Somethin' Bad About to Happen (Arrival)

[unraisehell]

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.

Comments

[quinientos]

Vasquez can't help his snort, thinking that this is definitely an unfortunate thing that he's not liking, but he's not complaining as loudly as her, so maybe he thinks he's the winner here. "It's not nice to tell me you want to touch me everywhere when you can't even get close enough for me to get my hands on you," he complains.

Slumping back in his seat, he reaches for his cigarette so he can start again. "Let's get drunk?" he suggests, as an alternative.

[unraisehell]

"Try to take it as a compliment- feels like this is connected to adrenaline, whatever it is," she says, and tries not to think too hard about what an automatic defense mechanism is going to mean for her sex life, given she's never enjoyed sex without at least a little risk.

"Drunk sounds real good."

[quinientos]

"I don't get to be fucked or even go down on you, how is that a compliment?" Vasquez complains with a gesture of his free hand at her, like he's bemoaning the state of the world. Shaking his head, he decides to work on the moonshine like it will make him feel better.

He's definitely going to have some blue balls to deal with later. "You want a smoke? Or are you going to push that away too?"

[unraisehell]

"Well, there's nothing stopping you from looking, even if you can't touch," she counters playfully, recovering some of her former grace in a languid stretch that used to up her tips by about ten percent back at the Willow's. "Believe me, I'd be taking you up on those offers- admittedly maybe reverse the order with a side of- no, I need to stop. Going in to detail there would just be cruel to both of us."

She's looking at him like a starving woman looks at a bakery display. A bakery display of erotic cakes in West Hollywood.

[quinientos]

This is very unfair to him, honestly. He meets a beautiful woman who seems to share his fondness for physical activity and there's a bubble around her that won't let him touch. Fuck this place, he thinks, and he decides that at least he can make suggestions.

"So instead, what if I touch me and you touch you," he says, which won't be anywhere near as fun, but...well, better than nothing.

[unraisehell]

"A little low-tech Facetime and chill. I like it," Wynonna says as she gets to her feet. She slows her movements, though they're not exactly graceful- confident, and practiced, but with some noticeable clumsiness. On stage at the Willow, she was never actually turned on- drunk, maybe, but dancing for the scum of Purgatory was always done numbly and automatically.

She doesn't make the act of undressing a tease, though she's at least careful not to just tear the red scrubs off. Barely.

"Well," she says, as she starts to tug off her underwear. "At least you get to appreciate this before the Brazilian grows out."

[quinientos]

Vasquez doesn't know half of these words that she's saying, but it's good that she's getting undressed, which means he should follow suit. Off goes the hat and his vest, there go his boots, and he's quickly divested of everything with a wicked smirk on his face, settling back with his pants unbuttoned, but not off.

They might be doing this together, but he wants some dignity in case someone comes crashing in. "I don't know what Brazilians have to do with anything here."

[unraisehell]

She knows the expression of a cowboy failing to grok her train of thought, and gives him an understanding look. "Sorry. I'll... try to stay more on task," she says, guiding him into an exchange of increasingly heated words of a non-argumentative nature. Even if some of her modern slang fails to paint a picture, context is provided in spades.