Holland March (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
questioningmermaids) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2025-08-19 12:50 pm
questioningmermaids) wrote in singillatim2025-08-19 12:50 pm
Entry tags:
closed; dazz
Who: Holland March + Wynonna Earp
What: A bout of amnesia so the girls can stop fighting
When: August
Where: The Woods
Waking up in the woods isn't exactly groovy. Waking up in random places isn't groovy either, and the combination of the two is culminating into one hell of an eventful time.
It feels different. He feels different, and it's not the shitty cold biting through him or the sudden (fashionable) clothing choice he's wearing. He feels raw panic lance through him as he comes to terms with a few things that aren't directly related to his environment and far more psychological. He doesn't know how he got here, sure. Whatever. That's something he has a feeling he can deduce.
But he doesn't know who he is, and that fills him with an unbearable amount of dread. A confidence he realizes that's natural with him starts to fade as he starts to walk, panic giving into a strange, unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling of dread. This is it. This is the end, then. Has to be. He's not sure why--how--he knows it. He just knows with that same amount of confidence he's pieced together that comes with someone like him, whoever that is, that he's fucked.
Well, shit.
He kneels down, slightly confused about why there's lumps around his feet, only to find that once stooping and brushing snow out of the way with his bare hands--why isn't he cold?--it's animal bones. Startled, he lets out a scream that sounds an awful lot like a high-pitched bid squawking.
"What the fuck!"
He's loud. He doesn't care that he's loud, because he's pretty sure there's no one else around, and he absolutely does not want to be anywhere near the creepy pile of bones. He moves and moves quickly, only to fine the shape of someone--a ghost?
He screams again, loud and half a torrent of swear words in two syllables, and proceeds the other way.
What: A bout of amnesia so the girls can stop fighting
When: August
Where: The Woods
Waking up in the woods isn't exactly groovy. Waking up in random places isn't groovy either, and the combination of the two is culminating into one hell of an eventful time.
It feels different. He feels different, and it's not the shitty cold biting through him or the sudden (fashionable) clothing choice he's wearing. He feels raw panic lance through him as he comes to terms with a few things that aren't directly related to his environment and far more psychological. He doesn't know how he got here, sure. Whatever. That's something he has a feeling he can deduce.
But he doesn't know who he is, and that fills him with an unbearable amount of dread. A confidence he realizes that's natural with him starts to fade as he starts to walk, panic giving into a strange, unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling of dread. This is it. This is the end, then. Has to be. He's not sure why--how--he knows it. He just knows with that same amount of confidence he's pieced together that comes with someone like him, whoever that is, that he's fucked.
Well, shit.
He kneels down, slightly confused about why there's lumps around his feet, only to find that once stooping and brushing snow out of the way with his bare hands--why isn't he cold?--it's animal bones. Startled, he lets out a scream that sounds an awful lot like a high-pitched bid squawking.
"What the fuck!"
He's loud. He doesn't care that he's loud, because he's pretty sure there's no one else around, and he absolutely does not want to be anywhere near the creepy pile of bones. He moves and moves quickly, only to fine the shape of someone--a ghost?
He screams again, loud and half a torrent of swear words in two syllables, and proceeds the other way.
no subject
But the boots she's wearing don't have great treads to begin with, and she's not really surprised when she slips on something bumpy and slick there on the ground and sits down on her ass in the snow, hands out to catch herself. Roots, she thinks, only for one of them to come away from the ground when she curls a mittened hand around it. Almost as pale as the snow, smooth and knobbed at the end—
She yelps and drops the bone, scurrying back on her hands and feet like a crab, but nothing jumps out at her. She's just... alone, with nothing but the silent dead and trees for company. She's got to find her way out.
It's maybe ten minutes later before she hears a loud scream, one that whips her head around before she starts running in the direction of the noise. "Hey! Hey, are you okay?"
The figure startles and shifts, then starts moving away, and she tries to move a little faster, slipping with every step, boots sliding over the bones and snow, her arms windmilling wildly as she tries to keep her balance. "Dammit, stop— will you slow down?"
no subject
But he does glance back, which means he sees who's half-chasing him. Which means he sees it's a girl, and a very pretty one.
March slows down despite his insistence he was going to bolt, spinning on his heel in what would be a great move in cuban heels on asphalt but is instead a bad idea with the crunch of snow and a warm winter boot. He twists, immediately loses his balance, and falls.
Fantastic first impression. He sits up from his spot, breathing heavily, and decides to act like there's absolutely nothing wrong and this situation is entirely normal.
"Hi. How you doing? "
no subject
He sits down hard, ass sinking into wet snow and probably hitting some lumpy bones on the way, and she could reach down to help him up, but she doesn’t. Instead, she comes to stand in front of him, hands on her hips as she stares down at him. There’s a gun in a holster at her hip, a strange but familiar weight. She’s got no idea where it came from, but it might not be a bad thing to have, considering she’s lost in the woods with a strange man. “Could be better, if I’m being honest.”
She gives him a long, lingering look up and down, then finally puts out her hand to help him tug himself up. “But seems like I’m doing better than you, so I’ll take the win.”
no subject
"You got any idea where we are?" Never hurts to ask. A hand goes up to the back of his neck, rubbing idly, glancing around before resting on her again, and that ring on a chain. He narrows his eyes slightly, but quickly smooths his face out and clears his throat.
"Or, you know," a small, brief pause. "Who I am?"
no subject
Why else have that badge, that 70s pornstache? Her face scrunches up, skeptical. She's grateful for the weight of the gun at her hip, even though she has no idea how to use it.
She could at least bash his head in with the grip, if she had to. Probably. "Other than that, I don't have a clue who you are. Shoulda put on a name tag, I guess."
no subject
That at least feels familiar.
But wait. He is a cop, right? Yeah. Feels right. He squints at the girl across from him despite seeing her perfectly.
"I'm going to guess: angel." Too thick? Probably too thick. March is dimly aware of something else--someone else--there, but at least while he's around the brunette there's a familiar ease chipping away at the sense of impending doom.
no subject
No part of her feels angelic even a little. She gives him a long look up and down, assessing. “Do you care if I go through your pockets once you freeze to death?”
no subject
To illustrate his point, he's flapping his arms, raising them up.
"I think I dress like this on purpose. I recognize that, too--" he keeps his arms up, points to the ring, "--maybe. I'm pretty sure." And maybe her. That feeling is creeping up, and he swears he can feel those eyes, sense a figure. He doesn't like it, so he steps into the girl's personal space.
"You remember your name?"
no subject
She looks down at his gesture, then reaches to flick the ring he’s wearing around his own neck, frowning. “Maybe because you’re wearing the same thing. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
His question only makes her shake her head, fingers still gently brushing the edge of the ring he’s wearing nestled against his chest. “No name. But this is making me think we know each other, somehow.”
no subject
He has to suss whatever this out is--and he's looking forward to it. He looks at the woman, the ring she's wearing, tries to sort it out. He'd remember if they were married--he'd remember a wife, especially if she looked like that. He opens his mouth to say something when he hears it.
What kind of survivor are you?
March frowns.
"Okay. Unless you can magically get into my head and chance your voice, I'm assuming that wasn't you."
no subject
Snow crunches under her boot as she turns, looking around for the culprit, her gaze still tracking through the trees as she goes on. "And how the hell am I supposed to know, if I don't know anything about myself?"
But there is something there, isn't there? A glimmer of something. A familiar weight at her hip, the sound of breaking glass. She feels a ghostly zip of electricity skating through her veins and frowns. "I mean, if I have to guess... I'm a stubborn one, probably. Considering I'm not just gonna lie down here and die, so come on — "
She reaches to grab the guy's arm and drags him with her as she starts walking, jaw set and determined. "We're gonna find a path even if it almost kills us."
no subject
Weird. He shouldn't care about that. He should be lone-wolfing it, out on the prowl, getting answers. Like a detective or something.
"I think I'm an answers guy," he supplies, and yeah, he's not not going to follow her as she moves. She's confident and assured and probably right about herself. Stubborn suits her, at the very least. He's beginning to think it might suit him.
"Maybe I am a cop." It feels right.
no subject
She lifts it, studying the long barrel, the strangely familiar feel of it in her hand. "Maybe I'm a gunslinger. Or a criminal, I guess."
no subject
If he's got a badge on his hip, why would he be wearing matching rings with a con, anyway? Unless it's complicated. Granted, this shit is already Pretty Fucking Complicated, but at least the fear and impending doom is easing. Sort of.
Wait.
"...I think I'm a detective. No. I am."
no subject
But there's something about the confidence in his voice at that declaration, and when she looks over at him again, it's with the slightly narrowed eyes and pursed lips of someone trying to piece together a puzzle. "...Okay, but the weird thing is, I think I remember that badge."
She reaches out, taps the dark glass in the middle of the star. "Look at it. I bet it says something like, uh... limbo. No — purgatory."
no subject
He'll investigate the pin with the other hand, picking up the badge as he fidgets with the opening to his pocket, a cartoonishly wide frown crossing his features.
"Are you saying we're between Heaven and Hell right now? Are we dead? I'd kind of remember dying. And I'm not so sure it'd be a joint America and Canada kind of deal." He squints at the badge, handing it over to the girl.
no subject
She shrugs as she reaches for the badge. It's in the shape of a shield, the metal cold and heavy against her fingers. "But what I mean is... Purgatory."
She brushes her thumb over the lettering that curves above the center of the badge and turns her hand to show him: Purgatory Sheriff Department. "Do sheriff's offices have detectives?"
Even as she says it, something else slots into place in her head, one sure thing amid the aimless fog. "I don't think you're the one that's cross border. I think that might be me."
no subject
"So you're holding a ring for me and I'm holdin' that." A frown again, the 'why' hands in the air. He's retrieved a small bundle of toothpicks from his breast pocket finally, and without thinking he's bringing one up to chew on it. "Probably not a coincidence we're here together, too."
"You look comfortable like this," he says suddenly, and he adds it to the list of things he's not sure why he's blurting out. It's true, though. There's a certain confidence to her as she's puzzling things out.
no subject
And maybe that ring is supposed to be with her, for some reason. She sets her hands on her hips, unconsciously mirroring a stance he'd taken earlier, her shoulders set back. "You look comfortable, too. With me."
Which is weird, but she can't put her finger on why. Her brows pinch together, nose crinkling as she thinks hard, tries to dig up any kind of certainty from the fog inside her mind. "I think that might be kind of unusual. Like people don't normally like me."