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[redemn]

i've returned to wading very deep into story mode tonight , since i'm once more hyperfixated on hitting 100% completion and i've just finished up the tedious hunting and exotics requests , but also ... i would love to talk plotting and general muse things tonight . so if you'd like , and don't have me added yet ?

wiedzmins

[redemn]

he  is  no  master  at  the  bow  ,      but  he  is  ,      in  all  fact  ,      a  master  at  aim  .      this  was  a  lucky  shot  meant  to  strike  true  and  fast  ,      where  others  might  have  lacked  the  power  .      he  can  thank  charles  for  what  little  skill  he  has  with  the  bow  :      something  still  unnatural  ,      and  yet  as  good  to  him  as  the  revolver  by  his  side  ,      meant  to  provide  sustenance  when  he  needs  it  .      he  lives  a  life  free  ,      primarily  ,      from  any  books  his  mentors  ,      guardian  figures  who  watch  over  his  peace  of  mind  ,      do  not  put  in  front  of  him        and  they  have  long  since  stopped  putting  the  pages  out  before  him  .      no  one  in  his  merry  band  of  idiots  has  seen  him  read  a  thing  for  years  now  ,      because  he  hasn't  .      and  so  he  follows  that  fox  willingly  through  the  woods  ,      with  only  a  hint  of  a  prickle  at  the  back  of  his  neck  .      there  are  old  wives'  tales  spinning  like  webs  through  the  back  of  his  mind  ,      and  though  he  isn't  one  to  frighten  easily  ,      he  is one  to  take  caution  when  a  superstition  or  two  starts  knocking  at  his  consciousness  .

he  wouldn't  have  missed  ,      were  it  not  for  her  shimmering  figure  ,      and  had  he  not  realised  half  a  second  before  he  let  that  arrow  loose  that  he  wasn't  shooting  at  a  fox  at  all  .      where  he  had  once  been  hunting  a  fleet  footed  fox  ,      now  he  stands  ,      bowstring  still  quivering  from  its  recently  arrow's  release  ,      in  front  of  a  woman  .      and  he  can  clearly  see  that  she  is  everything  a  woman  should  be  ,      with  all  the  right  proportions  and  features  he's  seen  in  countless  maidens  .      all  is  right  …    save  for  the  soft  ,      furred  ears  poking  through  her  hair  ,      and  the  flick  of  a  tail  behind  her  .      he  wouldn't  believe  it  belonged  to  her  ,      were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  the  fur  is  tinting  the  same  as  the  fur  above  her  head  .

never  in  his  life  has  the  outlaw  beheld  a  thing  like  this  .        ❝        what  the  …        ❞        he  lowers  the  bow  ,      if  only  to  move  his  hand  cautiously  to  his  waist  ,      fingers  come  to  rest  at  the  occupied  holster  .      maybe  he  only  missed  when  the  fox  had  gone  out  of  view  and  the  woman  had  come  between  them  .      maybe  he  blinked  too  quick  .        ❝      i  wasn't  meanin'  to  hitchu  ,      miss  .      sorry  ,      but    …    what  happened  to  the  fox  ?        ❞

❀ ‧ ° • * ˚ ⁀ ➷ @redemn , has left a tender love letter at the vulpine's shrine :

he's crouched in the thickets just nearby , bow stretched and elbow extended , one eye staring down the shaft of his arrow , before he realizes that what he'd thought was a fox just so happens to ... not be a fox . not exactly . what the hell ? uh , too late ! he looses the arrow a split second after the realisation , and it goes straight into the bark of the tree a hair's breadth away from her ears . ( he just wanted a meal :(( )

　𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 ? 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. she is swift and nimble 'pon her legs, a splotch of pearl white across the vivid tapestry of the woods. she lures him deeper, further into the realm where she is both queen and servant, both tender mother and rebellious daughter: amidst the redwoods and the pines and the oaks, where the tranquil bushes bloom in vibrant reds and purples and the thick shrubs offer 'pon their branches ripe round berries and sharp thorns in equal measure. she crawls and she dashes, turning to look at him with bright yellow eyes only to ensure that he is still following her trail ; he should have listened to the songs of love - struck bards and the tales of wise nannies more carefully, for he would have known that no one should ever follow a fox into the woods.

he finally takes aim and ahri, blithe and overwhelmed by ( barely audible ) giggles, takes aim as well. it takes but a quick flutter of lashes for her physique to morph into a body that he can readily recognize [  ... ] and even less than that for his arrow to almost kiss her plush ear. a tremor runs down her spine, an expected turn of events that she had not foreseen but that now draws a faint bell of laughter out of her man - eating maw: how truly fortunate, he has been ! for she would not have forgiven any harm done against her poor vulpine ear.

the she - fox turns around now, a mischievous gaze settles 'pon him even whilst her claw - tipped fingers languidly brush across the length of the arrow stuck into the tree right beside her: caressing the thin structure of the wood, pinching its fletching with an almost child - like curiosity. a brow quirks, her smile is honey - sweet but sharp - fanged at the same time ; a woodland nymph, escaped from the realm of those beautiful paintings that so many nobles decorate their private rooms with. ❝ is this how you normally approach innocent maidens in the woods ? by shooting arrows at their heads ? ❞ despite the taunting moue that pulls onto the curvature of her soft tiers, ahri presents herself as neither hostile nor belligerent: she is all impish smiles and fluttering lashes, a shameless trickster in woman's clothing. ❝ you should be careful when hunting in these woodlands, believe me ... you never know when you might become the hunted. ❞

[redemn]

∞ RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2

[redemn]

like  him  ,      she's  not  having  making  much  progress  at  all  pulling  herself  out  of  that  mud  .      tough luck  ,      he  thinks  ,      as  he  attempts  to  grab  the  sides  of  her  boots  and  pull  her  up  .        ❝        they  always  say  ,        ❞        he  says  ,      voice  strained  in  a  hiss  through  his  teeth  and  he  tries  his  damndest  not  to  let  his  slick  fingers  slide  from  the  upper  edges  of  her  boots  ,        ❝        that  y'should  pull  yourself  up  by  th'  bootstraps    …    but  these're    …    bein’  stubborn    …    ugh        damn  !      what  the  hell’s  in  this  mud  ?!        ❞

a  moment  later  ,      he  finally  lets  go  ,      fingers  aching  from  the  strain  and  pressure  .        ❝        i  give  up  .      i  can't  get  your  boots  outta  there  .      they  may's  well  be  good  and  damn  stuck  like  glue  .      these  bootstraps  ain’t  bein’  pulled  no  time  soon  .        ❞        straightening  up  ,      he  wipes  mud  from  his  fingers  .      no  possibility  of  extraction  .        ❝        seems  to  me  like  we’ll  have  to  getchu  outta  those  boots  and  take  someone’s  else’s  .      unless  you  wanna  be  stuck  here  forever  .        ❞

so  he  shuffles  to  her  side  ,      kneeling  down  again  to  take  grab  them  top  of  her  boot  .        ❝        lift  your  leg  with  me  .      i’ll  help  .      you  can  lean  on  me  .        ❞

he's  laughing  just  looking  at  her  -  that's  a  good  sign.  eliza's  demeanor  stalls  on  that  of  a  petulant  child,  if  only  for  a  moment;  she's  attempting  to  budge  around  the  mud,  only  to  feel  the  boots  continue  to  split  apart  as  she  does  so.  to  no  avail,  she's  grumbling  and  beckoning  arthur  closer  so  that  she  may  have  something  (someone)  to  steady  herself  against.

she's  on  the  line  between  falling  into  frustration  and  amusement  -  arthur  is  the  one  who  defines  the  difference  &  landing  zone.  eliza  is  pliant  as  he  tugs  on  her  leg,  attempting  to  move  her  and  the  boot  from  the  spot  she's  currently  feeling  deeper  and  deeper  cemented  into.  she  rests  a  hand  on  his  shoulder  so  that  she  doesn't  fall  into  the  mud  puddle,  exhaling  honest  laughter  of  her  own  at  the  pure  ridiculousness  of  the  situation.  "after  all  we've  been  through,  this's  where  you  leave  me?  to  rot  in  ...  shit  an'  mud?"  she  chides,  a  teasing  smile  falling  fairly  on  her  lips.

eliza  retracts  her  hands  to  herself  as  arthur  stands,  still  a  bit  wobbly  as  she  continues  to  try  and  persist  -  to  no  avail.  "mm  ...  yeah,  maybe  you  an'  her  can  do  it  together.  write  me  somethin'  pretty  to  hear  in  the  afterlife."  her  smile  doesn't  falter,  though,  does  taper  into  a  subdued  whimper,  as  she  mumbles  to  herself,  "gonna  rip  these  goddamn  boots  apart  with  my  teeth.”

[redemn]

he  expects  little  from  her  ,      with  how  exhausted  she  clearly  is  .      she  can  barely  stand  ,      this  woman  who  has  ,      by  all  means  ,      accompanied  him  throughout  this  repulsive  predicament  .      where  others  might  shudder  at  the  blood  on  his  knuckles  and  trailing  down  over  his  lips  from  a  nose  that  has  seen  to  be  broken  many  ,      many  times  in  its  three  and  a  half  decades  of  life  ,      she  only  comes  closer  still  ,      ushering  him  to  sit  on  the  rock  while  she  ,      in  her  enervation  from  …      (  from  something  which  he  does  not  know  ,      nor  care  to  know        he  only  assumes  it  has  something  to  do  with  the  feminine  weakness  to  which  he  has  been  witness  several  times  ,      that  causes  such  faint  periods  )      …  continues  on  her  half-conscious  way  .

❝        now  wait  ,        ❞        he  mutters  ,      without  much  of  a  wish  for  her  to  wait  at  all  ,      several  times  ,      when  her  hands  are  at  his  face  and  wrapping  cloth  behind  his  ear  and  his  lips  itch  with  something  he  can't  exactly  see  ,      and  when  her  fingers  at  at  the  gash  on  his  arm  .        ❝        you  ain't  fine  either  ,      you    …        ❞        nor  does  he  ,      in  turn  shudder  at  the  way  her  hands  play  onto  the  surface  of  his  skin  ,      as  if  to  send  some  tingling  ,      numbing  sensation  straight  into  his  body  wherever  she  touches    ;      instead  ,      he  stands  fast  ,      watching  the  way  her  trembling  fingers  grab  at  her  remedial  instruments  .

no        she  isn't  ,      in  fact  ,      fine  either  ,      when  she's  all  but  covered  him  in  bandaging  like  some  sort  of  mummy  .      he  moves  to  catch  her  before  he  can  think  anything  else  ,      slipping  off  the  rock  and  slipping  an  arm  around  her  dead-weighted  body  and  lifting  her  into  his  arms  like  a  sedated  creature  .        ❝        whoa  now    ,        ❞        he  murmurs  ,      as  he  carries  her  carefully  to  the  most  shaded  ,      protected  area  of  their  high  vantage  point  .        ❝        there  you  are  ,      miss  omen  .      s'all  right  ,      i  gotchu  .        ❞

he  settles  her  on  the  ground  ,      checks  the  pulse  at  her  neck  to  make  sure  her  heart  still  beats  steadily  .      it's  slow  ,      sluggish  ,      but  there  ,      as  is  her  breathing  .      after  a  move  of  a  strand  of  raven-black  hair  from  her  cheek  ,      he  makes  his  way  to  his  horse  ,      moving  her  to  a  better  location  and  retrieving  his  bedroll  and  blankets  from  atop  the  saddle  .      the  bedroll  he  spreads  out  next  to  her  ,      that  she  can  rest  on  it  .      the  blanket  ,      he  pulls  over  her  feet  and  shoulders  ,      adjusts  her  hair  again  in  reverent  discretion  to  lie  comfortably  over  her  neck  and  shoulder  .      then  he  leaves  her  be  ,      turning  his  attention  toward  stoking  a  small  fire  and  warming  water  and  uncooked  rations        a  guard  over  her  as  she  slumbers  away  all  that  is  unknown  to  him  .

vision barely crawls through a vestigial tunnel as her senses go numb.    escaping death is not all that exalts her heart    (    nameless feelings,    courtesy of decades of repression as her mantra    )    but the shame that the mundanity of this danger had threatened her survival just as any cosmic horror would.    demonic instinct whips the cage of her creed,    desperate to take over her vessel and avoid a shut down.    but she denies herself,    and so since she won’t succumb to her evil,    she will have to succumb to her weakness.   

“ sorry …  if i was forceful… ” serene tone twisted by fragility,    slow unnecessary words:  she fears the utilitarian touch of the pathway to his mental body through his diaphragm might have still provoked discomfort on him.       (    discomfort… focus on that raven,    arthur's pain… never mind all else    )    the dyad focuses on the crimson rivers trailing down his skin,    the burning ache,    she swallows,    gestures him by a rock,       (    focus,    only when his pain stops may you rest    )   .    in a whisper,    meant inward,    seeking the coves in his eyes one last time, in the haze of her exhaustion is when she notices the halo surrounding his irises.     “ sit… please,    you hurt… terrible… terribly. ” 

trembling palms reach for the instruments on her satchel: a a feeble attempt to keep up the charade.    raven starts with his chin,    wiping with face with saline solution and wrapping the wound in bandages supported behind his ear.    icy fingers trace against his cheek,    sending invisible threads to force an union to where the glass once cut.    her other hand holds his face in place,    its thumb stumbling around the edges of his bruised lips,    minor bruises repair, blood shielding the truth.       (    focus    )   ,    she repeats herself,    and so she does despite how difficult her knees make it to remain standing.   

the somatic connection is hard to keep superficial in this state,    shadows from his heart start steeping through,    horrible visions,    disorganized,    unintelligible,    mirrors from her life merge into what she assumes are his memories,    she sees the inconsistent image of a hanging man and her temple’s acolytes pointing a finger…  she stumbles only to stand again as she tugs his sleeve up to unveil the gash on his arm,    glass through muscle,    she hurts where he hurts, as she pulls the shard out with her bare hands.    weakly,    she pats cleansing liquid on his arm,    sloppily wrapping it with her last roll.    but it’s when she sends the signal to revert his laceration   that darkness claims her and she collapses.  

[redemn]

❝        two  days  ?      well        that’s  gotta  mean  somethin’  big’s  comin’  .      might  be  we  wake  up  tomorrow  an’  send  him  workin’  to  feed  the  chickens  .        ❞        it’s  a  great  joke  .      even  a  grand  joke  ,      their  speaking  on  uncle  as  though  he’ll  miraculously  feel  good  enough  to  work  .      he  won’t  .      the  two  of  them  know  this  true  and  know  this  well  .

still  ,      he  smiles  very  faintly  ,      touched  mostly  in  his  eyes  ,      and  settles  himself  next  to  tilly  .        ❝        sorry  .      looked  like  you  might’a  been  sleepin’  over  here  .      or  just  about  to  ,      anyways  .      didn’t  mean  to  disturb  you  .        ❞

@redemn asked: arthur’s been watching tilly as she sits on one of the boxes next to a wagon for some time now , in front of the small river that snakes in front of their little camp . most are out bathing , but arthur wanders over to sit next to her , legs crossed on the grass next to her . he nods his head toward a very careful uncle , wading against the current , and leans towards tilly . ❝ you think he’ll trip on a rock and cry lumbago this time ? ❞

brown eyes opened and flicked to him at the sound of his voice. ❛ well. ❜ tilly started, lips curving into a small, warm smile in thought, suppressing the chuckle itching to escape to the best of her abilities. ❛ he.. he ain't said it in 'bout two days now, arthur. i reckon he's turned over a new leaf. ❜

[redemn]

today is my mama's day and we're out for a while with her to celebrate . one of the only days i will dress up for anything instead of looking like an outlaw who hasn't bathed in 2 weeks , and this isn't even much effort . mama's fit for today lightly feat howl's jewelry .

[redemn]

❝        you  sure  about  that  ?      i  ain't  much  tired  myself  ,      truth  be  told  .        ❞        but  he  is  a  not  a  man  not  to  know  his  own  body  ,      and  the  gift        or  ,      perhaps  ,      the  curse        it  possesses  of  being  able  to  fall  asleep  quickly  when  he  needs  it  to  .        ❝        but  i  could  sleep  .        ❞        given  some  time  .    

it's  time  he'll  take  ,      the  way  he  uncurls  from  his  sitting  position  to  stand  and  adjust  his  bedroll  and  make  certain  his  horse  is  hitched  down  securely  and  change  into  the  sleeping  suit  he'd  brought  along  with  him  ,      just  shy  of  the  glow  of  the  fire  and  back  turned  away  from  regis  to  avoid  some  mental  spectacle  .      in  the  time  it  takes  to  do  it  all  ,      he  can't  helping  glancing  toward  his  travelling  companion  .      they  are  quick  glances  ,      but  he's  never  been  one  not  to  look  when  he's  too  curious  .      unsettling  isn't  a  word  he'd  use  to  describe  regis  ,      though  he  wonders  just  what  things  he's  been  called  by  other  people  .      the  very  thought  saddens  arthur  .      some  words  weigh  heavily  on  a  soul  ,      and  he  doubts  regis  ever  deserved  a  thing  like  that  .

stretched  out  on  his  side  beneath  the  covers  of  his  bedroll  ,      head  propped  on  one  elbow  ,      he's  back  to  watching  regis  now  ,      and  the  way  the  flicker  of  firelight  invites  shadows  to  dance  along  the  creases  of  regis'  clothing  and  beneath  the  bone  of  his  brow  in  such  a  way  as  to  almost  touch  his  eyes  .      perhaps  only  those  who  don't  know  his  pleasant  company  would  call  him  unsettling  .        ❝        you  ever  hear  any  good  nighttime  tales  ?        ❞

you're strange for it. Regis has been told such a thing many a time before, and he finds that gratitude often comes at the heels of a remark of that ilk. As though he'll somehow find offense in the natural. The thanks are heartfelt most of the time, however, and Arthur's are no different: these are feelings worn on the sleeve, as it is often said, and cast under firelight, they seem to be all the more obvious. A MAN OF MULTITUDES. A pity, Regis admits to himself, that the vast majority of his kin are limited in their views of humans; justifiably so, really, but a pity nevertheless.

he nods to himself in response, and puts the remainder of the jerky aside on account of his appetite waning. “ So I've been told, ” he says by way of agreement, “ but I'll take strange and not bad at all over unsettling. ” Few people have said it to his face, instead preferring to speak the truth when believed to be out of earshot, but Regis knows better. It's hard to escape hearing such as his. It's hard to escape the lingering otherness.

but that thought has no place here now, not among good company. “ I'll stay up and take watch for now, I think, ” Regis offers, now being the one to change the subject. “ I'm sadly much more awake some nights and this is one of them, given the danger we're chasing. I'll be sure to wake you if necessary. ”

[redemn]

arthur's  gaze  ,      stuck  down  at  the  palm  of  his  hand  that  he  has  resting  upon  his  sitting  knee  ,      rises  when  he  hears  jack's  voice  .      he's  had  a  better  day  today  ,      a  more  restful  day  .      one  that  hasn't  involved  so  much  coughing  or  congestion  in  his  lungs  .      granted  ,      he  still  needs  to  sit  plenty  ,      and  it's  what  he's  doing  when  jack  arrives  .      he  takes  his  slow  time  twisting  around  in  his  seat  to  look  him  over  .      there  is  nothing  out  of  place  about  that  jacket  on  the  boy  .      even  he  has  to  admit  it  to  himself  .

❝        that  ain't  my  jacket  no  more  ,        ❞        is  the  first  thing  he  says  ,      without  any  indication  of  whether  or  not  he  says  it  with  solemnity  or  as  some  lighthearted  comment  not  meant  to  be  taken  seriously  .      but  there's  a  glint  in  his  eye  and  the  slightest  crease  beside  his  eyes  that  suggests  the  latter  .          ❝        i've  seen  you  wearin'  it  ever  since  i  got  here  .        ❞        the  specifics  of  it  don't  matter  to  him  anymore  ;   he  wishes  never  to  dwell  on  that  past  again  .        ❝        and  i  got  used  to  seein'  it  on  you  .      in  fact  ,      i  don't  think  i  ever  seen  you  take  that  off  .      it's  as  much  yours  now  as  it  was  mine  before  .        ❞

after  a  clear  of  his  throat  ,      he  gestures  to  the  jacket  again  ,      dropping  his  arm  back  down  to  his  thigh  a  moment  later  .        ❝        besides  ,      that  ol'  jacket's  been  around  for  decades  by  now  .      i  don't  know  how  it  even  survived  that  long  without  fallin'  apart  .      naw  ,      jack    …    naw  .      you  keep  that  jacket  for  yourself  .      it  suits  you  .        ❞

Having Arthur back and living in Beecher's Hope was certainly not what Jack expected when he rode back to the ranch a few months ago but hey, he wasn't complaining. God knows he could use the companionship, and having someone who knew him and his family from before certainly helped. Arthur, much like Charles had been for his Pa, proved to be an unshakable pillar of strength and both of them were, slowly but surely, rebuilding their home.

Still, Jack had noticed that Uncle Arthur was missing a few things. He'd already given back his hat, pulled it straight out of his Pa's old chest that he'd kept in their room and handed it back with almost reverence. But there was something else missing. Something that Jack wore every day since he turned nineteen. He'd taken good care of that waxed canvas jacket, he'd sewn it back together when it tore, cleaned it to the point it almost shined and in return, that jacket had sheltered him from the elements. Almost like a guardian angel.

Jack cleared his throat to announce the fact that he was standing behind Arthur and, after a few seconds had passed, he spoke.

"Uncle Arthur? I been meanin' to ask, you want your jacket back? I've kept it in good shape these past few years. I figured you'd want it back, seein' how you're back an' all that..." He let that statement hang in the air. He was still a bit unsure on how to speak to the older man.

@redemn asked for a STARTER

[redemn]

This scene has a special place in my heart, Lenny trying to be independent and prove himself and Big Brother Arthur not having any of it (rightly so)

[redemn]

not me posting a tiktok that took 3 seconds and finding out the r.dr2 fandom is alive and well there ( and also odd )

[redemn]

arthur  isn’t  looking  at  the  bloody  scene  but  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  .      he  cannot  ,      and  will  not  ,      look  at  it  straight  on  ,      his  gaze  stuck  fast  on  javier’s  face  even  as  he  grips  that  revolver  and  yanks  it  out  of  those  horror-frozen  fingers  .      there’s  a  regret  and  fright  in  those  eyes  now  ,      that  displaces  the  ruthless  glint  he  had  just  seen  .      there’s  still  a  man  in  there  ,      youthful  and  morally  aligned  with  the  creed  that  the  van  der  linde  gang  had  once  subscribed  to  ,      that  seems  to  have  bled  out  these  past  few  months  .

it’s  too  late  now  .      the  young  woman  is  dead  ,      unmoving  in  arthur’s  peripheral  vision  ,      and  it’s  the  revolver  he  has  now  ,      gripped  between  white-fingered  knuckles  ,      that  did  it  .      but  neither  is  he  blind  to  the  fact  that  it  had  been  his  readjustment  that  strayed  the  shot  so  far  off  course  .      it’s  irritating  ,      frustrating        infuriating  that  it  is  as  much  his  fault  for  this  senseless  death  as  it  is  javier’s  for  pointing  the  gun  .

❝        you  wasn’t  gonna  .      you  wasn’t  gonna        don’t  matter  whatchu  was  or  wasn’t  gonna  do  now  !        ❞        he  barks  ,      through  the  taste  of  ashes  .      the  man  is  broken  ,      no  longer  entirely  here  .      but  this  isn’t  the  first  time  the  camp  enforcer  has  dealt  with  a  situation  like  this  ,      and  adrenaline  still  courses  through  his  veins  enough  to  haul  himself  up  and  tug  javier  up  with  him  .      arthur’s  arms  circle  tightly  around  him  ,      arms  and  all  ,      as  he  pivots  large  frame  to  break  line  of  sight  .      so  that  javier  cannot  see  the  carnage  anymore        but  so  ,      too  ,      to  protect  his  unmasked  face  from  recognition  .        ❝        come  on  .      we  gotta  go  .      move  ,      mister  e  .        ❞        a  forceful  bump  to  get  him  moving  .        ❝        move  !        ❞        towards  the  door  ,      out  towards  the  horses  .

things happen too fast when the trigger is pulled, the gunshot echoing through the small room, a scream, the other's larger body tackling him, taking him down — traitor, traitor, traitor ! he has little chance with arthur's weight against his own, and no sight of what has happened until he is on the floor. only then does his gaze finally fly over the scene before them, where it stays locked in place.

" no . . . " he stares at the woman, the lifeless face, the crimson on the white dress. a father cradling his child. dead child, because of javier. there's arthur's shouting somewhere in the distance, if behind him or above him he can't tell. the other's voice is dulled, like it comes from underwater. he wants something else from him, reaching for something in javier's hand. ( god, arthur. haven't you done enough ? ) but he can not get himself to look away from what's in front of them. fingers remain frozen around the grip of the revolver, but it is ripped from his grasp eventually. his knees give in and he supports himself only on his elbows on the ground now, pulling his bandana underneath his nose so he can breathe as he's left with the bitter realization. he killed her. oh god, forgive me. dios perdóname. he doesn't even know her name.

when javier's eyes finally fall to the floor, the floor boards creak again, an all too familiar sound from before. the old man rises, with difficulty but swiftly. determined suddenly, as he hurries up the stairs. but javier doesn't take note of it, just remains frozen where he is, staring into emptiness and murmuring in a hushed tone, " i wasn't gonna . . . i . . . "

[redemn]

I should have asked someone else... but... But I'm the best guy you know at frightenin' decent people.

Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018)

[redemn]

arthur's  killed  someone  again  today  .      someone  who  didn't  deserve  it  ,      and  he  doesn't  quite  know  why  he'd  done  it  .      oh  he'd  understood  in  the  moment  ,      when  the  barrel  of  that  pistol  had  been  pointed  straight  between  his  eyes  ,      that  he  needed  to  draw    …    and  returning  to  camp  with  heavier  pockets  and  a  new  watch  dangling  from  between  his  fingers  had  felt  better  ,      even  ,      than  the  bath  he'd  taken  just  yesterday  .      but  it's  been  one  year  now  since  his  split  with  mary  ,      and  months  since  he'd  recovered  from  his  hopeless  black  funk  .      he's  learned  how  to  handle  it  in  the  only  way  he  knows  how  :      taking  out  on  his  own  often  ,      taking  up  tasks  required  of  him  .      getting  his  knuckles  bloodied  and  his  hands  full  whenever  he's  able  to  .      this  path  always  remains  open  to  him  ,      and  there's  little  resistance  in  that  .

with  the  high  of  the  encounter  long  over  and  the  valuables  stored  away  for  later  pawn  ,      he's  taken  to  sitting  and  resting  himself  ,      whittling  away  at  his  dull  pencil  .      there's  some  part  of  him  that  regrets  the  killing  .      there's  another  part  of  him  that  reminds  all  his  faculties  not  to  become  overwhelmed  by  despondency  . there was reason for it somewhere . this is what he's always done .      his  time  for  wallowing  was  over  months  ago  ,      and  he's  done  well  for  the  gang  .      that's  all  that  matters  .

@coyotlindo  .      "  hey  ,      you  ,      uh  .      .      .      you  need  anything?  "  he  offers  with  a  soft  smile  and  a  somewhat  unsure  look  .      it  feels  like  a  lot  of  them  tend  to  forget  what  the  man  does  for  them  .      while  hardly  taking  any  breaks  .      unlike  a  lot  of  the  drunken  fools  wandering  about  camp  .      javier  himself  isn't  fully  innocent  of  that  either  .      but  it's  just  so  normalized  ever  since  he  can  remember:      arthur  does  what  he  is  told  ,      takes  one  for  the  team  ,      and  even  after  that  still  has  his  shit  together  enough  to  offer  them  comforting  words  .      at  least  so  it  would  seem  .    "  been  really  workin'  hard  these  days  .    "

he's  in  a  fog  of  thought  when  javier  arrives  in  his  somewhat  timid  ,      tentative  sort  of  way  ,      as  if  he's  not  sure  whether  or  not  arthur  wants  company  at  the  moment  .      arthur  becomes  suddenly  too  aware  of  his  expression  and  how  grave  it  must  look  to  anyone  who  happens  to  see  it  ,      and  he  takes  a  brief  moment  to  adjust  it  into  something  less  haggard  ,      more  inviting  .      less  troubled  ,      at  the  very  least  .      but  his  thoughts  still  plague  him  ,      and  the  most  he  can  let  out  to  break  the  silence  is  a  quiet  :        ❝        hey  ,      javier  .        ❞

he  whittles  another  small  shard  from  his  pencil  and  decides  it's  sharp  enough  ,      and  replaces  his  knife  in  his  belt  .      for  a  long  moment  ,      he  sits  in  contemplative  silence  .      he  is  not  a  man  to  dispel  his  worries  easily  ,      and  his  thoughts  aren't  worth  pennies  on  the  dollar  .        ❝        i  ,      uh    …        ❞        he  tugs  a  loose  bit  of  skin  from  the  inside  of  his  lip  .        ❝        don't  have  nothin'  needs  doin'  right  now  .      i'm  just  takin'  a  break  .        ❞        a  pause  ,      as  a  frown  flickers  at  his  brow  ,      only  to  be  hidden  by  the  way  he  lowers  his  head  again  and  readjusts  his  position  .      a  distraction  from  the  barbs  that  pierce  the  insides  of  his  throat  and  break  his  voice  into  gravel  .        ❝        i'd  like  company  ,      f'you'd    …    like  to  join  .        ❞

╰ ゜UNPROMPTED .  /  𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜  𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 .

[redemn]

i said one time how arthur would really love take me home ,   country roads ,   right .   well   …   personally ,   i think that arthur would feel a particular wrench in his heart if he ever heard these lyrics :     i hear her voice in the mornin' hour ,   she calls me / the radio reminds me of my home far away / drivin' down the road ,   i get a feelin' / that i should've been home yesterday .   [ … ]   because there are so many things he's reminded of in here .   like mary and all the missed opportunity he had with her ,   like the way he sometimes feels so wayward when he's wandering out in the wilderness and wondering why he's not living his life right ,   like the lingering feeling that there are places he should be where he's not ,   like all the people and the places he misses more than anything .     :(

[redemn]

he  sniffs  ,      his  nose  and  mouth  twitching  at  the  admission  .      so    …    they  know  who  he  is  .      the  only  people  who  ever  announce  so  brazenly  that  they  even  suspect  to  know  who  he  is  are  those  who  have  the  law  at  their  backs  .      not  someone  standing  on  their  own  ,      with  hardly  anything  at  their  back  .      he's  not  sure  whether  to  take  it  as  an  observation  or  a  challenge  ,      so  he  plays  it  safe  with  the  latter  ,      fingers  twitching  at  his  side  .      they  come  steadily  to  rest  at  the  holster  of  the  revolver  at  his  waist  .

❝        i  never  cared  much  'bout  blendin'  in  ,        ❞        are  his  first  words  ,      measured  and  low  in  volume  .      to  arthur  himself  ,      he  dresses  like  any  outlaw  would  ,      through  and  through  .      the  dirty  glances  cast  his  way  are  never  a  surprise  anymore  .

but  the  offer  isn't  something  he  can  pass  up  so  easily  .        ❝        whatchu  mean  ,      'hides  in  plain  sight'  ?        ❞        he's  not  fool  enough  yet  to  give  away  the  gang's  qualms  with  cornwall  .        ❝        why  you  offerin'  this  so  easy-like  ?        ❞

His face matches the bounty they had come across while scavenging some items from Blackwater - all the more curious of to what they could find. Impressive that he has such a big bounty on his head, and yet acted as if nothing had happened... Eivor hadn't a clue what happened, and naturally because they're from a different country all together they would be questioned... Even their crimes extended out to sea... ❝You are a wanted man... But you blend in perfectly with your surroundings.❞ It comes out blunt- but they make no moves to try and capture the man - dead or alive. They did not care all too much for these affairs - more curious than anything. ❝I work with a group that hides in plain sight... And hates Cornwall. If you're interested, perhaps we could work together.❞

cont. x @redemn

[redemn]

tfw you just got mauled by a bear a few minutes ago but you found a beautiful flower .