[Open Post] Gone Huntin'

[mal_badinlatin]

The November rains have finally let up enough that folk can get them some outside work done. The woods are bare now except for the dark green firs and the lighter green pines, and the russet and dark gold and tan of some oaks still holding their leaves. With the month waning, it's getting close to when most folk would be celebrating the harvest.

Comments

[fairdamsel]

On his way there, or coming back, Mal might bump into a very beautiful young woman wandering outside, gathering flowers in a little basket. She looks thoughtful, and will, of course, be friendly if spoken to.

[mal_badinlatin]

Given Mal's less than stellar experiences with medieval-looking types, he almost gives her a wide berth... But she's a pretty girl, and while Mal might be a bit wary around pretty strangers -- given the incident involving the prairie harpy who called herself Saffron -- it's hard for him to ignore her completely.

He's also wary about approaching her since he's carrying a brown paper package containing the innards of the turkeys, which he's taking to the woods to bury. But he'll still approach her. "Pickin' late posies for yer sweetheart?" he asks.

[fairdamsel]

Enide blushes very deeply. "Sir, I -- I am married. And my husband is not here -- they are not for anyone -- only to brighten up the house."

[mal_badinlatin]

"Fair enough," he says. "Never hurts t' bring in a little bit a' spring in, 'fore the winter moves in." He glances across the sleeping landscape. "Winter's like t' move in quick. Y' c'n feel in th' air. Surprised we ain't had a lil' light snow yet."

[thornofcamorr]

So. Like to meet someone rather unscrupulous, definitely ordinary, and thoroughly bored? Meet Locke Lamora, who is currently sitting on the porch railing and staring out at nothing, swinging his legs and wishing he could think of a way to run a con here. By himself. Balls.

It's not going very well, but his expression is innocent and he certainly looks approachable enough, even if he is a dirty no good rotten liar with the lightest fingers this side of...anywhere.

Typist should probably ask if Mal has anything in his pockets.

[mal_badinlatin]

Contents of Mal's coat pockets include: a folding jack-knife, a few extra shells for the shotgun, a clean but wadded-up grey bandanna-style neck-kerchief and a small pocket flask maybe half full of Wild Turkey (bourbon, that is). His pistol is in a holster, strapped to his left thigh, under the skirts of the coat. His trouser pockets contain a few loose credit coins and a few crumpled hundred credit bills (roughly equal to about US$1). Only reason he keeps them there is pretty much sentimental reasons, the hope that he'll someday get out of this crazy place and back some place where they have value.

At this point, however, he's venturing out onto the porch steps after a long day, coffee mug in hand, as much to keep his hands warm as to warm his insides. Spotting the youngster, he remarks, "Y' look like yer lookin' f'r some action."

[thornofcamorr]

Ooh, full of treasures. Locke will probably relieve him of the bourbon to start with, when he gets the chance. Someone's a little bit of an alcoholic. And raises his eyebrows a little, innocent as anything.

"Me? What gave you that idea?"

[mal_badinlatin]

"Young man inna place like this? Y'd likely be outta yer mind with boredom after a spell," he says. He's not exactly speaking for himself, but he at least empathizes with him, if that's the case.