to cold climes comes springtime — open & closed

[pacificator]

Who: Wynonna Earp & others
What: May–June catchall
When: May through June
Where: Milton, Lakeside

Content Warnings: Usual Wynonna warnings including themes of alcohol & violence; others marked as needed.

open & closed starters posted here throughout May & June! pwm @ repeatandfade

Comments

[pacificator]

Dude, I wasn't gonna die. Did you even look at the other two? Compared to them, I'm in the best shape of my life.

[ He runs his hand over his mouth and chin the way guys do sometimes, the way Doc does when he doesn't want to say whatever the hell's rolling around in his head, giving him grief. March has been exasperated with her before — and it's been mutual — but this feels... different. She doesn't like it, and she doesn't like how he dragged her away before she could show Logan the error of his ways even less, and she likes the blind rage that had descended over her like a hood least of all.

She gets up. What's he gonna do, force her to sit down. ]

I can handle myself in a fight, Holland. Hell, the guy I train with back home could wipe the floor with both of those assholes!

[questioningmermaids]

I know you can. You can probably kick my ass--I'm not an idiot. I've got eyeballs.

[ It's unbearably sexy. March exhales again, more of a huff. Looks at Wynonna with sincerity he's probably going to regret. ]

It's the other guys I don't know about. Too many unknowns.

[pacificator]

I can definitely kick your ass.

[ She glances out the window: Logan's a crumpled lump in the snow, Mal's gone, and it looks like the Viking chick has got Little sitting up, at least. Something too tight relaxes a little in her chest, then snags back up again as she looks back at March. ]

What d'you want me to tell you, March? I won't get in anymore fights? I'll turn and run if someone comes out swinging? That dude Logan was getting in a fight whether I was there or not. At least I can handle it.

[questioningmermaids]

[ Wynonna asks a simple question and March is surprised that he doesn't actually know the answer. What does he want? To yell at Wynonna more, yeah, a little. But what the hell is that going to actually achieve? Especially because March isn't all that interested in getting Wynonna to stop, concern aside. Doesn't seem right. Doesn't fit Wynonna, doesn't work. It's part of why March likes her, which--

March's jaw tightens. Flexes a little, looking pointedly anywhere else before he settles back on Wynonna and her stupidly elegant neck and her dumb cute nose.

His final answer? An elaborate shrug that takes his whole body. ]

I don't know.

[pacificator]

[ She watches as a series of expressions roll over him: squinting eyes, a tight jaw, a crinkled up nose, the way he's standing there like he'd been waiting up for her after she broke curfew. And they don't— talk about this stuff: he almost gets himself killed and she punches him in the jaw for it; she gets shot and he comes to pointedly open cans of soup at her, but that's it. Because they get each other, because they are, somewhere past the paisley and polyester, somehow the same.

Aren't they? ]

Then either figure it out or cut it out.

[ The alcohol and the buzz of adrenaline are both slowly fading out of her system, and her leg, hip, and side are all starting to throb in annoyingly intrusive ways. ]

You look like you're about to try to send me to my room without any dinner.

[questioningmermaids]

I don’t get any respect in this house.

[ That’s a joke. Half of a joke, a tiny joke, but a joke. He’s pissed, sure, but that’s mostly stemming from worry. Wynonna’s Wynonna, and March is March, and this whole thing is looking pretty silly after a solid few minutes away from the situation.

…Right?

There’s still a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach he usually only gets with Holly. He does his best to ignore it, too, just like he ignores how soft his voice is. ]

Are you sure you’re alright?

[pacificator]

You don't get any respect anywhere.

[ He's watching her with those blue, blue eyes all scrunched up and worried and his voice is too soft, most of the annoyance leached out of it. He looks bleary and rumpled, like he just woke up. It's tempting to slide her fingers into the mess of his hair and make it even worse.

Maybe because he's giving her that concerned frown, or maybe because she's tired and sore and it seems like he's past the point of yelling at her, she capitulates, a little. ]

I'm sore as hell. Hitting that dude Logan is like hitting a truck. Or... getting hit by a truck. Either way.

[questioningmermaids]

I don't think I could take him.

[ It's sheer sincerity--Wynonna's all right and not wound up, March's temper is fading into his usual self. Moonshine probably isn't the best idea for Wynonna, so one of the mason jars he pulls out is getting water. She can drink it until she feels good enough to hit a doctor up, he figures. He can keep an eye out for anything hinky. ]

Shit, the only reason I can pick you up is because you're baby bird weight.

[pacificator]

[ She could posture and bitch at him and eventually he'd let her go just so he wouldn't have to deal with her anymore, but she thinks about how he'd probably saved her either from murdering Logan or getting killed herself and opts, instead, to sit heavily back in the chair. She's sore, and she's tired, and her nerves are still a jangling mess. Everything about the way she'd reacted disturbs her.

But this house is quiet, and she's just with March, which means she doesn't have to pretend shit if she doesn't want to. ]

Don't try to take him. He's got knives in his hands. Which seems excessive.

[ Which is maybe her way of saying I shouldn't have tried to take him, either<>/i>. She reaches for the water he gives her and makes a face, but sips at it anyway. ]

Yeah, well, it helps that you're taller than me, Stretch Armstrong.

[questioningmermaids]

[ Wait--no--go back. March's whole face sours, disbelief bubbling to the surface. ]

The fuck do you mean, 'he's got knives in his hands?'

[pacificator]

Like freaking Edward Scissorhands —

[ Nope. March won't get that reference. She lifts her own hands, exasperated. ]

I mean he's got knives that come out of his fists. Metal. Sharp. Filet-you-like-a-fish knives. Like he saw a switchblade and decided 'that's cute, I think I'll get five more and stick them in my hands.'

[questioningmermaids]

Why would he have them in his hands, what kind of idiot would do that? What kind of purpose would that even serve? Knives for hands?

[pacificator]

Well, I don't know! Maybe I'll ask him, when I'm not busy trying to keep from getting stabbed in the face!

[ You think she has answers, Holland? ]

[questioningmermaids]

Well I'm not gonna ask him!

[pacificator]

Good! Nobody needs you to get turned into March kabobs.