archived

@jrdcputy​ sent “ “Did you miss me?” “

“ Not. At. All. “ 

It’s said between gritted teeth, but his eyes are steady. Staring forward. Empty. But his hands are warm with blood, pressing against his leg as he kneels down - an attempt to contain for now before he can get it looked at. If anything, it was the only thing grounding him. 

It was. 

Who could know that in times like this privacy of your own house would become almost nonexistent? Occupied with cutting unwelcome weeds from her garden she turned her head at the sound of radio cracking and raised from the dirt she was kneeling in. The moment Jacob’s voice rang out from the other side she looked around to see any hunters around, you never know when the bliss arrow would surprise you.

     ❞ —You always know how to ruins someone day you know? Oh sue me, Carrot Head I told your hunters enough times to say away from my property. I will protect my home no matter what - Besides I think I will never outscore, your count my dear neighbour.  ❞ Still observed her surroundings she sit down on the grass and picked another wild weed.    ❞ — We both know that you could end me anytime when I’m here, but for now you can’t soo…let me at least take care of this place when I can.  ❞

Of all the things that could have happened, of death or destruction or ambush, it was his laugh rumbling through the radio. Strange to even his own ears, echoing off the walls of the armoury and returning in the feedback. It’s what he deserves for the snark, expected it even. 

“ If you wanted to be sued then you shoulda stayed towards Fall’s End. John would have happily taken you up on the offer. “ 

Jacob wasn’t as nice, even before the playground insult. Maybe that's why the little cabin was so idyllic amongst the war, the ground fertilised by spilt blood and brain matter rotting into the earth. There wouldn't be anymore today, but he was 

@snowinabottle​ sent “ “ how did you know that?” “ & plotted a starter

“ John overshares. “

It’s said simply, low in the empty space of the ranch. Most of the furniture is in place, new and shiny and obvious even if the tags have been removed. But still, there’s white sheets covering the objects that peek out of the upstairs bedrooms, dirt scuffing the floors from labourers boots. Laying in plain sight, but dressed up. Better than the glorified hovel he had made himself home. 

Jacob doesn’t mind. In the end, the graffiti covered walls and echoed hallways helped settle his mind, giving him something to work on in the wee hours of the morning. He’s left alone there. But the ranch? It draws curious strangers just happening to drive by to rubber-neck at the construction, a few intrusive although good natured questions from their ‘neighbour’ about having an airstrip close to his own, and apparently something lurking about the property. It leads Jacob to the doorstep with two boxes under one arm, and a non-descript case in the other. 

He hadn’t meant to intrude, not that there was anything occurring. John, for all the time he wanted to press close to catch up, was a busy man. They all have duties, preparations. They couldn’t be selfish enough to indulge just for the sake of it. Jacob didn’t just stop by for any reason after all. It just happens that Amelia is the one to open the door to him instead. 

He’s observant enough to note the slight traces she’d left around the house, expected but almost alien as well. An extra coat hooked by the door, keys sitting in the bowl by the door. Comfortable, familiar. She’s already moved in. It’s permanent still rubs him the wrong way. 

Of course a man who had been left on his own for so long would be confronted. 

“ Where’s his office? “

That fucking name. That damned fucking name. It made him near FLINCH as much as it did fan anger to rise in his throat and make heat threaten to rush to his face. A taste of acrid HUMILIATION on the Deputy’s tongue. Staci hates it at much as he hates the weak response that leaves him, the tone not coming out as hard as he wanted, as hard as me meant it too. Closer to a mumble more than the vitriol he aims to spit it with.  

    ‘ My name is Staci Pratt……not Peaches. I’m not a fucking fruit. ’

If he had been a bigger man…braver, maybe he would have dug his heels in. Would have stood resolutely place. Would have attempted a run at the gates…attempted a run at Jacob. But he knew how those scenarios played out. Had seen it…hell, had the bruises as a sturdy reminder. Even so, the want to tell the elder Seed to go fuck himself is there.

 A stark temptation for nerves that constantly thrummed near fight or flight. 

             The words on the tip of his tongue.

They go swallowed for now. Or rather choked down. Steps instead quickening to close the pleasant space that had opened up between himself and the redhead. Ground mulching and perpetually wet underfoot. The young Deputy moving closer, moving to fall instep on the others heels, just behind Jacob’s right side. Staci’s eyes catching on the hunting knife sheathed and holstered at the larger mans thigh. Lingering on it.

“ Sound like a fruit with the name Staci. Is it really any better? Did your Mama know you’d act like this? “

It’s a low blow, a jab that's like acid on his tongue in a deep drawl, eyes narrowing as he searches for a reaction. It’s there, that tension and rage filling his frame. Maybe it would lock his joint, make him see red that would cloud his vision until his hands were just as stained. Unlikely though … he would have already acted if that was the case, precious seconds ticking by.  

It’s good for Jacob though, letting some of the pent up anger out in verbal jabs send wide into common sore spots. Not just carefully looking at every twitch and stutter after blows to tear him apart. Of course both work just as well as the other, but this one is more fun. Keeps the grin on his face as he strides forward, his own slightly uneven footfalls echoed by the scrape of the deputy’s boots. 

Maybe not exactly a house cat, following along so good and starting to get the idea of commands. But something of the like, a just house-broken mutt. Close to his beloved Judges. 

Pratt’s presence isn’t tuned out, so to speak. His breathing remained at Jacob’s six, balance shifting in the mud - too much nervous energy still, unhoned and unpractised. He’s sure that if he turned again those eyes would be boring into his back - as if God would strike him down. Wishful thinking. 

But still, his attention was split, there was a reason he’d brought Pratt out after all. More defences, more preparation, more sorting and dismantling and building. A show of their reach despite the setbacks, mixed in with a test for his reactions.