#viiolentxends

(Thinking specifically about @viiolentxends since we’ve had a couple interactions and chatted ooc about ‘em.)

First and foremost, Josh believes that Dolores is a courageous young woman, but… maybe more than a little in over her head. He can be sexist, he has particular views about how a woman should act and what they should do, but he rarely voices or acts on those thoughts and that isn’t why he thinks Dolores should return to Sweetwater. Josh wants Dolores to return to Sweetwater because he doesn’t want to see her hurt. He thinks she’s blinded by revenge and inexperienced, a combination that he’s sure will land her six feet under if she’s not careful.

…And at the same time, he kind of admires that. He admires her bravery, her dedication to family, and the fact that she isn’t just sitting around letting grief consume her. She’s doing something about it. She’s got spunk. It’s attractive. 

“Dolores Abernathy,” Clementine calls from the edge of the Mariposa. It’s near dusk now, and it’s a rare sight--her usually impeccably styled hair is loosely tousled and pinned. Her hands are in the reign’s of a horse--Maeve’s, to be exact, she’s borrowing it on a favor--and she’s got the longer skirt on her dress.

[command: narrative: retrack]

[substitute: character: teddy flood]

[replace: character: clementine pennyweather]

[command: submit]

Before her visit to Westworld, she heard that visitors don’t get hurt.  They can’t get hurt, so being caught in the middle of gunfire shouldn’t have frightened her as much as it did.  But it seemed so real, it sounded so real, and the fear coming from other guests ( and the hosts!! ) just seemed more than convincing to her; she supposed that hiding was the best bet to survive this.

And she didn’t want anyone else - who could get hurt - to have an unfortunate fate, so when she spotted the other woman she immediately gestured for her to hide with her.  

And as she did so, she breathed a sigh of relief.  “You’re welcome.  I’d absolutely hate to see you get hurt in such a way,” she said with another breath.  “No, not hurt; just startled, I suppose.  What about you, you aren’t hurt are you?”

          “last time i saw you, you were finally embracing that wild side you’ve always had about you.” a gloved index points at the gun secured on her belt. “is this for real this time?” is sweet, soft, delicate dolores capable of pulling the trigger on a guest? nothing would thrill him more.

     Ragged gasps for breath and harried footfalls filled the arid morning air. The heat of the summer sun was already beginning to set in, and Jack could feel the sweat cling like dewdrops to his skin as he dove into the trees. The desert’s dust coated his boots, clothes, face, and tongue, choking him, making every breath feel like sandpaper inside his esophagus and lungs. He must have fallen at least half a dozen times by now, his wounded and haggard body fighting him every step of the way. Somewhere behind him, he could hear the baying of hungry hounds.

      The children were up ahead. He was struggling to keep up, but he caught glimpses of them here and there, snatches of dirtied fabric or bright red hair in the underbrush. Every sighting was a huge relief; he got nervous if he lost sight of them for too long. 

      Someone fired a gun and the bullet embedded itself in the tree mere inches from his head. He flinched, ducked, but kept running as fast as his legs could carry him. But he knew he wasn’t going to make it. Not if he wanted the children to be safe. Something had to give. What would happen when they made it out of the grove and into open territory with him hot on their heels? He’d told them to head for the gorge, but there was still a long stretch between here and there without much in the way of cover. If they were going to make it, they would need a distraction.

      He stopped running.

~*~

      Willow gasped and coughed, her grip on her brother’s hand tightening as she pulled him along. He had always been of a weaker constitution, and the abuses they’d suffered had led to them both contracting some sort of illness. He arguably had it far worse than she, and he lagged behind her ever so slightly. He looked pale and feeble, but fear and hope entwined to propel him forward, and his face held a grim determination she’d never seen him wear before.

       Neither said a word for fear of attracting attention to themselves, but the girl’s breath hitched in her throat when she saw a break through the trees. She cast an encouraging glance over to her brother as if to say, “Almost there!”

       A few more bounds, and they were bathed in sunlight, crashing, tumbling out of the foliage with all the speed they could muster. They did not stop, plowing full speed ahead into the open. The men after them had guns, and the children had zero shelter from the bullets that would no doubt be sent whizzing their way. They had to make the window of opportunity for their  pursuers as narrow as possible.

       The gorge was not far. They could hear the water now, babbling merrily somewhere ahead. It was like a song, a promise. “You’ll be safe here,” it seemed to say. “Just follow my voice!”

      Somewhere at the back of her mind, Willow wondered at how they had yet to be shot at, how the sounds of the dogs had grown distant. But her elation upon reaching that first, blessed corner of the winding canyon drowned out any and all thought. It was the first step towards freedom, and she felt some small measure of relief wash over her. 

      And then she ran headfirst into someone.

      She cried out in surprise, and her brother echoed her sentiments as he barreled straight into her back. Instinctively, Willow back pedaled, her hands coming up to protect, to attack, if need be. But as fear receded and reason took hold, she saw the blue clothes, the peaceful, friendly face, and the flowing blonde hair---