Day two of Bast Festival
This was written last year and I'm so glad I get to post it now! Expect part 3 in 2-3 weeks! YouTube Playlist Spotify Playlist
-:- Day Two: Okoye -:- Accompaniment: Mwasi ya Congo by Dadju This should have been her first Festival of Bast presiding as General at T’Challa’s side. There is more than a little sadness attached to the thought. It contrasts with the day’s festivities and the exuberance from festival goers and performers alike. It is only the second day of Bast’s Festival, but she feels unusually drained. The late morning sun is already making most festival-goers around her—all from the highest ranks of Wakandan society—seek the shade of the low-hanging pavilions lining the ceremonial grounds. It hardly diminished the loose crowd around the king, T’Challa, and the active Dora attending them. She looks on from nearby in the shade herself, happy to be there as a festival goer rather than on duty. Besides the heat, though, which was hardly unexpected, the day was proceeding surprisingly smoothly. She had read the reports of some of the more extensive sabotage wreaked less than a day before the beginning of the festival. Personally, she is impressed at the effectiveness with which the saboteurs handled their business, avoiding major damage in favor of minor issues and irritating vandalism. Thus, they were not conspicuous in and of themselves; rather, they subtly placed their new king in an unflattering light. Most of the damage has now been rectified. On some of the more... inspired solutions, Okoye sees T’Challa’s handiwork. It is both reassuring and saddening. T’Challa has always taken his role as a prince, and eventual king, seriously. He has taken the Festival of Bast and attendant celebrations equally seriously. Yet today, on a day meant to celebrate the king and his efforts as Bast’s servant, they were not celebrating a man who worked for most of his life to do what was best for his people and to honor Bast. Instead they were celebrating a spectacularly prolific killer and unapologetic rapist. Someone she knew looked down on Wakandan spirituality as “quaint.” The whole affair leaves a very bad taste in Okoye’s mouth. “My king, Bast’s blessings—” Okoye had been tuning in and out of the different conversations around her, but something draws her to this one. Several people from different tribes and prominent families have already come by to greet the new king, but something is different about this interaction. The person speaking does not address T’Challa. Casually, she walks closer to see just who is speaking. What she finds does not surprise her.; Aminatu is engaged in a mostly one-sided conversation with the king. They are a cousin of Panther Tribe, related to T’Chaka through marriage. She remembers Aminatu from the odd social event she would attend with T’Challa. They have always been eager to “find time alone” with him, especially during the times when he and Nakia were on break. T’Challa, to his credit, has never shown any real interest, remaining flawlessly polite. Yet here Aminatu is all but throwing themselves at N’Jadaka. N’Jadaka, however, also doesn’t seem that impressed. When Aminatu finally leaves, N’Jadaka leans closer to whisper something into T’Challa’s ear. T’Challa doesn’t respond, but there’s a new stony look in his eyes. After that, it’s like a signal has been lit; suddenly every aspiring consort in the room is seeking a moment of the king's attention. It might have been funny watching N’Jadaka toy with the lot if T’Challa’s expression wasn’t growing more pinched by the minute. She can guess the probable reason for T'Challa's discomfort. Many among the number that approach N’Jadaka in different fashion were people who had associated with T’Challa in the past. They were not close friends by any stretch, but acquaintances, flirts, people he might have considered in courtship if he ever gave up on Nakia. Yet now, as if by mass agreement, many of them were fawning over N’Jadaka in the same manner they had once with T’Challa. N’Jadaka seems perfectly in his element now, talking with the varied and noticeably younger crowd than this event traditionally attracted. He cracks a joke and the laughter in response is much more than it has any right to be. Okoye actually rolls her eyes, then T’Challa’s glance catches hers and deliberately holds it for a long moment. It appears a passing glance to onlookers but for the two of them it conveys volumes. In the past, her and he had a few conversations about some of the people now congregated around him and his—husband. T’Challa had been inclined to give some of them the benefit of the doubt when Okoye pointed out their less than sincere intentions. Now, he would have no such delusions. Hakeem, an artist and a grandnephew to Elder Rajvahi, spends an irritatingly long moment eye-fucking N’Jadaka before he leaves the growing group of people seeking the king’s attention. Unfortunately, that moment of uncouth behavior is made worse by N’Jadaka’s own lack of etiquette when he allows Hakeem to shake his hand in goodbye, and then doesn’t let go for an inappropriate period of time. The king may be generally shameless but clearly some of those around him have to hide their unease. The whole interaction is one of several similarly gauche exchanges. Okoye dutifully takes note of the people N’Jadaka pays real attention to. She observes that T’Challa watches most of the exchanges with a shuttered expression. At one point after N’Jadaka leans unnecessarily close to Jem, a River Tribe socialite, T’Challa slips away, conspicuously making as if to head in the direction of the restrooms. Okoye follows at a sedate pace. When she catches up to T’Challa, he’s a good distance from the throng of celebrants and not anywhere close to the restrooms. He appears as if he’s checking a message on his kimoyo beads, but she can tell he’s just fidgeting to discourage others from approaching. She approaches him quietly, coming to stand beside him. He stops fidgeting, acknowledging her with a shared glance. They don’t speak for a time. It is one thing to know you were no longer the most sought-after in the kingdom and another to see it. It went beyond having to follow instead of lead, council and guide in lieu of being the object of such council and guidance. Too many of the people who had just come forward to greet N’Jadaka spared little thought for T’Challa. Some hadn’t even acknowledged him. After a period of companionable silence T’Challa says, “My father used to tell me, ‘it is hard for a good man to be king.’” She hums in agreement. The sentiment is not lost on her; their present king had no scruples with propriety or decency or using people to serve his purposes or his ego. She doesn’t need to respond in words to the truth they both know and the silence between them is not uncomfortable. Things were not well, but for a moment it was enough that they were facing it together. She had trained for years at T’Challa’s side, the history and understanding between them went beyond any new king. T’Challa eventually leaves to rejoin N’Jadaka. Okoye watches him go. Not long after, her husband comes to join her. He looks very smug. She saw him spend most of the morning by N’Jadaka’s side and had no doubt he told the king all sorts of things about the people approaching him throughout the day. Now, the couple both off duty, they stand in the shade together and watch N’Jadaka butcher an introduction. W’Kabi winces and Okoye snorts. “Bast’s chosen, hmm?” W’Kabi makes a noise in his throat, not quite agreement, not quite reproach. “He’s still learning. Look what he’s done for Border Tribe and Border patrol. He can’t get everything right.” Okoye knows just what N’Jadaka has been doing for border patrol and Border Tribe in particular. The results were fortuitous for her tribe, yet she wishes it had come from a different source. “You said you’ve been teaching him.” “Border Tribe etiquette, you know Panther Tribe does things differently.” As if that was the cause for the king’s “differences.” “Well, he needs to learn quickly.” -:- Shuri -:- Accompaniment: Redskies by Brothel The afternoon began with a fiery performance from some of the capital’s best. She and her mother arrived later in the day for the festivities, skipping the earlier mixer that filled the time before the official ceremonies began, but no sooner had they arrived and greeted T’Challa that he slipped away with their mother. And Shuri thought she was good at escaping formal events. But she hadn’t even noticed her brother and mother disappear before she’d caught N’Jadaka’s attention. Once her cousin had seen her, he called her to the King’s Dais, so she hadn’t much of a choice, at least not with so many eyes on her who were probably wondering, like she was, where T’Challa might be. Setting aside her misgivings about her cousin, she did her part and stayed on the dais the entire afternoon, smiling and cheering with him through all the presentations from each tribe. Now, as evening sets in, there are parties all over the capital celebrating, but the one she is at is the official Birnin Zana party. With a matching number of officials and royal guests alike, the average age is usually higher than drew interest for Shuri — a function for her parents. This year, however, she notes that many more of the younger crowd is here. Her father was on her mind often today. Every year up to this year, this was the day of the Festival when her father was celebrated. The day for honoring the current king and celebrating the country’s prosperity. True, the bulk of the formal proceedings consisted of the tribes showing off with beautiful presentations of ever more impressive public works. But the king presided over it all, and it was the king who had to dance alone, with all Wakanda watching, before the ceremonies could end and the Festival’s greatest night of partying could get going. Every year, her father had asked her to come and had said that if she skipped everything else, she should at least come see his King’s Dance and enjoy the party with her family. She did as a little girl but hadn’t come for years now. She was embarrassed to watch him dance and wanted to go to a more casual party with people her own age. Now, she wished more than anything she had gone last year, seen her father dance alone and with her mother and be honored as king one more time. This year, the day honoring her father was not today, but yesterday. Today is for N’Jadaka. She will never forget how she felt the moment she realized Border Patrol were on their way, and then when N’Jadaka stepped off that Talon Fighter. She didn’t know what he would do and was totally unprepared for his treatment towards her. He wasn’t upset, he was friendly and even interested in her work. Soon they fell into messaging daily about her research and then about all manner of things. He messaged her all the time, to ask questions or share something he thinks she might like. It was a shock to learn what Ayo had told her. Knowing her cousin hurt T’Challa while being nothing but kind to her made her deeply uncomfortable, not to mention confused. In the absence of more information—everyone but the man in question were being so cagey—she finds herself guessing at what could have happened. Perhaps whatever happened with T’Challa and N’Jadaka was some sort of misunderstanding. N’Jadaka reminded her a bit of W’Kabi and even Okoye. He commanded attention and expected to be obeyed unquestioningly. A quiet part of her wonders if T’Challa just isn’t adjusting well to not being king anymore. Who would blame him? He had been raised since birth to lead. Having someone else take that position instead, someone who hadn’t received the same training and didn’t understand the tribes the way he did, had to hurt. There was also the… strength aspect. She remembers when T’Challa first took the herb he and Nakia had some mishaps with his newly enhanced strength. She’s too embarrassed to ask him, or N’Jadaka, if that was part of the issue. Better not to think about that. Ayo wouldn’t lie to her, neither would her mother. Keep certain things away from her, sure, but not outright lie, and they both confirmed N’Jadaka had hurt her brother unnecessarily. With all that in mind, and still no clear way to make sense of everything, she tries to be careful and retain some distance when she interacts with her cousin. That is easier said than done, however. N’Jadaka was still messaging her many times a day, and he didn’t seem to mind her slower response after she found out the truth. For her part she felt compelled to try to keep up their exchange to not alert him that anything had changed, and before long keeping up with him was part of her daily routine. T’Challa talking to her about the situation helped, his promise that they would be fine, that he and N’Jadaka were managing, meant a lot for her peace of her mind. His request that she focus on staying head of the science division is something she can do; she’s been increasingly focused on her work in the wake of all the changes. Work which N’Jadaka was supporting enthusiastically. So, she had to be careful around him, and felt uneasy with him, yet keep up appearances. She doesn’t like how easy that is for her. Her mother and Ayo warned her for a reason, but with her brother’s reassurance and her cousin’s kind interest she finds her guard lowering anyway. Alone on the King’s Dais with N’Jadaka throughout both the more interesting and less interesting parts of the ceremonies, she expects awkward conversation and both of them ignoring each other for the ongoing performances. Instead, her cousin engages her with a question about a technical aspect of presentation used in the festival. Shuri, after some hesitation, starts describing some of what she knew about it. Which moves into discussions about one of her final projects, that had actually been used for the New Year’s projection two years prior. The opening dance to the evening’s fewer formal festivities is always reserved for the king. This dance is something Shuri sees every year, usually attached to new memes and over-analysis, but this is one of the first in years she’s actually been present for. It’s also the first year since she was born that her father won’t be the one dancing. There’s a moment before the proceeding dance that everyone who hasn’t already, realizes that T’Challa is missing and probably wouldn’t be back in time for the dance. Which is unusual, but not world-ending. Her mother declined the dance some years, depending on her mood. The music starts out understated, like a lullaby, but then the bass and drums join and the tone changes entirely. Her cousin flows through something reminiscent of a traditional swords dance, all that's missing are the actual weapons. The string and 808 drum accompaniment adds an extra layer of oddity to the sound, the hang drums sound mournful to Shuri’s ear. His expression is serious for the first two minutes or so, and then it changes to something more playful, as does the music. He actually seems to be enjoying himself, something that she hadn’t expected. A female voice raps over a heavy beat, one lyric in particular catches her attention “roar like lioness, punch a cyborg.” N’Jadaka doesn’t dance long by himself. At his gesture, two different performers come to join him within the first few minutes. He is a strong dancer alone, and even better with others. His sense of rhythm and the novelty of his American moves are more than enough for a short king’s dance, let alone the subsequent dances with different performers and Wakandan elite. Shuri has to look away sometimes when he and whoever he’s dancing with get a little bit too explicit in their movement. Overall her cousin gives a strong show to raucous cheers and encouragement. Once the dance ends, others join in to dance by themselves or with a partner. Soon enough the dance floor is full, and the party is in full swing. Shuri enjoys the beats, expressing herself in a way she would not quite call dancing, though mostly keeps to the fringes of the dance floor. From time to time, she casually meanders across the hall to a different edge of things. She’s standing in one of those corners when she suddenly notices N’Jadaka standing beside her. “My king,” she’s still stiff when using his proper title. He was dancing the last time she looked his way. “I didn’t see you dancing,” he responds with a smirk. It reminds her annoyingly enough of all the times her father tried to cajole her to participate in festivities like this. “The only person required to dance is the king.” She’s had this conversation too many times and isn’t inclined to have it now, so she turns to slip away. “Hey, now, don’t go. Didn’t mean to hit a nerve.” Shuri tries to school her expression back into neutrality, perhaps even a small smile. “Did you want something?” “Not really. I saw you, so I came over. What’s so bad about dancing?” Shuri crosses her arms unconsciously. “Nothing. I just do not wish to dance. I don’t like people telling me how to behave.” Then, realizing as she said it, “But that is not what you meant, I see now.” He had just been teasing. “I barely know the etiquette myself. Can’t really lecture you.” She and everyone else had noticed. N’Jadaka turns his attention to the crowd on the floor, specifically some of the better dancers. He doesn’t look at her when he says, “Must be a drag, having people tell you how to behave all the time.” Shuri didn’t want to dwell on it. Explaining how her father insulated her from a good deal of that would only sour her mood further. She turns the topic back on him, “People do the same to you, I’m sure—worse even—if they don’t tell you what is proper.” “Worse? How so?” He doesn’t sound insulted, just curious. She tries to find the words to express her thoughts tactfully. “Because it would mean that either people are afraid to speak plainly to you, or that they want to see you embarrass yourself.” With her brother she wonders if it isn’t the latter. Some of the questions N’Jadaka asks her when they message each other are things she would have expected T’Challa to tell him, or that would definitely be answered better by him. N’Jadaka doesn’t respond right away, eyes still on the dance floor. Then, perhaps seizing the moment, someone comes up to them and starts to talk to the king. Shuri continues to let her eyes drift across the dance floor, tuning out their conversation and eventually drifting away. Sometime later, when they happen to be standing near each other again, she almost comments on his popularity, but gets distracted by a dancer on the floor. The dancer is wearing a small strapless top and a sheer long skirt, as low-slung as the thong beneath. The movement of her hips seems to speed and then slow as she gyrates lower. When she stops, mid-roll, Shuri doesn’t look away, watching her rise just as seductively, turning at the last moment to laugh with those gathered around her. The dancer’s hair is wrapped in a Merchant Tribe style meaning “available” and the tattoo low on her back is in the shape of a serpent. When Shuri finally looks away, N’Jadaka is watching her. He is watching the same dancer as well. His knowing expression makes Shuri’s cheek warm and she looks away and unintentionally back at the dancer. On second glance, she realizes the woman is looking straight at where she and her cousin are standing, at N’Jadaka specifically. N’Jadaka seems to lose interest after that, ignoring the dancer as a new song comes on. Shuri finds it curious. Her cousin seemed to enjoy the attention, happily chatting with different people as they approached him, sometimes even flirting with them and generally being charming. But when a dancer he seems to appreciate makes it clear, at least nonverbally, she’s interested, he ignores her. Maybe because he’s married? She knows outsiders have odd ideas about marriage and N’Jadaka hadn’t grown up in Wakanda. He wouldn’t know some of what she took for granted. Certainly, T’Challa might not have told him she’s starting to realize. “Are you going to talk to her?” “Talk to who?” N’Jadaka is back to watching the crowd. “The dancer. She’s available. You can tell from her headwrap.” She tries to speak casually. It isn’t a big deal. “No, why would I?” N’Jadaka seems confused now. “You like her.” Shuri would think it obvious. “I appreciate the dancing. You looked longer than I did, why don't you go talk to her?” N’Jadaka’s expression is mischievous now. “I can be your wingman.” Shuri is mortified. This is what she gets for trying to be nice. “No! I’m not… I have a girlfriend.” “And I’m married to your brother. So, we’re both taken.” “It’s not the same.” “Well, yeah, I’m married.” “No, I mean. It's—” She struggles to find the words to explain some of the relationship etiquette she’s picked up after years of observation and her parents’ own relationship. “Many Wakandans don’t get married. It's more of a thing for major houses or clan obligations.'' The Panther Tribe is unusual for all the marrying they do. “What does that have to do with me talking to someone?” “A marriage doesn’t mean you can’t have other relationships.” Not unless everyone involved agreed to exclusivity, which many don’t. Monogamy isn’t very Wakandan. N’Jadaka seems to understand after that. “So, I can mess with other people, even though I’m married? And no one will care?” “As long as my brother agrees, yes.” She couldn’t imagine T’Challa having a problem with it. Nakia has had several other lovers while she was with T’Challa, which was fairly common for River Tribe. “Is your brother seeing someone else now?” N'Jadaka asks. Shuri shrugs. She hasn’t seen Nakia much since T’Challa got married. Nakia and T’Challa were off and on and then on some more for years now. She couldn’t imagine T’Challa ever not seeing her. “I think so.” N’Jadaka doesn’t ask who, she wonders if he already knows. She’s a little surprised T’Challa hadn’t explained what a Wakandan marriage entailed. Maybe T’Challa and Nakia were really over this time. “So… what's your girlfriend like? I mean what's her name?” Shuri isn’t expecting the question and her response is a little flustered. “She’s–I. She’s nice. Her name is Efi. Her family is Mining Tribe.” “Just nice?” N’Jadaka is teasing her again. She knows because he has a smile from when he’d offered to be her “wingman.” He doesn’t seem to react to the rest of her statement. But then he didn’t know intra-tribe drama the way most Wakandans would. Panther Tribe and Mining Tribe didn’t have the best history. “She’s great.” And beautiful and smart and— “What does she do?” N’Jadaka doesn’t seem put off by her awkward reticence. “She is a student; we had some classes together. It's how we met.” “Why didn’t she come with you today? Yesterday I can understand, it's all ceremony. But today is basically a long party.” They’ve been talking for a while now, and after the initial awkwardness it strikes her just how *normal* their conversation is. N’Jadaka is acting like any other relative overly-interested in her love life. “She is celebrating with her family.” Shuri wanted her to come but hadn’t insisted. Maybe she’ll come next year. “You said she’s Mining Tribe, right?” Shuri nods, unsure where N’Jadaka is going. “They have like… clan mothers, don’t they?” Shuri nods again. “They do. River Tribe do something similar with their den mothers.” It's good that N’Jadaka was learning some of how Wakandan culture functioned. “Who’s hers? I’ve gotten some invites recently from different families. If they’re one of the people who sent an invite, I’ll definitely go.” Shuri has to think before answering. The matriarch was the one to see her off, but she isn’t an immediate family member of Efi’s. How exactly they were related Shuri doesn’t know. “Ozoemena. Their clan lives in Birnin Mena Ngai. I visited a few weeks ago.” She remembers after the fact what she used her visit to cover and how N’Jadaka found out anyway. Her cousin doesn’t mention it. They talk a little more before she excuses herself. She hadn’t meant to spend this much time after the king’s dance. She has plans to do some more work on the Winter Soldier’s treatment plan this evening. -:- Barnes -:- Accompaniment: Mind over Matter by Chelsea McGough When he wakes up from the ice, it feels different, less painful, more… controlled. His head is foggy, but not aching. Painkillers? That’s not like them. As his vision comes back to him and he takes in the white laboratory around him, he remembers he wasn’t put under by HYDRA this time. HYDRA was exposed, in tatters. He was out. The events of the past two years come back to him as the fog continues to lift. He’s in Wakanda. He asked T’Challa to put him under until Wakanda’s scientists could neutralize his deep programming. They must have begun. He wonders what year it is. The motor function returns to his limbs far more smoothly than usual—this Wakandan cryo-tech was amazing—and in moments he steps off the small platform of the cryo tank onto the lab floor. A young woman—a teenager?—in a lab coat comes up to him. Must be one of the scientists he’s been remitted to. “Sergeant Barnes. How are you feeling? You’ve been in the stasis chamber for about a month.” Trying to suppress the immense relief that surges, Barnes takes stock of himself. “I feel… better. Uh, better than I usually do when I come up from a freeze.” The girl sniffs, “I should hope we have better technology than your previous handlers.” Barnes looks aside, unsure if he has made a misstep. “Of course.” He doesn’t want to offend his hosts. “Come over to this workstation. I have revived you to run some diagnostics and to tell you about the deprograming agenda I have developed so far.” Barnes walks over to where she indicates, marveling at the incredible lab around him as he goes. This place looks sleek: dark lines and glowing lights. Straight out of a science fiction novel, except better. She walks him through what she describes as a series of microsurgeries, combined with a course of cognitive therapy. It looks minimally invasive compared to what he would have readily accepted. He would have let them lobotomize him to a vegetable if that’s what it took to make him inaccessible to HYDRA. Instead, it looks like he’ll stay just as he is, with very little risk in the process. This place is amazing. As she speaks, he listens with rapt attention, committing everything to memory. He also wonders how young she is. She looks like a teenager. He wonders if this place is so advanced that people finish school at a much younger age, or if they are so healthy, they all look younger than they are. Could she just look 17 but be in her 40s? He restrains himself from asking. When she’s finished briefing him, she tells him the diagnostics are also complete— they had been running on him while he was standing there. Amazing. “There is one more scan I need. It requires you to lay down on that table,” they both start to walk toward the one indicated, “and then I’ll put you back under until the king approves the plan I’ve designed.” Barnes hops up to sit on the table. “Did T’Challa ask to approve all the steps in my treatment?” For the first time, the woman pauses. “My brother is no longer king.” A jumble of thoughts run through his head. She’s T’Challa’s sister? T’Challa isn’t king anymore? What happened? Who is king? What is his own status now? He scoots to the edge of the table, about to jump off. He’s scanning the room for exits as he asks, “Who’s king now?” Shuri (for she has to be Princess Shuri Udaku, second child of the late King T’Chaka, and T’Challa’s kid sister) raises her hands placatingly. “Easy, calm down. Our cousin challenged for the throne and won, but he says I can still work on you. You’ll be fine and T’Challa is fine and everything is fine.” Bucky isn’t much reassured. “Does this happen often?” Was this a minor matter or more serious than she’s making it out to be? What is this cousin like? What did this mean for the larger political stability of Wakanda? “Ehhhh, not really, no. It is a bit unusual, but nothing for you to worry about. My brother is working with him now. But please, lie down and let me take the last scan.” Bucky keeps his silence and does as she asks, turning over his thoughts privately. Interesting. T’Challa usurped by a close relative and then working alongside him. Could be genuine goodwill, could be under duress, could be any number of things. And there’s no reason to think she was being told everything or was otherwise aware of the nuances of the situation. The possibilities run through his head as he lies there. “Alright, you can sit up now,” she says a short time later. As she says it, he hears the quiet sound of a door opening and the soft steps of someone walking toward them. Barnes sits up, turning to look in the direction of who he assumes might be a subordinate scientist or nurse who Shuri summoned to help put him back on ice. As soon as he comes into view, however, the man’s bearing definitely says he is no one’s subordinate. His face is familiar. He’s dressed like a Wakandan (presumably, Bucky could only guess) but he speaks like an American. “Hey, cuz. How’s it going?” This man has his eyes locked on Shuri, and when he does glance toward Barnes it’s only briefly and from toe to head: assessing him, not acknowledging him. “N’Jadaka! We just finished some scans I needed him conscious for. And while I had him up for them, I have been explaining the program I designed.” They’re standing in front of Barnes where he sits on the edge of the lab table, but they’re only looking at each other. “Excellent, walk me through it.” She once more describes her plan, but this time is different. For one thing, N’Jadaka interrupts with frequent questions. This in turn prompts more detail from Shuri. In fact, her whole attitude is different this time through her explanation, changed when this “N’Jadaka” entered the room. They both continue to spare a glance toward him only as a prop in their discussion. The situation provides ample opportunity to read them both. Shuri was excited before — her enthusiasm for the project was clear — but now Barnes also reads nervousness under it. Not enough to dampen her excitement, so to her mind the stakes of N’Jadaka’s approval were significant but not dangerous. The tenor of it is more an unsureness of her footing around this man. Perhaps a desire to please and the insecurity of not knowing how. So, she either isn’t deeply familiar with him or has not ever been bothered to pay enough attention before recently to feel confident about what would please him. Before he became king, most likely. It’s possible, growing up princess and not the heir apparent, that she’s been privileged enough to remain ignorant of the inner lives of most of the people around her whole life. He doesn’t have enough information to tell. But considering her alone, this could have been enough explanation. Watching and hearing this N’Jadaka, though, tells a different story. He’s calm, relaxed, confident, charismatic. Smiling or smirking, friendly. Listening attentively, making strong eye contact, asking good questions. But he’s too aware. It’s in the edges of his expression, and more pronounced when Shuri looks away to gesture at the displays she brings up. A shrewd narrowing of the eyes. A deliberateness in his engagement with her. And then there are moments he’ll lean back or cross his arms or look slightly skeptical or displeased, turn a phrase in a slightly dubious tone, and whether she realizes it consciously or not, this spurs on Shuri to defend herself, her ideas, her methods. It has her going into completely unnecessary levels of detail. It was self-aware and it was manipulation. Worst of all, it looks like it started some time ago. N’Jadaka is intentionally prompting unease or defensiveness, then feeding her affirmation to assuage it. Done in cycles, this would gradually condition a dynamic between them where she was more and more vulnerable to wanting his approval, which he would dole out only enough to keep her on the hook. It was subtly done. This man understood social power dynamics and how to foster them. Eventually, Barnes’ free pass to simply observe ends. N’Jadaka casually interrupts Shuri (another way to put her on the defensive) to ask for a minute with Barnes alone. She accedes and leaves, glancing at Barnes curiously as she goes. The new king turns towards him after she leaves, he has on a small smile and his eyes reveal an all too familiar calculation. Barnes would feel weirder about the positioning — being examined by someone with power over him while he himself looks down on the man from the table he’s sitting on — if it isn’t already deeply familiar from his time with HYDRA. He just stares evenly back at the man. “So, you’re the Winter Soldier. I’ve heard about you.” “And you are?” Barnes knew about him, put it together while listening to him and Shuri, but he asks anyway. If his memories were correct, “N’Jadaka,” also known as Stevens, is a contemporary operator of the past decade or so. Military, paramilitary, mercenary, covert spec ops. Barnes knows he’s run into him, but doesn’t quite remember if it was in passing, if they were in opposition, or if they were working together. It isn’t that his memory is still suppressed, he’s fairly sure he remembers everything from his time in HYDRA, there are just too many faces of men in combat from over the years to have them all instantly to hand. The man motions, an invitation for Barnes to get off the table. He hops off and the man extends a hand to shake saying, “Erik Stevens. Oakland.” Barnes eyes the hand wearily, reading the man, then extends his own to shake. “James Barnes. Brooklyn.” Stevens shakes his hand firmly but doesn’t let go. Instead, he squeezes his hand tighter and tighter. Barnes stands passively for it, his neutral gaze unchanged. If this is intimidation, dick measuring, or a test of his pain tolerance, Barnes would wait it out. The grip tightens to the point of pain and continues to tighten until Barnes feels the slight grinding crack of a metacarpal fracturing. Barnes breaks his casual eye contact to look down at their hands, then back at Stevens. Stevens seems to read him for another second before letting go. Barnes considers his hand, moving it slightly, testing. It’s a mild fracture and would be healed in a few hours at most. Not as fast as the same would on Steve, but still far faster than the average Joe. What is telling is how easily Stevens could do it. Super strength. But then— “You’re the Black Panther now.” Stevens flashes a grin, dangerous. “That’s right. Black Panther and king. You may have been let in by T’Challa, but I’m in charge now.” Barnes knows what he’s saying. Not just in charge of Wakanda, in charge of him. Stevens could have him thrown out, killed, put on ice indefinitely, let out with his programming still in or probably worse. But Shuri said— what had she said? “He says I can still work on you” So he’s still potentially on the path to being cured. For now. “What—” Barnes feels the question catch in his throat. He never wanted to be at someone’s mercy again, that’s why he’d put himself in the hands of whoever T’Challa trusted with him. But here he is again. “What will you do with me?” At this Stevens beams. “That, Barnes, is the right question. What am I going to do with you? For now, I’m going to let the princess keep on playing with you. If everyone behaves long enough, you might even get out of this lab brainwash-free. What happens after that… Well, I’m sure I’ll think of something. You are potential leverage for those who care about you, but you’re also a man with skills that I might have use of and if you give me any trouble—” here Stevens leans forward, expression grim, tone dropping, “I’ll ice you for good. You understand me?” He does. He was just given a lot of information, and also a choice. It was always a risk, and explicitly so now, but after everything he still wants to gamble on living. He resolves himself, and responds evenly, “Yes, sir.” Stevens likes the “sir,” smiles at it. “Good.”