(Untitled)

[most_feared]

Who: Kurtis Cunningham, Nathan Desaid, and Bruce Wayne
What: Two lawmen go to pick up a potential murderer and there is cagey conversation
When: After this.
Where: Desaid's Ranch, Bargewood
Warnings & Notes: I would predict swearing

Comments

[impure_tale]

The body of Reaver's goon could be seen in passing. It hadn't been covered, nothing to hide that he had indeed been fleeing the property and had, indeed, been shot in the back. His eyes stared dead and wide, jaw agape in terror, the final strain of his body still reflected perfectly on his youthful face. He had light brown hair and grey eyes, and despite Mister Reaver stating he was in his twenties, he looked younger

[fivestepsahead]

It was a good thing that Bruce wasn't much of a man of words either. The silence was comfortable to him, and he took the chance to watch Cunningham- there was a lot that one could find out about a man from the way he handled a horse and how he rode. Bruce had heard things about him- about both Desaid and Cunningham, really, though never much together, and though he wasn't a man who used rumours as a basis for his opinions, they were sometimes useful

[most_feared]

He watched as Bruce checked the boy's pulse. Seemed a little off. But Desaid wasn't shooting at them (yet, anyway). "Put him on the back of my horse behind the saddle, I'll go talk to 'im first if'n that arrangement's agreeable."

Even if it wasn't, he still went to talk to Desaid first as recommended, walking up on the porch. He didn't shy from that shotgun, just put his hands in the pockets of his long overcoat. "Didn't think I'd hear your name again."

He looked back to Bruce and the young man, the motion of his eyes indicating more what he was wondering about than any questions that he actually spoke out loud. "You might remember mine. Cunningham. Texas. Must have been two goddamn decades ago."

Still, no questions pertaining to what happened. But he wanted him to know first what was Desaid's business was his business and vice versa. Maybe not trust, but an understanding before he tried to find out what in the fluttering fuck happened out there.

[impure_tale]

Desaid watched him long and hard, his face unmoving. The faintest glimmer of recognition did find his eyes, but his fingers tensed ever-so-slightly on the barrel of his gun. This was already going to be an uncomfortable venture underway, already his actions scrutinized, judgments cast -- this was not new; he was accustomed, and he did not live his life in a way that excluded such things from his existence. There might even be the end of a rope in his future. Or perhaps exile again.

What he didn't want, was this. What he didn't want, was more reason to stack against him. Old faces meant memories. Meant secrets, things he had believed safe.

"You come to arrest me?" he asked.