ʀᴀɢɴᴀʀᴏᴋ / ᚱᚨᚷᚾᚨᚱᛟᚲ

All sleep and tiredness had left her body as she held her gun out towards the noise in the deep forest. Bonnie didn't know who it could be. The fact that she could easily be killed or taken back to the Van der Linde gang to be dealt with she had been on high alert. She wasn't scared per say. But she didn't want to throw herself into the lions den either and just be out in the open only for the stupid law men to fail her if she were to get attacked in the saloon. Yeah, no law man could ever do their job correctly. That's just how it was in 1899.

As the man came into her view, she only tightened her grip on her gun and gritted her teeth. She trusted no one, never has. Not after her past few relationships in gangs and other in the damned cruel world in the damned US of A.

Seeing him place his rifle down and speak, she watches him even closer. She takes a few steps forward, eyes narrowing at him. A part of her wondered just what he was doing out there so deep in the woods. Bonnie was merely hiding, but what was this guy doing? "Don't you dare move." she demanded at him then as he began talking about meaning no harm. She's scanning his face in the glow of the fire as if she was tracing a picture in her mind. She needs to do that. So she could remember just who killed her to take the image to the afterlife.

"Taken your spot?" she shook her head. "No, I was here first, mister." Taken his spot? Hmph.

"What are you doin' out here? You're several miles from the nearest town. Don't ya think you'd rather be there then out here? 'Sposed to rain." Which is why she had the best tent she could get up with how tired she was, and is still wanting to crawl up under it and sleep the night away. She never expected to see anyone out here. A bear ... wolves? Maybe a skunk but never a man. Now it was putting her even more on edge to the fact that ... he might not be alone.

"You alone out here? What's your name?" her arms still held her gun pointed towards him. "Throw your gun over here towards me. If you raise that gun to shoot, you're gonna find a bullet between your eyes."

The woman was neither friendly, nor inherently dangerous — that much, Chuck was sure of, for if she had wanted to, he'd already be dead by now. No amount of talking ( as little or as much of it ) could have ever stopped a cold-blooded killer from pulling their trigger, and yet here they were, keeping a safe distance from each other, merely observing, and...talking. Now, the man knew better than to fool himself into thinking that she was completely harmless — anyone who holds and can hold a gun could be just as as dangerous as the next gunslinger in this accursed lands, but a part of him wanted to hold on to the fact that she has not shot him down just yet.

She was right to shoot down his statement, of course. The camp wasn't his, nor did he own even a portion of this land for him to stake a claim. Yet, he was positive he had been there first — his only mistake was that he left it as empty as he had found it earlier in the day before he went on his hunt, though perhaps, it was also for the best. Chuck couldn't risk losing any of his gear now, not when they are scarce especially this far out from the next town. But he said nothing to her comment, and merely stood his ground in silence...quite literally. Arguing, especially about something so shallow and neither of them had the legal rights over was pointless, and frankly, Chuck would rather conserve his energy for something else more important...such as survival, to put it simply.

Her question almost made him laugh though, but Chuck caught himself just in time before she misinterpreted it as something else that could unintentionally fan the flames and not to his favor. He could ask her the same thing, but kept it to himself...for now. "Same as anyone who ventures too far from inhabited towns..." Chuck noted, nodding ever so slightly as if to make a point despite not explicitly telling her his reasons. "You'd be surprised to know that you are not the only wanderer to have found some solace in these woods," he stated, holding on to his gun low enough to help defuse the tension, but not too low that he'd find himself empty handed should things go awry. After all, the woman has maintained her threats and still held the front of her rifle towards him.

"Name's Chuck, ma'am," the man says as he tipped his hat ever so slightly, offering her his nickname to start with. "And you know I cannot do that," was his parry to her request — or was it demand? The line was blurred, and will remain so the longer that she kept her guard up like this. "I also mean no disrespect, but I am sure you can understand, ma'am, —" he kept his gun low, his finger out of the trigger as some sort of silent compromise. It wasn't his gun that could cause bodily harm at this point, but he also recognize the risk of letting go of his rifle just like that — woman as she may be, but she sure seemed capable of doing the worst things he can possibly think of at this moment, and he would rather not be at the receiving end of such.

open to: m!

( @indiestarter )

Her mother had always told her, "Bonnie, your father was a kind man, a good man. You favor him greatly. I pray that you will go out, live and make him proud. Make me proud." And that was the last time Bonnie had ever seen her mother. She had no idea where her father had gone after they had began to colonize the Natives. She never believed he had abandoned her, she only believed the good things that her father had always done via the lovely stories her mother had told her.

After venturing into the lands on her own, she had met up with a few men who were in a gang. Bonnie was out of luck, out of money and needed at least a bedroll to lay on so she could get some rest. The leader, a man named Dutch Van der Linde had welcomed her. She knew how to use a gun, she knew how to shoot a bow and clean animals for stew. She was helpful. They taught her how to rob, they taught her how to get around in the world and she was good at it. Great. Her pretty face was perfect for robbing and getting around the law.

The gang had been going off the rails. They had ruined a great job on a ferry, now they were being tracked down to be killed. She wanted no part of the gang ... not anymore. So, she snuck into the camp box and -- well, stole every bit of cash in it. She pocketed it and rode her horse further into the country where she would try to lie low for awhile.

She had set up a camp on the outskirts of a small town, now she sit near her half tent on a small stump. She pokes at her fire that seemed to be dying down after she had made her own stew. Bonnie was tired, sleepy eyes blinking away as she wanted nothing more than to rest.

The snapping of a twig in the distance hits her ears, she grabbed her rifle which lay beside her and she stands pointing it towards the noise. "Whoever you are, I have a gun and I'm not afraid to use it!"

The woods has always been a sanctuary for Chuck. While many would find being alone in one a daunting, if not a terrifying idea, he always found some kind of solitude in them that he can't seem to find in other places. Dark as they may come nightfall, Chuck knew that the trees themselves can do him no harm — and anything that could, he would neutralize with his gun in hand, always at the ready no matter the time of day. The frontier hasn't always been kind to everyone who called it home, and Chuck learned at a young age that he must find his balance and hold on to it, lest he risk having a target at his back at all times —be it a rabid animal, or a man out for blood, he deemed himself smarter than to mess with either.

Since defecting from his agency though, the world seemed to feel a lot smaller for Chuck, and he had been in hiding to avoid the risk of running into someone who could turn him in at the next Pinkerton outpost close by. His plan was to evade, and he has since made the outskirts of a town about two days ride from where he was last seen by his former colleagues as his camp; not to stay for too long, but only until he and his horse can get enough rest so that he can continue riding away from them as far as these lands would allow him.

He had left his camp in the afternoon in search of food, hunting a deer that had been drinking water from a nearby stream, but a grizzly bear dwelling on the opposite side of the water had beat him to it; launching at the deer, and scaring it away until both creatures were out of his sight, venturing too far away even for his trained eyes. Chuck had no choice but to resort to another rabbit for dinner as he found them much easier to hunt, immediately finding a rather unfortunate pair not too far from his camp.

After a few minutes of preparation, Chuck had tied them up neatly on his his horse's saddle, heading back to his sanctuary for the night to finally get some rest. As he neared the area where he had decided to set up camp, he caught sight of a faint amber glow coming from what he knew was a fire pit — not his, but certainly someone else's.

Holding his rifle closer, Chuck took slow, unhurried steps while his horse followed him, grazing at a small patch of grass nearby. His footsteps were surprisingly light for a man his size, almost inaudible to the untrained ear — or the unsuspecting. He was certain he could get close, closer without his presence being known, but the world had different plans for him tonight, and much to his dismay, a single twig had betrayed him and immediately giving him away to the stranger. Son of a —

The woman's voice surprised him. For some reason, he had expected a man — maybe a Pinkerton finally catching up to him, or some bounty hunter who had followed his trail. Whatever it was, the last thing Chuck had expected was for the stranger to be a woman. Yet, he knew better than to let his guard down, especially when there was a certain threat to her words and from where he stood, he could see through the thicket that hid him ( at least, for a moment ) that she was armed. Not friendly, he supposed.

"I mean you no harm..." deep voice toned down almost to a hush, yet audible enough for the other to hear as Chuck slowly stepped into the light, lowering his rifle just a tad to show her that he was no threat, "...ma'am." His blue gaze briefly settled on the woman's face, stopping in his tracks to leave what he thought was a safe enough distance between them as he studied her for a second. The shadows cast by the fire did him no favor as it made it quite a challenge to identify her, and yet at the same time, Chuck was also positive he had not seen her before — which could either be a good or a bad thing, depending on how she'd react the longer he stayed in her presence.

at her comment francis cannot help but laugh — a low chuckle breaking through the heavy tension that sits between them. even in captivity there are demands to be met. it amuses him in a way it would not if he were any other knight. his lips remain curved into a beam as his gaze moves from her plate to her. « it is lamb, your highness. the castle chef is highly sought out in this kingdom. i am positive you will find it to be to your liking. »

HIS AMUSEMENT DID NOT GO UNNOTICED, and had her situation been different, giulia would have reciprocated it with a laugh of her own. however silly her own question sounded, she could not bring herself to find any sort of merriment in it; could not dare let herself do so much as to smile, and so she maintained a rather somber expression as doubt continued to fill her mind for a moment. what was it that truly scared her, really? being poisoned? tortured? if she were to die, she might as well just take what was already in front of her – at least, poison could make her death come quickly.

prying herself away from the ledge, giulia takes a few steps over to the small, wooden table where the plate had been resting and pushed near to her side of its edge. in truth, her worries did not lie on whether the castle's cook was talented in their craft, but rather, in what could possibly have been mixed in with the ingredients. she takes another look at the knight, and with much hesitation, takes a spoonful of the food – almost to her lips, before she sets the spoon down again, as if meaning to only play with it.

" must i dine now, or do i at least maintain my freedom to choose when i should like to feed myself?" giulia states as she sat down on the wooden bench by the table, her makeshift banquet for the time being as a prisoner, perhaps until she is to die in the hands of her brother's enemy. " have they at least fed you, good sir, before your king asked you to run yet another errand on his behalf?" though unusual of her to be the agitator, giulia thought she could at least entertain herself by engaging with the knight, nevermind if her questions come off as irksome to the other.

The duke's home, if it could even be called such was grand. So grand he could not fathom having grown up within its walls. He was told to bring any necessary supplies but anything his heart desired he would be provided with. Another luxury that he would have never thought he would be given. 'The lady is ready for you,' a footmen interrupted his silent admiration of the art that adorned the gilded walls.

Stepping into the drawing room, he kept his eyes down. Although low born, Liam knew manners and etiquette. "No rush, your highness," he bowed before her. "I understand that decorum dictates your hair, but I do believe it would be lovely to capture untamed," he admitted speaking out of turn. If the Duke wanted his daughter to have a husband, she would have to be incomparable. "I will wait for however long you need me to, Lady Von Hohenzollern."

Tessa could not help but smile, perhaps a little wider than her nerves would normally allow her to, upon seeing the artist before her. It wasn't the first time that her father had commissioned one to paint her portraits, and while she had heard that the new artist was young, she did not expect him to appear almost as young as she was. For some reason that Tessa could not explain, this helped ease her nerves, as though his presence alone provided some level of comfort she didn't know she needed. Truth be told, the past masters that her father had commissioned before were often old and though she did not mind their age ( as she recognized their many years in the field and respected the level of expertise that came with it ), it was their being ill-tempered that often made her less likely to be enthusiastic about these portrait sessions. The least Tessa could have was a mild-mannered and enjoyable artist for a company when she was to sit for hours on end during a session, though she hasn't been very lucky in this regard, so it seemed. However, this young painter might just be an exception...at least, she hoped he would be.

"Do you suppose I should let it loose?" she followed up, eyes almost twinkling with newfound interest as she looked up at the artist. "My father insists I keep it bound for the portrait, yet as you can see, my hair is very long and will not be held," Tessa turned to Matilda and offered her a sympathetic smile, before she grabbed the ornate handheld mirror from the table next to her and took a look at her own appearance. There were some loose hair framing both sides of her face, and she tried her best to tuck them behind her ears, but it only made it look worse in her eyes. She turned to the painter again.

« i understand your sentiment, my lady. however, as you so kindly pointed out, i am a knight. i have no family, nor will i ever have one. my duty is to the realm. and yours is to your family, no ? » he knows nothing of the king's real intent in regards to her family of traitors, but he's served him long enough to know that there will be some sort of consequences. just how dire they will be may just be in her hands. « do you believe your family is safe with you dead ? » he counters, not unkindly but with a cool professionalism. « do you not see that you are their only hope ? » he envies her this: her sense of belonging, her sense of purpose which should extend past the death she so stubbornly envisions. part of him is desperate to make her see this. « if you starve yourself, they will be punished. all of them. » he takes a sharp breath, gaze averting. « forgive me, my lady, for my abrasiveness. but you are a princess. this is duty. your death will be meaningless to everyone in this realm. » he gives the plate another gentle shove. « eat. »

AS MUCH AS SHE HATED TO ADMIT IT, the knight held some truth to his words. giulia knew just how precarious her situation was, and could name every worst possible outcome that could happen, should she do anything that could fan the flames of the king's anger towards her family – never mind if it was unintentional, or as trivial as her refusing to keep herself alive. gritting her teeth, she tried her best to keep her temper about her, not wanting to give the knight even the slightest of satisfaction if she ever showed how much his words affected her. although she, too, was furious with her own brother's recklessness, giulia cannot help but also fear for his life. she never liked feeling powerless, and now that she was helpless in this prison and at the mercy of this knight and his king, she couldn't help but feel as though god himself has forsaken her.

she looked at the plate, then at the man, and though her appetite hasn't really returned since her capture, giulia thought it would be wise for her to accept his offer now. and yet, stubborn as ever, she made no visible movement to reach for it and instead, sat on the cold stone ledge by the window almost as if to emulate a sulking child. " could you at least tell me what is in the plate? " giulia asked, almost sheepish at her own question. if she were to die of poisoning, she could at least know what it was that would kill her. " i am not particularly fond of venison – not that it should be of any concern to you, but i must know what you are trying to feed me at the very least. "

Standing up with a smile she offered her hand to him politely, "thank you, Lord Beaumont. For your kindness and... enthusiasm." She wondered if her disinterest was so transparent that her chaperone could understand that she didn't want this, how could this lord not?

The moment the lord had left the drawing room, Cassandra felt her breathing return to normal, "thank you, my lord," she murmured turning away from the Marquess. She appreciated his assistance with ridding herself of the nuisances that was at her door but it didn't change that she was here to find a husband. How long would she be forced to endure all of this courting before they realized that she was pushing away any attempts to be married off? A small grin appeared on her face, "he knows of my trepidation but I hardly believe he knows about what conspired here today with Lord Beaumont, or any lord that came before him." Would the Marquess keep today a secret from his father, the Duke or would he recount for him how exactly Cassandra had been receiving suitors? If the Duke were to find out, she would except a very lengthy letter sent to her father and then he would be forced to intervene.

Cassandra recounted the last conversation she had with her father and the anger he held towards her for what she had done. The words still stung in her heart and it was the reason she had not resisted getting on the carriage to London. It wouldn't matter: she vowed never to love another like she loved Edward, even if what they had done was forbidden.

Her reasoning was sound just as her schemes were successful, and while Henry's task today was to be her chaperone, he was also quite unlike his father in a way that he refused to take such matter too seriously. While his father might have warned Cassandra to be careful about her chosen strategy in deterring her suitors from pursuing her further, Henry was not one to scold so easily, especially not a maiden who is already of age. He recognizes ingenuity whenever he sees it, and Cassandra's varying ways of entertaining her many suitors today, just to eventually let them down a few minutes later, was nothing short of such. Henry may have secretly smiled to himself quite a bit throughout the meetings, all because Cassandra said or did something that he did not expect to witness this morning.

"I am not my father, should that be of any concern to you," the marquess announced as he was on his feet again, approaching the console table on the opposite side of the room upon which a wine carafe rested. It was only midday, and yet, as if to prove to her that he was anything but a duplicate of his father, Henry proceeds to fill two glasses with Madeira – a drink that was typically meant to be consumed later in the day, but which he now felt they both needed at the moment.

With the two glasses in hand, Henry makes his way back to Cassandra, handing her one as he says, "I thought you might need this," humor still laced in his tone before he sits down on the chair opposite her. "My father would have certainly sent yours a letter, no doubt. I, on the other hand, am merely here to ensure that you are accompanied – I do not wish to scold you, nor do I have any desire to tell you what you should and should not be doing," Henry shrugged, taking a sip from his wine, "This may be inappropriate, but we shall keep it between ourselves now, shall we not? You must also have faith – your secret is safe with me." Although Henry was raised to be a man that fits his station as the duke's heir ( and with it, came the societal expectations and pressures he had to learn to fit the Ton's culture ), he had never been an advocate of the notion that women shall wed by a certain age – a thought he'd often rather keep to himself, in hopes of saving him from the unnecessary judgment of others, should it ever be known. Henry, in his own way, was a master of masking his personal opinions by being able to blend in just right when the situation calls for it.

HE'S BEEN HERE BEFORE. as in, although he's not an old man by any means, francis has fought wars since he knew how to spell them, has held a sword more often than he's held another being. but he's held them too — dying in his arms; ghosts that still dance around his mind even in this very moment. there is never rest. he can thank the likes of her for this, and yet he cannot grow bitter. life is cruel, and they all fall victim to it. she, much like him, is just another pawn on a much bigger board.

« you must, » he responds, leaning back on his seat, regarding her the way he has for days. « the king, » he corrects her clinically. « our king. » it's salt in her wounds, but francis is a knight. his fierce loyalty will always burn away every attempt at tenderness. it is lost on him when he's always known he will die at his post. protecting their king. « hanged ? most certainly not, my lady. his grace would not waste a perfectly fine resource as yourself. » she will be folded into submission some other way, he's certain of it. nobles have privilege, but it comes with a cost — and for her, it will be always fluttering from one prison to the next.

NOBILITY AS SHE MAY BE, she was still a captive, and giulia is beginning to despise how...well this knight seem to be treating her. is this some form of cruel joke that his king meant to inflict upon her as a way of tormenting her? prolonging her suffering, when they could have just as easily ended it as they did her brother's ambitions? she did not know, and what vexed her even more was the fact that she had no means of ever knowing their reasoning behind all this delay...this torture.

hazel eyes were ablaze with pent up anger as the she looked at the man, uncertain where he was going with this. all that giulia knew was to not trust him, nor anyone in this accursed castle, so long as they keep depriving her of her freedom. "a perfectly fine resource?" she repeated in disbelief. so that was their reason for keeping her alive? they mean to use her as some kind of tool – a mere device they hope would aid them to fulfill whatever perverse scheme they had planned? giulia almost laughed at the thought, but certainly not out of amusement. there was nothing mirthful in nature about her situation, nor was there anything good to come out of wars.

"your king would be a fool to think that i would ever be pliant enough to provide any aid to his plans," she scoffed, unable to suppress her anger any longer. giulia knew she was as good as dead, and insulting a king was the least of her worries now. "i am of no use to anyone here, be it dead or alive. but i shall die first before i betray my own kin – as a knight, surely, you must understand this sentiment?" it was a statement rather than a genuine question, almost as though she meant to insult him, too. she can already see him for what he was – a pawn, living to serve his master even through all the wrongs he may be asked to commit. "you can take the plate away, good sir. the food would spoil first before i would dare let it touch my mouth." giulia had lost all appetite since her captivity, anyway – starvation may yet be her solution to her problems now.

muse: cassandra lockridge, emily bader fc

plot: sent to the become the ward of her father's best friend in london, cassandra has grown restless with the suitors who have come to court her. regency era.

"You would stand to inherit acres upon acres as my lady." Her suitor, the lord of... something boasted to her, a way to entice her to accept some sort of proposal.

"Would I?" She bit back, hoping her mockery of him would come through plainly. Cassandra wasn't allowed to insult him directly, but maybe he would understand that she wanted none of this. Her desire wasn't for acreage or a grand castle to be alone in. She wished to return to Margate, to be among the sand and salt once more. Her suitor only smiled happily back at her with a nod. Obviously he had never been told no in his life. "Lord..." she paused once more, trying to remember his title, "Beaumont. I do not believe we would make a good match. There are plenty of ladies in the Ton that would be better suited for you." If he couldn't understand context, then maybe plain English would be better suited for him.

HE DID NOT MEAN TO LISTEN IN, but the drawing room could only offer so much space between three people that it was near impossible for Henry not to hear the words exchanged between Cassandra and her rather...unwavering suitor. For how long would Lord Beaumont remain such, the marquess was not certain, but if he had to guess, it would not be too long until the man is finally disheartened – especially not after the unintentional chuckle that escaped him barely a moment ago.

Clearing his throat in an attempt to mask the mirth that crept from within, Henry kept his gaze down on the parchment in his hands – some trivial document that counted the number of livestock that had been sold from one of his father's farms ( one of many across Devonshire ), and a document that Henry would not have paid any more than a minute of attention he already has if he wasn't trying to mask his amusement from the conversation between the two.

In the past half hour, Lord Beaumont has done nothing – or even said anything – that would earn him an easy "Yes" from the lady, and yet he persevered..again, and again, only to be met by Cassandra's creative ways of rejecting each proposal. Truth be told, Henry almost felt bad for the man – if only he hadn't been so desperate ( or at least, did not seem one ), perhaps he would stand a chance. Yet the marquess knew that he was not there to give advice on how to properly woo a lady, nor to give Lord Beaumont an idea of what he was doing wrong – he was there to chaperone the lady, to see that the two were never left alone, and nothing more.

However, as patient as Henry had been to sit there and listen through the ( frankly ) poor attempt of a courtship, he too can only take so much of it. It was clear as day that Cassandra had no intentions of accepting the man's offer ( or at this rate, perhaps, any man's ), and Henry could no longer sit around and wait to hear one more desperate attempt to win her hand from the other. He knew he had to step in – and so, he did.

On his feet, the marquess stands tall as he tugs on the hem of his waistcoat to straighten it, and clasping his hands behind his back, he slowly makes his way towards the two – an unintentional wedge to yet another man's dream of winning Cassandra over. "I believe our time here has come to an end, Lord Beaumont. Please accept our gratitude for your time and your...efforts, but I'm afraid Miss Lockridge must retire for the day," Henry shoots Cassandra a look, before he turns to the waiting footman with a nod. "Richard, be so good as to see Lord Beaumont to the door," and with a hint of smile to their guest, Henry bids farewell to yet another of Cassandra's disheartened suitor. "I wish you a great rest of your day, " and with that, Lord Beaumont was escorted out by the footman, carrying nothing but, perhaps, his broken dreams with him.