Comments | til_it_aint: in-bar OOM

til_it_aint

in-bar OOM

Jun 19, 2010 22:42

It's been. Well, it's been a weird few weeks, far as Ben's concerned. Shit happenin' down in th'bar that had him up in his room for a good few days, waitin' for all th'weird to go away, and he's been feelin' - well. Ain't right, exactly. Like he ain't quite comfortable in his own skin, like growin' up again. And th'dreams, yeah, they're back and ( Read more... )

Comments 30

ikissdhimbck June 20 2010, 05:57:25 UTC

And she is.

The stock is all set and cared for, stalls clean, brushes and pitchforks and bits put in their places, but still she lingers. The air in the bar these days feels real heavy -- almost stifling -- and it's still not right, but at least out here she can breathe.

(Feel like she still fits.)

She's in a chair with her back to the door, feet on the desk at the far end of the room. Her Colt is laid out and shining, freshly cleaned with the frustrated detail of someone who needed to focus their energy on something.

She's moved on to polishing a few leather bits. Beaut's bridle is in her hands, brown fingertips working meticulously at getting it to shine.

She doesn't even hear him come in.

til_it_aint June 20 2010, 06:02:46 UTC

He don't say nothin' at first either, waitin' for his eyes to adjust, seein' better so it ain't just all bright gun-shine and dark shadow. Face creases into somethin' like a smile when he sees her - ain't exactly, or, well, it ain't what no one else would call a smile but for him, that's what it means. He moves forward easy enough, slow walkin', keepin' a curious eye on her 'till he gets a few feet away.

Leans on th'wall, drops th'smoke and grinds it under th'heel of one worn-out boot (he ain't sure he c'n afford a new pair and even if he could, he kinda likes these, fit his feet real nice by now). Runs a hand through his hair so it sticks up, messy, ducks his head just a bit.

"Mizz Barlow." Soft, just kinda lettin' her know he's there, real casual-like. But th'one ey that's fixed on her is sharp, lookin' careful, keepin' a watch on her like he's worried she'll bolt.

ikissdhimbck June 20 2010, 06:19:53 UTC

He knows her well by this point, even if he doesn't know every story about her. Stories she keeps hidden by hem and fabric; a silky white hole in the meat of her thigh, and an ugly gnarled line on her bicep tell the tale of the last time someone came up behind her in this place.

That's why she goes stalk still when she hears something -- his boot heel grinding that fag into the dirt -- and it's barely like she moved at all but suddenly her hand is on her gun. Finger's not on the trigger, not yet, and she doesn't swing the barrel around on her new visitor, but it rests there firm as a warning sign.

She's just listening for the telltale click; the sound of someone stupid enough to turn a weapon on her. But what she hears instead, above the furious beating of her heart, is Ben's soft drawl.

She whips her head over her shoulder, eyes flashing blue and bright.

"Ben Hawkins."

A smile slowly spreads across her face.

"Where on Earth have you been?"

til_it_aint June 20 2010, 06:27:23 UTC

He don't move when he sees her hand on th'gun. Enough trigger-happy old men he's known have taught him that y'don't make sudden moves, and he's just about ready t'speak again, calm her, when she's lookin' at him, smilin', and he c'n relax 'cause that means everythin's okay again. Maybe he'll ask, later, 'bout why she's so jumpy at a bar where there ain't nothin' bad (or there ain't supposed t'be but there's Jack and there's others he's heard tell of, and maybe th'bar just pretends), but for now he just slides another step forwards ( ... )

Thread 30