John Marston (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bornuntotrouble) wrote2012-06-30 12:45 pm
bornuntotrouble) wrote2012-06-30 12:45 pm
This Is Armadillo, USA
(After this.)
The road to Armadillo is well-worn and dusty, and the reins are familiar in his hands as he spurs the horses on. The early morning air is frigid, the sun not quite having warmed the earth yet, but the dawn light playing through the oak trees turns the leaves every shade of gold he can think of.
It’s times like this he can almost forget what he was sent out here for.
“You're looking much better. Considering you were almost buzzard food a couple days ago.”
“I have you to thank for that, miss,” he says, spurring the horses on.
“So do tell me, have you needlessly risked your life since we last spoke?”
He chuckles, and it leaks over into his words. “No, miss, I have not.”
“Well, that's a relief. Perhaps there's hope for you yet.”
That four-letter word again.
“I wouldn't bet on it.”
“Oh, there's always hope, Mister Marston. You can't be a rancher in this kind of country if you don't believe that.”
“An admirable attitude, miss.”
“I suppose so. I can't think of any other way to stay sane, to be frank.”
She looks at him, her head cocked to one side. “What about you? Have you ever given up hope altogether?”
He shrugs as they wind down a canyon road. “Hope hasn't really entered into it. It's not really something I think about.”
“A peculiar outlook. I can't really say I understand you.”
“I can't always say I do either.”
“Oh, don't be so deliberately enigmatic!”
“I'm not, miss!”
“Yes you are! You are being deliberately obscure as a substitute for having a personality!”
“I just know there are two theories to arguin' with women. And neither one works.”
“I'm not even going to dignify that gibberish with a response.”
The road to Armadillo passes by miles of scrub brush and cacti and dry, arid land.
On the way in he spots a patch a days-old blood and a pile of spent rifle cartridges by some chaparral.
He’s not the only one out here killing – as if he needed to be reminded.
“I think it's funny I found you dying on the side of the road and now you're driving me into town.”
“You have a strange sense of humor.”
“Well, you must admit…it's an unusual start to a friendship.”
“I didn't realize we were friends, Miss MacFarlane?”
She guffaws. “Oh, please. Now who's being funny?”
There’s a pause. She flicks some stray bangs out of her eyes.
“I know that business with Williamson is your business, but…”
He looks at her, an eyebrow quirked.
“I don't know. You've been good to us, and…I don't think you're a bad man.”
She smiles. “A little stupid, perhaps, but not rotten.”
He laughs at that. He can’t help it.
“I just worry about you gallivanting around these parts like you're some kind of deranged bounty hunter,” she says, her lips taking on a funny twitch. “Like Pa always said, don't go waking snakes.”
“I appreciate your concern for us lesser mortals, Miss MacFarlane, I really do. And if there was any other way out, I'd take it. I can assure you of that.”
And he means it.
The road to Armadillo is well-worn and dusty, and the reins are familiar in his hands as he spurs the horses on. The early morning air is frigid, the sun not quite having warmed the earth yet, but the dawn light playing through the oak trees turns the leaves every shade of gold he can think of.
It’s times like this he can almost forget what he was sent out here for.
“You're looking much better. Considering you were almost buzzard food a couple days ago.”
“I have you to thank for that, miss,” he says, spurring the horses on.
“So do tell me, have you needlessly risked your life since we last spoke?”
He chuckles, and it leaks over into his words. “No, miss, I have not.”
“Well, that's a relief. Perhaps there's hope for you yet.”
That four-letter word again.
“I wouldn't bet on it.”
“Oh, there's always hope, Mister Marston. You can't be a rancher in this kind of country if you don't believe that.”
“An admirable attitude, miss.”
“I suppose so. I can't think of any other way to stay sane, to be frank.”
She looks at him, her head cocked to one side. “What about you? Have you ever given up hope altogether?”
He shrugs as they wind down a canyon road. “Hope hasn't really entered into it. It's not really something I think about.”
“A peculiar outlook. I can't really say I understand you.”
“I can't always say I do either.”
“Oh, don't be so deliberately enigmatic!”
“I'm not, miss!”
“Yes you are! You are being deliberately obscure as a substitute for having a personality!”
“I just know there are two theories to arguin' with women. And neither one works.”
“I'm not even going to dignify that gibberish with a response.”
The road to Armadillo passes by miles of scrub brush and cacti and dry, arid land.
On the way in he spots a patch a days-old blood and a pile of spent rifle cartridges by some chaparral.
He’s not the only one out here killing – as if he needed to be reminded.
“I think it's funny I found you dying on the side of the road and now you're driving me into town.”
“You have a strange sense of humor.”
“Well, you must admit…it's an unusual start to a friendship.”
“I didn't realize we were friends, Miss MacFarlane?”
She guffaws. “Oh, please. Now who's being funny?”
There’s a pause. She flicks some stray bangs out of her eyes.
“I know that business with Williamson is your business, but…”
He looks at her, an eyebrow quirked.
“I don't know. You've been good to us, and…I don't think you're a bad man.”
She smiles. “A little stupid, perhaps, but not rotten.”
He laughs at that. He can’t help it.
“I just worry about you gallivanting around these parts like you're some kind of deranged bounty hunter,” she says, her lips taking on a funny twitch. “Like Pa always said, don't go waking snakes.”
“I appreciate your concern for us lesser mortals, Miss MacFarlane, I really do. And if there was any other way out, I'd take it. I can assure you of that.”
And he means it.