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

bruises — closed to McCoy (biofunction)

[pacificator]

[ Every. Single. Part of her. Hurts.

Her arm is healed enough to not be bleeding, but the abused muscles and skin Goodsir sewed back together and the still tender bone are shrieking that it definitely wasn't healed enough to get into a fight. Another fight.

That, and her head is aching from where Jason yanked her back by the hair; she's limping on the leg that wrenched a knee and slammed a shin into what felt like iron bars; she's bruised all over, and somehow the worst part of it all is how worried she is under the tired simmer that's all she can dredge up of her anger.

Maybe she should go back... but she'd just be putting herself in the line of fire to get yelled at again.

A scuffling sound interrupts her thoughts; she's passing by one of the unclaimed cabins on the outskirts, and there's somebody digging through the small shed attached. ]

Hey.

[ Wynonna raises her voice, just enough to be clearly heard. ]

There's nothing left in that one. I already looked.

they sing out: I am gonna stand my ground — closed to Kate (castitas)

[pacificator]

[ Maybe the very last thing she should do, considering the shape she's in, is trek all the way into town. Her hip is bruised to hell and back where Logan kicked her, her knee is swollen and tender, and the arm that's still healing is... healing a lot more slowly.

And yet here she is, limping stubbornly into the Community Hall and beelining for the coffee just as if she didn't have any in the little cabin she's finally come back to after over a month away. (She does. She'd even brought some back from Lakeside to ensure she has plenty.)

But it's not really the coffee she's after. The last two months in Lakeside, stuck in that cabin by herself, had given her a craving — just not one for caffeine. She's tired and sore and sick of being all by herself, and the easiest solution to that is to just — go to a place where she knows there will be people. She's not there to talk or socialize; that's not the point.

She just wants to feel a little less like a ghost floating through this town, only grounding herself in a fight, only being around people when they're attacking her. And there is, after all, coffee. ]

post-fight

[questioningmermaids]

[ He's seen Wynonna mad, sort of, but this is a different level. He's hungover, he's pretty sure Wynonna's flailing means his upper arm is gonna bruise a tad, and the more important thing: this spitfire of a women is going to be the death of him. And, if she's not careful, herself.

He's cold as hell and still in just his tank top and that spurs him on just as much as a feral cowgirl does. March all but kicks the door to his cabin open and is forced to just kind of shove Wynonna in so he can close the door. Almost immediately his hands are on his hips, but it's far from his usual power stance.

He's pissed. ]

You got 30 seconds to tell me what the fuck happened, Earp, before I start asking around and get the wrong idea.

this distance between us can seem a mountain size — (fidior)

[pacificator]

[ For once, it's useful that the only water she can get through the taps in the cabin's little bathroom is cold, because as much as she'd love to soak in a hot bath, dunking her bruised, sore body into water just above freezing is even more effective for the pain and swelling. She stays in as long as she can stand, examining each bruise — some green around the edges, some richly purple — before hauling herself out and getting dressed, then goes to sit moodily in front of the fire as her hair dries.

Her arm is back in a sling, even just sitting around her cabin; it hurts too much to leave it free and she keeps forgetting not to use it, so: bound up at her side again it is. At least she can operate a can opener again.

But none of it manages to fully take her mind off everything that's been camped out there for the last month or so; if anything, she's got all the time in the world to dwell and wallow without the distraction of a decent brawl or a need to trek from one town to another to get in the way. The fog outside is interminable; it clings to her and weighs her down like she's wearing a soaked-through and freezing quilt, and it does nothing to improve her mood, so she stays inside, gnawing over worries and frustrations.

Well. At least she's got the photo of her sisters and the other one of the Seven to keep her company. ]