atoner

Steele Gallant || 28 || A man trying to square up himself with what's right and wrong, Steele will go to his grave having done some things he ain't proud of--but hopefully, with a few that he is.

[steele-gallant-blog]

Ain't no summer day, that's certain.

[steele-gallant-blog]

Damn thing.

[missahlgren]

[Sucks on her teeth as she turns away, silent for a moment.] Coincidentally, I hear those folks tend to hold their heads higher. ‘Sides, you spend your life lookin’ at the ground and you’re bound to miss the sunsets.

[steele-gallant-blog]

Yeah, well. I pick the sunsets worth seein', now and again. You got a name, Miss Brains?

[edith-atwood-blog]

a chivalrous sort of man || edith & steele

[edith-atwood-blog]

Her mouth opened and shut a few times as she attempted to formulate an answer, the cogs of her mind thoroughly off-canter.  ”I…I’m not entirely sure of the time.  It surely hasn’t been so very long.  The…the night merely falls early, this time of year, doesn’t it?”  It had a lilt that could have been the start of a conversation, had Edith been in any mood to flirt.  Her mind was far, far away from the ballrooms of New York society, and the dashing young men who had fallen at her feet in droves.  A choice word to keep their attention, a false pout to confuse them into adoring her all the more fervently, and she’d been a queen.  But here, that sort of skill helped her not at all; she was just a girl that reeked of money, in a town of desperate people.

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[steele-gallant-blog]

Steele studied the particulars of a facade across the way, just in case her stammering, stumbling speech was the sort that was further impaired by a fella's looking at her. Some delicate women were like that. He turned back toward her, scowling.

She surprised him, and for a moment he seemed just a touch bewildered himself. It passed just as quickly. Her hand was stuck out, like a girl in a picture; a younger Steele, from before the hard times, would have done just as she expected, as if it were a country dance. That younger man would not have hesitated. He had nothing he was ashamed of.

The man he was, at present, did know where or how that notion had come to be. The boardwalk creaked uneasily as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He supposed for pity's sake that the nonsense ought to be cut short. "My name's Gallant," he said, finally, crossing his arms. Directly to the meat of it, then. He did not touch her.

"Your father, Mr. Atwood, has been in there upwards of some hours; I know because I have asked them within. Now, I am askin' you if you have either come to meet him recently, or if you have been waitin' a while yet."

[steele-gallant-blog]

Damn thing.

[missahlgren]

And you look like you got a keen instinct for kickin’ up a row, Mister. This is how scuttlebutt starts, don’t you know? Big man gets a mysterious cut; the whole town’ll be’n a fuss over which damsel you saved or the bandits you apprehended.

[steele-gallant-blog]

I keep my head down, actually. It's easy for me; I hear it's a shade tougher for folks with bigger heads. 

All that brain, you know. 

[steele-gallant-blog]

Damn thing.

[missahlgren]

Then what business did ya have goin’ ta the doc’s in the first place?

[steele-gallant-blog]

Doc Maine has a keen instinct for doctoring. Very keen. 

[edith-atwood-blog]

a chivalrous sort of man || edith & steele

[edith-atwood-blog]

To say that Edith was startled by the man’s arrival was quite the understatement.  She went dead-white, jumping in fright and giving a bit of a terrified squeak while her hands clenched into fists in their cozy little fur muff.  So great was her initial reaction that it took her a few seconds to gather that he’d spoken actual words to her at all, though she attempted to remedy her gross social inadequacy by responding eloquently.  ”I-I…I…beg your p-pardon, sir?”

Eloquence was outside of her immediate faculties, apparently.

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[steele-gallant-blog]

Steele waited for the lady to collect herself. Her fright was comical, like a stage-show actress kicking up a fuss for laughs--and apparently in complete earnestness. He sighed, scuffing the boardwalk with the toe of his boot. 

"I said, ain't you been waiting a while yet?" Steele repeated for Miss Atwood's benefit.

He grimaced. Most women in Ember were tougher than the Devil's teeth. Miss M sprung immediately into his mind. Ruby Booker. A slew of others. Steele imagined that none of those ladies would be much deterred by a saloon door; he imagined, much to his gratification, the sort of whupping Miss M would lay out on Henry Atwood should he have been so unfortunate to be her father. The actual Miss Atwood seemed more fragile. He supposed she had not been raised to it. 

There'd been a general silence for sometime, so Steele cleared his throat and made a second attempt. "You might remember me from the service this morning," Steele said, clumsily invoking the one thing they had in common.

[steele-gallant-blog]

Damn thing.

[missahlgren]

… Well… good. ‘Cause I’m gonna find it. I may not have the muscle, but I know more ‘bout gold th’n a baker’s dozen of them four-flushers. You even able t’dig with that hand a yours?

[steele-gallant-blog]

This? Aw, it's just a scratch. Doctor even said so.

[steele-gallant-blog]

Damn thing.

[missahlgren]

What? You think I can’t?

[steele-gallant-blog]

Hey, them's sincere words of encouragement.

Sincere. I ain't said otherwise.

[steele-gallant-blog]

Damn thing.

[missahlgren]

Me.

[steele-gallant-blog]

Course you will.

[steele-gallant-blog]

Damn thing.

[missahlgren]

You’re the promise-makin’ type, are ya b’hoy? I wouldn’t go tryin’ to breach your worlds when you’re on a bender; likely you’ll get lost tryin’ to find some new place for your mind to stand and end up in purgatory.

And I wouldn’t recommend you lose your head while you’re in this city. You got some size to ya, but it’s gonna be a brain that wins this race.

[steele-gallant-blog]

Is that so? Any odds you recommend I bet on, size precluding a victory a' my own?

[steele-gallant-blog]

Damn thing.

[missahlgren]

You grow up with any siblings, Mister? Even if ye didn’t, you ever see a mother wrangling three kids like they’re cattle, even when she only got two hands? Just gives ‘em a look, and they stop movin’ and hollerin’ like they been shot. Then she cooks supper while cleaning the whole house, workin’ with the husband if he need, or clean him up, when he can’t [looks pointedly to his hand]. Men can only concentrate on one thing at a time - and that’s usually fightin’ or frolickin’. Or in Ember’s case, gold.

Only difference between men is which one they’re thinking ‘bout at the moment.

[steele-gallant-blog]

Huh. Well, miss, when I am caught, inevitably, between the two great spheres which fixate my half a' the race, I will remember your words and alter my conduct accordin'ly.

If I ain't on the whiskey. 

[steele-gallant-blog]

Damn thing.

[missahlgren]

[Watches him fiddle, but doesn’t offer to help] S’hard enough findin’ a man that can do a lick of good with all his limbs, is all I’m sayin’.

Now, a woman’s a different story.

[steele-gallant-blog]

I'm listenin'.

[claudettejo]

Hm.

[claudettejo]

Right, well… It’s moreso cautious than jumpy. And she’s my fr- sister. And now that you know, who exactly are you?

[steele-gallant-blog]

I'll wager caution is fair necessary trait for a pair o' sisters.

M'name's Gallant. You have your own name?

[steele-gallant-blog]

Damn thing.

[missahlgren]

Reckon there ain’t no man who done anythin’ good with just one hand.

[steele-gallant-blog]

Is that the situation? Well, don't let the fellas that lost a piece or two in the war hear that.

[claudettejo]

Hm.

[claudettejo]

Who’s askin’?

[steele-gallant-blog]

Hey, little jumpy. I'm askin', that's who.

[steele-gallant-blog]

Damn thing.

[unfrenchtresor]

Need any help, Monsieur? I can understand it’s very tricky. 

[steele-gallant-blog]

Fiddlin' with it for a quarter of an hour has done me no good. Have at it, uh, Miss ... ?

[steele-gallant-blog]

Damn thing.

[the-britongwendolyn-deactivated]

That wasn’t too bad now, was it? She smiles tightly. Just try and keep it clean please, Mr Gallant. 

[steele-gallant-blog]

He grimaces. No, ma'am. Ain't even feel a thing.

Thank you kindly, Miss Maine.