tre1awny - Tumblr blog

[tre1awny]

hi all u dashing cowboy magicians i am still at work 🤠🎩 but if you like this post i’ll toss out a little starter when i get home or reach out for plots... or if u want to feel free to send me an ask meme & we can go from there !! 

[tre1awny]

*: ･ﾟ✧   red dead redemption 2 ( part 4.)

feel free to change pronouns etc as needed!

“ here we are, you sack of shit.”

“ don’t hurt me, please.”

“ oh, don’t worry. they’re real nice.”

“ you found the little shit, did you?”

“ welcome to your new home.”

“ hope you’re real happy here.”

“ you want me to make him talk?”

“ i got a saying, my friend… we shoot fellers as need shootin’, save fellers as need savin’, and feed ‘em as need feedin’. we’re gonna find out what you need.”

“ no, i ain’t an __, mister! i hate that feller!”

“ oh, whatever you say, son.”

“ i’m just sorry we missed out on ___.”

“ we’re gonna starve to death up here.”

“ we have a few cans of food and a rabbit.”

“ we were stranded at sea for fifty days.”

“ and you unfortunately survived.”

“ well when __ are hunting you down, sometimes shopping trips need to be cut short.”

“ we’ll survive… we always have.”

“ if needs be, we can eat you.”

“ enough of this. we’ll go find something. come on.”

“ wait a second, hold on… here. you’re gonna need something to eat out there.”

“ [type of food]? starving would be preferable.”

“ you can’t go hunting, look at your hand.”

“ i can’t stay here listening to you two.”

“ you need to rest.”

“ you think this is rest?”

“ here, you take this. i can’t use it and you’ll have to.”

“ oh, you’re joking.”

“ use a gun, and we’ll scare off every animal for miles around.”

“ you’re never too old to learn… i imagine.”

“ how are you holding up, __?”

“ i’m okay, apart from this hand. stupid mistake.”

“ i sure hope i can. i never really got the hang of it.”

“ you’ve had a lot put on you. i wish i could have done more.”

“ i didn’t mean it like that, just…”

“ and that’s good?”

“ hey, stop here a second. i see something.”

“ how can you tell?”

“ quiet as you can. stay low and move slowly.”

“ shh, down there. you see them?”

“ try to hit them in the neck or head. quick and clean.”

“ come on, you’re making yourself too obvious.”

“ this might be our only chance for a good meal.”

“ not that way. what are you doing?”

“ you sure your hand’s okay?”

“ it’s easier when they ain’t shootin’ back.”

“ we’ll still have a big price on our heads.”

“ this is a big country. we’ll find somewhere to lie low.”

“ haha, i know who my money’s on in that fight.”

“ he’s weak, but that makes him much more useful.”

“ maybe we can get to them before they get to us.”

“ well, we’ve been scrapping over scores with them for years.”

“ watch out! bear up ahead.”

“ that’s a bad idea. have you seen the size of it?”

“ that’s a bad idea.”

“ hey, you awake back there?”

“ we ain’t ever talked that much, you and me.”

“ how long have you been with us now?”

“ bet you didn’t expect this.”

“ sooner or later a job’s going to go wrong. nature of life.”

“ just thought you might have moved on by now.”

“ you want me to move on?”

“ i know you could run it alone, no problem.”

“ i’m done with it. always wondering if someone’s going to kill you in your sleep.”

“ he treats me fair. most of you do.”

“ well, we need you now. more than ever.”

“ and how long have you been with these boys?”

“ why ain’t you run off?”

“ he saved me. saved most of us.”

“ that’s why we need to stick by him through this.”

“ he always sees us right.”

“ how’s that new horse?”

“ thank you for showing me how to use the bow properly.”

“ i only showed you a little. takes a lifetime of practice to master.”

“ what a surprise, to find the camp rat loitering around in the kitchen.”

“ is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“ i feel like we haven’t spoken for days.”

“ i do my utmost to avoid you.”

“ ah, you love me, really. it’s your sad way of showing affection.”

“ now shoot, get lost.”

“ have a drink. you earned it.”

“ jesus, what is that?”

“ navy rum, sir. it’s the only thing, the only thing! keep you sane it does.”

“ it’s easier if we do it together.”

“ do i get to skin you?”

“ you’re always one with the jokes, aren’t you?”

“ yeah, well, we’re on the run now. everyone’s got to do their bit to survive.”

[tre1awny]

independent, canon divergent   private   writing   blog   for   RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2's  𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘-𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐇 𝐆𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋  .  penned by peaches ©

[tre1awny]

the poem refuses to offer us a definitive moment at which home and peace are achieved, once and for all. odysseus never sets aside his desire to fight and kill his fellow man, or his yearning to wander and be absent.

red dead redemption 2's josiah trelawny. written by joan.

[tre1awny]

DUTCH VAN DER LINDE·.

      he is a poor sight, his friend. a mess of bruises and reddened cuts, the look all but suiting the gentlemanly demeanor, accent still dripping with the customary hint of wealth and taste, SOUNDING ALMOST EXOTIC deep in the moist of the old south   …   it’s a look that better suits arthur, he finds, but can’t resist the amusement at the thought, cigar brought to his lips as he observes josiah’s contused visage. can’t do much more than solemnly nod his head at the comment.   AND TRELAWNY’S RIGHT. bounty keeps raising. dangerously.

      ❝  hosea and i broke each other outta jail, once. you can practically say that was the start of our careers !  ❞   he’s probably heard the story a hundred times, already,   …   either directly from them or a novelized version of facts from one of their gang members.   ❝  but   …   back then, it was just your average lawman tryna enforce order in some ghost town out west.  ❞   THIS TIME IS DIFFERENT. this time feels for real.   ❝  mr. milton and mr. ross   …   those pinkerton fellers. feels like they’re the real deal, josiah.  ❞   a heavy drag of smoke, lungs welcoming the strong tobacco over the asphyxiating, stale humidity of the air around them. he gestures to trelawny’s general appearance, the bruises.   ❝  i’m sorry that this happened to you, my friend. how have you been feelin’ ?  ❞

josiah trelawny could be considered any number of things,     truth be told: a dandy, a fool, a cheat, a gentleman, a courteous individual, so on and so forth. but there is without certainty one thing that he is not, something he’ll never go quite so far as pretend to be, and that is a bruiser. not once in his lifetime has josiah ever relished the aches of a physical injury or so much as slightly entertained the prospect of a boot on his neck. sitting around like this doesn’t particular suit him. arthur wears it well. josiah tries not to think about it too much. his mouth is pulled into a thin line that could considered a grimace of a smile. the moustache, admittedly, makes it difficult to tell sometimes.

let the mystery be dispersed, then : he grins, and laughs aloud, because he has heard the story a hundred times already, but stories have their purpose and joy in them. it’s less a desire to know and a need to hear it, to remember. josiah politely turns his head aside to avoid blowing the smoke from his own cigarette directly into dutch’s face. he’s not really one for cigars. not regularly, anyway. his cigarettes are always thinly - rolled, ready in a quaint painted case to offer to some higher - standing fool josiah intends to rob. ❝ hm, yes. well, they certainly made themselves out to be the bloody real deal. those brutish beasts, like the bastard brothers out of dear a comedy of errors... they are intending to go after you, it seems, with all the resources available to them. do you know how long it’s been since the rug was pulled out from beneath me, like that? ❞

he’d tried, of course, to talk his way out of it : and then he’d tried to talk his way into it, to distract them, throw them off the scent. it hadn’t mattered. they’d known him to be a compatriot of dutch van der linde, and that, it seems was plenty enough for them. josiah can still remember the sound of the tooth cracking, his nose breaking. he doesn’t think he’s sounded so nasally in his life, before all this. ❝ oh, i’ll be fine! aches and pains, nothing more. worried, i’ll admit, for what lies ahead. i don’t think it’d be a bad idea to move from here sooner than later, dutch. ❞ he’d like to hope they’re not so fallible, so easily seen, but he keeps thinking he sees shadows at the edges of the trees.

[tre1awny]

“ you ain’t gonna die. not yet.”

the sunlight setting overhead turns the water a strange purplish-orange, like the outside of a bruise that hasn’t fully formed.     trelawny, still sore, watches the shifting colors instead of looking at arthur. he lifts his hand to touch at a still - tender jaw, the split lip, frowning, even as he lets loose a soft laugh to himself — a few seconds of humor, now shared with arthur. ❝ no, i suppose not, thanks to you. ❞ he’s already thanked arthur. twice, actually, once when he was still delirious with pain and again when he was more conscious of the world around him.

nothing broken, thankfully, but he doesn’t know that he’ll ever walk without a twinge in his knee again. something about that, the physical scarring of the work he does, and the life he leads and lies about leading, bothers him. arthur, however, is a bruiser. he knows what he does, and josiah has never been able to quite figure out how well that sits with him.

josiah’s lies and tells and truths and falsities are all very much put - upon. they’re in his words, and not the way he carries himself. arthur certainly has tells, truths, lies and falsities. all of them in the van der linde gang are pretending, in some shape or form, to be something that they’re not. he takes no small delight in wondering over that, over what that means not just for him but for all the rest of them too. they’re no-good criminal vagabonds, vaunting their pride and capabilities in the face of powers that wish they, in whatever form, didn’t exist. no wonder the pinkertons had gone out of their way to find him, to track him down.

❝ do promise me you’ll be more careful, arthur. i have a feeling... ❞ but that would be too honest, to admit it seems that their days have come to an end, that the tides are changing. he leaves it there, instead, for arthur to work out the rest, however vague. i have a feeling. besides that, dutch himself as expressed that the last thing any of them need is overt uncertainty in the face of men like milton hunting them down. stay strong, the man says, stay with me. josiah, for now, finds himself with no other choice. neither, perhaps, does arthur. he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette, then another. one for him, and one for the gang’s most loyal enforcer, who — in every sense — did not have to rescue trelawny. that is the least he can do.

@redempting  /  ask meme.

[tre1awny]

“ i trust your judgment. always have.”

josiah pauses as whatever he intends to say slips from his mouth.     dutch, it seems, has stunned him into remarkable silence. it’s not something he would’ve expected to hear, in these strange days and stranger times, watching their fates roll out in front of them. especially not given the reputation that josiah himself has gone to no small efforts to cultivate — a man who can’t always be trusted, who’d sell his own sister out if it meant he got to keep his own head, someone who could be telling you a bold-faced lie as much as a bold-faced truth —

he keeps coming back to it. he keeps gnawing on the bone, unstitching and re-stitching the wound. each time josiah trelawny turns his back on the van der linde gang, out of some promise made to someone he cares for ( but never to himself ) it’s only a matter of time before he’s dragged right back into the bloody mess of it all. he is an insider in the way that he brings them their money but an outsider in every other sense of the word, a purposeful choice to keep some careful distance between him and them. and yet.

dutch trusts his judgment, which is not to say that dutch trusts him, but... he can’t ignore the way it makes him feel, uneasy and at the same time comforted. is this why dutch lets him roam across the east and the west? is it because he knows, in some way, that josiah will always come crawling back? a clever and easy smile comes upon him. josiah scoffs out a small laugh, as if none of this bothers him, as if dutch perhaps doesn’t know that this bothers him. something tells him he does.

he, unthinkingly, places a hand atop dutch’s shoulder. they’ve been companions for some years now. not once has josiah thanked him for that, thanked him as much for the looseness of the leash he wears for the van der linde gang as for the leash itself. he can’t say he trusts dutch. he thinks he’d be a fool if he did. instead, what tumbles out is a pleased, humbled, appropriately pleased, because josiah trelawny is always at least a little keen for praise: ❝ dutch, my dear old friend, you’ve changed my life. i hope you know how much that truly means to me. ❞

@0ldwest  /  ask meme.

[tre1awny]

“ this is a new low, even by your standards.” from Arthur

he makes a soft sound that runs the gamut,      anywhere from relatively amused to outright insulted. strolling down the streets of a town that’s trying its utmost to become a city, a new pinpoint of civilized society in the west ( ugh ), josiah can’t help but stare at every officer that walks on by, as if he expects them to recognize arthur — trelawny himself has made a very pointed effort not to make too much of a name for himself; in fact, he prefers having no name at all — and haul him off for a bounty on his head. nothing has happened yet.

he turns, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth: ❝ arthur, my dear man, why in the heavens would you say something like that? ❞ he’s getting no small kick out of seeing arthur dressed the way that he is. not, in usual form, as some eccentric and bloody-handed outlaw, but as a gentleman about town, ready to go wine and woo with the rest of them... and win them a frankly exorbitant amount of money from a poker game with the local highest-ranking government officials.

getting arthur for his had been important, as, you see, josiah has no idea how to play poker. or, well, he thinks he knows how. either way, he’s not the most exceptional player, and while he likes to believe he has an excellent poker face, arthur’s even-keeled brightness and brawn will surely win them the day. a cravat at his neck, a button up shirt, a coat and golden pocket watch trelawny himself had gifted ( ❝ though, arthur, if you don’t mind, i’d like it back once we’re done! ❞ ), arthur looks like any gentleman that trelawny would happily rob blind in the broad light of day.

he stops, and leans on his cane, to take in the full picture with a squint. well. he might be broader in the shoulders than most, and there are the numerable scars, the way he holds himself... hm. too late to turn back now! ❝ don’t make such a bloody fuss. you’ll be fine, i’ll be fine, and we’ll both leave the room richer men than we were before. just think! they’ll talk of this game for at least, what, a month? ❞ josiah laughs, loud and sharp and bright, a little like a peacock. heads turn on the street and then turn away just as quickly. ❝ besides, i’ll owe you a lead later on for this. you’ve done me no small service. ❞ it’s hard to tell whether or not he’s lying, as calm as he keeps his tone. ❝ just stick with me. we can sink to new lows together, if that makes you feel any better. ❞

— @untodeath   /     ask meme.  

[tre1awny]

*    𝙳𝙾𝚄𝙱𝚃𝚂    &     𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒 .        ——        an    interpretation   of   𝘳𝘦𝘥   𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥   𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯'𝘴   𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍   𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍 .

[tre1awny]

joining in on the fun ! ft. a winter coat fit 👀

[tre1awny]

josiah takes off his top hat to reveal a slightly smaller top hat underneath, and beneath that, a slightly smaller top hat, and beneath that...... a dove piloting him ratatouille style

[tre1awny]

❝ you have quite the price on your head, dearest dutch. ❞     josiah knows, of course, that he’s stating the obvious. he’d said much the same back in valentine, when bounty hunters were after the van der linde gang for what had happened in blackwater. now, entrenched in the high heat and humidity of clemens point, with the bounty higher than before, he’d like to gauge how dutch is feeling about things. he can’t see well out of his left eye. the bruises have yet to fade entirely. he keeps hoping that he’ll wake up in the morning, and the tooth the bounty hunters took from him will have magically returned to him. it hasn’t.

such is the price josiah pays, gallivanting about as he does, for days or weeks or months at a time, in hopes of bringing something back to the van der linde gang that will get them something. he, after all, is only one man, and they’re fearsome for a reason — there’s only so much josiah alone can do. how naive he’s been, he thinks, to have forgotten what this kind of pain feels like. ( it isn’t a debt he’s had to pay in some time. ) he lifts a hand to rub at his jaw, squinting in the bright midday sun. dutch’s phonograph croaks out a symphony in the background. ❝ the men who caught me, they had a remarkable interest in you. i find myself wondering — have you ever been caught by people like that, before? ❞

— @0ldwest !

[tre1awny]

his first excursion away from clemens point is something he has to talk himself into.     he’s not proud of that. danger isn’t something josiah’s unfamiliar with, at this point in his life. the bruises on his face have faded by now, but his jaw is still sore. memory sticks to the skin as much as any physical injury. he spends a good part of the morning languishing, back-and-forth, until he’s had his second cup of coffee and decides he can’t put it off any longer. there’s business to take care of. important business, at that. it’s as he’s pulling his coat on ( wincing at the way his shoulder twinges ) that he catches the familiar sound of ms. grimshaw lecturing the girls.

he looks over. not the girls, then. just the one. he watches as ms. grimshaw lays into karen, although for what he can’t really make out. ms. grimshaw is a severe woman, and josiah decides in a rather spur-of-the-moment decision that he doesn’t have to go out alone. patting gwydion on the neck twice, he crosses camp, smiling bright, to greet ms. grimshaw — a polite good morning, ms. grimshaw! — and then turns towards karen with a clever wink. ❝ my dear miss jones, i have some work i could use help with in rhodes. i was hoping you might come along with me. ❞

— @diamuerte, for karen !

[tre1awny]

talking, to some, serves a purpose.     it takes their minds off the state of things, or calms their nerves. not quite so for josiah — he talks because, in many ways, he feels it’s the only thing he’s got any talent in. there are tricks to it, in what you might say and how you say it, to pluck information out from someone that others have deemed unimportant. he’s no negotiator by any means, but he’s casually-conversed people out of their secrets and their stories before, sometimes out of sheer obnoxiousness.

frankly put, as they make their way towards blackwater, that’s what he’s trying to do with javier. he’s commented on anything, everything, whatever it is that comes to mind. casual chat about the weather, their stay in valentine, how he’d noticed tracks to horseshoe overlook but hadn’t pursued them. he’s circling around what he really wants to ask about, which is blackwater. the shooting. where things went so wrong. mac, davey, and jenny dead, and then sean... he doesn’t know what to think of it. he tugs at gwydion’s reins to slow her, drawing back so that he and javier are riding side-by-side. he glances at javier, briefly, but tries to keep his focus on the road ahead. when he speaks, his tone is genuine, if not full of the same jaunty cheer that permeates everything else he’s said thus far : ❝ i’m curious, javier, to hear what you think about all this. that is to say, everything that’s happened. how are you doing? ❞

— @diamuerte, for javier​ !

[tre1awny]

“ what are you doing?” from Charles hehe

he lifts his head.     spread out across the table are playbills. some new, some old, all of them equal in their worth to him. josiah smiles, almost roguish, and picks up a playbill — featuring a renowned singer coming to saint denis all the way from the state of new york by train — for charles to see. ❝ contemplating, my dear man. ❞ contemplating, of course, is a strong word. it’s more like he’s... shuffling thoughts together into a plan, the way one might try to take wet clay and form it into a vase, or perhaps a bowl.

he’s never tried his hand at pottery, although he’s always had some fondness for the arts. the playbill boasts all about how spectacular marie dupont is, how wonderful it is to hear her sing. unique, claims the advertisement, like no other! a must-see if you happen to be in town! josiah’s never seen her perform, before, so he’s inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt and believe it. everyone, after all, is like no other until they very much are. next to the stack of playbills sits a few train tickets that he’d wheedled alden into giving him. not an easy feat, but after the promise of a shared drink and an in-depth discussion on the unionization of train station employees, a topic which josiah knows only a little about but which alden is very knowledgeable on, he’d agreed.

it hadn’t been the worst evening, but it’d been up there. all that to say — josiah stands, and leans in near charles to tap twice on the playbill. ❝ this woman, mademoiselle marie dupont, is a reputable singer from the east coast, or possibly france, and, if the rumors are true, very rich. ❞ charles can probably already see where this is going, josiah assumes.  ❝ in a few days’ time she’ll be passing through the emerald ranch train station on her way to saint denis; when her train is stopped, i’d like to see what i can do to talk her out of some of that money. not all of it, of course. just enough. ❞ marie, as it turns out, is quite ( ! ) the philanthropist, as well as an art collector, and he’s been trying to conjure up some story about his integral role in saint denis’ art society for close to a week.

he believes he has the details worked out, but, unfortunately, the flaws don’t usually expose themselves across a work of art until you’ve pulled the hot clay from the fire. something like that, anyways. again, he’s never actually bothered to try. he doesn’t think he’d be very good at it, truth be told. he looks up at charles, brows raised in amusement :   ❝ you’re more than welcome to come along, if you’d like. you can see me talk my way into trouble and then promptly talk my way out of it. it’s not your traditional stagecoach robbery, but... ❞ he lifts one shoulder, in an attempt at a casual shrug. he’s grateful enough that charles and arthur went out of their way to rescue him, and, in his own way, he’s been aching to pay them back for the kindness. this life doesn’t suit well for bargains, but josiah personally likes to think that’s how he summons up such good luck when he really needs it the most. 

— @diamuerte   /     ask meme.  

[tre1awny]

“ i’m miserable. been a tough few days.”

can john see the way josiah contemplates agreeing with him?      why, yes, mr. marston, you do look certifiably miserable! but that would be unkind, and more to the point, they’re all miserable-looking at the moment. josiah turns his face away before john ever gets the chance to wonder what could’ve come out of his mouth off-the-cuff. there’d been the shootout, of course, the loss of poor sean. then, the fire of braithwaite manor had burned for days, and he’d wondered in shock and awe at the smoke from his caravan for a grand total of ten minutes before realizing what might’ve occurred.

he doesn’t think he’s ever saddled gwydion so quickly, hoping — however naively — to circumvent the inevitable, stow the lawmen, get information to someone. in the days to follow he’d mourned his own responsibility in telling dutch and the rest of that silly little feud, perhaps encouraging them in his own small way to get involved, offering them discrete details and information. the truth, josiah knows, is that if he hadn’t, someone else would’ve beaten him to it. that’s just the way these things go, with the van der linde gang.

john’s own son, lost, well, that’s... there are no words for it, are there? there have been moments like these where he’d like to offer comfort, in the past with any one of them, but that’s the real trouble with living two lives and wearing two faces. ( or a hundred, depending on the day. )  no one can know of trelawny’s own sons, and john marston has made such a show of his own struggle in trying to bond with jack. trelawny, of course, has never been there to witness it. but he’s heard things — he’s only ever survived this life because of how well he listens.

he reaches out, wordless, to place a firm hand on john’s shoulder, and to offer him his unlit cigarette. it’s not much, hardly a kindness at all, but the things he’d like to say are things that john has either already thought, or heard, or been told before... or they give up more about himself than he’d like to ever share. perhaps john will be able to construe his shared worry through touch alone. the contact ends as quickly as it’d begun, as josiah draws back with a firm nod, mouth pressed into a hard line. in the firelight, john’s scars make him look like an entirely man.

❝ yes, i can imagine that the circumstances you’re facing now seem quite difficult, by comparison to what we’ve been struck with in the past. ❞ and isn’t that the understatement of the slowly-encroaching new century?   ❝ even so, i have no doubts that jack will be found and returned to us unharmed. angelo bronte... ❞ well, trelawny has his doubts about the man himself, but saint denis is a strange place, full of odd cruelties and kindnesses in turn.  ❝ if there’s anything i can do for you, john — anything — you’ll know where to find me. ❞ except john won’t, and in some ways, that’s the point.

— @w0lfbite   /    ask meme.

[tre1awny]

“ you’re alive! oh, you’re alive!”

valentine is a centrifuge of mud,     drinks spilled into that mud, along with a grand variety of bodily fluids, and, more to his interest, desperate men. he’s spent four days watching the men and women come and go in their efforts to make their lives into something and has found himself — well, not unimpressed, exactly, but contemplative. there are only so many stories a man can tell the wealthy ( or the hard-working ) and the cons that follow those stories are not interchangeable with one another. case in point : the two men staring down at him now in the train station, with mary-beth looking on in mild alarm in the corner, their conversation interrupted.

these, as it goes without saying, are two men he’d tried to trick into investing into polytoxatine dynamite ( definitively not real ), a brand new and much safer alternative to the standard on the market. they’d been looking to dig their heels in up in the hills, and see what they could find, one of them had explained. josiah had replied — rather excitedly — have i got just the thing for you!

the sticks he’d given them, of course, had been emptied out of powder and refilled with flour. he’s done this song and dance a few times, and has always managed to leave town before the disappointed not-so-newly rich men made their grand return. he’d been planning on buying a stagecoach out to emerald ranch and riding on from there, then perhaps circling back to horseshoe overlook... 

it’s a true miracle ( or, more the probable option, sheer luck ) that after they try to beat him for “lying and stealing their goddamn money” they’re willing to take the other sticks of gutted dynamite and give it another go.  ❝ just a fluke, good sirs, i assure you! ❞ he calls, after they’ve left the building, the double-doors slamming behind them. josiah turns sharp on his heel, brushes his coat off and plucks a piece of lint away from his shoulder, before returning to mary-beth. he tries to look sheepish but it might land more in the area of flustered. is his face red? he might be flushed. 

he gives mary-beth a dramatic bow, laugh low and warm :  ❝ yes, yes, alive, and perhaps even well! ❞ as if from thin air, a dollar bill appears in a gloved hand, nicked from the men when he’d been trying to avoid their blows. he holds it out for mary-beth.  ❝ i think we should get ourselves a drink with that, before they come back around and realize i’ve sold them more of the same. ❞ he glances, somewhat nervously, over his shoulder. they haven’t returned. ❝ you can tell me all about what i’ve missed, and i can tell you all about a wonderful emerald-tipped fountain pen i saw in chicago not so long ago. ❞

— @gask1ll   /   ask meme.