Erron grunted his acknowledgement, but his mind had already gotten to racing every which way despite the stillness of his demeanor. Inventory was as ever at the forefront — which of his rifles to take with him, whether to take one or both of his revolvers, how much ammunition he might need. Practicalities simple enough to resolve swiftly and decisively down to the last drop of clean water in his canteen. The back of his mind, however, was a great deal more fanciful. Filled with abstractions. Ever since he could remember, he’d always been the quick-witted and inquisitive sort, both of which proved an incessant irritant to everyone around him when he was a boy.
Knee high to a grasshopper and already a disobedient devil of a child, as his ma was so very keen to remind him whenever she was around, but especially now that she wasn’t.
What did Arthur get up to when he couldn’t live as a man? What sorts of thoughts ran through his mind in his wanderlust? What did he know that no ordinary man could ever hope to?
“Question ain’t whether they’re meaner n’you. It’s whether they’re meaner than me — and I reckon they don’t make ‘em any meaner out here than they do where I come from. Ain’t nobody and nothin’ nice and soft where I come from,” he murmured, swirling the last swallow of his coffee in his cup just to avoid having to look at himself before he knocked it back. Arthur made a mean cup of coffee all right; no bitter sediment at the back of his throat but his own bile.
The nicer parts of Ambarino might as well have been the garden of eden by his estimation. Arthur couldn’t have chosen more wisely, easy as it was even for someone such as himself to be gentled by the beauty of it. He didn’t so much as stir at the creak of wood or the soft susurration of cloth beside him; the morning light on his eyelids darkening as Arthur shifted to stand in front of him. Erron blinked up at him, his hand reflexively raising to rake through his hair as the old black stalker hat he’d taken to wearing for years was lifted up and off. It was nothing special, not really; he couldn’t even recall where he’d come by it now.
He hadn’t never been much for personal touches beyond his arsenal neither, but boredom encouraged creativity in him and at some point he’d taken to decorating the band with spent rounds to mark occasions where he’d been anything but.
“Ain’t fixin’ to go nowhere no time soon...” Erron trailed off at a sudden and unexpected loss of words, uncertain where to even begin trying to convey why not, gaped like a goddamn guppy for a beat before giving up. He licked his lips and changed the subject: “Brought ya somethin’.”
no subject
Knee high to a grasshopper and already a disobedient devil of a child, as his ma was so very keen to remind him whenever she was around, but especially now that she wasn’t.
What did Arthur get up to when he couldn’t live as a man? What sorts of thoughts ran through his mind in his wanderlust? What did he know that no ordinary man could ever hope to?
“Question ain’t whether they’re meaner n’you. It’s whether they’re meaner than me — and I reckon they don’t make ‘em any meaner out here than they do where I come from. Ain’t nobody and nothin’ nice and soft where I come from,” he murmured, swirling the last swallow of his coffee in his cup just to avoid having to look at himself before he knocked it back. Arthur made a mean cup of coffee all right; no bitter sediment at the back of his throat but his own bile.
The nicer parts of Ambarino might as well have been the garden of eden by his estimation. Arthur couldn’t have chosen more wisely, easy as it was even for someone such as himself to be gentled by the beauty of it. He didn’t so much as stir at the creak of wood or the soft susurration of cloth beside him; the morning light on his eyelids darkening as Arthur shifted to stand in front of him. Erron blinked up at him, his hand reflexively raising to rake through his hair as the old black stalker hat he’d taken to wearing for years was lifted up and off. It was nothing special, not really; he couldn’t even recall where he’d come by it now.
He hadn’t never been much for personal touches beyond his arsenal neither, but boredom encouraged creativity in him and at some point he’d taken to decorating the band with spent rounds to mark occasions where he’d been anything but.
“Ain’t fixin’ to go nowhere no time soon...” Erron trailed off at a sudden and unexpected loss of words, uncertain where to even begin trying to convey why not, gaped like a goddamn guppy for a beat before giving up. He licked his lips and changed the subject: “Brought ya somethin’.”