sixthiterationlogs | 001 ♠ riding through this world all alone

WHO: Jax Teller
WHERE: fountain; village
WHEN: 1 February
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: language
STATUS: open

I. THE CROW FLIES STRAIGHT

Water. Everything is fucking water from the top of his head to the bottom of his shoes and when Jax breathes in, he takes in a huge fucking lungful of it. It's burning like fire and he has no idea how he's drowning. He's known how to swim since he could walk, just about, so he pushes off against the bottom of the pool and claws his way up.

When his head breaks free of the water he realizes it's not the ocean or a swimming pool but a goddamn fountain. He half expects fairies or some shit pouring water but it's just a regular fountain, bubbling as if a full grown man hadn't just burst his way up from the bottom. Jax places his palms at the lip of it and pushes himself up and out, collapsing against the ground.

Wherever he is, its cold enough that he doesn't want to be outside in wet clothes and he lays there for just a few minutes, trying to catch his breath. He needs a cigarette. He needs a whole goddamn carton of cigarettes, at this juncture, and he has a sinking suspicion that no cigarettes will be to hand. There's a backpack or something strapped to his back and after laying on it for a few minutes he rolls over to his side and works it off; it's got a change of clothes in it, at least.

"Well I'll be damned," he says, pulling out the clothes to examine them. "Scrubs. Must be prison again." Doesn't explain the fountain, which wasn't at Stockton the last time he did time, but maybe he's gotten some kind of rec privileges and had a fight.

"Where the fuck am I?"

II. A PERFECT LINE

It takes him a little while to get his bearings but once he does, he sets out in search of civilization. He's got to figure out where the fuck he is and how to get out but, in the meantime, he needs a shower and a change of clothes. He's got the second part of it handled thanks to the pack he came in with but the first part is going to take a little more doing.

Wandering out of the park with the fountain, he finds a road and starts to follow it. Road has to lead to somewhere, right? Sure as he picks a direction and sticks with it, he comes up on several buildings. One of them looks like a police station, based on the shape and size of it, and he thinks there's some fucking goats or something in there making noise. Probably not the best idea to duck his head in there. No idea where he is but there's almost always some kind of outstanding warrant on his head these days thanks to feuding with the sheriff's office and the Niners so he's steering clear.

The next building he comes up on is a little busier, people coming in and out, and Jax runs a hand through his damp hair and strides up to the porch with the intention of getting some fucking information. Someone has to know more than "village that nobody knows the name of or how to leave," and he intends on shaking down whoever he needs to shake down to be able to get directions out of here. He's carless and bikeless, sure, but he can hitch if he needs to. It wouldn't be the first time.

He gets distracted when a woman walks past him and he tips his head, watching her ass as she walks by. The scrubs do nothing for anyone, it's true, but he likes to admire beauty where he can.

III. GOTTA RAISE SOME HELL

So after figuring out that there's really no way out of here and no matter how many pointed questions or threats he offers in exchange for information he's not getting anything out of the people here because they don't know anything, Jax decides he's going to go outside the inn and blow off some steam. He doesn't anticipate that there's a goddamn chicken coop out there, though, and he has no experience with chickens or farms or any of that domestic shit.

What is he, a fucking hippie? No.

Still, the chickens seem to be curious and one draws up close. He guesses it's the kind of thing his kids might want to see at the zoo or something, if he did stuff like that with his kids, and Jax reaches a hand out to pet one of them. He gets a peck between finger and thumb in response and jerks away. Still, the ground is soft and wet from what feels like a whole lot of rain (or snowmelt, maybe, but he has no idea if it snows in this fucking town or not) and he slides, feet going out from under him.

He lands, of course, in a whole bunch of chicken shit and the chicken looks pleased with herself. He's covered in mud, chicken shit and feathers and now the other chickens are clucking at him too. What is this, a goddamn chicken riot?

"I'm going to eat one of you fuckers if you don't stop," he curses, mostly under his breath. He thinks he probably shouldn't murder someone's pets even if they're stupid pets and he works on pushing himself to his feet. He's going to need another shower - probably ten showers to get all this off him and he hopes like hell that nobody saw that shit.

He stares at the chicken and moves his fingers from his eyes to point at it, issuing a threat. "You and me. I'm gonna get you back for this."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Credence bites the inside of his cheek. He can't exactly say 'It's more than a commune, I've been in something similar,' and he can't exactly say 'you actually do have to work here.'

Technically he can, but he doesn't want to try his luck. It's self-preservation at its finest, kicking in because he doesn't feel like drowning in the river, or being pushed off of one of the cliffs, or any number of scenarios that are far too vivid in his head.

"Everyone pitches in," he says finally. "Just like everyone came from that fountain. Me, too, except I didn't know how to swim. It was scary."

Maybe he shouldn't be telling someone who looks as wild and dangerous about a weakness of his.

"Guess you came from somewhere there's no ocean," Jax says. To him, it's pretty foreign not to be able to swim. Swimming pools are common in California - both public and private - and Jax has been to the beach plenty of times. Charming might be inland but it's not that bad a drive to hit the shore for a day or two.

"Swimming's pretty vital. Probably ought to learn how just in case you get yourself in a situation you can't get out of."

Credence glances at Jax. If he were a braver person, he would have pointed out that yes, it is a skill he needs and intends to learn, especially here, but he is not a brave person. The thought is entertaining only for three short seconds before he catches the other's strong jaw, and the stubble that brushes it, and how his hair is long and wild and dangerous looking.

This is not a man he should choose to be brave around.

Instead, he focuses on his footsteps. One, two, three, four..

"I'm from New York," He says carefully. "Have you heard of it? There's a big bay there, and swimming pools, but I-I've just never gone."

Jax laughs harshly. "Yeah, I've heard of New York. It's on the other side of the country from where I'm from. I'm from California. Never really spent a lot of time on the East Coast."

He's been, once or twice, but it doesn't hold appeal for him. Everything he has belongs in a hundred mile or so stretch of road between the mountains and the sea. There's shit all to do in his part of California but it's his and he feels possessive of it.

"You ever been out West before?"

Credence shakes his head. "Never past Long Island," He extrapolates. There's a small moment where he wonders if this is it--if this, while they head to the inn, is where he dies. Maybe he's talking to make Credence at ease.

Maybe Credence just has an overreactive imagination and needs to stop.

"Is it true?" The words blurt out of him before he can stop them. "Earlier, you mumbled something about prison."

"Yeah. Never for anything too violent, though. I'm not going to murder you behind an alley," Jax says dryly. He's killed men before, sure, but only when they interfere with club business. He's never killed someone completely innocent and he wonders if he's putting out some kind of vibes and shit that has this guy squirrelly; it's not his intention.

"I don't give a shit who you are or what you do as long as you don't interfere in the business of my club. Since I doubt you know what SAMCRO is, since you're from back East, I'm not really worried about it. Besides, I don't have any weapons. I'm not interested in fucking you up."

'Anything too violent' is about as reassuring as--well, it's not reassuring. Neither is the outright proposition that he could murder him behind an alleyway, though that last part is most likely Credence not understanding sarcasm properly.

"That's...Good," He says finally, trying to search for some word. Even if his ears burn at the swear word, the fact that this man mentions weapons so soon in the conversation is also alarming. But he walks, and because he's unsure of what to do, introduces himself:

"I'm Credence."

"Jax. Good to meet you, Credence," Jax says, offering a hand for the other man to shake. It's a weird name but, then again, Jax doesn't exactly have a normal one.

"You been here for very long? Or are you a new arrival like I am?"

"A while." Credence tries his best to smile, but it turns into something else, something almost unrecognizable. It's a start, though. A slow start.

At least he's relatively sure the other won't just drive a knife into his heart for no reason or anything like that.

"Jax is a good name," He tries to say by way of conversation, and when he feels that failing, he tries again: "I'm not the person that's been here the longest. There are others. One a whole year, or more."

"A year, really? That's insanity. I can't imagine being here a whole damn year and not seeing my kids or dealing with business or anything. Just...a year of this place, day in and day out?"

That's bullshit, as far as he's concerned, and he thinks he's going to find a way out of this place as soon as he possibly can.

"Not going to go a whole year without my kids. I'm going to find a way out."

"You have children?" Surely, then, Jax can't be that bad? They reach the inn, now, all warm and pleased, and Credence can't help himself.

But Mary Lou had been a wicked person. He'd seen it in the runaways, too--sometimes being a parent didn't mean you're a good person. The fact that he wants to get back to them is a good sign.

"How old are they, if you don't mind me asking, sir?"

"Abel's four and Thomas is two," Jax says. If he had photos, he'd show them off, but he's got shit all to remind himself of his kids right now. It fucking sucks. Even in jail, he'd had photos, and he'd looked at them every day.

"They're still little guys, they need me home. I don't need to be stuck here where they can't see me."

"Maybe they'll come too?" Credence's voice is light, even though he sounds unsure of it himself. "There's not a lot of young people," he admits. "But there might be people from your world, if you look."

001 ♠ riding through this world all alone

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