes are modern, a pair of jeans (fitting, but not fitted -- he hasn't gotten used to that style yet), a brown leather jacket (well worn), and a plain t-shirt. He's just watching the game, hands in his pockets, line between his brows. Like he's a million miles away.

In a way, he is.

After a few minutes, he pulls himself from his reverie and scratches his cheek, turning around to look for an empty seat. There are a handful near Jack, which brings his attention to him. Steve's a sharp guy, always looking for things that are out of place, and like Steve Jack isn't dressed like he belongs here. He makes eye contact, and nods.

"Hey, Buck."

Edited 2015-04-01 05:14 (UTC)

Jack starts when the hot blond makes eye contact with him and looks over his shoulder. Who's he talking to?

"Me?"

He does recognize him as someone not from the simulation--he's dressed wrong, like Jack, who never managed to find an outfit that wasn't the suit he'd arrived in and now wishes for something more casual.

He also might recognize the nickname as someone he bumped into his first day. "Bucky, right?" Jack shakes his head, smile turning dark and wry. "Sorry, we just share a face." Weird though it is.

Steve smiles crookedly, breathing a soft laugh. He's ready with a sarcastic "yeah, you," when he realizes this guy isn't Bucky. He stops mid-step, eyebrows pinched together.

Jack goes on to explain, and Steve's eyes trail over him from head to foot. The suit, the cut and shave, even his expressions are different, but jiminy cricket is the resemblance uncanny. It's enough to make his shoulders tense, the thought that this is some illusion or trick coming quickly.

"Oh," he says, forcing himself to relax. His eyebrows arch. "Sorry, you look ... just like my best friend."

The way he used to look, even. Back when his smiles came easily. Steve runs a hand through his hair and chuckles awkwardly, taking the rest of the stairs up to Jack's seat. "Yeah, Bucky. I'm Steve Rogers."

"Must be my loss." Charm is default. Charm is easy. Bullshit 'you're not charming any more'.

Jack gestures at the seat next to him. "Jack Benjamin. I think I met your friend, my first day. Not sure he liked that I had his face." And Jack had been so sure that he'd been hallucinating two of himself...yeah, it hadn't been the friendliest of conversations.

"Is this yours?" he nods towards the baseball field, the stadium--all of it. "It's nice."

His eyebrows tic a little higher, but his grin only turns more lopsided as he pitches in without hesitation.

"Oh yeah, you've missed out on all the fun years. Pneumonia, bloody knuckles, The Great Depression ... you know, just some of the highlights," he says, holding out his hand to shake. "Good to meet you, Jack."

He pauses for a second, before accepting the offered seat. "Well you have to admit, it is kind of unnerving. He didn't, uh, give you a hard time, did he?"

He's had to pull Bucky out of more than one fight since he arrived, and with his enhanced strength and metal arm, he can do real damage. Jack doesn't look too worse for the wear, though. So that's a good sign.

"Yeah," Steve says, glancing back out over the field. "I used to come here all the time."

That kind of surprises a laugh out of Jack and he takes Steve's hand in a firm handshake (though there's a curious lilt to his eyebrows at the mention of a Great Depression). "You too."

He shakes his head. "We had a little disagreement over whose face it really was--I thought I was delirious, I thought he was a hallucination of me, he swore it was his own face. Nothing really came." Jack hadn't felt like getting in a fist fight right away. "Seemed nice." And it's really only like 30% sarcasm.

"Seems a little old fashioned for you." Not that he's judging. Some people dig the nostalgia vibe. He's only assuming Steve's closer to Jack's time from his outfit.

The twist of his lips turns a little more wry when Jack ends the explanation on a note of sarcasm, and since there was no ugly fallout Steve allows himself the luxury of a soft laugh. He'll defend Bucky to his very last breath, but he can be a little shit sometimes, and Steve knows it.

"Guess I'm a little old fashioned," he answers with a tic of his eyebrows. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees and hands loosely clasped, looking out at the game. "I grew up in DUMBO, under the Brooklyn Bridge, but Bucky and I spent a few good years before the war down in the Heights. One thing we learned early on was how to fight, so I'd say if you're walking in here without a limp he must like you."

That's about 30% sarcasm in return. Steve smirks, and answers the question Jack's not asking. "That was back in the 1940s."

He'd seemed all right when Jack met him--Jack had been a little distracted by his own problems (like appearing on a space ship), and so sure he'd been hallucinating to really be able to judge.

"Not sure what any of that means," Jack says a little cheerfully. "I think mostly we got distracted by other things, we never did settle on whose face it was. I thought my father'd started drugging my meals and that all of this was a big hallucination, so I was pretty insistent." If he says it cheerfully enough it's a joke right? Haha. Hahaa. Ignore the angry curl to Jack's upper lip, it's gone in a moment. "Guess I should apologize at some point." Steve could pass that on, right?

He shrugs a shoulder. "I think I've got a different history than you." He doesn't really have the same concept of eras as Steve might.

Annie is not a woman who is used to the holodeck. She's ventured in a few times, mostly with her fiancé, far more rarely on her own. But experienced? Used to it? No, none of those. Particularly not if she's in one of her moods where she isn't paying attention.

Which is why, if Steve turns around, he'll find a short red-haired woman with her hands pressed to her ears, staring at the scene in front of with very wide eyes. A woman who looks very out of place: if the cut of her clothes mostly fits, the way she has her loose trousers belted around her waist, then the looseness of her long hair very much doesn't. Neither does the fact that instead of wearing a sweater or a jacket, she's wearing an undone waistcoat.

And, certainly, the blank confusion on her face is a large clue that someone has taken a very wrong turn.

Edited 2015-04-01 04:24 (UTC)

It takes Steve a minute to register the sound of the door opening under the noise of the crowd. If his hearing wasn't as good as it was, he might have missed it completely. He's spent too many years listening for the sound of something wrong to ignore it, though, even if this place has made him a little complacent; so he turns over his shoulder, brow rucked, looking for whoever it was that entered.

When his eyes fall on the girl, he knows immediately that she was the one who walked in. Even if her clothes are reminiscent of something the girls back home would wear, everything else about her screams new, confused, and maybe even on the verge of being upset.

"Sorry," he calls up to her, turning around and taking a few steps back up to where the holodeck door opens (approximately where the doorway to the rest of the stadium would be). Steve's a big guy, but at the moment he looks completely apologetic and entirely nonthreatening. "I know it's loud, but it'll die down once this play is over."

If that explanation even makes any sense to her.

When the blond man moves, he steps outside the pattern of the crowd. Everyone else is watching the field, the little figures on it: he steps away, turns, walks towards her, and thus stands out enough to catch her attention.

Annie frowns at him, mouth moving a little as she tries to work out why he looks familiar. Oh. One of the other guests, she's seen him around. He stands out. Tall, muscled, and walks like he's trained to fight, charisma to rival even Finnick (although the sexual charge is way, way down on this man). And if he's familiar, than he's real.

"Sorry!" she shouts back, and then, cautiously, tests pulling her hands away from her ears. No, no, too soon for that.

"I didn't realize, um. What do you mean play?"

Her accent has slid a bit more towards the 'probably used to be Mexican' side of the jumbled mix that is the District Four accent with her raised voice. But if there is one thing that's clear, it's that, no, his explanation hasn't clarified anything.

Edited 2015-04-01 05:31 (UTC)

He smiles a little lopsidedly, coming up to stand beside her. All of his expressions and movements are trained toward putting her at ease.

"It's OK," he says, lowering his voice as the crowd dies down and sits back in their seats. He turns so that he's looking out at the field, pointing to the diamond. "When a player is up, that's called a play. In this case, Jackie Robinson just hit a home run."

Steve did a lot of reading when he came out of the ice. History, wars, politics, the space program, the hippie movement -- there was a lot to catch up on, and he's still knee deep in it. But baseball was one of those things he looked up in the first few days after they showed him how to use a laptop, and one of the many things he's sorry he missed is Jackie Robinson's career with the Dodgers.

He turns back to Annie, smiling. He sobers a little when he can see she still looks uncomfortable. "Uh, baseball. It's a sport where I'm from."

Annie's eyes, green as the sea and now narrowed in focus, track the movements on the field. A play. A home run, and the cheer of the crowd. She follows the diamond of dirt on the grass, and then looks up at Steve.

Slowly, she lowers her hands.

"We don't have it," Annie offers, and then smiles shyly at him. "And, uh. Sorry. I didn't realize anyone else was using' this one. Didn't mean to interrupt, just wasn't expect a crowd, y'know?"

She moistens her lips, nervously, and glances back at the field. "Is...is this a famous game?"

His brow smooths as he watches Annie, smile slipping back into place. Steve's not great when it comes to talking to women, but he's decent at picking up on small things. Her focus as she listens and watches, the bashfulness in her smile, the lower-states twang of her accent, are all taken into consideration when he answers, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck.

"No, you weren't interrupting," he says, shaking his head. "I was just looking for something to do for a few hours that wouldn't involve the 24th century. This is the first game Jackie Robinson played for the Brooklyn Dodgers, so ... yeah, I guess it's famous. You're, uh. You're welcome to join me."

He holds out his hand. "I'm Steve Rogers."

At least this woman is wearing a ring where a wedding or engagement ring would be, albeit a ring woven from fine cord instead of metal.

At his offer, her look turns considering - wary, really. Not obviously so, but there's a moment where she regards him not with that shy smile but the expression of one who's had reason to be cautious of strangers.

"Annie Cresta," she says, shaking his hand. Then she grins, a little.

"If, if y'don't mind havin' to explain it? I'd. I'd like that."

It's something not of the 24th century, as he said. Nothing to do with a spaceship full of people who have no idea what her country is.

"Home run? There's a track on the field, the players have to run? Or is the term more metaphorical?"

For a minute Steve's afraid he might have done something wrong, but she's reaching for his hand before he can say anything else. When he feels the light scratch of her woven ring he glances down, and puts two and two together. His smile goes a little more wry, but when they pull their hands apart he pockets his again, going back to as nonthreatening as possible.

Laughing, he shakes his head. "I don't mind. I haven't seen this game myself, but I know how it ends. Uh, come on, I'll get you a seat."

He nods down the steps toward the front of the bleachers, where two empty seats are conveniently located. It's a clear shot at the field from there, no large hats or enthusiastic fans to block their view. He spares a glance up at the nosebleeders over his left shoulder before he answers her question. That's where he usually ended up.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Cresta," he begins, settling in the seat next to her. "You see the four white points at each corner of the diamond? Those are plates, and the one right there where the catcher and batter are is called home, or home plate. Now, the way the game is scored is by how many players make it around all four bases, ending back at home plate. Most of the time, when a player comes up to bat, he only makes it as far as first or second base," he explains, pointing at each plate and player as he mentions them. "But when someone makes it around all four bases in one turn, that's called a home run."

He pauses, glancing down at Annie to see if she's following him so far. He arches his eyebrows. "It's kind of a big deal."

It's strange, sitting in a stadium. She's been in a parade, once, but the districts aren't much for large areas of seating. Even with the Victory Tours, it's standing room only unless you're a VIP.

Still, she keeps her footing, apologizes to people as she passes in front of them (they're not real, they're not real, they're not real, but her momma raised her to be polite), and gratefully takes the seat indicated.

"You, too. Um, But it's...still Miss Cresta. For now," she adds with a quick, delighted smile.

At some point - hopefully soon - she'll be Mrs Odair. She's looking forward to that. But not quite yet.

Annie listens as he explains, eyes flicking from his face to the field, and she nods at his pauses.

"Do they get any points for makin' to the first or second? Or just the home run? And how do they move off the bases, if they only made it to one of them?"

Edited 2015-04-03 11:04 (UTC)

Sinthia is, as Steve might have picked up, somewhere between a charming snoop and unconcerned with normal rules of etiquette. (She'll work on those later. Hopefully.) So it's with not much bothering her about intruding that she steps into the holodeck and stops, blinking.

It's not that she doesn't know what baseball is; the prisoners--and doesn't that term make her stomach do a funny and unpleasant flip--are always thinking about it, or about football, or women; there are patterns to those thoughts that have been noted and disregarded, and now she's wishing she'd paid more attention. There's a way those people down on the grass are moving that reminds her of watching the swirls of light in the Tesseract when its uncovered. But even on a purely simple level, she wants to know about this thing that is obviously from somewhere around her year; so few people understand that the leaps made from 1944 to whenever they've come in from leave her in the dust that she finds herself hard-pressed to venture into conversations or games.

(She tried that one with the sticks. It was not much fun.) "Baseball," she murmurs, unthinking. "I know what this is."

Steve turns around sharply, hands still in his pockets until he regains his footing. The surprise clears from his features into something almost warm.

"Hey kiddo," he says, smirking at Sinthia. Yeah, "a charming snoop" is a good way of putting it. "Yeah, baseball. I was in the mood for something from home."

It's good to have something familiar every once in a while, especially out here. Steve smooths his palms against his jeans and draws in a breath, glancing over his shoulder. "Do you want to stay and watch?"

Her head snaps up when Steve speaks, as if she honestly hadn't noticed he was there; in a way it's true, because while his name had been on the door, and she can certainly hear some of the things coming from him, she hadn't expected his voice.

"I've never actually seen a game. But it looks like what the p-- what the men at the base were always talking about. When they talked." She looks away from the field, studying Steve's face, and blinks. The motion of rubbing his palms down his thighs says something, but she's not sure what. "Is it okay if I stay?" she asks in reply.

The aborted word from her lips has his expression dulling slightly, which wouldn't be noticeable at all if he wasn't already feeling nostalgic. She caught him in a moment of reverie, but nothing more than that. The smile cocked on his lips isn't insincere, but neither is the sadness he's got packed away.

"Of course," he says, nodding for her to come join him at the bottom of the stairs. "What kind of guy would I be if I turned a kid away from their very first ballgame? Not a good one."

He likes Sinthia. They've had a rough couple of months, what with everything that happened off the ship and with Bucky, but Steve still hopes she can trust him regardless of what happened between him and her father. "You know, I was probably your age when I saw my first ballgame."

Sinthia is, happily, a resilient child. She views Steve as a friend, even if her definition of friend is thus far somewhat nebulous and unsure; the months between Alemar and meeting Bucky haven't changed that, simply added considerations she isn't sure how to compensate for yet. She's still quiet when she comes to join him to see out at the field, though her view is mostly blocked by people's heads moving in irregular patterns, resulting in Sinthia standing on her toes to see over them.

As a point of pride she is not wearing solely blacks and greys today; there's a bright pink barrette clipped to her hair behind one ear, innocently looking faintly out of place on her dark pageboy, but she calls no attention to it. "I don't know how the game goes, but I've heard some things about it. I assumed they were statistics, but I don't know for sure." Some of the shorthand language had been engineered so as to be opaque to outsiders, she's positive.

"I don't know whether I'm eight or nine now. I think I'm eight," she murmurs, unconcerned. It's never bothered her, or it hadn't until Akito and Bucky's party, to not know when her birthday was.

Genesis wanted to see the holodeck again. Maybe recreate something to keep her mind off things. It seemed she wasn't the only one who lost those she cared for, but that didn't mean she wanted to share in the grief. Of course, the holodeck was occupied when she arrived. She would have left were it not the odd sounds inside. Opening the doors and stepping in, she was greeted by several hundreds of people cheering and a sharp 'crack' of a sound that had her jumping and trying to search for the sound.

All she saw was a field at the bottom of the stadium and men chasing a small white ball, one other running around the bases. "...what am I watching?"

Don't judge so quickly, Genesis. This is America's pastime, in addition to being Captain America's pastime. He glances up at the question, pushing off the rail he had been leaning against so he can turn to face her.

"Baseball," he calls with a crooked smile, though there's something soft and sympathetic in his eyes. "It's a sport back on Earth."

She barely knows what America is, Cap. Cut her some slack.

Genesis moved forward to look over the rail, to get a better view of things. The men chasing the ball, one had picked it up and thrown it back. By the looks of things, they were trying to get it to one of the four men on the white bases before the man running was to get to it. Huh, that was pretty neat if one really thought about it.

"We don't have many sports on Gaia. Not like this, anyway. The best I can think that everyone seems to love is Chocobo Racing, usually found at the Gold Saucer."

Steve happens to think the game is pretty neat himself, so when she comes up beside him and leans over the rail, watching the game intently, he's watching her with a burgeoning grin on his face. She's already looking better than she was the last time he saw her, and that's heartening.

"We've got races back on Earth, too. But this is different," he says, turning back to the field. He rests his forearms against the rail, long body bent so he can comfortably lean against it. He watches the game for a few seconds before he offers anything else. "Where I grew up, there was a ... well, this stadium, actually. This is Ebbets Field, in Brooklyn. The ship did a good job of recreating it. Anyway, I uh, used to come out here to watch the games whenever I could."

Huh. She wondered if it could recreate something from her home. But Gaia was not really on any planetary lists she could find on the ship, so Genesis doubted that it could come close.

"Of course. Games are a bit different than a racing competition," She replied, twisting a hip to lean against the rain as well, but she kept her arms loosing crossed. She tapped the toe of her boot behind her idly as she listened and watched. "A big fan, were you?"

Bucky isn't stalking Steve, well maybe he is a little, he likes to know what where his best friend is, and to make sure he doesn't get into any trouble. He can't shake the sensation that his best friend has a nose for getting into trouble. Plus, it gives him something to do. Now that he could move around and do things in downtime, he did not wish to stop.

He listens to the program selection and enters three minutes late. The details in front of him make him reel, he's been here before. Some old memory stirs and he asks the holodeck for two hot dogs as he winds his way through to where Steve is sitting.

"Here you go." He hands them both over while he sits down. "Are you going to watch every game you've missed?"

Steve would protest if he knew that's what was going through Bucky's head. The only good thing about him not remembering all of his past is that he can't give Steve a hard time for all the crap he put him through when they were growing up together. If he's already got his number like that, he's in for a lot of disappointment.

Steve's sitting in the front row of this section. Maybe the holodeck is pre-programmed to leave the good seats open for the real people in the simulation, but it's still lucky even in the nosebleeders. He glances up, frowning at the hot dogs in confusion until his eyes track the rest of the way to Bucky's face. He blinks, grins, and takes the food from him so he can get settled.

With a soft chuckle, he glances down and shakes his head. "You know, that's not a bad idea."

You put the idea in his head, Buck. Just remember that.

Oh he will remember that, and he will be there for nearly every game. Bucky has seen a few more games than Steve, while working for the Russians, he had taught many of the operatives the finer points of baseball. This, will be a much more fun experience.

As always, bleachers aren't designed for long legs but he tucks them in and leans forward. "You should move your bedroom to the holodeck then," he teases. He's definitely in good form today.

Steve's noticed. It draws more of a grin out of him, something much more reminiscent of the toothy smiles he used to shoot him when they were kids, just messing around with each other before the war took its toll on them both. He hands Bucky's hot dog back over, getting that sassy look on his face he should be used to by now.

"Maybe I will," he says. "I do have 70 years worth of games to catch up on, I'm just not sure if I'm ready to follow them to Los Angeles yet."

He shakes his head. It's criminal that they were traded from Brooklyn; it'll take more than 2 years for Steve to get over that one. "What would you do if you couldn't hang outside my door and pretend like you're not watching me anymore, though?"

That smile reminds him of the times they snuck into events without tickets. He takes a bite out of his hot dog. "I'll hold your hand when you make the transition."

Bucky shrugs, he doesn't feel guilty getting caught out like this. If Steve's asks him to stop he will, but for now, he can tease back. "I would hang out at the end of the hallways and pretend from there. You get into more trouble than anyone I know."

He laughs, attention swiveling back to the game. Bucky may be giving him a hard time, but Steve really will need some hand-holding when that happens. Not to mention during the lousy seasons the Dodgers have had in recent years.

"Thanks," he says, propping his foot against the seat in front of him and leaning back in his chair. He takes a bite out of his hot dog, and shakes his head. "You just don't know enough people. Come on, Buck. They haven't tossed me in the brig yet, have they?"

He glances at him sidelong, as if punctuating his point. He's been the perfect passenger, polite, attentive, orderly. OK, so maybe there were one or two scuffles and a couple of broken pieces of gym equipment, but all in all Steve's been on his best behavior.

He wouldn't ask Bucky to stop, regardless. Even after everything, it's comforting to know he's watching his back.

Bucky doesn't want to know more people, not yet, he likes that he can still be an invisible presence on the ship when he chooses. "I made friends with Bruce," He offers. Sorry Steve his attention is a little more on the game, and the next pitch. "Curve ball," he calls, watching the pitcher's hand.

His lips quirk up as he is proved right, and he returns to the thread of the chat. "The main word is yet." It will be better for all concerned if Steve does not get locked up. There is no version of Bucky who will be able to sit by and let his best friend languish in the lockup.

He might have snuck up on Steve. He might have been seen from a mile away. (A movie cowboy is pretty hard to miss). Either way, Jim is sliding right into the seat next to him, a cup of beer in each hand.

"Hey there, stranger. Who's winning?"

Edited 2015-04-01 07:20 (UTC)

It's taken a little time for Steve to get into the game. The holodeck is pretty amazing; this is the first simulation he's been in where the setting is someplace he knows and loves. Money was tight, but every penny he could spare toward seeing a game put him right here in Ebbets Field, albeit in seats that weren't quite this nice. The memories are fresh, and for a long time he just looks around the stadium, the people, the players, a little distant and a lot wistful.

He glances up when Jim joins him, brows knitting together. This guy is no Lone Ranger, but the clothes and attitude aren't foreign to Steve.

"Dodgers, 1-0 at the bottom of the 4th," he answers, moving his elbow to give Jim the room. "You know this game?"

Jim takes one sip of beer from each cup. He's a little preoccupied on the moment. And about half-past buzzed. So it should be no surprise he doesn't understand the question.

"This particular one? Can't say I remember it off hand. Dodgers and Braves, before each of 'em moved. Pistol Pete just got driven in, if I'm looking right. Robinson playin' yet?"

Mel Brooks was just a kid from Brooklyn once, too.

Edited 2015-04-01 09:02 (UTC)

Steve can't help but watch Jim's technique with the beers, eyebrow arched. Is this guy the real deal?

"Yeah," he says, one corner of his mouth ticking upward. "First game. Are you a fan?"

Of Robinson or of baseball in general, Steve doesn't bother to clarify. This guy at least knows something about baseball, and that has Steve relaxing his defenses and settling back in his seat again. He won't ask how, since he wouldn't have pegged him for someone almost 50 years into the 20th century, but Steve's got his own problems when it comes to being a man out of time.

"Of baseball? There are worse excuses to drink in public."

Still clasping his beers, he takes one swig from each in the same breadth. Jim is very much the real deal.

"And Robinson's a great man and a great ballplayer."

Yuna saw Steve around but they barely talked. She had seen him walk past the lounge and decided she didn't have anything better to do so she followed him. She was curious as to what he'd been up too and Yuna's curiosity was something that couldn't be curbed. She watched him step into the holodeck and paused glancing at the computer before stepping inside.

She didn't know what she had been expecting. Her eyes widened as she looked at the Stadium. She didn't know the game but she felt could feel the excitement palpating from the stands. Her lips curled into an excited smile as she walked up to Steve.

"Steve! What is this?"

He must be losing his touch, because he hadn't noticed Yuna following him this far. If Natasha were here, she'd no doubt have the perfect biting remark about that to tease him with. Luckily she's not, which means Steve can startle and turn to face Yuna without anyone nearby to give him a hard time.

"Hey, Yuna," he breathes, smiling down at her. He remembers her from the party. "Uh, it's a baseball game. Dodgers versus the Braves, at Ebbets Field. I uh, I used to live around here."

Yuna's smiled widened. "Sorry. If I surprised you." She hadn't meant to. She walked in a short circle taking in the sights of the stadium.

"It's great. I don't know the game but everyone seems so happy." That's why Yuna loved stadiums. People would cheer and cheer until their throats were sore. They would celebrate with each other over victories and then go to each other for losses. It's something that brought people together making everyone feel like family.

"Which team do you cheer for?" She gestured down towards the game.

He doesn't use the holodeck very often. For one, he's still not sure he isn't going to break something trying to use it, for another? It seems weird to him, spending too much time in something that isn't really real. He has a feeling that he'd be tempted to use it on things that'd be too close to dwelling, and he knows that wouldn't be any good for him.

But apparently he'd picked a decent night, because there's already a session in progress when he walks by. And after seeing who and what it is, he doesn't think twice before joining.

"Hey," Sam greets, dropping down into the seat next to Steve. "You picked a hell of a game."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Holodeck 5:] Buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks... [for whathemademe but OTA]

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because these two needed to talk again

always!

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