[oom] a diplomatic visit

[nerves_of_ice]

In all the things he's done up to now, he's never been asked to be a diplomat. Bucky's still not sure this is a good idea, but if nothing else at least it gets him out of Ross's path. And besides, being a diplomat to the Jabari's as T'Challa's White Wolf is a little different from being one anywhere else on earth, he's certain.

M'Baku greets him with a wide smile and widespread arms, inviting him to take in the grandeur of the Jabari's traditional homeland from the clifftop view before leading him inside. Bucky can already see some of the others measuring him for threat or competition or both. It's clear M'Baku knows it as well, and is amused by it - amused enough to let things play out as game or challenge or both.

It's going to be an interesting visit, he's sure.

Forty-eight hours later, he's sure of something else: he likes these people.

Comments

[nerves_of_ice]

"Are there stories about her too?" Bucky wants to know. M'Baku grins at them both. "Rumors. Rumors that may become stories in time. What say you, Ms. Carter? What stories would you want to be told?"

[from_the_outside]

"Oh," Sharon says, grinning over her glass of water, "I don't want to stick my oar in. Better if they grow organically."

[nerves_of_ice]

"And I'm sure they will," Bucky observes, which is met with a delighted shout from M'Baku. "Well said!"

[from_the_outside]

"We'll see," Sharon says, and sips at her water, eyes dancing as she asks M'Baku:

"Tell me, is 'thirteen' an unlucky number for the Jabari, the way it is back home?"

[nerves_of_ice]

“No,” M’Baku says, while Bucky tries not to choke on his drink. “Why should it be?”

[from_the_outside]

"No particular reason," she says, blithely ignoring Bucky's sputtering and turning back to focus on the floor, where the warrior she'd marked earlier is standing triumphant, his fellows laughingly holding up their hands in surrender.

She nods towards him. "Seems like you've got a real champion on your hands."

[nerves_of_ice]

“D’jarra is very skilled,” M’Baku agrees, with pride and approval both clear. “One of our best.”

Bucky nods, taking another swallow of his drink to clear his throat.

[from_the_outside]

"He's very good," she agrees, and joins in the applause as D'jarra bows to M'Baku and takes an offered glass of water.

None of the other warriors here have the sheer size and nearly gravitational impact of M'Baku, but they all seem to be tall and strong and trained with precision and M'Baku's pride in them is both clear and obviously well earned.

[nerves_of_ice]

He can’t help but compare the level of skill on display here to what he’s seen in T’Challa’s kingsguard or among the Dora Milaje, and doesn’t realize that he’s gone silent and thoughtful as he does.

[from_the_outside]

She's sipping at her water when M'Baku nudges Bucky, alight with curiosity.

"You are lost in thought, White Wolf!" he says, grinning. "This is not a time for quiet meditation. This is a time to be merry!"

[nerves_of_ice]

He pulls himself out of his thoughts and grins ruefully at the other man. “Sorry. I was just comparing to others I’ve known.”

“Then if you are going to judge us so, why not let us do the same?” comes the voice from the floor.

[from_the_outside]

She looks back at the floor, searching for the speaker, and finds a great many eyes turned on Bucky, waiting for his response.

"Nobody said anything about judgment," she says, lightly.

[nerves_of_ice]

He inclines his head very slightly. “Comparison isn’t judging, not here, not now. And it shouldn’t be. This is a celebration. I was appreciating your skill. No offense.”

“Still, bold talk from one we’ve not seen fight,” comes the call, and M’Baku snorts at that. “Some of us have. Be wary of your words.”

[from_the_outside]

"Then show us!"

The cry goes up and several warriors begin pounding the tables or stomping on the floor, shaking the rafters with their calls. M'Baku allows it for a few seconds, then holds up his hand. Silence swallows the banquet hall.

"Is this any way to treat a guest?" he demands. "Make a challenge or be done with it. No more of this muttering."

[nerves_of_ice]

Another wave of sound rolls over the floor, and then D’Jarra steps forward. Bold and confident, he walks to the middle of the floor and stands there facing the head table.

“I challenge you, White Wolf. Show us the truth of the tales, eh?”

Weariness passes over Bucky’s features.

[from_the_outside]

He doesn't slump, but all the enthusiasm has gone out of him, even as M'Baku grins and shouts down the warriors who are calling out either encouragement or amused insults to D'Jarra.

Nobody's going to force you to fight.

Sharon crosses her arms onto the table top and leans forward on them, studying D'Jarra with interest. "I'll take that challenge," she says, and smiles into the bewildered silence that falls.

"The White Wolf fights for necessity, not for sport. But I'm happy to step in for him."

[nerves_of_ice]

D’Jarra stares at her, while M’Baku leans back in his chair and looks between her and Bucky with interest. “You? I have not challenged you. White Wolf, are you truly going to sit there and allow her to do this?”

“Sharon makes her own choices.” Each word is cold as ice and level as the edge of a blade. Bucky stares D’Jarra straight in the eye. “And she has the skill, if she wants to use it.”

She’s defending him, he knows, and even while it twists everything inside him he knows he can’t stop it, and more, that he shouldn’t try. “She’s right. I don’t fight without reason. Call it the price honor requires.”

That starts another round of muttering, but one that’s much more speculative and curious than before.

[from_the_outside]

"What the hell," she says. "A little sparring sounds kind of fun; like a sort of dessert."

She and M'Baku may be the only two people in this huge room who still look relaxed. D'Jarra gives his king an appealing look, but she thinks she's probably hooked him: he can't back down without looking worse.

Sharon quirks a glance at M'Baku, too, her own sparkling and amused. "Unless there's something in the rules against it?"

D'Jarra scowls at her, then looks back at M'Baku. "My king," he says, plaintively. "Do you truly wish me to fight this..."

That pause of his is doing an awful lot of heavy lifting. "Woman?"

[nerves_of_ice]

Bucky’s gaze narrows in a sharp stare, but M’Baku beats him to whatever he might have said.

“Are you afraid?” Scorn drips from his voice. “She is not a woman of the tribes, but she is a fighter all the same. If she wishes to test her skill against ours, I see no reason why not!”

[from_the_outside]

"I'm game if you are," she tells D'Jarra, and grins at him as she pushes back her chair and gets up.

"Come on, you've beaten everybody else. Why not give someone new a try?"

[nerves_of_ice]

D’Jarra looks her up and down and shrugs. “Come, then,” he challenges. “And when you lose, then, White Wolf, we will see what honor demands - yours and King T’Challa’s alike!”

Bucky can feel his teeth try to grind, and simply jerks his head in a sharp nod. “I’m not worried.”

[from_the_outside]

"Great. Let me slip into something a little more comfortable, then."

She shrugs off her cloak and lays it over the back of her chair, toes off her sandals, then focuses on the bracelet at her wrist. It pulses once, white-hot, then expands, creeping up along her forearm and to her shoulder, her collarbone, until she can unwrap the pretty green and gold dress to reveal the white catsuit that's appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Sharon glances at her hands and retracts the gloves into fingerless versions – she's not quite sure Shuri didn't resist the urge to put claws into this sucker.

Unfazed by the chorus of amazed whispers and D'Jarra's bemused expression, she passes behind Bucky, pausing to put a hand on his shoulder and lean down to speak quietly into his ear. "I've got this," she tells him, low enough for just the two of them, then straightens to tie her hair back into a bun and glance at M'Baku.

"Hand to hand? Or can I accessorize?"

[nerves_of_ice]

Bucky nods, and forced himself to lean back in his chair and look relaxed.

M’Baku grins. “You were challenged, sort of. If you wish that you both use weapons, feel free. You are very small for hand to hand.”

[from_the_outside]

"You're right," she says. "I should give him a fair shot."

A chorus of amusement goes up, and D'Jarra fumes, but steps aside as she comes down, giving her the choice of the weapons available. She doesn't look for long before she selects a similar light javelin to the one she threw earlier. She hefts it, spins it in her hands, and walks to the cleared sparring area before tossing a wink at D'Jarra.

"Okay," she says. "Hit me, if you can."

[nerves_of_ice]

D’Jarra narrows his eyes and claims a javelin of his own, then takes up position across from her. He tests his footing across from her, shifting back and forth as he feints, once, twice, then the start of a third before he shifts it into a sharp strike.