itsvisceral·:
Showmanship was never a concern of Scout’s - she hadn’t a showman’s bone in her body - but the more Leo spoke, the more its possible practicality settled into the wheels and cogs of her brain. She was silent for a moment, taking another puff from her cigarette while she squinted up into the hazy midday sun. Then she turned back to her partner, offering a small shrug.
“S’pose I could maybe see it as a warning,” she said, “but it might rile up the lawmen. Send ‘em after you harder, y’know?”
“Maybe,” the word floated on a puff of smoke. Scout was being far too logical for his liking, and his patience. “But who ever gave a shit about them?”
“If you were gonna kill a truly, truly bad man, how would you do it?” It was not only a question, but a test thrown to Scout, to see if she could surprise him by coming up with something creative. ‘Crazy’ came easy for him, and oftentimes his own brand of chaos bored him; therefore it was much more entertaining to dig into the muck of others’ minds.




















