A/N: Spoiler alert for almost everything in the MCU, so watch out!
As always, many thanks go out to CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for the Beta and Winter-Soldier-88 for the brainstorming.
To all my family, friends, and readers from around the world, be safe, don't give in to paranoia, fear, and anger. If you have family, friends, or even a neighbor or co-worker who has a difficult time getting out, or just needs a shoulder to (figuratively) lean on, don't be afraid to help them out.
Most of all, stay safe. And for all our sake's, stop hoarding toilet tissue and hand sanitizer. If you feel you must hoard, do it the right way. Buy one 12- or 16-pack each time you go to the grocery store. Same with hand sanitizer.
Namaste,
Sunny
"I will come back to you, I swear I will;
And you will know me still.
I shall be only a little taller
Than when I went."
― Edna St. Vincent Millay, The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems
Winter Soldier
And You Will Know Me Still
Chapter 87
As the Winter Soldier, Bucky had been relentlessly trained to respond to any conceivable situation and to adapt in less than the space of a single heartbeat. He could improvise not only his reactions, but nearly anything within his sphere could be made into a weapon. Postulating what an adversary would do came effortlessly.
So, it was no surprise when two pairs of hands grasped his ankles and pulled him into the hole that was meant to be his and Bence's grave. Those same hands had made their own improvised weapons and both men immediately set upon him, pounding away at whatever body part they could, more than a few of which landed on the back of his head. Bucky allowed the men to press his face into the damp earth scented soil until they were satisfied that he'd been subdued.
The toe of a boot rammed into his ribs with impressive force, but he didn't make a sound, letting his opponents believe he'd been rendered unconscious yet again. They congratulated each other with derisive laughter and pats on the back.
~~O~~
Smirking into the dark lit only by the moon's glow, and the flashlight attachment on her weapon, Zsofia headed for the grave to assist her companions. She pulled up short as, one by one, the men soared through the air, their screams cutting off when they hit the ground more than twenty feet away. They lay there moaning and groaning as they carefully sorted themselves out.
Zsofia knew better than to turn her back on the man who stood once again at the edge of the grave. Rasping came from his throat that had less to do with being winded than the anger in his eyes.
The space behind her filled with the now upright bodies of Rares, who went by the name Miklos and Bence, who had been known as Costin in the old regime. She could smell fear coming off them both, mentally rolling her eyes in scorn. Together, the men had eliminated their fair share of dissidents, as well as those who'd simply gotten in the way, had been unwitting witnesses, or annoyed them in some fashion. Now here they were, cowering in the dark before one man, their breath coming fast and hot against her neck.
Taking a bold step forward removed their grip on her upper arms and shoulders, her chin lifting as the Winter Soldier did the same.
"Vorbesti engleză?" he asked. If he was attempting to divert her attention, if only for a second, he was out of luck.
She raised an impertinent eyebrow to go with the unremitting smugness that had been earned through years of experience and not a little talent at her chosen profession. "Mai bine decât vorbești Română."
~~O~~
"I doubt that," he mocked in English. "Russkiy?" Bucky asked as if they were strangers getting to know each other over coffee and a danish.
The skin around her eyes crinkled, reminding him of the old drawings of witches his mother would put up at Halloween. As a child, he'd been scared they would come to life while he was sleeping and steal his soul. Now, he found them funny. One shoulder twitched, telling him his strategy to distract her wasn't working.
"Da, nemnogo."
He couldn't help laughing out loud at her accent, which was horrendous, switching back to Romanian, "You may think you've won," his smirk matched hers, "Te inneci ca tiganul la mal."
The intensity of her rage made her eyes flash. Faster than Bucky thought, given her advanced age, Zsofia switched over to automatic, aimed the weapon, and fired a rapid stream of bullets in his direction, the sound echoing in the night.
Bucky scoffed as he twisted and turned, the bullets exploding against the trees, sending wood fragments, dirt, and leaves into the air, and startling nocturnal creatures to flight. I can do this in my sleep, curvă.
His opponent took a half step back, her mask of bravado slipping just the tiniest bit when the weapon jammed, but she wasn't ready to give up.
Zsofia flipped the weapon, catching the barrel. Holding it with both hands over her shoulder like a baseball bat, she ran at him, intent on smashing in his skull. A phrase he'd heard recently popped into his head, coming out his mouth as he sidestepped at the last possible second, "Bitch, please."
The stock of the weapon came around in a perfect backhand. He leaned out of the way, and again, she missed.
"Elena!" Bence called out, fear causing him to forget to use her assumed name, "Leave him and let's get out of here!"
Without responding, Zsofia threw the weapon at Bucky's head, and the group took off toward the parked vehicles. To spur them to greater speed, he gave chase, but didn't put too much energy into it. Within moments, the engines of the vehicles could no longer be heard, even by him.
Bucky took a moment to check on Endre, but it was too late. He was dead, and no amount of medical help would bring him back, so he did the only thing that might bring dignity to the other man's death.
He laid the body in the bottom of the grave, hands folded over his chest. Looking down into the dark hole, Bucky heaved a sigh, picked up the discarded shovel, and covered the body. When done, he said a silent prayer for the man, dusted his hands on the back of his pants, and took off in the same direction as Zsofia and her collaborators. They would pay dearly for the pain and suffering inflicted on innocents, now and in the past.
~~O~~
Hiding behind the SUV and van, István and Elizabet hefted their weapons, and shared an uneasy glance. Once again, as she'd done every few minutes since the others had left, Elizabet's hand dipped into her pocket, fingering the cigarette case and lighter. István understood the nervousness. He felt the same way, though hers had to be worse, given that her husband had left in the company of a notorious assassin. But she knew as well as he that they couldn't leave anything behind that might lead the authorities back to them, should this place be discovered.
For his part, Roland had ensconced himself in the passenger seat of the van, and had promptly dozed off, more than content to allow all the hard work to be done by another. Some things never change, thought István, vexed at the entire situation, and wholeheartedly wishing he'd gone out on his own when the old regime had collapsed.
What none of the others knew, and he would keep to the grave, was that he'd watched the trial and execution of Nicolae and Elena Ceaușescu with glee. It was true that István's standard of living had degenerated to a tenth of what it had been prior, but he didn't care. No more did he have to cater to the whims of a psychotic narcissist.
Chirping crickets and nocturnal animals scurrying through the underbrush and in the trees gave prominence to the fact that the sound of gunfire had long since ceased. Now, the quiet was getting on his nerves. He had the thought that one of them should check on the others. Before he could put it into words, István's muscles tensed at the sound of rustling of grass and leaves, and the thudding of running footsteps coming closer.
Zsofia, Bence, and Miklos burst into the clearing, shouting over each other so that it was difficult to understand what they were saying. However, the tone of their voices and the men looking over their shoulders told him all he needed to know. "Something's gone wrong," he hissed urgently. "Time to go."
By the time their companions arrived, István and Elizabet were in the driver's seats, seatbelts buckled, and engines revving.
The sudden activity startled Roland to wakefulness, and he glanced around frantically, trying to figure it all out. There was no need at this point. The van shook as someone jumped into the back and slammed the rear doors. He didn't want for the order. He shifted into gear and took off like a shot.
In the side mirror, he could see the other vehicle on their tail, the headlights bobbing as they bounced over the ruts and bumps in the narrow path between the trees.
"The gate!"
"Hold on!" he warned. Not wanting to take extra moments to open the gate, lest their opponent catch up to them, István gritted his teeth, and hit the gas.
A heartbeat later, they crashed through the rusted barrier, the metal scraping on the chrome bumper and grill, causing sparks. They swung open, slammed against the equally rusted fence, and bounced back to scrape down the sides of the SUV. István didn't care about the cost of the repairs to the vehicles, but he did care about living. He was as certain as he could be that the Winter Soldier wouldn't hesitate to kill them all without remorse. After all, if what he'd read online was the truth and not exaggerations and propaganda disseminated by Russia to keep its former citizens in line, then their deaths would be swift, immensely painful, and they wouldn't even see it coming.
Over the roar of the engine, he barely heard the SUV hit the swinging metal gates, and breathed a sigh of relief. But just a small one. They weren't, as the Americans say, home free yet, even though the Winter Soldier was on foot. István doubted that even he could catch them at this speed, but it was best not to tempt fate.
From the back, he could hear Miklos giving Roland a rundown of what had transpired at the gravesite, and he didn't like the sound of it. Not one bit. A frisson of fear crept into his brain, and from the tone of their voices, the others felt it too, that perhaps the rumors of the Winter Soldier's abilities weren't as far-fetched as he thought. All but Zsofia had scoffed, thinking first that he was a myth or legend. Stories that are told to children, the naïve, the superstitious, and the easily startled to scare them into submission, like the Bau-Bau Romanian parents and tutors often used as a threat to naughty or misbehaving children.
"I think you can slow down now, Dimitry," Roland murmured as if speaking to a hyperactive child. He leaned to the side, better to see the dash icons. "He's long gone."
Miklos, known as Rares Lupescu in the old times, clutched the back of his seat, using it to lever himself between the bucket seats. His breathing came fast and hard, and István smelled the stench of sweat and fresh earth, mixed with fear. "You don't understand, Wadim, um, Roland. This-this myth, legend, whatever, he's real." He gripped István's arm with the hand still holding fast to a handgun. "Real, I tell you. Tossed Bence and I around like dolls." Pausing to take a calming breath, Miklos used the back of the hand holding the handgun to wipe sweat from his upper lip. "When Elena," a sound of frustration gurgled in his throat, "Zsofia shot at him, he-he… She never hit him. Not once. It was like watching a dancer perform a series of complicated moves."
Roland scoffed. "Easy enough to do when one is nimble of foot, as we already know he is."
"You just don't get it," Miklos shook his head, almost as what he'd witnessed had been magic. "I watched her switch from semi- to fully automatic. That's more than one hundred rounds a second, and not one of them made their mark. Zsofia is the best of us all with a weapon and she missed… every… single… shot!"
While István let that sink in, he eased off the gas to take the sharp turn coming up, speeding up again as the path straightened once more. He gasped and every muscle in his body tensed as a dark figure stepped into the lights from his high beams.
"Look out!" Roland shouted, one hand holding tight to the armrest, turning away from the scene, and closing his eyes.
István cranked the wheel hard to the left, bounced over a gravel road, crashed through the rickety fence, and into the old graveyard. He turned hard to the right and back to the left, narrowly avoiding several heavy granite upright, tombstones, and bounced over the rocks lining another. His lungs and chest burned from holding his breath, and his fingers ached from how hard he was holding onto the steering wheel.
He thought they'd made it when suddenly, out of the dark loomed what could only be a family burial crypt easily four times the size of the van, this one made out of scarred and weathered marble. The driver's side bumper clipped the corner, sending the vehicle caroming out of control. They hit a rise in the ground at just the right angle to launch it into the air.
~~O~~
The van landed on the passenger side and kept rolling, ending up on its roof. Whimpering came from Miklos, who'd obviously been injured. István looked over to Roland who appeared to be unconscious, the side of his face pushed into the airbag. Ignoring his aches and pains that would no doubt turn into bruises by morning, if they lived that long, he reached into his back pocket for the knife he kept on him at all times. A flick of his wrist sent a bolt of pain down his arm from where he'd hit his shoulder on the door. He used the knife to deflate the airbags, and reached over to check Roland's pulse. There was nothing. Because his head had been turned at the time of impact, the force of the airbag deploying had broken the other man's neck, killing him instantly. Time to mourn the loss after they'd escaped from the Winter Soldier.
Bracing one hand on the roof below him, István found places for his feet and used the knife to cut his seatbelt. He closed the knife, returned it to his pocket, and took out the handgun Zsofia had insisted they all needed to carry, using the butt to break the window so he could climb out.
On his knees, he reached over, patting Roland's pockets and relieving the dead man of the weapons he would no longer need. Climbing painfully to his feet, István scanned the area lit only by the light of the moon, and made his way to the back of the van. He opened the doors, and as suspected, Miklos was bleeding from a gash across his forehead. This was the least of his worries as he also had a broken wrist and femur.
The SUV's forward motion had come to a shuddering stop when the undercarriage was caught on the remains of a tombstone that appeared to have once been shaped like an open bible set upright over the grave, which was covered by three layers of the same worn stone so that it resembled a short pyramid.
Bence shut down the engine. The vehicle was useless to them as it was, even though it still ran. Provided they lived through the remainder of the night, it would be a long walk back to civilization. He examined the vehicle, irked that the front wheels had no contact with the ground. It was all-wheel drive, but that wouldn't help them now.
Holding the machine gun by the stock, Zsofia limped in his direction. This far from the city, sounds carried, and he could hear her swearing under her breath with each step. They were joined by Bence, who was being fussed over by his wife. Elizabet had a scrape down one cheek and bruises could already be seen through the rips in her jacket sleeves.
Elizabet dabbed at the blood running down Bence's neck and under the collar of his shirt. He shooed her away, fingering the lump on the side of his head, but she persisted. Did the man seriously wear a suit to dig a grave? Elizabet was no better. She wore a fashionable knee-length dress that was torn and bloodied, and two-inch heels. "Where's Roland?"
"Dead, and Miklos is badly injured. He'll need medical care soon, before he goes into shock."
The sleeve of Bence's jacket was torn beyond repair. He took it off with Elizabet's help. It fell to the ground, already forgotten. A pack of cigarettes and an engraved gold lighter fell out of the torn pocket, ignored by the owner and his wife. Finally!
Silent as a mouse, Zsofia had gone to the back of the van to check on Miklos. István moved to join her, pulling up short at the loud retort of a single shot.
"Why the hell did you kill him, Elena?" István hissed through gritted teeth as she returned, her eyes void of emotion. "His injuries weren't that severe, as long as…"
She shoved the handgun into her back waistband and turned away, dismissing the dead man. "He would only have slowed us down. We couldn't risk that the politie would get their hands on him. His mind is so weak, he would've turned us in just to save his own worthless hide. The dead don't tell tales." A twig snapped, and the group moved back to back, carefully scanning their surroundings. "Split up and hide," she ordered. "The Winter Soldier must not leave this place alive. If you get the chance, take the shot."
"But…" Elizabet began.
Zsofia cut her off with a slash of her hand. "No arguments. When he is dead, his body will be displayed prominently in the Bucharest town square for all to see what a pitiful little mouse the legend turned out to be. Underserving of the mythos created around him."
She gestured, and the group split up to hide, each hoping someone other than themselves encountered the Winter Soldier.
Stark Industries
Penthouse
Pepper yawned, her bare feet padding on the cool tile outside of the lab. Inside, Tony was "air shredding" the instrumental of a song she'd never heard before. She let herself in, circling around the hologram of a famous singer.
The instrumental ended; Tony joined in with the singer, and Pepper once again shook her head in wonder at his incredible singing voice. Was there anything he couldn't do?
The song came to a slam-bang finish and the two men high-fived each other. Then, the hologram pointed with his chin, and finally, Tony noticed they weren't alone.
His eyes lit up and he pulled her close for a kiss. "Pep, honey, meet my buddy, Gordo. You might know him better by his stage name: Sting. Gordo, this is the love of my life, Pepper Potts."
Sting raised a hand in a wave, adding a charming smile. "Pleasure to meet the one woman in the world who could get this bloke to settle down, Ms. Potts." Sting's smile turned lopsided. "She's the bee's knees, Tone."
"Yes, she is," Tony agreed, both arms around her waist from behind. "Great set, Gordo. See you Saturday?"
"Right-o." The singer flipped a salute and the hologram vanished.
Stepping out of his arms and turning around, Pepper gave him that look. "What's going on, Tone?"
He stepped back into her personal space, hands lightly rubbing up and down her arms. As always, the action made her feel loved and safe. "Just arranging entertainment for the party. Think Darcy's a Sting fan?"
"Did you talk to her? Does she even want a party?"
"Who doesn't like parties?" Pepper huffed, and he dropped his hands. "Fine. Tomorrow. Deal?"
Despite the energetic performance she just witnessed, the dark circles under his eyes spoke louder than his voice, telling her he'd been awake for more than a day. Taking his hand, she led him down the hall to the lift. "Deal. But I'll be checking up on her and you, because if you don't tell her, I will." A yawn delayed his response. She typed in the code for the penthouse and the doors closed. "You want to introduce her to your friends, formally announce her as your daughter. I totally get that, but look at it from her perspective. You can't just do whatever you please and to hell with what others think or want or feel. It's not just you-you-you anymore."
"Yeah," he let out a long sigh, "I know."
The lift opened on the dimly lit penthouse. Friday's holographic form hovered over the holotable in the middle of the room, closing her mouth when Pepper made a slashing motion in front of her throat.
Taking Tony's hand, she led him down the hall to their room like a reluctant toddler who refused to admit he was sleepy, forcing him to sit on the side of the bed. She lifted the covers, he lay down, and she tucked them over his chest, then leaned down to kiss his forehead. "Go to sleep. We'll talk party details in the morning."
Pepper crawled in next to Tony, who, in his semi-somnolent state, snuggled against her side, nose in the crooked of her neck, arm on her waist, pulling her close, and sighed contentedly. She touched his cheek and closed her eyes.
Budai Tájvédelmi Körzet
Buda Landscape Protection Area
Forgotten Cemetery
Keeping watch as her husband disappeared into the dark, Elizabet made note of which direction he'd gone, so she could locate him. Her attention was drawn back to her own plight when she tripped over a protruding tree root and nearly fell, catching herself on the edge of yet another neglected tombstone. Curiosity urged her to glance at the front, but the name and dates were unreadable, and she wondered yet again if she and Costin-even now she couldn't think of him as Bence-would be buried together in the small town outside Bucharest where they'd planned to retire and start a family.
All the plans they'd made were put on hold the fateful Christmas day when their leader and his wife had been assassinated, forcing those loyal to Ceauşescu to flee under cover of darkness. Elizabet still mourned the loss of the children they never had. Costin did as well, but they'd made a promise to one another the day they crossed into Hungary to not dwell on or speak of it again. And they had not. But that didn't stop the pain of yearning for something you've always wanted and never had. The closest she word she knew would be sehnsucht.
A sudden sound to her left removed the melancholy thoughts from the past, bringing her to the present. Taking a chance that it wasn't the Winter Soldier, she whispered, "Costin? Is that you?"
The breath she'd been holding eased out as she turned in the direction she'd seen her husband headed, and was drawn back in at the sight before her. She'd heard nothing, yet knew for a fact that the object had not been there a few moments ago.
A stone vase containing a handful of wildflowers sat in a patch of moonlight. In Romania, the giving of flowers was carefully calculated. Elizabet did a quick count, as she always did when presented with a bouquet, and stumbled back a step, nearly falling again. Even numbers were for the deceased, so an odd number was preferrable. There were twelve. To her fight or flight instinct, the meaning was clear: prepare to die!
She had to get to Costin immediately! Taking out the knife strapped to her upper thigh, she used it to remove the heels from her shoes. Then, she slit the sides of her pencil skirt up to the thighs to make moving about easier. Instead of returning the knife to its sheath, it found a new temporary home tucked nicely into her bra for easier access, should she come face to face with…
All thoughts came to a halt, and Elizabet slumped to the ground.
~~O~~
Crouched on a branch high in a tree, Bucky watched and listened to them whisper, thinking he couldn't hear their plans to kill him, growling deep in his throat at Zsofia's heartlessness and cruelty, even to her own people. Of the group, she was the most dangerous, and the one he wouldn't allow to get away, whether by escaping on foot, or by her own hand. Suicide by cop wasn't an option.
When they thought he was unconscious, Bucky had listened to every word, committing it all to memory. Tales of Zsofia's exploits had been well documented at the museum, but he didn't need that to tell him what he could see with his own eyes, hear with his own ears. This woman was bad news all around. If one of her comrades were on fire, she wouldn't spit on them. Drowning? Here's an anvil to hold.
A song he'd heard recently came to mind. Something about catching a grenade. Oh, yeah. He hummed quietly to himself, knowing no one would hear.
I'd catch a grenade for you
Throw my hand on a blade for you
I'd jump in front of a train for you
You know I'd do anything for you.
Oh, oh, I would go through all this pain
Take a bullet straight through my brain
Yes, I would die for you, baby
But you won't do the same.
"Written about Zsofia, no doubt." Bucky waited until all parties still alive had vanished into the darkness and were hiding, weapons at the ready. Then, he waited some more. Long enough for them to get skittish because they make mistakes. Fight or flight kicks in, triggering the instinct for self-preservation. Romanians of the older generations were highly superstitious. That worked in his favor.
When Bucky judged that his quarry were on the verge of panic, well, one at least, he leapt to the ground, and set out on his quest. He snickered to himself. Quest, right. Being a hero is above my pay grade. Leave that crap to Steve and his friends. What'd they call themselves? The Avengers?
Spying movement up ahead, his thoughts returned to the matter at hand. While tied up in the basement, he'd kept his mouth shut and his ears open. His experience with these particular Romanians had taught him that they were all superstitious in one way or another. The worst of them was the first on the list.
Here's where the fun begins, for me, but not for them.
Bucky moved closer, crouching behind a stand of thick bushes framing a worn tombstone. The cemetery hadn't been maintained in at least a decade, and many of the stones were tilted in such a way that it wouldn't take much to pull it free. But that was for later.
Taking up one of the rocks he'd gathered as part of his plan, Bucky cocked his arm, and let the rock fly. With hardly a pause, he did it again and again, giving the man he was stalking the impression that an animal was making its way through the overgrown weeds and ivy.
"Who-who's there? Leunta, is that you, love?"
Gently shaking the bush to his left, Bucky let out an odd sound, for a human. "Reow."
~~O~~
Bence, whose Romanian name had been Costin Mitu, froze in place, gasped, one hard intake of air, and let out a small chuckle. "Come now, Leua. You know I don't like cats. Stop playing games and come join me. We'll return to town without Elena and Dimitry…"
"Reooow," was the only response.
His wife knew of his aversion to cats, especially black ones, ever since one had crossed his path as a child on the way to school. Recalling the stories told by his bunică, he'd turned to run, only to be confronted by several of the larger boys in his class. They'd begun a relentless campaign of bullying a year or so after he started attending classes and it had only gotten worse after witnessing his fear of cats. To the child Costin had been, that affirmed what he'd only half believed. Early in her life, Bună had been a Romani, better known to the world a gypsies, though the word was now considered a pejorative due to its connotations of illegality and irregularity. Costin rather preferred the term gypsy, bringing to mind as it did stories told over late night campfires, with nothing to light the world except for the fire, the moon and the stars.
After his encounter with the bullies, brought on, he was sure, by the black cat who had followed him home, crisscrossing his path, as if making certain that the curse would follow him to his dying day. It eventually ran off, but kept coming back until the day he gathered his courage and chased it away by throwing rocks. But the fear had lingered to this day. Of their group, only his loving wife, Leunta, knew of his phobia, and had kept the secret all this time.
Bence felt the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up. Someone or something was nearby. Should he stay hidden and hope who or whatever it is goes away? Or should he seek out Leunta and, together, make a strategic retreat? She would be searching for his hide-out at this moment. They would discuss the situation and decide together.
A low growl came from the left and his finger tightened on the trigger, while frantically scanning the darkness. A breeze came up, bringing with it the scent of sweat.
Hand shaking, he dipping into the left pocket and took out the bottle of heart medication he kept on him at all times, popped the top off with his thumb, and shook two pills into his mouth, letting the rest fall at his feet. Soon, his heartrate came down, calming his mind so he could think, and with it, came the urge to urinate.
Futu-i! Worst night ever!
Then, just when he was beginning to believe he would get out of this, more rustling in the bushes was followed by a low growl. There, a few yards ahead were several trees surrounded by overgrown bushes, and in the shadows cast by the green canopy, he saw two glowing eyes.
The growling turned to a yowl. His courage deserted him, and Bence took off, tossing frightened glances over his shoulder, uncaring of the direction, as long as it was away from the black cat stalking him. He faced forward just in time to smash into something hard and unyielding. Stars flickered behind his eyes and he fell backward, unconscious.
TBC
Vorbesti engleză? = Do you speak English?
Mai bine decât vorbești română = Better than you speak Romanian.
Te inneci ca tiganul la mal = You drown like the gypsy near the shore.This expression is used when you're just about to complete something, but you fail in the last minute.
Curvă = Whore, slut, bitch
Bunică = Grandmother; bună is a term of endearment.
Politie = Police
Sehnsucht is a German noun translated as "longing", "desire", "yearning", or "craving". Some psychologists use the word to represent thoughts and feelings about all facets of life that are unfinished or imperfect, paired with a yearning for ideal alternative experiences.
Futu-i = F***
Bau-Bau = The Bogeyman legend in Romania is connected to the myth of fearing "the other" or "the stranger". Parents and tutors often threaten naughty or misbehaving children with the Bau-Bau, who is going to come and kidnap them. The threat is usually followed, in the narration, by the parent offering to protect the child from the menace, only if the child starts to behave, to restore his/her authority. That is how the bogeyman legend parenting model is carried in all countries where the bogeyman exists.
Furthermore, the Romanian Bogeyman is described as an evil man wearing a long black coat and a hat or a hood that covers his face. Not only the Romanian folklore mentions it, but also Romanian poets like George Coșbuc. In one of his poems from 1896, the bogeyman consecutively takes the shape of a wolf, a poor man, and a foreign merchant, who comes into the village to buy children who are not loved by their mothers. As opposed to the Russian bogeyman who is actually a female character, or the Spanish bogeyman who is practically shapeless, the Bau-Bau is a man, be it a gypsy (sometimes a gypsy woman) or an unknown person.
"Grenade" is a song by American singer and songwriter Bruno Mars from his debut studio album, Doo-Wops & Hooligans (2010). The pop ballad, was written and produced by the Smeezingtons (Mars, Phillip Lawrence, Ari Levine) with additional songwriting by Brody Brown, Claude Kelly, and Andrew Wyatt.
Offering flowers to a Romanian: If you want to offer flowers to a Romanian, be careful of how many flowers do you give. Even numbers are for the deceased, so you might want to choose an odd number of flowers.
Black cats are bad luck: If a black cat cuts your path, it means you will have bad luck. So if you see one in front of you, you may just want to turn around and choose another way.