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

[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?

[questioningmermaids]

[ March only spares the tiniest of glances her direction, the barest hint of a smirk on his face. ]

You? Wynonna Earp? Doing something insanely reckless without thinking of a single consequence?

[ It's all the details he needs. Pop goes the can, and March is gently hip checking her to get her out of the way of the stove. ]

Sit down, will ya?

[pacificator]

I think of consequences!

[ She does not, and that's clear from her annoyed tone; he's got her dead to rights, just like Little. ...who is probably who he heard it from, based on that word alone: reckless. Sounds familiar.

So after he gently bumps her out of the way, she grabs a stool by the kitchen island — this cabin is insane, it's nicer than the homestead — and parks her ass onto it, begrudgingly. Because she feels like it, not because he told her to! ]

You don't get to lecture me about 'reckless,' mister 'I can't die.'

[questioningmermaids]

I’m not interested in lecturing you at all, I’m interested in you continuing to park that perky ass of yours and not do anything to aggravate your stupid G-S-W.

[ He’s not even mad. Concerned, yeah, but Wynonna’s absolutely right. It would be stupid for him to get annoyed at Wynonna when he’d probably do the exact same thing. He begins to heat the soup--cheating, once again, in using his fire starting powers–and glances over. ]

You at least give the other guy hell?

[ That’s the most important question to him. There’s a teeny, tiny little smile creeping up beneath his moustache. ]

[pacificator]

No.

[ She's annoyed about that, too. Even if she isn't the heir, here, she'd felt like maybe she could still be useful, could still protect people. Instead, what happened? ]

I never even saw them. They were sniping at us from the woods, got me in the arm before I could even finish my draw.

[ Doc would have been quick enough to shoot back, but she's not the fastest draw in the West, even if she was trained by him. ]

[questioningmermaids]

[ March sucks air between his teeth, tsking. ]

Shit.

[ All that work for nothing. A glance at Wynonna and March's gaze is surprisingly lacking judgement. There's still worry he can't erase, though, seeping in whether he likes it or not. ]

Kinda says a lot about them, though. Mostly that they're not man enough. [ They're smart. Clever. But Wynonna knows that, and doesn't need to hear that shit, or how she failed, or any of that other crap that comes with the territory. She's probably already beating herself up. ]

Probably don't even have balls.

[pacificator]

[ It's such a relief when he doesn't yell, and he doesn't berate her, and he doesn't come out with some shit like if it were me—

All he does is heat the can up with that crazy fire power of his and empathize, and she's so grateful in this moment to have him in this stupid, horrible world with her that for a second her eyes actually sting with it.

That, and how much her arm aches, and how hungry she is, and how frustrating all this shit has been. ]

They definitely won't after I get my hands on them, anyway.

[questioningmermaids]

[ March shoots the other a look--unreadable to most, but he knows Wynonna can catch the nice aspect of it. ]

Well, stop. Be careful.

[ See? he's saying all the things he should. He's doing his job and lecturing her. He doesn't care and neither does she, and this is fully approved business, but no one can call him a liar if pressed that he told her to can it. It's a win-win. ]

Eat your beans and feel remorseful for those ball-having bullies.