I am not a builder, I'm much better at blowing things down

[pacificator]

Who: Wynonna Earp & you!

What: plotted & open threads

When: through August

Where: Lakeside & Milton

 

Content Warnings: Usual Wynonna warnings apply, others tbd.

[ PM or hmu @ repeatandfade for plotting! ] 

Comments

can it be easy for once? — closed to Thomas Jopson

[pacificator]

[ It takes so much less time now to make her way back from Milton to the luxury cabin sitting so grandly at the shore of the lake. Sure, she had to shift midway through to work the elevator, shivering at the touch of the cold mine air to her skin, but the railroad bridge is a breeze on four strong legs and four sure paws, and she eats up the trails to Lakeside with a lazy loping stride that makes the landscape seem as though it's unscrolling beneath her.

Even with the warmer, longer days, it's cold when she finally reaches Jackrabbit, and all of her clothes are inside. Which is why, if Thomas is inside, he won't hear the door opening as Wynonna lets herself in without fanfare; instead, there's a scrape of claws at the door and a low whine, followed by a sharp bark.

Yo, Tommy! Let her in! ]

[lieutenantsteward]

Thomas stands up and peers out the window, rolling his eyes at the sight of the wolf at the door.

"You really should plan better before you wander off," he says, opening the door for her with a smile. "I could have made you a pack to wear on your silly shoulders." And she's getting a happy headscratch because he really is pleased to see her again. He's missed her.

[pacificator]

She butts her head up against his hand and sticks her cold nose into his colder palm, giving his chilly fingers an affectionate lick before she trots further into the living room to shake the damp off her fur. There's a blanket on the couch; good enough.

The wolf lifts onto its hind legs, stretches up and up, rough fur smoothing out to pale bare skin, and Wynonna reaches for the blanket to wrap around herself as she looks back at him. "What, one that won't explode when I shift? Because that would actually be pretty sweet."

[lieutenantsteward]

He turns away, giving her the privacy she needs, though it hardly seems to matter any longer. He just drags over the wood for their stove and sets a kettle on to boil water.

"Or something you can remove before shifting," he points out, finally turning back around. "Are you hungry? I just finished roasting a rabbit," he tells her, though he's fairly sure she could smell it from wherever she was.

[pacificator]

"I could eat." Obviously, as her stomach rumbles, clearly audible. The scent of roasted rabbit had her mouth watering for the last five hundred yards. "I didn't stop for anything on the way."

She's heading for the short hall that leads to the bedrooms, tossing words over her shoulder as she goes to change into real clothes. "I'll hunt tomorrow, bring us back some more meat. There's plenty out there again."

[lieutenantsteward]

He calls after her. "You need not treat me like the cat bringing home a dead mouse. I am quite capable of bringing home enough to go around. I managed to have enough for a stew."

Which he has placed in the embers on the far corner of the fireplace so it will not scorch.

I light torches in my sleep — tea time; open

[pacificator]

[ If the days weren't getting shorter and colder, maybe they wouldn't have stopped at the old woman's fire for a little light and warmth, and probably Wynonna wouldn't have accepted a cup of tea from a total stranger.

But they are, and they did, and she did, and now she holds the warm mug between her hands, breathing in the scented steam. ]

This lady's got a lot to live up to if she wants to out-do Tommy when it comes to tea.


[ ooc: here's your chance to learn about Wynonna's past via memories or embarrass her with some enforced truthtelling! hmu @ repeatandfade or blueofthebay on disco if you want to plot what memory or secret you get ]

r u ready to get ANGY Wynonna

[castitas]

Wynonna. [ Kate's voice is soft, but there's a gentle scolding in it of hey don't be rude towards the lady who's very kindly shared her fire and given us free tea. Even though, yes, Mr Jopson's tea is awesome. She agrees!

But like.... tact, Wynonna.

She cradles her rosehip tea close to her, blowing on it gently for a moment. ]

Thank you for the tea, ma'am. It's real nice of you to share.

[ The old woman mumbles something unintelligible, but she smiles and shakes her head. She just seems glad for the company more than anything. Kate smiles politely before she looks to Wynonna with raised eyebrows before she takes a sip of her tea. ]

[pacificator]

What? She's like a million years old and she lives alone in the woods. She's got bigger problems than somebody not liking her tea.

[ It's muttered, at least, as Wynonna lifts her cup and sips at the tea, the familiar taste of rosehip filtering over her tongue. It's not sweet, like Kate's syrup, but it's soothing and warm. The fire crackles as she settles herself a little more comfortably, blinking against a fog that seems to be creeping in over the corners of her vision.

The scene in front of her flickers and darkens, and she frowns down at the cup, suspicious. ]

This is just rosehips, right?

[castitas]

[ Kate blinks hard a couple of times. Something feels off. ]

I don't— I'm— [ Her head shifts to look round to Wynonna, but instead she finds herself no longer out in the woods. Instead she's stood amongst a crowd of students under dim lights, the air warm and humid. It's loud, a thick bass of the music echoing around the room and the buzz of drunken conversations around her.

Kate's frozen on the spot, wide-eyed. It's familiar in a way that makes her stomach twist horrifically. She knows what this is, where this is. In the crowd, there's familiar faces: Victoria, Taylor, Courtney... Nathan.

This is a Vortex Club Party.

Her heart hammers painfully in her chest, her breathing quick and shallow. The room feels smaller, somehow. The air makes it hard to breathe. She's turning, searching through the crowd— where is— ]

Wynonna—?!

[pacificator]

Hey—

[ They're at a party. She knows that thumping bass, those dim lights. If it were ten years ago in her own world, teenage Wynonna would be drunkenly making out with someone else's boyfriend in that corner right over there.

She'd never been like Kate, turning pale and half-panicked, but as the girl turns to look for her, she comes close, reaching for Kate's arm. ]

I'm here. I'm right here.

[ It seems like a totally normal high school party, which is a pretty weird environment to see Kate in. It's like looking at someone's pet bunny that's somehow found its way into a cage full of tigers. ]

What the hell is this?

[castitas]

... This— this is my school. [ There's relief that Wynonna's still here with her, but this whole thing is kind of freaking her out a little. She doesn't get why they're here, or how. ]

It's the Vortex Club. A party, but— I only ever went to— [ She's cut off, something catching her eye that makes her look in horror. No.

It's herself, looking uncomfortable at being at this whole thing, Nathan Prescott pressing a solo cup of red wine into her hands. Kate bolts, fighting through the crowd to get to her double— if she can just get to her, slap the cup out of her hands— ]

Don't—! Don't drink that—!

[ Nathan smiles, flippant as he turns away. Her double brings the cup to her lips, taking a drink. There's a tight smile, more like a wince. Cheap wine, maybe. After a few moments, the double moves to put the cup away and grabs water instead. Kate knows better, now. She knows its too late. She knows what's coming. ]

Why is this happening? Why does it have to be this?

[extramuralise]

For Heaven's sake—

[ Irving bristles at Wynonna's comment not only for fear that the lady may overhear her, but that he might also be considered impolite by mere association if so— as much as he still wishes she wouldn't call Jopson Tommy, either, he's at least given up that particular campaign by now.

He thanks the old woman in an amiable but borderline distracted sort of way, words tripping over each other in his haste to save face. ]

Tea is tea, Miss Earp, [ he adds in a harsh semi-whisper after they move on, ] There's no point in comparing any one cup to another.

[pacificator]

Like you wouldn't throw a shit fit if someone handed you a cup that was brewed ten seconds too long.

[ Irving can hiss all he wants; he's still sitting here with her, hands curled around his own mug. He might be staying with Kate and Little, but that doesn't mean he has to befriend her, too, and he's had a bunch of chances to nope right the hell out of this acquaintance.

He hasn't, which means he's willing to put up with her at least to a point. And though he's prudish, repressed, and maybe the judgiest bitch she's ever met, it's not like she's opted out of this hang, either. Hell, she kinda likes the guy. Besides, who knows what might be lurking under all that weird, awkward stuffiness? If she can find a kernel of fun in Edward Little, she might be able to pick one out in this dude, too.

Once he's got his tea and the old woman has sat back down, Wynonna lifts her mug for a sip, letting the slightly sour rosehip infusion roll over her tongue. ]

I mean, it's fine. We're not at the Ritz, or anything.

[ She blinks against the smoke from the fire, trying to clear her vision, but it doesn't seem to be working. In fact, the fire itself seems to be shrinking away, an unnatural veil of darkness lowering between her and the light. ]

Uh, Irving? I take it back. I think there's something wrong with this tea.

[ Deeply wrong, because she can't see the fire or the woods around her at all anymore. Instead, when she blinks, her gaze falls on the wide and sweeping prairies surrounding the Homestead: gently undulating fields rising lazily towards low hills in the distance. The house and the barn next to it are black smudges; she looks to her side and sees Gus' old blue and white truck. Everything is cloaked in the weird darkness of an eclipse; it feels wrong.

Also wrong: the looming figure of Jim "Killer" Miller slowly stalking away from her, cloak fluttering. ]

There's something wrong with this tea!

[extramuralise]

Of course not. Though it may surprise you to hear, Miss Earp, we're not actually all slaves to our most savage impulses. [ He takes a prim, measured sip of his own tea. ] Please mind your language.

[ Though this is really more of an automated response by this point, simply a reflex, since one grows rather used to hearing oaths so casually thrown about. Irving just sounds mildly exasperated, his nose wrinkling slightly as he regrettably must concur that the brew seems only adequate, at best.

Still, he would never go so far as to say as much aloud.

The taste is certainly peculiar, though, in a strangely unknowable way; Irving feels rather odd after his first couple of sips, without being quite able to place exactly why. Wynonna, on the other hand, is acting as if she's seeing apparitions. ]

What— [ He turns his head in the direction she's looking, before dropping his own cup in plain horror. ] W-what in God's name is that?

[pacificator]

That is Jim Miller... at least, what's left of him after a few too many resurrections.

[ There's almost nothing human to Miller at all. Black smoke lifts from his cloak in sulfurous wisps, and he moves all wrong, each motion strangely jerky before it blurs into something too fast to catch with the naked eye. In the memory playing out before them, Wynonna taunts him, luring him with a road flare, trying desperately to distract him from Dolls and Waverly. The Wynonna watching can't suppress a shiver as Miller turns, looming over them, his eyes two burning coals in a shadowed face. His voice, when it comes, sounds like a gravestone being dragged into place. You are not the target. ]

Old-timey murderer turned demonic assassin and a royal pain in my ass.

[ Her voice feels a little strange to her own ears as she watches it all play out again. Miller turns back to Waverly, but the Wynonna of the memory has reached the truck and retrieved the thing inside: a gun, gleaming dully in the dark. In the memory, she curls her fingers around the ivory grip, the same one currently nudging against her hip.

But the Peacemaker of the memory reacts, as she lifts it, as she aims at Miller's back. Glowing sigils, golden-orange and burning, trace themselves in lines of fire along the muzzle and barrel of the ancient Buntline Special. She squeezes the trigger.

The bullet sears straight through Miller's body, leaving a trail of light that comes pouring from him as he arches in agony. One, two, three, four: she cocks the gun and fires, and he stumbles, four blazing spears of light stabbing him through. ]

God, I miss putting down revs.

[extramuralise]

[ The name, of course, means absolutely nothing to him, but the sight is one he's unlikely to ever forget: all dark smoke and sulfur and the fitful, spasmodic movements of a broken marionette, altogether forming an image so profoundly terrifying that Irving is momentarily convinced that this man — this demon? — is here with them now, in the flesh.

Yet Wynonna seems somehow unmoved by it all, watching the memory play out with what almost seems like nostalgia at times, while Irving jumps and yelps and covers his mouth as the projected horrors flash before their eyes. ]

He's what?

H-he's a... a WHAT?!

[ All but presently rendered speechless, Irving can only stammer dumbly in his efforts to put even so much as a single thought from within his screaming mind into words.

Clutching at his chest tightly while his body shakes, while he struggles to catch his breath, he looks back over at Wynonna with wide, unblinking eyes.

More quietly, almost in a whisper, he finally goes on to ask: ]

A-a revenant, do you mean...? [ It can't be true. It can't be real. ] But you only shot him with a b-b-bloody pistol!

[guidemyway]

[Look. Smart choices weren't exactly Ruby and Wynonna's strong suit, but here they were.

For how quick Ruby was to accept any sort of food given to her, it's actually a little odd to see her hesitate at the sight of tea before outright refusing it. She didn't mind the warmth or the smell, but she wasn't about to indulge in anything like that.

She's quick to hide that apprehension by focusing on Wynonna for the moment.]

Oh? And what does this Tommy do with his tea that's so special?

cw: hand mutilation, gun violence

[pacificator]

[ It's not the tea, it's Tommy himself. That's what she'd meant to say, before she blinked and found herself looking not at Ruby but at Red's smug face as he bites down on a girl's finger and grins at her her. In the memory, she wrestles with the unfamiliar service weapon, nose-heavy with its attached flashlight, and stumbles over what Dolls had told her to say. Cross-border task force — special deputy —

Oh, hell. Crazy chick with a gun! the Wynonna in the memory yells, and fires the sidearm into the air as girls around her scream. ]

Well, this is weird.

[guidemyway]

[This was definitely not what Ruby was expecting when it came to tea. She glances around and it takes her a moment to figure out just what exactly is going on.

She hears the image of Wynonna yell, the screams, then she picks up on the actual Wynonna speaking despite the fact she can't see her through the images they're being presented.]

Is this your life back home?

Because so far this pretty much what I pictured.

[pacificator]

If you've been picturing dance clubs, I've been telling you the wrong stories.

[ It's just a memory, but she still shifts out of the way of the screaming, fleeing women around them, as the Wynonna in the memory gets into a fight that goes to the floor with the revenant. He grabs for her gun with an expression of triumph that leaks away as he looks at it.

Hey, this ain't Wyatt's gun!

Ugly and dumb, Wynonna replies from the floor. You sure we haven't dated?

Her fist smashes into his face, while the real Wynonna groans. ]

Stupid Dolls.

[questioningmermaids]

[ March's lips are curled into a semi disapproving snarl, debating whether or not he actually wants to drink it. It's warm, sure, but on the other hand? He glances over at Wynonna. ]

This smells too much like hippie bullshit to me, Winnie, I gotta be level with you on this.

[pacificator]

Shut up and drink your tea, March.

[ The semi-warm weather of the last few weeks has been rapidly fading, and she's grateful for the warm mug in her hands, for the fire crackling gently a few feet away. They'll hang here a minute, warm up, have their tea, and head back out again, somewhere far enough away that this nice old lady won't get traumatized if they shed their clothes and turn into wolves.

Her own tea tastes fine, the sour-sweet of rosehips, and she arches her eyebrows at March in a silent order. Drink it, dummy! ]

[questioningmermaids]

You shut up.

[ Wynonna isn't even talking. March doesn't care, the consistent need to get the last word in with her superceding most things, including survival. But he'll finally taste it, a different flavour entirely to her rosehips. ]

This is awful.

[ He doesn't need to be truth serum'd to confess that. But he stares pointedly at Wynonna as he takes another sip because he's trying to prove some sort of weird, internal point. ]

[pacificator]

[ His stare, and whatever point he was trying to make, bounce right off her, unnoticed. In fact, everything does, as the taste of rosehips floods her mouth and a memory that's never far away drags its claws across her mind.

But it doesn't feel like a memory; it feels like being back there, like she's standing in the dimly lit dining room of the homestead, watching it all play out in front of her. There are four familiar figures at that table: a man about March's age, worn down and with an ever-present furrow of frustration in his brow, and three girls. She knows their ages: Willa, thirteen years old. Waverly, six. And there, with her hair in two tidy braids, watching their father with hero-worship in her eyes, a twelve year old Wynonna Earp.

They're all watching him as he cleans the gun in his hands -- Peacemaker, shining in the candlelight -- and he's talking, saying the words that have burned into Wynonna's brain ever since that night all those years ago. They say Wyatt took down 77 outlaws with this gun, Ward Earp tells his girls, all listening with rapt attention. And all those outlaws are resurrecting as revenants coming for us. They won't rest until they gain freedom from their earthly prison.

You'll get them, Daddy, the smaller Wynonna says, as the real one pales, reaches for March's arm. ]

March. We gotta get, we gotta get out of here.