status: closed starter. location: seven pines saloon, new vegas. with: archer yeon | @sleeperwound
the sun was a dirty brass coin of old, casting this side of the city in a tawny haze of dust and bad memories. holden saw them first. a figure in the warped glass of the saloon window. a silhouette that shouldn't have made his old wound twinge, but did. the kind of reaction that saw his hand fall to the iron on his hip with the practiced ease of a man that knew the price of a careless moment. a flash, a burn, a hole in his side and a grudge carved into his bones. yes, a price he knew all too well and had paid in full more times than he cared admit. the hammer clicked before he caught himself, thumbing it back before folk drew their gaze his way. peacekeepers were up and about in this side of the city as of late. no need to draw attention to himself. not yet, anyway. sides, the figure moved different from what he remembered. less smooth, less practiced. less measured in their steps. the gait of the lion replaced by that of the lamb. still he knew it was them. sure as the rad-soaked dirt, he knew it was them. knew it even before they pushed through the rickety doors. "well now," holden drawled, not moving from his spot in the corner, his voice a dry rasp of gravel and smoke. his gaze a sheriff's appraisal. people didn't change; his pragmatism and years running on the fringes of what passed as the civilized world these days told him that. folk just got better at hiding what they were. and yet here they were, attempting to disprove just that. no, they weren't no lion. a rattler, perhaps. languishing in the cold before the sun warmed them back to devilish means. "i'd say you were a sight for sorry eyes, but i think we'd both know the lie for what it was." there was a beat, a pause before he added in a lower tone, 'course, last i seen of you, you weren't much for conversatin' on account of you bein' passed out in the back of my cargo hold."