#and noone asked but the start of up does get laswell

[laswells-ashtray]

Hiiiiiiii who out of the cod guys is most likely to tear up at a movie? And, to add to that, who is is embarrassed or entirely unashamed?

Soap will shed a few tears at Brokeback Mountain and he doesn't care, that movie is fucking heartbreaking.

Price would get choked up by Dead Poets Society when he was younger. He refuses to rewatch it now for fear it might be just as bad.

Gaz was back home for Christmas one year and the family decided to throw on the Jurassic World movies for the kids, he had gotten slightly tipsy with his siblings and when it got to the scene where they have to leave the brachiosaurus behind and it burns in the lava he leaves "to go smoke" and then stands outside and wipes the tears from his eyes because it was just so fucking sad and he's definitely drunk. Would never admit it to anyone.

Nikolai sheds a single tear at Mamma Mia during Slipping Through My Fingers, he feels no shame. It would get to the best of men. He was also high as shit on painkillers at the time.

I've said it before, I'll say it again. Shawshank Redemption gets Graves. He is ashamed of it but the bit with Brook just gets to him and crumbles every time.

No one knows and no one will ever know but the movie that truly does it for Ghost is All Dogs Go to Heaven. I don't feel the need to explain.

Big believer that Alex is the worst out of all of the cod men because if you get him drunk enough then he'll cry at damn near any movie, he's a big feelings type if drunk and it shows. Watched Philidelphia once while drunk and started bawling, to this day he doesn't remember it.

[appleciderp]

Way the Sun Rises p5

Johnny huffs slightly "Shouldnae ye be the one to tell me where tae go?"

The Sheriff smirks, or Johnny assumes so he does as his mustache twitches slightly, "You need to trust us as much as we need to trust you, Soap. And I prefer my people learning on the job.”

“I’ll go with Garrick then.” 

“Make sure you eat a hearty breakfast, it can take an hour to get to the ranches.” He nods towards the kitchen as he adds, “Feel free to eat anything we’ve got, what’s ours is yours.”

It’s just then he smells the scent of fresh bread, he knocks on the table before he heads towards it. Upon entering the kitchen he first notices the loaf of Sourdough, when’s the last time he’d had fresh bread? He cuts himself a few slices and grabs some of the beans simmering in a pot on the stove. He considers the salted pork for a second, should he take some, he’d feel bad taking food from them excessively.

When Farah enters the room she scoffs at his plate, “I refuse to believe that’s all you’re taking.” 

She starts filling up her own plate, but occasionally adds bits onto his as he stands still, slightly shocked. She adds in a much too gruff tone “I spend my days surrounded by men like you, you’ll be starving by noon if you don’t eat to your fill.”

He smiled halfheartedly at her when the man from the other day - Graves, was it? - entered the room, then it turned into a mild frown.

“We harboring criminals now?” Graves joked to Farah. She punches his shoulder teasingly in reply.

“Yeah, you’ve been dirtying our doorstep for a month now.” As soon as she turns away from Graves, he winced and rubbed the area she punched. Johnny huffs a laugh, which gets him a friendly glare. Maybe Gaz was right and Graves’ wasn’t that bad he thought to himself as he headed back to the table, Farah quickly following behind.

If the stew yesterday had hit the spot, the homemade bread was an out-of-body experience. The crust was crisp while the crumb was pillowy, soft, and warm. The bread accompanied by the proteins of the beans and salt-cured meats was a fantastic combo of rarely enjoyed and daily staples in his diet. 

Did Sheriff Price wake up early to make them meals daily? Was today a special occasion? So he asked, “Ye wake up as the crack o’ dawn to bake bread, Sheriff?”

“Nah,” Price chuckles softly, “Laswell, the Mayor, her wife makes a few extra loaves every day and tosses them to us.”

Breakfast was a chaotic affair, especially when Gaz had trodden downstairs. It was all comfortable jabs and jokes, Johnny had even participated himself. He had felt a way that he hadn’t felt since leaving Scotland, a familial comfort that he felt slightly awkward being it, but quickly the comfort had been replaced by a soft warmth, covering him like the old mink fur blanket his mother refused to throw out.

Graves wasn’t that bad, it turns out. Gaz was right, but Johnny wasn’t going to tell him that much.

To say Gaz was ecstatic when he’d heard that Soap decided to go with him was an understatement. He’d quickly shoveled his own food down his mouth at an astounding rate and surprisingly didn’t choke. Before dragging Soap outside and then back inside to grab the forgotten saddlebags. 

When Johnny approached Dynamite, she actually knickered a soft greeting, which shocked him slightly. Gaz’s mare bolted away as he entered the pasture, refusing to be caught. Johnny stifled a laugh as he went to go where he'd placed his saddle yesterday. 

It was gone.

His fucking saddle had been stolen.

"My fuckin' saddle's been stolen!"

"Nah, mate. FUCK!" Gaz nearly tripped as he lunged to grab his mare, "I stored it for you. Bullet, get your arse over here! If you hadn’t noticed, Soap, we’re kind of in the middle of a theft spree."

“Haud yer wheesht, ye cannae even wrangle yer mare.” 

Soap had to step in front of Bullet to stop the mare from running away from Gaz’s every attempt to catch her. Gaz ended up skidding into the mare’s hindquarters with a soft oomph. Soap roared out a soft laugh as Gaz muttered a soft thanks.

Johnny quickly realized something must be wrong with Dynamite, she was acting borderline kind. She tolerated him picking her hooves, she seemed to even enjoy the brushing, and she didn’t try to bite him as he tightened the cinch or put the bit in. The only comforting part was that she still tried to bite Gaz and Bullet as he tacked up next to them. Maybe she was getting comfortable with him? Maybe she thought he had left her alone here? 

Either way, it didn’t matter, no time to think about it as they’d mounted up and headed east, the way the sun rises. The irony wasn’t lost on Johnny as he tied his reins loosely to the horn and twisted to grab his journal out of the saddlebag. They were going at a slow amble, and Dyna had a smooth enough walk that he knew it would still be legible. He sketched out the sunshine peeking over the faraway hills and jotted down went all this way west to just end up going east again. I could write something poetic but I don’t think I’d do it justice. 

When he finally glanced up again, Gaz was glancing back at him with a confused look but didn’t say anything as he slowed down to be next to him. Soap glanced down again, considering if he’d want to let him see. Ultimately deciding that Gaz was not a threat, he kept the journal open and sketched out Dyna trying to bite Bullet’s face off. 

Gaz chuckled when the abstract lines turned into a recreation of the sight before them, then added “You’re pretty good, any other good stuff in there?”

Johnny considers it for a second, part of him is screeching for him to hide it away and not let Gaz see it, but the other, much louder part was telling him that Gaz had been nothing but nice to him, plus the journal was mostly just silly little drawings and the occasional map of a location or the prices a certain butcher was buying hides. 

He hands Gaz the journal and unties the reins, holding them one-handed as he waits to receive the journal again.

They didn’t stop chattering for the rest of the ride. A mix of jokes, deep thoughts, and mindless facts. 

»»——⍟——««

The shift from shrubland to grassland was so gradual he didn’t notice it until he started seeing a few trees nearby. A large perimeter fence was ahead, so he decides to veer the conversation in that direction after Gaz finishes his tirade.

"... and we caught 'em right at the state line."

"Surprised ye got 'em at all, considerin' ye'd lost yer boots."

Gaz laughs at that, "Yea, lucky I didn't run into a rattler."

Soap offers him a grin back, then nods his head towards the fencing, "This them, then?"

"One of the ranches, yea. As we said, it's three of 'em together that's splitting the Vaqueros' cost. But it's a father and his sons who own each ranch, so when they drive the cattle it's massive."

"I dinnae even see the cattle, fields must be huge. Wait… is that one in th’ distance?"

The lone figure in the distance slowly grew larger. Gaz brought up his hand over his eyes inconsequentially - his hat’s brim was already preventing the sun from going in his eyes - and squinted towards the figure until a spark of recognition on his face.

“C’mon, follow me!” Gaz kicks his mare into a canter and hops the fence. Dynamite doesn’t hesitate to follow, and all Soap can do is hold on for dear life. She flew over the fence, and Soap was gasping for air as he got the horn suddenly jabbed into his stomach. Gaz was uproariously laughing and teetered too much to the left, losing balance. 

That’s how the rider arrived at their side; Gaz scrambled to keep his balance and Soap hunched over the saddle, heaving for breath.

“You okay, hermanos?” The stranger asked.

Gaz lurched his weight over to the right, centering the saddle properly as he greeted, “Yea, Rudy, no worries here. Can’t say the same for Soap here.”

Soap just wheezed out slightly and lifted his hand to notify the others he still needed a moment. Gaz snorted softly again, Soap gave him a one-finger salute as his breath finally returned to his lungs.

When Soap looked up, Rudy was sitting atop a massive skewbald mule that had the physique of a drum horse.

“This the novato, Gaz?”

Gaz nods and goes to introduce them properly, but Soap takes charge. “Soap.” He greets the stranger, his voice slightly hoarser than he’d prefer.

“Eh? I thought I hadn’t heard Gaz properly…” he then composes himself and adds, “Rodolfo Parra, but everybody calls me Rudy.”

The Vaquero offers his hand, which Soap reciprocates with a firm shake before Rodolfo adds as he urges his mule to trot along the fence line, “Let’s head to Alejandro, he’ll explain what we’re doing, and the new information we got. Did Gaz catch you up, Soap? I know you weren’t at the office yesterday.”

“Nah, he didnae.” Soap glanced at Gaz who looked slightly ashamed.

“El Sin Nombre; super big in the cattle and livestock theft game. Vaquero’s here are in charge of keeping the place theft free, but they managed to steal a flock of sheep two nights ago that was already sold and meant to be sent to the new buyer in a few days. Now they gotta find it or they won’t be paid for a few months until the cost of the sheep is repaid. That it, Rudy?”

“Yeah, sounds about right.”

“Hold yer horses,” Soap asks, “How much does a caoraich cost that ye willnae get paid for a few months?!”

“Five cents per kilo, so about five dollars each. We get, on average, eight dollars each, there are just under fifteen of us. There were nearly thirty heads of sheep.”

All he can do is utter a soft “fuck, these must be some bleedin’ gorgeous sheep.”

Rudy winces audibly but doesn’t say anything. Soap shares a glance with Gaz, who just shrugs.

They don’t talk for the rest of the ride until they approach what must be Alejandro atop a sooty buckskin. He smiled softly at Rodolfo before nodding at Gaz then throwing a curious glance at Soap, “You must be MacTavish, Price’s new lawman.”

“Aye, call me Soap.” He ignored how easily the nickname slipped out. Like wearing a coat over himself, protecting Johnny from the elements.

“Alright, Soap. Gaz. Vamos.” Soap glanced at Gaz confused, who again, shared a confused look back and followed Alejandro.

They see why Rudy winced pretty quickly after they introduced Soap to Alejandro. Alejandro had led their small group on the other side of the perimeter fence, where about half the aforementioned flock was laying in their own puddle of dried-up blood. It matted in their fur and the nearby ground in a dark-bronze color, the smell of iron permeated the location. Clearly, it had attracted other creatures, as their innards were all gone, leaving an empty cavity instead. 

They all dismounted to get a closer look, Alejandro finally spoke up again, “My men found these shortly after we returned yesterday. Dueño seems to think the coyotes got to them.”

Johnny lifted the bloodiest section of wool with his boot, exposing a clean cut underneath, “I havnae seen a coyote yet, but I assume they dinnae carry knives.”

Gaz kneels down to get a closer look, “He’s right; cut’s too straight. Either they got exsanguinated or somebody came by after they died to cut their necks open.” “Yeah, but why? Why steal the flock to just massacre some of them not an acre away?” Rudy asks while Alejandro swears up a storm.

Gaz shrugs, “Message maybe?”

Alejandro is the one to speak up, “El Sin Nombre has never killed the livestock before, something must have happened!”

“How’re ye sure it’s Sin Nombre?” Soap has to ask, the question has been burning him since the first mention. Rudy and Alejandro exchange a conversation in quick Spanish that he’s sure he couldn’t follow even if he understood the language. 

“Lover’s quarrel,” Gaz jokes? Is sincere? Soap isn’t certain which. But Gaz quickly continues, “Next stop is probably going to be the train station in Rusty Gorge, at the foot of those mesa’s over there.”

“How’d ye ken?”

“Only town nearby that isn’t ours, and we haven’t seen any sheep.” Gaz searches through his saddlebag before taking out his tobacco and rolling a cigarette. “Anyways, I think your hunch might be right, this doesn’t feel like Sin Nombre’s work, but I don’t think Alejandro will believe it until we have proof.”

“History there?”

“Dunno,” Gaz shrugs slightly, putting the tobacco back in the saddlebag and grabbing his tinderbox, “but it sounds like it.”

By the time he’d lit it up, Alejandro and Rudy joined them; Rudy frowns slightly, as Alejandro says, “We’ll be going to Rusty Gorge, question the people there. If we’re lucky, they’ll have info on Sin Nombre.”

Soap shares a look that’s equally amused and exasperated with Gaz as they mount up again.

The lush landscape quickly turns into a dusty desert the closer they get to the mesa. Any noise was dwarfed by the loud thundering of hoofbeats as they canter towards the town, leaving dust clouds in their wake.

“So what’s Rusty Gorge like?” Soap asks loudly, both due to the bandana over his mouth and 

“Lovely town. Especially if you like the kind of place where it’s so full of people that you feel like you’re suffocating.” Gaz responds easily, half-yelling.

“Ahh, will make me feel like I’m back in Glasgow, then.”

»»——⍟——««

They slow progressively as they approach until Alejandro leads them to a hitching post next to a Saloon. As Alejandro dismounts, they all follow his lead wordlessly. Dynamite has her ears pinned to her neck as he ties her, Soap mutters a quiet giùlain, Dyna with a soft pat on her flank as he goes to where Alejandro was standing and waiting for the rest to finish hitching their horses.

The small town was bustling with activity that he hasn’t seen this far west. Market stalls clutter the sides of the dusty path that cuts through the town and leads directly to the train station. The mesa nearby covers the town in a soft shadow, making the place a few degrees colder than the rest of the treacherous heat the desert provides.

When they’ve all arrived, Alejandro speaks up, “Alright, we’ll split up, get information, and we’ll meet up back here at noon. Gaz, Soap, you two head into the saloon and ask around. Rudy, you’re with me.”

“Of course,” Rudy responds as he follows Alejandro in the crowd.

Soap glances at Gaz, “What now?”

“We go in and ask questions, I guess...”

The saloon looked like any other saloon he’s encountered, complete with upbeat piano music fluttering around the room. 

Gaz bumps into his shoulder slightly and asks, "Divide and conquer?"

"Aye."

Gaz b-lines to the bar, Soap assumes to speak to the barman, as he scans the room lightly. There were a few people littered at various tables and some people playing a sort of card game. Soap placed his hand in his pocket and took out a few coins. Might as well make a profit while he asks around. 

He sits at an open chair, places down the coins, and greets, "Mornin' lads," after quickly glancing around the table, he tacks on a, "and lassie."

He hears a dissonant chorus of morning, hello, and a grunt or two. Considering the layout of the cards spread on the table, they were playing Faro.

"You new here?" A bald man asks.

"Aye, just got here." He places a penny on the eight. The aforementioned man glances at the woman next to him, but they say nothing.

An idle chatter, mostly pertaining to the game at hand follows. Soap tries not to cheat, but the fast pace of the rounds makes his hands twitch. He does count though, it’s easy, frowned upon, and makes sure he bags a few extra cents. He doesn’t notice anybody else cheating, which is odd. If he knows one thing about card games at the frontier is that people cheat all the time. Not to mention he’s usually quick on catching on if somebody else tries a sleight of hand. 

The fourth eight get’s drawn, his bet dies, and he changes his bet. Win a few rounds, and lose one every once in a while to keep up the image. A few more hands go by before he asks casually, “So I’ve been lookin’ tae start a little farm nearby, looking for sheep, any o’ ye lads ken where tae get some?”

“There’s a ranch nearby, maybe you should check there?” An old man asks.

“Yea, the ranch is about an hour at a walk, 20 or so minutes at a canter, if you’ve got a horse.” A young man replies. The woman and bald man don’t speak.

“Aye, just came from that way, actually, but they just sold the last bit o’ sheep they have.”

The bald man takes his coins and steps away from the table casually, and if he wasn’t looking for it he wouldn’t have even thought it was suspicious. Soap catches Gaz’s eye from across the room, who wraps up the conversation he was having and trails the man from a distance. 

They don’t do much more than two more rounds before a gunshot is heard outside. Soap quickly pockets his coins and unclips the top of his holster as he rushes outside. 

He shoulders against the panicked crowd trying to run away, which slows him down significantly. He then feels a barrel of a gun pressed against his back near where his kidneys would sit.

“Hands up.” A woman's voice rings out behind him. He raises his hands as he turns his head slightly to look at her. Her face is covered, both by the dark shadow emitted from the wide-brimmed hat she’s wearing and a bandana covering the lower half. 

She grabs his gun before leading him by his bicep into a side alley. She pushes him against the wall of a nearby building.

“Och, at least buy me dinner first,” Soap mumbled as he twisted to face the woman. The gun was still aimed confidently at his abdomen.

“¡Cállate! What did you do with the sheep, gringo?”

“Wha? What did I do? I dinnae ken what yer talkin’ about, lassie.”

“The sheep! You knew about them!” She adds unhelpfully as she waves the gun assertively at him.

Then it clicks, this must be the woman sitting at the gambling table, the hat and bandana covering her face while the large duster she’s wearing would cover the outfit she’d been wearing. 

“Look, I dinnae where the sheep are. ‘m lookin’ for them myself!”

She lets out a frustrated huff, then tosses his gun towards the main road as she immediately bolts in the other direction. Thoughts spiraling, he clearly had two options here, chase after the woman or check if Gaz was okay.