The sun took a tale to the moon in the west

[pacificator]

Who: Wynonna Earp & others
What: Various activities around recovering from a gunshot wound
When: April
Where: bumming around Lakeside

Content Warnings: general Wynonna alcoholism CWs, talk of traumatic injury, others as they come up

[ starters in comments, will be adding throughout the month. hmu @ repeatandfade or blueofthebay @ disco to plot! ]

Comments

may I introduce the state I'm in – closed to fidior & castitas; cw: blood

[pacificator]

[ People are starting to head back to Milton, now that the month is almost over. March is already gone, like his namesake, which is a pain: she could have used some help on her planned trip back to town. But there's no way around it; she's got to see Goodsir, get things taken care of. Hell, she hasn't even managed to change clothing since she dragged herself back to the cabin where she's been staying, but there's a silver lining, there. She's already dressed for a trek and ready to go... just as soon as she makes a last house call.

There's nothing wrong with her legs, but it's still tiring just walking to the end of the line of cabins to find the one Little and Kate have been staying in. She's mostly avoided it, but she knows which one it is, steps up on the porch to rap the knuckles of her left hand on the door before waiting for it to open.

Even a casual observer might notice something's off about the way Wynonna's holding herself today. Gone is her usual casual, confident slouch; faint tension runs like wire through her body. She stands stiffly, uncomfortable, and her coat hangs strangely on her right side, where she hasn't slipped her arm through that of the coat.

A sharper-eyed observer, one used to seeing her with Peacemaker at her hip, might notice that her gunbelt and holster are backwards, the revolver's ivory grip poking up at her left hip and in the wrong direction instead of her right.

Perhaps relatedly – and far more obviously than the rest – there's also a large hole in the loose-swinging right arm of her jacket, its edges and the fabric around it stiff and stained a dark rust with dried blood. Not her leather jacket, thank god: she'd been wearing a thicker winter coat for her hike southward with Ruby.

When the door opens, she lifts a small, plastic rectangle in her hand. ]

Hey. Delivery service.

[castitas]

Wynonna— [ Kate's the first one to get to the door. She's a little more at ease, a little more in brighter spirits when she answers. Her time in Lakeside's done her good — getting away from Milton and everything going on there. Just hanging out by the lake with Lieutenant Little. It's... honestly felt like a little vacation, time to... exist peacefully. Or as peacefully as one can in the Northern Territories. It's... been really nice. It kinda sucks that it has to end, soon.

Her gaze shifts to the tape in her hand, squinting slightly for a few seconds before she gasps in open, excited surprise: is that Gordon Lightfoot tape? ]

You found it—!

[ Somewhere here, someone else was a Gordon Lightfoot fan and has absolutely blessed her with the opportunity to listen to his music herself — and she's absolutely delighted. Kate reaches to take the tape from Wynonna, holding onto it like it's made out of gold.

No, she's not explained why she needed a tape. She's not explained how it may or may not have to do with a Certain Constable, one she feels absolutely terrible for from a recent interaction. And she's not explained how maybe if she listened to some more of Gordon Lightfoot's music she could maybe start trying to learn how to play said music.

For, you know, well— reasons.

Thanks is on the tip of her tongue, but Kate stops. The delight in her soon fades into visible confusion and concern as she takes Wynonna in properly: the stiff, rigid way she holds herself; the sleeve of her jacket, torn and stained and— ]

Hey, wait— [ ... Is that blood—? ] what happened?

[pacificator]

Said I would, didn't I?

[ Not exactly in so many words – she'd actually said something like 'why the hell do you want a Gordon Lightfoot tape?' – but one thing about the kind of people who come up to vacation in a place like this: they tend to be the 'getting back to nature' types who like this drivel. Just like Kate does, apparently.

She shifts as Kate looks her over, as that delight fades and confusion sets in. Wynonna half-turns, pushing her right shoulder back in a way that makes it all too obvious she's (badly) trying to hide it. Wynonna, please, your arm is right there. ]

I got a little shot.

[ A little, Kate! ]

It's fine, I just need to go find Goodsir. I was just dropping this off on my way back to town.

[castitas]

[ She's getting to something, surely. Maybe not 'back to nature', but maybe back to romance. Sometimes you might wanna... play some Gordon Lightfoot to your crush after a bit of a rough patch, okay?

Yeah, there's no hiding it. She's already seen it and Wynonna trying to hide it is not helping the horror that quickly sets in: I got a little shot. ]

What?! [ There is no getting a little shot, there is only actually getting shot. And that's especially bad, considering they're in the middle of nowhere with limited medical supplies. Kate gapes at her in disbelief — walk back to town—? ]

No way. You can't go walk back to Milton all by yourself like that—! [ Hiking back is gonna take hours, and it's over that awful railway bridge and through the mines. Kate shakes her head and she's moving out the door to start gently pulling Wynonna inside, calling out over shoulder: ]

Lieutenant Little—! [ Totally narc-ing on you, Wynonna. You're absolutely not leaving to go back alone. ] Lieutenant—! Wynonna's been shot—!

kneeslides in here

[questioningmermaids]

Holland March left for lakeside to Wynonna as soon as he heard. Probably he should think about that, take a good hard look at himself. Self-examine the psyche and all that, poke at the reasons why.

He's not going to, though. He's too cold is the excuse he's giving himself, and besides, his own shit is a different problem for a different day. Current situation: Wynonna hurt. March go. End of thought.

He finds Wynonna's cabin from someone who says such-and-such and March has never speedwalked in his life until now, striding and using his full lanky gait as he finds himself opening the door--slamming it more accurately--in record time.

"I'd ask if you know how insane you are, but that's a moot point."

[pacificator]

If you're here to yell at me, I already got it from both barrels from Little.

[ And Kate, which is the one she really didn't expect. She hates how it makes her feel, knowing she's disappointed the two of them, remembering the way they looked at her, aghast at first, angry after. Getting dressed down by Little made her feel about two inches tall; even getting pissed off in return didn't help, seeing as she was madder at herself than she could be at him.

It's just unfair. There aren't that many people here that she wants to think well of her, and she'd managed to disappoint two of them in one fell swoop.

Three, maybe. She glares at March from the kitchen, where she'd been trying and failing to open a can of soup. It turns out it's a lot easier to operate a can opener when you have two working arms, instead of one being stuck in a sling. ]

I really don't need any more, thanks.

[questioningmermaids]

[ March looks at her, looks at her arm, looks at the can of soup. He's never seen a can of Dinty Moore look so pathetic before. Wild, considering he's absolutely ate it straight out of the can without heating it up before.

It's a low point. It's fine. This is lower, because there's a distinct look on Wynonna's face that he hasn't seen before. Guilt? Shame? Whatever it is, the angry annoyance that's been bubbling and stewing and steering him all the way to Lakeside has pretty much dissipated. ]

I hate standing in line anyway.

[ He closes the door behind him, shrugging off one of his jackets and throwing it unceremoniously across the room in a lazy arc, somehow avoiding all hangers and hooks so it just kind of flops to the floor. He stares at it for a few seconds because it's a lot easier to hide his worry that way. After a beat, he sighs, and puts his hands on his hips. ]

Alright. Gimmie that.

[pacificator]

[ That sigh doesn't help her petulance even a little, but: she's hungry. And it's been (in retrospect, not shockingly) difficult to feed herself with her good hand tucked against her side and her right arm all but useless. She's not a leftie, and even if she were, it takes two hands to operate a can opener.

It's fine. She's not mad about getting scolded like a child and left here to fend for herself with a bum arm, or anything.

Regardless: she gives him the can, and, a second later, the opener. The stubborn little divot in her brow isn't going anywhere, and neither is that complicated cocktail of guilt and annoyance and simmering frustration, but at least she might be able to eat something soon. And in consideration of that fact, she goes to light the stove and find a pot. ]

Do I need to give you the details, or did you hear those already, too?

I could write a book from the scars on my skin — closed to bestsir; cw: blood, gunshot injury

[pacificator]

[ If she'd been allowed to make the trek back over the bridge and through the mine to Milton, she'd at least have had something to do, something to distract her from the pain in her arm and her own annoyance at herself. She's smarting almost as much from being scolded by Little as she is from the bullet that's — hopefully not? maybe not? — still in her arm.

And there's not much she can do with a bum arm, either, aside from sit around and try not to jar it.

So it's one edgy, frustrated Wynonna who answers the door when the knock comes, pale with pain and the inability to rest. The relief when she sees who it is rushes over her like a wave. ]

Hey. Come on in.

sorry for the delay!

[bestsir]

Goodsir had gotten the message from Kate—startled by it; he's still not used to this peculiar method of speaking—and once he ascertained where he needed to go, he headed straight for Wynonna.

"Kate told me you'd been injured," he says as he comes in, carrying the supplies he needs to dress a wound. "Sit and let me see, if you please?"

no worries at all!

[pacificator]

"Shot," she says, even though he'll be able to tell that in a second. Her pride got a little dinged, too, but that was more from getting told off by Little than because she caught a bullet to the arm.

Wynonna heads to the little dining area of the way-too-big cabin and draws out a chair to sit, her right arm hanging mostly uselessly at her side. She and Ruby had made an attempt at bandaging it, but the fabric tied around her upper arm is now just stiff with dried blood. Everything hurts, a constant ache that sharpens every time she shifts.

None of it's conducive to a good mood, and in fact she'd been wallowing in a good sulk before he arrived, but she rallies a little, considering how far and how quickly he'd come. "Thanks for coming."

[bestsir]

"Of course," he says, and begins to carefully untie the makeshift bandage to get a better look at her wound. "How did this happen?"

a bulletproof smile — Lakeside, open

[pacificator]

[ Convalescing is a slow, boring, hungry process. Slow: it'll take four weeks or longer before it's even close to healed, and probably another few weeks after that before she can start any kind of physical therapy. Boring: there's not much to do in Lakeside, especially once the others have headed back to Milton. Wynonna plays round after round of solitaire, finds and does her best to read a book (and fails... some things are even more boring than just staring at the lake hour after hour); tries not to think about the last time she was so profoundly alone, with no one but her own shadow-self for company until Kate and Jopson and Bigby decided to stop by.

This isn't that — exactly (...yet?) — but it's only a few days before she's fighting off the loneliness and boredom and the memories of being alone in the quiet cabin in Milton by poking around the woods and buildings nearby. She doesn't go south — she's not so foolish or thoughtless as some people might accuse her of being — but even so, there are moments while she's out gathering sticks for firewood when the back of her neck prickles, the few animal sounds there are disappear, and she knows she's being watched.

No one shoots at her, but it's still a relief to come across a clear non-Forest Talker; another interloper from Milton. ]

Do you hear something?

[ She goes prowling around the abandoned buildings and junkyard, looking for a CD player or a boombox and batteries, looking for games, looking for anything to while away the time.

Mostly, she looks for food she can eat with one hand, wary of the nightmare of those shadowed weeks returning, when she couldn't manage to feed herself even with two usable hands. Her body's healing; she's hungry all the time. Which is probably why, when she smells someone cooking food, she heads towards the smell and the company, stomach grumbling, arm aching where it's tucked into a sling at her right side. ]

Any chance you'd be willing to split that?

[ But even with the midnight sun lighting her way, making the days longer and a little safer — maybe — she's still recovering, and she needs rest, frustrating as it is. Most times, she's cooling her heels at the luxury cabin she's been staying in, out on the porch facing the lake or inside trying to keep the fire going, trying to keep herself from going crazy. Anyone looking for shelter — or who already knows where she's been staying — is more than likely to find her there. ]

[guidemyway]

[Hey Wynonna.

You know who else has been hanging around in Lakeside? And who also probably should not exactly be out and about at the moment. It's this girl. And she's making an effort to cook some sort of stew. ...The contents look a little questionable though. She's mostly just thrown in whatever she could find to put it together. It bubbles questionably in the pot as she gives it a stir.]

Sure.

I can't promise it's going to be all that edible though.

[pacificator]

[ That stew looks... experimental. But it smells decent enough, and she's hungry. Plus, she still feels responsible for getting Ruby hurt to begin with, so she feels like she ought to say, as she's sitting down: ]

Shouldn't you be resting somewhere?

[ Shouldn't you be resting somewhere, Wynonna? ]

How's your leg?

[guidemyway]

[Basically anything Ruby made was experimental. Variety was the spice of life, right?

Ruby gave a light little smile and a shrug.]

Yeah. Probably. No ones holding me down though, so I'm going where I want.

[At least she's honest about it.]

Not as bad as it was when it happened. It's still stings a little when I walk, Might be a bit before I start running again.

[She was down playing it, but she also had a tendency to over do it.]

How about you? How are you holding up?

[desperate_times_right]

[Chloe had come to Lakeside partly to avoid her own situation, but also partly to keep March’s stupid ass alive, so she does at least sort of know what happened over here.

Which is why she shows up at Wynonna’s door with a plastic bag full of cans of soup.]

Hey. Heard you got yourself shot.

[pacificator]

[ Whoever she might have expected to show up here, it wasn't Chloe. But the woman's got a bag of food and Wynonna has hazy memories of having a good time with her back during her February bender, so she steps back, opening the door wider, even as she rolls her eyes. ]

Oh, good. You heard about that.

[ It's defensive, a clear attempt to keep from getting yelled at again. ]

It's not that bad.

[desperate_times_right]

[Chloe walks in with a smug little smile. She’d known the food was a good call.]

Bad enough that your friend Dutch wanted to plummet into a canyon over it. I got him over here in one piece.

[She glances around and whistles.]

Nice place. You guys getting that green fog out here?

[bigbaddy]

[ Bigby doesn't often make his way over to Lakeside. Hell, he hasn't ever since they first discovered the place and then went back to Milton. There's just too much to do in town to really consider leaving, especially now there's less people around to look after the place with some people opting to stay over in Lakeside instead.

Still, he makes his way there this time. Even if it's just for a visit, and even if the circumstances for travel suck right now - thanks, fog!! - he figures one trip can't hurt, despite Snow and Zoey being very insistent he rests. He goes out far enough to try and deal with the wildcats anyway, it's not like Lakeside is that much further now they've made the way there shorter than it initially was.

And.. well, really, he's doing it for Wynonna's sake. He's still got the image of her in that cabin looking like a zombie stuck in his head, even if it was months ago. He has no idea if anyone is staying with her there, and if she's still hurt, she probably can't even really get out. That's enough to drive a person crazy.

So when Wynonna hears a knock on the cabin door and opens up the door, she'll see Bigby standing there. He does look kind of cold, considering he had to make his way over here through the fog, but his attitude is kind of nonchalant all the same. ]

Hey. Boss check in.

[ Like he's her neighbour checking in on her, and not a guy who just made a trek all the way from Milton just to come see her.

But we don't talk feelings, okay!! This is why we keep things casual!! ]

[pacificator]

[ She blinks at him for a second, before a tiny smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. Bigby, you really do care! ]

Oh yeah? Checking up on me?

[ She steps back, opening the door wider to let him in, even as she starts frowning at him, at the way he's holding himself like he can't let a single scrap of heat float free. ]

Weren't you in Milton?

[ Did you seriously come all the way out here just to check on her, Bigby? ]

Everything okay out there?

[lieutenantsteward]

[It took him far, far too long to get to Lakeside from Milton and he's tired of living off of scraps and tinned food. Game is plentiful, at least compared to the Arctic he's used to, and he sets a few traps while sheltered out away from the lake.

He brings in what he's killed - a couple of rabbits - and skins them delicately before setting up a campfire to roast them. He picks apart the meat with burned fingers, just as he hears someone coming up behind him.

He laughs to hear her voice.]

I suppose I could spare some for a price.

[pacificator]

[ Oh, thank god: it's Tommy. She wrinkles her nose at him and his laugh, amused and exasperated in equal measure as she sits down. Carefully, so as not to jostle her arm. ]

Oh yeah? And what price were you thinking, exactly? I can offer...uh...

[ What's she even go? She rummages in her left pocket with her good hand, comes out with a couple of batteries. ]

Can I interest you in some probably-dead batteries or bullets for a gun you don't have?

on the porch

[thefifthchild]

[It's fairly rare for Damian to wander down to the cabins. He sticks to himself, up over at the dam - occasionally swinging by whenever he's caught something. He hasn't talked to Wynonna yet, but he's made a note of everyone around Lakeside - most of them went back to Milton after all.

This time, he isn't swinging by on accident. In fact, he steps up to her porch as she watches the lake, and stares at her for a few somewhat awkward moments in a way that's almost evaluating.]

I heard you were shot.

[pacificator]

[ Her head turns at the sound of footsteps on the porch, but whoever she was expecting, it definitely wasn't this kid. He stares at her, she stares back at him, her eyebrows eventually inching their way up to her hairline before he finally speaks and breaks the tension. ]

And you're here to sell me a magazine subscription while I'm recuperating?

[ She frowns at him, uncertain. ]

Is there something I can help you with?