[Flathead National Forest, Montana. Deep into a November freeze in the middle of the woods, far off the hiking trails and as far as humanly possible from the campgrounds.
In over 3,000 square miles of wilderness there are maybe a handful of human beings. At this time of year, most of them are park rangers living and working in tiny little heated facilities.
Except one of those rangers isn't also one of the humans. There's a small building in a game reserve area that used to be a wildlife rescue station, long since closed and stripped of funding and connection to the electric grid. It's a slaughterhouse now. Or it was a few months ago- it's more like a sick graveyard now. And while there are deer and what look like some remnants of a moose throughout the place, the majority of the half-frozen, half-rotted meat are the remains of three hikers who'd gone missing in the fall.
The man- if you can call him a man- responsible did this same thing over a century and a half ago, and was gunned down by Wyatt Earp in a place far, far from here. He's set up shop in the southernmost tip of the Ghost River Triangle, and Black Badge has caught his scent.
And has assumed that sending the Earp Heir after him alone will either take care of one problem or another.
So when she picks up on the fact that she isn't the only one tracking the guy, and has the vague sense of being watched on occasion, she leaves a note in a sandwich bag, weighed down with a rock in the middle of her campsite. Handwritten in pastel purple Sharpie on a mint-green post-it, because she'd stolen her writing supplies for the trip from Waverly. It reads in quickly-scrawled, blocky letters]
If you're gonna follow me, at least say hi so I know you're not trying to kill me.
[If he's watched Wynonna long enough while she's been out here, it'd be easy to tell she knows what she's doing when it comes to living out in the cold. But what the everloving fuck is she carrying? That long-barreled revolver looks like it belongs in a museum.
Her camp is sufficiently hidden and trap-laden for the average person, but it's nothing Frank would have trouble getting past. There are also some symbols painted onto some trees, and a few weird not-quite windchimes (the don't actually make any noise) made from some shimmery gemstone hung on cotton rope.]
[ he should be used to this fucked up shit by now, living in new york, but as he skates by her defenses, the symbols are the first thing that catch his eye. maybe she's just crazy...? it would explain the gun, but he's still not about to let her get taken by that monster. none of this weird shit will protect her then. he crouches when he sees the note, hitching a lopsided smile as he reads it, then slips it into his pocket. well, okay then, his mama and the us government had instilled some manners into him, believe it or not.
the bear traps aren't a bad touch, though if she didn't start shooting at him right away he'd teach her how to hide 'em better. his side touches to one of the trees she marked up, his favored M1911A1 clutched dutifully in calloused palms. she isn't the only one who can appreciate a relic, even if his is a new spin on an old favorite. he clears his throat to announce his presence, his steps falling silent until now despite heavy combat boots supporting an even heavier man. there's a reason he was reconnaissance, even if of late he'd ditched the subtlety for the most part. ]
Hi.
[ he has his gun trained on her tent, but he doesn't think that's where she'll be coming from, and it makes him smile when he hears her gun cock and the butt of her barrel press cooly against his short haircut. frank raises his arms slowly in surrender and drops the pistol to the forest floor. now he's exactly where he wants to be to get some answers. that only took the better part of a week. lord, she's stubborn. ]
[Peacemaker's barrel stays safely dull, telling her that this man is a man, and not the monster she's looking for- and the fact that he could touch the ammolite charms, never mind being able to come near them. But even monsters can have friends.
When he drops the gun, she lowers hers and takes a step back. The gun is lowered, and no longer pointed directly at him- but she keeps it in her hand.
It's a good stance for a civilian. Proper trigger safety and her feet grounded right where they should be.]
I'd give you the whole "who are you what are you doing" shpiel, but it's cold out here, I'm tired, and my last fuck to give about that was buried with the last snowfall. Just convince me you're not with him and this won't have to get ugly.
[ it's more give than most people give him. not like he minds not being tied up for a change. frank gives her a look while he picks his gun back up slowly and slides it back into the holster at his thigh. she's right about it being cold and he won't mind getting out of the elements either, even if this is some of his favorite weather. even he can freeze and if his bright red nose and eyes are any indication, he's getting close. ]
[ he shrugs. he's a trustworthy guy, for a murderer. then he nods to her question. ]
That's why I came down here. To make sure you- [ were alive. not that he knows why he cares yet. that hinges on her answer, after all. ] You know him, don't you? The bastard who did that. Is he after you?
Well, I don't know-him know-him, but I do know who he is. And no, he hasn't caught on yet that I'm after him. You'd think someone that crazy would be a bit more paranoid, wouldn't you?
[Says the woman with the campsite out of the Blair Witch Project and a gun off the set of Tombstone in her hand.]
[She raises her eyebrows a bit at his instant, unprompted shift from Is This Man Bothering You Ma'am mode into such a casual acceptance. Not that she's questioning it, since, you know. Gift horse. Mouth.]
Cool.
You want some coffee? It's instant, but it's not total shit.
[She can't start moving on the guy til the sun sets. She'll have the higher ground going south, but she'll stand out from a distance if she moves on the snow. Better to let darkness cover her as much as the trees.]
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In over 3,000 square miles of wilderness there are maybe a handful of human beings. At this time of year, most of them are park rangers living and working in tiny little heated facilities.
Except one of those rangers isn't also one of the humans. There's a small building in a game reserve area that used to be a wildlife rescue station, long since closed and stripped of funding and connection to the electric grid.
It's a slaughterhouse now. Or it was a few months ago- it's more like a sick graveyard now. And while there are deer and what look like some remnants of a moose throughout the place, the majority of the half-frozen, half-rotted meat are the remains of three hikers who'd gone missing in the fall.
The man- if you can call him a man- responsible did this same thing over a century and a half ago, and was gunned down by Wyatt Earp in a place far, far from here. He's set up shop in the southernmost tip of the Ghost River Triangle, and Black Badge has caught his scent.
And has assumed that sending the Earp Heir after him alone will either take care of one problem or another.
So when she picks up on the fact that she isn't the only one tracking the guy, and has the vague sense of being watched on occasion, she leaves a note in a sandwich bag, weighed down with a rock in the middle of her campsite. Handwritten in pastel purple Sharpie on a mint-green post-it, because she'd stolen her writing supplies for the trip from Waverly. It reads in quickly-scrawled, blocky letters]
If you're gonna follow me, at least say hi so I know you're not trying to kill me.
[If he's watched Wynonna long enough while she's been out here, it'd be easy to tell she knows what she's doing when it comes to living out in the cold. But what the everloving fuck is she carrying? That long-barreled revolver looks like it belongs in a museum.
Her camp is sufficiently hidden and trap-laden for the average person, but it's nothing Frank would have trouble getting past. There are also some symbols painted onto some trees, and a few weird not-quite windchimes (the don't actually make any noise) made from some shimmery gemstone hung on cotton rope.]
no subject
the bear traps aren't a bad touch, though if she didn't start shooting at him right away he'd teach her how to hide 'em better. his side touches to one of the trees she marked up, his favored M1911A1 clutched dutifully in calloused palms. she isn't the only one who can appreciate a relic, even if his is a new spin on an old favorite. he clears his throat to announce his presence, his steps falling silent until now despite heavy combat boots supporting an even heavier man. there's a reason he was reconnaissance, even if of late he'd ditched the subtlety for the most part. ]
Hi.
[ he has his gun trained on her tent, but he doesn't think that's where she'll be coming from, and it makes him smile when he hears her gun cock and the butt of her barrel press cooly against his short haircut. frank raises his arms slowly in surrender and drops the pistol to the forest floor. now he's exactly where he wants to be to get some answers. that only took the better part of a week. lord, she's stubborn. ]
no subject
When he drops the gun, she lowers hers and takes a step back. The gun is lowered, and no longer pointed directly at him- but she keeps it in her hand.
It's a good stance for a civilian. Proper trigger safety and her feet grounded right where they should be.]
I'd give you the whole "who are you what are you doing" shpiel, but it's cold out here, I'm tired, and my last fuck to give about that was buried with the last snowfall. Just convince me you're not with him and this won't have to get ugly.
no subject
I'm not with him.
[ it's even, soft. he narrows his eyes. ]
Who is he?
no subject
[There is some relieved surprise in her voice, and the sound of the safety on the big, old pistol being put back in place.]
Have you seen the ranger's station? The Montana Hacksaw Massacre back there?
no subject
That's why I came down here. To make sure you- [ were alive. not that he knows why he cares yet. that hinges on her answer, after all. ] You know him, don't you? The bastard who did that. Is he after you?
no subject
[Says the woman with the campsite out of the Blair Witch Project and a gun off the set of Tombstone in her hand.]
no subject
[ because if wynonna came here to kill that guy, he won't stand in her way. saves him the trouble, doesn't it? ]
no subject
Cool.
You want some coffee? It's instant, but it's not total shit.
[She can't start moving on the guy til the sun sets. She'll have the higher ground going south, but she'll stand out from a distance if she moves on the snow. Better to let darkness cover her as much as the trees.]