update: By Faith and By Fire (part 3 of 4)
By Faith and By Fire.
Justin Timberlake in Deadwood. No law can make it respectable. [Chris/Justin]
iii. flinch
Is it too much to fucking ask, Al thinks, that he be left alone to enjoy a quiet breakfast and the company of his fucking thoughts for one single hour? "You'll not find what you're looking for this morning," he calls to the tall figure in the doorway. "My barman's taken himself off on some sort of frolic and it's too early in the day for pussy. Whores are notorious late sleepers."
The figure steps out of the sunlight and into the darkened saloon. Al squints at him. "Not that you're here for pussy, I reckon," he says. The kid shakes his head, once, his face solemn. It's the boy whore that freak of a he-she picked up out of the goodness of her sodden fucking heart and delivered to that other freak of nature out on the edge of town. Poetic fucking justice of perversity, so perfect it'd make Al's head hurt if he could be bothered to think about it at all.
"Heard about the trouble out by your friend's place," Al calls, and the kid goes still. "Terrible thing, fire. These new towns are like fucking tinderboxes -- you all aren't careful, next time someone could get hurt."
"Yeah," the kid says slowly. He still doesn't move a muscle but stays standing just inside the doorway with the morning sunlight flaring around him. "That's why I came to see you, about next time. About how there shouldn't fucking be one."
"I think it's the sheriff you're looking for. Stopping fires ain't exactly in my line." Al takes a sip of coffee and smiles hard at the kid. "Especially when the fire takes care of a little fucking competition."
"Not much competition, to my mind. I never seen a man looking for a fuck who'd be satisfied by a little singing instead."
"Well, you'd know," Al says with a sweet smile, and the kid doesn't look away. "And why take the risk, is my way of thinking, if that cruel fucking cunt of a Mother Nature's going to take care of it for me."
"I got a deal for you," the kid says suddenly, and before he can continue Al cuts him off.
"Before you say another fucking word, allow me to enlighten you as to something that not one cocksucker in this town seems able to get through his skull. What a deal is not, is you fucking telling me your heart's desire in the expectation that I will put myself out of considerable time and trouble to fix it for you without any fucking recompense, out of a charitable fucking impulse and the hope of piling up enough virtuous acts to balance the scales of heaven against a previous lifetime of desperate deeds. A deal's the simplest fucking thing in the world, and the sweetest: I do, I get. You do, you get. Anything else is a fucking gift, and I warn you now: you will not find me a generous man."
"I got a deal for you," the kid says again, and despite himself Al is curious. It's early in the day and he hasn't finished his fucking coffee yet, is why his fucking defenses are down.
"And what it is you'll hope to get from me in this deal?"
"Don't you want to know what you'll get?"
"I like to hear the price first in any deal," Al says. "Keeps me from getting my tender hopes up."
"No more fires," the kid says, lifting his chin stubbornly. "No fires, no floods, no fucking tornados tearing the place up by its roots, no broken windows or bones, no acts of god nor man to do any damage at Kirkpatrick's place."
"Why, friend, hearing you a man might think I was to be held responsible for what was surely an unfortunate fucking accident."
The kid looks at him for a moment and then says, "Surely. But I figure a man like you, it'd be smart thinking for even Mother Nature to avoid pissing him off."
"You're not wrong," Al says. "And tell me, what wonderful fucking prize will be mine for exiling the gods of weather and random fucking chance from the streets of Deadwood?"
The kid steps further into the saloon and leans lazily against the bar, his eyes on Al's face the whole time. Al laughs. "You have been wildly misinformed as to both my tastes and my fucking sense of business. Of the two, I'm finding myself more insulted by the latter."
"Lot of new people coming into town," the kid says, his voice low and intimate. "Money does that, draws people from all over, big cities, all sorts, people with what they'd call more sophisticated tastes than you mostly find in Deadwood."
"A skill of that sort for making pictures with words shouldn't go unrewarded. You should look up Merrick, tell him to give you a column in his paper."
"I figure a man like you, he prides himself on being able to meet all the needs of his clientele. And on knowing all their needs. Sometimes the knowing, that's the more valuable in the long run."
Al looks up sharply. There's a pol in Yankton seems determined to cause trouble, but there's been a rumor or two set swirling about him recently. Knowing the truth of those rumors could be of great use in upcoming days. "Should I decide to pride myself, I'm not reliant on any fucking thing you can offer. I can import talent from Frisco, or train it up myself homegrown."
"But there's no need to import when I'm already here." The kid smiles. "And I already been trained."
"And all the salary you ask for this talent is protection against the elements for your colleague? That's a fucking price even if I were willing to pay. I'd be wanting to know I'd be getting value in return."
Al steps around to the side of the counter and the kid meets him at the same time. Al is ready to stare him down but the kid drops quickly to his knees, his fingers busy at Al's belt. He pauses for a moment, and if despite appearances the kid's a fucking amateur and ready to shirk Al will kick him across the room for wasting his time. But by the way the kid's mouth slips right down over Al's cock like silk he's no fucking amateur. A moment of respect was all it was, to see if at the moment of truth Al would shirk himself, but there's no fucking fear of that. When it comes down to it one mouth's much like another, and besides, this is fucking business. He grabs the kid's head and pushes hard into his mouth. He's pleased to see not a trace of a flinch.
"The most pathetic thing in the world," Al says, his hand heavy on the back of the kid's neck, "is a whore in love. It's like to shake my entire faith in the operation of human relations, in the bestial barbarity and savage selfishness that give me hope the world might just keep turning from one day to the next, as long as men keep finding reason to hope they'll take the advantage one of the other in the future. There'll be no denying from this fucking quarter that it's a pretty story, love, and that there are those who can't live without telling one, those that will never feel safe unless they build their house on fucking sand. But of all the cocksuckers willing and wary who walk the earth each day, you'd think a fucking whore would see the last unhappy chapter from the first fucking page, would remember just how easy it is to sink beneath the fucking sand. God has his reasons, I trust and pray, but they are far beyond the fucking reach of even so keen an observer as myself, because there is nothing more pathetic than a whore in love, and nothing more fucking common. Disheartened is what I am, when I think too long on it. It's like a man of science who denies gravity, or a man of the cloth who doesn't believe in passing the collection plate. It's against human nature, is what it is, and there is nothing I deplore more than that which comes unnatural, like virtue, like love. If nothing else I am a man of fucking nature."
Al loosens his grip on the kid's neck and he stands, his eyes fixed somewhere just south of Al's shoulder. "Well, you haven't wasted your youth," Al says. He wanders back behind the counter and takes another sip of coffee.
"Look at me," he snaps suddenly, and the kid looks. "You be where I tell you, when I tell you, and you do what I tell you, and you give me no fucking trouble at all. And if I hear a fucking whisper from any client that he's in the least dissatisfied, you'll regret your entire fucking life, peaking with the day you decided to walk your ass into my saloon. Nod your fucking head if you understand me."
The kid nods.
"Pleasure doing business," Al says. The kid walks toward the door and Al calls, "And if I find out he's running you or any other whore, boy or girl, out of his place --"
"I know," the kid says. "We'll end up dead."
"Well, he will," Al says. He looks the kid up and down coldly. "You got a couple more years of earning in you before you're not worth what it costs me to keep you." He's pleased to see the kid flinch.
"Run along now," Al says, and picks up his cup. "One way or another, you'll be hearing from me."
Justin Timberlake in Deadwood. No law can make it respectable. [Chris/Justin]
iii. flinch
Is it too much to fucking ask, Al thinks, that he be left alone to enjoy a quiet breakfast and the company of his fucking thoughts for one single hour? "You'll not find what you're looking for this morning," he calls to the tall figure in the doorway. "My barman's taken himself off on some sort of frolic and it's too early in the day for pussy. Whores are notorious late sleepers."
The figure steps out of the sunlight and into the darkened saloon. Al squints at him. "Not that you're here for pussy, I reckon," he says. The kid shakes his head, once, his face solemn. It's the boy whore that freak of a he-she picked up out of the goodness of her sodden fucking heart and delivered to that other freak of nature out on the edge of town. Poetic fucking justice of perversity, so perfect it'd make Al's head hurt if he could be bothered to think about it at all.
"Heard about the trouble out by your friend's place," Al calls, and the kid goes still. "Terrible thing, fire. These new towns are like fucking tinderboxes -- you all aren't careful, next time someone could get hurt."
"Yeah," the kid says slowly. He still doesn't move a muscle but stays standing just inside the doorway with the morning sunlight flaring around him. "That's why I came to see you, about next time. About how there shouldn't fucking be one."
"I think it's the sheriff you're looking for. Stopping fires ain't exactly in my line." Al takes a sip of coffee and smiles hard at the kid. "Especially when the fire takes care of a little fucking competition."
"Not much competition, to my mind. I never seen a man looking for a fuck who'd be satisfied by a little singing instead."
"Well, you'd know," Al says with a sweet smile, and the kid doesn't look away. "And why take the risk, is my way of thinking, if that cruel fucking cunt of a Mother Nature's going to take care of it for me."
"I got a deal for you," the kid says suddenly, and before he can continue Al cuts him off.
"Before you say another fucking word, allow me to enlighten you as to something that not one cocksucker in this town seems able to get through his skull. What a deal is not, is you fucking telling me your heart's desire in the expectation that I will put myself out of considerable time and trouble to fix it for you without any fucking recompense, out of a charitable fucking impulse and the hope of piling up enough virtuous acts to balance the scales of heaven against a previous lifetime of desperate deeds. A deal's the simplest fucking thing in the world, and the sweetest: I do, I get. You do, you get. Anything else is a fucking gift, and I warn you now: you will not find me a generous man."
"I got a deal for you," the kid says again, and despite himself Al is curious. It's early in the day and he hasn't finished his fucking coffee yet, is why his fucking defenses are down.
"And what it is you'll hope to get from me in this deal?"
"Don't you want to know what you'll get?"
"I like to hear the price first in any deal," Al says. "Keeps me from getting my tender hopes up."
"No more fires," the kid says, lifting his chin stubbornly. "No fires, no floods, no fucking tornados tearing the place up by its roots, no broken windows or bones, no acts of god nor man to do any damage at Kirkpatrick's place."
"Why, friend, hearing you a man might think I was to be held responsible for what was surely an unfortunate fucking accident."
The kid looks at him for a moment and then says, "Surely. But I figure a man like you, it'd be smart thinking for even Mother Nature to avoid pissing him off."
"You're not wrong," Al says. "And tell me, what wonderful fucking prize will be mine for exiling the gods of weather and random fucking chance from the streets of Deadwood?"
The kid steps further into the saloon and leans lazily against the bar, his eyes on Al's face the whole time. Al laughs. "You have been wildly misinformed as to both my tastes and my fucking sense of business. Of the two, I'm finding myself more insulted by the latter."
"Lot of new people coming into town," the kid says, his voice low and intimate. "Money does that, draws people from all over, big cities, all sorts, people with what they'd call more sophisticated tastes than you mostly find in Deadwood."
"A skill of that sort for making pictures with words shouldn't go unrewarded. You should look up Merrick, tell him to give you a column in his paper."
"I figure a man like you, he prides himself on being able to meet all the needs of his clientele. And on knowing all their needs. Sometimes the knowing, that's the more valuable in the long run."
Al looks up sharply. There's a pol in Yankton seems determined to cause trouble, but there's been a rumor or two set swirling about him recently. Knowing the truth of those rumors could be of great use in upcoming days. "Should I decide to pride myself, I'm not reliant on any fucking thing you can offer. I can import talent from Frisco, or train it up myself homegrown."
"But there's no need to import when I'm already here." The kid smiles. "And I already been trained."
"And all the salary you ask for this talent is protection against the elements for your colleague? That's a fucking price even if I were willing to pay. I'd be wanting to know I'd be getting value in return."
Al steps around to the side of the counter and the kid meets him at the same time. Al is ready to stare him down but the kid drops quickly to his knees, his fingers busy at Al's belt. He pauses for a moment, and if despite appearances the kid's a fucking amateur and ready to shirk Al will kick him across the room for wasting his time. But by the way the kid's mouth slips right down over Al's cock like silk he's no fucking amateur. A moment of respect was all it was, to see if at the moment of truth Al would shirk himself, but there's no fucking fear of that. When it comes down to it one mouth's much like another, and besides, this is fucking business. He grabs the kid's head and pushes hard into his mouth. He's pleased to see not a trace of a flinch.
"The most pathetic thing in the world," Al says, his hand heavy on the back of the kid's neck, "is a whore in love. It's like to shake my entire faith in the operation of human relations, in the bestial barbarity and savage selfishness that give me hope the world might just keep turning from one day to the next, as long as men keep finding reason to hope they'll take the advantage one of the other in the future. There'll be no denying from this fucking quarter that it's a pretty story, love, and that there are those who can't live without telling one, those that will never feel safe unless they build their house on fucking sand. But of all the cocksuckers willing and wary who walk the earth each day, you'd think a fucking whore would see the last unhappy chapter from the first fucking page, would remember just how easy it is to sink beneath the fucking sand. God has his reasons, I trust and pray, but they are far beyond the fucking reach of even so keen an observer as myself, because there is nothing more pathetic than a whore in love, and nothing more fucking common. Disheartened is what I am, when I think too long on it. It's like a man of science who denies gravity, or a man of the cloth who doesn't believe in passing the collection plate. It's against human nature, is what it is, and there is nothing I deplore more than that which comes unnatural, like virtue, like love. If nothing else I am a man of fucking nature."
Al loosens his grip on the kid's neck and he stands, his eyes fixed somewhere just south of Al's shoulder. "Well, you haven't wasted your youth," Al says. He wanders back behind the counter and takes another sip of coffee.
"Look at me," he snaps suddenly, and the kid looks. "You be where I tell you, when I tell you, and you do what I tell you, and you give me no fucking trouble at all. And if I hear a fucking whisper from any client that he's in the least dissatisfied, you'll regret your entire fucking life, peaking with the day you decided to walk your ass into my saloon. Nod your fucking head if you understand me."
The kid nods.
"Pleasure doing business," Al says. The kid walks toward the door and Al calls, "And if I find out he's running you or any other whore, boy or girl, out of his place --"
"I know," the kid says. "We'll end up dead."
"Well, he will," Al says. He looks the kid up and down coldly. "You got a couple more years of earning in you before you're not worth what it costs me to keep you." He's pleased to see the kid flinch.
"Run along now," Al says, and picks up his cup. "One way or another, you'll be hearing from me."