sixthiterationlogs | Somethin' Bad About to Happen (Arrival)

WHO: Wynonna Earp
WHERE: South Village Fountain
WHEN: 9/15
OPEN TO: Way way way OTA
WARNINGS: None yet

a. Initial Arrival
Wynonna hasn't been swimming since she was in Greece.

This water is significantly colder than the Mediterranean, and it's dark, and she is really not loving it. Especially since she doesn't remember jumping in to any water. She remembers sitting with Waverly outside, huddled against the -30 chill in blankets and parkas with the wine keeping them as warm as the fire and talking about where they wanted to be buried. You know, normal sisterly bonding. She thinks she remembers going to bed, but there was a lot of wine so it gets fuzzy after that.

She only struggles for a few moments, before kicking upwards, towards the light, and the moment she breaks the surface she clings to the stone edge, her face a picture of pure panic- but not for herself.

"Waverly?!" she forces out after the water from her lungs. "Waves, baby girl, where are you?!"

She's about to dive back under to start looking for her sister when she hears sounds of life from beyond the well.

b. Sometime later.

She is dry. That's about the most she can say about things that have improved about this situation so far. A change into dry clothes, a quick look through the supplies she had with her on arrival. She's got the red scrubs and a white tank top on, with the scrub pants tucked in to the hiking boots.

Everything about her says New Arrival- the look of confused panic mixed with curiosity, the pristine scrubs, and the fact that she's searching every face she sees for any mark of familiarity.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She sighs, realizing that she's too tired to lie, or care about whether or not this guy thinks she's crazy.

"I'm the great-granddaughter of Wyatt Earp, bound by a family curse to hunt the 77 demons he initially damned by killing them with his Bluntline Special." Shrug.

"..." On a sliding scale of american historical figures of semi-myth and Literal Norse Gods-

He's not sure where a cursed descendant rates on the weird-o-meter. "Uh-huh."

A beat.

"So you definitely want to get to the inn, there's a guy that hawks moonshine there and a vampire that distills vodka in the kitchen sometimes."

"I'd kiss you if I wasn't puking magic fountain water like ten minutes ago," she tells him, with a look of utter relief. "I'm Wynonna, by the way. Yeah, Wynonna Earp. Family was big on the W's."

"Aside from the odd gift from the 'Observers', creepy as they are, we're on our own for hooch production so the options are kind of limited." At least until some chemists that are of age (limited pool there) decide to hop on it. "Tony Stark. Come on, I'll walk you to the church of 'fuck this shit I'm done'."

"Take me to church, St. Anthony." Pause. "Wait, how does like- money and shit work here? Barter system? Not exactly set up for bargaining yet."

"Barter system for goods or labor, but people tend to let newbies slide on some shit or the first few days." Currency means fuck and all here. "It's all very 'all pull together to keep each other alive' which- not a terrible system with Winter coming and the odds of the weather killing somebody aren't as low as I'd like."

"I can hunt. Like stuff besides demons- animals for food and fur and stuff. Mom was big on the wilderness survival. Camping in Canada in the winter, all that. If there's anything here to hunt, I mean. Otherwise, everything I'm good at- well. Not the best things to be offering for tradsies, you know?" she forces a bit of a smile and a chuckle at the end there. "But if being new and desperate gets me pity-booze, I'm not above pity-booze. Bring me the pity booze."

"Fantastic. I don't know how many of those we have but one more is more food for the village." In case anything goes wrong with the food stores which he...doesn't know much about and probably should look into if only to not wind himself up about it. And now he's winding himself up about it, fuck. "I'm bringing you to the pity-booze. Saddle up, Sheriff."

It's not too terribly far of a walk, getting her to the inn. The scent of the daily meal wafts through the air and Tony? Heads for the bar on the far wall. "This shit isn't readily available usually, but-"

Wynonna snorts. "If you saw my juvie record, you wouldn't even joke about calling me sheriff," she says, finding the nearest available empty table to collapse at and await the free alcohol. "My sister's girlfriend-" she starts to say, then stops. Nope. Not gonna talk about things that remind her she's away from Waverly. And can't help Alice.

Booze. Booze now.

"Bet you mine's worse." Boarding school hadn't been nearly as clean cut as Howard thought it would be. When he returns? It's with two glasses and a jar of cloudy, strong smelling moonshine. "I think this is apricot. I think."

He can't quite remember.

"I shot my dad. It was an accident, but he probably still deserved it," Wynonna says, sounding more tired than really ashamed of it. "After that it was in and out of juvvie, foster homes, and mental hospitals."

She stops to pour herself a shot's worth of the moonshine, and throws it back. "There's no way I don't win the game of Teenage I Never, my dude."

"...Alright manslaughter is not on my list of sins before the age of twenty three, so you win that one." He pours himself a shot in commiseration before knocking it back. "Boarding school, MIT, house parties."

A beat.

"I come from new money, so." Relateable experiences are slim, he knows.

"Born and bred white trash. Canadian white trash though, so we at least got to see doctors," Wynonna shares with a bit of a shrug. "I probably would've liked you in high school. Probably because you could've bought me beer, but- wouldn't have minded having some Bueller-style days off in the Purg."

"Manhattan Business Tycoon Royalty from real new money. Like. Dad was the one that made the fortune money, so all the other kids at boarding school were assholes. Throw being the smartest person in the room since I was five and-

Yeah."

He shrugs, nails drumming against his glass. "I mean when I was a teenager I was at MIT making all sorts of shitty decisions. We would've had a blast."

"I ran away to Europe the second I could afford to- I was closer to 20 by then, a ticket to Athens is a lot of lap-dances for horny farmers who tip out of their Tim Hortons change," she says, pouring another shot into her glass.

"I...think I made a sex tape when I was seventeen? Its a bit blurry." For him that's saying something, usually he can recall his bullshit. "But you win."

She grins. "Please tell me the prize is more alcohol."

"It absolutely is." He pours her another shot, still nursing his own.

Somethin' Bad About to Happen (Arrival)

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