#0ldwest

it's  meant  with  honest  sentimentality  -  adoration,  even,  in  the  most  genuine  of  ways.  the  words  that  dutch  speaks  into  the  space  between  them  are  meant  to  bring  eliza  comfort,  she's  sure  of  it  -  but  in  the  time  that  it  takes  her  to  etch  them  in  marble  along  her  heartstrings,  emotion  sits  steady  in  her  throat,  threatening  equal  measures  of  vulnerability.

"don't  say  that."  eliza's  reply  is  soft  -  barely  audible  with  her  head  downturned  to  the  grass  beneath  their  feet.  it's  definitive  intention  that  allows  her  to  speak  something  between  fear  &  self-preservation  as  her  focus  turns  upward  to  dutch;  "y'can't  say  that  -"  her  heart  poses  concern  under  the  guise  of  a  reprimanding  tone,  "-  it  sounds  like  you're  fixin'  to  leave  me  in  a  world  where  you  aren't  standin'  right  beside  all  of  us."  features  chiseled  &  sharpened  by  loss  turn  pointedly  at  him;  earnestness  blatantly  imploring  him,  pleading  him  not  to  leave  her,  too.  (she'd  give  her  own  life  ten  times  over  to  ensure  it.)

such is the price josiah pays, gallivanting about as he does, for days or weeks or months at a time, in hopes of bringing something back to the van der linde gang that will get them something. he, after all, is only one man, and they’re fearsome for a reason — there’s only so much josiah alone can do. how naive he’s been, he thinks, to have forgotten what this kind of pain feels like. ( it isn’t a debt he’s had to pay in some time. ) he lifts a hand to rub at his jaw, squinting in the bright midday sun. dutch’s phonograph croaks out a symphony in the background. ❝ the men who caught me, they had a remarkable interest in you. i find myself wondering — have you ever been caught by people like that, before? ❞

skin    and   hair   scrubbed   clean ,      days   worth   of   dust   and   dirt   long  gone   in   lieu   of   his   new   scent .    clean   and   musky   like   the   pinetrees ,   far   too   fancy   but   that’s   what   the   job   required   ( or   so   his   mentor   said   before   sending   miss   grimshaw   armed   with   a   bucket   of   clean   water   and   tonics   storming   his   way ,   a   sight   far   more   terrifying   than   any   amount   of   bounty   hunters . )     his   dark  hair ,   usually   a  tousled   curtain   obscuring   his   face   was   clean   and   pulled   back ,   combined   with   his   clean   shaved   features   all   too   exposed   for   his   liking .  

   ❝   i’m   comin’  ,   alright ?    just . . .    ❞     he   groaned ,   dragging   his   feet   behind   dutch  .   despite   his   elegant  ensemble   cotton  and   silk ,   his   slouched   posture   and   clear   discomfort   adorning   scarred   features  made   him   look   more   like   an   animal   forcefully   dragged   on  a   leash   when   compared   to   the   man   clad  in   a   stylish   mirrage   of   black ,   red   and   gold   striding   pridefully   before   him .     

she  ducks  her  head  from  dutch's  view  before  even  thinking  of  answering;  the  grass  beneath  eliza’s  boots  looks  soft,  welcoming  -  the  rebirth  of  springtime.  flowers  and  greenery  blossom  alike  at  the  hilt  of  every  newly-placed  tent,  and  the  view  of  the  horizon  is  filled  with  nothing  but  promise  -  'horseshoe  overlook’  is  what  hosea’d  called  it.  (compared  to  what  they’ve  fled  to  get  here,  eliza’s  perfectly  fine  calling  it  what  it  really  is:  capitulated  nirvana.)

winter  was  never  kind  to  her;  she’s  tired  of  being  fussed  over  &  cared  about.  only  because  it’s  dutch  speaking  to  her  does  she  justify  the  question  with  a  half-response,  “i  stole  some  apples  from  that  new  town  yesterday.”  (apples  that  she  promptly  gave  to  jack  &  hosea  rather  than  keep  on  her  own  behalf.)  hands  fold  together  over  her  lap  as  eliza’s  gaze  regains  some  radiance;  look  closely  enough,  and  her  lips  curl  into  a  slight  smile.  “but  …  i  could  be  persuaded  t’eat  some  of  pearson’s  garbage  stew  if  you’d  promise  to  join  me  for  a  ride  afterwards.”

MEME  ( [ fashion show ] : sender tries to help receiver choose an outfit )  /  still accepting.

eliza  bursts  out  of  the  fitting  room,  already  tugging  impatiently  at  the  sleeves  of  the  gown  that  now  envelop  her  skin  in  vivid  satin;  the  look  that  she  gives  dutch  should  be  silent  explanation  enough  that  all  of  this  frivolity  seems  pointless.

(((:

✉️    : miscellaneous sentence prompts : no limit ! - @0ldwest !

oh, to be remembered. it is a sensation the young redhead has always longed for, but those that remember her often remember the rumors and not her. she knows & understands it, but a sting follows as if to remind her that all she is comes from twisted words through gossiping lips. however, a familiar voice breaks her of her daydreaming, & an elbow, which kept her chin up, slips into the well she was sitting next to.

a cry escapes from her lips as she pulls herself away from the water source & quickly turns around to see if the voice is authentic. while looking at him, she almost doesn't believe her eyes as she shakes her head. dutch is one of the few people she's seen leave the town & return to it without trouble. curious as she is as to how he manages such a thing without being branded an outsider, she is more curious about his sudden appearance in the month of august.

❛ are ya sure you got your times right ? ❜ a question for a question. slowly, her lips pull up into a crooked grin. she doesn't care how he found her hiding place, & instead, she feels a faint flutter in her chest at knowing he found her at all.

josiah pauses as whatever he intends to say slips from his mouth.     dutch, it seems, has stunned him into remarkable silence. it’s not something he would’ve expected to hear, in these strange days and stranger times, watching their fates roll out in front of them. especially not given the reputation that josiah himself has gone to no small efforts to cultivate — a man who can’t always be trusted, who’d sell his own sister out if it meant he got to keep his own head, someone who could be telling you a bold-faced lie as much as a bold-faced truth —

he keeps coming back to it. he keeps gnawing on the bone, unstitching and re-stitching the wound. each time josiah trelawny turns his back on the van der linde gang, out of some promise made to someone he cares for ( but never to himself ) it’s only a matter of time before he’s dragged right back into the bloody mess of it all. he is an insider in the way that he brings them their money but an outsider in every other sense of the word, a purposeful choice to keep some careful distance between him and them. and yet.

dutch trusts his judgment, which is not to say that dutch trusts him, but... he can’t ignore the way it makes him feel, uneasy and at the same time comforted. is this why dutch lets him roam across the east and the west? is it because he knows, in some way, that josiah will always come crawling back? a clever and easy smile comes upon him. josiah scoffs out a small laugh, as if none of this bothers him, as if dutch perhaps doesn’t know that this bothers him. something tells him he does.

he, unthinkingly, places a hand atop dutch’s shoulder. they’ve been companions for some years now. not once has josiah thanked him for that, thanked him as much for the looseness of the leash he wears for the van der linde gang as for the leash itself. he can’t say he trusts dutch. he thinks he’d be a fool if he did. instead, what tumbles out is a pleased, humbled, appropriately pleased, because josiah trelawny is always at least a little keen for praise: ❝ dutch, my dear old friend, you’ve changed my life. i hope you know how much that truly means to me. ❞

“can  we  -  ...”       against  her  better  judgment,  eliza  chokes  out  a  cough,  wincing  once  &  holding  her  index  finger  &  thumb  to  a  bleeding  &  bruised  nose,       “-  ...  can  we  table  th’lecture  for  later  -  an’  can  you  jus’  ...  help  me?”       see,  she’s  audibly  asking  for  help  -  it  is  a  miracle.  (that  doesn’t  keep  guilt  or  shame  from  crossing  eliza’s  sharp  features  in  heavy  undulation  -  she  can  barely  make  eye  contact  with  dutch.)  her  other  hand  is  held  up  between  them,  knuckles  skinned  &  fingers  twitching,       “i  hurt  m’hand  on  the  other  guy’s  teeth.”