((Per site guidelines, and due to repeated catacombing of the Charlie's Bar folder (because...life), this thread and a couple of others will continue here until the post requirements are met to reactivate the folder.))
Continued from here:
The air was thick and rust-blood-bitter in her mouth with every breath. Ketch's words carried in them a similar quality, a potency of iron and fortitude of steel. It was something that Madison felt as sure as the whip of that wind and the earth at her boots as he yawned the door open and set foot to a dirty path that would never echo her ever passing there. It made her smile and squint despite the lenses. These ghost lands. Things were changing and she didn't mind if there was no impression left behind. The rearview would only cause pain and questions, so Madison turned around and looked forward in time, to the road, then over to Ketch. Moseying along to the back, she threw her bag over her shoulder and then stared at the gun. "Nice. Want me to carry this too or you plan on leavin' this here?"
Swinging the door shut behind him, Ketch tore back the tarp and blankets to pull out his pack and lean the rifles against the side of the car. He eyed the gun's polished stock before flicking a look back up at Madison. It lingered there as it was wont to do on occasion, trapped somewhere along the sedate column of her throat where it disappeared into the depthless dark of her hair. "It's coming with me, same as you." The realization that one was as necessary as the other on this trip circulated through him and was as much discomfort as wonder. Fire of a machine and fire of a woman. Both equally dangerous, but for different reasons. One could only kill him. The other, though, had the potential to make him suffer.
His smile turned dark and was eclipsed by a tumble of hair as he leaned forward to drop his pack in the dirt beside the car.
"Gonna need a big fuckin' umbrella if you plan on staying awhile, boy." That grin turned on him as she paced over. Then she rolled into the toes of the leather boots, placed a hand to his chest, and kissed him.
She wanted to know if he tasted like she remembered the other night. If she could taste the iron-kissed air on his breath. He provoked a series of reactions in the woman and it startled her, behind the unflappable exterior in the moments her bravado was strongest, how volatile, how absolute they were and that it was more than the sting of heat in her belly or in her toes. The reason she had so many damn questions was as much to hear his voice and have his eyes on her as it was to have the details filled out in this situation he'd invited her into.
Madison was still daisies and white curtains with dappled shadows on wooden floors, but she was fire, too, when she was around him. Like the taste of smoke lived in the place of their bodies, a promise of ignition and conflagrant moments. Her heart exposed like a rock and shown to be all coal, no diamond, yet. But it was open, and she was willing to bear the pressure.
Fingertips looped the barrel of the rifle, cold metal warming in the sun, warming beneath Ketch's hand, and then there came Madison's smile aimed right at him and striking true; he reconsidered his answer about the umbrella. "Yeah. Or maybe it's not so bad to get caught in a downpour every now and then. Washes the dust off." He gave her a quick, sardonic wink and caught up her hand when it landed on his chest. There came the canter of four chambers moving earth-rich blood and sunlight, a quiet thunder at her palm like hoofbeats at a distance. Fingers traveled the delicate blue tributaries along the underside of her wrist and closed around her elbow, pulling her in as much as her own momentum carried her forward, desert grit and sunburn sear to the kiss that met hers.
That same insatiable hunger that showed itself in the office that first night when he took a fistful of denim into his grip spilled now from the collision of mouths, the kind that echoed through canyons. The kind that howled. He had no more ability to prevent it than willingness to. So it was mutual preservation when he tore away from her before the side of the car, the hood, the flatbed with its blankets and tarp became the altar for an impromptu midafternoon tryst.
Ketch back-stepped a couple of paces, tipping his chin up to the sky until color flooded his eyes again. The heel of his hand ironed out a deepening furrow between his brows, some personal concession made in that moment that turned him away.
"Just how far off the map are we here?" Madison could smell something subtle and sweet in the air, like a tart berry or juniper, but it was mingled with the raw, exposed face of stone weathered by elements. She thought of what her father had said to her, about being reduced by the world she chose to set foot in. But she didn't feel less; she felt more than what she'd been. More substantial, more alive than she had in months. It soured her to think it briefly before a smile clicked into place like a round.
"This place is another map entirely," Ketch said, striding to the threshold beneath the archway and dropping to a crouch a couple of inches shy of the pass-through. His index finger moved through the dirt, the symbol rudimentary, but distinguishable: four legs, tall ears, rangy snout, the bulk of a wolf. He cast a look over his shoulder to Madison, taking in the lines of her, the wind dancing through her hair, the way her voice resonated in his mind. Her words. When he turned back again, he added another picture, haphazard. The composition of the sparrow was smaller, the lines more delicate, wings stretched in flight. It wasn't quite right. It wasn't everything he felt encompassed the gunslinger. Not even close. But it was wind and flight and determination, and that'd do alright for now.
Once he was finished, he pulled one of Fin's hand-rolled cigarettes from behind his ear, set it aflame, and inhaled. His exhale was bent toward the dust and it moved across the pictures, scattering them to the air. The mixture funneled up into a gray cloud that gathered and hung precariously above them before vanishing like ashes set to a strong wind.
He took another drag and then rose, offering the cigarette out in Madison's direction as he settled up against the side of the car. "Now we wait. They'll send someone for us." Catching Madison by the waist, he stepped behind her, a looming shadow of smoke, iron, sawdust and that preternatural sense of wild that stole through his grip unbidden and tightened it upon her. His hands slipped down to her hips to steer them, but they moved as easily as the needle of a compass, as if they innately knew where West lay. Mouth to her ear and the pitch strands that the wind buffeted and sent swooping against his jaw in a flutter of sensation as light as moth wings while he spoke. "Watch the horizon that way. You'll see."
Ketch traded the cigarette back and forth with her, adding after awhile. "If you'd been expecting me, I probably wouldn't have shown up." They'd left that line of conversation in the car, but he'd pulled it back out again after some thought. "So you can just go ahead and keep not expecting me and it's likely I'll keep showing up. Who the hell knows?? Droll in tone, though there was no expression for her to read, just his shadow falling across hers while they waited, and his hands upon her like anchors to keep her from flying away too soon.
Continued from here:
The air was thick and rust-blood-bitter in her mouth with every breath. Ketch's words carried in them a similar quality, a potency of iron and fortitude of steel. It was something that Madison felt as sure as the whip of that wind and the earth at her boots as he yawned the door open and set foot to a dirty path that would never echo her ever passing there. It made her smile and squint despite the lenses. These ghost lands. Things were changing and she didn't mind if there was no impression left behind. The rearview would only cause pain and questions, so Madison turned around and looked forward in time, to the road, then over to Ketch. Moseying along to the back, she threw her bag over her shoulder and then stared at the gun. "Nice. Want me to carry this too or you plan on leavin' this here?"
Swinging the door shut behind him, Ketch tore back the tarp and blankets to pull out his pack and lean the rifles against the side of the car. He eyed the gun's polished stock before flicking a look back up at Madison. It lingered there as it was wont to do on occasion, trapped somewhere along the sedate column of her throat where it disappeared into the depthless dark of her hair. "It's coming with me, same as you." The realization that one was as necessary as the other on this trip circulated through him and was as much discomfort as wonder. Fire of a machine and fire of a woman. Both equally dangerous, but for different reasons. One could only kill him. The other, though, had the potential to make him suffer.
His smile turned dark and was eclipsed by a tumble of hair as he leaned forward to drop his pack in the dirt beside the car.
"Gonna need a big fuckin' umbrella if you plan on staying awhile, boy." That grin turned on him as she paced over. Then she rolled into the toes of the leather boots, placed a hand to his chest, and kissed him.
She wanted to know if he tasted like she remembered the other night. If she could taste the iron-kissed air on his breath. He provoked a series of reactions in the woman and it startled her, behind the unflappable exterior in the moments her bravado was strongest, how volatile, how absolute they were and that it was more than the sting of heat in her belly or in her toes. The reason she had so many damn questions was as much to hear his voice and have his eyes on her as it was to have the details filled out in this situation he'd invited her into.
Madison was still daisies and white curtains with dappled shadows on wooden floors, but she was fire, too, when she was around him. Like the taste of smoke lived in the place of their bodies, a promise of ignition and conflagrant moments. Her heart exposed like a rock and shown to be all coal, no diamond, yet. But it was open, and she was willing to bear the pressure.
Fingertips looped the barrel of the rifle, cold metal warming in the sun, warming beneath Ketch's hand, and then there came Madison's smile aimed right at him and striking true; he reconsidered his answer about the umbrella. "Yeah. Or maybe it's not so bad to get caught in a downpour every now and then. Washes the dust off." He gave her a quick, sardonic wink and caught up her hand when it landed on his chest. There came the canter of four chambers moving earth-rich blood and sunlight, a quiet thunder at her palm like hoofbeats at a distance. Fingers traveled the delicate blue tributaries along the underside of her wrist and closed around her elbow, pulling her in as much as her own momentum carried her forward, desert grit and sunburn sear to the kiss that met hers.
That same insatiable hunger that showed itself in the office that first night when he took a fistful of denim into his grip spilled now from the collision of mouths, the kind that echoed through canyons. The kind that howled. He had no more ability to prevent it than willingness to. So it was mutual preservation when he tore away from her before the side of the car, the hood, the flatbed with its blankets and tarp became the altar for an impromptu midafternoon tryst.
Ketch back-stepped a couple of paces, tipping his chin up to the sky until color flooded his eyes again. The heel of his hand ironed out a deepening furrow between his brows, some personal concession made in that moment that turned him away.
"Just how far off the map are we here?" Madison could smell something subtle and sweet in the air, like a tart berry or juniper, but it was mingled with the raw, exposed face of stone weathered by elements. She thought of what her father had said to her, about being reduced by the world she chose to set foot in. But she didn't feel less; she felt more than what she'd been. More substantial, more alive than she had in months. It soured her to think it briefly before a smile clicked into place like a round.
"This place is another map entirely," Ketch said, striding to the threshold beneath the archway and dropping to a crouch a couple of inches shy of the pass-through. His index finger moved through the dirt, the symbol rudimentary, but distinguishable: four legs, tall ears, rangy snout, the bulk of a wolf. He cast a look over his shoulder to Madison, taking in the lines of her, the wind dancing through her hair, the way her voice resonated in his mind. Her words. When he turned back again, he added another picture, haphazard. The composition of the sparrow was smaller, the lines more delicate, wings stretched in flight. It wasn't quite right. It wasn't everything he felt encompassed the gunslinger. Not even close. But it was wind and flight and determination, and that'd do alright for now.
Once he was finished, he pulled one of Fin's hand-rolled cigarettes from behind his ear, set it aflame, and inhaled. His exhale was bent toward the dust and it moved across the pictures, scattering them to the air. The mixture funneled up into a gray cloud that gathered and hung precariously above them before vanishing like ashes set to a strong wind.
He took another drag and then rose, offering the cigarette out in Madison's direction as he settled up against the side of the car. "Now we wait. They'll send someone for us." Catching Madison by the waist, he stepped behind her, a looming shadow of smoke, iron, sawdust and that preternatural sense of wild that stole through his grip unbidden and tightened it upon her. His hands slipped down to her hips to steer them, but they moved as easily as the needle of a compass, as if they innately knew where West lay. Mouth to her ear and the pitch strands that the wind buffeted and sent swooping against his jaw in a flutter of sensation as light as moth wings while he spoke. "Watch the horizon that way. You'll see."
Ketch traded the cigarette back and forth with her, adding after awhile. "If you'd been expecting me, I probably wouldn't have shown up." They'd left that line of conversation in the car, but he'd pulled it back out again after some thought. "So you can just go ahead and keep not expecting me and it's likely I'll keep showing up. Who the hell knows?? Droll in tone, though there was no expression for her to read, just his shadow falling across hers while they waited, and his hands upon her like anchors to keep her from flying away too soon.