sixthiterationlogs | on the road again

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on the road again

WHO: Jax Teller
WHERE: foothills North of 6I
WHEN: 10 May
OPEN TO: Karen Page
WARNINGS: Jax is his own warning.

Jax had gone to bed in his own house and if he had it to do over, he'd have put on a fucking shirt because now he's outside and it's chilly even if it's not cold and snow like it'd been over the winter. He's got scrub pants on, riding low on his hips, but no shoes and no socks. Of course, that'd been the perfect time to fuck with him and now he's in the middle of goddamn nowhere trying to find places to step that aren't covered in fucking rocks.

He steps on one, a sharp one, and he hops on his uninjured foot while letting out a stream of curses that might even make Piney roll over in his grave. "Fucking piece of shit! I hate this fucking place. Always fucking with my fucking life and fuck!"

In his attempts to get somewhere less rocky, he's managed to twist his ankle on the opposite foot so now he's limping even more than he'd been previously. "Anyone else out here in this shithole? I need to get back to the village so Claire can give me stitches again.

He hasn't even gotten the other ones out yet.

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Putting aside for a moment how screwed up this situation is generally, Karen has possibly never been so glad that she's been the sort of person who gets up in the wee hours and treks out to explore before most people are even awake yet. She's dressed. Fully. She has supplies. Not a ton of them, but definitely better than starting with none, and definitely helpful when she pushes her way through the underbrush and sees the state Jax is in.

Karen tends to know most people in the village simply because she makes a point of it, but Jax is one of those people that everybody knows by reputation anyway. A reputation which is firmly upheld by both his current outfit and current attitude.

"I've got a shirt in here, but I don't think it will fit you," she says with a jerk of her thumb to the pack on her back. "You're welcome to try, though."

Considering that she's thinner than he is and probably a good three inches shorter, he doesn't think the shirt is going to fit. Still, Jax isn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth and he holds out his hand, willing to give it a try if nothing else.

"Would have been better if you brought an extra set of boots," he mutters. "But I'll give it a shot. You don't mind if I stretch this shit out because my shoulders are wider than yours?" What does it really matter? Probably not much but considering she has supplies and he doesn't, Jax thinks he should try to stay on her good side for a little while.

"I'll live," Karen replies with a soft snort, and swings the bag down off her shoulder. Crouching, she pulls it open, and then tosses the t-shirt Jax's way. It's just one of the ones she grabbed from the storeroom anyway.

"I've got an extra pair of socks, too. I don't know if that would be better or worse," she adds, and holds them up. They're thick and wool, but if they get damp from the ground they'll definitely be annoying.

"I'm guessing your reaction means you have no idea how or why we're out here, either."

"No fucking clue," he says, tossing on the t-shirt. It's too small but he manages to get it on past his shoulders and it covers everything so he guesses it's better than nothing. When she mentions the socks, he weighs it for a moment before holding out his hand for them.

"Some protection is better than none. Claire's going to skin me alive if I come back needing stitches again. I'm a shitty patient."

"Yeah, me too."

Socks passed over, Karen zips her bag up again and pushes back to her feet. "Well, the good news is I have an idea of where we are," she begins, and then sighs with a cant of her head. "The bad news is by my best guess, we're going to be out here awhile. Probably a couple of days at least before we get close to home."

Which is going to mean needing food and shelter. "I've got some trail mix and a knife. I don't know if you hunt at all, but we're probably going to have to catch something at some point. I guess we could use the laces on my boots for a snare, if we had to." God, her kingdom for a firearm.

"Nah, didn't sign up for the Boy Scouts where I came from," Jax drawls. He knows there's a guy who kind of looks like him from a distance but the other guy also knows how to do useful shit and isn't covered in tattoos. Really, they're nothing alike.

"Figure I could probably take instructions but I don't know how to tie snares and shit. I avoid that by staying in the village where people bring me food in exchange for roof work."

"Fair enough," Karen allows as she watches, waiting for Jax to finish putting on the socks. He looks ridiculous — Shirt too tight, no shoes, pants fighting a losing battle to stay up on his hips — but if they're going to be stuck together for two days out here, it's probably best she keeps her mouth shut on that count. At least for now. She's definitely telling Claire when she gets back home.

"If you're ready, we should probably go ahead and head out. Get as far as we can while we've got the light."

Edited 2018-06-07 06:46 (UTC)

“The sooner I get back to civilization the happier I’m gonna be,” Jax says. He doesn’t know how to get back and doesn’t care how it’s gonna happen. He just knows if this woman knows how to get back, he’s not going to be a shit and not listen to her.

“Lead the way, sweetheart. I’m just here to walk home and not get lost.” He trusts she can navigate them back, the way she’s been talking. If not, he can just be lost with someone nice to look at.

He thinks he’d prefer to get lost with Claire, though, since she can stitch him up.

Karen's been called pet names like sweetheart plenty of times before; derisively, even. Yet the sound of it coming out of Jax's mouth rankles, and she has to grind her teeth together to keep from doing more than sliding him a vaguely irritated glance. It's going to be a long two days, she can already tell.

"Just let me know if you need to stop because of your feet," she says, and pushes her way through the underbrush.

Jax is determined not to slow down or stop but after the first couple steps in the underbrush, even with the socks, he knows that's not gonna fly. This shit hurts and he's not used to walking around in the woods at all, much less practically barefoot.

When they start off, he has no idea what direction they're going in. He has no desire to go out here on a good day and getting back is apparently going to be a bitch. "How often do you come out here? Enough to know the place?"

"Most days," Karen replies, and pauses, holding back a branch for him before continuing on. He looks less than comfortable, but there's nothing else she knows to do about it except maybe ripping the shirt in half and tying the pieces over the socks.

"Not this far out, obviously, but I've been trying to get the lay of the land since we got here."

"Someone was a good girl scout," Jax says. Talking helps take his mind off the pain in his feet so he talks, even if he doesn't think he and this woman have very much in common. She's hot, yes, but she's also got an edge to her. He likes that even if it's going to get him hurt.

Jax squints when he steps through the brush and looks over the land around them. "You don't happen to know where the fucked up animals are, do you? I heard there were some. I don't want to go that way."

How is it possible, Karen thinks, that someone can take something completely mundane and spin it into something breathlessly annoying in a matter of moments? Also, how does Claire deal with being around this guy?

Rolling her eyes, Karen keeps moving forward, a thin fog beginning to wind around her ankles. It's not that unusual for up here, or even in the village, so she thinks nothing of it until she looks back to reply to Jax's question.

"No, but I know where the village asshole is," she replies, and then startles, eyes widening.

It's sharper than she's said anything before and Jax feels his temper rise to the surface, a furious thing that he doesn't really want to keep tamped down any more. He's so fucking sick of this place and not being able to contribute to it; he's not normally such a lazy asshole and this place forces him to be one.

"Yeah, well, we didn't all get Girl Scout training, babe. I was actually pretty fucking important in my life back home and it didn't involve any of this wilderness shit."

That elicits a stunned scoff from Karen despite her earlier, unexpected phrasing. Important? He cannot be serious.

"Right, because riding motorcycles and porn stars is important," she shoots back, finding herself shocked again — That isn't what she'd intended to say. She hadn't meant to be nice, but a little less harsh.

"What the fuck," she mutters, her mind racing, trying to remember what she ate last, whether she brushed up against any strange plants.

"Hey, at least you're honest," Jax says, scowling even deeper. "Besides, we don't all do the world's good work and walk on moral fucking ground. We're both still lost in the goddamn woods so if you wanna sneer down your nose at me, remember you're walking in the same shit."

Quite literally, at the moment.

"Where the fuck are we anyway? I thought you knew where we were going."

"I'm not lost," Karen snaps back, irritated that he apparently thinks her hesitation or expression has something to do with her sense of direction. "And I didn't mean to say any of that." She frowns, her face pinching. "It just came out that way, when I meant to be nicer. Not too nice, because you don't deserve that, but not that shitty."

Her eyes fall closed with a sigh. "See? That also just came out. I don't know what's happened, if I touched some kind of crazy plant or what, but let's just keep going and try to not talk to each other, because I don't like being as rude as you are."

God damn it.

"Look, there's no sense in being a pussy and acting like you're better than me," Jax snarls. "You're pissed off about being out here and you can't fucking stand the fact that I'm looking at you. I get it. You think you're the first girl to look at a biker and feel like that?"

Jax doesn't have a chip on his shoulder about that, that's for damn sure. "All I want is to get back to the fucking village and go on my merry fucking way. If you wanna be honest, be my guest. I'm not offended. You're only offending yourself, babe."

All he had to do was listen to what she'd said and stay quiet. That was all. But apparently that was too much to ask for, because here they are, facing off in what has to be one of the most ridiculous ways possible, Jax standing there in his rent boy t-shirt and pajama bottoms, feet covered in Karen's socks and nothing else, honestly looking like he's doing a walk of shame from some deep woods gay bar.

"Okay, one," she begins despite herself, holding up a finger. "I am not your babe. I am not your sweetheart or honey, either. Two, you don't know me or what I'm thinking, or if it has to do with bikers. Like I care you're a biker! I'm probably in love with a guy back home who murders people everyday, I'm not impressed by your Harley cred."

What she is, however, is officially horrified.

"Okay, just— I want to die now," she continues after a beat, wide eyes staring at Jax until she stiffly turns and begins walking away. "I am walking away now to avoid saying anything else about Frank— MOTHER FUCKER!"

"Frank? That's your murderer dude? Bet you could do a lot better than a hitman, sweetheart," Jax says, acid dripping from the words. He doesn't know this Frank or anything about him other than murderer but if she's going to take shots at him he's going to fire them right back.

"One thing about criminals? Crime comes first. Either you're along for the ride or you're not but they're not gonna change for you. When I got with my girl, I thought I could change. I thought I could go straight for her and I tried. Guess what? Didn't happen. Don't hang your hopes on that shit. You're going to fall down in it like the rest of us."

Karen whips around, motioning to Jax with both splayed hands. "Why are you still talking? WHY?" There is one person in this entire alternate universe that she feels remotely comfortable talking to about Frank Castle, and it is definitely not Jax Teller, wayward biker gun runner and all-around creep.

Yet, here she goes again.

"He's not a hitman, he's a vigilante. There's a difference, although I'm sure your moral code is sparkling. I told you before, you don't know me. I stopped trying to change him— God, I really hate you right now. I wish you were ugly so it would be the complete package."

Oh, for the love of god.

Nope, nope. Noping right out of this.

Karen turns again and speed-walks away as fast as she can.

Jax arches a brow and starts laughing. He knows he's good looking. His face has gotten him out of a hell of a lot of binds and it amuses the shit out of him that for all her prissiness and morals about her not-boyfriend being a vigilante versus a hitman, she still thinks he's attractive.

"Vigilante just means he's got good press, babe. Still a murderer, just like me. I could be a vigilante too. I kill drug dealers because I think they're pieces of shit. I murdered a bunch of neo-Nazi fucks because I didn't want them in my town. See? Vigilante."

"You murder people because of money, there's a difference," Karen yells as she marches on, not bothering to look back. Jax will hear her, or he won't, and hopefully if he doesn't, it's because he was eaten by a bear.

"And I am not your fucking babe. You could travel back in time and kill Adolf Hitler himself and I wouldn't be your babe."

"It all goes back to money," Jax says. "Maybe you don't want to believe that but it does. Everything people do goes back to one thing - money or love. Even your moral high ground has to agree with that."

He snorts a little and moves to catch up. "But your moral high ground won't leave me out here, either, so I still win."

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on the road again

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