nerves_of_ice | [oom] a diplomatic visit

She glances blandly back at him and doesn't take the bait. It's hard to say what he actually knows of her, aside from the fact that she tends to be around the White Wolf, and she has no intention of volunteering information.

"So what kind of crafts do the Jabari specialize in?"

"Whatever we choose," he says, proudly, before relenting. "But especially woodwork. Furniture, sculpture, beaded artwork. Also textiles and weavings."

"And stone carving, I'd guess," she says, looking up at the sides of the cliffs as they continue descending.

"You said sculpture? I'd love to see some."

Her art history days may be long behind her, but she still appreciates seeing beautifully crafted pieces whenever she can.

"And stone carving," he agrees. "Come this way, and I will show you to where those artisans share a workshop."

He means exactly that, it turns out - the workshop is large and roomy and filled with light, the size of a warehouse, with multiple artists working on things in their own set spaces and calling encouragement or teasing to the others as they work.

The workshop is enormous – everything here seems scaled larger than anywhere she's ever been – and it takes her a moment to see the individuals and their work rather than one large airy and industrious beehive.

Over there, an artisan is putting the final touches on a beautiful table, the natural grain gleaming with oil; past them is a crew assembling tall, graceful ladders. To her left, a man sands down a series of gorgeous bowls.

She whistles, impressed. "If any of your artisans are interested in going down to the market in the city," she says, "I think they'll get swarmed. This is beautiful work."

"You think so?" He's amused. "I suppose we did not scare them too badly at the celebration. Perhaps one or two ambitious ones might be willing to try. I will not discourage it."

"As long as they let any potential buyers pay with money instead of arm wrestling, I think they'll be fine," she says, just as amused.

The bowls are especially beautiful; she wonders if she might be able to barter or buy some for Bucky to have in the hut. Rice and beans might not be the most exciting thing to eat, but it's always nice to have something pretty to eat it out of.

"I will leave that to the warriors," a carver shouts over, laughing. "I need my hands for other things!" Several of his friends call teasing remarks to him, at that, and he brushes them off with an easy grin, directed at Sharon, although his words are for M'Baku.

"Who is this you have brought us?"

"A visitor," M'Baku drawls. "She seeks a name."

"Among other things," she says, mouth twitching.

Like a little distance from her old life, for one. "After hearing everything your king had to say about about the Jabari lands and people, I had to come see for myself."

The man's grin is startling white in his dark face. "And what do you think so far?" he asks.

Sharon grins. "I think... your king did not praise you enough."

"Ha!" the carver shouts, while the room fills with hoots and laughter, all of which are answered back by M'Baku at full volume.

There's no way for him to miss finding the artisan's hall, not with the unholy amount of noise rising from it. Bucky doesn't burst into a run, but he's definitely moving a little faster as he ducks through the door and scans the room.

(He still has water droplets in his hair.)

Seeing no trouble, he relaxes and moves to join M'Baku and Sharon.

He looks like he's come from out of a mist, when she turns and sees him, and two things happen at once: her heart skips and her shoulders relax.

M'Baku has been an excellent distraction from her terrible mood, but there's nobody she wants to see more than him. "Hi," she says, smiling as she looks him up and down.

"I saw you catch an enormous fish. If you had an online dating profile, it would be a great picture for it."

His lips form the silent words online dating profile, but he decides to leave that entirely alone.

"It was fun," he says instead, and gives a cordial nod to M'Baku. "I learned a lot from your fishermen."

He doesn't rise to the bait – or maybe it's that he doesn't stoop to her level – and she makes an amused face at him while M'Baku preens.

"There is much our fishermen can teach," he says proudly, and Sharon has to agree.

"It's pretty different from any I've done before," she admits. "But obviously I think it's improved by the addition of spears."

"Obviously." He seems matter-of-fact about it, and it's impossible to tell if he's teasing or not. "There are nets, too, but that's a different location."

Bucky looks at M'Baku. "I don't mean to interrupt, of course. I saw that Sharon'd arrived and thought I'd see if there was any news I needed to know about."

Her smile fades a bit, but doesn't disappear entirely. "Nothing we need to talk about right now."

Nothing that can't wait. The kind of wheels that Ross is trying to turn now are the sort that take weeks, months, maybe years to get going. Not days. She turns back to M'Baku.

"What was that you were saying about training grounds?"

Somehow, he manages not to wince as the artisans start murmuring excitedly among themselves and M'Baku's smile broadens.

"If you are sure you do not wish to wait, then why don't you both come with me?"

There's nothing for it, he supposes, and Bucky gives a sharp single nod.

"I just want to watch," she says, innocent, as if Bucky might not be able to see right through it.

She can feel it, sharp, chewing at her; the want to run, to fight, to hit something or someone and for something or someone to hit her back. She'd be the first to say it's not the healthiest coping mechanism, but you know? It's always worked for her. "We'll see about anything else."

He doesn't believe that for an instant, and he's also not going to say a single word to contradict her in front of the others. He can feel M'Baku watching him for his reaction and tips his head back slightly to meet the other man's eyes, staying silent.

M'Baku grins even wider, and tells Sharon, "Of course. Come this way." He walks across the artist's hall to an exit on the other side. Bucky falls in next to Sharon and mutters, "You sure about this?"

"Sure about what? Watching some people train?"

She gives him a carefully neutral glance. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He lets his breath sigh out and says nothing more, but stays by her side as they follow M'Baku through the door and down a wide street that turns abruptly into an open field, ringed with informal observation stands, and covered with soft-packed dirt.

Several targets stand at one side of the field, with people alternating between spear-throwing and archery. Other sections have been marked out as sparring rings, quite a few of which are occupied - and that is just the beginning of the many activities happening in this large grounds.

M'Baku turns to Sharon. "What would you like to see first?"

"Ranged," she says.

It's not like the gun ranges she's used to: no one is wearing ear protection and there are no firearms anywhere to be seen. The warriors heft spears taller than themselves and fling them with bone-chilling accuracy or zip off half a dozen arrows before she can blink, all of them landing true, sunk a third of the way up their shafts in the targets.

But she's most interested in a stand of light javelins, a little taller than herself. They lack the heft of the spears and the range of the arrows, but they're slim and light, pointed and both ends, and she finds herself itching to get her hands on one.

M'Baku is watching her, and Bucky knows what he's going to ask before the other man says, courteously, "Would you like to try?"

He makes sure not to react in any way, listening silently.

She watches another spear arc through the air and land quivering in the ground. "What the hell," she says, and studiedly doesn't look at Bucky as she ties her hair up into a ponytail and shrugs out of the coat she'd worn against the mountain cold, leaving her bare-armed, skin prickling, as she goes toward the stand.

One of the older warriors, clearly acting as some kind of coach, courteously shows her the javelins available. She picks each up and hefts them, testing their weight, until she comes on one that feels right in her hands. "You guys will have to forgive me if I'm a little rusty," she says, and twirls the javelin in both hands like a staff, getting the feel of it as she eyes the line of straw-stuffed target dummies.

"My track and field days are pretty far behind me."

She doesn't have Clint Barton's unnatural precision, but what she does have is a solid two decades of training and muscle memory, and if the javelin isn't quite what she's used to, she still knows the basic physics of it.

Throw through the point. Like a game of darts. She waits her turn, tipping her head side to side and circling her arms to warm them up. Once the older man nods to her, she nods back, takes a quick hop-skip of a run and flings the javelin towards her target. It slices through the air and buries itself into the dummy's left shoulder, and she shrugs as she turns back to M'Baku.

"Like I said. Rusty."

He doesn't try to keep from letting the small, satisfied smile show, watching as M'Baku's eyebrows rise.

"Not that rusty, it would appear."

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