pineslog | ( march intro ) WELCOME TO THE PINES!

( march intro ) WELCOME TO THE PINES!

INTRODUCTION LOG

waking up

There was an accident. That's basically the only thing you know for certain. Maybe a car wreck - metal and broken glass everywhere, and the sirens and the screaming. Or maybe there was an explosion. Maybe your bike hit a rock and you careened uncontrollably off a mountain path. You can't can't quite make out the details, not who was at fault or why. Try as you might, the chaos is all you can remember.

It's also the last thing you remember from before you wake up here.

When you open your eyes, the accident is gone. Instead, you're in a hospital bed. You're sluggish, covered in a scattering of minor injuries you only vaguely remember getting, not to mention the vaguely-healed remnants of any wounds you might've had before.

It's a shame you won't be able to tell the difference between the two. Your memories are an indiscernible fog if not absent altogether, only a few standing out in your mind with any kind of certainty.

Whether or not the room's empty when you wake, it's not for long. Nurses bustle in, taking your vitals and asking your name and anything else you might remember. Welcome to Wayward Pines, they tell you. You'll make a full recovery here.

Much of what you say (especially anything unusual, anything about monsters or magic or outlandish technology) will earn placating speculation of head trauma “from the accident”. You'll be told to stay put, not to push yourself, and to wait for the doctor to clear you before you leave... Then you'll be left alone. The hospital's population is quadruple the usual, and you get the impression the nurses are working themselves ragged just running damage control. You can even leave your room without much fuss - whichever doctor or nurse intercepts you gets called away almost immediately to deal with something even more pressing.

Mingle, visit your fellow patients, even poke around for a few basic answers. Or maybe, maybe just stroll right on out the front door.

heading outside

One step outside and it's perfectly clear that your hospital gown simply isn't going to cut it for long. the sidewalks and buildings covered in snow and a crisp winter wind whipping at you through the thin cloth. It's like a scene out of a holiday greeting card or a snow globe, picturesque and nearly untouchable. And yet you're here. Touching it all. Dressed in nothing but a hospital gown. You should at least think about getting some mittens if you're going to keep, you know, touching it.

Trees line the street at regular intervals, carefully manicured and coated in a thin layer of pure white snow. Cars cruise by at a safe and respectable speed. Pedestrians spare you glances, some wary and some concerned.

This isn't even the picturesque city center, though a colorful nearby sign reads "Main Street" with an arrow pointing due south, followed in smaller font by a list of businesses you don't recognize and one that you might: Wayward Pines Police Department. Whether you asked for yourself or simply overheard, you've likely caught wind by now that all of your earthly possessions now lie with the Sheriff until you see fit to claim them.

Might as well head that way, right?

items reclaimed

So you've visited the Wayward Pines Police Department and reclaimed... well. Most of your stuff, anyway, though you can't quite remember what's missing. Best to put it out of mind, as you head down the steps toward the Main Street sidewalk. At the very least, pedestrians have stopped looking at you like you're sick or crazy. (Then again, depending on what you're wearing, maybe it's gotten worse.)

The sheriff also forked over what looks like the key to a house ("A cozy place to stay while you're here in town."), plus the address that it belongs to. You could check it out, see what kind of digs they're putting you up in.

Or you could stick around Main Street and sight-see a little. Also a perfectly viable option. Hell, maybe it'll jog your memory a little. A few of the shops do feel inexplicably familiar...

( ooc notes )

Welcome to the second newbie mingle log! We apologize for the delay.

This log is meant to cover characters' first day in Wayward Pines. For the most part, only the five memories detailed in your character's application are remembered throughout the duration of this log, although the first couple of false Wayward Pines memories might begin to surface (in those who've opted to utilize this mechanic) as the day wears on. These memories, as noted in the FAQ, feel very real and are accompanied by as much emotion or sentiment as a real memory would be.

Any questions about the log or its contents can be addressed to our FAQ or the intro log's designated Plurk.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's about what Rumlow expects. Nice guy to do that for her, he thinks, and it reminds him of someone. He shrugs it off, turning back to pluck it off the chair and slide it on. The smell is even more familiar, but he can't place a name to it whatsoever. Fucking weird. He turns back to watch Kenzi as she slips on her own coat. The color is nice. Suits her. Makes her eyes pop.

"Nah, that's fine. Ask away," Rumlow replies. He's got questions too, after all, and he doubts she's gonna take that personally, given she's in the same damn boat. He'll just have to be careful about how he answers -- Rumlow doesn't remember if he's told her he works for SHIELD yet or not. Or if he's even allowed to. He's gonna stay on the safe side and wager 'no.'

He peers down at the glint Kenzi pulls from her pocket. Hunh. Rings. So they are married. Or at least, she's got something he distantly remembers purchasing. He recalls feeling like the black diamonds would be right up Kenzi's alley, that the design would match her attire. Even with the raincoat, it seems like it really does. He smiles, setting a hand atop her shoulder.

"Still proud I managed to find those," he says, though he's uncertain where the feeling really comes from.

"On such short notice?" She attempts to finish the thought for him without letting the sudden feeling in the pit of her stomach show through on her face. She wants to be okay with the impermanence of the situation, how temporary it is, but thinking about the circumstances of their marriage and the inevitable end of it makes her... sad. She's not sure why. Maybe the longer she spends married to this ~~much~~ older guy makes her want to stay married.

She shakes her head, slipping the bands on the appropriate finger of her left hand. They were just in an accident, now is not the time to start formulating all kinds of complicated thoughts that might not even be valid or make any sense in the context of all the other things she's forgotten. There's more important shit to worry about! Like eating food sometime today and how well he fills out that jacket.

"They're beautiful." That much is true. Not even as a memory, just as a statement.

"Okay, well I'm starving so I'm just gonna apologize in advance if my hunger makes me say things I don't mean on the way there." Like a pregnant lady in labor. YOU DID THIS TO ME! I HATE YOU! "Shall we?" She nods towards the door, smiling, already thinking about what her first question's gonna be.

That one didn't count. The 'shall we'-- that doesn't count as a question, it was just implied-- listen.

Nodding his agreement, Rumlow looks away from her hand and up to Kenzi's face. She's got a certain air of hesitance about her, a nervous energy that Rumlow definitely doesn't feel is out of place. Just remembering you're married, and that being one of the few memories that's floating around in your head is pretty disconcerting. At least Rumlow feels like he's got some sort of experience to deal with it.

Easy to just look at Kenzi like she's a member of his team. He protects her, works with her and together they achieve -- whatever. And right now, it seems like the goal is a meal. Kenzi's remark brings another smile to his face and he chuckles. Hunger's a good sign, though. Whatever accident they've been through, she's got her appetite.

"'S fine. Yeah, let's go."

He reaches down to zip up the coat and after, starts towards the front door, opening it and holding it while Kenzi walks through. He locks up after and looks down the road. Rumlow turns back to Kenzi.

"Now. You got any idea where the grocer even is?"

He held ... the door open... for her. What a freakin' GENTLEMAN! Kenzi can't stop the actual grin of real happiness that lights up her face as she walks by him, placing her hand on his chest for a moment before moving on.

Rumlow locks up and Kenzi wraps her arms around herself, debating pulling her hood up against the cold. For some reason, she waits for him to take the lead, only for him to admit he doesn't know where the fuck he's going. It catches her off guard and sends her into a fit of laughter. Oh, precious angelfish.

"Yeah, actually. I do." She passed one earlier when she was wandering around, debating whether or not she should try to go 'home'. "C'mon." She reaches for his hand, seeking out that familiar connection again, and holds tight.

The way back to Main street is easier to find. It's less of a daunting trip with someone to walk with, too. She starts with the easier questions as she leads him to the general store, right next to the butcher's. What's your favourite colour? How old are you? (wow, that's pretty old.) Leading up to, "What's the first thing you remembered when you woke up?"

Some answers still aren't there for her. She thinks she likes the colour purple. She thinks she's 22. Pretty sure about that, actually. What she wants to know is what Rumlow remembers. The only significant thing that she thinks is safe to tell him is--

"I'm allergic to peanuts. So just. Keep that in mind, okay?"

They hold hands. She asks questions. Together they walk through the snow back towards the main drag. The town's layout is pretty simple, Rumlow figures he must have missed the grocer on his way to the house -- just wanting to get out of the cold. Easy enough path to memorize anyway, so he won't need the escort next time. Even if the company is nice.

Once the more mundane questions are past at least, Kenzi asks something that actually gets Rumlow thinking. What was the first thing he remembered? He scrubs at his stubble in thought, letting the ambient sounds of their boots crunching in the snow echo around them.

"The first thing I remember is... that I'd been searching for someone." Rumlow doesn't know who. Or even why. Just that he hadn't found them yet. He looks down at Kenzi. "Maybe it was you."

Makes sense, if she's his wife. They'd been in an accident, so there's a chance they had been separated because of it. Whatever had happened to him, to her, the hospital doesn't want to say. It's about the only thing he can put together. Rumlow squeezes her hand a little, opening the door to the grocery.

"No peanuts. Got it. Ruins my plans for Thai food." It's a joke. He doesn't know how to make Thai. And as they step in out of the cold, kicking the snow off their boots on the door mat, Rumlow realizes, with a startling discomfort: he doesn't know how to make anything.

"Uh."

The thought of someone looking for her makes her chest all warm or her heart swell up or some cliche, romance novel bullshit that she's pretty sure doesn't exist in real life. But it's nice. She feels more at ease with him than-- ... well, she obviously can't remember, so this is probably the epitome of at-easeness in her life.

She's riding that warm, floaty high as they enter the store, releasing his hand unzip her jacket and--

"Uh?" What uh. What's wrong. He is not making an EVERYTHING'S OKAY expression, she is now concerned. "What is it? ... Did you really want Thai that bad? I can just have plain jasmine rice, it's fine!"

She thought he was joking! Why does he look like someone just sprung him with a pop quiz he hadn't studied for?

"Did you forget your wallet? Because that's probs not an issue..." Please don't make her elaborate.

The moment is supremely embarrassing. Maybe not pants around your ankles in grade school embarrassing, but awkward enough. Rumlow strains to remember, and it makes him feel fucking senile. It's like there's this big void of space where a list ought to be and he hesitantly glances down at Kenzi. How is this happening to him? Why now?

"Think I might've hit my head harder'n I thought," he remarks, sliding his gaze back towards the aisles. "Christ, this is embarrassing. I don't even remember the ingredients I oughta be looking for."

He mutters, though it's plenty loud enough for Kenzi to hear. It's not even like he can just look something up on his phone because once again, he's reminded those don't exist around here. He huffs. The shame starts to wear off and shift into frustration instead, taking steps towards the produce department in hopes something might jog his memory.

Oh. He forgot something else entirely. An entire recipe, which, is totally fine-- it's not fine, she's starving! She wasn't kidding about things said in a state of hunger. How is she supposed to be patient and supportive when all she can think about is a home-cooked meal that she might not even GET now!?

"Hey, it's okay." No it's not. "I couldn't even remember my last name earlier!" Or that she was married. See? It's not anything to be embarrassed about, it's just something they seriously have to remedy because Kenzi knows she won't be able to cook anything remotely edible unless it's pre-packaged and going in the microwave.

She follows behind, concerned more about her stomach than Rumlow's memory. The produce department is a good start. Maybe seeing things will make it click and they'll be back on track and home and eating in under five minutes. Okay, that's a big of wishful thinking, but her stomach's taken over for her brain right now.

Kenzi picks up a potato. It's Idaho, they have a lot of potatoes, maybe he was gonna make potato... something. She holds it up to him hesitantly, with a quizzical look on her face. Really, the visual form of her cautiously asking 'potaaaaatooo?!?!?!?'

Edited 2017-03-17 19:29 (UTC)

Squinting at the potato, Rumlow shifts his stare from it to her. He shakes his head. No, there are no potatoes in what he wants. Something that rhymes with potato, however -- Rumlow makes his way to the tomatoes. Cherry tomatoes. They're not in season, but it's either this or canned, and he gets the impression that canned won't work. He picks up a container, realizing they don't have a cart or basket.

"Here, hold these for a sec," he tells Kenzi, offering her the tomatoes to hold. He heads back to the entrance and grabs a cart, wheeling it back to her. He gestures towards it with a nod, letting her know she can deposit it in there. He steps forward, and then stops. Another blank. He's picturing something green.

"Not lettuce..." he murmurs to himself. He looks over the expanse of greenery the store offers. So many leaves. Spinach? No, it's not that either. An herb, maybe?

Okay, no potatoes. She drops it back onto the pile unceremoniously and follows him over to the much redder organic matter. She's left holding a bunch of tiny tomatoes while he goes off to get a cart and just... kind of stands there, awkwardly, staring down them. Is this what marriage is? Holding out of season fruit for your partner while they get the cart? Oh god. Hopefully they're more interesting as a couple and this is just an off day.

Ugh, his arms even look good pushing a cart-- ... under another man's jacket. Listen, she knows what they look like! She can imagine. The sex has gotta be iiiinsane. Shit. Thinking about it is just making her all hot and bothered and blushy and pathetic and he's looking at her and-- she panics and just drops the tomatoes in the cart instead of gently depositing them. They're fine. Probably. Mostly fine. It's fine.

"Not lettuce? Literally everything except lettuce is not lettuce." She picks up a cucumber, "This isn't lettuce." And then a nearby green pepper, "This also isn't lettuce."

She's not being a little shit on purpose, she's just... hungry.

"Lettuce keep looking...?" Eh? EEEEH? It's a joke. A really bad joke. Stupid pun. Please don't divorce her.

Rumlow looks at Kenzi like she's grown a second head. It lasts a good few seconds before he's rolling his eyes and laughing. Great. He's married a goofball. Well, at least now he has someone who will tolerate his puns. No one really appreciated them on STRIKE. Or maybe he just doesn't remember if they do. Either way, he puts a hand atop her head and gives her a gentle pet.

The cucumber earns a thought, however, and another at the green pepper. Familiar, but not it. Next to it are red bell peppers though and he browses through those until he picks one. They move on, Rumlow plucks up some broccoli. It's coming back to him, he thinks.

"Zucchini," he states, looking around for where the green squash might be. He pushes the cart through the produce stands, then pauses, looking back at Kenzi. "If you want to grab anything else, go ahead," he says, gesturing towards the various fruits and vegetables. He's the snacking type himself, keeps the metabolism up. Or at least, that's how he feels when he looks over at the bags of tiny carrots.

OH THANK GOD, HE LAUGHED! Everything is okay forever now. He laughed. Now she knows this isn't some kind of fluke and they are definitely a couple. A couple of total dorks, but it still counts. She smirks, clearly very damn pleased with herself after she earned that head pat.

The cucumber and the pepper, much like the potato, get tossed aside. Green peppers are her least favourite pizza topping. She's not sure where she stands with cucumbers. They go in the maybe pile of her brain until she can remember whether or not she's had some sort of traumatic childhood experience of being forced to eat them instead of cupcakes or something. Whatever.

Zucchini is another unknown factor, but she somehow trusts Rumlow's opinions on vegetables. Probably because he seems to be Italian as all fuck. Is that stereotyping? Probably. But she's Russian and the first thing she picked up was a potato, so who's really at fault here?

"Anything?" He gestures towards fruits and vegetables, but her mind is on sugary cereals, baked goods, and ... alcohol. Also popsicles! Oh, also chips and garbage basically! ... She does pick up a bunch of red grapes in a bag, twirling past Rumlow to gently lob them into the cart on her way to seek out this anything she was promised.

"I feel like you're gonna regret saying anything. BRB." Yes, she did just say brb in real life. She wanders off to an aisle, in her bright-blue raincoat, peeking at him slyly before disappearing behind shelves of canned goods.

She may or may not still be thinking about what the sex is like.

When she returns, her arms are full of boxes of honey bun-buns cereal, rosehip jam, some generic pancake mix in a box, and a bottle of vodka. She dumps them ALL in the cart.

"If you drink the vodka and eat a grape, it's basically like having wine with dinner?"

Who actually says 'BRB,' Rumlow thinks as Kenzi disappears. He shakes his head and lets her go search for whatever he's supposed to be regretting. Meanwhile, he slowly moves around, remembering zucchini, carrots, summer squash and mushrooms. He starts towards the aisle where he presumes the pasta is, since he definitely remembers that when Kenzi comes back with an armful of -- junk.

He blinks at her as she tumbles the stack of groceries into the cart. The vodka catches his eye and he suddenly remembers that she's Russian. Right. That shit probably flows in her veins.

"You really gonna compare vodka and wine to an Italian?" Rumlow asks, quirking an eyebrow at her. "Thought you knew me."

He adds, pretending to look hurt as he continues pushing the cart. Two aisles over, there's an assortment of pasta noodles lined up on the wall and now he's got to pick what shape he wants. Part of him considers fettuccine, but maybe farfalle? He runs a hand through his hair as he thinks.

"I didn't see any wine, okay? Actually, I didn't look. I saw this and just bolted." They'll clearly have to go back and stock up on wine. She'll let Rumlow pick something out because she's pretty sure she'd go for the cheapest one, regardless of it being in a bottle or a box.

... But if he's gonna be as picky about the wine selection as he is about the pasta, they could be here for a while. Kenzi eyes the shelves, not exactly seeing the big difference here. Pasta is pasta. It just depends on how much of it you want to be able to fit into your mouth at once. That's how you pick a shape!

He looks seriously engrossed in this shit, though, and she likes the way he runs his hand through his hair. It's cute. He's cute. She comes up behind him and wraps her arms around his waist, swaying slightly and pushing up on her tip toes to rest her chin on his shoulder.

"Don't hurt yourself, babe." His brain has been through enough trauma! Just pick a fucking pasta already! "What about the shells? Not the little ones, they're weird. The big ones."

Giving Kenzi a cursory look and an amused huff at her remark about the wine, he keeps his attention on the pasta. Looks like they're either out of farfalle or it's further down the aisle. Rumlow is about to take a step forward when Kenzi's arms snake around him. He hums a note, a smile automatically settling on his lips. He reaches back for her, hand stroking down her side.

It's all sweet and affectionate and domestic; all that shit -- until she suggests conchiglie. His brows grow sharp and he pulls out of her arms to look down at her with obvious (and over-dramatized) disgust. Really? Conchiglie for a pasta primavera? He might have hit his head and gotten amnesia, but he hasn't forgotten something so important as choosing the right kind of noodle.

"If you wanted a poorly distributed sauce and vegetables."

Rumlow snatches the box of fettuccine and puts it in the cart.

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat? Did she just get pasta-dissed?

Kenzi just stares in complete disbelief, mouth hanging open, arms out to the side, totally shocked at the pure, unadulterated sass that just came out of him about sauce and vegetables. The fettuccine snatch up was the last straw, Kenzi just starts laughing. She desperately clings to the shocked face but can't get over it and ends up pinching at his ribs.

"Listen, you prima donna! I'm just trying to eat sometime this century, okay?!" And since she's starving, she's just gonna playfully chomp on his shoulder until he gives in and stops being DISGUSTED at her pasta ignorance!

Oh, she's biting Steve's coat. Whoops. It's fine. He'll never know.

"Sei fortunato che ho voglia di cucinare!"

The Italian just sort of slips out, but somehow that aspect of his person is the least surprising. His entire spiel about the noodles, while true, is also just to tease her. Apparently it's worked, because now she's chomping at the shoulder strap of the borrowed jacket. Well, it ain't his.

Rumlow gently peels her away and sets her back down on the floor. He shakes his head at her, grinning. "Go get me some olive oil, dolcezza."

He's still teasing, but Rumlow imagines Kenzi will like it anyway. He's got a few dried herbs to pick up in the next aisle anyway. Not for this meal necessarily, but they've got nothing in stock, so he might as well start supplying them. He has no idea how long they'll be here.

"I have no idea what you just said, but it was hot." Ugh, he even speaks Italian, is there anything this man isn't good at? Hopefully she didn't just jinx herself in the bedroom department. She can't see herself getting hitched ever if he couldn't deliver on the goods, though.

At least she can handle olive oil. That is a no brainer. She smiles back at him, possibly getting a little too happy about that pet name, and wanders off to to complete her mission!

The more she thinks about them as a couple, the more she starts to remember. It's like her life is falling into place and the picture is getting clearer. Her morning routine of getting tea from Jefferson, going to work at.... somewhere. She had a job! Doing something...

She still can't remember a damn thing about the accident, but she's really not sure if she wants to. Her mind continues to wander as she does, absently picking up the first bottle of olive oil she finds. It's near the syrup for some reason, but that's fine, too, they'll need it for pancakes. The least she can do is make him pancakes.

Figuring she wouldn't, Rumlow lets her remain in awe of his linguistic capabilities. He seems to recall her doing much the same in her own tongue, after all. It's only fair. And while she goes off on her errand, Rumlow goes through the spices and herbs, picking out a few to put into the basket. He grabs some flour and sugar too, even if Kenzi's gotten a premade mix, he'll need this for other things.

Eventually, they meet up again and Rumlow notes the syrup Kenzi has procured. He lifts his brows at her, but says nothing to it. They make their way towards the dairy and Rumlow grabs some milk and butter.

"You need anything else?" he asks, looking into the cart to try and jog his memory. It seems to be working okay now, at least in terms of food. He's glad. Forgetting had been a Hell of a scare.

"A metric fuckton of ice cream?" Or a pint. She can already see the differences in their dietary wants and needs. Hers seems to involve a lot more sugar and processed fats and transcarbs and wheats and stuff. His is very farm-to-table, one ingredient, wholesome and shit. That must be why he's so MASSIVE!

... Speaking of massive, they're gonna have to carry all this shit home. It's making her rethink the ice cream until they get a car.

"Nah, I'm good." She beams up at him, putting the two bottles in the cart. "I mean, I might need one more thing." The way she's leaning towards him proooobably indicates that it's not something stocked on the shelves. Those silvery-blue eyes of hers are staring up at him from under her bangs, and she's got a slight smirk on her face before her lips get kinda pouty.

Are you picking up this INCREDIBLY OBVIOUS signal, here, Rumlow? Are you getting the VERY LARGE hint? Just kiss her already, god.

Snorting his amusement at the suggestion, Rumlow is a little relieved when she decides against it. He already knows he's carrying all this shit, and he doesn't really need a 'metric fuckton' of ice cream rubbing against his leg as they walk home in the snow. His pants aren't that thick. Besides, he doesn't want to have to resist the temptation.

At her request, Rumlow blinks down at her. It takes him about a second, and then he's giving her an equally expectant look. A kiss, hunh? Well. They are married.

Rumlow leans down, hand coming up to cup her chin, tilting her face towards his. He kisses her, and it's chaste -- except for that little slip of tongue at the very end before Rumlow pulls back. He's got that devilish look on his face, smirking as he starts to push the cart towards the cashiers. She's welcome to ask for more. Just when they're not in the middle of a grocery store. They'd probably get kicked out if he lifted her onto these shelves.

He arrives at the register and begins to unload the items, glancing back to Kenzi.

The glance gives him a great view of Kenzi dazedly floating along behind him like she's on a cloud, surrounded by butterflies with the distant sound of harp music following her around. In reality, she's just wearing a really stupid smile on her face after that kiss. It was... it was a good kiss.

She rests against the counter, slowly grabbing items out of the cart to put up on the counter with the smile still going from ear to ear. Every time she looks back to Rumlow, it makes her cheeks turn pink and she has to laugh off her embarrassment. He's... really hot. And they're married. And together. And wHY DOES SHE LITERALLY HAVE A STUPID CRUSH ON HER HUSBAND? Maybe because she doesn't remember knowing him. It feels really new when it's not, but it still DOES!

"Stop looking at me!" She blurts it out without thinking. This is a disaster. It's like that time she tried to hit on the pizza guy and he was totally oblivious-- oh hey. Another memory. Pre-Rumlow. Or... pre... this place? There was definitely someone there, she just can't recall who it was.

"Pay the dude and quit judging with your judgey eyes." She snickers and moves around him to start bagging this shit up, determined to carry her fair share of groceries. She's not gonna make him do all the work. That's bullshit. They're in this together.

Edited 2017-03-18 02:39 (UTC)

Is this high school? Rumlow's not entirely sure it's not high school. Kenzi practically has hearts for eyes, and she accuses him of staring, so he looks away. But he's amused. Oh, how he is amused. He doesn't even remember the last time he got such a reaction out of a girl, though again. Shoddy memory. But he thinks it's probably because he usually skips this phase and goes right for the action.

"I ain't judging. It's cute."

Rumlow pays, surprised by the total. It's a lot less than he'd imagine, but then again, they aren't exactly in DC or NYC. Not a bad thing though, means he's still got money for a while longer. At least until he figures out the exit plan. Kenzi finishes bagging and he grabs the remaining bags. They set off together towards the exit and Rumlow braces himself for the cold air.

At least it's a short walk back. Benefit of a small town, he supposes.

"I'm guessing you don't remember kissing me before," he remarks casually, nudging Kenzi with a bag.

If this was high school, they'd be cutting class and making out in the balcony of the auditorium or something... but Rumlow would be the hot teacher. That is the LAST image she needs in her head right now.

"M'not cute." Is all she mutters as they leave the store, bags in hand. Is this, like... the worst possible outcome? Her giant, gorgeous, super hot Italian man thinking she's cute instead of totes bangable? Probably. But hey, he put a ring on it, he's kinda stuck with her so he'll just have to deal.

"Kind of? I mean. There's remembering and then there's actually doing something." She shrugs. You can remember eating a delicious cookie every morning before work, but actually eating the delicious cookie is so much better. "Do you remember stuff about me?"

Does he remember what she looks like naked? Because she only has very hazy images to go off of where he's concerned. None of them are bad in the least. She can't even remember their wedding night, but that's probably because she'd already been INCREDIBLY drunk for the ceremony.

"It's weird. It's like having to get to know each other all over again or something and I'm kind of--" She trails off, hefting one of the bags a little higher on her arm to give her hand a break, "What if we don't like each other?" That's not going to happen in his case, she can already tell she likes him.

This is what happens when you secretly have really shitty self esteem and cover it up with being a badass. People think you're tough and awesome and egotistical at arms length, but as soon as you have someone close to you, they can see all the cracks and the flaws.

If you ever share that fantasy with him, Kenzi, you will find Rumlow willing to play it out. Just saying. He smiles again at her petulance, which he would offer a reassuring pat for, but his hands are full of groceries. Instead, he gently knocks her with the bag again.

"That's fair," he remarks. Doing is always better than just recalling, even if the latter can be helpful. "I remember a few things. Not much," he adds. "More like impressions."

At least right now, that's what he's got. He knows certain things, but it feels more like an outline, rather than the natural progression of memory and ideas. Like Kenzi says, it's weird. He shakes his head at the thought that they wouldn't like each other. Partially because Rumlow likes to think he's easy to get along with. It's why he's a good team player. There's another reason too, but he can't put his finger on it.

"I get what you mean, but I don't think that's gonna be what happens. I mean, I like you plenty now and I hardly remember more than just the fact that we're married and why. I get pictures of you in my head, but it's like there's not a lot of story to connect them. But I remember some things clear as day. Whatever accident we were in," Rumlow pauses, shaking his head. He feels fine and that's the weird part.

"Anyway, I guess I'm saying that us is probably the last thing we gotta worry about."

( march intro ) WELCOME TO THE PINES!

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