it's a windin' road when you're in the lost and found → summoning & training ground
[ It would be nice to say that it’s a surprise to get pulled out of the here and now and into this therapist’s wet dream of surfacing, naked, reborn, in a pool somewhere in the ass end of nowhere, where everyone is falling over themselves in their gratitude at her appearance because she’s so fucking special, but after everything – after Juan Carlo, after Willa, after Alice – she’s starting to think she can’t be surprised anymore.
As usual, it takes almost no time for Wynonna to realize she’s wrong. Again.
She’d only barely listened to the recruitment speech – this isn’t Black Badge, they aren’t Dolls (and no one will be Dolls, not ever again, and isn’t that just a kick in the box?) – focusing on getting herself clothed and the hell out of there. So she’s a little distracted, okay? Which is why she doesn’t realize, until she’s squinting in the bright sun of the training ground, that she’s missing something important. There’s no muzzle tucked into her boot, pressed against her calf; no weight at her hip, giving her the swagger she so desperately needs. No Peacemaker.
There are swords, like she has any fucking idea what to do with a sword. At least she can manage the hand-to-hand, even if she keeps resorting to a strategy more bar room brawl than friendly sparring. ]
maybe tomorrow will be better → libertas memorial
[ It was winter, back in Purgatory. She remembers, because she’d almost frozen to death on the side of a cliff, and there’s a joke in there somewhere about how no one with an ass as hot as hers should be able to freeze but it clutches in her throat, tight, as she stares at the memorial. Thick and sour.
Dolls wasn’t in this world. But he was a soldier. And he’ll never get a memorial like this, not in a million years. And now she’s been dragged into some other war while the one at home is still raging, and he isn’t even here, the asshole, to give her some speech about duty and necessity, so what’s even the point?
At least this park isn’t overrun by asshole swans. But that’s about all she can say for it, especially while people are talking none too quietly about gods, which, you know? She’s dealt with demons and revenants and angels and she draws the fucking line at gods. She rolls her eyes at another newcomer as another debate continues, spirited, floating towards them over the breeze. ]
Yeah, ‘cause you know what’s helpful in the middle of a war? Philosophical debate. A-plus strategy, seriously.
night as black as coffee → nocwich
[ Suffused with darkness; whatever. This place has a tavern, and Wynonna desperately needs a drink. The goddamn military uniform puts a little bit of a cramp in her usual drinking strategy – namely, having some lust-blinded cowboy buying them for her – but she manages to coax a few out of some reasonably generous patrons.
The place has decent beer. What it doesn’t have is a decent understanding of how people act at a bar, which means that about an hour after she goes inside (looking for a drink, a dance, a mechanical bull, or a hookup, in that order) Wynonna is politely but firmly carted right back out again by management. ]
Fine! Your music sucks, anyway! Spring for a jukebox, you cheapskates!
Wynonna Earp | Wynonna Earp | Free Cities | The Chariot
[ It would be nice to say that it’s a surprise to get pulled out of the here and now and into this therapist’s wet dream of surfacing, naked, reborn, in a pool somewhere in the ass end of nowhere, where everyone is falling over themselves in their gratitude at her appearance because she’s so fucking special, but after everything – after Juan Carlo, after Willa, after Alice – she’s starting to think she can’t be surprised anymore.
As usual, it takes almost no time for Wynonna to realize she’s wrong. Again.
She’d only barely listened to the recruitment speech – this isn’t Black Badge, they aren’t Dolls (and no one will be Dolls, not ever again, and isn’t that just a kick in the box?) – focusing on getting herself clothed and the hell out of there. So she’s a little distracted, okay? Which is why she doesn’t realize, until she’s squinting in the bright sun of the training ground, that she’s missing something important. There’s no muzzle tucked into her boot, pressed against her calf; no weight at her hip, giving her the swagger she so desperately needs. No Peacemaker.
There are swords, like she has any fucking idea what to do with a sword. At least she can manage the hand-to-hand, even if she keeps resorting to a strategy more bar room brawl than friendly sparring. ]
maybe tomorrow will be better → libertas memorial
[ It was winter, back in Purgatory. She remembers, because she’d almost frozen to death on the side of a cliff, and there’s a joke in there somewhere about how no one with an ass as hot as hers should be able to freeze but it clutches in her throat, tight, as she stares at the memorial. Thick and sour.
Dolls wasn’t in this world. But he was a soldier. And he’ll never get a memorial like this, not in a million years. And now she’s been dragged into some other war while the one at home is still raging, and he isn’t even here, the asshole, to give her some speech about duty and necessity, so what’s even the point?
At least this park isn’t overrun by asshole swans. But that’s about all she can say for it, especially while people are talking none too quietly about gods, which, you know? She’s dealt with demons and revenants and angels and she draws the fucking line at gods. She rolls her eyes at another newcomer as another debate continues, spirited, floating towards them over the breeze. ]
Yeah, ‘cause you know what’s helpful in the middle of a war? Philosophical debate. A-plus strategy, seriously.
night as black as coffee → nocwich
[ Suffused with darkness; whatever. This place has a tavern, and Wynonna desperately needs a drink. The goddamn military uniform puts a little bit of a cramp in her usual drinking strategy – namely, having some lust-blinded cowboy buying them for her – but she manages to coax a few out of some reasonably generous patrons.
The place has decent beer. What it doesn’t have is a decent understanding of how people act at a bar, which means that about an hour after she goes inside (looking for a drink, a dance, a mechanical bull, or a hookup, in that order) Wynonna is politely but firmly carted right back out again by management. ]
Fine! Your music sucks, anyway! Spring for a jukebox, you cheapskates!