pineslog | ( april event ) wayward falls

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( april event ) wayward falls

EVENT: WAYWARD FALLS

It begins with a crack, as many alarming and unfortunate things tend to do. Anyone who's ever jumped a little too hard on a frozen river will recognize the sound in an instant: It's the sound of ice caving under pressure, and it echoes through the cozy wooded canyon just in time for the first trickle of water to drip over the face of the northern cliffs. Within the hour, tens of thousands of gallons of water are pouring over the cliff, a waterfall of meltwater finally freed from behind an icy dam.

It doesn't take long for the north end of town to flood as the endless torrents of water rushing through the canyon quickly overwhelm the river, despite the town's best efforts to shore it up. Which means that one guy with the kayak in his garage will finally be the one to have the last laugh: 'What was it you said about pointless hobbies again, Susan?'

You could always just stay inside instead of dealing with the flooded streets of course. The power flickers but ultimately holds and the clean up is certainly going to be annoying later but it's hardly the end of the world.

And then comes the debris.

Without any real warning or ominous portent, solid objects come careening over the cliffs' edge, carried in by the runoff cascading down to the forest below. First, it's large rocks, almost boulders in their own right. Dangerous, certainly, if you happen to be standing below them when they fall but the solution seems a bit obvious there. Just, you know, don't. But then the debris starts to look a little more... man-made.

What has the floodwater brought the little town of Wayward Pines? And possibly more importantly, will the waterfall ever cease?

MOD NOTES

This is a catch-all for any and all threads pertaining to the flood!

PLEASE INCLUDE IN YOUR TOP-LEVEL SUBJECT LINE: Character Name, date, location, and open or closed, to help keep things a bit more organized.

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[Were he the sort to have his heartstrings easily tugged, this would surely incite some empathy from Rumlow. But Jefferson's barking up the wrong tree. It's practicality and the need to keep things normal that wins out, as expected. Rumlow's hand pushes back into Jefferson's hair, his expression sympathetic. He gets the desperation, even if he has no intention of letting Jefferson follow through. At least, not right now.

Rationally, Grace has been alone for months, as long as Jefferson has been here. If she's here, she's in no immediate need for him. It's even possible she's missing memories as much as they all are. Who even knows, with this place. Not that he's going to nix any search for her, it's just not as pressing a concern as Jefferson feels.]

Jefferson, I understand you're upset, but if we make a racket trying to find her, someone is gonna notice. [Rumlow says in a soft voice.] And you can't help Grace if you land up in jail.

[ The placating voice, the way Brock says he understands, without seeming to get the urgency at all, it's so frustratingly familiar that Jefferson wants to bash his own head against a wall.

He thinks you're mad. Nobody will help you.

Jefferson's expression twists into a snarl, and he tries to jerk away again. ]

I don't care. I'll find her myself!

Jefferson. What if this comes back around on her?

[Rumlow replies, firing off the first thing that comes to mind. It's remarkable how quickly his mind works to say the thing that works best. Rumlow knows he's had to do undercover work before (why else would he be here?) but he's an operative first. How does this come so easily?

He tightens his grip again and gives him an emphatic stare. It's a little exasperated, because he guesses he understands the feeling of urgency. Emotions rule when children are involved, for most people, and doubly so when they're your own.]

I don't want you to get in trouble, and I definitely don't want her to because her father can't take a breath and realize he's standing barefoot in a flooded street.

[ He shakes his head, as if denial will immediately deflate Brock's argument. But the words, at least, begin to sink in, and soon he's going slack in Rumlow's grip, no longer so determined to embark on a futile quest. But, as the fight goes out of him, he starts to crumple against the other man, blinking back tears.

Why? Why, why, why is he like this? What happened to him that caused him to become so fractured? Was he ever a brave man, or a good man, or a strong man? ]

I left her, Brock. [ He shuts his eyes and draws a shaky breath. They really ought to move out of the floodwater, get back into the house, but he can't seem to bring himself to walk back just yet. ] What kind of a father am I?

You know 's well as I that people 'round here have fucked up memories.

[Rumlow murmurs, drawing Jefferson in and enclosing him in an embrace now that the strength to resist has left. It's still awkward and attracting attention, he'd bet, but at least he's not yelling and making a scene. One hand strokes at the back of Jefferson's head and Rumlow glances over his shoulder back towards the house. They've got a little ways to walk, though he's in favor of taking the sidewalk. The water is starting to make his feet numb.]

Not your fault if you forgot her. C'mon, let's get back to the house kid. No need to turn the tables and have me taking care've you because you got sick standing in this freeze.

[A little levity to try and bring him back up, though Rumlow doubts it'll work much. The guy is an emotional roller coaster, but he doesn't think it's going up a hill anytime soon. His stubble rubs against Jefferson's cheek and he lets out a sigh, relieved at least to have gotten him out of his panic.]

No, that's not... [ It's not what he meant. Yes, he's upset that he forgot Grace for months, but more than that: he abandoned her. He knows, with absolute certainty, that they were separated long before he woke up in this town.

But he sniffs and lets out a half-hearted laugh, before nodding a little and following Brock's lead. Back onto the sidewalk, before his toes freeze off. The bottom of one foot might be bleeding, but he can't tell quite yet, even when they've moved back to dry land. ]

I'm sorry that I'm like this. [ A burden, he figures. Though, to be fair, he did warn Brock and Kenzi when they insisted he move in. ] I wasn't always. [ That much he knows for certain now. ]

Edited 2017-04-17 17:02 (UTC)

[As they make their way back to the sidewalk, Rumlow walks with more care, looking down to try and see if there's any rocks in the dirty water. He manages to avoid things by stepping light and eventually they're back on (relatively) dry land. He looks to Jefferson, who he's still got an arm hooked around.]

Don't gotta apologize. [Rumlow assures him. He already knows Jefferson isn't the most emotionally stable guy. He took him in regardless.] 'S okay. You got a memory back today, yeah? Maybe it's a sign you'll get some more. Go back to being what you want to be.

[Rumlow peers behind them as they walked -- sure enough, there's some blood in Jefferson's footprints. Better get that cleaned and bandaged as soon as they get back home. Guy clearly needs some TLC, if only to keep his mood from spiraling down and setting him off onto another mad break into town to find his kid.

It's funny though, Rumlow has a hard time picturing Jefferson as a father. Even if he had done a pretty good job taking care of him and Kenzi when they were down with that plague. Maybe it's just because he's old and it felt more like the care he'd get from his team. Or maybe it's because Rumlow gets these weirdly conflicting ideas of a father -- both domineering in entirely different ways, one calm, the other with a foul temper. Well, he doesn't want to dwell on it now. Jefferson is his focus.]

[ He laughs a little, though it's hollow. ] Maybe.

[ Yeah, he's pretty doubtful. Jefferson walks gingerly, his feet hurting both from the chill and the cuts and scrapes. As they near the house, he leans against the other man heavily. Truth be told, he can't picture himself as a father, either. He has memories now, yes, but that doesn't translate to any broader paternal feelings or fatherly intuition. He loves Grace, and he knows he's her father, but that doesn't mean he feels like a father.

It's more that it gives him something to define the nameless grief he was already carrying with him when he could remember little else besides his name. ]

Why did you come out after me?

Edited 2017-04-17 18:21 (UTC)

[Nearly there, Rumlow gives Jefferson a significant look, considering his question heavily. It's a good one, and Rumlow isn't really sure of the emotional depth of his reasoning. A big part of it, of course, is the practicality of keeping the police unaware of anything unusual. Keeping Jefferson safe. That, after all, is why Rumlow took him in, isn't it? It's the best answer he can think of.]

To keep you safe.

[And it sounds better out loud. He nods towards the front door, now that they're back. It's been left open, too busy rushing out to have closed it properly. Stepping inside, Rumlow gives Jefferson a quick stroke through his hair.]

Let's head to the bathroom and take care of those cuts on your feet. Get you into warm clothes.

[ Calmer now, and able to think more rationally, Jefferson chews on his lower lip as he tries to piece his memories of Grace together in the long, strange, and often disjointed timelines in his head. Where does fatherhood fit in?

They're back inside soon enough, and Jefferson's stirred from his thoughts as he feels a hand brush through his hair. Fixing his eyes on Rumlow, he offers a weak smile and nods, following him into the bathroom. It's a good thing the floors are hardwood, so he doesn't have to worry about staining any carpet with his blood.

He limps a little, just to keep from aggravating the worst of it too much, his toes at least starting to warm inside the house. Though, given how long he was standing in chilly water, there's still an ache in each foot. ]

I just need some dry pants. [ Once in the bathroom, he sits down on the toilet lid, lifting his foot up so he can try to examine the damage. It's an ugly gash, and deep enough that walking will be a bit of a pain while it heals. Numbing his foot in the icy water seemed to have reduced the initial pain, at least, but now he's starting to feel it more, stinging and throbbing. His other foot stings, too, but doesn't hurt as badly. Any cuts there are probably superficial.

Jefferson frowns, then looks at Rumlow. ]

She's not really in town, is she? I don't... I don't think she's here.

[ Something he should've stopped and considered before running out into the street, if he'd allowed himself the chance to think clearly. ]

Edited 2017-04-17 19:12 (UTC)

[As they get situated in the bathroom, Jefferson sitting on the toilet, Rumlow goes for the first aid kit. Judging by the blood being tracked, the cut he's sporting isn't bad enough to need stitches, but Jefferson probably should keep off it for a few days. He turns with the little kit in hand, setting it on the edge of the counter. He looks to Jefferson, reaching for him and stroking his hair once again.]

I don't know, kid. Maybe we can ask at the school.

[Not that Rumlow is keen to have a kid around, but he knows leaving the question unanswered will just eat Jefferson up, make him likely to have a repeat performance or worse. He gestures for Jefferson to cross one leg over the other to keep the injured foot elevated and slow the bleeding in the interim. He picks out the antiseptic, gauze and a bandage to wrap around it and sets them atop the kit.

Moving towards the tub, he turns on the tap, checking the temperature.]

Gotta wash it off first, c'mon. You can take your pants off first if you want.

[ Jefferson rubs his eyes, but he nods at the suggestion, relaxing somewhat at Brock's touch. Once the school's open again, he can ask if there's a Grace enrolled. Or would her name be Paige? That particular name rings false, but is in his head, anyway, and he's not sure what to make of it.

At Rumlow's urging, he crosses his leg over his knee, trying to keep it elevated, his eyes drifting over to the tub. Might as well get his pants off, he supposes, since they're wet, anyway, cold and clinging to his skin. So, congratulations, Brock: you've gotten Jefferson out of his pants! He manages to remove the belt and slide his pants down without putting his injured foot back on the ground, then scoots to the edge of the toilet so that he can stick his foot in the bathtub.

He's sure he looks silly now, overdressed from the waist up, and wearing nothing but his underwear from the waist down. So he starts to unbutton his waistcoat and pull his scarf off. Brock's seen the scar so many times now, anyway, that he doesn't feel the need to hide it from him. ]

I don't need stitches, right? I don't... want to go to the hospital.

Don't think so, no, but once we get all the dirt off, I'll know for sure.

[Often as he casts particular looks at Jefferson, this isn't the time for it. He treats him removing his pants as professionally as anyone in the medical field would. Takes his foot and gently guides it under the water. It blossoms crimson and shades of brown from the silt and mud and Rumlow lifts it again, grabbing for a washcloth sitting in the corner and soaks it beneath the spray.]

This might sting a little.

[He says, starting to scrub off anything that might be stuck on. He's careful not to irritate the cuts too much. By now he's got a better gauge of how serious the cut is and, fortunately for Jefferson, Rumlow doesn't think it needs more than he can take care of on his own. Shutting off the water, he guides Jefferson's foot back so he can finish cleaning with the antiseptic.

A little bubbling burn from the peroxide later, Rumlow has Jefferson's foot neatly wrapped up in the bandage, checking to make sure the tape is secure before he peers up at him. Offering a smile, he slides his hand up Jefferson's thigh, just above his knee.]

Want me to take care of the other foot, or do you got it?

[ Though Jefferson may wince and hiss a little from the wound cleaning, he more or less takes it in stride. At least once his foot's cleaned and bandaged, he can relax a little more. Well, at least until Rumlow rests a hand on his thigh, which has him sucking in a short breath. But he forces a smile and shrugs. ]

Well, since you're already down there... [ Look at that, he's trying to joke! But seriously... ] I can take care of it, though. Thanks. [ There's a short, awkward pause, before he adds: ] You're a good friend.

[The joke earns him a laugh, and Rumlow gives his thigh a squeeze before he pushes himself to his feet. Ruffles Jefferson's hair again and moves to put the rest of the bandage away in the kit. He offers it to Jefferson so he can finish up while Rumlow washes his hands. He's got to mop up the blood on the floor too, so he'll do that while Jefferson takes care of the rest.

Shutting off the water, he dries his hands with a towel and turns back to Jefferson.]

Ah, don't mention it. [A pause.] Did you want me to grab you some pants from your dresser?

[He asks, figuring Jefferson doesn't want to wander through the house in his skivvies.]

[ Jefferson's breathing gets a bit sharper when Rumlow squeezes his thigh, and he's really hoping he doesn't look flustered or anything (especially when Brock ruffles his hair again, all casual affection). He just nods, trying for cool and collected-- two things Jefferson rarely is. ]

Yeah, uh-- just. Yeah. Thanks.

[ Shooting Rumlow another wavering smile, he starts to set about tending to his other foot, which doesn't really need all that much. It's just some scrapes, nothing like the cut on the other foot. He can probably get it cleaned and wrapped in no time. ]

Welcome.

[Don't worry, Jefferson, Rumlow is well aware of how flustered you are. Hard to hide that breathing. But it works, and Jefferson seems sufficiently distracted away from his negative thoughts. For now, at least. Once Rumlow's done cleaning, he plans on plopping the guy down on the couch and hanging out with him to keep him afloat.

He turns the tap back on to quickly rinse off his own feet, glad that whatever nicks he might have aren't bleeding enough to need attention. Rubbing them on the little carpet, he makes his way out of the bathroom and heads up to Jefferson's bedroom. It takes a few seconds to find out which drawer has his pants, but Rumlow picks out a pair of comfortable looking pajama pants and throws them over his shoulder. On his way downstairs, he stops by his own bedroom, switching out of his wet and dirty sweats into a pair of shorts.

He returns to the bathroom, and tosses the pants in Jefferson's direction. Rumlow heads to the living room next, pulling the cleaning supplies from the closet and sets about mopping up the blood and mud. Comes away easy enough, and once he's finished, he goes to wash his hands once more.]

[ By the time Rumlow's back with his pants, Jefferson's patting his foot dry and inspecting the little cuts on the bottom, trying to determine if he should bother with a bandaid or not. There's a moment where his eyes linger on the other man (on the muscles in his legs, specifically), before Jefferson's startled by the pants tossed in his direction. At least he catches them, offering a grateful smile before Brock heads out again.

Opting for a bit of ointment and a couple of bandaids, just to be safe (he doubts floodwater's particularly clean), Jefferson finishes tending to his foot before slipping the pajama pants on, looking positively mismatched as it's paired with his dress shirt and unbuttoned waistcoat. As Brock returns to wash his hands, Jefferson's putting the first aid kit away. ]

You weren't cleaning up the floor out there, were you? I could've done it.

[ Should've, honestly. ]

[Glancing up at Jefferson as he shuts off the tap, Rumlow shrugs. Cleaning up blood is nothing new for him, whether it's his life here or otherwise. Boxing is a contact sport, after all. After drying his hands on the towel, he holds the door open for Jefferson.]

Ah, don't worry about it. My muddy footprints were there too.

[Walking out of the bathroom, he heads back to the living room, flopping down on the couch as if he'd never left. He pats the spot beside him loudly, the smack echoing in the house. Time for some relaxation after the ordeal, and more importantly, time for Jefferson to keep his feet up. Let the cuts clot up and scab so he doesn't have to worry about bleeding any time he puts his weight on them.]

C'mon. I'll put something on.

[ It's a fair point, but he's still responsible for the mess, in the end. Brock's feet wouldn't have gotten muddy if he hadn't had to chase after Jefferson, after all. Still, there's no point in pointing it out now, since it's already done. He just offers a brief, half-hearted smile in thanks and follows him back out into the living room, taking careful steps so as to not aggravate his cuts. ]

Like what? [ He flops down beside Rumlow and wrinkles his nose. ] Not that Cops show, I hope.

No. [Rumlow chuckles, throwing an arm around Jefferson casually.] Whatever you want. Hell, a Disney movie.

[Rumlow really isn't picky at this point -- unless Jefferson suggests a shitty romcom. He's not about that life. Though, he guesses he could just zone out and think about shit or take a nap. The former would probably be less rude.

He grabs the remote and hands it to Jefferson.]

Your choice.

[ Strangely, 'Disney movie' twigs some familiarity in Jefferson that he can't quite place, and he's left furrowing his brow with a little frown. Time to tug on that thread. ]

Yeah. We could do a Disney movie.

[ He says it with some uncertainty in his voice, shrugging as he leans against Brock. Might as well get comfortable, and he has to admit: he likes the feel of the other man against him, solid and strong.

Plus he smells good. There's that. ]

I don't remember any of them very well, so it'll be like watching it for the first time.

[Rumlow looks down at Jefferson with a soft smile. He scoots closer (if that's even possible), until their thighs are pressed together. He gestures towards the remote with a nod.]

Well if one've them is on, that's what we'll watch.

[No telling what's actually on TV, however. It's mostly reruns, and the cable is about as basic as they come. No DVR, no nothing. It's like this place is stuck in the stone age of technology. He's kind of gotten used to it though. It's not like Rumlow needs HDTV.]

[ Meanwhile, Jefferson's starting to go all boneless on the couch, slouching with his feet stretched out on the table to stay elevated. He's looking at the TV, not but paying any attention as Brock channel surfs, his eyes somewhat distant as he leans his head against the other man. ]

I'm not picky. [ He makes a bit of a face, huffing, then adds: ] As long as you don't pick something terrible.

[ SO HE IS PICKY. ]

[As Jefferson decides to resemble a limp noodle, Rumlow takes it upon himself to switch through the channels, searching for the elusive Disney film. Surprisingly, he comes across one and leaves it on. Snow White is old as fuck, but cartoons don't really age. He sets the remote down and tips his head to the side, cheek nuzzling absently against Jefferson.]

This okay?

[He asks, glad that they're only a few minutes into the film. What nice timing. Rumlow won't really be engaged in it, but it's something mindless to leave on while they relax and come down from the earlier anxiety. Allow Rumlow to parse through his own thoughts as well, and whether or not he wants to share something of himself.]

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