#turnwest

     It feels like this rehearsal is never going to end. But that’s just Malena’s dramatic-side talking, of course. Abbington is like a bull on a rampage, making sure that tomorrow’s show is better than the ‘last pile of horse crap that was yesterday’s show’ -- his words, obviously.  Her time practicing on the stage is still a ways away, and Malena figures this is the perfect time to sneak out for a quick cigarette.

     None of the other performers sitting in the mezzanine with her pay her no mind as she walks towards the lobby and out the front doors. When she steps outside, Malena isn’t sure what smell worse -- the theater, or Saint Denis itself. 

     Lighting a cigarette in her mouth, Malena looks over to the show posted that’s hung near the doors. Her brow furrows when she realizes something. 

     “You have got to be shittin’ me!”

THE WITCHER / ACCEPTING / @turnwest

oh,  he wants to laugh at her.  she can tell by the tiny quirk of his lips and the amusement in his eyes.  she’s sure it must be funny–  after all,  just seconds ago she was giving him a hard time,  barking at him like a mad dog.  now,  she’s on the mud and dirt,  white blouse stained with wet brown and black and braid tangled with the same thickness.  not the first time she’s been bucked off a horse,  but it is the first time arthur’s horse has done it.  she’s sure he mumbled something to his steed to get her to buck sadie off.  maybe he didn’t and it’s why he’s hopping off so quickly to offer her a hand,  seeming absolutely offended at her accusation.  she didn’t say anything about honor though,  and him calling her my lady–  damn,  he likes riling her up,  doesn’t he?  it helps that he knows she’s not going to shoot him.  no,  she’d never turn her weapon against him.  even when he’s the reason she’s covered in sludge.  cocky bastard.

THE WITCHER / ACCEPTING / @turnwest

she doesn’t know why he sounds so damn upset.  that’s what life is to everyone,  isn’t it?  being surrounded by monsters trying to be people or monsters who know they’re monsters like her.  and then trying to get money out of those same bastards because money is needed for every damn thing.  he knows it better than she does.  he’s been in this type of life for years.  her?  it’s just been months.  but she was forced into it like everyone else was.  her husband killed,  her home burnt down.  the desperate need for revenge shoved into her chest.  if it wasn’t for the kindness and patience of abigail,  of the other girls in the camp,  of arthur–  it would have consumed her already.  it almost is,  though.  she can feel it in her palms,  in the pit of her stomach every damn day.  

X // ACCEPTING

it’s a bit weird,  she’s gotta admit.  seeing arthur mor.gan taking it easy for once?  no running around,  not doing everyone’s errands for them?  hell,  even seeing him off his horse is rare on its own.  rare,  but she likes it.  he deserves to relax a damn bit and she’s already chewed out micah for bothering arthur about not doing anything.  that bastard has no right to say anything,  but she’d rather not get into it with him right now.  she knows if they ended up bickering too much,  she’d end up shooting him dead and that wouldn’t end too well for her,  she thinks.  not with how disgustingly fond dutch seems of that rat.  it’s not something too heavy on her mind right now,  though.  not after seeing arthur unbox what looks like some good ol’ fashioned pie.  been a long,  long while since she’s had a slice of it.  even before he’s offering to share with her,  she’s sitting next to him,  grabbing two mugs for them.