[ among the degenerates of the world, the raft has a reputation for two things: one, that it's a maximum, maximum security prison with a complete absence of privacy or dignity for its prisoners, and two, that it's too susceptible to breakouts.
part two of its reputation should inform part one, zemo thinks, but it hardly matters. once the security is overridden - a gift from an anonymous benefactor - he's able to force the structure to lift out of the ocean. from there, it's a simpler matter of reclaiming his confiscated possessions, stealing a helicopter and flying it through a choppy, angry storm back to freedom.
on solid land, zemo finds his way across eastern europe, in trains and cars until, finally, he opens the door to the gulf-stained air in riga. he takes a deep breath, and hands deep in his coat pockets, disappears in the alleyway between two connected businesses.
darkness blankets the tunnel system underneath his vacation home. it feels like a half ancient place, some walls a smooth, nearly machined stone, the others the jagged, natural edge of cliff walls. when james' voice calls out, zemo feels himself take a breath, nearly in relief. ]
Now, when was the last time you went on holiday?
[ revealing himself, zemo steps into the light of torches he'd left on earlier that day. his chin raises, smile arching the corners of his mouth. ] And don't say it was two weeks ago. Chasing an anarchist across greater Europe with me by your side hardly constitutes a relaxing time.
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branchandroot
all gouda!!
Date: 2021-04-28 09:48 am (UTC)part two of its reputation should inform part one, zemo thinks, but it hardly matters. once the security is overridden - a gift from an anonymous benefactor - he's able to force the structure to lift out of the ocean. from there, it's a simpler matter of reclaiming his confiscated possessions, stealing a helicopter and flying it through a choppy, angry storm back to freedom.
on solid land, zemo finds his way across eastern europe, in trains and cars until, finally, he opens the door to the gulf-stained air in riga. he takes a deep breath, and hands deep in his coat pockets, disappears in the alleyway between two connected businesses.
darkness blankets the tunnel system underneath his vacation home. it feels like a half ancient place, some walls a smooth, nearly machined stone, the others the jagged, natural edge of cliff walls. when james' voice calls out, zemo feels himself take a breath, nearly in relief. ]
Now, when was the last time you went on holiday?
[ revealing himself, zemo steps into the light of torches he'd left on earlier that day. his chin raises, smile arching the corners of his mouth. ] And don't say it was two weeks ago. Chasing an anarchist across greater Europe with me by your side hardly constitutes a relaxing time.