sixthiterationlogs | If I Have to Fall Then It Won't Be In Your Line

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If I Have to Fall Then It Won't Be In Your Line

WHO: Wynonna Earp
WHERE: Various
WHEN: November 1-14
OPEN TO: Everyone. HMU on plurk or discord if you want a character-specific prompt added.
WARNINGS: Swearing inevitably I'm sure. Zoom seed use and allusions to real drug use.

Zoom's Revenge

"I should have known better," Wynonna groans miserably into the surface of one of the inn's wooden tables. The zoom seeds had been fun at first. She'd gotten so much done! Checked snare traps, brought some kills to the kitchen, delivered a bunch of now-mostly-dry firewood around the village, and had the most amazing morning jog of her life.

"I hate uppers. And I hate this so much."

She has yet to pry her cheek off the table.

"Never. Again."

It Followed Me Home

"No. No, I'm not feeding you. Stop looking at me like that. Shoo! I'm not your mommy- believe me, you do not want me as a mom. Go back to the other little river monsters."

The young crocodile dog has been following her for the past hour, and none of her attempts at scary motions, loud noises or other things she's used to working with strays. It had mistaken food she'd left in stealing distance for her feeding it, and she has thus far been totally incapable of convincing it that she's not a good choice of human. She's started to try reasoning with it, on the off chance these things are just pretending to be this stupid.

Cold Wet Interdimensional Autumn

It's cold out. But the hot springs are still hot, and worth seeking out, especially since her shoulder's still recovering from the dislocation Beverly had hooked her up with. She'd pushed herself too hard while using the zoom seeds, having felt freaking invincible while moving that fast.

She's got herself submerged up to the chin, and, thinking she's alone in this weather, singing to herself. Okay, "singing." But at least she remembers at least half of the lyrics! Look, Bitch Better Have My Money has a lot of lyrics, ok?

"Something something something- your wife in the backseat of my brand new foreign car-"

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There's so much of this place that is kind of familiar to the cowboy. The hunting and cleaning, the fishing, the candlelight and fireplaces for heat and while the stove had him the first time he saw it, most of it isn't too bad. Some of it, like the wristbands, are odd and weird and he keeps toying with it but it can be forgotten.

And there's some weird ass dog lizard thing that is being shooed away like a housewife might do when she's put out a pie to cool and some animals won't leave it be.

Approaching slowly, he clears his throat to get her attention, and possibly the creatures.

"I hate to interrupt, Miss, but if that's anything like a dog?" And he's really not sure. "It's likely not going to leave just for that. I mean, unless you've fed it, it's likely to wander off on it's own."

Even as he says it, he edges up on the dog, taking slow steps to try and get a better look at it.

"I didn't feed it," Wynonna almost whines defensively. "It got into my lunch, and now it's-" she motions. "Well. Look at it. I think it might be too stupid to actually survive in the wild, someone who is not me should take it. Away. Take it away from me where it won't look at me with those beady, hungry little eyes."

Nope, not looking at it. She refuses to meet its pleading, adoring gaze.

It whines, sadly, looking between the two humans, desperate for scraps of food and/or attention.

And then it pees a little.

"So it's been fed, and it thinks you wanted to feed it," he says, trying hard not to smirk. "Got it," he says, moving to drop down to one knee. "Hey there." He makes a clicking sound. "It's okay, pup. C'mere."

He waits to see if the thing that isn't a dog really comes to him. It sure acts like one but damn that's a frightening sight really. "And why someone that's not you, Miss? Dogs are good to have around. They bark when strangers come around, they can keep away pests, and they're usually nice to have around come winter," he says, looking up at her. "Not that I ever lived anywhere long enough to have a dog, but I'm heard they're good for a soul. Especially a lady and her family."

Even if she reminds him more of Emma than the typical type of lady he's known before her, and he's still getting used to the clothes. Not that he minds them much. Makes more sense in a place like this if you ask him.

The little dog-thing happily wags its stump of a tail and begins snuffling around Faraday's hand.

"I'm not exactly a pets kinda girl. Plus, it clearly likes you better, see?" she points at it. It mouths his hand and wrist, testing to see if he's carrying any food, but doesn't bite down. No, this is clearly a Food Bringer, not a Food.

It gives him a sad whuffling whimper, as if it hasn't eaten half her lunch.

"It's a dog sorta? It's going to probably like anyone that feeds it," he points out, squinting up at her with a crooked smile. "Least so long as it's actually a dog. Not really sure what I think about most of the creatures around here. Like those tall gangly sheep things? Never seen an animal in my life that shade. Not even sure I know flowers that color."

Yet he still pets the dog thing, giving it a pat. "Might be able to train it to be a guard dog. Might be useful, not that I know if it's needed in these parts, but couldn't hurt."

"And if I try to take care of it, it's going to starve when I'm too blackout drunk to feed it," she says. "That moonshine does not fuck around, even with my well-seasoned liver."

She actually picks the thing up and holds it out. "Look, see? He could even be a lap dog. On your lap. Not mine," she stops, looks at the animal she's holding, and corrects herself "she'll be a great lapdog. Look, man, just make it stop following me without killing it, okay? I can't get it to go back to the river."

A brow arches at that, glancing down at the dog and then back to Wynonna. He smiles, looking at the pitiful excuse of the dog and formulating a plan.

"You got an extra bottle of that moonshine around? I mean, if you did, a fellow might be willing to take this scrap of a thing, and not hurt him, mind you," he says, holding up a hand to stop anything that might accuse him of abuse of the dog. "And find him a home. No killing. No harming. Hell, maybe my roommates will look after him, since it's not like he's got fur or anything." That coat had to have come from somewhere, right? "And it's all good. You don't have to deal with the dog. I can put off finding out what fully sober is like for a bit longer. Everyone wins, right?"

Wynonna puts the not-a-dog back down. "If I had any moonshine, do you think I'd be anywhere near this sober right now? No, I don't have any booze. And I'm not putting a dowry on my dog- the dog. I am not paying you to take the dog."

"Dowry just makes it sound dirty," he says, nose wrinkling as he gave a shrug. "Figure if you just let it be, it'll wander off eventually. Most animals do if you don't feed 'em."

"You look as if you've had better days," says Stella: the politest possible version of you look like shit that she can manage. She's favoring Wynonna with an assessing look that somehow manages to fall short of judgmental and eventually ends up somewhere in the general region of concerned.

"Here," she says, putting her freshly prepared teacup on the table in front of the other woman. "I can make another. It's herbal." So no caffeine or anything that's likely to make her feel worse; in fact, it smells a bit of chamomile, though whether it actually is is debatable. Stella's taken to making her tea with anything that tastes good and isn't poisonous, leaving off pilfering actual tea leaves from Peggy's carefully hoarded stash. Wynonna isn't required to drink it, of course, but Stella is feeling generous and it's the least she can do.

Edited (when u add words and then heck up your punctuation) 2018-11-11 23:54 (UTC)

Wynonna gives Stella a once-over, reading the concern and judging it to be real before she accepts the tea. She got used enough to Waverly's herbal blends during her pregnancy that she doesn't even complain.

"Thanks," she says, in the monotone of someone nice (or at least not-an-asshole) enough to feel the need to attempt politeness, but who is not the sort to put a lot of effort in to selling it.

The lack of judgement in Stella's eyes is enough to hold back any biting sarcasm no matter how the tea actually tastes. The worse it is, the better for her it is, anyway. At least by her reasoning and lived experience.

"I'd say one day I'll learn my lesson about new experiences, but- yeah, no. Honestly this is probably going to happen more than once. Possibly leaving me right here all over again." At least she owns up to her terrible impulsiveness. "'Cause honestly, that was pretty fun. Like my first Greek coffee, times a million."

It's not as if Stella is herself exactly effusive with that concern — it's obviously there, but restrained — so she's in no position to be bothered by Wynonna's bluntness.

Either way, she hopes the tea is at least drinkable, because she's walking back to the kitchen briefly to make another cup. Then she's back, and sitting across from Wynonna at a polite distance, because she's already engaged herself with the other woman so she may as well.

She can understand the impulsiveness, even if she herself is only impulsive in very specific areas of her life. "Mm. You know what it is they say about resisting temptation." Meaning the more you resist doing something, the more you want to give in. Although she suspects the consequences in this case will serve as a deterrent, sooner or later.

Maybe not. Stella doesn't know Wynonna, after all. "Had an encounter with the native flora, I take it?" It's a guess, based on what she's said so far.

"That I can resist anything but it?"

Yes. She's read books. A lot of books, actually. Usually when she was locked up, either in juvvie, whatever "adolescent psychiatric facility" or group home they sent her to, most of them had halfway decent libraries, since they also had to provide "educational opportunities" to messed up or just plain unwanted teenagers.

"Those seed things. Got like, four days of work done in one. Now I'm... feeling like I've done four days of work in one," she confirms before taking a careful sip of the tea.

"Something like that." She was really thinking more along the lines of The Picture of Dorian Gray rather than Lady Windermere's Fan, but that might be a little overdramatic — and besides, she's never been terribly fond of Oscar Wilde, anyway.

"Surely there must be some way of neutralizing the ill effects and not the good ones," says Stella. She's not a doctor, a botanist, or anything of the sort; she's just thinking out loud. To be perfectly honest, though, it's just like the Observers not to give them anything genuinely useful without strings attached.

"I'll dunk my ass in the hot springs for a few hours. That seemed to get the dislocated shoulder fixed up well enough," she says, now about halfway through the cup of tea. Maybe it was actually helping, or maybe the heat was just comforting against the hands she's worked to the point of aching.

"I dunno, maybe I'm coming down with something on top of it."

Stella looks at her over the rim of her own cup, arches her brows a little. "Well," she says, putting her tea back down, "considering the number of mysterious illnesses we've had in the last..." There's a moment where it's clear she's trying to calculate precisely how long she's been here; it passes, and the look of wry resignation on her face may pass just as well for the equivalent of a shrug.

"It wouldn't surprise me," she says, coming to the point. That's hardly reassuring; it just is what it is. "I imagine the springs would help. Or one or two of the peaches, supposedly."

She's reluctant to believe in 'magic' or whatever anyone might claim is behind the strange properties of some of the flora and fauna here, but it's hard to deny what she can see with her own two eyes. Still, the healthy skepticism remains as a defense mechanism against a world she sometimes has trouble making sense of.

"Uh huh." Tony sets a mug of gingery tea next to Wynnona's head, going so far as to ruffle her hair gently. "Been there, done that. Not with these in particular but- give it a few hours."

And she'll feel mostly human again. Mostly.

"You should see the wood pile. It's gonna need a while to dry still, but you're not gonna run out of kindling in the forge anytime soon. Also, I drew a lot of dicks in the soot dust. It seemed like a gesture you'd appreciate."

"I'd wondered how that happened." He settles across from her, shaking his head. "So the hangover isn't worth having taken them? On a scale of 'I need to die now' to 'I want to cut off my own head to end the pain' how bad is it?"

"More like I wanna sleep forever, but my whole body is too bruised to make any position comfortable to actually sleep," she explains. "My kingdom for a memory foam mattress. Or one of those sensory deprivation tanks. Oh man, that would be sweet. Or, if you know anyone who knows how to put someone in a sleeper hold, I'll take that."

"A third of the people here know how to do that, Woody." Another shoulder pat, though lighter than the hair ruffle. "I know how to do that. But you know, that's risky. Limiting bloodflow to the brain can go badly."

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If I Have to Fall Then It Won't Be In Your Line

It Followed Me Home

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zoom's revenge

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Zoom's Revenge

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