entrancelogs | eenie meenie miney moe

Entry tags:

eenie meenie miney moe

Who: Michonne and YOU
Where: around the mansion
When: June 1
Rating: ~~PG-13 maybe? Probably?~~ Or R, ~~we just don't know.~~ WE NOW KNOW.
Summary: Michonne left for a canon update and is back just in time to not be IT.
The Story:

main entrance/foyer/whatever it's called

[She's going to kill Negan. The same way she killed the Governor, she's going to take her katana and run it straight through his heart. And if he kills her first with that fucking bat, she knows Rick will kill him. Bound with her hands behind her back, she subtly glances down the line of all of them on their knees, feeling rage seize in her gut when Negan gets close to Carl. Clenching her jaw, she listens to him go on and on, and she knows, one look at Rick and she knows, someone's going to die. This isn't a joke, this isn't an idle threat. One of them is about to meet the end of a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.

The rage fades to fear, something she hasn't felt since Carl was shot in the face, and she's shaking as Negan counts them down, using a child's rhyme to taunt them all. When he points at her with the bat, Michonne looks at him defiantly, but as he picks she closes her eyes, squeezes them shut for a moment, too afraid to see who it is before needing to know. But then she's on her knees in Wonderland, inside the mansion. She knows exactly where she is, and air leaves her lungs in a loud, guttural cry as she pitches forward, hands still tied behind her back, a sob wracking her frame with her forehead touching the ground. Someone's about to die and she's back here. Safe.

Pulling herself together she clumsily stands, taking a deep breath and looking around. One of her locs has been crudely cut from her head, but aside from that (and her restrained hands), she looks about the same as she did when she left. She just needs a little help with the ropes.]

video message sent from the bar (action optional)

[She doesn't go back to her room just yet, instead she goes where she knows people will be, people she can surround herself with and know she's safe. She settles in with tequila, starting a video message. It's recording for a good minute before she finds her words.]

I left. That's the second time it's happened in less than a year. But, I'm back now, and as per usual, nothing good happened, so. You need me, I'm in the bar.

[She wants to see the people she calls friends, family. Right now though, she just can't make it room to room.]

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[It's just by pure, absolutely stupid luck that John is walking back into the mansion as Michonne lands back there. He's been out and about- shooting, of course, because being cooped up in this crazy house for too long wears at his sanity a bit. Even if it looks weird, at least there's the illusion of freedom outside.

He doesn't really focus on her at first, more intent on getting to the kitchen for lucnch than anything. But it registers that something is up pretty fast. It's the, ah, rope situation, really. That's definitely not something you see everyday.]

Michonne?

[John frowns, hefting his shooting duffle to the ground. He's got a knife in there somewhere, but maybe his pocket knife will be enough to cut those.]

What's going on?

Edited 2016-06-01 15:45 (UTC)

[As soon as she hears that voice, everything in her tenses and it doesn't click, not at first - this is Wonderland, different person. All she hears is Negan, all she sees is that bat going up, his body poised to let it fly, and she wants to kill him. She wants him dead, even if he won't stay gone here, she needs him down.

Michonne just barely looks up before barreling forward, slamming all of her body weight into him in order to get him to the ground. Her hands are still behind her back, but she has teeth, and she just might take a page from Rick's book and rip Negan's throat out.]

[ Simon's in his customary place behind the bar when she walks in and his eyes widen at the sight of her, dishrag dropped as he comes out from behind the bar to approach. ]

Shit, you're back. Are you hurt?

[The correct answer should be easy: no, she's not hurt. Well, she wasn't when she got here. Now she may have a bruise or two, but that's a separate thing. Still, she's trying to make herself talk, and there's something about seeing Simon (he's real, this is all real and she's back in Wonderland), that finally short circuits her brain. It takes long enough that he should know she's fine but not okay, but finally she nods.]

Not hurt. Just...here again.

[He's not as quick as he used to be, or slick, but it doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure out that someone barreling at you full tilt means some shit's going on. He doesn't have have time to move before she runs into him full speed, like a train off the rails. She pushes him back hand trips him over his duffel, and they both go crashing to the ground hard

Theres a lot of words coming out of his mouth, but like hell if he knows what they are. A lot of swearing, probably, and some of it in a few different languages.]

Jesus- shit!

[It's like the time Evie came at him swinging, except it isn't at all because John knows full well this woman could probably kill a man with her hands tied behind her back. Literally, apparently.

He doesn't want to hurt her, really, but panic and self preservation are a hell of a thing. One large hand goes to her that, trying to hold her back and maybe to try and reason with her.]

[ Her not-so-certain answer doesn't stop him however as he comes up and drags her into a hug, warm and tight, relief written plainly on his features.

He doesn't linger, though - doesn't want to startle her or make her uncomfortable, although he does give her a tug towards the nearest table. ]

Come on, sit down. I'll get you some food. Drink. Whatever you want.

[Once he has his hand around her throat that makes it so much worse, and without thinking, she extends one leg back, then draws it forward again, kneeing him hard right in the damn family jewels.]

I'm gonna fucking kill you.

[She doesn't make idle threats, either.]

Maybe get a bat just like yours, beat the living shit out of you.

[At least this time she doesn't smell like death, right? It has to count for something, and she does sort of hug him back, leaning into it before letting him sit her down at a table.]

Tequila. A bottle. A bottle of tequila, forget the limes and salt.

[Absently, she rubs at her wrists that have a little rope burn on them, though it's slightly hard to see against her skin.]

[ There's a training dummy with plenty of angry bullet holes from the time she was gone, and there's Philip pacing in his room after the message, because-- Because she's back, and she remembers, and those are both good things, which - if the rest of his life is any indication - means there's a massive catch he just isn't seeing yet. He'd take a bottle or two and agonise about that at the bar, but- well. That goes against the whole idea of staunchly avoiding her, doesn't it?

--Then again, maybe it's just a plain bad idea. Never made anything better either, did it? So maybe take a bloody risk for a change.

Christ, and Philip wishes he wasn't already dressed and ready to go, because he could use the procedure to brace himself. Just combs through his hair for a second then, and washes his hands like they need it, because he's got to have something.

Because a minute later he sits down next to her, two glasses and one bottle of whiskey ready at hand. ]

So here's how I thought we could spend our evening: Step one, I start pouring. Step two, I don't ever stop pouring.

[When she sees him, and then hears him, it takes a few seconds for her mind to catch up to the fact that he's in her head, but then there's something like relief on her face to see Philip, to know he's still here, and then she realizes she definitely, absolutely should have gone to see him.]

Shit. I should've...I'm sorry it was the message and not me coming to see you. I wasn't even thinking.

[She tackled John Winchester and tried to kill him in a case of mistaken identity, so that's about how her time back is going SO FAR.]

But yeah, you keep pouring until the bottle's empty.

[Okay, so many the throat wasn't such a great idea. But in his defense, it was split second decision, and he'd rather not get the empty pistol out of his waistband and deal with her that way. But he'll, if he was going to escalate the situation maybe he should've just gone with Plan A.

Unfortunately, her knee hits him full force, and he curls in on himself with a choked yell. Whatever the fuck has gotten into her, it's not cool. But he can't even let himself have a moment to wallow in the pain, because something tells him he's gonna die if he does.

Specifically, she does. She tells him that.]

What the hell are you talking about?!

[Bat? What the fuck? He's got a baseball bat next to his and Mary's bed, yeah, but that's for emergencies. And he hasn't even touched it since he put it there. Blunt force trauma hasn't ever really been his style.

Fighting back a hell of a lot of nausea, he does about the only thing he can now: he leans back, and headbutts Michonne as hard has he can in the nose.]

Edited (fucking. I'm on mobile I'm so sorry) 2016-06-01 20:51 (UTC)

[ That? That gets her confusion before anything else. Because if you expect the worst, and add something more awful for good measure, then- well, then it leaves you sort of stumped if you get a genuine apology for something that falls somewhere square in the middle, much closer to good than anything he had on his mind.

He blinks. And when Philip recovers, he shakes his head laughing. ]

Look, I don't have to introduce myself to you again. That just about covers everything I'd want to ask of this place.

[ A more serious expression again. The first glass, for the both of them. ]

Besides, I'm guessing this isn't the celebratory type of drink, so I reckon you had other things on your mind. [ A beat. ] It's been just a bit over a week, here.

[ In case she wants to know, in case she hasn't been told. In case she wants to follow that up with how long she's been gone on her end. ]

_{[A morning of trying to coax a stubborn kitten into using the litter box results in kitty litter sprayed all over the floor and a cut on the bottom of Anders' foot when he accidentally steps on some wrong in bare feet. Ugh.

Do you know how hard it is to clean that stuff up after it gets into every conceivable crack and crevice? Surfing the network is his way of taking a break from the mayhem, and soon enough Michonne's video catches his eye.

Device in hand, Anders considers replying... then thinks better of it. He can take his breather in the bar as well as anywhere else, hence how Michonne comes to have a mage waltz into the bar and hop onto a seat beside her soon after, with only a moment's glance around the room to find her.]}

I saw your message! I've taken it upon myself to come and be the good news angel on your shoulder. You already seem to have bad news covered.

_{[And he's wearing feathers on his pauldrons--it's an appropriate image! Let's forget the fact he doesn't have an angelic bone in his body.]}

[The headbutt gets her down on her side, feeling a crack, definitely feeling the warmth of blood from her nose. She stays down though, breathing hard as his words sink in.

Fuck. She coughs, rolling onto her back, immediately tasting blood in the back of her throat.]

Negan. Negan, he's...you're him. You have the same face.

[But this is John Winchester, and she closes her eyes, shoulders burning because of the position she's in. Even so, she doesn't move.]

[She does like knowing how long she was gone, and she looks up at him, eyes moving over his face.]

Over a week? Glad I still know your face.

[Michonne takes the glass and in a move that suggests something really shitty is going on, she downs the whole thing before putting the glass down, nudging it back to him.]

I just tried to kill John Winchester. So. My re-arrival could have been better timed.

[ He's spent the last few days since arriving just trying to adjust. He's talked to people, tried to get a sense of the people he's stuck with and what they're capable of. Not everyone here can be trusted, and it's gonna take some time to weed them out, know who to turn to and who to avoid like hell. He hasn't spoken to Jane, hasn't wanted to, but she intrudes on his thoughts anyway, right at the edge, and he can't seem to completely push her away.

He's heading upstairs to his room when he sees someone struggling, her hands bound. Rushing forward, Kurt reaches out to help get the restraints off. ]

Ma'am, you alright? I'll get you out of this.

[She honestly would laugh if her nose wasn't (probably) broken and she wasn't already well on her way to drunk. But he still gets a look of something close to amusement.]

So. What's the good news?

[No offense Kurt, but you're not a familiar face, and for a second she steps back, looking at him like maybe he spoke to her through a second head.]

Who the fuck are you?

[Which isn't exactly a way to win friends, but she's been through something traumatic, here. And he'll probably recognize that on her face, fear, panic, general wariness.]

_{[Maybe it'd be better if Michonne didn't find a speck of humor in the situation and try to laugh. It looks like laughing would be painful right about now--painful and probably a little too close to crying.

Taking this all in on his first glance, Anders hardly pauses before plunging ahead, shifting into a comfortable perch like he'd always meant to be there and Michonne's message had merely been fortuitous timing.]}

The good news is... _{[A furtive glance around, then Anders is leaning his long torso over the bar to take an empty glass for himself.]} You don't have to drink alone.

_[Tada!]

I could also do something about...

_{[Anders gestures to--well, all of her. All her bumps and bruises, bloody nose included.]}

[He's trying, and he's here, so that's all that matters, really. She'll appreciate the hell out of this later.

Looking at him when he vaguely offers to help, she pauses, watching him for a second.]

Do something? Like what?

[ He smiles, and doesn't say another thing to that, because he knows it'll come out something weird. Because the truth is that he really needed her to, that it means entirely too much to him that she still does. ]

John Winchester, really? [ And then he laughs, because Jesus Christ. ] I'm not so sure about bad timing, he could do with a bit of killing now and then.

[ He wasn't paying attention to his own drink, still not a drop less than before, but he fills her glass back up immediately. ]

Wait, did he do that to your nose? Do you need me to finish the job?

[ He's joking, of course. Well, as of course as it gets as long as she doesn't actually make that request in earnest, because he's good for it. ]

Edited 2016-06-02 21:03 (UTC)

[ He recognizes that wild, deep-rooted panic the moment she turns on him. Most people would be grateful about having their hands untied, but he's been an Agent long enough to know a traumatic situation can escalate fear quickly. He needs to make it clear he's one of the good guys, here to help. So he steps back before he's gotten her unbound, holding his hands up so she can see he has no weapon. ]

Kurt Weller. I just wanna help.

[She's breathing hard just watching him for a few seconds before finally nodding and turning her back just a little, enough that she can bolt away from him if she needs to.]

This is Wonderland?

[She just needs to be sure, even though it looks right, she needs to head him say it, that she's really back.]

[ He doesn't miss the action, his gaze narrowing in on the raw skin of her wrists and his jaw clenching slightly - an expression he hides as he fetches her a bottle of tequila and a plate of food before coming back to place it in front of her and sink down across from her, his gaze searching her face. ]

You wanna talk about it?

[Meanwhile, John takes the lull in murderrage to curl up on his side and try not to vomit. Holy shit, she got him good. Reminder: whatever the fuck he did, don't do it again or else he'll be singing soprano permanently.]

John. My name is John. [He groans, forcing himself into a sitting position. She looks...not great. He hit her a little too hard, looks like.] Do you remember anything? Wonderland? Adam? The brownies?

[WE GOT HIGH TOGETHER, MICHONNE.]

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