How many times do I gotta bury you? @abigail-marston - Tumblr Blog

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whitetail-wheaty‌:

Sitting there, dumbfounded and very overwhelmed in this very first moment he recognized who these men were, Wheaty only stared up at these riders coming at them, circling them.

Until he heard that whisper, coming from his damn captive. She was to blame for this. It was her fault. She had gotten them into this. For all Wheaty cared the Skinners could have her and eat her…. Well, alright, not really. But she damn well would deserve it. She was lucky he had a heart and conscience.

Throwing himself around, Wheaty grabbed his knife and cut the rope binding her arms together, before quickly getting a bit of distance between them again – his attention switching back to the Skinner brothers. Those on horses had come to a halt, waiting, as those on foot slowly approached them. Wide, teeth-lacking grins, like some demented animals. Machetes and dull hatchets in their hands, still smeared with the dried remnants of their last victims…

He would need to shoot them. If they got them, there was no getting-out. Only a slow and painful death and the humiliation of knowing he’d end up a meal to these madmen.

But as soon as he would pull out his guns, they would start shooting, too… and they were way more people.

Fuck…

There was a moment in the dark when Abigail didn’t know where that knife was headed for. Was he gonna attack her? Maybe it’d be somethin’ of a kindness? Surely it’d be better to have it all over an’ done with rather than let the Skinner Brothers get their hands on her; she’d heard the fellers tellin’ awful tales about what them degenerates had done to folk.

But she was free in the next second an’ Abigail acted on instinct. She couldn’t shoot proper, couldn’t fight really. So that left one thing John had told her was jus’ as important as any o’ those things. A glance at shocked-lookin’ boy before she tried to see where the Skinner Brothers were gone. “Keep ‘em busy for a second, alright?” Crawling through the undergrowth and away from the young feller who’d brought her into this mess, she found the horse from its heavy panting. “Hey darlin’, shhhh ... it’s gonna be okay.”

Taking the little bottle from her skirt pocket, she uncorked it and pulled a handful of grass, pouring out the concoction and feedin’ to the horse. Please work. Arthur said the reviver could bring a horse up from anythin’. “Hey, come here quick!”

Hissin’ at her would-be captor, Abigail gestured at his horse as it clambered to its feet. This was their ticket outta here. “We need to move!”

#whitetailwheaty

dankmemeuniversity

trashpits

yall just keep talking about baby yoda but you have forgotten what green baby truly matters this holiday season

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Every single time.

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Arthur?

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#omg #I want T__T

whitetail-wheaty‌:

Wheaty hadn’t even taken heed to her little threat, just rolled his eyes, but then kept them at the riders that rode along one of the dirt paths through the forest not too far away. Looked shady. Well, he looked shady, too, having a women tied up at the back of his horse. He could always show his headhunter card, though. Would even help him in this… not so official head hunt.

“Would you shu-” Turning halfway to her, Wheaty growled, learning the second lesson for today – always stuff the fucking bounty’s mouth – the hard way. But the very same moment he heard gunshots ring out. Snapping around again, his eyes widened, seeing these riders really coming towards them, rifles raised and aimed on him, laughing. These guys were insane – or quick to judge.

“Stop, she is a fucking liar, she is part of van der Lin-”

Wheaty wouldn’t get to finish that sentence. Bullets cut through the air again and he could hear a dull thudding sound before his horse gave a shrieking sound, rearing up and throwing both Wheaty and his ‘victim’ off, falling into a gallop to get away.

The air was knocked out of his lungs when he hit the ground, for a second it felt like he couldn’t breathe in again at all and panic rose in his chest. Trying to get up again, he could see the bound woman beside him in the mud. His horse had darted into the undergrowth, unusual for it, it was loyal… but it only managed a mere few steps more, before it buckled down.

It must have been shot.

“No…”, Wheaty’s usual loudmouthed behavior faltered at this and he immediately wanted to run to his horse, see whether he could help it. Not caring for that fucking damn bounty any more. But just as he had gotten onto his feet, one of the riders appeared right in front of him, cutting him off. They were circling them. And they were still laughing. And now, up close, Wheaty truly saw why they had looked so shady to him… they weren’t mere riders. They weren’t just some bypassing folk.

They were Skinner brothers.

Abigail cringed and braced herself for the slap when she saw her captor pull back his hand, ready to strike. The blow never came. Instead bullets whizzed through the air and everything happened in a sideways blur.

The horse screeched and buckled and Abigail yelled when she was sent flying from its rump. There was a moment where she seemed to be floatin’, but then the earth came rushing up to her and knocked the wind from her lungs. She rolled over and groaned; this fallin’ off horses thing was quickly gettin’ old. She silently swore she’d never snort or laugh next time one of the fellers was sent flying from their mounts.

Managin’ to right herself somewhat, Abigail recognised the men she’d called out to. It wasn’t John or Arthur, Dutch or anyone from camp. It was some o’ those fucking Skinner Brothers. Shit. She’d take those demented Murfrees over these evil fucks. “Untie me, untie me ...”

Her rushed whisper was to her captor, trying her hardest to unbind her hands; being unarmed in front of these crazy bastards was a death sentence.

#whitetailwheaty

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whitetail-wheaty‌:

Fucking hell. Woman wouldn’t shut up. Most people that would be in her situation would finally shut up and be silent before he lost his patience, but no. Not her. Bickering and yelling – for help this time.

“What? No calling for your husband? Thought so. As if someone would marry you.”

Stuffing the guns back into his holster, he quickly climbed up the horse’s back and clicked his tongue, finally taking off with his part-bounty. He needed to get away from the camp. And fast.

“With your attitude and work-preferences, I guess at least one of the deputies will have a nice night with you, thank me for that and pay you the few dollars it’s worth. See, everyone profits, still.”

Wheaty wasn’t usually exceptionally rude to folk. It didn’t pay off a lot of times. And most already disliked his presence in the towns, so keeping quiet and nice usually worked best. Not with this lady, though. She had lost her chances to any kindness with that gun-trick against his balls. Wheaty could still feel a cringing inside his stomach at that.

“You just shown your true colors. Maybe you indeed were part of that ferry robbery. Would suit you. Fondled some guards while your boss shot little girls? Must have been an awful lot of fun to your gang. Vile fucking bunch. Can’t wait to see you hang. At least van der Linde, Matthews, Morgan, Marston, Bell… I think that were the main names they threw around.”

If she had a hand free, Abigail would have been pinchin’ the bridge of her nose. How in hell’s bells was she gonna figure a way outta this one? How the fuck had she gotten herself into this mess? Go get some picking for supper, return to camp and sit by the fire with her boy. Maybe listen to one of Hosea’s stories or Arthur would show her another of his sketches in his journal.

And now the camp was gettin’ further and further away with each second the horse thundered down the dirt track. Jumped up shit in the saddle. He knew nothin’ - she’d been back at camp outside Blackwater when the ferry job had gone rotten. Her, Jack, Grimshaw and the other girls. Even Arthur an’ Hosea had been some other place ... and now they were all on the run because o’ some plan Micah had helped Dutch with. “When I get outta this, an’ I will, yer gonna be a man with numbered days. I swear I’ll knot the noose for yer neck.”

Struggling against the rope binding her hands together, Abigail growled the words, but stopped when she saw a few riders passin’ by. How many times had they crossed a scene like this when moving camp? And how many times had she seen some of their fellers help a stranger in need? “Help, please!”