(no subject)
(Prose form because I am not teh lazy.)
Damon glanced around at the others, before sighing and leaning back in the somehow-pristine upholstery, pulling the rim of his hat down to hide his eyes. Athmaar crouched next to him, but seemed to be caught up in his own thoughts. Damon wouldn't bother him. The pretty little Core-girl sat on his other side, but he had a feeling that if he so much as talked to her that...Ancient One, or whatever he was, would knock him galley west before he knew which way was up.
There was something that didn't strike him as fanciable about this whole scenario. This blowhard that'd taken over the group was the boy of some big bug, but he almost seemed like he'd rather beef all of 'em if things didn't go his way than so much as spare 'em a glance. The way he'd bulldozed everyone into this whole fiasco with a trial and a council... it was all going right over Damon's head, honestly, and he couldn't help but figure they were all going to get it in the neck in the end. Not to mention this Sifer fellow bent the elbow a little too much. But maybe Damon was just being an old croaker. Since Casket, he wasn't too keen on trusting just anybody.
Casket. The poor kid had been just between hay and grass, and to go out in a horrible way like that...And all because Damon had opened his big bazoo and gone along with those kids' sob story. The guilt was just nearly enough to make the gunslinger want to go on one hell of a bender and just bury himself in a bottle for a few weeks. But he didn't blame Blaze and River. After all, maybe they didn't know their brother (and Damon was at sea as to how that worked, too) was after them. No, he blamed Novak. Maybe he was being too trusting again, or maybe he was just all down but nine, but he didn't think it was the boys' faults, what had happened to Casket.
Damon's feelings were just getting all knotted up inside him, with no outlet, and he didn't know that this was causing his magic to develop a little. He knew he was getting better with his healing magic - he had to. Wasn't no one else in the party who could do it. It was just coppering their bets, you know. Making sure everyone made it out of whatever bosh they'd gotten up to their elbows in that time.
Oh, dash all, but if Damon wasn't all balled up over this whole mess. Should he quit beating the devil around the stump and point out that this didn't all seem according to Hoyle? But he had a feeling that this Sifer fellow might well be a fellow to ride the river with if he wanted to be, for all he was a flannel-mouthed curly wolf. At any rate, Damon wasn't much more than a big shave-tail when it came to all this politic bosh. If they stuck him in front of this Council thinger, he'd just go about shooting his mouth off and seem like an odd stick indeed.
The gunslinger sighed, then looked over at the Rallick crouching next to him.
"Hey buddy," he whispered, scooting closer. Athmaar turned his head toward him. It was still a bit weird to not know if he was looking at him or not - since Athmaar couldn’t really look anywhere. But the Rallick was Damon’s friend, and there were odder things on the range. “I reckon soon as this ol’ bird lands, I’m fixin’ to jot off,” he said. Athmaar’s lips turned down in confusion, and he cocked his head. “Means head off somewhere,” Damon explained. “Leave.” Athmaar nodded.
“Why?” the Rallick asked.
“Because this Sifer dude is purty on the shoot, and it ain’t lookin’ too on the up and up. I figure the rest of y’all can say just the same as I can, and say it better too, so what’re ya needin’ me for? I can go off on my own and figure out what I’m here for.”
“If you’re not here, how can you figure out what you’re here for?”
“Aw, no, I didn’t mean it like that, Athmaar. I meant here like...alive. You know. I survived some things I don’t think I should have. I want to figure out why, and I can’t really do that if I’m just tagging along with the group.” Athmaar still seemed lost. Damon sighed. “I’m just telling ya so’s you can look after the others while I’m gone. And take care of yourself, too. I don’t mean to sound namby-pamby, but if’n anything happened to you I’d take on somethin’ fierce. And don’t worry none about me - I’ll come back by hook or crook, believe you me.” And...that was the end of that conversation.
When they touched ground again, Damon simply turned away from their motley little group, leaving with what little he had that was his to find his purpose.