[ She has no idea what dating entails these days. But he'd said to wear whatever's comfortable, so she puts on a dress, even if it's one considered vintage by modern standards. After which she she curls her hair; it's out of fashion by now, but she hasn't had the opportunity to learn new styles yet.
Then it's a matter of waiting. She goes outside her apartment building five minutes before their agreed time, nervously raking a hand through her hair. His portrait is secure in her handbag, carefully inserted in a cute little picture frame she'd procured the last time she'd gone thrifting. She's brought one of her sketchpads too, as promised, containing faces of random strangers around her, drawn while people watching in parks and cafes and libraries. It's not her best work, but she couldn't show him the tribute portraits she'd made of her dead friends. After all, how would she explain herself if he recognized anyone? While she'd pretty much vanished in the annals of history, remembered more for the pinup posters rather than her wartime exploits, the Howling Commandos (and Howard Stark) had become legendary. They had fucking action figures and teddy bears and everything.
She tries not to think that he's coming to pick her up in a car. In one of his cars. He must've been born into a rich family โ a really rich family โ to be able to afford an entire collection. Meanwhile, she's struggling to make ends meet. SHIELD had helped her hunt down an apartment in her old Brooklyn neighborhood, but it's costing her a fortune. It almost sounds like the beginning of a romance novel. ]
[Stephanie might be outside five minutes before their agreed meeting time, but Zemo pulls up in front of her building with two and change left to spare.
It's easy to hear him coming thanks to the rather loud purr of his soft-top convertible - a vintage Aston Martin (which was probably going a bit too fast for such a neighborhood). The car's in pristine condition, not a scratch in the paint or a spot on the cream-colored interior. Rarer than rare, ludicrously expensive. Definitely a part of his aforementioned collections.]
Miss Stephanie! Hello. [Zemo flashes a charming smile, peering down from behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. Gloved hands still on the steering wheel and the shifter, he places the car in park but lets the engine idle. He's elegantly dressed like their meeting at the museum - it's almost like the term casual doesn't exist in this man's vocabulary.]
I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long?
[Yes he's still technically early but... he could've been earlier, you know? Made an even better impression?
He's already getting out of the car to meet her on the sidewalk. He'll even open the passenger door for her like the gentleman he is. But first - he has to say hello properly: by embracing her and pressing kisses to her cheeks one at a time. It's a Sokovian thing.]
[ Well that's... familiar. Another one of those things that are "vintage" by modern standards but actually feel closer to what she used to know. She can understand why he had this particular collection; modern cars just don't look as stylish as they did back in the day.
The miss has her laughing, but she doesn't correct him. Maybe later. ]
Hi. No, no, you didn't. I was justโ oh.
[ She's not used to the intimacy of the greeting. Or that she has to awkwardly bend down a little since she's taller than him and she'd made the mistake of wearing heels. The embarrassment sends a flood of color to her cheeks. His compliments only darken the flush. ]
T-Thanks. I'm glad you think so. [ At least her outfit kind of goes with what he's wearing. And the car. ] You look great, as always.
[ Wow, Stephanie. So eloquent. Her inner thoughts come in Bucky's voice. Even dead the dumbass won't leave her alone. ]
[Oh? Zemo pulls back some after the kisses, still gently holding onto her arms with gloved hands. Real leather, most likely. Expensive, of course. Impossibly soft to the touch.
He's all smiles, unaware of any awkwardness or potential discomfort - but wholly aware of how sweet her face looks when it's painted with blush like that, how she has to bend a little to match his height. The sight just makes him smile even more, really. Smitten. The brightness to his expression leaving him looking rather boyish.
Until he realizes - maybe it's not... such a routine thing for her to be greeted in such a way. Being American and all. And perhaps he's coming on too strong? (He's excited, okay. He can't help it.) So then he's feeling awkward and (begrudgingly) lets go to give her some space, but not without allowing his fingertips to linger along the way first.]
Stunning aren't we? [He's quick with the attempt to save the mood from crashing and burning. Hopefully it works.]
I know we already have our plans set for today, but I was hoping you'd be interested in some lunch? Or coffee at least.
[Because who just goes to a garage for a date? He does, sure. But there has to be something more substantial, more opportunity to sit and chat.]
[ It's true! Just look at him, he's gorgeous. She'd thought Bucky had been pretty dapper back in their day, but Zemo's a whole other level. Like, those gloves had to be real leather. More importantly, he's got that easy, earnest charm that didn't make her feel like she wanted to punch him.
God, she really is smitten. She must look like an idiot because she can't stop smiling. It's already a shame he's let go of her. ]
Lunch sounds great. Coffee, too. Afterward, if you want.
[ She almost visibly winces. How desperate does she sound? But if they're going out, might as well make the most of the day, right? ]
Of course I want. You won't be getting rid of me that easily, you know.
[Coming from anyone else those words might sound more like a threat. But Zemo's so charming, his tone anything but malicious. There's a lightness there, laced with the softest chuckles of amusement. His hand casually brushes against hers as they banter, leather-clad fingers seeking any trace of intimacy his date will allow before they're even away from the curb.]
We simply can't drive around with the top down on empty stomaches. Or enjoy more fine art without an espresso or two.
[The fine art being hers, of course. He hasn't even seen it yet, but he's laying it on thick. Because a part of him knows it will be good - simply because she's the one who's produced it.
He'll just slip his fingers into hers, nice and gentle, letting them entwine so he can lightly tug her in the direction of the car. Consider the passenger door being held open for her once they get there - because it's the proper, gentlemanly thing to do.]
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@discobaron | it's a date!
[ She has no idea what dating entails these days. But he'd said to wear whatever's comfortable, so she puts on a dress, even if it's one considered vintage by modern standards. After which she she curls her hair; it's out of fashion by now, but she hasn't had the opportunity to learn new styles yet.
Then it's a matter of waiting. She goes outside her apartment building five minutes before their agreed time, nervously raking a hand through her hair. His portrait is secure in her handbag, carefully inserted in a cute little picture frame she'd procured the last time she'd gone thrifting. She's brought one of her sketchpads too, as promised, containing faces of random strangers around her, drawn while people watching in parks and cafes and libraries. It's not her best work, but she couldn't show him the tribute portraits she'd made of her dead friends. After all, how would she explain herself if he recognized anyone? While she'd pretty much vanished in the annals of history, remembered more for the pinup posters rather than her wartime exploits, the Howling Commandos (and Howard Stark) had become legendary. They had fucking action figures and teddy bears and everything.
She tries not to think that he's coming to pick her up in a car. In one of his cars. He must've been born into a rich family โ a really rich family โ to be able to afford an entire collection. Meanwhile, she's struggling to make ends meet. SHIELD had helped her hunt down an apartment in her old Brooklyn neighborhood, but it's costing her a fortune. It almost sounds like the beginning of a romance novel. ]
a million years later... (i'm so sorry)
It's easy to hear him coming thanks to the rather loud purr of his soft-top convertible - a vintage Aston Martin (which was probably going a bit too fast for such a neighborhood). The car's in pristine condition, not a scratch in the paint or a spot on the cream-colored interior. Rarer than rare, ludicrously expensive. Definitely a part of his aforementioned collections.]
Miss Stephanie! Hello. [Zemo flashes a charming smile, peering down from behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. Gloved hands still on the steering wheel and the shifter, he places the car in park but lets the engine idle. He's elegantly dressed like their meeting at the museum - it's almost like the term casual doesn't exist in this man's vocabulary.]
I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long?
[Yes he's still technically early but... he could've been earlier, you know? Made an even better impression?
He's already getting out of the car to meet her on the sidewalk. He'll even open the passenger door for her like the gentleman he is. But first - he has to say hello properly: by embracing her and pressing kisses to her cheeks one at a time. It's a Sokovian thing.]
You look lovely, my dear.
<3 no worries at all ever!
The miss has her laughing, but she doesn't correct him. Maybe later. ]
Hi. No, no, you didn't. I was justโ oh.
[ She's not used to the intimacy of the greeting. Or that she has to awkwardly bend down a little since she's taller than him and she'd made the mistake of wearing heels. The embarrassment sends a flood of color to her cheeks. His compliments only darken the flush. ]
T-Thanks. I'm glad you think so. [ At least her outfit kind of goes with what he's wearing. And the car. ] You look great, as always.
[ Wow, Stephanie. So eloquent. Her inner thoughts come in Bucky's voice. Even dead the dumbass won't leave her alone. ]
:)
He's all smiles, unaware of any awkwardness or potential discomfort - but wholly aware of how sweet her face looks when it's painted with blush like that, how she has to bend a little to match his height. The sight just makes him smile even more, really. Smitten. The brightness to his expression leaving him looking rather boyish.
Until he realizes - maybe it's not... such a routine thing for her to be greeted in such a way. Being American and all. And perhaps he's coming on too strong? (He's excited, okay. He can't help it.) So then he's feeling awkward and (begrudgingly) lets go to give her some space, but not without allowing his fingertips to linger along the way first.]
Stunning aren't we? [He's quick with the attempt to save the mood from crashing and burning. Hopefully it works.]
I know we already have our plans set for today, but I was hoping you'd be interested in some lunch? Or coffee at least.
[Because who just goes to a garage for a date? He does, sure. But there has to be something more substantial, more opportunity to sit and chat.]
no subject
[ It's true! Just look at him, he's gorgeous. She'd thought Bucky had been pretty dapper back in their day, but Zemo's a whole other level. Like, those gloves had to be real leather. More importantly, he's got that easy, earnest charm that didn't make her feel like she wanted to punch him.
God, she really is smitten. She must look like an idiot because she can't stop smiling. It's already a shame he's let go of her. ]
Lunch sounds great. Coffee, too. Afterward, if you want.
[ She almost visibly winces. How desperate does she sound? But if they're going out, might as well make the most of the day, right? ]
no subject
[Coming from anyone else those words might sound more like a threat. But Zemo's so charming, his tone anything but malicious. There's a lightness there, laced with the softest chuckles of amusement. His hand casually brushes against hers as they banter, leather-clad fingers seeking any trace of intimacy his date will allow before they're even away from the curb.]
We simply can't drive around with the top down on empty stomaches. Or enjoy more fine art without an espresso or two.
[The fine art being hers, of course. He hasn't even seen it yet, but he's laying it on thick. Because a part of him knows it will be good - simply because she's the one who's produced it.
He'll just slip his fingers into hers, nice and gentle, letting them entwine so he can lightly tug her in the direction of the car. Consider the passenger door being held open for her once they get there - because it's the proper, gentlemanly thing to do.]