𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙻 𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙶: // @ohrthur _ the cold has a little bite to it, nipping the tip of nose to a shade of red. the dusting of pink has spread across cheek bones, but there comes some warmth from the fur coating the lower half of his mien. freshly brewed coffee permeates in the crisp air, clouds of steam spiraling from tin mugs. ’ shit , i’m startin’ t’ think it might be even a little too cold fo'ah th’ turkeys. ’ gun slung o'er his shoulder, he hands the extra cup of coffee to his partner.
he could live like this, he thinks - but theoretically, more often than not, he does.
when his father was still alive, the old man would take him and his now adoptive father out into the places furthest from civilization. there, they taught rick how to hunt and fish and survive / how to appreciate the beauty of nature beyond a city skyline. they introduced him to a lifestyle that he thoroughly and shamelessly enjoyed, and it was both a blessing and a driving force when he actively enlisted as a service personnel. sure, being out in the shit-thick of it between firefights was no summertime camping trip, but the idea was, in some ways, the same for him. hell, if his father had been around longer, he’s sure the july tradition would have carried even into rick’s adolescence.
but the universe had varying plans for rick and his father, it’s nice to be back out away from people with someone who made easy conversation. granted, the connection was different and rick’s advancements into age reminded him that ghost pains were indeed quite the annoyance in situations where adrenaline wasn’t pushing you through long shifts - he appreciates it all the same.
he doesn’t so much mind the cold, it’s the heat he absolutely hates, and gloved hands adjust the fabric of sun-worn shemagh draped along the dip in jacket where neck might traditionally be exposed. cold air beats his face in rosy blotches, nose absently running, he hardly pays mind are gun slides from his shoulder, tangled expertly in hands.
❛ sure as shit seems that way. ❜ he accepts coffee with a quiet nod of approval, warmth seeping into hands still frigid even with gloves. a leisurely sip, it warms a lot like whiskey – though he still might prefer the booze if given the chance. coffee had long become a staple beverage, like water, and his drinking of it was met with relative indifference. ❛ maybe it’s a javelina on the plate kind’a year. ❜
𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙾𝙼 𝙰𝚂𝙺𝚂 ❱ always accepting.
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