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

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.

Okay, you're both drunk. Time to get you home.

[It's not an attempt to stop Kenzi from saying embarrassing (and true) things. Besides, the sooner they get home, the less he has to worry about regarding the constabulary. He doesn't know if that deputy is going to come back or if the ploy of PDA -- yes, that's what he's calling it -- worked.

He hooks his arm around Jefferson, tracking a path out of here with the least amount of obstacles in the way. It would probably just be easier to carry the guy, really and keep Kenzi next to him so if she trips, she doesn't drag them all down. He glances towards his wife.]

Think I'm gonna make this easier. [He shifts, putting his arms around Jefferson's waist and quite easily scoops him up into his arms. It probably looks ridiculous, given Jefferson is not a short man, and now he's being carried like a baby, but it'll keep him from getting dizzy.] All right. Kenzi, grab onto my arm.

[ Honestly, if they have a spare room to dump him in, Jefferson won't protest. The prospect of going back to his motel room isn't something he finds particularly appealing right now. So, sure, he'll go home with this nice couple and sleep off the booze.

...

It's a really good thing they're not serial killers.

He looks at Kenzi, offering a drunk and apologetic smile. ]

Hi... Sorry I kissed your husband...

[ There's a sentence that triggers some deja vu, like he's been caught kissing somebody else's spouse before. Huh. Jefferson blinks blearily and lets Brock guide him, though he doesn't register when he's being lifted up until the world spins and suddenly he's in Rumlow's arms.

Like a bride.

What a strange feeling. Whatever. He won't protest, because it beats trying to walk right now. He just wraps his arms around the other man's shoulders and nestles his face in the crook of Brock's neck, murmuring: ]

You're strong.

[ Carrying all 160 lbs of him like that. All in all, he supposes this isn't such a bad end to what had been a pretty lousy day. ]

Edited 2017-03-18 17:32 (UTC)

I'm not drunk. All the stuff I drank was green.

[That ... that makes no sense, Kenzi. It's not an excuse. You're totally trashed.

Awwwwwwwwh, Jefferson apologized!? Kenzi smiles right back at him, totally touched that he cared enough about their budding friendship to apologize! What a bro.]

It's okaaay. Don't even-- ... don't worry about it. [He gets a wobbly, drunken smooch to the cheek that kind of lands on his jaw because what even is depth perception right now. And then Rumlow's scooping him up and Kenzi suddenly feels so much lighter!

She grabs onto Rumlow's arm, a little petulant, but otherwise okay with it.]

I'm fine. I can walk by myself. I've got LEGS, Brock of Ages. [But she is prone to wandering off and Rumlow's got his hands full. Literally. She can see the logic behind hanging onto him. It keeps them together.]

[At least Jefferson is apologizing to Kenzi -- not that she really seems to give a single fuck. She might in the morning, but he's sober enough to vouch for Jefferson if the apology needs repeating. Guy is lanky, but he's not so heavy that Rumlow can't carry him a few blocks home. They'll just have to take it slow to make sure they don't slip.

He does smile at Kenzi's kiss, even if she ends up with her lips on the rough stubble of his jaw. He starts walking, rolling his eyes in amusement at her nickname. He's really got to come up with something stupid for her.]

Don't need you Russian around is all.

[There. That's suitably dumb for now. No one seems to bother or even really notice them leaving the festivities and that's just fine with Rumlow. He just wants an easy walk back home so he can put these lushes to bed and deal with shit in the morning. He's sure there will be a lot to discuss.]

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