#headnull

          THERE ISN’T MUCH HE CAN SEE, not from this angle.   it’s been a few hours or so, following this stagecoach and keeping a fair enough distance.   highly patrolled, and carrying something dutch seemed to be fairly interestedin.   he lowers the binoculars, a concentrated stress to the lines of his face, just barely manages to hear the sound of keiran’s voice over his own thoughts.   ❛    yes. it looks like they’re going to rest soon, we should too.    ❜    head turns to glance at him briefly, ears pricked and eyes sharp.   sun is beaming down heavy, the guards have to be exhausted as them, if anything  —  they’ve done nothing but track after them for the entirety of the day.    ❛    let’s set up a little farther away.    ❜     charles whistles, a high and sharp sound that attracts taima, she’s quick to jog over, branwen soon following after.

           ❛    mount up, let’s go. want t’ be ready when it gets dark.    ❜

pretty in pink sentence starters // @headnull

          she hasn’t really been listening; attention focused on cleaning the gun in her hands. so whatever kieran’s been rambling on about has fallen on mostly deaf ears, with sadie only picking up on things here and there. maybe she was hoping that if she didn’t pay him any attention, he’d go back over to the horses, maybe she thought he go talk to someone else. whatever the case, he was still here.

Arthur couldn’t help but wince at the sound of Kieran’s tone; not for any personal reason, in fact, it was because his head was throbbing with pain. He could almost feel his brain pulsating against his skull– && the beats were rhythmic, fast– his concentration on the pulses overrode his underlying engagement with the other man; eyes rolling into the back of his head briefly, before closing his blue pigmented optics.

❝ Juss’a scuffle, ‘s’all. Greasy bastard jus’bout broke m’ damn nose. ❞

Crimson, dark blood was prominent above his upper lip; partially dried, by now– his calloused, dry fingers brushed against the blood, smearing it across his digits. His optics averted downward at his fingers, now painted with his own gore. This definitely was not his first bar fight– && he reckoned it would not be his last, either. He could still taste the liquor on his lips, as he grazed his tongue over the bottom of his lower lip; recoiling at the taste, as the mixture of that && his own vital fluids resting in the back of his throat was not a good taste. 

Arthur sucked in air, harshly, gathering the blood in his mouth, before spitting it out on the grass beneath his feet.

Symbol Meme - Affectionate/Nice Edition // NOT ACCEPTING

Arthur pushed a deep sigh through his nostrils, one that flared them out as his gaze flickered over to the thinner man next to him. Never would he have thought the night would be ending with Kieran tending the new open (and rather bloody) wound on his shoulder. To that he could point a finger to the group of O’Driscolls that attacked them on the return to camp; he was still having a hard time trusting Kieran ever since they took him in. Colm’s men were known to be shifty and gruesome when it came to getting their way, and while the Van der Lindes could be labeled as such he was more than aware that they were nowhere near the depths of fucked up...to put it mildly. He winced slightly as the rag was pressed up against the ripped flesh, soaking up the most of the blood within a few seconds.

        the soft melody of the harmonica has stopped, silence for a moment before he speaks.    ❛    try not to let it get to you.    ❜    spoken so low that no one will be able to hear it, but the person he’s looking towards.    rough-padded fingers brush against the INTRICATE details of the harmonica in his hands, thumbing the sides.    ❛    the others, i mean. they’re not . . . bad once you get to know them.    ❜

meme - accepting.

“Mon cher, if you knew of even what a sliver of my escapades entailed, I can assure you that you would never say that.”