every man's a liar.

i have never been ashamed to take.

[idolatric-blog]

mami.

there’s always a struggle just just sit still. mami needs to do something with her hands at all times or she’ll go insane. often why she chooses to stitch in down moments at camp. it’s simple, and relatively relaxing. she can hold a conversation and focus on the placement of the needle. it’s about as peaceful as it gets. enjoying her own sips of coffee every few stitches, she listens to joseph ramble on. she nods and hums to show that she’s paying attention, even if she isn’t yet allowing her own comment in return.

she’s been up for a while, but she still hasn’t gathered her brain much to hold down her own side of the conversation. when she wakes up she’s far too concentrated on the stress of getting the day started to try and think of idle chit chat to have with her fellow hounds. joseph grounds her, however, with his topic of some mask. she remembers the one, though has no idea what had happened to it. extensive travel means things are always lost or left behind. 

she shrugs when he finally turns the conversation back around to her. her arm stretching as she pulls the needle through the fabric. “hard to say,” she begins, “not anything i can say has a lot of importance. i feel like some yarn has been lost but i could have used it all without even remembering.” she sighs, giving him a quick look before her focus returns to her project. she worries she’ll run out of yarn before someone can snatch her more in the next town. joseph says the nearby towns are off limits so she’s stuck with what she has for the time being. if she runs out, she knows she’ll grow restless, and no one will want to be around her. “you real attached to this mask or somethin’?”

he has never, in all his life, met a woman quite so fidgety as mami. it’s not something he’s ever quite come to understand, either, but there’s no point in picking fights over the matter. she needs something to do, she’ll find something. thus, the stitching. he’s never had the knack for it, feels that his hands are too big to do something that requires so much delicacy. his fingers were hook around the trigger of a gun, and not a needle. 

he still watches, though, with some fond semblance of affection. it’s a bit like watching water flow in the way she draws it through and pulls back and can make something from it; it looks natural, easy, well-practiced. he’s not sure how much she has left in terms of yarn or thread, but tries his best to file it away as something to look for, later on. if mami needs yarn, he’ll get her yarn. “not quite attached --- just thought it was a nice color.” there’s something remarkable in being distinctive among those who are not so distinctive, and the mask had been that bright sunshine sort of color. liked the attention it brought more than anything else. “’s just unfortunate, i suppose. better than losing a brother, though.” his thoughts turn then to jude, who has been wading through the thick of his sadness more than he’s done anything else since descending from the mountain range. 

joseph’s not entirely sure what to do about that, frankly. doesn’t know where to begin, or how to address it. so he’s let it be for now, without worrying on anything else. couldn’t afford to. “you ain’t never lost somethin’ you really liked, ‘n been a little sad on the basis alone that you liked it?”

[idolatric-blog]

scout‌.

She’d only just approached the main campfire, dirty blond hair still tussled with sleep, but Joseph’s words came as no surprise. Scout tended to rise early - most of the gang did - but unlike their leader she reveled in the silence. It was a luxury she was to be robbed of that morning, but Joseph was nothing if not a robber - sometimes of banks and sometimes of Scout’s peace. She sniffed as she poured a cup of coffee, partly because of the damp chill in the air and partly because the smell of freshly-brewed coffee never failed to soothe her. With nothing more than a sideways glance at Joseph, Scout lowered herself onto the ground, resting her forearms on her knees with the steaming tin cup hovering between them, clutched in both hands. 

It was some time before she saw fit to reply. Dark eyes studied the fire, meager and sad though it was, and when she did speak she kept her eyes glued to its small yet tenacious flames. “I got a real simple solution for ya,” she croaked, pausing to clear her throat. “Rip up a shirt and tie it ‘round your face. Problem solved.” She didn’t know to what girl Joseph was referring, but Scout wasn’t going to ask. She knew how to offer solutions, not dwell on the significance of a yellow piece of cloth, and it was this attitude that prompted a dry chuckle over her coffee in response to Joseph’s question.  

“No. I have Jezzie, my gun, and more of you low-landers than I can handle. ‘M set.”

“low-landers? why, that almost sounds like an insult.” he chuckles, watches the low-lit fire dance and jump in time with the wind. it’s not high enough to provide much heat, but it is hot enough to provide coffee that’s been brewed for a bit too long. he brings his ton closer to his mouth and swallows a few mouthfuls. it’s bitter, a little too sharp, burnt. but it’s enough to keep him awake, and that’s more enough for him.

“i ain’t rippin’ up one of my perfectly good shirts. i’ll rip up somebody else’s, and call it good.” or steal one, maybe. he hasn’t been provided the opportunity to go into town yet, beyond those first few days, and those first few days were fraught with tension between himself and his sister. adaline certainly knows how to antagonize a man in the worst of ways, that’s for certain. “how long you had jezzie for, then, if you adore her so much? don’t see a lot of weight in guns. a gun’s a gun.” he’s lost and broken and destroyed plenty of pistols. rifles, less so, but pistols seem to be a fool’s game for a man like him. “you intendin’ on stickin’ around, then? i’ll admit, i didn’t think you would.”

[idolatric-blog]

maggie.

“Shit, fire, and damnation! Joseph Edward Dewitt, you help me up!”

She wasn’t mad, though her words betrayed that feeling. She was trying not to smile, her skirt coated in mud as she sat on the earth, having slipped during the walk to town. She knew she’d look like a hot mess this time around, but she couldn’t care less.

Her skirt had ridden up just a bit, revealing the myriad of weapons attached to her calves (one could never be too prepared), and she looked like she’d taken quite the tumble. Continuing to smile almost goofily, she extended her hand, waiting.

“I ain’t afraid to shoot you in the ass if you leave me here, you coot.”

@idolatric

it had happened in maybe less than a second, maggie toppling over from standing upright to entrenching herself in mud. a smile breaks across his face as he soon realizes she is covered, guns and all included. “you’re gonna shoot me if i leave you here?” he snorts.

he offers his own hand and pulls her up from the mud, still grinning --- almost goofily as she --- and holding on while she catches her balance. “christ almighty, what did you do? roll in it? you look like you went swimmin’ with the pigs.” it’s not surprising that there’s mud everywhere, as the snow melt and rainstorms have been particularly intense in the lower regions of wolf point. his boots are caked, too.

“since when did you learn my middle name, anyways? don’t remember tellin’ you.”

[idolatric-blog]

willa.

( @idolatric ❁ )

The day is long done, and it seems that the main campfire is dwindling down to little more than embers, but there are at least two people in the camp who don’t seem quite ready to hit the hay just yet. In Willa’s delicate hands sits an uncorked bottle of brandy, half full and inviting her to dive in head first. With most of the group, she has grown to feel that she is able to let her hair down, to let bits of her personality shine through her exterior like sun rays through summer leaves. With Joseph, though, she feels as though she has to put on a show, to work harder to impress him. Maybe tonight will be different, with nobody else awake and the bottle in her hands to calm her nerves. 

“Where’d you do your growin’ up, Joseph?” She asks through a smile, bringing the bottle to her lips. Her voice is kept low to keep from waking anyone in the tents nearby. “Surely you must’a done it a little further north than me, seein’ as you’re handling the cold a lot better’n I am.” 

the question takes him by surprise, drawing him back from his thoughts on the jobs in the days to come. his eyes move from the firelight to the bottle of brandy in willa’s hands, and then to her face, his brow furrowed. they haven’t had much opportunity at all to speak in depth, and that’s unfortunate, but not exactly unexpected. he’s a busy man, with places to be, and sitting down to have philosophical conversations is an enjoyable pastime. it’s just not a common one. he rubs his hands together and puts them closer to the flames, watches her drink.

“nebraska --- small little place, barely a fifty people. used to be an old mining operation, and it just got abandoned after they realized it weren’t worth it no more.” that, at least, is true. those who stayed behind inherited the ghost-town and all its problems, troublesome miners included. “it got cold, but not so cold. you seem to be doin’ fine, even if you are from further south.” his brow is raised in question, a quiet emphasis on elaboration.

[idolatric-blog]

status: closed for @thatbrcntide location: bear-tooth ridge time: late afternoon

“get up, erol, and come with me.”

perhaps it’s unfair to give little to no warning as to when he intends on drawing someone up and out of camp, but the way joseph sees it, it’s good to keep them on their toes. there’s a small window of time they have to do this, and while erol has no idea as to the intentions of his plans, joseph does.

they’re going to rob a coach out on the plains, and he wants it to be a successful robbery at that. long fingers toy with the ends of his sleeves and the frayed fabric there, hat placed securely on his head, and new bandana tied around his throat. he’s got his rifle and his pistol, and that should be more than enough to get the job done, should things go to plan.

( there’s always the should. the if. but you can never assume anything about how these sorts of things will go, compared to how you want them to. ) he’s never taken erol on a robbery before. at least, not one-on-one. but the man’s proven himself to be capable, in some way or another, and joseph thinks he’d like to see that sort of capability in action. he won’t put it out there so blatantly, but this will also serve as a decent test for the train robbery to come, to see if erol can handle the pressure.

more than anything else, joseph hopes to the lord above that he can, and he’s not a particularly religious man.

[idolatric-blog]

status: closed for @shanncs location: just outside hope’s crossing time: mid-day

from the rolling hill overlooking hope’s crossing, it’s easy to see why some would choose to stay in the town. although comprised mostly of mud and horse shit, the buildings from afar look near regal to those descending from the tiber mountains. it certainly looks that way to him, leaning forward in his saddle, arms crossed over the horn. he turns his head to look at shane, waiting for the right words to come to him, and finds they don’t.

not right away, at least.

he’s proud of shane, more than anything else. the man has shown loyalty in the utmost of ways. they’ve been riding together for years, now, and joseph doesn’t think he’d trust another man in the same way --- not even once. “should’a seen the look on your face when i asked you to ride with me. like i’d spit on your best boots.” well, maybe not quite like that, but it’d been the first thing to come to mind.

it’s true that they haven’t done this in a while. they’ve got their own ghosts to tend to, whether that be hunting or scheming or downright shooting and robbing. he’d like to say it doesn’t matter, that they’ll always be able to reconvene at some point or another, but he knows that’s not true. there’s been a wavering distance between the two of them, in spite of their loyalty, and now joseph isn’t sure of how to address it --- not with words, or fine speeches. this is something that must be fixed through actions, rather than spoken out loud. the mountains had been the catalyst for many of them, and joseph himself feels an intermingling of fear that maybe their way of life is coming to an end.

it was bound to happen eventually, wasn’t it?

“thought we’d look at the locale, see what we can dig up. get a few drinks while we’re here.”

[oystergf]

“Talk,” Hozier // Orpheus Mourning the Death of Eurydice, Ary Scheffer (1814) // Orphée aux enfers, Louis Jacquesson de la Chevreuse (1865) // Orphée et Eurydice, Michel Martin Drolling (1820)

[idolatric-blog]

✿ ★ 👕

✿: What is your muses favourite scent?

answered here!

★: What is your muse’s zodiac?

he’s a pisces-ares cusp, and while i chose his birthday because it was the ides of march and i like being cheeky, as it turns out, pisces-ares cusps are very imaginative, go-getters, and ambitious, so... guess it worked out!

👕: What is your muse’s fashion sense like?

lacking. he’s not great at color-coordination, as i think he’s a little color-blind, but his usual outfit consists of a shirt, vest, pants, and boots. a pocket watch, sometimes, if he’s feeling fancy, but that’s not often. the only consistent piece of his regalia is his cream-colored hat, which he’s had for years.

[idolatric-blog]

☼, ✘, ✉

☼: What is your muses favourite kind of weather?

he likes those middle-days of spring where it’s not too hot, not too cold, and the snow has melted off to keep the air from drying out. or rainy weather, although rain can be deadly if you don’t have anywhere good to go. he’d gotten sick once during a rainstorm, when he was about twenty-seven, and his cough still gets bad whenever it gets too chilly or wet.

✘: What are your muses pet peeves?

drinking to excess while on watch duty, leading lawmen back to camp, and not being careful about watching the height the fire reaches when on the run are very quick ways to get on joseph’s shit list if you’re not careful. don’t do that, because he will throw a hissy fit.

✉: What is something your muse would write about?

answered here!

[idolatric-blog]

✿,♫🍕

✿: What is your muses favourite scent?

pine! there’s something comforting about being surrounded by tall trees, something very secure about it. they’ve hidden him many a time from the law, so it’s something he associates with safety, and with that, the scent of pine.

♫: Does your muse like music? What kind?

answered here!

🍕: What’s your muses favourite food?

he’s got a bit of a sweet tooth. when he was in louisiana, he had these sweet cakes, and he’s never forgotten them. he doesn’t indulge to often, but he might pop a peppermint of one kind or another, too.

[idolatric-blog]

♫: Does your muse like music? What kind? ✉: What is something your muse would write about? ✈: How far has your muse travelled away from their home?

♫: Does your muse like music? What kind?

he doesn’t enjoy opera, i can tell you that. joseph’s more familiar with the wheeze of the harmonica, or the harmony of voices, or the strum of the guitar, so any music that isn’t familiar to him is something he doesn’t really enjoy. he’s listened to a record or two in his day, but he feels a little too sophisticated whenever he tunes in.

✉: What is something your muse would write about?

the days of his youth, i guess! while a charismatic speaker, that doesn’t necessarily translate into writing --- although i’d reckon he hasn’t really tried to. there have been a few dime novels published about him in his day, to his mutual terror and delight, and while he doesn’t think they will last, those are more than enough for him.

✈: How far has your muse travelled away from their home?

pretty far! while joseph started in nebraska and headed in the general direction of the west, he and henry actually ended up going southeast for a long while. henry died in louisiana, so i guess it’s there that the journey with the ‘hounds really started, much less went anywhere. he’s never been back to nebraska, either.

[idolatric-blog]

👓 !

👓: Does your muse need reading aids? Contacts or glasses?

he does have to squint sometimes to read, yes, but his far-away vision is so good that it doesn’t really impact him beyond when he’s exhausted. i think he’s a little to proud to entertain the idea of wearing any sort of glasses, anyways.

[idolatric-blog]

jezebel, belphigor

jezebel: talk about a time you used your sexuality to get your way

there’s something inherently enigmatic and dashing about joseph, in the way he carries himself and the way his reputation carries him. he’s fully aware of this and doesn’t shy away from it, but i can definitely say without a doubt that he’s seduced more than enough people to get his way without even laying a hand on them. many men and women alike hide things from themselves that they don’t want to acknowledge, that’s a true enough sentiment. sometimes that thing they’re hiding is the fact they’d gladly leave everything behind for an outlaw who so much as looked at them the right way. it’s gotten him out of bar scrapes, jail cells, and, on one notable occasion, the noose, which had ended unfortunately for the woman who thought to cut him down and nearly shot him in the process. it’s not his be-all end-all trick, but he’ll use it for as long as it works.

belphigor: if you could pick 3 forms to shapeshift into, what would they be?

a bird, for a quick and easy escape. a snake, to disappear in plain sight. a wolf, maybe, to stay warm in colder environments. the fur’s got to be good for something.

[idolatric-blog]

mephistopheles & sonneillon

mephistopheles: have you ever helped  a loved one destroy themselves?

not intentionally. it’s not exactly a secret that joseph and addy have a tense relationship, to say the least. unbeknownst to joseph, however, is the fact that a lot of the reasons addy behaves the way she does is due to their relationship when they were younger, and the communication they’ve fostered now. joseph really did sow the seeds of jealousy in addy, whether it be because he was the baby of the familiar, or because he didn’t give her attention due to henry, or any of the other thousands of scenarios that have led them to where they are now. adaline is destroying herself, yes, and it’s an ugly thing to watch, and joseph has no idea that he’s had a hand in it.

sonneillon: do you hate anyone?

joseph is a two-faced bastard, without a doubt, but i don’t think he’d go so far as to claim he hates anyone in the gang. they’re all here for a reason, and while some of them might irritate him, he would never go so far as to remove them on that principle, or kill them, or anything else for that matter. he hates the american government, he hates the law, he hates the economical system set in place to keep hard-working men and women down ( and at the same time, hates them for their complicity which is incredibly hypocritical  — but those are all more entities than people.

[idolatric-blog]

abaddon, azazel, berith

abaddon: what person, place, or thing have you most wanted to destroy?

the in-depth, reflective answer is himself, but technically i speaking, he really wants to destroy the system that put him where he is today. he harbors a lot of resentment towards the law in spite of his petty theft and murder, and his full ownership of the fact his bloodlust isn’t just a flaw, it’s an actual problem that can make him somewhat volatile. he’s slowly destroying himself over time — throwing himself against the wall over and over and over again for what’s basically nothing, but i think he’s too blinded by self confidence and sustained ego to realize it, even if that’s not what he outwardly displays.

azazel: talk about a time when you were falsely blamed for something

joseph’s become a little bit of a bogeyman as he works his way across the country, so it’s not an uncommon thing to find he’s been blamed for a crime he did not commit. at this point it doesn’t really matter, as he’s shot more men than he can really rightly remember, but sometimes it feels odd to be the default scapegoat for detestable crimes he’s sure he needs to commit. fact is, there will always be someone to blame, and joseph’s been in those crosshairs a long time. i think the most notable example of this would be when he was accused of stealing a rich man’s wife away from him and bringing her into the ‘hounds, all the way back in georgia. he didn’t steal her — she fell in love, and he took advantage of that. when she realized the outlaw life wasn’t for her, and that he was not the fabled romantic he ( or the lawmen ) made himself out to be, she left. plain and simple. she came and left of her own volition, and he didn’t try to stop her either time.

berith: do you often argue with others?

not usually. it depends on the mood he’s in. while joseph isn’t an unpleasant man to be around, he can get pretty snappy on the days he wakes up on the wrong side of bed. it doesn’t take much to start a confrontation there. the only other scenario that really prompts an argumentative attitude with joseph is when his authority is challenged; that’s something he point-blank hates and will not stand in any way, shape, or form. so that might last for a minute or two, and then he’ll finish the conversation with a bullet if necessary.

[idolatric-blog]

samson.

“You ever regret pickin’ me up?” He asked, taking a long sip of his flask before offering it to the leader absently. Watch was boring for everyone; that was a fact. Plus, he couldn’t sleep none anymore. Sometimes woke up feelin’ like there was a noose round his neck. He supposed there was. Metaphorically speakin’.

“I’d regret pickin’ me up. You spent too much goddamn….effort into rescuin’ some washed up has-been.” He didn’t know if he was askin’ for Joseph to leave him there or to kill him. Or hell to turn him in. He mighta just been talkin’. That seemed the more likely thing.

“Hell, I don’t know. Gimme the damn flask back.”

@idolatric

“when you get like this --- sometimes.” it’s natural to snatch the flask away and take a long pull, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. he screws the cap back on but doesn’t pass it back. not right away. instead he stares off into the expansive darkness and finds... nothing. watch is boring for everyone, samson’s right about that. no reason for him to get drunk, though.

he eyes samson with a curious gaze, runs his thumb over the metal. it’s just as worn as the grip of his gun, if not just as well-loved. samson is both a fascinating beast and a depressing one, and joseph tries to moderate his time spent around him, if only for fear of falling into those same treacherous thoughts. 

“first thing i thought when i was cuttin’ you down was that you’d be a goddamn legend of the east. my brother and i heard stories about you, in our early days, and now it’s like you ain’t even the same man.” joseph doesn’t mince words: not here, not now, not with a man who seems to wallow in pity more than he does anything else. “what did it?”

[idolatric-blog]

minnie‌.

the restless soul she was, minnie had been up before the sun greeted the horizon line. the embers of a fire were just beginning to peter out when she got to them, giving herself a silent sigh and going to search for whatever remains of coffee grounds there were. she figured she could probably get away with running some water over the settlings again. (sooner or later, they’d have to find more. there was a good chance of a riot if the coffee disappeared.) but, it was something to worry about later – once she’d woken up more. 

jospeh liked to talk. she’d learned it early on when everything had been so new and fresh, but quickly turned into one of the few things she consider routine. she’d reply when he asked. only when she had to fill in the gaps. she’d figured out it’s too early to really keep her brain ahead of her mouth, and the fear of something slipping out that’d cover her in embarrassment before she could stop herself managed to keep her pretty quiet.

the sting of the memory hit her with his question; she could almost see the small piece of cloth blowing away in front of her – the pale ribbon flittering with the winter winds as it caught a gust and moved farther away from her. kind of like the memory accompanied it. she would have laughed when it happened, as though god had some sort of joke he was playing on her. first, he takes her away – and then he takes away what minnie has left of her?

“not that i can’t replace,” she replied evenly, choosing to take a sip of her morning cup. god, how did people enjoy this? a violate necessity to wake herself up, minnie practically choked down the bitterness every morning. in moments of (supposed) bliss, she was doing her best to seem even with everyone else – as though the cup in her hand allowed her a badge of maturity. her face did it’s best not to crinkle when she swallowed. “it’s just an old bonnet. don’t even think i really need to replace it.” as though she could. 

there’s something entertaining in filling empty space with words. some prefer it, others don’t, and that’s all there is to it. it doesn’t need to go any deeper than that, he knows, but it’s an entirely possible method of judging a man’s character in the way he might hold a conversation. and minnie doesn’t hold it. she places her thoughts down, here and there, but doesn’t contribute much unless she supposes she needs to.

he’s never quite seen anything like it, not really. someone so young, holding their tongue like that? being aware of the necessity in it? he can’t fathom having been even remotely similar in his youth. in his early days he’d been too brash, all pride, all tongue and spit and vigor and no power behind any of it. that power had come from clawing to the top, hoping ferociously for some sort of future at the end of things.

and he’d found himself a future, at the cost of his own flesh and blood. unfortunate. he wonders, idly, if minnie had ever thought she might have to sacrifice her own flesh, her own blood, her own family. her father’s a reputable man, and they don’t discuss him much, but joseph does intend on robbing the poor fool blind. the rich are ultimately all the same, and then they end up dead and buried with everyone else.

he smiles, watches the low fire crackle and pop. it’s not providing much heat from this distance, but the warmth, or the slightest hint of it, is nice. “we could get you another one, eventually, when we get the money.” there’s the implied soon. “ain’t too much. might even ask mami --- she might consider makin’ you one, if you ply her with something nice.”