#1899starter

[matrcns-blog]

status: open date: late january location: bear-tooth ridge (hellhound’s campsite)

ain’t no rest for the wicked. mami, especially feels that that applies. says that the hounds get their sleep for her. gets up before the sun rises and stays up long after it sets. things are expected to be there when people begin to rise and she knows that the rain isn’t help. had to put on multiple pelts just to keep herself reasonably dry. getting sick wasn’t an option. she’s certain lives will fall apart if she’s bed ridden just for the day.

getting the campfires set while rain trickled down was a feat in itself. she worked the wood for what felt like hours but she was thankful to have dry logs and kindling aside to make the process a hell of a lot easier. breakfast came and went and mami sat in her layers upon layer of fur, eyes closed with her coffee in hand. all anyone got were grunts from her after the daunting task of making the fire, preparing breakfast, and setting aside clothes she’d previously washed. she wasn’t here for chat. the pelts were cozy. didn’t matter if it... looks a bit much.

breakfast left and she cleaned, then it was time to prepare everything else. thankful for yesterday’s catch, she was hunched over her bucket, skinning the rabbits the snares had caught. she looked up for a moment to see fingers reaching out to the venison. “touch the damn thing and i’ll skin you next.” she’d taken them from her text to dry out in the open, and they were close to being done, hence the grabby fingers. “you’re going to wait until supper, you hear?” she points the knife at them. “or no supper at all.”

[guanhumaras-blog]

“ perdóname--sorry--if she woke you.” noa apologized as she heard the crunch of brush beneath boots. angelita had dragged her mother from a sound sleep--such a rarity--with the strong cry of a teething toddler ( she had six now and was working on her seventh ).  most of the camp was forgiving when it came to her cries, but noa knew it wasn’t something anyone in the hounds had signed up for. it had taken awhile to lull her back to sleep, but the damage was done and noa was up for the day and stoking the fire when the other ‘hound approached.

“she’s cuttin’ another tooth, but i’ve put her back down for the morning. should be another couple hours before she decides if she’s hungry or feelin’ a need to scream through the pain.” there was cooking that could be done and she was always hungry first thing in the morning. it felt selfish to put her own hunger over the others’ but half of angelita’s diet was breast milk and noa had to be well fed enough to produce. “you feel like helpin’ me with gatherin’ more firewood for breakfast? i’ve got a mighty pit in my stomach that could swallow a horse.”

[idolatric-blog]

status: open location: bear-tooth ridge time: early morning

“think i left my mask in one of the cabins --- think maybe we lost plenty up there.”

it’s a sudden comment, finally breaking the morning silence just like the light over the ridge. it’s a sad realization, he thinks, because he’d had the damn thing for years on end. his small cup of coffee is still steaming, and he’s got a lit cigarette in the other hand, legs kicked out in front of him. he looks about as leisurely as a man can possibly get --- if not more. there winter chill has followed them down from the tiber mountains, and for that he’s wrapped in a coat.

“y’know, the yellow one. got it from that gal all the way back in... must’a been lincoln. couldn’t have been anywhere else. you might not remember her.” it’s become a natural sort of habit to wake and talk over the years, as he finds he’s not a man who particularly enjoys silence, and most members of the camp will awaken at the start of each day to the quiet murmurings of their leader over a cup of coffee and a cigarette. the past month had been the exception, on account of it being too cold to speak more than needed.

perhaps it’s a sign of their life finally shifting back into something normal. at this point, he’d take normal over most anything else. he moves his head from the smattering of trees surrounding them, looks at his conversation partner with a suddenly studious gaze. it’s a little too scrutinizing this early in the day. he takes a long pull from his cup before he speaks, idly enjoys the way the hot cup warms his fingers without thought of burning. “didn’t lose anything important, did you?”

[matrycshkas]

“i can learn to shoot a gun same as anyone.” ahna’s voice was sharp, forgetting to make herself smooth in her annoyance. it had been long enough toiling around the camp like some common scullery maid; she was sick to death of playing camp wench while some of the other women got to have a taste of buckshot. “you think i don’t have the mettle to take the life of a damn fool deer?” she gritted her teeth. “i watched my husband bleed out in front of me over nothin’ more than a star of fool’s gold; i can take the death of a prey animal.” 

diego was her husband and she mourned the loss of love, but he was also a liar and a fool. there was no debating that. sighing, she made to hand the gun over to its owner--face softening as she remembered to quell the fire that burned brighter than love or grief ever had. “’m sorry. i just can’t go livin’ like some caravan laundry maid forever.“ she was more remarkable, more powerful than a governess for the unforgivable and unwanted. that was for damn sure. “don’t you think it stands to reason that a girl ought to know how to defend herself--living out here like this?”

[thatwretch]

starter ✗ open location :: inside a stationary cargo wagon

He reeks of whiskey, and the blood soaked cuff of his left trouser leg doesn’t necessarily do anything to help the stench. If anything it adds a new level to the depraved sight. Like a quartet accompanies a picture show at the nickelodeon, so does his stink to his reputation. It went unnoticed by him by that point. He’s the one who has to live with himself after all. And yet, in all of that there is still a shadow of the handsome man he once was. It’s in the curve of his brow, and the sharpness of his smile. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Between calloused fingers spun a precisely rolled cigarette as he spun his yarn. It’s a wonder he even chose to tell his tales anymore, as nobody seemed to believe a damned thing he said, save for the kookier members of the group. He’d take what he could get. 

“Anyways,” he droned, “that’s why a centaur ain’t no myth. It’s just a dis-com-bob-illated story of how that outlaw fella who was wanted a couple decades ago ran across the wrong comp’ny. They killed the horse first, then him, then swapped their heads and put ‘em on a line like laundry. The Natives came across ‘em and it spooked ‘em to high heavens---bad enough to make up a tall tale.” 

[theharveywalker]

status: open location: bear-tooth ridge, main campfire time: mid january, evening 

the sun, scarcely visible, boasted a mix of blue fading into rose, golden and navy colors traversing a closing sky. camp was quiet beside a lull of gang members scattered around the camp chatting in low voices. 

meanwhile, alone, harvey sat gravely on a barrel close to the campfire smoking a cigarette while ruminating what to do next. joseph had made it clear that they needed to provide soon. people were hungry and they all had very shallow pockets. 

he thought about his former gang in his youth that had once partly depended on him to keep their asses alive. if they were in this position, they’d want to recklessly rob a homestead of an extravagantly wealthy family. but harvey was young and stupid when he was a part of that gang while he ignorantly thought himself a public hero. serving impulsive ideas and short-lived prosperity, that only paid for weeks of bliss with years of distress. he used to steal from those with too much in order to give much to those with too little. but after so much tension and so many gunfights, years have passed and harvey is older now. he now just robs for him and his gang. 

he hopes now to find leads may be of a wealthy carriage heading somewhere isolated in hopes to rob them quietly. the town hadn’t recognized him as a dangerous man yet, so maybe he’d find a decent bounty poster. the legal route was typically the preference for harvey, but doesn’t care if it turns sour. this was good for at least when they weren’t doing one of their more risky jobs. 

someone joined him by the campfire. their presence brought him out of his thoughts so he nodded towards them and stated, “i’m going into town to look for business.” he paused to put out his cigarette with the bottom of his boot. “would you like to come?”