#(pickpocketed it and started playing and was met with a startled 'oh you brought an egg too!' from its owner

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

god i feel you on the tiny hands. i played classical flute for years and i play whistles so i thought unkeyed irish flute would be an easy switch but my hands are barely large enough to cover the holes and it's so uncomfy to play; it's why i've never taken up the low whistle either

i have chronic pain and can't play very much which is why i'm usually playing percussion in sessions, and actually egg shakers can contribute a lot if you play them well (particularly to a session with few rhythm players), but some people are snobby if they think you're not a "real" musician. and i get that they don't want total beginners showing up and undermining the vibe but also if the vibe is exclusive like that then it's a bad vibe in general tbh

of course the great thing about percussion is that you don't need to know the tunes to participate, as long as you've got an ear for rhythm 😅 i find this lowers the bar for participation considerably and i'm much more confident as a session percussionist than as a tune player! just got to learn a more "respectable" instrument like the bodhrán (although this would be considerably less portable than the egg shakers)

your posts about English folk culture being treated as esoteric within England reminded me of a conversation I had with my dad relatively recently. I was complaining about how much I hated doing scottish country dancing in P.E every year in school and he, having grown up in London, mentioned that he never did any kind of folk dancing in school and it really surprised me.

Having an Irish family and growing up in Scotland I just assumed that folk culture would be a big part of national identity in England because it def is in Ireland and scotland. I mean I grew up in the city and I went to a Catholic school where a lot of pupils didn't come from Scottish backgrounds so I'm sure my experience would be different from somebody who grew up in a smaller town or a rural area, but my school still dragged out the girls who could sword dance every year on burns day y'know

Also now I'm wracking my brain trying to remember all the English folk songs I know and realising that it's comparatively few next to the hoard of Scottish, Irish and American folk songs I've accrued over the past 2 decades. That's definitely partially just due to being connected to the cultures those songs come from and that American folk songs are generally quite a bit younger than the scottish & Irish ones, but it's still not something I've ever really thought about

yeah absolutely. it's something england -- and probably urban england and london especially -- has really lost touch with. a lot of my friends and colleagues are irish, and when the topic of things like irish dance comes up, it's always like "oh yeah i did a bit of that as a kid, everyone did" or "yeah i learned the whistle, obviously, but i stopped when i was eight" -- but there'd be no obviously about that here (even when people learn the recorder at school, it's not often trad tunes they're learning to play!)

i don't know if this is to do with the proportion of the population that's urban vs rural in england compared to ireland or scotland (not sure where wales is at with this, they have a strong song tradition but i don't know much about the welsh equiv of trad dance music nor tbh enough about the song tradition to say anything meaningful on the topic), or if it's a "survival of trad culture to spite oppressive dominant cultures" thing so england lost it due to lack of need to defend it, or if it's predominantly a class issue (but that wouldn't wholly explain schools/the national curriculum, particularly at primary level)... i think there's a lot of factors at work

but it's something i do notice because i spend time in those irish-dominated spaces where the attitude towards trad music and dance is so different. but then those are also often irish language communities, so they're specifically irish communities that are interested in their cultural heritage, and maybe that's not representative of the whole country. still, it feels like even people who aren't interested and haven't carried that interest through to adulthood were exposed to it in childhood in a way that many english people weren't because our equivalent traditions have been relegated to this very niche, marginalised (and potentially very rural) status

[locke-writes]

Guns Blazin'

Title: Guns Blazin’

Author: aryn-the-wolfheart

Rating: T/M? 

Word Count: 3,948

Warning: mild swearing and violence

Note: I may have gotten carried away with this… Also I am aware that the song Jacklyn mentions “The Grand Old Duke of York,” has modern lyrics that were not printed until 1913, but the nursery rhyme dates back to as early as 1642. So it is reasonable to assume that someone in this time period, who especially is from England, would know this song. And again, obviously I own none of the characters (except Jacklyn) or the songs mentioned. Also kudos to anyone who gets the Fievel Goes West reference. Also, also kudos to the magic nerds out there who may get another reference.

Fandom: The Hateful Eight, including: Pete Hicox, Jody Domergue, Grouch Douglass, Daisy Domergue, and Marco the Mexican, also includes my OC: Jacklyn Barlow

“How about we put the gun down and talk about this first?”

“Oh come on, Jody! This is horse shit and you know it!” Jacklyn yelled.

“If there were any other way to get Marco and Grouch back, you know I wouldn’t suggest it. Pete wasn’t happy either when I talked to him about it.” Jody continued to explain while he walked around their makeshift camp nestled in the forest a few miles from the sleepy town of Banner Elk. “I would take Daisy and go, but our wanted sheets have already traveled this Far East. And who knew a town full of Ginsengers would be so heavily armed?”

“You know me and Pete don’t get along. He won’t get over the fact that I’m from the West End and he’s from the East End.” Jacklyn holstered her gun, knowing Jody didn’t deserve her misplaced anger.

“I know you don’t like it, Jack, but he has to be your partner for this. Y’all are the only two who can pull this off. Even if Daisy and me were available, you and Pete have a certain charm with people. Those town folk will take a shining to you in no time.” Jody had always been able to rope Jacklyn into his crazy ideas.

It all began when Jack had made the mistake of pickpocketing Daisy while the gang was planning a train heist in Texas, sometime around late December. The only one to see was Jody, so he excused himself from the gang and followed Jack back to what looked like an orphanage. She gave an elderly woman a bundle of money and a small bouquet of dried flowers. The woman hugged Jack tight and opened the orphanage’s front doors. A small group of children rushed outside and tackled Jack. After a few moments she scooped up two small boys and carried them inside while the bigger children followed her.

Jody waited across the street for a few minutes while enjoying the cigarette he had lit while following Jack. She eventually exited the building and walked back the way she had originally come. As she passed by Jody, he grabbed her arm and spun her towards him. She discretely unhooked a knife from her belt, only to glance down and see Jody’s pistol aimed at her belly. She sighed and put away her knife.

He holstered his piece and cleared his throat, “I think you took something that don’t belong to you.”

“I think you mistake me for someone who cares.” Jack retorted.

“Oh I know you care about something, why else would you make a beeline for that rundown place?” Jody said as he motioned from where she just came.

“Look, if you want the money back I’ll get you more, with interest.” She huffed.

He chuckled and offered her one of his cigarettes, “What if, instead you help me and my friends on a little job we have planned?”

Jody lit her cigarette and Jacklyn took a puff. She  “What kind of job?”

After that afternoon, Jody and Jacklyn became good friends. Jacklyn met up with the gang to help them on odd jobs when they needed an extra set of hands. She liked to stay off of lawmen’s radars and was often mistaken for a young man while she was with the Domergue gang. Which in her opinion was just fine. This often helped her blend in when she wasn’t working jobs. Her alter ego had become known as Jack “The Brit” Barlow.

She fit perfectly into the rag tag team, well, except for when it came to Pete Hicox. Her and Grouch bonded over their love for each other’s horse. He loved her blue roan named Mordred and she loved his buckskin named Ace. She taught Marco the basics of playing a piano, at least when one was available. In turn he attempted to teach her Spanish, which as it turned out she was horrendous. Since Jack and Daisy were the only women in the group, it was easy for them to get along. They often ganged up on Jody and the others, making the guys buy them small trinkets or treats, nothing too opulent, but enough to get on the guys nerves. Pete didn’t give Jacklyn a chance to win him over. From the moment he met her he became calloused and avoided her. She could only assume it had something to do with them being from opposite sides of London. Even though she had been an orphan, he still thought she was a posh brat.

Jody sat down across from Jacklyn, grabbed one of her hands, and gave her the best puppy dog pout he could muster.

“Oh bloody hell! Alright, but he better not expect me to attempt his ghastly accent. If we are doing this, we are doing it my way.” She said as she slapped Jody’s hands away.

Jack made her way over to where Daisy was unpacking something from her horse. When she got close enough to see what Daisy was doing; she handed Jack a pale green dress. “I think this will suit you quite nicely, hun.”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!? Jody didn’t say anything about me having to wear a bloody dress.” She groaned and started stomping away to find somewhere private to change. “This is going to be a long few days.” Jack grumbled.

After changing and gathering any of her things that could be useful, Jack went in search of the loathsome man called Pete Hicox, whom for the next few days would be her acting husband. Pete was waiting by their horses and greeted her with a patronizing bow. “Milady.”

“I’m not going to sugar-coat this, Jacklyn.” Pete put significant emphasis on her name.  “Jody has asked me to be civil with you for the next however long until we get Grouch and Marco back. I expect you will try to do the same?”

Jacklyn’s only response was a grunt and a half-hearted curtsy. She then breezed past him and mounted Mordred. She didn’t look back before she cantered out of camp and towards Banner Elk. Pete sighed and pulled himself onto his chestnut mare, Juliet. He nudged her in the direction of Jack’s fleeting figure.

Jack and Pete rode in silence the entire journey. It wasn’t until they could see the outline of the town that they slowed their steeds to a comfortable jog. They steered their horses together to create the illusion of affection and continued past some outlying countrymen. Jack gave a coy smile to the two woodsmen and their sons as they maneuvered their mule and cart out of town. Pete tipped his hat to them feigning politeness, for reasons he couldn’t fathom he was fuming internally.

Once they reached the saloon around sunset, Pete dismounted first and offered Jacklyn his hand. She ignored it and slid off her horse gracefully. “I can manage on my own, thanks.”

Pete noticed some locals giving them curious glances and suspicious glares. He again offered his arm for Jacklyn to link hers in. She made a move to step around him. Pete, growing more agitated by the second, snagged her hand and pulled her towards him. “Hold my arm dammit, we’ve got to make this look convincing!” He whispered close to her ear.

Reluctantly, Jacklyn took his arm and they strolled into the half empty saloon. Pete asked about renting a room for a few days, gave the barkeep a fake name, and questioned him about the saloon. After hearing something about ginseng season and an attempted robbery, Jack tuned out the conversation and instead approached a young boy and girl playing around a dusty, old piano. Both children startled when Jack cleared her throat a few feet away from them.

“Have you ever heard ‘The Grand Old Duke of York’?” She asked softly, trying not to alarm them anymore. They meekly shook their heads. “Well then, would you like to hear it?” She patted the piano seat on either side of her. They moved to sit beside her and watched as she slowly performed the rhythm. It had been a while since she had last played. Once she was confident that she remembered the tune and rhyme, she played it faster and with more passion. The children giggled at the lyrics and clapped along. The mood of the saloon lifted with the sound of children’s laughter and soon everyone inside found a smile upon their face.

Although he would never care to admit it, Pete found himself smiling and admiring Jack’s genuinely charming nature. The barkeeper remarked about how lucky he was to have such a charismatic woman around him. Pete shook his head, chuckled, and mumbled a “You have no idea.”

He took the key for their room and went outside to gather his travel bundle and few possessions in his saddlebag. The young girl who had been sitting next to Jack ran past Pete, almost bumping into him. While he was there he went ahead and unloaded Jacklyn’s satchel. He sneaked past Jacklyn and the horde of children that had amassed while she continued to play toe-tapping melodies.

She had just started playing “The Girl You Left Behind” when the little girl from earlier came in with who looked to be her older brother in tow. He brought a weatherworn fiddle and stood beside Jacklyn tapping his foot while he learned the rhythm. Jack’s eyes lit up when the young man joined in with his fiddle.

Pete thought the only thing missing was the actual lyrics. No sooner had he thought this, that Jack started singing. She had an average voice, but the accompanying music was so brilliant that no one minded. Other townsfolk started entering the saloon to see who was livening up the run-down place.

Soon enough, the place had filled and everyone was having a jolly time. It was too bad that Jacklyn and Pete had an actual task to complete. Otherwise Jack could picture herself settling in to this kind of life, one with a sense of normalcy. Jacklyn finished up the tune and stood from the piano bench, at which point a majority of the saloon applauded her. The owner scurried through the crowd and thanked her. The children who had originally listened to her perform and the young fiddle player happened to be his family. He signaled for his oldest son to strike up a new melody and the young man fired up his fiddle again.

Jack excused herself from the two and went outside for some fresh air. It was still stifling hot even after the stars had risen. She heard the creaky doors behind her and turned to see Pete exiting the tavern. He motioned to their horses that had remained tied to the hitching post. She followed him and untied Mordred, he huffed at her and nibbled at the material on her shoulder. Together, Pete and Jack walked towards the stables behind the inn, this time in a comfortable silence.

Neither of them talked while they put away their tack. After her horse was taken care of, Jack went to get her rucksack. She started to panic when she couldn’t find it. Pete cleared his throat. “It’s upstairs in the room.”

“Why did you touch my bag? What else did you do?” She seethed.

“Well, you were preoccupied with the two rug rats. And I didn’t want to leave it unaccompanied in the bloody street.” Pete matched her tone and volume.

She ignored him as she scrambled to find something in her saddlebag. Her body visibly relaxed and she sighed. Pete couldn’t make out what she held close to her chest, only that it was small and made of cloth.

She stamped past him and towards the inn. He jogged after her and took hold of her arm. Jack tried prying her arm from his grasp.

“What’s the matter? Jacklyn, are you alright, love? What’s the big deal?” He asked a flurry of questions.

“Please leave me alone for a while, Pete!”

He froze for a moment. Surprised she had actually used his name. She hadn’t done that since the first time he met her and he called her a “West Ended brat.” She took advantage of this and hurried back to the saloon and up to their room.

He stayed downstairs and had a couple drinks, trying to figure out what had just happened, before he went to bed. He was careful not to wake Jack when he removed his pistols and other outer wear. He crossed the room to where a lone lantern sat next to the bed. He looked down and saw the object of Jack’s sudden anxiety. She clutched a cloth bear with a worn green ribbon. He remembered Grouch mentioning a brother that Jack had lost while in England. Grouch said that they weren’t actual blood, but they grew up along side each other at some orphanage.

“That bear must have been his.” Pete assumed. He decided that would ask her about it tomorrow He made a small pallet on the floor near the bed. After that he blew out the lantern.

The next morning Jack got up early and nearly tripped over Pete. She hadn’t been expecting him to be there. She nudged him with her foot; he rolled over and continued to quietly snore. She changed clothes behind a screen opting for her preferred trousers, blouse, and boots washed her hands and face in a bowl, and went downstairs to get some breakfast. After she had eaten she took some up to Pete. She knocked on the door and continued into the room. Pete was almost dressed; he was finishing buckling his belt and adjusting his pistols. She offered him the bowl of food and he mumbled a thanks.

He motioned to the little animal on the bed. “So are you going to tell me what all that was about last night?”

“I’d rather not, but I suppose you deserve some answers.” She crossed the room and sat on the bed. “My little brother gave it to me, for my 17th birthday. He was only 14 and spent weeks saving his money. He was so proud of it. Alexander wasn’t my blood relative, but he stuck to me like glue from the moment he arrived at the orphanage. The sisters who ran it taught me how to play the piano and Alex to play the violin.”

“Alex died of a fever the following year… I sometimes have anxiety attacks from some of the bad things I’ve been through and done. It’s the only thing that helps calm me down.” Jack was never one to cry much, but she wiped a tear from her face.

A commotion in the streets interrupted Pete from offering any condolences. Both rushed to the window and saw Marco and Grouch being man handled. They shared a look before rushing down to the street for a better view. A crowd had gathered to watch the commotion. The leader of the group of men addressed the congregating people.

“Now we know these thieves had coconspirators. They aren’t dumb enough to attempt a heist that big with only two men.” The man turned full circle and continued. “As a warning to their companions, we’ll be hanging them tonight at sunset.”

As the crowd dispersed Pete and Jacklyn stayed put, watching their friends get dragged away. Grouch saw them and purposely stumbled to cover himself dropping something. It looked like a cigarette at first glance, but once Jack saw that the coast was clear she strolled over to it and bent down to brush some dirt off of her boot. After she stood up, she walked back towards Pete while unrolling it. I was a ripped piece of paper from Grouch’s journal. Scrawled in messy handwriting was “2:00 guard change” and underneath it was “5 men” Both Jack and Pete glanced at each other before he motioned to the saloon with his eyes. They walked back to the saloon and went straight upstairs.

“What are we going to do? We have less time than we planned.” Jack started pacing.

“Honestly, I have part of a plan, but you probably won’t like it.” Pete explained while he rubbed his temples.

After they had finished coming up with their convoluted plan, Pete packed their horses up while Jack freshened up and put on some light make up. She only had it for special occasions and both would agree this was a time for her to utilize it. They were to meet up at the jailhouse around 2:05.

Pete hung around the side of the jailhouse and waited for Jack to initiate the plan. He fiddled with some playing cards and whistled a chipper tune. Jack walked past him and into the jail. He counted to 120 before entering in after her. Two men lay on the ground as he waltzed in. One was groaning and the other was lying in a puddle that looked suspiciously like blood.

“I thought we agreed upon minimal killing? There are too many lawmen in this town for us to start a massacre.” He said while handing her his deck of cards.

“He put his filthy hands on me. I told him I would cut off his hand if he didn’t remove it. I can’t help that he didn’t listen.” Jack guiltlessly smiled and shuffled the deck.

Another deputy walked into the entrance hall and Pete slugged him in the jaw. He fell to the ground unconscious.

 Jack raised an eyebrow at his silver knuckle-dusters. “When did you get those beauties?”

“I won them in a poker game from some cocky Irishman. You know how they get after they’ve had some liquid courage.”

She shrugged and continued towards the back where the cells were. Pete followed her. They met the next guard and before he could pull his gun, Jack scattered the cards in his face and Pete punched through the deck. Ironically enough, the Queen of Hearts stuck to the poor man’s forehead. Pete pointed towards it and asked, ”Was that your card?”

Jack giggled and smacked him lightly. “Four down, two to go, Robert- Houdin.”

When they finally made it to where Marco and Grouch were being held, the remaining two deputies had pulled their guns on Jack. Pete waited back in the hallway, unseen for now.

“How is it that a pretty lady such as yourself, made it all the way back here? Surely you ain’t lost. And you ain’t anyone’s gal. I’ve never seen you before.” The shorter of the two asked.

She raised her arms slightly and continued moving forward slowly. “I’m sorry boys, I was just looking for a powder room.”

“Not another step lady or I’ll blow you—“ A bullet to the head interrupted him. Jack slid a throwing knife from her sleeve and hurled it at the other man. It buried itself in his neck. Pete had already navigated the room and retrieved the cell keys while Jack reclaimed her knife from the dying man. The faintest glint of pity flashed in her eyes before she refocused on the boys in the cell. Marco sported a black right eye and split lip, while Grouch had a pretty bad limp and a gash above his left eye.

She helped support Grouch while Marco took the guards pistols and Pete made sure the hallway was clear. They maneuvered through the building without an issue until they made it out to the front steps. The sheriff and 6 more men waited for them, along with a crowd of bystanders. Pete checked his pocket watch. It read nearly 2:13. He needed to stall for two more minutes.

Jack sagged under the weight of Grouch. She could hardly see the sheriff perched on his horse because Pete was blocking her view. Marco had both pistols trained on two approaching men. He shot a warning shot at their feet. The sheriff halted their movements with a simple whistle.

“Would you mind calling your dogs off, Sheriff? I’m sure this can be settled civilly. There is no need for any rash behavior, isn’t that right Marco?” Pete reasoned. Marco lowered his weapons slightly.

“Oh it will be handled civilly and justly, we are going to watch you and you friends hang by the neck until you are dead.”

“Or you could let us leave this town and no more blood has to be shed.” Pete countered. “You see, you were absolutely correct when you said that these men couldn’t pull off a heist without help. In fact there are several men stationed around the town with rifles ready to shoot you down.” He continued and pointed to the roof behind them. The sheriff searched the roofs and so did his men. While they weren’t focused on the rag tag group in front of them, Jack slipped one of Pete’s spare pistols from the back of his waistband.

“Do you really expect me to believe that?” the sheriff scoffed after having deemed no immediate threats.

“No not really, we just needed you distracted for a couple minutes. Thanks for playing along though.” Jack sassed. She then stepped around Pete and shot the sheriff off his horse. Marco shot two men before a nearby explosion blew the rest off their feet. Pete had rigged up some simple bombs and placed them under a nearby storefront.

Jack tagged three more before one of the remaining men got her in the shoulder. Pete grabbed the gun from her and shot the culprit dead.

Jack gritted her teeth and moved towards her horse. Mordred and Ace were waiting a little ways away. Once Grouch was situated on Ace, she struggled to climb onto Mordred. Pete raced up on Juliet and basically threw Jack onto her own horse. Marco and Grouch were headed towards the outskirts while Pete and Jack caught up. As she looked back at the small town, she saw the little girl and boy waving back at her. She couldn’t help but smile.

After some hard, long riding, they stampeded into their secluded camp. Jody and Daisy looked like they were playing cards. As soon as they heard everyone, they hopped up and greeted Marco and Grouch. Grouch hobbled over to Jack and gave her a side hug and a gruff “Thanks.” Marco, never one for much touching, rubbed the back of is neck and said, “Gracias fierabras,” and ambled after Grouch. Daisy went to grab some water and Jody started bugging the other boys about what happened.

Jack watched the chaos for a moment before she felt someone touch her injured shoulder. She hissed and instinctively slapped at whoever was touching her.

Pete dodged out of the way. “Will you stop trying to hit me and at least let me take a look at that?”

Jack huffed and walked towards her saddlebag. She grabbed her small little sewing kit and handed it to him. She knew the bullet had gone all the way through. She had felt it when it exited the out the back of her shoulder. All it needed was disinfecting and a patch up job.

They sat in relative silence except for the pained hisses and curses coming from Jack and the mumbled apologies from Pete.

“You know, even though we may not gotten along in the past, I think we make a pretty good team, Jacklyn.”

“I think I was wrong about you, Pete. You’re not so bad after all.” Jack said earnestly. “Well, when you aren’t being a real arsehole.”

Both of them chuckled and continued on in a friendly silence.