There were boots to a table top. Legs stretched and with it a back and a pair of shoulders, and a yawn the mouth wide. She was reckoning between two bottles on a shelf across the room, a half-hearted gamble, but the mind was really on another matter. The direction had changed, said the wind in her soul, the one that propelled and antagonised, soothed and enraged, kept her from being tied or tamed. Two bottles on a shelf held her stare. Leather creaked as she rocked the chair right back to its limits, only some fluke of balance keeping her aloft. And perhaps a crinkled little luck too.
The bar, Altona, had long since emptied out. Altona, fondly visited, because it was small and no questions were asked, no one stared, and when the light slipped in and the motes of dust could be seen to dance. The other bars, those that had held her entertained for much of her life and loud enough to drown out her thoughts, allowed her to fall into the welcome cracks, unnoticed, just a woman hidden under a hat over there. That never lasted, but for the times it did, she was glad for and they were needed. The rest of the days were too silent, too still, with too much space for the recollections to chase her into. And no matter the distance placed between her and the past, she always liked to forget. Some things didn?t stop itching from the inside. But here suited her okay with the intimacy of liquorice dark that was gypsy with cigar smoke, exotic concoctions, silk-linings, adulterous whispers, the upper crust who indulged the devious . It was indecent enough to be consummate for someone of her ilk, but only because it was unlikely. The clientele were not the ones her shoulders had rubbed elsewhere.
Two bottles, and one chosen, and it lifted her out of her sulk, and she headed across the room to claim her gold. A glance tossed back at the doorway. He?d be here anytime now. She hummed a few notes to herself.
Carried by the wind this other gunslinger was. Thrown into the world by a forceful gale, a storm that cracked the skies open with white lightning and made the earth rumble under the heel of his boots. He felt the first drops of rain on the end of his nose and looked up into the sky with its rolling clouds all brewing something hateful and fierce. Nature seemed to have it out for him. Before it could really begin to pour, though, this cursed man with his messy hair and dusty old boots darted across the street and down another. One man got in his way and their shoulders slammed into each other. Douglas had taken harder hits from stronger men before, so he kept running while the other fell flat and cursed loudly while the ?slinger ran off. Before long the door swung wide and that quiet, empty bar was filled with the sound of thunder and stomping boots as he escaped the world outside just as the storm reached its climax and flooded the world with water and lightning.
?Sure have good timing, don?t you??, and a knack for a killer entrance, she and that smile was its own brewing thing, a tempest of humour in her eyes crashing. Rye didn?t bother asking, but poured two shots full, and with her back to him, slid his down along the bar a little for his taking. ?Can?t keep the dead down?, her voice scorched, hot with whiskey, and as flat as cut corn in the summer fields. ?Maybe we?re crazy, Douglas?, For even trying, or mingling with revenants? Contempt burned her tongue. ?I suspect you saw what I did?..? The contempt was not in the favour of the crook, or the revenants, but the lost spoils of the time before he even came along, and the rare riches found since. She wanted so much to fall between the cracks still. But she knew it was not virtuous - it was lazy, and her Father had told her to always be bold, and having come so far, and beside Douglas, anything less would be crude. She did not wear fear well historically. It had her brooding and reckless, but now, it did not consume her. Blue eyes lifted their regard to see him then and what his features might ravel.
The sky cracked wider, pelleting the earth with something the southern winds had brought up from below the mountains. Madison filled another shot and sidled a ruined chair and spun to face him proper. Watch a drop of water that fell from his wet hair, and run down the bridge of his nose.
The bar, Altona, had long since emptied out. Altona, fondly visited, because it was small and no questions were asked, no one stared, and when the light slipped in and the motes of dust could be seen to dance. The other bars, those that had held her entertained for much of her life and loud enough to drown out her thoughts, allowed her to fall into the welcome cracks, unnoticed, just a woman hidden under a hat over there. That never lasted, but for the times it did, she was glad for and they were needed. The rest of the days were too silent, too still, with too much space for the recollections to chase her into. And no matter the distance placed between her and the past, she always liked to forget. Some things didn?t stop itching from the inside. But here suited her okay with the intimacy of liquorice dark that was gypsy with cigar smoke, exotic concoctions, silk-linings, adulterous whispers, the upper crust who indulged the devious . It was indecent enough to be consummate for someone of her ilk, but only because it was unlikely. The clientele were not the ones her shoulders had rubbed elsewhere.
Two bottles, and one chosen, and it lifted her out of her sulk, and she headed across the room to claim her gold. A glance tossed back at the doorway. He?d be here anytime now. She hummed a few notes to herself.
Carried by the wind this other gunslinger was. Thrown into the world by a forceful gale, a storm that cracked the skies open with white lightning and made the earth rumble under the heel of his boots. He felt the first drops of rain on the end of his nose and looked up into the sky with its rolling clouds all brewing something hateful and fierce. Nature seemed to have it out for him. Before it could really begin to pour, though, this cursed man with his messy hair and dusty old boots darted across the street and down another. One man got in his way and their shoulders slammed into each other. Douglas had taken harder hits from stronger men before, so he kept running while the other fell flat and cursed loudly while the ?slinger ran off. Before long the door swung wide and that quiet, empty bar was filled with the sound of thunder and stomping boots as he escaped the world outside just as the storm reached its climax and flooded the world with water and lightning.
?Sure have good timing, don?t you??, and a knack for a killer entrance, she and that smile was its own brewing thing, a tempest of humour in her eyes crashing. Rye didn?t bother asking, but poured two shots full, and with her back to him, slid his down along the bar a little for his taking. ?Can?t keep the dead down?, her voice scorched, hot with whiskey, and as flat as cut corn in the summer fields. ?Maybe we?re crazy, Douglas?, For even trying, or mingling with revenants? Contempt burned her tongue. ?I suspect you saw what I did?..? The contempt was not in the favour of the crook, or the revenants, but the lost spoils of the time before he even came along, and the rare riches found since. She wanted so much to fall between the cracks still. But she knew it was not virtuous - it was lazy, and her Father had told her to always be bold, and having come so far, and beside Douglas, anything less would be crude. She did not wear fear well historically. It had her brooding and reckless, but now, it did not consume her. Blue eyes lifted their regard to see him then and what his features might ravel.
The sky cracked wider, pelleting the earth with something the southern winds had brought up from below the mountains. Madison filled another shot and sidled a ruined chair and spun to face him proper. Watch a drop of water that fell from his wet hair, and run down the bridge of his nose.