rattlesnakeshine

[rattlesnakeshine]

i'm moving dregs to my multi @dubbedover!

[rattlesnakeshine]

Derry

[rattlesnakeshine]

ok minor overhaul of verses and about pages. main verse is now his real-world verse (time period flexible because this blog is heavy on the 1970s revisionist western & exploitation film vibe)

i actually really want to change dregs' main verse to his real world verse but. the tags

[rattlesnakeshine]

i actually really want to change dregs' main verse to his real world verse but. the tags

[rattlesnakeshine]

[rattlesnakeshine]

"Okay." It sounded reasonable. More than reasonable, even. It actually sounded perfect, and rather than putting him at ease, it draws his suspicion.

"If you put me back... I gonna come back like this if I die again?"

"It will vary," there was no way that Tabitha would be surprised by him agreeing, there wasn't a person in the world that would turn down a second change at life. Now she just had to find a way to make use of him. Shouldn't be too hard.

"Mostly you would be completing tasks for me. Picking up payments from those that owe me, coming down like the wrath of god on those that have failed me."

[rattlesnakeshine]

[rattlesnakeshine]

"Mm." It's unclear if he means to agree or something else. It's difficult to focus on anything other than her finger.

"Uh... yeah." He's only just barely heard her and comprehended her words. "Yeah. Uh-huh." His own awkwardness frustrates him, which seems to compound with his anxiety into something much worse and overwhelming.

While Anna enjoyed watching the effect she had on most people, there was something special about getting under the skin of the big, stoic cowboy.

“Nobody likes every part of their job, otherwise it wouldn’t be work.”

[rattlesnakeshine]

She's a road-killed lizard of a girl, with broken, scabbed flesh, like something that died and shriveled up on the pavement in the desert sun. It looks like all the moisture's evaporated from her pores, leaving nothing but a skeleton and some skin. He knows better, though. He knows that there's blood in her veins and meat on her bones, though barely. Would it be worth it? To take her in his car, take her someplace where he can pick her apart and find that meat? Just by looking at her, he knows no one would miss her. Not out here.

"Do about it?" There's a look in her eye, one he's seen in animals usually more feral than humans, but it fits in with the rest of her, the wild, waifish creature. With one finger, he pushes on the brim of his hat, raising it barely a centimeter, more out of habit than need.

"Wasn' plannin' on doin' nothin'." Rarely does he make meals of women. They're more wary of men, too guarded, and even men find him off-putting. A white woman, in particular, he wouldn't usually bother with, but that animal look she's wearing makes him question her sense and desperation. She would surely fight him, but her little bird bones would probably snap in his hands. Risk, reward. Neither seems high, but he hasn't eaten in a few days. The barrenness of the desert brings peace only until it brings hunger. He doesn't want her, but the growing pain of starvation is feeding off his mind.

He knows better than to invite her into his car. If she won't ask, he'll leave her. There's not enough distance between here and the gas station to grab her by the wrist and throw her in.

"Whatchu doin' out here?"

@rattlesnakeshine : Dregs says: "You look like shit."

The sun glares on the hood of his car. One ray of light filed to a point, coming to stab her eye out. She can feel it, stinging, slipping in between the eyeball and the tear duct. She tastes the shape of the word lobotomy in her mouth, fitted badly between her jaws. It cuts into the wet velvet of her inner cheeks. But no matter, she's been tasting nothing but pennies for a while now.

His comment is what does it, while the young woman squints at him, freckles sinking into the sunburned flush on her cheeks. You look like shit, he tells her. A laugh punches out of her throat, straight up, hoping to knock out some teeth. It is an off-color sound, something like an animal yelp.

"Ain't that the truth?" She drawls as if there's a tar pit in her chest, each word desperately, slowly, trying to crawl out. Emaciated thing, bony shoulders, sweat-soaked. Who would ever look at her and think that she's anything but dead weight? Her clothes, some shapeless scrap of fabric that is slathered onto her like a second skin, are mud-brown. Like she rolled in dirt, like she drowned in it. Open wounds, road rash and cuts, bake in the asphalt heat.

She studies the man and his car. He looks just worn enough to draw her eye, her blood-shot, trembling gaze. If he listens closely, he can hear her chipped teeth chatter. She looks him over and scents no good intentions. Her tongue darts out and licks along chapped lips. No man would stop for a girl that looks like her out here, wounded-animal gait carrying her along the desert road, with good intentions.

"What you gonna do about it?"

[rattlesnakeshine]

☆ put this star into the inbox of your favorite blogs. it's time to spread positivity!

THANK YOUUU

[rattlesnakeshine]

☆ put this star into the inbox of your favorite blogs. it's time to spread positivity!

OMG THANK YOUUU! 💖🧡✨

[rattlesnakeshine]

Only just, his brows crinkle. It isn't really a type of lonely that he's familiar with. In fact, he isn't entirely sure that he's ever understood there to be more than one type of lonely that one could be. Lonely just means unhappy in solitude, and he's uncertain of any other ways to relieve it.

The young woman asks too many questions, makes too many observations. Talks too damn much. Her assumption that he's often lonely brings him discomfort with its accuracy, and he shifts on his feet like a pebble's been sliding around inside his boot.

"I don' talk to nobody." There's too much attention on him, even if it's just from one girl. "Why? You tryin' t' figure on a budget?"

@rattlesnakeshine. continued.

A blush stains her cheeks, and she ducks her head to avoid his gaze. "Oh, I don't mean lonely in that way." But she does; that's always a part of it. “I just mean it in the sense of, you know, someone to talk to.”

But perhaps that's what he does. Maybe whores prefer someone that wants to talk and have some kind of company. A question chisels away at her mind, and she loses the willpower to keep it unvoiced. "So do you talk to—"

She swallows, unable to say that word he used. "Do you talk to women who... sleep with men for payment?" It's a fine but awkward way to phrase it. She'll do anything to avoid the vulgarity of the word whores. "Surely that's expensive, isn't it? Every time you feel lonely?"

[rattlesnakeshine]

downpour

[rattlesnakeshine]

[rattlesnakeshine]

Twenty years. The number is steep, but he would be around in twenty years whether or not he worked for this woman or not. If he turned her down, he'd surely regret it, and the promise of being free of his torment is much too tempting to resist.

"Okay." Just like that, he agrees. He knows that he should ask questions first, and usually, he'd never agree without knowing the full terms, but he can't risk losing his nerve.

"What kinda service?" Does it matter if he's already agreed? One way or another, he'll find out.

A stone face only went so far when anyone would be willing to give just about anything to live once more. Tabitha could practically smell the desperation dripping from his pores, "it is a difficult ritual, one that will drain me for the better part of an era."

Leaning closer, she tapped her fingertips together before she mused, "it only seems fair that I get a couple years of service. I have many issues that need attending to."

Did she have any big ploys for power lined up? No, Tabitha struggled with long term goals like that. In truth this was a move for companionship, however dour it may be.

"Would you say that twenty years of service seems fair for a second chance at life?"

[rattlesnakeshine]

"Just them freaky-ass eyes," he answers as plainly as if giving the time. "I ain't said it'd be useful, or that you could. Just looks like it. Like they inside out or some shit." It makes sense enough to him, but explaining his thoughts doesn't come easily.

Something about her doesn't make him want to end the conversation and leave, another oddity in a growing list. There's a calm about her, and no outrage nor discomfort towards him that he can detect (thought at times it takes an outright statement or shouting for him to notice these things).

beth shakes her head, not looking at him. ❝ that would be impossible, ❞ she replies. the fight begins to wind down; one of them is disastrously close to storming off. they won't appreciate her following. she's learned that the hard way. however, perhaps the universe presents a new behavioral subject. she watches one half of the couple nearly trip as they storm off. in a cursive scrawl, she writes something about emotional vulnerability and clumsiness onto the yellowed sheet of paper, before her attentions return to her new companion.

❝ why would you think i can do that? ❞ she asks. ❝ it would be useless to see inside my head. ❞

[rattlesnakeshine]

Just slightly, his face scrunches in a mildly disappointed scowl as Eliana spills whiskey all over the place. Still, he takes the glass and downs it, mostly so that she can't try to steal it back after hearing his answer, one he knows won't be satisfactory.

"Okay. I think you wastin' your time on some stupid-ass bullshit." The glass clinks hard against the wood when it leaves his hand.

"There. Toldja what I think."

she huffs out a sigh heavy enough to shake her shoulders, brows pulling down into an exaggerated scowl. ❝ really? ❞ she asks. regardless, she rises, snagging the drained glass out of his hand. with a flick of her hair over her shoulder, she stalks off to the bar, forcing a smile to her lips as she orders a refill.

when she returns, she sets it down in front of him hard enough that some of the liquor sloshes out onto the table. they're her caps, after all, and she can waste them how she pleases.

❝ there. now tell me what you think. ❞