@yellowkclly​

Kelly was in trouble. Sat at a sticky table, several rounds deep, holding cards worried soft and round-edged with all the hands they’d been through. He thumbed at the dog-eared corner of his eight, contemplating his pair and his empty pockets and the sizable pool of coins clumsily gathered in the centre of the table... The last of his cash, incidentally. At least, the last that hadn’t been spent on the glasses of shit passed off as whiskey currently working its way through his system, mellowing what should have rightly been panic at the rather unfortunate situation he was slowly edging himself into.

He was almost glad to be interrupted, hearing him before he saw him. That low familiar click of a hammer cocking back into place, somehow clear even above the background thrum of drunken chatter filling the bar. He spared a glance over his shoulder and was met with an unfamiliar face. The man’s gun, however, was bared with a very familiar sense of purpose.

“You want somethin’?” Kelly grunted, turning in his seat. Casual, for all intents and purposes, as if unaware of how easily an overeager finger could twitch and send a bullet flying home. A small mercy perhaps given how his evening was currently going. “Kinda in the middle of somethin’.”

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The man’s got grit, he’ll give him that, certainly seems more concerned about losing what little money he has left staked on this game than he is about Sam suddenly deciding the man would be easier to bring in as a corpse, however heavy he may look.

A glance is all it takes to convince the other men sat around the table to lay down their cards and pay some attention.

“He folds.” Samuel instructs, pushing the cold muzzle of his colt against the outlaw’s neck with insistence.

“James Kelly…” At this point it is a name that feels common on Samuel’s tongue, given how many times he’s uttered it during this past week, in search of the man who has amassed quite an attractive bounty, the kind worth sleeping rough and getting rain soaked, the latter being the thing that is responsible for Samuel’s surly mood. He’s been riding out in the pissing rain all night, while this big son of a bitch has been sitting drinking whiskey and playing cards.

“Here, ain’t you Samuel Silas? You…you ’s a lawman right?”

The squirrely looking man sat at James’ table chooses to address Sam directly, but the bounty hunter does not entertain his question with a glance, let alone an answer.

“I got your writ Kelly, now we can do this one of two ways…”

Roughly he grasps James’ shoulder and is instantly served a reminder that the outlaw is much larger and taller than he himself is and so must be handled carefully.

The iron cuffs in his hand are thrown down on the table with a loud clatter, a clear invitation for Kelly to cuff himself, if he wants to leave this place walking.  

Nearly 200 writing prompts // Not Accepting

    “We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”

    Julian brought a hand up to his mouth, drew away the cigarette from his lips and tilted his head to the sky.

NONVERBAL || ACCEPTING || @yellowkcllysit next to my muse  

He did well in keeping to himself where ever he went. Even in public places— such as the bar he sat at. Out of the way on the end corner. That was till another form suddenly entered his peripheral vision. Causing him to REEL away, just slightly. The Bohemian peered at the stranger that sat beside him. Then eyes casted over the hand full of other unoccupied stools that COULD have been chosen.

If he appeared weary of the company— it’s because he was. America was a place unfamiliar to Anton. His english was BROKEN and the lands customs were some that many Czechs would frown upon.

WESTERN sentence starters. // Not Accepting

    “Don’t even know why we’re up here, searching for a hijo de puta who’s probably long gone.” 

    Julian scrubbed his hands together in an effort to warm up his fingers and peered around the wide expanse of mountain surrounding them. They’d chased a man up into the mountains for stealing just about everything contained in their saddlebags—food, tent canvas, maps, money—and now it was getting dark, and the evening mountain chill was beginning to settle in.

    With the thief having run off with Julian’s canvas, there was now only one tent to share between them. Julian wasn’t particularly keen for multiple reasons, but he didn’t care to linger on them very long, feeling that if he stood outside any longer he’d freeze to the snowy ground beneath his boots.

“Noooooo, really?” Arthur’s sarcasm had a bite to it that just reared its head every once in a while, especially seeing as that compliment? Wasn’t anything but adorable. He smirked, half-hidden under the stiff rim of his hat, and with his free hand fished for the cigarette pack half squashed in the chest pocket of his vest. He was lucky it ain’t got holes in it. Reckon he handled himself real well back there. He sure wasn’t done being sarcastic just yet: “You think I oughta rob stagecoaches for a living?” 

The pack was premium, all silver lining and blue paper. He reined May in, brought her up closer to Kelly’s horse, and held the pack out to him. 

@yellowkclly​ asked;

13, Jodey: Is your character bothered by the sight of blood? If so, in what way?

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    “It is not my forgiveness you should seek.” Abbe replied softly and surely, a patient smile forming across his features. 

    Abbe had recently found himself called on by God to go to the Americas, and less than a month into his journey he had met countless souls lead astray from the righteous path. James Kelly had been one of them. Now of which he was offering some advice, even if the cowboy was resistant to his words.