Erron struggled to remember the last time anyone was so pleased to see him; no ulterior motives, no expectations beyond good company. Hell, he was a betting man, and he wagered most folks would laugh at the prospect of him being good company outside a saloon. Most folks took him for an illiterate hayseed born in a barn and raised in pig shit, though. Arthur hadn't never treated him like he was nothing but a beast of burden, some kind of dumb, dangerous animal with a talent for fighting and drinking and gambling and not a lot else. It felt strange to be treated like a friendly face — especially on account of being told he looked about as friendly as a mean-eyed rattlesnake all his life.
Strange, and good, but he reckoned even rattlesnakes must have enjoyed them some friendliness on occasion, or there wouldn't be so damn many of them.
Arthur's hands were warm on his face in the crisp morning air, the texture of the callouses along his palms and fingers peculiarly soothing. The eagerness with which he leaned in for another taste of his lips told him he'd have done the same sooner or later if Arthur hadn't, and that didn't trouble him nearly as much as he thought it might. "This place been good to you," he remarked. "No more rootin' around in the snow fer you, that's for damn sure."
It took Erron a while to sweet talk his mare into sidling up next to the ink black stallion in the enclosure, her nostrils flared wide with her chin raised, ears flicking back and forth. The stallion, for his part, merely observed a while with a ponderous disposition before continuing to eat off the hay bale in front of him. Squirrelly and uncertain as his beloved lady could be, she rarely turned down an invitation to feast. Halfway through removing the majority of her tack, he leaned forward and heaved a great big sigh of relief into her neck, listened idly to the sound of her grinding hay between her teeth for a bit before resuming his work.
He returned to the porch with a pair of large leather saddle bags slung over his shoulder, which he unceremoniously dropped next to the chair he collapsed into in favor of the cup of coffee Arthur offered. "Them degenerates over in Van Horn'd be awful grateful if they never saw my ass again, I can tell ya that much," Erron replied over the rim of his cup before partaking in a graciously long pull. Nobody brewed coffee quite so smooth as those that lived off the land, and after months of overpriced saloon swill it was no wonder at all that his spirits were lifted.
"Jack 'o' diamonds is a hard card t'play," he chuckled and stretched out his legs 'til he was damn near lying in his seat, smug as the day was long, and twice as confident.
no subject
Strange, and good, but he reckoned even rattlesnakes must have enjoyed them some friendliness on occasion, or there wouldn't be so damn many of them.
Arthur's hands were warm on his face in the crisp morning air, the texture of the callouses along his palms and fingers peculiarly soothing. The eagerness with which he leaned in for another taste of his lips told him he'd have done the same sooner or later if Arthur hadn't, and that didn't trouble him nearly as much as he thought it might. "This place been good to you," he remarked. "No more rootin' around in the snow fer you, that's for damn sure."
It took Erron a while to sweet talk his mare into sidling up next to the ink black stallion in the enclosure, her nostrils flared wide with her chin raised, ears flicking back and forth. The stallion, for his part, merely observed a while with a ponderous disposition before continuing to eat off the hay bale in front of him. Squirrelly and uncertain as his beloved lady could be, she rarely turned down an invitation to feast. Halfway through removing the majority of her tack, he leaned forward and heaved a great big sigh of relief into her neck, listened idly to the sound of her grinding hay between her teeth for a bit before resuming his work.
He returned to the porch with a pair of large leather saddle bags slung over his shoulder, which he unceremoniously dropped next to the chair he collapsed into in favor of the cup of coffee Arthur offered. "Them degenerates over in Van Horn'd be awful grateful if they never saw my ass again, I can tell ya that much," Erron replied over the rim of his cup before partaking in a graciously long pull. Nobody brewed coffee quite so smooth as those that lived off the land, and after months of overpriced saloon swill it was no wonder at all that his spirits were lifted.
"Jack 'o' diamonds is a hard card t'play," he chuckled and stretched out his legs 'til he was damn near lying in his seat, smug as the day was long, and twice as confident.