all the colors collide. i see it in your eyes. formerweapon

[forwakanda]

Life changed in a single instant, something T'Challa knew far better than he even wanted to because his past year could only be described as a chaotic mess. From losing his father to becoming both Panther and King to the great nation of Wakanda, he had a lot to adjust to and quickly. The country could not afford him to falter, not even a step and in some ways the pressure of it all seemed far too much for one person to carry. How did his father manage it with such ease and poise? Would he ever find the same or did he have nothing but conflict to ease his way through and towards?

The next bit of trouble revolved around Mister Barnes, someone he vowed to assist with finding peace and he never went back on his word, having far too much honour and pride for such a thing. He promised the Captain he would do all he could and he proved it by earning a terms of release for the solider into his custody. He loathed such a terminology but they were unwilling to grant the man his full freedom until he proved to be a functioning and contributing member of society. This meant building a life with a stable place to stay, a form of employment and passing through routine therapy. A mighty undertaking but a desired one over being in prison, most likely in Russia of all places.

Finished with the conference, T'Challa ran a weary hand over his face before he headed towards James' room to tell him the updates. They had already fashioned a new arm for him and T'Challa wanted him to know he had a place at the palace if he chose to stay there. He managed to clear the others and they arrived back and forth from Wakanda to the rest of the world. He knocked politely, pushing a bead to send a message to his sister about a few things. He checked one of the news feeds while he waited as well, the hologram projection filling the space of the closed door.

Comments

[formerweapon]

Palace life even as a guest was certainly something to get used to, it's a lot more lavish than what he used to staying in. Even though he knows he shouldn't overstay his welcome. Bucky couldn't be grateful for T'Challa for letting him stay and for fashioning him a new arm, it's lighter than his old one which is a nice change of pace when it comes to training with it to get used to the way it functions.

He's siting on the large king sized bed, journals sprawled in front of him as he tries to work through the fragmented memories he's collected on the pages. As the government gave in on sending over his backpack, seeing as they had no intentions for it or it's contents. Today was a conference to be held over what was to be done with him, spending the rest of his years in some god forsaken prison cell or something less than that. Hopeful it's the latter.

Bucky taps his pen on one of the journals as he picks up one of the files of information that he requested about himself, perking up at the knock on his door. Wondering if it was T'Challa bringing him any good news from the conference or an arm escort to take him away. He shifts towards the edge of the bed, placing down his pen as a place marker before making his way over to the door. Opening it with a curious sort of look that was followed by a smile as he opened the door wide enough for T'Challa to walk in.

"Your Highness, any... good news?" He asks, bowing his head a little.

[sorry this is so late, it's been a rough week plus all my free time's being eaten up by dishonored 2]