sixthiterationlogs | A whiskey bottle comforts me and tells me not to cry

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A whiskey bottle comforts me and tells me not to cry

WHO: Joshua Faraday
WHERE: Fountain. North Village. South Village Inn
WHEN: Middle of November
OPEN TO: Vasquez, All
WARNINGS: Will update if needed

Arrival

Last he'd known was a comfortable bed, a full belly, and a lot of nightmarish thoughts of how he and the others might die the next day. Somehow finding himself drowning rather than waking up to die is far more fear inducing.

Dragging himself out of the water and onto a bench, he lay down there in the sun for a bit, trying to dry off and buy himself time not to think about this. Whatever this is. Nothing looks right. His clothes aren't right. Hell, for all he knows this is Hell and he never made it out of Rose Creek except in a shallow hole. However it happened, he's not ready to think about it.

Also to not think about the pain he's got in his gut, his skin feeling tight and his head pounding. Drowning will do that to a man. So will being a mostly functioning alcoholic without a drink and with your body having a fit that you're running on empty.

So he lay there under the sun, not caring it is cold on his wet skin and clothes and pretends none of this is happening while he tries to clear his head.

The Inn

Finding Vasquez after Joshua gave up on ignoring how much like shit he feels hadn't done much to help in so many ways. He knows things got bad. Like he's been in a coma bad or the like. He's gotten some whiskey though, and he's been nursing the bottle for a few days to try and not get back to feeling like he did when he arrived.

Not that things are much better. Between Vasquez's attitude, the revelations that were made, and the weirdo who apparently wore a fur coat for everything - maybe even sleeping - and he just needs time to think.

So he makes the hike down to the Inn every few days, getting a meal and trying to make sense of his place and all that he seems to have lost. At least now he has a white linen shirt to wear and so he's only got on the yellow pants with the shoes they gave him. It all feels weird, but the food is familiar enough so least there's that.

He's curious about others though, settling down at tables where others are and giving them a minute or two before asking about where they came from, what they do here, or what happened to them before they got stuck here.

The House - Locked to Vasquez

It's been a few days and Joshua is still trying to work this out. He's not sure what to think about Vasquez and this Booboo fellow or whatever the hell his name is. He's not sure how to handle that Vasquez is being with others. It's all so different than what he's familiar with, especially since even having feelings like that he hasn't let them so because it's wrong and screwing that up could have caused a lot of shit in a war they had started.

Jack had been a bear in a human suit, but Joshua is pretty sure their roommate is definitely a wolf in sheep's clothing, so he's glad when he wakes up and he's apparently gone and out.

Sitting on the front porch in the chill air, sipping a bit off the little bit of whiskey he has left in the bottle and trying to not think while waiting for Vasquez to get up.

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"Something like that." Wanda agreed with a solemn incline of her head. It was awkward and uncomfortable to accept but she'd stop fighting the theories that all evidence supported. "Yes. I've encountered people who knew more than me of my time. I've remembered bits and pieces but I'm still me and I'm still here."

Her lips press briefly together. "I've dreamed of home and found those memories to be true. I've also been told by several people that they had no memory of me leaving." Not that it was an accurate test but Wanda couldn't ignore what it mean and then there was the machine within the bunker.

She didn't have the heart to tell him that they all might be clones or have memories implanted into them. It was too much and a detail that Wanda had yet to accept herself.

"It's something," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to face this calmly. Except it's hard because there's doesn't seem to be anything about it he should be calm about.

"I mean, if that's case..." He sighs, not sure what to think or even how to think about this. "It's possible then, if any of that's real, to not even be from the same place." He's trying to puzzle this out, and while he's a quick man when it comes to cards or guns, he's not the smartest. Nor does he have any experience with anything like this.

"I am not drunk enough for this," he sighs, shaking his head. "Really would be easier with whiskey."

"I think Sam put some vodka in the kitchen, if you'd like some." She eyed Joshua curiously. "It's very strong."

Wanda had the feeling that he wouldn't care but it was distilled at the inn and tasted a bit like rubbing alcohol. It would burn a whole in his stomach if he went to wild with it though there probably wasn't enough for that.

"Want me to go look?"

Joshua's expression goes from hangdog to puppy dog hopefully in literally a single moment. Arriving in withdrawals and nursing along a bottle of whiskey Vasquez gave him, he's barely kept the edge off from a lifetime of drinking.

He knows what alcohol there is in the place is limited, and he knows that he has to keep himself on a leash. An offer though, he can't help himself.

"I will literally beg," he admits, tongue darting out and over his lips. "Yes, please."

A low amused laugh rumbled through Wanda's throat as she rose to her feet. "I'll be right back."

She slipped into the kitchen and found one of the small containers of Sam's vodka. Wanda spent a great deal of time in the kitchen, prepping food and working to assist the inn and she knew where most everything in the kitchen was... unless it got moved around.

When she returned she had two glasses. "It's strong and doesn't takes good." She warned him as she poured two glasses and took a seat.

He tries not to be eager, though he knows he sounds that way. The bottle of tequila that Vasquez gave him when he got here is over half empty, and he's trying to limit himself but it's hard. He starts to get that aching inside, and his head starts spinning and if he just drinks a bit, it's enough. The idea of having a drink then before he has to let it get that bad is an amazing thought.

Looking up as she returns, his eyes light up as he reaches for one of the glasses. "You are wholly and truly an angel," he admits, cradling it between both hands for a moment, inhaling the scent with a sigh before taking a sip.

"Thank you. So much. Someone got a still around here?"

"Sam. I don't talk to her often but she leaves vodka in the kitchen --about once a week. I think that Iron Bull is making beer and there might be someone else in the village too." When people had alcohol to share, it usually found its way to the inn. Wanda wasn't a big drinker but she appreciated a stiff drink from time to time.

It helped her relax.

"I'm sure you can find more or learn to make your own." Wanda didn't know how to make alcohol but it didn't seem like it was that difficult.

His eyes close, inhaling again as he finds his hands shaking. It's hard holding himself back, keeping himself from giving into desires.

"Never did it myself but thinking I'm going to have to," he admits, groaning as he took another sip. "I... I never had to be without alcohol before. Could grab a bottle from the last saloon and get another at the next town."

And learning to live without it is making him feel like death warmed over.

Wanda watched him, her lips pressing into a fine line as he rose his glass to his lips.

"Is there something that you're trying to forget?" A shadow of loss, pain and understanding touched the light green of her eyes. Her voice was soft and gentle, however her accent was thicker than it had been. Wanda understood what it was like to grow up in a war zone, to lose and to want to forget. She was always careful around things like alcohol and generally avoided it when she was uncertain of her feelings.

Feelings could be stifling and habits unavoidable when you barely had the strength or reasons to keep going.

"That's part of the problem," he admits, shaking his head. For a moment he moves to set the glass down, but it doesn't last for long. Though he manages not to drink from it immediately when he picks it back up. "I'm forgetting something. Something big, and I don't know what it is," he admits, needing a drink then but holding himself to a sip.

"I know it upsets Vasquez, and he talks about the time since he saw me, but last I knew? He saw me about five minutes ago before he headed in with the others to console Billy about Goodnight taking off on him."

And that's where things end for him before this place.

"But this?" He holds up the glass a moment. "I woke up here dizzy and shaking and my gut was all twisted up. Couldn't think straight until I got a bottle from Vasquez. I've been nursing it along, but we'll see how long that lasts."

And he's doing everything he can to stave off the withdrawals he's never thought about or let himself experience before.

"I know what that feels like." Her tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek as she tilted her glass thoughtfully to the side. "My memories rarely seem to match with those I know in the village. Sometimes I see them looking sadder than I remembered or more thoughtful." She didn't know if it was all in her head or not but it was always unsettling.

"Time is different for everyone. We all have different memories. I don't know how it happens but it's possible that something happened and Vasquez is trying to handle it but unwilling to tell you about it." She didn't know Vasquez but she remembered the look on Clint's face when she had reappeared in the village.

It looked as if he'd seen a ghost.

"You should get used to not drinking." She met his gaze thoughtfully, a hint of worry furrowing between her eyebrows. "If you can. This place is hard at times. You'll need to be focused." And not going through withdraw.

"How can they do that? I mean... how do you make one man remember five minutes ago and another a year?" None of that makes sense to him and it's really disturbing him, more than he has words for. "I guess that's another thing no one knows anything about?"

He's betting that's the case, but it isn't stopping him from asking others if maybe they have any idea or any details.

He snorts at that, taking a sip as she says it. "I'm not sure I know what those words mean," he teases with a smirk. "I haven't not had drinks since I was in short pants." Which might explain a lot about him and the issues he's facing in this place.

Wanda shook her head. "I don't know." It was frustrating and something that she'd yet to form a theory about. "If I find anything out, I'll let you know." She sip at her drink and paused to enjoy the pleasantly warm burn as it coursed down her throat.

Her expression softened. "It'll be hard for you then. Good luck." It sounded like he'd need it. "I don't think there is any other help I can offer in that though."

She didn't have any alcohol of her own but if she got some she'll likely end up calling Joshua.

"I'd appreciate that, Ma'am," he says, giving her a nod and a smile. "I really would. I'm learning much as I can, though it's not easy. None of this place is easy."

Shaking his head, not sure how to find the words because he's never been true or open to anyone else, but here it's be open or fall behind. Already he's seeing that.

"It that bad? More than it was when I came out of the water?" Looking nervous and uncertain and definitely scared though he isn't sure how to hide that. "Been maybe ten years since I've lived without a drink. I know I'm not... sober. I'm not sober, but thought I'd be dead before I had to be."

Except he is dead. He just doesn't know that yet.

"It doesn't get easier." She took a small sip of the vodka and then gently pushed her glass over to Joshua. "The rest is yours." Her expression softened as her lips pilled into a warm smile. "I hope it helps."

Wanda didn't it would help but even a small drop of hope was something in this place.

"It isn't bad but different. We all had different ways to live and you'll have to find a new one here." She glanced at the window and the now fading light. "I should go but I'll be around. If you need anything, let me know. I've been here long enough that I might be able to help."

And if she finds alcohol, she'll let him know.

He is already getting a hint of how bad it can get. Mostly in rationing his bottle. So he nods, lifting the new glass in toast. "Thank you. I appreciate it," he says, as genuine and grateful as he has ever been.

Nodding as she assures him it's just different, and maybe he can adjust to that in time. He hopes so.

"Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate this. Least things here mean that many are kind," he says with a nod. "Generous. Appreciate it."

"It's no problem." She rose to her feet and nodded her head. "I hope we run into each other again."

Wanda wasn't big on goodbyes. So she nodded her head and headed towards the door, leaving Joshua to his vodka.

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A whiskey bottle comforts me and tells me not to cry

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