pineslog | (catch-all) the storm & the st. paddy's day festival

(catch-all) the storm & the st. paddy's day festival

CATCH-ALL: 16TH & 17TH

march 16

THE THUNDER ROLLS

The day starts off atmospherically heavy. The clouds are low, and the temperature is unusually warm, settling in the mid to high 50s (teens in Celsius). Townies are wandering around town in lightweight jackets and hoodies making small talk about the unusual weather, but for the most part they're pleased with the warmth, even if the clouds off in the distance look rather ominous. As the day goes on, the clouds creep closer and the residents seem more inclined to get a roof over their heads and stay there. The midmorning news predicts heavy rainfall by the late afternoon, but the savvier townsfolk say it’s going to be worse than that.

They’re not wrong. The sun drops low, and the winds start to pick up, howling through the trees, bringing with them nickel-size chunks of hail and torrential rains. The darker the night gets, the worse the storm hits Wayward Pines; by the time the sun has set, the sky is obscured with opaque, swirling clouds, the winds snapping trees in half, rattling the power lines, causing electricity to flicker and sometimes go out. The hail pings against the cars not safely parked inside garages, leaving the more exposed with significant damage to paint and windows, and anyone brave (or stupid) enough to step outside is instantly soaked to the skin in cold rain.

The most chilling thing of all isn’t the rain. Anyone trying to wait the weather out on Main Street will hear three wrenching cries coming from the woods, almost like the exact moment a person shreds their vocal cords in a scream. The townies claim not to hear anything unusual. It’s just the wind, they say, and they may be right. The sound as it shrieks through the trees and between buildings is similar enough to cast doubt, and combined with the rain even the most experienced camper would likely get lost trying to find it.

march 17

THERE’S WHISKEY IN THE JAR, OH

Whatever damage was caused by the previous night’s storm has mostly been cleared from Main Street by the early morning of St Patrick's Day. The streets are still a little wet, with plenty of puddles for the more adventurous children (and adults) to splash around in. The air is still a little chilly, but nothing a sweatshirt can’t fix. Nothing’s fully set up until about nine in the morning, but when it is, the St. Patty’s Day celebration gets under way. It’s small, more of a farmers' market or small festival than anything major. There’s food stalls and tables for eating, as well as a few booths where townsfolk are plying their crafts and non-food wares, as well as live music. The festivities during the daylight hours are pretty tame, a PG-rated good time for all.

When the sun sets, the party gets a little more rowdy. Someone busts out the booze and someone else busts out the Mardi Gras beads, and the music gets louder. While many food stalls are still open, the rest have shut down as the street fills with revelers, many of them holding cups half-filled with beer or something a little stronger. This part of the party isn’t for kids, and if anyone underage is spotted they'll quickly get escorted back home by the police — so try not to get caught, yes?

MOD NOTES

This is a catch-all for any and all threads pertaining to the storm (March 16th) and the St. Patrick's Day festival (March 17th)! Details on both of these happenings can be found in the March Newsletter.

PLEASE INCLUDE IN SUBJECT LINE: Character Name, which Day(s) your top-level takes place in, and Open or Closed, to help keep things a bit more organized. (For example: "Joe Biden | 16th & 17th | Open!")

Should you choose to participate in both mini-events, you're welcome to make separate top-level posts for each day or to combine them both into one.

If you have any questions regarding this event, feel free to ask them here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Normally, coming out for a party with loads of booze is just the kind of scene Rumlow enjoys. These days though, what with having amnesia and being stuck in this weird-ass town without communication home, he's hardly in the mood to socialize. Maybe he's still grumpy after the other day.

At least Kenzi's still fun to be around. It's why he let her drag him out to this whole thing, except now he can't find her. She's got this habit of meandering, he's found. Rumlow figures that's what happened, so he thinks it might be best to stand by one of the many alcohol vendors in case she comes in search for more. This way Rumlow can also turn away from all the drunken PDA that's going on. He gets that they're drunk, but that doesn't make it any less gross.

As he approaches, he spots somewhere there, a familiar enough looking face and Rumlow almost rethinks his approach -- at least until he realizes that unless Barnes lost something like forty pounds of muscle in a short span of time, it can't be him. He's a Hell of an impersonator though, if he weren't loudly rambling about fairy tale characters.

Rumlow makes his approach, already spotting one of the deputies hovering around taking notice of the guy. He stands behind him and claps a hand on his shoulder. Enough to jar him from his rant.]

Hey there pal, you doing all right?

[Rumlow asks, staring down at him in a very pointed manner. He doesn't particularly care for this dude, whoever he is, but he's got motivation all the same. One, he doesn't want this to create an event, risk Kenzi getting hurt in any sort of stampede or whatever. Two, if this guy is related to Barnes, then he's related to Kenzi and he looks after his.

Might even earn him some points with the local law enforcement, but that's barely on his radar.]

[ It works-- the heavy hand on his shoulder's enough to jerk Jefferson from the story he's telling to anyone who'll listen. It's nonsense, surely, the sort of thing he'd probably get sent to a psych ER over. (Something that he thinks might've happened before. A week ago, he was certain that memories of his nervous breakdown were true. Now, he's not so sure.)

He whips around, unbalanced and very nearly stumbling as he faces the man. He recognizes him as a sometime-customer at the shop, getting the occasional order to go. Jefferson stares at him for a bit longer, then leans in to let him in on a secret: ]

I don't belong here...

[ He pulls back, a laugh breaking through his troubled demeanor. ]

It's obvious, isn't it?

Edited 2017-03-17 20:47 (UTC)

[This is a man broken, Rumlow thinks. Whether it's the alcohol or something deeper, there's something well and truly fucked about him. Strange to see, with a face so similar to Barnes, and yet Rumlow knows it's not him. There's a trickle of a memory here, the strange familiarity he gets from a few others in town that he doesn't quite remember. This man, he works at, no owns the shop where he gets Kenzi her tea.

The name doesn't come though, so Rumlow's stuck without it. He peers over at the deputy, who seems to have to turned away for the time being. He wets his lips and turns back to the drunk. He squeezes his shoulder and draws him in, as if they're buddies.]

Not sure any of us do, kid.

[Rumlow says, voice quiet, just for the two of them.]

You got someone to take care of you? [He asks, a little louder.] C'mon, let's get you a cup of water.

[Best thing Rumlow thinks he can do. De-escalate the situation. Get the guy sober, or at least quiet. Can't rant if he's swallowing.]

[ It's not what he expects to hear, though truth be told, Jefferson's not quite sure what reaction he was expecting. Disgust, probably, at his weakness. Or wariness over the fact that there's something just not right about him. But this is something closer to solidarity... ]

I have... [ Why should such a simple question be so difficult for him? Maybe it's because he's drunk that he stumbles over it, then practically chokes on his response. ] I don't have anyone.

[ And the sad thing is, it rings so true, even through all the memories muddled with fantasies swirling around in his head. He may not know which way's up or down, but he knows he has nobody.

But, hey, at least this extra layer of sadness makes him go a bit loose limbed and easy to drag around-- preferably to someplace to sit down while Rumlow shoves some water at him. ]

[Christ, this is pathetic. It doesn't really make him disdainful or anything, because Rumlow doesn't really know this guy. He could have a real reason to be this upset -- given he claims he doesn't have anyone, that seems pretty typical. But Hell, if he's saying shit like he doesn't belong, maybe he's onto something.

Rumlow sure as Hell is certain he doesn't.

He tucks his arm around the guy's waist and leads him towards a table. Sits him down and goes to quickly fetch a glass of water from the bar. He comes back in short order, settling it down in front of him. He sits down next to him, half to physically keep him propped up, half to make a barrier between the guy and the deputy. Rumlow's arm even goes around his shoulder.]

Nah, don't believe that for a second. Good looking guy like you.

[Yeah, he's buttering him up, but Hell it might put him in a better mood. That's the real aim anyway. And well. It's not a lie, either.]

[ It's good, he finds, to be sitting. It makes him feel less like the world's going to get yanked out from under him. Gets him to stop thinking about swirling vortexes and rabbit holes. It takes all his willpower not to slump over the table and bury his face in his arms. Instead, he just slumps against the man when he returns, using him to stay upright. He stares at the cup of water dully, then startles as an arm goes around his shoulder.

He radiates strength, like he's the total opposite of Jefferson. He looks at the man, brow furrowed, trying to study him. ] Are you hitting on me?

[ Look, he's drunk; he's not reading social cues that well. And it doesn't matter what the answer is, because Jefferson's just going to continue: ]

I had... this... breakup. A while ago. It was bad. [ At least, he's pretty sure it was bad. Anytime he tried to put the pieces together, all he could feel was an overwhelming negativity, frustration, and hostility surrounding that relationship. Recent interactions with Howard, since both of their accidents, only seemed to confirm that whatever the circumstances, their breakup was far from amicable. ] So... [ He smiles ruefully, then laughs again, rubbing his eyes. ] Pretty sure I'm damaged goods.

Edited 2017-03-17 22:18 (UTC)

[Is Rumlow hitting on him? Sort of. It's mostly a distraction, but if it makes the guy feel better. He's supposed to be married, but he's not exactly planning on following through so. He decides to leave the answer unsaid. Besides, the guy's moving on with more to say, so Rumlow listens. He's hoping to hear more about why the guy believes he doesn't belong -- as long as he keeps his volume at a nice whisper.

A breakup does explain things. A bad one, even more so. Rumlow doesn't really know if he's experienced one or not, but he gets the impression he hasn't dated a lot. Which seems odd because he's clearly a catch. Maybe he just fucks.]

Breakup doesn't make you damaged goods. [Rumlow says, nudging the glass closer towards the guy.] Just means you've gotta take some time to recover. Think of it like any other loss in a fight. Maybe you've got a busted lip, black eye. Shit heals in time, and you work towards getting better so you can kick its ass the next time. Yeah?

[ He dips his head, resting it on the other man's shoulder, even if he doesn't know his name yet. It's not that Jefferson's being flirtatious or anything; he just feels so... boneless right now, it's easier to sink against another person. ]

No... I was damaged before. Crazy. Probably drove him crazy, too. [ The glass goes ignored still, if only because he doesn't feel like sitting fully upright again just yet. ]

What if... you lose your head? [ He lifts a hand up to his scarf, tugging at it absent mindedly. ] Can you come back from that?

Guess it depends on how you deal with it. Do you realize you've lost your head and stick to a plan to get it back, or do you give up and let it all roll downhill. Metaphorically speaking.

[Rumlow can't really say whether he believes if the guy's crazy or not. He's willing to cut people around here a lot of slack, given that he's got a whole lot of conflicting memories himself. He doesn't know who the guy's ex is either, but at least he knows he likes men. That's one concrete piece of information, aside from the tea shop.

He sort of starts to pet the guy as they sit there. Rumlow hopes maybe a little more comfort will get him calm and stable enough to have that water. At first he's just rubbing at his shoulder, part of his back, and then his elbow bends, hand moving to the back of the guy's head. He responds well to physical affection, that much is obvious. Makes Rumlow think two things. Either he's starved for it, or that he doesn't regularly get physical abuse. Kind of on opposite ends of the spectrum, but he's not a professional. Or is he?]

If you can find the strength to overcome, then you don't let yourself be broken.

No... [ He turns his head, so that he's practically murmuring into the man's neck. Could make it difficult to understand his next words: ] I mean literally...

[ It's one memory/delusion that's been particularly persistent, ever since his accident. Off with his head, whispered into the Knave's ear. Off with his head.

His eyes shut, and for once today, he's starting to feel a little relaxed. He's been absolutely starved of physical affection for so long. (Decades, he thinks, which doesn't make much sense, because he isn't that old.)

Jefferson shifts his head again, so that he's no longer pressing his face into the crook of the man's neck. Opening his eyes, he stares out at the people reveling and celebrating all along Main Street. ]

It might be too late for that. I think... I belong in a hospital.

[Even as close as the guy is, Rumlow can't quite make sense of his words, too muffled in the skin of his throat. He thinks about asking, but maybe it's better to let it go. He just keeps stroking up the back of his head, keeps him close. The guy is so miserable, it sort of triggers something inside Rumlow. An urge he's not really sure how to place.

The guy shifts slightly and Rumlow feels a want to pull him closer. He hears his words, but he doesn't. A phrase floats through his mind, but it comes in pieces and Rumlow doesn't recognize the voice. Something about crazy and something he's not supposed to do.

The stubble on his face rubs lightly against the other guy's, which about when Rumlow figures he should probably ask his name. He probably wears a tag at the tea shop, but it's escaping him. Here he is, fucking cuddling the guy and he has no idea what to call him. He can't even really blame the whiskey he drank earlier, but he's only had like two shots.]

The fact that you're saying you belong in a hospital makes me think you're gonna be okay, kid. C'mon, have some water. Rumlow, by the way. Or Brock, I guess, if you prefer first names.

[ Jefferson's too far intoxicated to even consider the absurdity of the two of them right now. He's cuddling with a stranger like they're on a date or something, and despite his misery, it's peaceful in a way that he hasn't really felt since his accident-- except, he thinks, for that time Kenzi came into the shop after her own accident.

But this is different from that, too. More intimate, despite not even knowing the man's name. Not until he finally says it. ]

'Kid'... [ Jefferson laughs, but not in that same, borderline hysterical way as before. There's no harsh edge to it. ] Nobody calls me that.

[ But he seems comforted enough to finally pull himself fully upright again, and he reaches for the water as prompted. He's trying to smile, but it's still not coming to him easily, not after the drunken outburst he had or the persistent noise of too many lives lived in his head. ]

I'm Jefferson.

[Jefferson. Well, that's definitely not Bucky Barnes. He doesn't remember anyone named that in Kenzi's family, but then, he hardly remembers much to begin with. He'll have to ask her later. For now, he's going to keep Jefferson calm. Rumlow peeks over at the deputy. Guy's gone now, and Rumlow lets out a quiet sigh of relief.

He offers Jefferson a little smile, though he's not sure he can see it, since he's going for the water. He strokes his back, encouraging slow, easy sips. Pushes his fingers up his back and into the hair at the nape of his neck.]

Well, unless you hate it, I'd get used to it. Kinda a habit of mine. Anyway, odd circumstance aside, good to meet you, Jefferson.

[Rumlow keeps close, in case Jefferson tips or something. His thigh is pressed against his, knowing a solid weight is welcome when you've been drinking.]

[ He's drunk enough that he doesn't think anything of the fact that Rumlow's still rubbing his back as he drinks. It's just nice to be close to somebody, to have them be kind to him, so that's really what he focuses on.

It's when he starts to become aware of how close Rumlow's fingers are to his neck-- to the scar that circles it-- that Jefferson starts to tense a little, pausing in his sips. Nobody touches him there-- nobody really touches him anywhere, but especially not there. And though Rumlow isn't digging under his scarf to get at the scar, Jefferson's still stricken by how he's suddenly over-aware of the mark around his neck.

He sets the cup down and shifts slightly, a little flushed from drinking and the closeness of their bodies. But he's a little more grounded now, enough that he's more careful with his words for the time being. So he won't say anything about beheadings or fairytales. He just turns his face towards Rumlow's again. ]

I don't hate it. And... thanks for helping me out. [ Finally, he manages a little smile, his voice turning teasing. ] So... You think I'm good looking, huh?

Edited 2017-03-18 02:47 (UTC)

[Feeling the tension in Jefferson's body, Rumlow skims over his neck on the next pass. Some people just have issues there. Ticklish or sensitive. Whatever. He'll be courteous. No need to get the guy all wound up again. He sticks to his hair, fingers carding through the short crop at the back. He stalls when Jefferson turns, hand sliding down to his shoulder instead.

The smile earns him one in turn, though Rumlow's is far less hesitant. His success pleases him and the little flirtation is a bonus. He lifts his brows and shrugs.]

I said that, didn't I? [He grins.] But yeah. You got a good look.

[One remarkably similar to his wife's cousin, who is probably the same person that Rumlow once felt admiration for when he was a kid, learning about the Howling Commandos in school.]

[ He keeps staring at the other man, getting a longer, clearer look at Rumlow than he had before, too preoccupied with his own misery. If he had all of his memories intact, if he even knew which were real and which weren't, he'd be reacting to this with far more calculation than he is in this moment. Right now he's simply too raw and vulnerable, and those old con artist instincts have been buried under the fairy tales and fantasies plaguing him.

Right now, he's Jefferson of Storybrooke. Or Wayward Pines. He can hardly tell the two apart. All he knows is that he's drunk and lonely and longing for any sort of connection to distract himself from that. And this man's been kind to him. He has a kind face, kind eyes.

'A good look.' He laughs again, his smile getting brighter. The last person to comment on his appearance only did it to insult him, as if it'd be ludicrous for anyone to find him attractive. He didn't buy into any of those petty insults-- they were irritating, but they didn't wound him or anything-- but it's nice to hear a compliment all the same. ]

Thank you...

[ His gaze flickers between Rumlow's eyes, then his lips-- and the stubble surrounding them-- and without thinking, Jefferson plants a quick, impulsive, drunken kiss on him. There's hardly any finesse to it, him being in the state that he's in, and he pulls back pretty quickly, suddenly feeling foolish. ]

Sorry-- I'm sorry. That was-- [ Inappropriate? Embarrassing? It likely depends on Rumlow's own reaction. ]

[It's a good smile. Reminds Rumlow of an old news reel he saw back in school. It's a pretty clear memory, compared to most. He would think it's odd, except Jefferson's thanking him and he's planning on offering a reply, except instead he's getting kissed and wow -- yeah, that tastes like booze but fuck it's kind of hot.

But Jefferson calls it quits before Rumlow can even get into it, pulling back and saying he's sorry. Which really, he ought to go with because the reason he's here is his wife. He doesn't want to make him feel worse though. Kid is drunk and sad enough as it is.]

Hey, I'm not mad. [Does he look mad? Rumlow tugs him closer, going for reassuring. He's not going to mention Kenzi, since that's a fast track to guilt, so he focuses on trying to keep Jefferson's mood up.] Your ex here? If he is, maybe you oughta kiss me some more.

[Rumlow says, joking. He even shows a playful grin, as he gives Jefferson's shoulder a little squeeze.]

[ He forces a sheepish laugh. Well, at least Brock isn't mad-- he's even being kind and comforting still, which is a relief. He resolves now to try not to make a fool of himself, despite the alcohol's effect on his impulse control and his tongue.

...and that lasts about as long as it takes for Rumlow to mention his ex. The truth is: he doesn't care about Howard. Whether or not he's here or he sees, it doesn't mean anything to Jefferson. What does matter to him, however, is whether other people see. Maybe if they do, they'll stop asking him about Howard, assuming that Jefferson's still with him or that he's heartbroken over the breakup that he barely remembers. Neither of which are true.

And he only takes that grin and the affectionate shoulder squeeze as the go-ahead. With a mischievous smirk, one that hints that there's more to him than the miserable, ranting drunk Rumlow came across, Jefferson brings one hand up to Rumlow's jaw and kisses him once again. It's not as chaste as before-- more open-mouthed-- and certainly not as brief. His hand slides up until his fingers can get a grip on the other man's hair-- short, but long enough to get a grip on.

There. Maybe that'll put a stop to the questions. ]

[Yeah, hi, Kenzi's got a few questions! Like... when did this start? Why is this happening? Why is it incredibly attractive and kind of turning her on?

The answer to most of her questions is probably alcohol. It's the reason she wandered off in the first place, which is probably what got this sexy, dude-on-dude ball rolling. It's also the reason she wandered back because her husband, yes, husband, is holding the cash because she is too drunk to be trusted.

She's not too drunk to stealthily grab a seat across from the two of them, fold her arms on the table, and rest her chin on top of them to quietly watch. Please don't let her interrupt. You guys can keep going. It's fine. She's just staring with a half smirk on her face.

When they DO notice her, she just waves with her left hand. Look at those diamonds SPARKLE!]

Brock, this is Jeff, Jeff, Brock. I didn't even get to say now kiss.

[It isn't like Rumlow can't see the kiss coming from a mile away, the way Jefferson's hand comes for his face. He should stop him, and should is the imperative word here. Except that same feeling from before, the rumbling, growling sensation that resonates inside, surges up. Makes him kiss back, pushes that self-control into a corner so he can lick his way into Jefferson's mouth. Those fingers in his hair make a good case for getting rougher, Rumlow's hand taking a grip on the lapel of Jefferson's coat, keeping him here.

It feels like it goes on for a hot minute before Rumlow realizes something is off. He cracks an eye open and stops mid-kiss to see his wife sitting pretty right across from them. Busted.

Except, Kenzi doesn't seem particularly bothered at all. If anything, she looks amused. He pulls back enough from Jefferson to let the guy breathe, glancing between the two. Oh. She knows him. Wait, of course she knows him -- he's the guy from the tea shop she likes.]

You don't seem too upset.

[Maybe not the best opener, but he's caught a little off guard by her attitude. Is his wife actually this cool?]

[ Rumlow notices Kenzi before Jefferson does. He's too wrapped up in the kiss, which feels like his first real kiss in... again, decades. Which is so long that by that logic, he'd have never been kissed before. Except he has, he thinks. He must have. He certainly doesn't kiss like somebody experiencing it for the first time. Drunk as he is, Jefferson still knows how to welcome Brock's tongue into his mouth, to reciprocate. Like he's done it a thousand times before, even if it feels like he's gone an entire lifetime without.

He hears somebody speak, but it doesn't register. Not until Rumlow breaks it off, leaving him catching his breath and then-- cue wide eyed horror as Jefferson turns his head to see who the other man's addressing.

Kenzi. His regular customer/friend? He can consider her a friend, right? She's certainly been a little dose of sunshine in his life, and here he is, kissing... her husband. The one she told him about. And even if she doesn't seem upset, he's mortified. ]

I didn't know-- I'm sorry-- Uh...

[ TIME TO RUN AWAY. Or try. He's not very quick on his feet right now. And it doesn't help that the alcohol still in his system has him feeling dizzy and lightheaded the second he tries to shoot up to his feet-- oh, and Rumlow's still holding onto his coat, which has the effect of him stumbling rather than standing, crashing onto the ground. ]

Edited 2017-03-18 16:05 (UTC)

[Kenzi shrugs, stretching her arms out over her head and leaning a little too far to the side because what are inhibitions?! and what is balance? She's still got a smile on her face and that's what matters.]

Whatevs. I'm not your warden, I'm your wife. Means I get the shiny, shiny ring and the house and food.

[Aaaaaaand Jefferson's freaking out. See? What is balance? He doesn't know either. Kenzi pathetically tries to reach for him over the table, accomplishing nothing except her laying flat on the table while he falls dramatically like a drunk tree. Tiiiimberrrr.]

Dude, you are ... legit wasted.

[She starts laughing because, wow, so is she. This is AWESOME! Two of her fave people in the same place. What a good night.]

[As Jefferson tumbles, Rumlow attempts to catch him, but seated the way he is, it doesn't really work. He sort of feels bad because it's kind of his fault, since he'd been holding onto his coat. He stands and moves to pluck him off the ground, dusting him off while looking to Kenzi, who is still remarkably really chill with this. How did he find a chick like her? He'd guess it's a perk of a green card marriage, except it's also really clear the affection between them is legitimate. Maybe she's just okay with open relationships? They'll have to talk about it.

Anyway. Now that he's got Jefferson upright, he stands next to him, steadying him so he doesn't tip over again. Absently, Rumlow smooths Jefferson's hair, clearing his throat and trying to think of something else to say. The guy is pretty wasted, considering what he'd been rambling about when Rumlow came across him. He's got no such excuse himself though.]

Maybe we ought to get him home.

[He gives Kenzi a pointed look and then turns back to Jefferson, who seems to be swaying slightly. Yep, he definitely needs some more water and a bed. Is he the only sober one here? Well, relatively sober. He's still got a decent buzz.]

[ Surprisingly, he actually laughs, too, his mortification seeming to pass. ] My hero.

[ Thank goodness for Rumlow for the second time tonight. Otherwise, Jefferson would probably take ages to find both his feet solidly on the ground again. He may be leaning pretty heavily against Rumlow now, using him to stay standing, trying hard not to smile too much when the other man actually fusses over his hair. That's nice. Why aren't people nice to him like this more often?

(Maybe if Jefferson wasn't so stand-offish and weird so much of the time...)

His fingers curl around Brock's bicep, clinging to him as he tries not to sway too much. He's sort of following the conversation between the two, interjecting with: ]

Motel... I don't have a home.

Edited 2017-03-18 17:00 (UTC)

[What's she gonna do? Freak out and make a scene? Jefferon's drunk, he's been through a lot of shit, there's memory loss stuff going on, and it was actually kinda hot. Plus, Jefferson's her friend. She doesn't want to scratch his eyes out or pull his hair. She wants to help him.

Kenzi pushes herself up off the table and manages to walk in a mostly straight line to grab Jefferson's other arm and put it over her shoulders. There. Now he has two people supporting his drunkenness. One is significantly shorter than the other, like slanted book ends.]

Sounds like a plan. We have like... sooooooo much room so just deal with it. Your motel is gross.

[She starts to snicker, staring at Rumlow,] You just wanna makeout with him more. I'm the only good intentions... person... even here right now! I'm the best one.

(catch-all) the storm & the st. paddy's day festival

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