abraham woodhull

sideblog for @selahstrongg

[fourbushel]

Wakefield approaches a situation unfolding between Simcoe and Abraham Woodhull. He detest unnecessary violence, even more so Captain Simcoe's unwavering impulse to inflict harm on innocent townspeople. "Abraham!" He exclaims, clearing his throat and intruding upon the fight. "Your father sent me to fetch you. Your father wants you home." He willfully grabs the cabbage farmer by the arm and tries to pull him to safety. (unyieldingvalxr)

@unyieldingvalxr

The scene was unfolding in a way that did not favor Abraham or the continuance of his life. In the twilight, he could make out four soldiers around him and one directly in front of him. The one in front of him was the tallest, the broadest with skin as pale as a sheet. From his view, he could spot a pistol attached to the Captain’s hip and a blade on the opposing side. However, that was not the danger here. The danger was made immediately relevant when the gloved hands of said Captain dragged him upward by the collar, so far that his toes barely touched the ground. He struggled and writhed against him, but it was no use. The Captain still just stared at him-- Abraham always hated Simcoe’s eyes. They were blue like the sky with none of the comfort of it. They felt like oblivion and a hellscape and they were utterly terrifying. Simcoe was likely saying something, but Abraham couldn’t hear him over the desperate beating of his heart to get blood up to his brain. Speaking of, his face has turned hot and red. Abraham felt as though he were about to explode. 

He kicked as hard as he could before he was just dropped (to no consequence of his own defense). Being released from his grip, his bottom hit the dirt and he was left huffing and puffing on the ground. Abraham rubbed at his throat, thankful no vessel in it had popped, crawling backwards away from the Captain Simcoe and allowing Wakefield to pull him up to his feet. He was dizzy, but he kept his footing. 

“Does he now?” He breathed, nodding to Wakefield and giving Simcoe a half-mock salute. “Suppose this conversation can resume at another time.” 

Simcoe just nodded, this sickly grin twisted on his face. He shot his men a few looks before responding with a ‘certainly’ and turning his back to Abraham and Wakefield. He was mumbling to his soldiers as he walked off, a mumble that was certainly going to turn into a shout as soon as Abraham made his way down the path. It didn’t matter.

Abraham dusted himself off and set his jaw. “What does my father need me for?”

[forepop]

rob townsend, america’s favorite spying quaker and proud graduate of the george washington school of screaming internally

[headoverhiddles]

Abe: I’d like your snake in my garden

Rob: Blocked

[roleplayawesomemes]

Send “Rumor has it...” And a rumor about my muse

[majorjohnandre]

Abe Woodhull

Turn: Epiphany

[kingobrooklyn-baby]

wanting to interact with other blogs but getting anxiety because they’re Cool™ and you’re a piece of lettuce is a very interesting thing to go through every day

[elpatron-delmal]

A lot of people have the wrong idea about me and I have no desire to clear shit up.

[bucephalussays]

Bucephalus says:

When in doubt, Mary is right.

[rp-memes-atyourservice]

Touch my muse. Be descriptive or simple, tender or violent, fond or hateful - anything goes.

[aaronburrssexdungeon]

we live in a society

-james monroe

[fourbushel]

"Abe?" Anna clasps onto his arm. "Talk to me. What's going on?" She entreats. (For when you get this ask blog up and going)

Pistol wielded, Abraham looked like a mad man.

Abraham had escaped the clutches of his wife's arms at Whitehall long before the sun rose, but long after she had retired for the evening. He had laid there in the same panic that he stood here; however, here, he allowed himself to let it out. Anxieties laced his every move. His hands were trembling and his jaw was clenched tight. Underground, in what was a basement when his house still stood, he did not figure anyone could hear him talking away to himself. With Anna now having followed him down here, his assumption must have been wrong.

Before she spoke, he was pacing and waving his gun about in his shaking left hand, "Colonel Simcoe!" He exclaimed, gaining the courage to make quivering aim at the dirt wall. He didn't shoot, but he pressed his finger to the trigger as if he were going to- his hand still jolting as if he had been struck by a bout of electricity. He mutters a 'no' to himself, resetting his aim on the wall, still not able to stop his arm from trembling.

He pulled his finger away from the trigger, knocking the tip of the pistol against the scar on his forehead-- "Come on!" He growled at himself, and that was when he noticed Anna. That was when he noticed Anna looking so awfully worried. He flinched as she rushed to his side, her hand so caring yet he wanted nothing more than to have it off him.

He shook his shoulder to brush her hand away, "Going on?" Abraham repeated, forcing himself to give her a dry laugh. He waved the gun around with a sense of urgency, no caution in his gesticulation. "Nothing's going on, Anna, no, nothing's going on--" He let out a shuddering sigh but his voice didn't lose the volume nor the uneasiness despite it-- "Nothing's going on except this- this damn war!"

Abraham backed away from her, raising his arm as straight as he could, pointing the barrel of his pistol at the dirt wall again. He pulled the trigger. Click. Nothing.

"Useless!" He shouted, as if he were mad at the gun for not being loaded and prepped.