#anedendarkly

The Mexican summer heat was only barely relieved by a sudden downpour, sending most folks scurrying for shelter while children shrieked in delight. Shelter today was a dimly lit bar, the various conversations around the room left at a similarly low tone. All except one table surrounded by a small crowd as a poker game got deeper and more expensive. And dangerous.

Of course, it might have been difficult to pay attention to some fat cats playing a card game when one of the patrons at the table (a crisply dressed gent with an American accent despite his grunts in Spanish) was holding in his lap a peculiar young lady. It would not take long watching her to know she wasn't human, as difficult as it might be to believe a machine shaped like one could be holding the conversation she was. Instead of skin, she had panels of gleaming gold, each meeting in neat seams. Art deco engravings decorated her collarbone and the parts of her arms that lay bare.

@anedendarkly

Henry bit back a smile, but there was little humor in it. No. It was the motion of a predator showing its teeth. He looked back at the demon, a biting remark already sitting ready in the chamber.

He fired.

Archer was always curious and desperate to learn. He asked millions of questions yet both his parents were uneducated. It was a different time back then and he grew up in rural farmland Missouri. There was a single room schoolhouse about a mile away which when he went he had to walk on foot. Occasionally hitching a ride if a neighbor went by with their horse and wagon.

While Archer enjoyed his time in school, despite the older kids putting dirt in his hair, his time was needed much more on the farm at home.

He could write his name but he had difficulty reading at an adult level. When he had enlisted his commanding officer, who had an affair with him, taught him how to read in their downtime. Archer used his discovery of books as an escape and practiced by reading to all who would listen. The downtrodden, the injured, and the dead.

Afterwards he had no time to pursue any sort of education. Too busy trying to survive. He had hoped to find some sort of on the job training once he and Katherine were married, but that time was brief.

When he entered the O.D.I.B. he may have sold himself into service, but he also gained access to all the knowledge in the world. An endless buffet of books, art, history, and science. He absorbed as much as he could and asked all the questions he could.

Some pictures I've found to speak to the general feel. The last a picture of school boys that would be Archer's age and one I pointed out would SO BE HIM!

It was kind of lonely growing up, but with no lack of love. Archer's parents struggled to have children and lost quite a few before Archer. Their hearts were broken and they used him to mend that. His father was a drunk but usually happy. At least to Archer. There was something dark haunting him.

From what Archer knew, his father's family had all passed away in tragic accidents or disease. He vaguely remembered hearing about an Aunt that was killed in a train accident some point in his childhood. His father seemed to think the family was plagued by a curse of bad luck and would go through bouts of paranoia.

They had chickens, some light crops, mostly to feed themselves. They could never make enough to sell at market and money was always a worry. His mother wouldn't let Archer be upset by this. She'd find ways to make squash taste new and yummy for months on end. She was creative like that. She liked to tell him stories and sing him songs. He absolutely adored his mother and would do anything she asked without question. Picking up the slack that his father was letting fall behind. Someone had to take care of her!

There were a few kids on neighboring farms older and younger than Archer that he played with. Went swimming in the crick with. He was invited but felt like he was just tagging along. He had longed for a bigger family, feeling a devastating gap somewhere between the three of them. Even just as a child, Archer tried to fill it somehow.

As he got older, his father got more depressed, and meaner. He'd lock himself in the barn as more and more bills came in. Chickens grew sick and died. Archer felt mostly estranged from him. Despite loving Archer, his father could never let himself get fully attached. Always afraid of losing him like the others. Distance kept him alive. Distance kept him safe. Distance could keep the curse from him.

Distance didn't work.

There was one incident where his father actually struck him.

Archer did not fight back. Instead he tried to shoulder the hit, knowing his father didn't MEAN it. He couldn't hide it from his mother and she tore into his father for it.

Archer had joined the war in 1917 only for it to be over in 1919. A brief service, but enough time for it to haunt him. He did not meet his first wife Daisy/Katherine until 1921. So that is a great question.

What did he do in this time?

Archer was raised on the old family farm. However it was possessed either by the bank or the gov. after his parents death. He didn't have that safe haven to return back to, nor could he have done the work that needed to be done in the state he was in.

While overseas, alcohol was a helpful way to cope. It let him push past and get things done. He preferred menial labor tasks, as he was somewhat used to it. Yet coming back to the US Prohibition had started, and landing on the east coast it was difficult to find farm work that was willing to hire him. He was very much lacked the education he has today.

So he ran. Quite literally. Hitchhiking and working his way all the way to the west coast. He'd stop in a town long enough to find some friendly people who needed a fence fixed, a cow pen tended, a hole dug, illegal booze delivered, or wood chopped. Anything to get some pocket change and back on the way.

It was very lonely and yet not at the same time. He didn't run into trouble nearly as much as he thought he would but... from where he was coming from, nothing could quite match that hell.

He got to see families, loving grandmothers and grandfathers that he had never experienced. Parents doting or being strict to their kids. And he was simply the outsider, begging for a few nickels and somewhere to sleep for the night.

Meeting up with other veterans usually helped the most. If they had families of their own, they recognized Archer's pain. He was one of the lucky ones. Physically whole, and young enough that he might forget it. And a back that was still strong to move hay.

By the time he made it to California there was plenty of field work to pick up on. He had learned enough skills he could get a handyman position on the side. Once he and Katherine got together he worked any job he could find. Saving as much as he could to feed his new growing family.

What do you think when you see my URL?

AWE THIS IS SO CUTE

I always try to the bring the fun

especially the freaky kind hehe

"You called, I came." The Jinn walked through the door of the ship quarters and greeted the man inside. However, the door wasn't real, nor was the room. They were in a dream. For Kabir, though there was no big difference between walking in the real world and walking through the ethereal places. "I understood, it's more comfortable for you to meet here instead of outside, so here I am." He looked around the modest abode and smiled, "Honestly, I lied a little bit. It's been life since I traveled on the ship. So, when I heard you, I just thought, cool! Let's go!"

BASICS

Name: Hosco (you can also call me Oso or Little Bear)

Pronouns: They/Them

Sexuality: Asexual (Aegosexual)

Taken or Single: Single

THREE FACTS

I'm a Russian, I live in Russia. Boo.

I'm borderline. Also, boo.

I have 22 tattoos and am planning to get more.

RP EXPERIENCE

How long? (months/years): Since school. Here, since 2012.

Platforms You've Used: Tumblr and a little bit of Gmail.

Best Experience: I think here was my worst and my best experience so far.

MUSE PREFERENCES

Female or Male: Male. I tried to write female muses and do genderbent when it was mainstream. I failed. I don't know how to write women; I don't understand and don't feel them.

Fluff, Angst, or Smut: It depends concretely on the story we write. I don't write a lot of smut (I mostly prefer it to fade into black), though, and only when we have a ship.

Plots or Memes: Plots. Memes only if we already wrote something before and only in the context.

Long or Short Replies: It should be at least one proper paragraph. I don't do one-liners.

Best time to write: Any time I'm not deadly tired and not in pain (and not working).

Are you like your muse(s): Self-insert is a good and therapeutic thing. Most of my muses have a part of my personality in them, some more, some less.

Tagged by: @anedendarkly