Jax Teller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
beallmysins) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2017-10-25 09:47 pm
beallmysins) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-10-25 09:47 pm
Entry tags:
🍁 the times they are a changin' (ota)
WHO: Jax Teller
WHERE: porch of the 6I inn
WHEN: 25 October - mid afternoon
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: cursing, lbr
The wind catches then and the sheets come flying out of Jax's notebook, scattering the letter and some of the previous ones out across the porch and into the street in front of the inn. He scrambles to gather them up before they get trampled on and muddy because fuck if he's letting his only connection to his kids go and get ruined.
Is this what happened to his old man when he wrote his letters? Did John Teller write letters on scraps of paper on blustery fall days and hope that someday he was going to get to read them to his son? Jax has no fucking idea. There's so much shit he's finding out about his father after the fact that makes the hazy, golden childhood image of him tarnish a bit. He's afraid that's gonna be what happens with Abel and Thomas, that they'll read his letters and hear stories about him and think of him as some asshole and not as a hero like a father ought to be.
Jax pushes that down for the moment and focuses on grabbing up as much of the paper as he can, trying to keep his words and his tether to Charming and the real fucking world from getting soaked up with the mud and gloom of this place. Even if the snow's melted now and the leaves are pretty shades of red and gold he doesn't want to fucking be here.
"I hate this fucking place," he grumbles, stuffing bits of the letter back into the binding of the notebook.
WHERE: porch of the 6I inn
WHEN: 25 October - mid afternoon
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: cursing, lbr
Hey, Abel. It's been a little while since I wrote to you so I wanted to sit down and tell you what's going on in thisfucked upcrazy prison I'm in. I miss you. You need to take care of Thomas and your mom, all right? I know I tell you that every time but I'm gonna keep writing it just to make sure it happens.
Snowed here the other day. It's getting cooler here but I don't have any idea of what the date is or shit like that. It's not like the real world, this place, and the longer I'm here the more it feels like I'm losing touch with what's real and what I can see and touch. It hadn't been that cold though, before, so the snow kind of came as a shock - seems to have melted, though.
Snow reminds me of Tahoe or up in Oregon where Gemma's people are from. It's not something we're ever gonna see in Charming, not unless something crazy happens. I'll take you kids skiing sometime when we get away. We're gonna get away someday, you know. Your mom's been after me to make that happen and I...
The wind catches then and the sheets come flying out of Jax's notebook, scattering the letter and some of the previous ones out across the porch and into the street in front of the inn. He scrambles to gather them up before they get trampled on and muddy because fuck if he's letting his only connection to his kids go and get ruined.
Is this what happened to his old man when he wrote his letters? Did John Teller write letters on scraps of paper on blustery fall days and hope that someday he was going to get to read them to his son? Jax has no fucking idea. There's so much shit he's finding out about his father after the fact that makes the hazy, golden childhood image of him tarnish a bit. He's afraid that's gonna be what happens with Abel and Thomas, that they'll read his letters and hear stories about him and think of him as some asshole and not as a hero like a father ought to be.
Jax pushes that down for the moment and focuses on grabbing up as much of the paper as he can, trying to keep his words and his tether to Charming and the real fucking world from getting soaked up with the mud and gloom of this place. Even if the snow's melted now and the leaves are pretty shades of red and gold he doesn't want to fucking be here.
"I hate this fucking place," he grumbles, stuffing bits of the letter back into the binding of the notebook.
no subject
Moana stepped into the shallow ends of the water, feeling the cold current rush over her bare feet like daggers. She didn't care for the colder weather and hoped that winter would pass quickly. After a moment of searching the water she pulled a rock from the water. She ran her fingers over the edges before holding it up to Jax.
"This one. We'll use one of the metal tools at the inn to chip it into a point." It was easier than using another rock.
no subject
"Lets get this thing looking like a real spear."
no subject
She could use her small hand ax to help shape the rock but she really didn't want to dull that edge. She needed it for other things and she had no idea how to sharpen it.
no subject
"Hey, now that I'm making a spear, maybe I can make an axe next."
no subject
"Yes! Think you can do it without me?"
She was curious about the end result.
no subject
Jax is only half teasing with that. He honestly doesn't know if he's going to be as good at making an axe as he'll be using one and he knows he'll end up needing Moana's help.