nature offers a violence

[singmod]

NOVEMBER 2023 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — WHITEOUT: Methuselah makes an unexpected early return to Milton to warn Interlopers of an impending monster storm, and boy does it surely come.

PROMPT TWO — A CHOICE: Following the storm, sightings of a mysterious stag prompts a hunt down in the Basin and out in the Outskirts.

PROMPT THREE — REST MY WEARY BONES: While the storm causes a great deal of mess, it also uncovers some far more pleasant surprises. Hot springs.

WHITEOUT

WHEN: Early to mid-month.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: extreme weather; storms; blizzards; themes of survival; possible character cold-related injuries; possible themes of peril.


In the times that he is no longer occupying the Community Hall in the center of town to help tend to the newcomers, Methuselah is out in the wilds. Despite his growing age, he is a hardened survivor, and has been more than accustomed to life living as a nomad, out in the thickest, deepest parts of nature. Sometimes he can be encountered, sheltered in a cave or out in the woods, huddled by a warm campfire, or busying himself with his latest game catch. He seems to be always on the move, never staying for too long, and never coming into town — unless it’s to begin preparations for the latest batch of new arrivals.

To see him returning to Milton outside of these times is a curious sight, and the grim expression he carries is enough to make anyone wary. Even his voice is grave. The warmth and kindness usually found in his expression is gone, replaced with a deathly seriousness. He doesn’t speak in jest.

"I am long used to this world and its weather, even with the changing times to more bitter nights." he will say. "I have seen the years rise and fall, too many to count. Please, I beg that you hear me with this— a storm is coming. Greater than some of you may have ever known. It is in the air, and we must prepare to see it through. We do not have much time. Three days, perhaps. But no more."

He will tell anyone and everyone; encouraging the word to be spread around. He will instruct on what needs to be done, what needs to be gathered. The storm will be long and hard, and will last for some time. With that, Methuselah will begin to prepare the Community Hall as a place of refuge with a stock of food, fuel and water to get through the storm. Interlopers will be free to join Methuselah and bunker down together, or can choose to bunker down on their own in their own homes, or with others.

You have only three days.

And sure enough, the storm comes. Maybe you can notice the signs too: the sudden updraft, the slow gathering of clouds, the drop in temperature, the changes of pressure in the air.

Halfway through the third day, the storm rolls in: a ferocious snow-storm unlike anything you’ve seen before. Even with the fading amount of daylight as mid-winter approaches, the sky turns as dark as night as will stay like night for the duration. Strong howling winds batter the town, and even the sturdiest of buildings creak and groan under the weight. Trees will be felled, some buildings might not fare the storm.

Relentless snow that falls so hard it’s a complete whiteout, and will be impossible to navigate if one were to step outside. Even then, it isn’t advisable. The temperature is bitter, with a frigid windchill. Going out in this kind of storm would be a death sentence. Staying out in it for longer than a half-hour will certainly kill you.

It would be best to wait it out, to huddle around warm fires in the darkness. It may certainly be a test of patience, depending on your choice of place to stay. The storm will last a full week, a stark reminder of what you are, the words you have heard in your arrival: thrown to Mother Nature’s mercy, the Interloper in her design.

But will you persist?

A CHOICE

WHEN: Mid-month, onwards to end of month.
WHERE: Milton Basin, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: survival themes; themes of hunting; possible animal death.


After the storm passes, there’s a certain kind of hush that falls upon Milton and its surrounding areas as Interlopers are left to pick through the wake. While the temperature certainly doesn’t get that much warmer, there’s days and nights of clear, calm weather — short afternoons of weak sunshine and nights of chilly peace, the moon hung high in the starry skies. Winter is drawing ever-closer, but it’s still for a little while.

In the early evenings, before the sun sets, there’s strange sightings of a particular white stag that can be found roaming the area — particularly down in the Milton Basin. It seems quite elusive, but there’s plenty of Interlopers that have been able to capture a glimpse over the coming days. Even Methuselah himself has seen this beast before, remarking there has long been tall tales of a ghostly stag that roams the Northern Territories and is said to bring good fortune to those who manage to hunt it down.

Perhaps you’re a little low on luck. Perhaps you’re feeling lucky. You’re going to find that stag.

Hunting down the stag, however, will take a great deal of patience and time. You might find yourself waiting several hours to wait for it to appear. Building a snow shelter, or hunkering down in some old shack might be needed in order to keep warm. But if you’re patient enough, and able to withstand the cold for long enough — the beast will soon make an appearance.

In the dying light of the day, it is there. It’s unlike any deer you’ve seen before: tall and majestic, with thick, soft fur of brilliant white. It almost looks ghost-like in some angles, it’s an incredibly beautiful creature. But it seems to have also noticed you, just as you have noticed it. It doesn’t dart away, however. Instead it stands before you, waiting for you to act.

You have a choice: slay the creature, or let it go.

It will not move until you make your decision, holding your gaze until you raise your weapon or until you lower it and give up your hunt. But there is a consequence to either action: if you choose to kill the stag, you will be rewarded with a sizeable bounty of venison. Eating said meat will help you feel fuller for longer, and the meat will keep for far longer than any other deer slain.

However, if you choose to spare the stag, the creature will lower its head, as if bowing to you. Then, it will disappear with a swirling of powdered snow. When you return home for the evening and go to sleep, the next morning you will find a gift at the foot of your bed: a pair of deerskin boots, or a deerskin blanket. These boots are supple, tough and waterproof — allowing for a great balance of mobility and warmth. The blanket is incredibly toasty, and will provide a great deal of comfort in the long nights ahead.

REST MY WEARY BONES

WHEN: Mid-month, onwards indefinitely.
WHERE: Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: n/a.



The storm has blown in plenty of snow to make traversing the area much more difficult, but there’s something else of note that comes with its passing. While the storm has brought much devastation, and some places have been buried in snow drifts, plenty of snow in areas has been blown away, uncovering otherwise lost secrets within Milton. Clouds of what looks like steam can be noted not too far from town, towards the mountains of the north.

If Interlopers head to explore the clouds, they will find old trails leading up towards the mountains. It isn’t a particularly difficult journey, for once, and they will soon discover that the storm has blown away the previously blocked access to a cave. It appears that this is the right place.

The air is warm here, pleasantly so. Warm enough that hats and mittens and coats seem a little unnecessary. One might wonder if someone lives within, and that a great fire is stoked to keep the place warm. But there’s no one in sight, no sounds of life: human, animal or otherwise. If they press on, they will discover that the cave floor is well worn with footfall: plenty of people have come here before, and the reason why is soon revealed.

The air grows even warmer, and more humid. The space opening to reveal small pools of slow-flowing water, warm water. The stone houses a natural hot spring, and following the cave out the other side will lead to another space in the rock open to the air, where there are even larger pools of warm water, perfectly sized and deep enough to bathe in. It seems that this place was frequently used by the people of Milton, where their life of hardship could be forgotten for an hour or two.

The water is pleasantly hot, and incredibly inviting. After so long in the freezing cold without modern appliances and utilities, a natural hot spring sounds like an absolute luxury.

FAQs

WHITEOUT

1. Characters are free to play around with this prompt how they want. Maybe they're dumb enough to go into the cold and get injured or sick. Maybe they're stuck in the Community Hall for the week. Fights might break out as tensions run high whilst everyone's stuck together, or maybe you're actually having a nice time.

2. For those stuck in the Community Hall: there are board games and old school textbooks stored in cupboards. There is also a piano.

3. A floorplan of the Community Hall can be found here.

A CHOICE

1. .... Yes, you can pet the ghost stag.

2. Characters will get one choice only with the ghost stag, meaning they can't keep going back to find it to get extra gifts.

3. If characters can't agree on a course of action, whoever acts first will get their gift. The second character will have a chance to try again another time.

4. If both characters agree on sparing the stag, but players want different gifts (ie. one player wants the boots and one wants the blanket), characters will get the gift the player wants their character to receive.

REST MY WEARY BONES

1. The hot springs will now be a permanent fixture in the Milton Area, enjoy!

PLOTTING POST

Comments

Wynonna Earp | Wynonna Earp

[pacificator]

— open & closed starters —

PLOTTING POST | repeatandfade

whiteout — open.

[pacificator]

[ The little cabin she's claimed for her own is more than sturdy enough to survive the storm that's coming – she thinks – but even as she piles blankets onto the bed and stocks wood by the black iron stove, she can see Waverly's worried, disappointed expression. ]

I'd be fine on my own. I always have been before.

[ But the imaginary Waverly brooks no arguments, so Wynonna has wound up here at the Community Hall, carving out a little slice of space for herself, eying everyone else milling around. She'd brought some of the wood she'd cut earlier and she's managed a few neutral interactions with some of the other people here, so... Who knows. Maybe things will be different.

In the first few days, she can be found leaning back in a chair, boots up on one of the tables, idly shuffling a deck of well-worn cards and dealing them out to whoever seems interested. ]

The game is five-card draw, folks.

[ A beat, as she reconsiders. ]

Unless none of you know how to play, in which case: the game is 'go fish.' Buy-in... whatever the hell you feel like, I'm not a fucking casino.

[ But as the time goes on, tension sets in. It's there in the line of her shoulders, in the terse way she reacts to even the most innocuous of comments. She spends more time than she needs cleaning Peacemaker, considering she hasn't fired the old Buntline Special since she got here. Find her lost in her thoughts sipping a mug of tea by a boarded up window or prowling restlessly around the edges of the hall like a caged animal.

Okay. So maybe things won't be so different, after all. ]

Re: whiteout — open.

[friendsfordinner]

You'll have to remind me on the rules, [ Hickey muses, as he sits across from Wynonna. ] Far as I know, your side of the pond might have different rules on how the whole thing goes.

[ asks the very English accented Cornelius Hickey. He's interested, though. Better they play a game of cards than him just sitting around, twiddling his thumbs, waiting for the weather to let up. ]

[pacificator]

Yeah, sure.

[ She halves the deck, then riffles the two small piles together and forms a bridge with the resulting shuffled cards. They flutter into a newly random deck like autumn leaves in a storm. ]

I deal us both five cards. We check our cards, make our bets, and decide if we want to keep 'em all or discard any. Say you want to discard three, I'll deal you three more, and then we show our hands or fold. Best hand wins.

[friendsfordinner]

Simple enough, [ Hickey says, with a little nod. ] Deal me in.

[ It's something to do, at least. And this woman certainly seems like the sort who might have a good time. ]

[pacificator]

That's what I like to hear.

[ She shuffles again, the sound of the cards riffling against each other just as familiar as the howling wind outside. How many times had they whiled away the long winter nights at the homestead with games of Texas hold 'em and gin rummy?

Cards shuffled, she deals out ten total, going back and forth between her hand and his. ]

You know what kind of hands to look for?

[dimensionalcanopener]

[Jack looks at the cards, and gives that ever mild smile of his.]

I know how to play 'go fish'. [His eyes drift to the cards.] But you could teach me five-card draw.

[pacificator]

If you want.

[ In contrast to his mildness, she feels like she's made of edges. This damn storm; all these people. It's only a matter of time before something goes wrong and the place goes up like a tinder box.

But maybe not over a game of cards. ]

Take a load off. [ Said as she languidly shuffles the cards together. Once, then again. ]

[dimensionalcanopener]

[ One would hope it wouldn't explode over a card game, but it wasn't always predictable how a card game would go. ]

I think I will. [ Not that he needs to tell people that, but Jack is still remarking on the obvious sometimes. ]

[ He takes a seat and watches Wynonna shuffle. ]

I'm Jack. You are?

[pacificator]

Your new poker instructor, apparently.

[ Fli-i-i-i-i-i-p go the cards as she bridges them, sends them riffling into a new pile. ]

Wynonna. So, we starting at ground zero, or do you know the basics?

[dirtytrenchcoat]

[Getting stuck in the school house, or greeting center in their case wasn't in his plans but the harsh winter spell goes on for so long that he and his roommates get caught up in the flurry in the midst of trying to grab more provisions to take back to their place.

Castiel occupies the seat across from the woman with the deck casually, he'd gotten quite fond of card games and board games like Sorry during his time in the asylum alongside Meg but Meg wasn't here and in lieu of her presence, Wynonna is enough like her that it's somewhat of a comfort. Both confident, with dark hair, and some thorny pain.]

If you don't have a group for the five-card draw, I'm open to go fish.

[pacificator]

Finally, someone I don't need to teach how to play poker.

[ There are only two of them; she deals out seven cards each. ]

There go my plans for fleecing everyone out of all their canned goods, I guess.

[dirtytrenchcoat]

I'm aware of poker but not interested in the gamble.

[Castiel left that to the true professionals, those who knew human nature and could play the line between it and deception a lot better than he could.]

Well, given our present circumstances maybe that's for the best. You can save the fleecing for later.

[Castiel picks up his deck and brings it toward him to look at the cards. No matches out of the gate. At least not from his base-deck.]

Ladies first.

[pacificator]

Maybe better not to get run out of the community hall on a rail in the middle of a blizzard, you mean? Uh...

[ She glances through her cards. ]

Any threes?

a black sheep — closed, for fidior.

[pacificator]

[ Rule number one: you never get off the bus.

In this case, the bus is a the warm building, where there are other people for company and help; where there's food and light and heat. Only an idiot would leave all of that for the slim promise of not dying frozen and alone in the middle of a howling blizzard. But isn't it better to leave than to be driven out?

She slams out the door, and then the storm is on her like a wolf. It's instant, sinking teeth into her flesh and bones even through her layers as the wind shrieks and ice pelts her face, helpfully as loud and chaotic as the howling in her own head. Raised voices and slamming doors; the Wynonna Earp special. She was an idiot to think things could change here, that she'd somehow be less... cursed.

No one from Purgatory has followed her here, but she hears them anyway, even through the howl of the storm around her.

(you are such a shit, Wynonna! )

True enough, but it still pisses her off. ]

Tell it to someone who cares.

[ Muttered between half-frozen lips as she stubbornly struggles onward. Peacemaker is an agonizing bolt of burning cold against her leg; she has no idea if she's heading towards one of the other town buildings or if she's simply hauling her ass through this blizzard only to wind up in the woods to die of exposure.

Still seems like a better option than going back, honestly.

Snow sweeps across her footprints as soon as her boots lift, her tracks vanishing into the storm. She doesn't notice; she doesn't even look back at all. ]

[fidior]

[ It's unsurprising that agitation and confrontation would make an appearance in the confines of the Community Hall — really, Edward was expecting it (dreading it, trying his hardest to prepare for it). But he's seen it before, trapped men growing progressively more and more upset, tense, angry.

When the disruption first starts happening, he's down in the basement like he often is, keeping guard over food stores and supplies, but he hears a shout from above and starts heading up immediately, grabbing for his gun. (He won't use it, of course, but its appearance could be enough to stifle a disruption.)

He's just in time to witness a few people looking distraught and unnerved, and a familiar figure sweeping out in a swift, heated movement, the front door slamming shut behind her. Horror immediately grabs hold of him, and Little's lifting his hands placatingly to the group congregated, to the apparent subject of Wynonna's fury, but— he's following her before doing anything else, he must. He knows how blinding the storm makes things, and if he loses sight of her....

He's handing his shotgun to the nearest familiar face he sees (needs to leave it, so he can move faster, he thinks) and then he's rushing out and into the blizzard, one hand planted against the top of his cap to keep it securely to his head. He can't see anything but white, and it's more aggressive than the cold, unfeeling ice that he'd most known for those years, but he has been through the occasional blizzard before. Seen men drop dead in less than this one. He ducks his head downwards and moves as quickly as he can, panic pumping blood through him fast and hot. She'll die. If he doesn't find her, she'll die.

There's no hope of following any footprints as he moves; the swirling freeze covers everything. But there is the advantage that one must move slowly here, and he'd slipped out mere moments after she had. He thinks he sees a darkness through all of the stark white — several feet up ahead, and he's squinting to it, raising his voice as clear as he could possibly make it, although it surely sounds muffled nonetheless. But he repeats it, willing his vocal chords to work harder, louder, hoarse and painful in the cold. ]

Miss Earp! Miss Earp!

[ It's the first time he's ever said her name aloud, the knowledge of it only recently gained during his time in the Community Center as he was taking stock of who all was keeping refuge there. Eventually, her name came up to him from someone else's mouth. He hopes she'll hear it now from his own. ]

[pacificator]

[ The storm is a living thing, and it is implacable; the wind shoves her off her footing, the ice cuts her cheeks, the snow freezes in her hair. There was a blizzard like this, once, back in the Ghost River Triangle; farmers had found their livestock frozen solid when the storm finally lifted. She'd been so young then, but she remembers the way the snow piled against the door, the windows, until there was nothing to see but white. Willa had opened the front door to a solid wall of snow, then shrieked when Wynonna grabbed a fistful and flung it at her.

Who have you hurt the most? August Hamilton had whispered it into her ear, his razor cold against her throat, but how could she answer when two of them weren't there to even pretend to forgive her? The storm whirls white around her and for a second she thinks she sees Willa, dancing in her white dress.

Earp...Earp! A voice comes floating through the chaos. She half-turns, stumbling, trying to see through the storm. Her eyes water from the wind, her lashes frozen in the cold. ]

Dolls?

[ She's seeing things – again – and this time she can't blame the prairie winds, but is that Xavier Dolls shouldering his way toward her, through the whipping clouds of snow and ice? Hopes rises, sharp. ]

Dolls!

[ Except then he comes closer, catching up to her now that she's stopped, the snow already piling against her boots, and it isn't Dolls. Nor is it a demon; nor is it Willa, come to whisper how disappointed she is in her baby sister into her ear as she freezes to death.

And, really, she should have guessed it from the voice; she's only heard it a few times, but it's absolutely fucking distinctive. Christ. Wynonna folds her arms over her chest, shivering ceaselessly in the freezing wind. The only spots of color on her are the flashes of red where Jopson mended her jeans; the rest of her is a tangle of dark hair amid the smudges of dark jacket and pale face. Like Little, she has to yell to be heard over the screaming of the blizzard. ]

I still don't need a chaperone, man. And I'm not coming back to apologize, if you came out here for that instead.

[fidior]

[ He thinks he hears her shout something, but it's hard to discern, the wind a howling beast. One knows that something like this isn't truly alive, but in the midst of it, it's too easy for the mind to think otherwise. To picture the storm as a raging animal, a thing with a mind and will of its own. It attacks.

...Or perhaps the true horror of it is that it isn't intentional. It's more unfeeling than that, empty even of cruelty. The stark whiteness only exists. A person was never meant to be out in it.

She's stopped, he realises, as the distance between them lessens, and it's with a frantic, relieved jolt of his heart that he sees it really is her. Edward trudges closer, gasping against the ache of chill, trying not to think of the men he's seen fall apart from it later on. Things turning black and rotting off. He lifts the large lapels of his greatcoat higher against his ears, shuddering.

'not coming back to apologise' — His eyes widen at that, though immediately squint again as they're met with an assault of tiny, biting frost, but he's stunned to hear the reply. Is that what she's concerned of? That he's come to force her back to the confrontation? No, he's much more worried for the woman's life itself, shaking his head earnestly, voice still raised to a shout. It may be more difficult to tell, but desperation still leaks through, making his words a plea. ]

It's much too dangerous out here! You need to come back with me — please!

[ A hesitation, a dark and dreadful thing he doesn't want to say aloud, but in this moment he must. ]

You could die out here!

[pacificator]

[ She's not going to die out here. She can't die out here, because if she dies, the curse passes to Waverly, and Waverly wouldn't even have Peacemaker to protect herself against the revs. Doc won't be enough to protect her. Dolls won't be enough to protect her. She'd get killed in about two seconds and that can't happen. Like hell is she going to be the reason another Earp dies. Not again.

Not ever again.

So she's not going to die out here, because like hell is she going to disappoint Waverly like that. Never mind how she can't feel her feet or fingers, how she's starting to feel like she'll never be able to get warm again. Never mind how her frozen hair lashes at her neck and face, leaving tiny cuts that sting for a second before they too freeze, raw and red against her pale skin. But now Little's out here with her, and if he dies from the cold, the storm, then it'll be her fault, and if she doesn't want to shoulder the death of another Earp, neither does she want to carry the guilt of being the reason he was out here to begin with. The guy survived for years in the Arctic; there's some sort of sick irony that it could take only a few days of knowing her to kill him.

All this passes through her head in a matter of seconds; still, it feels like an eternity before she nods, a stiff, difficult motion with her frozen muscles and joints. ]

Come on.

[ Reaching out, she grabs hold of his arm – zero chance they won't lose each other in the snow, it's a miracle he found her to begin with – and looks around for any sign of the Community Hall. There's nothing, not even their own footsteps, but she thinks she sees a dark blur off to the side. It might be a building; it might be a rock, or the treeline. She's got no idea, but he's right about one thing: if they stay here, they'll die.

It's harder than she'd expected to trudge through the snow, but she stubbornly starts walking anyway. There's nothing else to do. ]

a choice — closed, for dimensionalcanopener.

[pacificator]

[ — tbd — ]

rest my weary bones — open.

[pacificator]

Oh. Fuck. Yes. Come to mama.

[ Groaned as she sinks into the steaming water, her eyes closing and her arms spread back over the edge of the natural bath. She's been cold before, but never like this, never for this long, the way it's seeped into every part of her. Even her hair feels frozen through, but the mellow heat of the water sends warmed blood flushing through her veins, flooding her cheeks and chest with color.

On arrival, she'd wasted no time in unceremoniously stripping out of her clothes, tugging coat and jacket and shirt and tank top over her head; stepping out of boots and socks and jeans, leaving them all in a haphazard pile with Peacemaker tucked tenderly on top. She keeps her underwear on – her only nod to the sensitivities of those around her – but given the top is a lacy black bra, it might do more harm than good.

Now that she's stripped down, it's easy to see the necklace that she wears: a long chain on which is looped a key inscribed with a Greek word, a tassel, and three small blue beads which look like eyes.

She sighs and relaxes further into the water. ]

Okay. This almost makes it all worth it.

aw ye let's do the thing

[castitas]

[ There's certainly people she could ask to take her up to the Hot Springs, plenty she trusts enough. There is one... uh, issue, with that. As much as she might wholeheartedly trust the likes of Edward Little or Harry Goodsir, and certainly doesn't doubt they're good, and honourable — it's not entirely appropriate to ask either man. Mostly due to the fact they're.... well, um. Men.

It's totally not appropriate okay. Not when she literally wants to come here for a bath.

But the woman is kind enough to take her there, and Kate feels a little better about the whole thing — given the walk up and stuff. That is until the woman just starts stripping off without much thought and Kate's stunned for a moment, eyes wide and quickly ducking away and— this isn't appropriate either, oh no

She is pointedly avoiding looking at her, her cheeks burning a little in mortification, shuffling off to find somewhere private to change. She'd had to a little searching (and apologized to the empty home) but managed to find a pair of shorts and a tank top (it was once summer here, maybe). She still feels horribly under-dressed, but it'll do to bathe in.

The woman's cursing flusters her a little, but she steps out, her belongings in a tidy pile and places her wash items at the edge of spring. Her face is getting redder, and she just... tries to get into the water as quickly as possible — gasping a little. Oh. Oh, that feels really nice, though. ]

... I feel like I forgot what hot water felt like.

[pacificator]

Yeah, me too.

[ Oh, right. The teen. Look, this place is full of dudes, and half of them are nuttier than squirrel shit, so she doesn't blame the girl for wanting the company of another woman to do something as simple as taking a bath. Wynonna doesn't give a shit about co-ed bathing facilities, but even she can get that.

And this chick is meek. Soft-spoken, mild – but it's the mild ones that sometimes turn out to be the most interesting, when they finally decide to let go and let everyone around them have it. Not that Kate seems likely to do that anytime soon.

She's not actually anything like the girl Wynonna met on the bus, but that girl had gone out into the woods alone, only to fall victim to a curse that had nothing to do with her. Wynonna hadn't been able to help her, but she can help Kate get to some hot water so the girl can take a damn bath.

And so she can, too. Wynonna takes a breath and ducks under the water, blowing air out in bubbles from her nose, then surfaces with a gasp and a groan. ]

Somehow, melting snow on a stovetop just doesn't cut it.

[ She wipes her face and blinks water out of her eyes, then focuses on the girl. ]

I mean, there's a lot to be said for a whore's bath, as my buddy John Henry would call it, but this is... yeah. Better.

[castitas]

... Yeah, it kind of sucks. [ In truth, it's honestly really sucked keeping on top of personal hygiene for the last few months. The dorm showers seem like a luxury to her now, she actually misses them — even with their weird water pressure and the fact you could freeze or scald someone in the showers just by using the sinks. There's nothing sadder than taking buckets of water into the tiny bathrooms of the Community Hall — but what else is she gonna do?

She's going to make the most of this, whilst trying not to dwell longer than she has to, given the fact there's other people here and that's mortifying. At least the dorm showers had privacy.

The woman dunks under the water and Kate busies herself with letting her hair down so she can wash it and then, resurfacing— a what bath. She freezes, eyes wide. ]

Um, excuse me— [ Her voice has gone up a little in pitch, thoroughly scandalised. ] A what—?!

[pacificator]

A —

[ She opens her mouth to emulate John Henry's laconic drawl — a whooooooooowah's bath — but something in the scandalized way the teen is looking at her makes her swallow the words. Wynonna clears her throat, awkward. ]

You know. A, uh, sponge bath.

[ Saved it!

Figures that the girl who wanted a chaperone for a bath she's taking almost fully clothed anyway would have an issue with that particular phrasing. Wynonna runs her fingers through her wet, tangled hair, then pushes herself half out of the water to rummage through her pile of clothes. Rather than soap and conditioner, she retrieves a little metal flask which she brings back with her as she relaxes into the water: some of the pine wine she and March finally managed to make.

It's not great, but it's (probably) not poisonous. She unscrews the top and takes a drink, then sets the flask aside and relaxes back into the water, watching the girl with interest. ]

Too bad we can't pipe this stuff into town and build some showers, huh?