[ It's not completely accurate to say that the diner has become part of her morning routine, because that would imply that Wynonna's life has been reliable, unsurprising and by all accounts predictable since she had the weird Bambi dream that somehow propelled her into existing in the creepy version of Mayberry.
Sure, there are touchstones that feel more familiar than most, because while she's working up the nerve to test how far she can go outside of town limits she's scoured every inch of the house she woke up in to find that she's somehow been given a place to stay that reminds her of the old homestead in more ways than one. And sure, she's got to actually venture into the main part of town in order to score a semi-decent cup of coffee, of which there are two places that currently serve it but only one that offers obscenely good breakfast food even if the caffeine options are more meh.
So maybe she finds herself here more often than not, tucking herself into one of the booths running along the side of the place by those large windows so she can keep an eye on her bike while she eats. She's not anticipating that anyone will try to jack it when she's sitting right here, but you never know.
Eventually, she'll just be nursing that cup of coffee between her hands, body twisted in the seat so she can stretch one leg out across the cushion in front of her, one elbow propped on the table and the remnants of today's breakfast (bacon, eggs and soggy pancakes that she'd only half-eaten) pushed away from their position in front of her. Maybe today will be the day she decides to finally get the hell out of Dodge, she thinks to herself, idly glancing up toward the front door as it opens and a guy she's never seen walks in. That part doesn't come as a surprise; she's realized she recognizes absolutely no one from home and has almost gotten used to the expectation of unfamiliar faces greeting her at every turn, but her gaze idly tracks him from above the rim of her mug as he stops at the front for a quick survey of the place before he chooses her direction to head in, ambling down the rows of taken and available seats. ]
Sure, there are touchstones that feel more familiar than most, because while she's working up the nerve to test how far she can go outside of town limits she's scoured every inch of the house she woke up in to find that she's somehow been given a place to stay that reminds her of the old homestead in more ways than one. And sure, she's got to actually venture into the main part of town in order to score a semi-decent cup of coffee, of which there are two places that currently serve it but only one that offers obscenely good breakfast food even if the caffeine options are more meh.
So maybe she finds herself here more often than not, tucking herself into one of the booths running along the side of the place by those large windows so she can keep an eye on her bike while she eats. She's not anticipating that anyone will try to jack it when she's sitting right here, but you never know.
Eventually, she'll just be nursing that cup of coffee between her hands, body twisted in the seat so she can stretch one leg out across the cushion in front of her, one elbow propped on the table and the remnants of today's breakfast (bacon, eggs and soggy pancakes that she'd only half-eaten) pushed away from their position in front of her. Maybe today will be the day she decides to finally get the hell out of Dodge, she thinks to herself, idly glancing up toward the front door as it opens and a guy she's never seen walks in. That part doesn't come as a surprise; she's realized she recognizes absolutely no one from home and has almost gotten used to the expectation of unfamiliar faces greeting her at every turn, but her gaze idly tracks him from above the rim of her mug as he stops at the front for a quick survey of the place before he chooses her direction to head in, ambling down the rows of taken and available seats. ]
[ It offers some sense of observation, a way to survey the constant rotation of patrons slipping in and out of its flimsy door, a charming little ding whenever that bell gets a proper little jolt with every opening. He's found himself here a fair number of times, never quite consistent with the schedule if only to get an idea what when the service actually improves (late hours have proven a desire of anything means jumping across the counter and making it for yourself).
Frank chooses a much earlier hour today, coat heavy on his shoulders, boots stomping lightly across the linoleum as he peers with quick glances at the booths to find an empty space.
His gaze falls upon hers then, briefly, a quick meeting of light eyes peering up from beneath dark brows, and he offers her a subtle nod, simple and polite only because she's looking his way, but he doesn't wait to see what kind of response she might give in turn. Instead, he slips into the booth just past her, sliding onto the cushion connected on the opposite side of her seat, the closest empty spot without having to venture further across the diner.
If he'd meant for this to be an experiment of testing speed, this morning slot offers the best success and it's only a few minutes waiting in which he slides out of his coat, resting back comfortably in a black long-sleeved henley, before a waitress approaches his table, her notepad almost immediately at the ready. ]
Mornin', ma'am. Uh, how's about three eggs over easy and sourdough toast. Side of bacon. [ He rolls up his sleeves, chin nodding up to gesture at the visible pot brewing behind the counter. ] And a constant stream of that coffee whenever you get a chance, thank you.
Frank chooses a much earlier hour today, coat heavy on his shoulders, boots stomping lightly across the linoleum as he peers with quick glances at the booths to find an empty space.
His gaze falls upon hers then, briefly, a quick meeting of light eyes peering up from beneath dark brows, and he offers her a subtle nod, simple and polite only because she's looking his way, but he doesn't wait to see what kind of response she might give in turn. Instead, he slips into the booth just past her, sliding onto the cushion connected on the opposite side of her seat, the closest empty spot without having to venture further across the diner.
If he'd meant for this to be an experiment of testing speed, this morning slot offers the best success and it's only a few minutes waiting in which he slides out of his coat, resting back comfortably in a black long-sleeved henley, before a waitress approaches his table, her notepad almost immediately at the ready. ]
Mornin', ma'am. Uh, how's about three eggs over easy and sourdough toast. Side of bacon. [ He rolls up his sleeves, chin nodding up to gesture at the visible pot brewing behind the counter. ] And a constant stream of that coffee whenever you get a chance, thank you.
Thank you for yesterday.
Are you okay?
[Because if he was hurt at all, she felt somewhat responsible.]
Are you okay?
[Because if he was hurt at all, she felt somewhat responsible.]
Edited 2019-03-01 01:20 (UTC)
Where are your cornflakes.
... Pete, I require your services in the way of self-defense — if you are so willing to be paid.
I've some credits set aside for it, in the future.
[Well, look, he's gotten himself stabbed recently, and he's done some thinking... and that thinking concludes he really, really needs some lessons in defense. The Mute was almost inhuman in his fighting prowess; he figures Pete the Marine must certainly be as well, right?]
I've some credits set aside for it, in the future.
[Well, look, he's gotten himself stabbed recently, and he's done some thinking... and that thinking concludes he really, really needs some lessons in defense. The Mute was almost inhuman in his fighting prowess; he figures Pete the Marine must certainly be as well, right?]
[ It's a question that's quick to worry him, and for good reason, considering the initial concerns he's come to have with this kid, already picking up the signs that he has a knack for gathering trouble, especially with the displayed naivety. ]
Require? What's that mean? You ain't picking fights, are you, kid?
Require? What's that mean? You ain't picking fights, are you, kid?
[ the photo comes through first, taken at midday if the shadow cast by the girl behind the device is any obvious sign, but she's tried to at least step to the side to make sure that the subject in the foreground is in plain view: a total homemade, DIY shooting range, empty soup cans and liquor bottles set up on the planks of wood that she has in no way nailed together (oops, guess she might need someone to take care of that).
it also might be evident, depending on how many repair visits he's made to the farmhouse by now, that this is in her backyard, with nothing but ongoing fields stretching out behind it all. in other words: the perfect place to get some target practice on. ]
First shot's yours if you want it.
it also might be evident, depending on how many repair visits he's made to the farmhouse by now, that this is in her backyard, with nothing but ongoing fields stretching out behind it all. in other words: the perfect place to get some target practice on. ]
First shot's yours if you want it.
[ he's no idea why a part of him feels cautious when he sees the alert of receiving a photo from her. maybe it's because of the way they had left things the last time, a set of seconds that neither of them had felt the need to acknowledge, that he isn't entirely sure what to expect from this.
but the moment he sees it, any caution dissipates in place of the helpless quiet chuckle that slips out, private only to himself. ]
all that for me?
but the moment he sees it, any caution dissipates in place of the helpless quiet chuckle that slips out, private only to himself. ]
all that for me?
[ The text comes late, not necessarily a surprise considering the hours she keeps here but a little unsettling given that there's no name attached to it, three sentences that leave her with no indication of who it's from and even more questions than that besides. But there's going to be time to figure all of that out, Wynonna thinks, as she slips out of bed and hitches on a pair of jeans, slips on a shirt that's probably clean enough, hitches Peacemaker to her hip and tosses her jacket over all of it before heading to her bike outside. The text had said something about him being hurt, and there's no way for her to know just how bad the damage is until she's knocking on his door. It doesn't even occur to her that this could be a twisted prank, that he'll be fine and in one piece and this was all some ploy to get her to look ridiculous — because too much crazy shit has happened here for her not to treat this seriously, and to hightail it over to his place as soon as she can.
She's halfway there when she realizes she doesn't have anything with her, no first aid supplies of any kind, and after muttering a quick stream of curses under her breath makes a pit stop at the drugstore first, even though that white foggy glass behind the pharmacy counter has always seriously skeeved her out. Everything she can think of to bring — gauze, bandages, disinfectant, Band-Aids (hell, she even grabs a bottle of whiskey just in case) — gets rung up and she pays for it in her tip money, slinging the bag over her forearm to hold it for the short drive over to the apartments.
His place is already unlocked, when she tentatively tries the knob, and somehow that's the first time that she really starts to feel something close to worry, that he's probably lying inside bleeding and here she is showing up with alcohol like it's a party; her hand idly twitches in Peacemaker's direction as she nudges her way in, calling out ahead just in case. ] Pete?
[ There's no answer, and she heads in further, past the empty spaces where broken furniture used to be, gaze sweeping over her surroundings to make note of the suspiciously faint stains on the hardwood that look an awful lot like blood; she takes a breath and tries to remember WWDD (What Would Dolls Do), and from there it's a slow sweep of each of the apartment's few rooms until she heads to the last one, the bedroom in the back. The door itself is slightly ajar, and the first detail she makes out in the semi-darkness are a pair of boots close to hanging off the edge of the bed before her eyes travel up the legs attached to those feet and higher still, only to find — yeah, that definitely isn't someone's idea of a practical joke. ]
Shit. [ The plastic bag shifts when she tightens her grip on it, other hand reaching for the switch on the end table lamp; it'll be easier for her to see just how far the injuries go, but even from here she can tell his shirt is covered in blood. She doesn't even know if he's breathing, so she leans over him to check, turning her ear towards his mouth. ]
She's halfway there when she realizes she doesn't have anything with her, no first aid supplies of any kind, and after muttering a quick stream of curses under her breath makes a pit stop at the drugstore first, even though that white foggy glass behind the pharmacy counter has always seriously skeeved her out. Everything she can think of to bring — gauze, bandages, disinfectant, Band-Aids (hell, she even grabs a bottle of whiskey just in case) — gets rung up and she pays for it in her tip money, slinging the bag over her forearm to hold it for the short drive over to the apartments.
His place is already unlocked, when she tentatively tries the knob, and somehow that's the first time that she really starts to feel something close to worry, that he's probably lying inside bleeding and here she is showing up with alcohol like it's a party; her hand idly twitches in Peacemaker's direction as she nudges her way in, calling out ahead just in case. ] Pete?
[ There's no answer, and she heads in further, past the empty spaces where broken furniture used to be, gaze sweeping over her surroundings to make note of the suspiciously faint stains on the hardwood that look an awful lot like blood; she takes a breath and tries to remember WWDD (What Would Dolls Do), and from there it's a slow sweep of each of the apartment's few rooms until she heads to the last one, the bedroom in the back. The door itself is slightly ajar, and the first detail she makes out in the semi-darkness are a pair of boots close to hanging off the edge of the bed before her eyes travel up the legs attached to those feet and higher still, only to find — yeah, that definitely isn't someone's idea of a practical joke. ]
Shit. [ The plastic bag shifts when she tightens her grip on it, other hand reaching for the switch on the end table lamp; it'll be easier for her to see just how far the injuries go, but even from here she can tell his shirt is covered in blood. She doesn't even know if he's breathing, so she leans over him to check, turning her ear towards his mouth. ]
[ He hears their laughter as he's heard it time and again, and he knows, knows how this ends, and yet he never times it right, never manages to warn himself of what's to come before it's too late. They spin there on their ponies, round and round in a set pattern, always peering back at him with their outstretched smiles, yelling for daddy to look. And he'll smile right back, even though he knows, he's ready, but his guard always remains down, because he wants to be there for them, to pull away from the war he's designated himself to being trapped in even when he comes back home. He needs to be here, mind and body, be a husband, be a father, so when he hears the rushed footsteps, the clicks of readying guns, he doesn't react as fast as he should, he doesn't have the chance to warn them.
It's always the same, always the same round of bullets that penetrate through their frail bodies before they fall, and he always screams, an echoing growl like a struck animal. No matter how fast he runs, he never reaches them on time, and again he holds her, lifeless in his arms, meat spilling out of her. She's dead, his little girl, his Lisa, she's gone.
Only it isn't Lisa, not this time, because when he cradles the body and turns her to face upright, it's Laura's face, soulless eyes as the entirety of her tiny frame is punctured with bullet holes, blood draining them them all.
But the longer he looks, the longer he stares, the more the holes seem to stitch themselves togeher, his eyes locked upon the magic of it even as the tears gloss out his vision. Blood disappears from her body as if the shots are reversed, skin smoothed into a reset. And when he finds her face again, she's awake, alert, as fierceness forms into the lines of her cheeks and her mouth and she's screaming, metal ejected from her knuckles before she plunges it directly into his chest — ]
Laura! [ It's a panicked sound, his entire body jolting roughly against the belt as he instinctively reaches out, clutching with a tight grip at the arm he suddenly finds in his reach.
He isn't yet alert, isn't deciphering his current state or location, only the freshest memories at hte forefront of his mind, of Laura stained with his blood, her tears dampening her cheeks as she apologies, again and again and again, his words unable to comfort her, to assure her that it's safe, that he's safe and so is she, unable to do a damn thing to protect her.
When he realizes that the arm in his hold isn't hers, a different familiarity in the form of Wynonna coming into focus as his eyes remain wild, he pants heavily, panic settling in strong and overwhelming, worry evident in his frantic voice. ] Where — where is she? Where is she?
It's always the same, always the same round of bullets that penetrate through their frail bodies before they fall, and he always screams, an echoing growl like a struck animal. No matter how fast he runs, he never reaches them on time, and again he holds her, lifeless in his arms, meat spilling out of her. She's dead, his little girl, his Lisa, she's gone.
Only it isn't Lisa, not this time, because when he cradles the body and turns her to face upright, it's Laura's face, soulless eyes as the entirety of her tiny frame is punctured with bullet holes, blood draining them them all.
But the longer he looks, the longer he stares, the more the holes seem to stitch themselves togeher, his eyes locked upon the magic of it even as the tears gloss out his vision. Blood disappears from her body as if the shots are reversed, skin smoothed into a reset. And when he finds her face again, she's awake, alert, as fierceness forms into the lines of her cheeks and her mouth and she's screaming, metal ejected from her knuckles before she plunges it directly into his chest — ]
Laura! [ It's a panicked sound, his entire body jolting roughly against the belt as he instinctively reaches out, clutching with a tight grip at the arm he suddenly finds in his reach.
He isn't yet alert, isn't deciphering his current state or location, only the freshest memories at hte forefront of his mind, of Laura stained with his blood, her tears dampening her cheeks as she apologies, again and again and again, his words unable to comfort her, to assure her that it's safe, that he's safe and so is she, unable to do a damn thing to protect her.
When he realizes that the arm in his hold isn't hers, a different familiarity in the form of Wynonna coming into focus as his eyes remain wild, he pants heavily, panic settling in strong and overwhelming, worry evident in his frantic voice. ] Where — where is she? Where is she?
Fair warning, it's been a long time since my partner was anything other than a punching bag.
[Skye explains this as she tosses her hair into a ponytail, just so it isn't getting in the way of whatever Frank wants to do. She's tried to train herself, but there's a lot of techniques that she doesn't know and even the ones she does know, it's pretty much guess work at this point if she's even been doing them right. Hopefully Frank is a less aggressive teacher than Ward, cause he's built like a brick house, and she'd rather not be on the receiving end of that fist of his.]
[Skye explains this as she tosses her hair into a ponytail, just so it isn't getting in the way of whatever Frank wants to do. She's tried to train herself, but there's a lot of techniques that she doesn't know and even the ones she does know, it's pretty much guess work at this point if she's even been doing them right. Hopefully Frank is a less aggressive teacher than Ward, cause he's built like a brick house, and she'd rather not be on the receiving end of that fist of his.]
[ He doesn't quite know how he's gotten himself in this mix-up, suddenly training a few kids how to fight for themselves. Skye isn't necessarily a kid, but she's young, definitely determined, but smart; she'd been fairly stubborn at first when she'd been attacked by her friend, but she'd eventually made her exit, knowing full well when she'd been outmatched, which was always better than reckless false bravery.
But in this town, shit's always going to hit the fan, and it won't be the last time she'll get herself mixed up in something like that again. He's resistant, of course, but it's better that he gets her ready than to leave her defenseless. ]
That you telling me to go easy on you? [ He shrugs out of his jacket, coat still fairly heavy even as the weather gets warmer. At least the t-shirt underneath is thin, even so much as outlining a fair number of the muscles beneath it. ]
But in this town, shit's always going to hit the fan, and it won't be the last time she'll get herself mixed up in something like that again. He's resistant, of course, but it's better that he gets her ready than to leave her defenseless. ]
That you telling me to go easy on you? [ He shrugs out of his jacket, coat still fairly heavy even as the weather gets warmer. At least the t-shirt underneath is thin, even so much as outlining a fair number of the muscles beneath it. ]
[ now that he's gotten a gig at the diner, she doesn't necessarily feel as guilty about dialing him up in the wee hours of the morning — evening, whatever, it's after 3 a.m. and whether he's working or not, she's just gotten off her shift and walked in through the front door of her place, currently bent over in front of her fridge and studying the contents. ]
Question.
[ she doesn't say hi. that isn't their way. ]
What are the chances of me getting seriously ill off of what could be considered barely-expired Greek yogurt?
Question.
[ she doesn't say hi. that isn't their way. ]
What are the chances of me getting seriously ill off of what could be considered barely-expired Greek yogurt?
[ he'll typically take on the late shift that goes on into the early morning; with as small as this town is, there's hardly anyone willing to take it on, and with his routine nightmares always clocking in at 3am, he figures he might as well make an extra buck if he's going to stay up anyway.
the thing about the hour is that the waking population is very little, so his brows shoot up when he feels that vibration in his pocket indicating a call, setting down his mug across the counter as he pulls it off.
catching the name, he'll give a slight roll of his eyes with a private upward tilt of his lips before answering. ]
Define barely.
the thing about the hour is that the waking population is very little, so his brows shoot up when he feels that vibration in his pocket indicating a call, setting down his mug across the counter as he pulls it off.
catching the name, he'll give a slight roll of his eyes with a private upward tilt of his lips before answering. ]
Define barely.
[Frank should probably be used to this by now — Laura is as quiet as a mouse, and seems well-equipped to slip through unnoticed in too many situations — and in the early morning hours she's found a spot at the kitchen table to hang back and relax; on one side of her, she has some Seuss book, and on the other, an entire 12-pack box of faux Pop-Tarts that is half-decimated; silvery wrappers litter the surface of the table.
And when Frank wearily wanders out from his room, probably for coffee, knowing his problem with the foul drink — Laura will be here. Watching. Judging. Chewing. Looking like she knows something.
This is your fault, buddy.
It's like playing with a Oujia board and letting the spirits in when you don't say 'goodbye'.]
And when Frank wearily wanders out from his room, probably for coffee, knowing his problem with the foul drink — Laura will be here. Watching. Judging. Chewing. Looking like she knows something.
This is your fault, buddy.
It's like playing with a Oujia board and letting the spirits in when you don't say 'goodbye'.]
[ these days, frank doesn't often sleep alone, and not always in his own bed. but tonight, he's settled in his own apartment, the air conditioner set a little higher due to that extra warmth that's provided from the body next to him, his arm draped around the woman as she nestles close to his chest. but even if the number of occupants in his bed has increased, older habits don't differ, and it's some time in the early morning that he blinks awake, debating the options of trying to fall back into an extended sleep or rise up for a cup as is his usual routine.
he settles for the latter, carefully adjusting himself to slide out from beneath that tender snuggle, tugging up the sheets to keep her basking well underneath the warmth of them. tugging on a pair of sweats and shuffling out of the bedroom, he runs a large hand over his face, rubbing out the sleep from his eyes.
he's usually better about being able to take notice of company, even with the invader's carefulness. but laura's always had a particular skill, and even if he'd have been more awake, more alert, he might still not have realized she'd slipped inside, not until he's pausing in his step, just several feet away from the kitchen table, watching her crunch on her excuse for breakfast.
her presence here is nothing out of the ordinary — but usually he's the only other one here. shit, he thinks, fingers pinching absentmindedly at the growing beard at his chin. ] You're up early.
he settles for the latter, carefully adjusting himself to slide out from beneath that tender snuggle, tugging up the sheets to keep her basking well underneath the warmth of them. tugging on a pair of sweats and shuffling out of the bedroom, he runs a large hand over his face, rubbing out the sleep from his eyes.
he's usually better about being able to take notice of company, even with the invader's carefulness. but laura's always had a particular skill, and even if he'd have been more awake, more alert, he might still not have realized she'd slipped inside, not until he's pausing in his step, just several feet away from the kitchen table, watching her crunch on her excuse for breakfast.
her presence here is nothing out of the ordinary — but usually he's the only other one here. shit, he thinks, fingers pinching absentmindedly at the growing beard at his chin. ] You're up early.
[Diarmuid had honestly forgotten about his polaroids, which is rather unlike him. But... he had gotten them in December, and between dying and losing his home to his own ghost for some time, he'd lost track of these things... But the long wound on his ribs has since healed into a pink, raised scar, and he's overcome his paranoia after that accursed creature tried to make him walk off a rooftop...
... Also being four years old... That was something that had certainly happened.
(Why does so much happen here.)
Anyway, when he recognizes the loose wooden space next to his bed, he quickly claws it back open and reveals the small box, not much bigger than the size of the pictures and small mementos within it, he finds rekindled joy.
And also is reminded of Pete, who looks more and more like the Mute with his beard and slowly growing mop of hair; he carefully traverses some of the fog that is rolling into town (and curses deciding to live so far from the central point of Deerington, now that he dwells on it), and finds himself at Pete's apartment door. He knocks a few times, and nearly bounces on his heels, his curls doing so in unison, getting too long now with his avoidance of a 'barber'.]
Pete, are you there? It is Diarmuid...!
... Also being four years old... That was something that had certainly happened.
(Why does so much happen here.)
Anyway, when he recognizes the loose wooden space next to his bed, he quickly claws it back open and reveals the small box, not much bigger than the size of the pictures and small mementos within it, he finds rekindled joy.
And also is reminded of Pete, who looks more and more like the Mute with his beard and slowly growing mop of hair; he carefully traverses some of the fog that is rolling into town (and curses deciding to live so far from the central point of Deerington, now that he dwells on it), and finds himself at Pete's apartment door. He knocks a few times, and nearly bounces on his heels, his curls doing so in unison, getting too long now with his avoidance of a 'barber'.]
Pete, are you there? It is Diarmuid...!
[ he finds himself getting busier these days, something that might be more of a positive than anything. managing the diner, taking care of laura, spending time with wynonna, training with skye, lessons with diarmuid — it keeps his fingers going, keeps his mind preoccupied, and in the months he's been in this town, he hasn't had reason to bring out the bloodied skull-painted vest that still lives deep within his closet.
it also means he lacks on sleep most days, which hasn't ever been much different with the life he'd had before deerington, but with his hours at the diner, sometimes taking the late night and early morning shifts, he sometimes finds himself dozing on his couch even during mid-afternoons.
it's where he is now when he gets that knock on the door, jolting out of his light sleep with widening eyes and a low gruff noise, gazing briefly around the apartment until he hears the call of the voice. rising onto his feet, vaguely smoothing out his shirt, he shuffles to the door, opening it with a squint and a nod. ]
Hey, kid. What're you doing here? Lessons aren't until — [ shit, what day is it? ] — tomorrow. [ if he has that right. ]
it also means he lacks on sleep most days, which hasn't ever been much different with the life he'd had before deerington, but with his hours at the diner, sometimes taking the late night and early morning shifts, he sometimes finds himself dozing on his couch even during mid-afternoons.
it's where he is now when he gets that knock on the door, jolting out of his light sleep with widening eyes and a low gruff noise, gazing briefly around the apartment until he hears the call of the voice. rising onto his feet, vaguely smoothing out his shirt, he shuffles to the door, opening it with a squint and a nod. ]
Hey, kid. What're you doing here? Lessons aren't until — [ shit, what day is it? ] — tomorrow. [ if he has that right. ]
[ It's not a day she ever has to think about until she's literally confronted with it everywhere. The specials advertised outside the Betties' salon when she goes in to get her manicure (normally, she'd make Waves do it but in absence of her sister's tiny, capable hands she's had to splurge more often so her nails aren't a bitten mess), the decorations in the center of town, the sign outside the goddamn school — it all serves to remind her of what she has but doesn't, not just far removed from it while she's here but even once she goes back home, too, how the child she had won't be safe until she never has to inherit something other than the color of her father's eyes.
So she pours herself into actively not thinking about it, keeping her head down and just trying to make it through the day, because the second she stops the second she's going to start remembering that tiny face (dainty and delicate in blue) and whether or not she still looks like an Earp or if there's a little Holliday in her too, if she's spoken her first word yet, if she would know the sound of her mom's voice even after all this time.
She goes to work and she goes to Frank's after, curving herself into a spot on the couch once he presses a glass of something into her hand. No one had asked her if she was a mother today, not one, but she can't exactly blame them for that; it's not like any part of her gives off major mom vibes, and she doesn't even have any stretch marks on her hips, the insides of her thighs, the edges of her abdomen where her belly had once swelled with the life inside it —
She realizes he's asking her something, looking at her expectantly for an answer, when the silence between them stretches on them for longer than normal, and she blinks a few times, trying to play it off with an empty laugh. ] Sorry, what were you saying?
So she pours herself into actively not thinking about it, keeping her head down and just trying to make it through the day, because the second she stops the second she's going to start remembering that tiny face (dainty and delicate in blue) and whether or not she still looks like an Earp or if there's a little Holliday in her too, if she's spoken her first word yet, if she would know the sound of her mom's voice even after all this time.
She goes to work and she goes to Frank's after, curving herself into a spot on the couch once he presses a glass of something into her hand. No one had asked her if she was a mother today, not one, but she can't exactly blame them for that; it's not like any part of her gives off major mom vibes, and she doesn't even have any stretch marks on her hips, the insides of her thighs, the edges of her abdomen where her belly had once swelled with the life inside it —
She realizes he's asking her something, looking at her expectantly for an answer, when the silence between them stretches on them for longer than normal, and she blinks a few times, trying to play it off with an empty laugh. ] Sorry, what were you saying?
[ he manages to avoid most of the reminders of what the day is. the diner is just small enough that it isn't much of an attraction for those mother's day brunches, even if he does get a few smaller families cramming into the booths. he works the kitchen, designating his part-timer to waiter duty, leaving him to avoid conversation on the matter — which isn't any more unusual than any other day on account of frank's hesitance for much social interaction.
it doesn't mean he doesn't think of maria, and maybe if he were in new york, he'd take an hour or two out of the day to visit her grave, to sit there with her for one-sided conversations until his throat grew sore. there's no chance of that here, nothing but a few minutes to spare in the morning in which he peers at her smiling face on his ripped photo, finger running light over the faint outline of her face. it isn't enough, but it has to be before he staggers off to work, letting his mind preoccupy itself with the heavy scent of bacon in his lungs and overly strengthened coffee on his tongue.
late in the day is when he finds himself with wynonna; it's the part where usually his smile curves more easily, where a stream of her jokes spout that standard roll of his eyes before he finally laughs light and faint, eased by her charm and the occasional brush of her lips on his.
but none of that comes today, and he doesn't even remember what he asks, something about reevaluating what he stocks up in his fridge for the benefit of bettering laura's health, before he finds himself distracted. because she isn't talkative at all, nothing like the usual train of bad puns and persistent commentary, and he can catch in her eyes the distance there, how she isn't reined in on their conversation in the slightest.
and when she forces the laugh, he knows there's something there throwing her off balance.
he stares at her for an extended moment when she speaks, merely peering at her closely as if that might provide some sort of vague answer. when he finds nothing, he lowers his fingers over her shoulder, thumb gently stroking the taut skin of her neck. ] Hey. [ his voice remains soft, intent focus in his gaze. ] What is it?
it doesn't mean he doesn't think of maria, and maybe if he were in new york, he'd take an hour or two out of the day to visit her grave, to sit there with her for one-sided conversations until his throat grew sore. there's no chance of that here, nothing but a few minutes to spare in the morning in which he peers at her smiling face on his ripped photo, finger running light over the faint outline of her face. it isn't enough, but it has to be before he staggers off to work, letting his mind preoccupy itself with the heavy scent of bacon in his lungs and overly strengthened coffee on his tongue.
late in the day is when he finds himself with wynonna; it's the part where usually his smile curves more easily, where a stream of her jokes spout that standard roll of his eyes before he finally laughs light and faint, eased by her charm and the occasional brush of her lips on his.
but none of that comes today, and he doesn't even remember what he asks, something about reevaluating what he stocks up in his fridge for the benefit of bettering laura's health, before he finds himself distracted. because she isn't talkative at all, nothing like the usual train of bad puns and persistent commentary, and he can catch in her eyes the distance there, how she isn't reined in on their conversation in the slightest.
and when she forces the laugh, he knows there's something there throwing her off balance.
he stares at her for an extended moment when she speaks, merely peering at her closely as if that might provide some sort of vague answer. when he finds nothing, he lowers his fingers over her shoulder, thumb gently stroking the taut skin of her neck. ] Hey. [ his voice remains soft, intent focus in his gaze. ] What is it?
( All the bedsheets, towels and linens in Mr. Pete's apartment are pink florals now.
Does he want the others back?
w h a t a s h a m e )
Does he want the others back?
w h a t a s h a m e )
hey Francine
I thought we were on the same page about you being the murder nanny
you're doing a SHITTY FUCKING JOB
what am I paying you for???
keep an eye out for a dude named Shades
he hurt Diarmuid
he says it was this place fucking with his head, but it's happened twice now.
you know what they say about three times
I thought we were on the same page about you being the murder nanny
you're doing a SHITTY FUCKING JOB
what am I paying you for???
keep an eye out for a dude named Shades
he hurt Diarmuid
he says it was this place fucking with his head, but it's happened twice now.
you know what they say about three times
i'm............. sorry...................... please love me arisa
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
4thwaller
- 2019-06-27 21:53 (UTC) - Expand[ what should probably clue frank into the fact that something is happening is the fact that wynonna's reaching out to him this way, rather than a text (as is her first instinct) or a phone call (as is her, oh, fifth). when the video starts, she's standing in her kitchen, hair visibly mussed from sleep and eyes slightly bleary. someone's been woken up after a late-night shift at the bar and she is feeling a certain kind of way about it, but there's an audible rustling in the background that forces her to speak above her normal early morning rasp. ]
Uh, I know you're at work right now, but — something showed up here and it's definitely addressed to you. [ the fact that it's a delivery for him inside her basket hasn't sunk in yet; have we mentioned she hasn't had her coffee yet?
the camera tilts as she sinks down into a crouch, and after searching for the right button to flip the view around, the source of all the noise is made very apparent: a tiny pitbull puppy with grey fur and a white stripe running down between her eyes, two white paws perched on the edges of the basket while her tail wags incessantly, ears quirked in expectant listening for the sound of any good words. she's definitely a cutie, no doubt about it, and her head tilts when wynonna starts speaking from off-camera. ]
I'm off today, so I can take the truck into town and get her some food before you get back, but she's probably gonna need some toys and a bed too, and I don't know if you have any — hey, dog, the basket isn't for chewing, okay? [ wynonna's arm comes into frame, hand scooping the puppy up beneath her middle so she can tuck her between arm and side, flipping the camera back to face them with a tap of her thumb. ]
Okay, call me when you get this. Bye.
Uh, I know you're at work right now, but — something showed up here and it's definitely addressed to you. [ the fact that it's a delivery for him inside her basket hasn't sunk in yet; have we mentioned she hasn't had her coffee yet?
the camera tilts as she sinks down into a crouch, and after searching for the right button to flip the view around, the source of all the noise is made very apparent: a tiny pitbull puppy with grey fur and a white stripe running down between her eyes, two white paws perched on the edges of the basket while her tail wags incessantly, ears quirked in expectant listening for the sound of any good words. she's definitely a cutie, no doubt about it, and her head tilts when wynonna starts speaking from off-camera. ]
I'm off today, so I can take the truck into town and get her some food before you get back, but she's probably gonna need some toys and a bed too, and I don't know if you have any — hey, dog, the basket isn't for chewing, okay? [ wynonna's arm comes into frame, hand scooping the puppy up beneath her middle so she can tuck her between arm and side, flipping the camera back to face them with a tap of her thumb. ]
Okay, call me when you get this. Bye.
[ his initial thought is concern.
if it were a normal message, she’d just drop him a text. hell, she’d even call him if she were hungry enough just to make sure he made her a batch of fresh fries before getting off his shift and heading over to her place. but the fact that there’s a video for whatever reason initially worries him for the briefest of moments before he finally makes his way to the kitchen to get a look at it.
and then he’s rendered speechless, giving it another watch as if maybe he’d misunderstood the context the first time.
but he’ll certainly be calling her, not wasting any time as soon as he hears the call picked up. ]
The hell is that?
if it were a normal message, she’d just drop him a text. hell, she’d even call him if she were hungry enough just to make sure he made her a batch of fresh fries before getting off his shift and heading over to her place. but the fact that there’s a video for whatever reason initially worries him for the briefest of moments before he finally makes his way to the kitchen to get a look at it.
and then he’s rendered speechless, giving it another watch as if maybe he’d misunderstood the context the first time.
but he’ll certainly be calling her, not wasting any time as soon as he hears the call picked up. ]
The hell is that?
[ Look, it doesn't matter how crazy things are, or that they haven't really talked since... everything. A box of cupcakes is definitely waiting for him along with a handmade card. She didn't actually write anything inside of it, but she does sign her name, so at least he knows who it's from. ]
[Laura also got Frank a father's day gift.
It's a pretty nifty jar of candies, with the following lined paper taped on the side:
My dad is dead, so I will just give you something for Father's Day instead.
No name written, but it's in his apartment despite all the doors being locked.
... So it's definitely just Laura, she's just not very good at this.
Also if he goes to the store, he'll probably overhear a townsperson upset about someone stealing an entire jar of their candies.]
It's a pretty nifty jar of candies, with the following lined paper taped on the side:
My dad is dead, so I will just give you something for Father's Day instead.
No name written, but it's in his apartment despite all the doors being locked.
... So it's definitely just Laura, she's just not very good at this.
Also if he goes to the store, he'll probably overhear a townsperson upset about someone stealing an entire jar of their candies.]
[ She’s flipped her Fluid on and off about thirty times before she finally decided to actually press the button to send him a message. ]
Frank...? [ It’s probably the smallest her voice has ever been around him, but she’s also not sure if she’s supposed to be reaching out. It’s hard to sound confident in these kinds of circumstances. ] Are you - uh - awake?
Frank...? [ It’s probably the smallest her voice has ever been around him, but she’s also not sure if she’s supposed to be reaching out. It’s hard to sound confident in these kinds of circumstances. ] Are you - uh - awake?
[ of course he's up at this hour, not always having a regular pattern of sleep, especially if he's taking the odder shifts over at the diner. but even if it'd been at a more reasonable time, he probably wouldn't be any less surprised than he is now to receive the call that he does. ]
Hey. [ his own voice is quiet, a deep sound as he falls into silence again, considering his words. ] You ... you alright?
Hey. [ his own voice is quiet, a deep sound as he falls into silence again, considering his words. ] You ... you alright?
[ It's surprisingly easy for Wynonna to get what she needs — maybe she's revealing too much about herself and her pre-judgments by reaching out to Chloe, but she'd known the candies at her friend's birthday party way back when had been of the homemade variety and if anyone's offering those in tandem with the chips and pizza then they've got to know where to score, even if they're not the ones selling it directly anymore. Whatever magic Chloe has to work to make it happen, she pulls it off, and after that Wynonna's left trying to remember how to roll a joint from what she's bought.
It takes her a few tries, muscle memory notwithstanding, but eventually she's able to manage something resembling a decent blunt — nothing perfect, but it'll get the job done for tonight, and she's careful to remove all signs of both drugs and paraphernalia off the living room table so there's no evidence as to what she's been up to while Frank's working at the diner. Instead, she just fires off a quick text, a subtle invitation that they should drive out to the reservoir tonight and enjoy a little stargazing with no mention of what they'll actually be doing once they get there.
And once they're parked beneath the open sky, a couple of old blankets spread out across the bed of the truck for them to lay out on and a thermos of coffee he'd brought from work sitting a short distance away, Wynonna fishes around in the front pocket of her jeans to pull out the small white cylinder with its pinched ends, her other hand working to pry her lighter free before she introduces them to one another. ]
Don't worry. [ She mutters out of the corner of her mouth, joint bobbing between her lips as she talks, before she flicks the lighter into igniting and then brings the flame to the other end. ] I'm gonna share.
It takes her a few tries, muscle memory notwithstanding, but eventually she's able to manage something resembling a decent blunt — nothing perfect, but it'll get the job done for tonight, and she's careful to remove all signs of both drugs and paraphernalia off the living room table so there's no evidence as to what she's been up to while Frank's working at the diner. Instead, she just fires off a quick text, a subtle invitation that they should drive out to the reservoir tonight and enjoy a little stargazing with no mention of what they'll actually be doing once they get there.
And once they're parked beneath the open sky, a couple of old blankets spread out across the bed of the truck for them to lay out on and a thermos of coffee he'd brought from work sitting a short distance away, Wynonna fishes around in the front pocket of her jeans to pull out the small white cylinder with its pinched ends, her other hand working to pry her lighter free before she introduces them to one another. ]
Don't worry. [ She mutters out of the corner of her mouth, joint bobbing between her lips as she talks, before she flicks the lighter into igniting and then brings the flame to the other end. ] I'm gonna share.
Edited 2019-07-15 13:41 (UTC)
[ it seemed normal enough; taking a drive out wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, and they’d undergone a fair amount of stressful encounters in the past several weeks that literally steering away from it all seemed as good a bet as any. even his nights at the diner contained its share of drainage with the increased number of parent-less kids that seem to be making their way over more frequently, leaving frank to swear under his breath more than a fair number of times at the responsibility he felt like he had no choice but to take on.
wynonna herself tended to be that breath of fresh air, with the casual slide of her arms around his hips to drag him in against her whenever he stepped through her front door, necks earning a partial stretch to angle for a single but soothing kiss.
he hadn’t even considered what other ideas she might have had planned when she asked, instantly agreeing to the suggestion for the mere pleasure of its location, well away from the rest of the town. at the back of the truck, once they’ve settled, he lays himself flat across the blanket, arm nudged beneath his head for a faux pillow as he simply breathes deeply in — and smelling exactly what’s coming from her hands. ]
Well, shit. [ he leans his head up partially from where it rests, brow raised high with a half-curved smirk as he watches her light the rolled-up joint between her fingers. ] No one told me I was dating a rebel. You do that all yourself, little miss?
wynonna herself tended to be that breath of fresh air, with the casual slide of her arms around his hips to drag him in against her whenever he stepped through her front door, necks earning a partial stretch to angle for a single but soothing kiss.
he hadn’t even considered what other ideas she might have had planned when she asked, instantly agreeing to the suggestion for the mere pleasure of its location, well away from the rest of the town. at the back of the truck, once they’ve settled, he lays himself flat across the blanket, arm nudged beneath his head for a faux pillow as he simply breathes deeply in — and smelling exactly what’s coming from her hands. ]
Well, shit. [ he leans his head up partially from where it rests, brow raised high with a half-curved smirk as he watches her light the rolled-up joint between her fingers. ] No one told me I was dating a rebel. You do that all yourself, little miss?
text. a few days after she returns from her canon update.
magnitudes
2019-08-08 01:29 am (UTC)(link)
Hey Frank.
Thanks for looking after Doris. I'm back now, so I can come pick her up whenever you want.
Thanks for looking after Doris. I'm back now, so I can come pick her up whenever you want.
[ it's a simple enough message, though considering the suddenness of her "disappearance", in which she'd been in that weird ass cocoon for far too long, he's not sure if he can take it as such. ]
wait
the hell happened to you?
you were in that shit forever
you alright?
wait
the hell happened to you?
you were in that shit forever
you alright?
[ It's rare that Wynonna's the first one awake, even rarer that he isn't rushing off to open up the diner early in the morning — so when she rolls over at some untold hour (mostly because she's too lazy to glance over at her Fluid sitting on her nightstand) to find him still sleeping deeply next to her, she's a) surprised and b) briefly stilled by the sight of him looking so restful, features slackened and peaceful, chest rising and falling evenly with his breathing. She'd joked early on about the possibility of being turned off by his snoring, but it turns out that Frank Castle is not the kind of man who even makes all that much noise in sleep, so quiet that if it wasn't for the fact that she can see him inhaling and exhaling she'd think he'd stopped breathing altogether.
Whatever time it is, it's early enough that the sun isn't fully streaming into the room yet, only the beginnings of light making their way through the sheer curtains that idly billow with the stray breeze coming in through the half-open windows, the ones they leave open at night when it's cool enough to offer some respite from the intense summer heat they've been having. But that intermittent breeze doesn't prevent her from needing many layers; the body tucked under this sheet with her is always more than enough to keep her warm, so much so that she's never required to wear more than a tank and underwear to bed while he usually foregoes a shirt altogether.
She props herself up on one elbow, gaze casually scanning down the length of him until it comes to a screeching halt right in the vicinity of his hips, where a very telltale tenting of the bedsheet is happening right now. She's definitely not unfamiliar with the various causes of morning wood, but it's another thing entirely to see him sporting it, and maybe she's feeling slightly impish at the thought of being the first one up, so to speak, even though it looks like he's plenty up right now, so after quietly lifting the sheet to slip beneath it, she gently slides herself across him to stretch out on her stomach between his legs.
He's very thoughtfully donned a pair of sweatpants for sleeping in, and after tugging the drawstring loose a little bit at a time, she carefully pulls at the waistband in order to free him from underneath it, sliding her fingers across him to start before she lets her mouth join in on the fun with slow, lazy, unhurried sucking. ]
Whatever time it is, it's early enough that the sun isn't fully streaming into the room yet, only the beginnings of light making their way through the sheer curtains that idly billow with the stray breeze coming in through the half-open windows, the ones they leave open at night when it's cool enough to offer some respite from the intense summer heat they've been having. But that intermittent breeze doesn't prevent her from needing many layers; the body tucked under this sheet with her is always more than enough to keep her warm, so much so that she's never required to wear more than a tank and underwear to bed while he usually foregoes a shirt altogether.
She props herself up on one elbow, gaze casually scanning down the length of him until it comes to a screeching halt right in the vicinity of his hips, where a very telltale tenting of the bedsheet is happening right now. She's definitely not unfamiliar with the various causes of morning wood, but it's another thing entirely to see him sporting it, and maybe she's feeling slightly impish at the thought of being the first one up, so to speak, even though it looks like he's plenty up right now, so after quietly lifting the sheet to slip beneath it, she gently slides herself across him to stretch out on her stomach between his legs.
He's very thoughtfully donned a pair of sweatpants for sleeping in, and after tugging the drawstring loose a little bit at a time, she carefully pulls at the waistband in order to free him from underneath it, sliding her fingers across him to start before she lets her mouth join in on the fun with slow, lazy, unhurried sucking. ]
Edited 2019-08-13 19:32 (UTC)
[ if it were almost any other day, he would probably be guaranteed to be awake before she gets around to it, but sometimes he's been known to pull off the later shifts at the diner, especially in these days when restaurant traffic has been on the rise on account of food shortages everywhere else. it's not exactly brimming with food, but the diner is still one of the better sources for it (thanks to diarmuid's stubborn sense of duty in providing surprising security against the nuns) and to make sure portion control is maintained, he's occasionally taken on doing some double shifts.
which ultimately means that he's exhausted by the time he's dragging himself back to the farmhouse, and for all the little sleep frank normally gets, enough strain on him does allow him to fall into a heavy enough doze that he could sleep in for a few extra hours.
the heavier the exhaustion, the deeper the sleep, and he finds himself well lost to a haze of dreams that don't run fluid together, mostly emotions turned into imagery and a soothing comfort from whatever presence appears within it. he possibly won't be able to make much sense of it later, can hardly make much sense of it now when he's too at peace to even give it much care, but he can sense her within it.
either it's just his body translating the physical presence of her nestled against him, but he can feel her warmth radiating through it, and in the vague presence of his dreams, he finds his hands on her, curving over her hips, the rocking motions that grind in a slow set rhythm. the pinkness of her lips part for him when he glides his fingers against them, soft breathless noises escaping him with a followed cry of his name, and he feels his own go dry from the observance of it.
but when he slides his tongue across his mouth to wet it, he feels the heat of hers roam elsewhere and he gasps softly, a surprised moan rising from his throat from the realness of it, pleasant and slow, hot on his skin, satisfying with every lazy movement along the fullness of him. ]
which ultimately means that he's exhausted by the time he's dragging himself back to the farmhouse, and for all the little sleep frank normally gets, enough strain on him does allow him to fall into a heavy enough doze that he could sleep in for a few extra hours.
the heavier the exhaustion, the deeper the sleep, and he finds himself well lost to a haze of dreams that don't run fluid together, mostly emotions turned into imagery and a soothing comfort from whatever presence appears within it. he possibly won't be able to make much sense of it later, can hardly make much sense of it now when he's too at peace to even give it much care, but he can sense her within it.
either it's just his body translating the physical presence of her nestled against him, but he can feel her warmth radiating through it, and in the vague presence of his dreams, he finds his hands on her, curving over her hips, the rocking motions that grind in a slow set rhythm. the pinkness of her lips part for him when he glides his fingers against them, soft breathless noises escaping him with a followed cry of his name, and he feels his own go dry from the observance of it.
but when he slides his tongue across his mouth to wet it, he feels the heat of hers roam elsewhere and he gasps softly, a surprised moan rising from his throat from the realness of it, pleasant and slow, hot on his skin, satisfying with every lazy movement along the fullness of him. ]
Hey Mr. Castle, I got an inside scoop on something wild going down. Though I better give you the news right away.
September 12th is Wynonna's birthday, and rumour has it if you forget then her little sister will make your life really difficult.
September 12th is Wynonna's birthday, and rumour has it if you forget then her little sister will make your life really difficult.
Edited 2019-09-10 00:51 (UTC)
Page 1 of 3