mischiefxbrew

[mischiefxbrew]

.☘︎ ݁˖ A modern day Sean MacGuire is a mutalist squat punk. He lives... or rather, squats in a place he called The Compound; though it's really just a converted storage unit behind an abandoned laundromat with @snakepitpoetry's Gracie O'Malley. There's a mattress on the floor and murals on the walls. The likes of Emma Goldman, Bakunin, Proudhon, Peter Kropotkin are the anarchist saints in aerosol haloes. There's a news clipping in game that we can read about Darragh (Sean's father), but more specifically this quote from the clipping always stuck with me. Later, he returned to Ireland, where despite being wanted for murder, he became a prominent figure in republican politics and a battle that he and his ilk waged against the "the parasitic aristocracy of Ireland, whether English or Irish". Which suggested to me that beyond fighting against the colonialist structures of England in Ireland, Darragh was at the very least a socialist. If anyone is interested in the rest of this... I will post a follow up! It's living in my head rent free and it has been for years.

[mischiefxbrew]

" It's barely bleeding at all. " Abigail to Sean

 “It’s barely bleedin’ at all, she says!” His voice pitched in volume, just loud enough to cause a small scene in the laze of a warm afternoon around camp. Heads turning and every pair of eyes in camp now trained upon the two of them. He yelped once he'd taken notice of it. Not from the register of pain, but for effect. A man should at least be acknowledged, he thought, for sufferin’ so handsomely. The barely bleeding cut in question is merely a line of red, no more than the width of a thread that ran down his forearm, delicate as it was. It stung more than it hurt, truly. The irritation around the barely-there gape of the wound itself was evident. Now tender as it rose with an irritated swelling from having been nicked. While the laceration proved itself to be troublesome it was hardly a thing that called for funeral rites.  Sean, meanwhile, held his arm as though it had been halfway severed in a mighty battle, limp at the wrist and each digit twitched when somewhere particularly tender was assaulted by the prod of her fingers. As the woman inspected the damage, Sean cradled that damn arm with the theatrical reverence of a wounded soldier in one of those stupid oil paintings hung in grand manors. Sean casted her a look that mingled with betrayal, pathos, and the faintest wee hope of being coddled just to see what buttons of hers he could press until she unraveled with impatience. “Well then, I suppose I’ll just crawl into my grave with dignity, shall I? Someone chisel a poem in the fuckin' marble of me fuckin’ headstone while you’re at it!”

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" Your shirt...is that blood?!" Bill asks.

“Well…” He glanced down at himself as though just now noticing the smear. He was just noticing the smear. The color of the stain was deep and rust dark, not fresh. It was dried stiff into the woven threads of cotton that made up his shirt to inspect the mark. The stain was neatly tucked, just visible against the off-white of the cotton and the rust color of his plaid vest. “Could be jam, Bill. Y’ever think o’that? Strawberry, maybe. Blackcurrant if I’m lucky!” He declared it with a wink and the buoyant cheer he was known for. “Really though, big man... you should see the other guy! He was a rock.” Laughter trailed his words, easy and foolish and his eyes glittered with mirth. “Ennis and I, we—ah, it was a whole bloody ordeal, alright? There was a misunderstanding with a fencepost, that particularly rowdy bastard of a horse, and me, the innocent victim of it all, I'll tell you! I was flung through the air like a sack of spuds.” Sean raised his hand, it sailed through the still air between the two men as he described the scene. “Landed flat on me face in the dirt, full of dust, dignity scattered to the wind. Let's just say I got intimately familiar with that rock, indeed. We're on first name terms now, me and that stone.”

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"Why didn't you say anything?"

  His head tilted the way that a dog does when it heard a strange sound for the first time. Sadie’s voice was not raised but it pressed into him anyway, more forceful than the bullet that had been lodged within the meat of his calf that she’d just caught him digging out with his knife. “‘Cause you’d’ve made a fuss,” his brows rose, daring her to contend otherwise. The wound was an angry red bloom that blossomed fresh and wet, weeping thin rivulets of blood that slid down the shape of his muscle in slow, serpentine curls. The blood caught in the dark hair there, clinging stubbornly like a stain. It smelled sharp and metallic, it always did. Beneath that sharp scent there was the dull, aching throb that made his leg feel simultaneously numb and alive. A gunshot wound was a pain that might as well have been a living thing, crawling right underneath the skin to set his pain receptors ablaze.   Sean shifted slightly, careful not to press too hard, but enough to feel the warmth spreading from it. The quiet squelch of the bullet surrendering against flesh and blade. The blood followed gravity’s slow pull, pooling in little dark rings around the tops of his socks. “Besides, I don’t fancy you much with a needle.” His hands take pause, then he’s gesticulating with rapid little stabs and pokes with his bloody blade through the air. “You poke me once and suddenly I’m a bloody pincushion. I know the sort, got an awful look in yer eye, and so ya do.”

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"You can barely stand."

   There was no use in answering her rasp right away. The words just sit in his throat, they’re coins he doesn’t want to spend just yet. Sean swayed where he stood, the way a man does when the earth under him won’t quite hold. Not because it was unsteady, but he was. “I know,” he replied, finally. It’s not a protest. Not even an excuse. Just the fact of it, like the weather. Sean was certain that any sense left in his head had almost certainly been knocked out of him. His teeth bite down on whatever word might betray the pain that radiated through him. He chuckled lowly then, shifting his weight as he leaned just a little more into the smaller woman. “But, I ain’t sittin’, am I?” His voice was light, but the rest of him was not. Everything in him felt like it was pulling inward, a slow collapse hidden behind the sound of his laugh. “So, I’m standin’ if you don’t think about it too hard.” A hand raised, a finger tapped a tender temple. There was pride in his words, not the typical roaring and foolish kind that was to be expected of Sean MacGuire, but rather something smaller, more stubborn. A cracked seed refusing not to bloom.

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"Your shirt... is that blood?" grace to sean

  Sean looked down like he hadn’t noticed, pretending that maybe it wasn’t even his… because that was always the question, wasn’t it? Whose blood is it, really? His or one of their companions or a felled foe, if only the felling had been a quick punch to shatter a glass jaw with the driving force of his haymaker. The smear was dried now, browned at the collar and sun-bitten stiff. “Ah, well.” He’d started, a sheepish sort of shrug twitching his shoulders. “Might be. Thought I’d gotten it out.” And then, because it was her, and he never quite knew what to do with her soft doe eyes on him like that, he offered her a half-grin. He must have looked like a dog that’s come in muddy, tail wagging, sure he’d brought home something good. “I’d lie to you, sweet girl, but you’d only catch me. So… yes, it’s blood. It’s not mine though, really.” He winked, ridiculous and sincere in equal measure, because that’s what he did best. He turned the violence of the world into a punchline and hoped Grace would laugh before she worried. “You know I save all the best parts of me for you.”

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.☘︎ ݁˖ I’ve admittedly been wrestling with whatever’s wrong with my brain (depression. It's the big sad, babes). I will be writing my remaining starters and replies on here and discord as I can and I am working on whatever’s in my inbox. ♡

[mischiefxbrew]

Hidden Injuries

"Wait - you're bleeding."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Okay, I have you, I have you -"

"Don't you dare pass out on me."

"You good? You look a little pale."

"Your shirt... is that blood?"

"Oh, my god, are you serious? I think it's broken!"

"Why would you hide this from us?!"

"Okay - okay, breathe. We're going to help you."

"You idiot! You could have died!"

"I'm - I'm calling an ambulance -"

"Why are you breathing so shallowly?"

"You can barely stand."

"Sit down. Right now."

"I'm going to fix you up, but you have to sit still."

"I've had worse."

"It's not that bad, really..."

"I'm just a little... light headed...."

"It's barely bleeding at all."

"Aw, man, I liked this shirt."

"Oh, yeah that's... huh. That's a lot of blood."

"I'm just gonna sit right here... for a minute..."

"My chest really... hurts..."

"I can't really breathe -"

"Ow. It's fine. Ow."

"I can handle it myself."

"Oh, that? Yeah it's just... it's just a little blood..."

"Barely touched me."

"Why are there two of you?"

"I'll be fine. I'm great. I'm - I'm fantastic. Don't worry about me! I'm just gonna go... into this really nice... warm light..."

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.☘︎ ݁˖ Still working on those starters. I have three left, no one has been forgotten about, ignored, or left behind. I've just got the big dumb and all the nervousness of a terrier when it comes to interacting with you new people. Bear with me while I rub my two braincells together. Sorry for the wait. ♡

[mischiefxbrew]

@wildlcck

The humidity in Clemen’s Point had sweat crawling down the nape of his neck but Sean MacGuire remained undeterred. He’d made the long walk from the far side of camp with a certain flourish in his gait, the kind a man puts on when he’s made up his mind to do something foolish but hopes no one notices until it’s already too late and they’re in the midst of it. His boots squelched faintly in the mud along the shoreline — God bless the filthy rotten South, he thought bitterly, and then more fondly, God damn the filthy rotten south, too, while we’re at it.   He found her by the scout fire, or what remained of it. Embers and a scorched tin can. Sadie Adler, face drawn and etched in that quiet sneer of hers. She’d been different some weeks ago; a grieving widow often churning in the tide of melancholy. Now she’s a ghost of the woman he had once seen in mourning, carrying herself like she mourned nothing but the time wasted not killing men. Sean gave a low whistle, sharp and sliding in its tune. It’s a drawn-out note that rose at the end in something too jaunty for the mood, but just cheeky enough to have been deliberate. A herald’s call, if the herald in question were a half-drunk rascal with a penchant for bothering women who looked like they might punch him. The Irishman really leaned into it, hands slung lazily into his suspenders, as though he hadn’t just walked into the blast radius of a woman known lately for putting a few more holes into a man. “Just so we’re clear,” he finally spoke aloud, boots slowed him to a swaggering halt. “I’m announcing myself, not sneakin’ about. Figured you’d have already sighted me,” A pause that lingered with purpose as his gaze drifted from her, up to the blue of the skyline and back again, as if he had the process of thinking before he let it spew from his mouth, first. “Or shot me, if you were feelin’ as mean as ya look.” He straightened, brushing invisible dust from his union shirt as though preparing for some grand charade. “Sadie,” he began, voice low but brimming with a grin not yet seen, “I heard tell you’ve been ejecting Lemoyne raiders from this world with the subtlety of a meat cleaver. Admirable, but I’m thinking maybe it’s time to redirect that… creative energy.” He took a half-step closer, toeing the dirt like a lad about to ask for coin from his mother when he knew damn well she didn’t have any to spare. “See, there’s this coach rollin’ through later this evenin’, full of prospectors, so it is and all their dreams about gold and silver, and it’s bound for Saint Denis. It’ll roll on through Rhodes and we’ll blindside them between here and the big city.” The grin he had been prepping for now presented itself on his face in all of its missing front tooth glory. “Think of it, lass: a clean score, a tidy little heist. Well, we’d split the take and perhaps you can retire that scowl of yours for a minute or two.” Again, he had stepped forward. Ever ebbing closer to the woman like a tide at the shore. It was not done to encroach on her much, instead to lean in closer, conspiratorial-like with that same lopsided grin widening until it threatened to split his ruddy cheeks. “So what do ya say, Sadie? Fancy lendin’ ol’ Deadeye MacGuire a hand? It’ll get you away from Pearson…”

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @snakepitpoetry!!!!!

lmfao, love you! I hope you had the best day and enjoyed this unhinged sitting glitch screenshot that I found. ❤️🔪 I saved the sentimentality for discord, don't worry.

[mischiefxbrew]

.☘︎ ݁˖ While I am writing for this new crop of folk, I just want to mention that my roleplay experience on tumblr is nill. Null. Zilch. I am recognizing that there are vast differences from the platforms I have used in the recent past and the distant past even if I have been rping for a very long time. I am just asking for a bit of grace because I feel like I am groping around in the dark trying to find the lightswitch. If I am doing anything that seems uncouth for the general rp atmosphere of tumblr, you can just come punch me in the face, fr fr. Just dm me, please. New rp partners, if you're receiving shorter starters from me and you want me to add the meat back on the bones of the rp, please know it has nothing to do with me not being interested but I am just trying to follow along with what I am generally seeing. You can beat me up about that in my messages too. In lieu of lying to everyone's faces...bulk dump tomorrow and you have no reason to believe me other than I am just a silly little guy, c'mon.

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@ludopossum  The Irishman saw her before she registered his approach… or so he liked to believe. Half of his life was made up of believing he’d gotten the drop on things he most certainly hadn’t, a quarter of it was lying about it, and the other quarter was dreaming it up. In truth, he had the navigation prowess of a tethered goat and that alone kept him walking in circles and often produced a result of Sean finding himself lost. The kid was small, a proper wee waif with a stack of newspapers at her feet, one or two in her hand like any good newsie waving it about like a beacon to passersby. That print is all the same, folded in half rather neatly and scented with ink. The paper’s edges were crisp, the kind of ragged-edge cut you’d probably get off a town press that still used linen rags instead of wood pulp. The typeface appeared to be a rather dignified serif, each letter pressed deep enough to leave a slight indentation under the tip of a finger and not a damn lick of it that he could read. “Oi,” he called while his feet carry him across the dirt road toward her, the nod of his head causing his chin to tilt toward the paper in her hands like it might lunge. “Can you read that tripe? What’s the craic?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Never did. Questions, to a man like Sean, were like warning shots meant to scatter the birds. To confuse those on the receiving end of them and not really start a dialogue. “S’just…” The man rocked back and forth, heel to toe. “I’m askin’ ’cause I’m dead interested if there’s any mention of the Van Der Linde gang in those pages.” The coins bounced in the palm of his hand, clattering against one another. “Might be under somethin’ like Dashing Outlaws Taking Providence’s Name in Vain.”  He offered up a chuckle as an extension of the olive branch he’d already offered, that extra coin in his hand.

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? Do I look fat in this dress? (Abigail)

No!

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? "Tell me honestly, son.. did you drink the last whiskey?" Dutch losing his last nerve.

...Yes.

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.☘︎ ݁˖ I was going to make another silly graphic to amuse you lot, as it is my obligation, but honestly, I'm dog-tired these last few days. I'll be sending those starters out in bulk tomorrow when I get the chance. ♡

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The 'yes or no' game.

Send my muse "❓+" alongside harsh hitting questions, scenarios, anything question-related really, but they can only answer with "yes" or "no". Nothing more, nothing less.