✶ Is this rage mine? ✶

The machete was held high above her head, the dead on the ground. It was an habit by now, almost a decade since Beatriz learned to fight, to survive. She had left her group behind after finding something that could lead her to them. Just as she was about to kill the other, they had attacked a community recently and they were in the way of her mission, the only thing that mattered to her, their protective gear feel and revealed their face. Their face. The one that had been on her mind ever since they got separated, the one that Bea kept alive in her mind and heart. “It’s you,” she said breathlessly. “I’ve found you. I’ve found you.”

"It's a good thing, I'm not a bunny then." A wave of relief washed over him after correcting his posture to finish the remainder of the rum. Damien thinks his reaction is subtle, but instead it's full body how he relaxes in his seat at that statement. Being who he was, made it hard enough, throwing demisexuality into the mix just added insult to injury on his ability to connect with people romantically. It was often mistook for lack of interest, especially in the generation he'd been around, sex came first and he simply.. couldn't. Well, alcohol helped loosen him a little in that regard, enough to start kissing, but he wouldn't go home over one glass.

With hand still rested over the top of the drink as if he'd pick it up with fingers alone, a nod is given every so often; attentive to what Colt had to say. He wasn't a great mister fix-it, but if his van broke he could use the internet like everyone else and hopefully find a solution. Eyes shift to the hat as it's tipped down to show. An expression of mild intrigue lifts to the visage, but remains silent until company is finished.

"Hey- nothing wrong with old fashioned." What came after that nearly blew Damien right off the stool. Not having a response, a coy chuckle leaves him while glancing around, wanting for words. Colt had got him with that line. Too embarrassed to say nothing, he gives it his best shot in rebuttal. "I- ..guess I'm a biscuit then." A tattooed hand lifts to his face as he's overcome with embarrassment and unabated enamored giggling. The rum had settled into full effect now, showcasing Damien's sense of humor and genuine bashfulness at Colt's presence. Which, was in theory great, but now he'd run out of something to say. He's just.. giggly, managing only to mumble that it was a bad joke, and he was sorry.

The reply is not one he has time to prepare for, he expected flirtation, a teasing smile, something charismatic back and instead is struck by Damien comparing himself instead to a biscuit. He barks out a sharp, too loud laugh, before another tumbles free a hand coming to cover his mouth. His shoulders shake as he reigns it in.

At least this means that he's alright with Colt's sort, even if it was the most ridiculous way to say so. "I - hah - I always was sorta fond of biscuits." He manages one final laugh, before he gets himself in order, but his eyes are still creased in the corner as he looks over at Damien. "But I tell you, it'll take one hell of a baked good, even lovely as you are to get me to sing."

He hopes he's not showering on too much praise, but it's always been his habit to say what he means when he means it. Colt is simple in that way, he's not much for talking around what he actually wants to say. If he wants to do something he does it, if he doesn't want to do something he won't. Life is a hell of a lot easier that way.

With alcohol starting to really hit the system, he's more comfortable with silence, letting a reasonable pause sit between the two of them every now and again as the conversation flowed at a steady pace. A back and forth that felt less forced the more time went on. It did help that his humor was showing up to add to eased first time meetings, not that a sober Damien would ever agree.

The utter refusal at the given suggestion of singing gets a chuckled 'aww come on' to air, a broad grin lifting at the imagery. Colt had a colorful imagination for euphemisms. "You're not a scaredy cat are ya?? Tch- Now I have to know. Might just mean you need more drinks, BUT I have a counter offer. What if, you sing for me, and I will embarrass myself and go line dancing with you? I have always wanted to try line dancing, but i don't really know the moves, and I may or may not draw a crowd because I can't dance. I'll even let you pick on me the whole night. Sound like a fair trade?" He sits back and places a palm just above the brow. The regret was already creeping in, but he'd fallen in too deep now, he had to know.

He chuckles again, "I ain't a bunny chaser." Colt never put much stock in the practice, why waste his time sleeping through a bunch of men and women in every town when he could be practicing, could be watching videos of the latest rides. He's just not the type and so those charming cowboy archetypes of line dancing and smooth talkin' just aren't who he is.

"I can fix a leaky sink, build a fence, tell you all about growin' corn. But I can't dance or sing worth a damn. I'm a handy, dirt on my boots kind of cowboy." He tips his hat down to show that it's not perfectly clean, some dust from the weekends ride still left over along the brim. "Guess I'm a bit old fashioned really. I leave all the entertaining skills to my younger brother, he got the all the charm. I got the grit."

Maybe he's a bit bold, but he can't help himself from adding, "Do you like a man like that? The kind that comes home sweat soaked and ornery till he sees you and melts like butter?"

[TEXT] Nothing too morally debasing, otherwise I'm pretty flexible

[TEXT] What and make tonight easy for you?

[TEXT] You sure seemed confident you could make my night worthwhile last night

Her eyes stayed glued to the clock, watching the minutes pass as she waited for it to hit three. Usually she wasn't the type to run out right as the hour struck but today she had all her stuff packed up and ready to go so when the hour turned she was striding down the halls toward the elevator, her phone back in her hands.

[TEXT] I'm still confident. More so now that I'm not covered in dirt.

[TEXT] There's a restaurant across the street from my hotel called The Iron Swan, want to meet there?

[TEXT] I'll keep the moral debasement to a minimum.

Even as he asks Colt is already out of his motel room, walking in the direction of the elevator to take him down to the lobby, so he can cut across the street. He's curious if she's as pretty as his drunk brain remembers her to be. If she's not then it's a good thing he's only here for the weekend, and if she's not well he'll figure out that bridge when he crosses it.

Seeing that it was, indeed, her mysterious suitor, a grin broke across her face. She leaned back in her desk chair, spinning around in slow circles as she thought of her response.

[TEXT] Ah I was beginning to lose faith in you

[TEXT] Either. Or both. Honestly, up to you. I promised to go out with you, so as long as you don't subject me too anything to horrible, I'm game.

Good to know he can still manage alright even when he's drunk in the back of a cab. He's certain regardless that he'll be a hell of a lot more charming today than he would have been last night. He'll need to make sure his hat is dust free and his boots polished, he's got a little time.

[TEXT] What counts as horrible?

[TEXT] Like the worst thing I could do?

He reaches for his phone, squinting at the time, little past one. Okay, she says she got off at ... was it three? He shrugs finding the contact and sending a message.

As she pulled in front of his drop off destination, she turned her whole body to look back at him. She couldn't really fight his logic. Cassie shook her head ruefully, slight smile on her face. "Alright, fine, you win. Hand it over." She held out her hand for his phone. Did this mean she was technically selling herself, or, well, her time, for money? Oh, well.

"That's..." She met his eyes in the rearview mirror, "Really nice." It was evident a 'but' was coming, and it did as she shifted her eyes back to the road. "But I can't accept that. I mean, for one, you're drunk as a skunk and will probably forget and dispute the charge with your bank in the morning," she shook her head, blonde hair bouncing. "It would be fun, but," she shrugged. "Just not meant to be."

He knew he had cash. He grabs the two hundred dollar bills and leans forward to set it on the center console at the front of the car, "No bank to call." He states, "Tell you what, sweetheart, you give me your number and I'll call ya' in the morning. If I call that means I'm sober enough to remember this conversation. How about it?"

"Uh, I don't- I don't know," she laughed akwardly, "I don't think it's such a good idea. I'm really busy these days and just don't have the time." Cassie usually found bieng hit on by drunk weridos to be the worst part of this job, but at least this drunk werido was cute. And kind of charming. "I'm really flattered, though."

He shifts around in his seat trying to flash her a smile that might be charming, or just drunk. "If you're tight on cash and that's why I'll give you a two hundred dollar tip or something, that should get you a little time right? I'm only in town for this weekend."

What came next shook the musician internally. The immediate choice of how to respond wasn't his greatest idea, but one could likely guess the alcohol was bringing his sense of humor to the forefront of the conversation despite his commentary moments ago about not being too loose. "What? Only? PFFT- Sounds like that's a lot of two-hundred dollars. Or.. something." Brows furrow, how did the two hundred dollars fit into all that? He's looking a little confused and very non-nonchalant about it. It was up to Colt on what that response meant.

The long sip of their beverage is the entirety of Damien looking visually like he's trying to translate hieroglyphics mentally. The bad at math comment showcasing very clear. "Hmm? Oh, uh.. I write my own music most of the time, but it's all over the place. If I had to really guess, I'd label it R and B probably? But I like to play flamenco music too. I try to research areas I'm thinking I'm gonna travel, and find music out there and see what I should write, or, get an idea of the culture and types of music played." The remark about drums gets a smile again. "I've got a drum kit back home." A tattooed hand stuffs into a back pocket to pull out his phone and unprompted, showed company him playing the drums. It's a short, and as the video plays, the volume button is lowered so it isn't obnoxiously loud. By now he's about half way through the rum and coke, and he's seeming to relax a bit more. At the remark of singing, a mischievous grin lifts into view after the video ends. "You better hope this place doesn't have a karaoke machine, because if they do, you ARE going up there."

This isn't going so bad, Damien seems nice enough the conversation isn't too stilted. He keeps smiling at him, and to be honest Colt likes his smile, the way it tips up abruptly, the man's obvious glee when something amuses him. It's got a charm to it, the kind of charm that makes him partial to saying the right things at the right times.

That is until he starts talking about singing. "No, no, absolutely not." He shakes his head, already feeling the nerves travel down his spine, "I'll eat dirt in front of a crowd of a thousand but I ain't singing, no way, no how, not in front of people."

Colt shakes his head readily, "You'll jus' have to accept that I ain't the singing sort, I'll leave all the musical talent to your handsome self and you can leave the more qualified activities for me, like watching. I will watch you sing. I'll even clap."

"Wow, a trophy of sorts, that's pretty cool mate." Brows raising, he was learning a lot more than he expected too. Bull riding had to be something he'd heard about or seen on TV in far off countries that hadn't been visited yet, but to meet one? Curiosity got the better of him, and maybe he's enjoying listening to them go on about it. Who wouldn't? It was seemingly a passion.

Attention spans upward to the TV in the corner with a group of people watching the game only for brows to furrow;"Wait you mean two hundred kay or just two hundred?" Only for common sense to come about as fast as his company's had for them. "Not my business, I just mean I don't think I'm following how payment works. But, I hope it's enough to have you live the dream, and by looking at you, sounds about right" He's quick to move away from his mistake;"It sounds like an extreme sport when you compare it to the NFL."

Attention moves from the TV and back toward his date, having no long term interest in sports. "Hey no problem, if you're talking to me, I think you started out with tacky because I'm tacky. I uh.. suck with numbers and math so, it's gonna fall outta my head after this drink anyway." The body shifts to face the bar and spares Colt glances over a left shoulder when prompted about himself.

"I'll have to say, jokes aside about me being tacky, what I do it is very uh.." A pause as he takes a drink, words rolling around while the tension in the shoulder relaxes a little bit. "It's uhm, it changes a lot. I'm a musician, I travel, actually. Just me and my dog, I got back from Mexico a couple of months ago, still gotta figure out how I'm supposed to uh.. shit what's it called?" a free hand raises;"I gotta turn it into American dollars. I got a lot of Mexican pesos. Great parties though, black out if that's your thing. Don't ask me to speak to you in Spanish, I'm still learning. I can say you know, maybe a couple phrases here or there. Gets me around."

Should he answer his question about the money? Honestly, if this is a date and it's supposed to be, then money is a part of that. "Also uh maybe I should mention the money thing, rudeness aside, I like to be upfront. I made 1.3 million this year." He taps the buckle, "'Cause I won."

He takes a longer sip of his beer this time, really feeling a bit like a pompous ass, trying to steer the conversation back to a more neutral topic, "What kind of music?" He asks, "I think I played a drum set once when I was like ten." He chuckles, "And I sound like a dying cat when I sing."

He fishes into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and holds a ten out between two fingers, "Be a fella and get one of those giant fucking pretzels will you, they've been staring at me this whole time."

A respectful pause is given while letting company speak, waiting for an appropriate moment to respond. In the meantime, the bar is packed, some chattering not far away in front of a TV, men in football gear racing across the screen while other groups congregated by pool tables, some smoking, some not. It was a lot busier than he'd expected, then again, he didn't so much mind the hustle of it all- let alone possibly being perceived with another man where others could comment on it.

"If you don't mind me asking, that's a very unique .. job? Or is it a hobby? I hope it pays well, for all the damage it sounds like it's put your body through. What got you into it?"

Shit, is that rude? He's been going off for a minute, "Sorry, forgot my manners, man shouldn't bring up salary on the first date, kinda tacky." He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. Probably best he didn't mention the finals winnings in that total or he really would have sounded like a pompous asshole. "Please, tell me about your career before I keep talkin'."

my original batch can be found HERE! i got all kinds of angsty and protective vibes took over, but if u think of any more that you’d like to see on the list, shoot me a DM so i can add it!

“ get behind me… ”

“ stay here. ”

“ don’t worry. everything’s going to be alright… ”

“ you shoot anyone who comes through that door who isn’t me. ”

“ when you love something, you protect it. ”

“ i’ll keep you safe. ”

“ do everything that i say, and we might both live to tell the tale of this night. ”

“ when i say run, i need you to do as i say and don’t even think about me. ”

“ get down! ”

“ close your eyes, you don’t need to see this. ”

“ why wouldn’t i save you? ”

“ it’s alright. they won’t be hurting you again… ”

“ of course i came for you… it would take far much more than that to stop me. ”

“ listen to me… i need to go back out there. but i promise you, i’ll be right back. okay? all i want you to do is stay hidden, and i’ll be back before you know it. ”

“ there’s nothing in this world nor any other, that would stop me from protecting you. ”

“ get out of here! now! ”

“ i knew you’d feel guilty; you do understand that i’d take a thousand wounds if it meant keeping you safe, don’t you? ”

“ i swear to you. as long as i’m by your side, you’ll never be harmed. ”

“ it’s my job to keep you safe, yes, but you could work with me a little to make it easier. ”

“ protecting you isn’t my duty. it’s my privilege. ”

“ who did this to you? where are they? ”

“ listen to me. i don’t think i’ll be able to buy you much time. and once i go out there, the clock starts. so the second you hear us fighting, i want you to run. as fast and as far as you can. ”

“ are you alright? “

“ can you move? “

“ why is it so difficult for you to believe that you deserve to be protected? “

“ you’re a good person. good people deserve to be safe. “

“ i’m going to protect you, now. because that’s what we do for the ones we love. we keep them safe. “

“ stay close. whatever you do, do not leave my side. “

“ i’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. no matter the cost. “

“ i’m on my way. ”

“ it’s alright… it’s okay… i’m here now. i’ve got you. ”

“ it’s all over now. don’t panic. it’s not my blood. ”

Ro shook his head at himself slightly and scoffed. "I really gotta pay more attention to sports, man. That's amazing, damn. Congrats." He lifted his beer in a toast to the other man's success and smiled, bringing it to his lips for another swig. He could see the pride in Colt's smile and he was pleased, knowing that he was clearly happy with his accomplishment. Given he was in a line of work where there was no competition beyond who runs the better bar, it wasn't something he was too familiar with but it was great to see for others.

Colt doesn't like being alone as much as he's used to it. Wes fills that role in his life often enough, but there are times when his brother can't be around and he needs to find someone else to fill that hole. Rowan is perfectly suited to fit into decent company, better than drinking alone anyhow.

Warm brown eyes are not subtle as they take in Colt's frame, quietly intrigued by appearance and demeanor. The remark about a first gets a soft laugh to air;"That's okay, I've done it a couple of times myself, but I'm not a pro either." there's a pause too, thinking of what to ask before he's prompted about a drink;"Oh- uh, sure if you're offering? I'll drink if you drink? A rum and coke if they have it."

It could be noted there's a normalcy within the awkwardness as the two get settled; Damien notably touching the face a lot. "What about you?" A drink couldn't hurt, relax the nerves of going out with a stranger, and he could hold alcohol pretty well. While drinks were on order, a childish inquiry is made. "I have to ask, are you really a cowboy?" Gaze lifts to the hat while elbows move to rest on the bar, the dumb grin still present as a hand moves to rub his own forearm;"They say an authentic cowboy hat has as a special insignia on the inside, something about the inside being real deep to be able to water your horse? That ring any bells with you?"

"Well to current I have survived six broken or cracked ribs, eight bones in my hand, two parts of my arm, uh ... three toes ... forgot how many head injuries." He gets this dumb sort of grin at the recollection, "People say I got a lotta try and I got the buckles ta' prove it even if my hat ain't horse friendly."

In truth Colt doesn't spend much time in a ranch setting, he's never been a hand or worked with cattle. He understands bulls because he rides them. His family has a farm, but no livestock. "Grew up on a tractor not so much a horse, but I can ride a bull. That I can do."