#perilspast

she felt the icy grip of fear embrace her & trace down her backbone. a small shutter escaped as her eyes began to sting with the sensation of growing tears. words became trapped in her throat as her legs wobbled to a nearby building after the harsh words of a stranger called out to her, stating something about being in the way of the horses. she wasn't paying attention, & the words seemed muffled against the ringing in her ears as her hands reached for the side of the nearby structure.

the summer sun beat down upon her, but not for long, as a long shadow enclosed her shade. momentarily, her eyes closed as she tried to control the rhythm of her heart & the heaviness of her breathing. however, as her eyes opened, panic filled in place of the tears as her eyebrows folded deep into her forehead.

 ❛ who're you ? ❜ vera asked. her voice trembled ( damn her fear & womanly nature ! ) as her eyes traveled up to meet the man's gaze. her hands reached for the pale fabric of her dress & held tight, making her sun-kissed knuckles turn white.  ❛ i mean no harm, mister. i swear by it. ❜

Giles had always been the lone wolf. A man predestined to face a world of horrors on his own ( or as he was convinced to be ) . So when along comes a hand more caring and kind than he's used too, he never is quite sure how to react. In such an instance he’d been as reckless as always. Not a care in the world. A severe lack of self preservation. The hunter had taken a fierce beating, bruised and bloodied, leaving him in the hands of a stranger generous enough to not leave him for dead. A tight lip had been kept from the hunter. Uncertain what to make of his savior. His mind clouded from his proper thought.

He’d be wise to rest a while longer while he could. But he itched for the comfort of his isolation and to be in the saddle of his horse once more. Giles moved to get up. Readying the farewell he was about to speak onto the man— that is till he’s held down in his place. Pushed back down into the canvas bedroll he was laid upon. Blue and blind hues snapped up towards the other, brows furrowed and a downward curl at the corner of lips. “You been a good, hospitable fella, but I’ve laid around here long enough.” He argued, attempting to push past the man’s hold, but it was of little use. If anything, it shot pain through the man’s body before he merely settled back with a low groan.

“Dammit.” Curse hissed under a heavy sigh, one of defeat. “One more night.”

PERILSPAST, continued from this.

✯ NOT ALL, NOW, TEDDY BEAR. ONE LAST FAREWELL IS FOR THE LUCKY ONES. MEN LIVING BY THE SWORD (you and I, even if the sword is more ballistic than chivalry) RARELY EVER GET ONE LAST FAREWELL. ENDLESS REVISITING GRIEF IS THE TORTURE, AND NAME OF THE GAME. Never let go of another, as a punishment.

❝Pfft— if yer real fuckin' shiny lucky, maybe.❞ He shakes his head, shakes these feelings that got you all down, now. Finger flicks at Flood's hat, tilting it right up to challenge his lowered eyes to rise. ❝Farewells. Wells. Plural, now. Cause, fuck, there a'lotta them. Ain't ever one last farewell. That's fer boys in New York. Out 'ere, we're sayin' farewell every day like it's the last, but it never is. Till it is. Then, it feels like it wasn't just enough o' a last. Then...❞ he's taking a big ol' sigh, too much talking, not enough sweet rye tingling sensation to greet the tongue. Hand plants firmly on Teddy's farther shoulder, forearm across his back. Free hand swigs out of glass just once, eyebrows raise to react to the initial burn. Mhm. Fuck. Anyways— ❝[then...], we spend every damn day sayin' farwells to what coulda been. Fuck if any man in the West ever said a last farewell 'n meant it, felt it, too. Ahhh, we're the grievin', sentimental type, mm?❞ Boisterous laugh, hand tapping down on Teddy's shoulder, a bit contagious kind of fun. At least he hopes so. It's impossible to be a downer when you're insane. Ringed-to-the-brim fingers of a seasoned killer who grins like sunshine... on a dusty, arid, treacherous Sonoran wildfire.

PERILSPAST, continued from this.

✯ VILE LITTLE FUCKER, AREN'T YOU, NOW? DREAMS OF HOME, DREAMS OF WAMRTH, I CAN'T CONDONE THAT, MISTER FLOOD, ESPECIALLY IN SUCH A TIME AND CONTEXT THIS SLICE OF AMERICAN LIFE WE LIVE IN, [ ... ] dangerous thing, to love. LOVE ANOTHER MAN, EVEN MORE DANGEROUS STILL. Mind who or what you throw on that charm. REMINDS ME OF A SAD, KICKED PUPPY IN THE RAIN. C'mere, now, I'll take ya in. Don't be shy.

He almost opened his mouth a little too soon to comment in earnest about Teddy's regret of seeing his mother never attain her dreams—a completely sensible and honorable man's regret. A righteous sort of regret you can wear on your chest on the town square on a bright blue-skied day. Then, ah, then it comes. Would've settled down with someone I love by now. I'm terrible at these games of should, would, could, Teddy. ❝Can't say it's t' late t' try.❞ Shrug of his shoulders making light of the situation that has otherwise not passed unnoticed by the old hunter's sight. Or maybe he's seeing shit. You tell him, now. Did you mean him? It doesn't hurt to be a little more direct, though he understands the caution in times like this. Wouldn't want to be wrong about another man. He might take it the wrong way.

❝Know what I mean? Ah.❞ Arms cross defensively, feeling the eyes of the world gaze upon them and judge, even if it's private, just the two of them at this time of night. A funeral of two, held to in mourning of the opportunities we've lost. It's futile to dance around a fire, expecting not to get your feet burned. In tradition with firewalking, he crosses the embers Teddy's laid on the ground before him with that kind of talking. ❝An' might I be someone y'love, now, Flood?❞