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tev-the-random · 2 years ago

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He expected to bolt upright immediately, like the rash man he was. Instead, Jimmy opened his eyes and sat up slowly — very slowly, at the pace of someone who couldn’t quite grasp their bearings. Like he needed time to process something as simple as the universal joke that he just experienced. Truth is, Jimmy had had a lifetime to understand that.

He should have known better. He should have learned not to be so naive by now, not to feed false hopes like they were a starving dog.

But he hadn’t learned. Maybe he never would.

And that was, perhaps, what hurt the most: that he allowed them in. That he wanted them by his side. That every time, without fail, he hoped for things to change. Just this once! Just this once they would get it, they would drop the blade instead of using it against him!

But it always ended the same way. So maybe he was just stupid.

What did he expect, really? For his friends to be happy for him? To somehow justify the trust he put on them? To finally tell him he’s worthy?

What a joke. Everything in his life was a joke.

He sighed. Although he deeply wished to bury his face in his hat and scream for all eternity, the best he could do was pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh. They had the hat, and it’s not like they would hand it back so easily. No, no, they didn’t respect him enough for that.

What even is respect, anyway? When Jimmy arrived at the mesa, he envisioned it as power: to be respected is to have authority, to dictate the rules. But as time went on, his expectations started to lower. In fact, some would say his bar had hit the floor.

To be respected is to be taken seriously.

To be respected is to be listened to.

To be respected is to not be antagonised and humiliated.

To be respected is to be seen as a person.

With the sensation that he would fall apart if he didn’t hold onto something, Jimmy grasped his bedsheets.

He wasn’t even a person to them, was he?

The ones he so innocently, so desperately called “friends” had clearly latched onto the idea that he was, for the lack of a better term, a plaything. Look at the tiny Sheriff and his tiny empire! Watch him get mad! Watch him try and fail to defend himself! Point and laugh at this pathetic thing!

Within only a few minutes, he had already embraced the idea that having someone else — someone as important as a real sheriff — tell him that he deserved legitimacy would be enough to earn him some dignity. All he really hoped for was a place amongst his peers, who only looked down on him, both literally and metaphorically.

But it was worthless, in the end.

His vision blurred at about the same time his lungs decided they were too upset to take in air properly. It took him a second to realise why: Jimmy had gotten used to the fact that, as a living doll, he just couldn’t function the same as he had before; surely, amongst other things, he had become incapable of shedding tears?

But here he was: breathlessly, shakily, undeniably crying. And now that it had started, it was hard to stop.

It was a well-known fact that Jimmy got angry much easier than he got sad. Screaming matches, hand hasty to the blade, petty plots that he would never manage to fulfil; it all helped push down his sense of self-awareness, this powerlessness clawing at his gut.

Right now, he felt as if a wave had crashed down on him.

He hated this fake body he was trapped in. Hated that he was smaller and more fragile than a child, that nothing felt real anymore, that he didn’t even have it in himself to bleed.

Breathing is such a basic task, why can’t he do it? Is it that he doesn’t actually have lungs or that he isn’t supposed to breathe in the first place?

He hated his own incompetence. No matter how hard he tried, he would always fall behind, crash and burn into the most pathetic of explosions. He had nothing to offer and he couldn’t take, no wonder he wasn’t allowed to have anything.

His entire body hurts. He hasn’t even done anything today, why does it hurt?

He hated that he could be so arrogant and selfish and that no one ever hesitated to point it out.

Heck, maybe they had a reason to bash him all the time after all! Maybe he missed all the shots he had. Maybe he deserved it, that had to be it!

He hated the way he always made a fool of himself and couldn’t even cover it up half-decently.

Oh, he hated this empty town, hated the mighty empires, hated his friends, those toys, the gunpowder, the bandits, the stupid Law and even stupider Lore! He hated and hated until he crumbled and there was nothing left of him.

And there really was nothing left. No one to fight for him or see the mess he’d made of himself. Not even Tango or Scar would stay by his side in the end, and the Old Sheriff was bound to follow, wasn’t he?

He was alone.

Jimmy cried until he couldn’t breathe anymore. He screamed into his hands until his voice was gone and clung to himself as a sorry excuse for comfort. And then he just laid there, drained and numb.

The sun was setting outside, its orange light peeking through his window lazily. He could just stay here, not get up; it’s not like he had anything important to do. But as much as he would like to disappear under his covers until his bones turned to dust, the idea only made him feel worse. Then again, someone once told him that it was good to breathe some fresh air when you’re upset, so maybe he should do that instead.

Dragging his feet, Jimmy left his bed and stepped outside, where a warm breeze awaited him. It wasn’t particularly refreshing; the sight of the blue walls surrounding Tumble Town gave him an ill feeling. Thankfully, it didn’t last long. It was replaced by confusion, for the horrible melody of a disjointed piano ringed across the valley.

“What in the world—”

Oh. Right.

If only for a moment, the thought of having a tavern bustling with people made him feel... less terrible. And although he knew that it wasn’t the case, that his town currently only had one citizen apart from himself, that was enough to pull him from his melancholic haze and towards the saloon.

He walked into the establishment to find the Old Sheriff predictably sat at the piano in the corner. His hat rested on top of the instrument, like the dear damsel to whom he was dedicating a song.

“Oh, there you are.” The old cowboy stopped his cacophony once he noticed the small figure by the door. “I was starting to wonder when you were coming back. Did you...” He eyed Jimmy up and down, “wrestle with your friends or something?”

All the tiny man could do, once again, was sigh. His face was probably still puffy from crying, and he guessed his wrinkled shirt and ruffled hair didn’t help giving off the most pristine of impressions.

“Or something,” he half-answered.

Without bothering to elaborate, he walked around the bar and opened one of the cabinets underneath. Behind a dozen or so empty bottles, there was still one with about three quarters of liquid left. Jimmy wasn’t one to drink often; he’d been keeping this last one around for special occasions, but he supposed it didn’t matter anymore.

The bottle was nearly as tall as he was. He dragged it all the way to one of the tables, which he climbed on top of before fighting to pour himself a shot glass. A few instants later, a larger cup tentatively appeared in front of him.

“Care to share?” The Old Sheriff asked, leaning against his table.

He nodded.

The two men drank next to each other without exchanging a word. The silence held a thin mental thread Jimmy was struggling not to snap. He didn’t know whether or not he was thankful when the Old Sheriff interrupted it:

“Your piano is out of tune.”

“What, is that supposed to be some kind of metaphor?” Jimmy’s intonation was flat, too tired to sort out any emotion to put into it. He tried not to think of a voice box. “Is there a second T in ‘respect’ now? For ‘tune’?”

“No, I mean literally. The piano’s out of tune.” The man gestured towards the instrument he had been playing.

“Oh.” The young sheriff awkwardly cleared his throat at that. “Um... I don’t really know how to tune it.”

“That’s fair enough, I don’t really know how to play it.”

With a shrug, the old man downed the rest of his drink, and was already pouring a new dose by the time Jimmy realised the corner of his mouth had raised the smallest amount. But that mild amusement quickly vanished, giving way to quietness once more. This one felt a bit too uncomfortable, staring at him as his mind continued to reel.

“It didn’t work out,” he murmured.

“Hm?”

“Your tips, the whole respect thing? Actually, I think they might respect me less now!” The tiny sheriff huffed, resting his head against the window behind him. Not that he thought it was possible for people to degrade him any more than they already did, but here they are.

“Huh. I dunno, maybe you just did it wrong. The R.E.S.P.E.C.T tactic has never failed me.” The Old Sheriff chuckled.

Jimmy couldn’t help but sigh yet again. He didn’t shout, didn’t splutter, didn’t even try to defend himself. You see, he wasn’t exactly angry. No, he had mellowed out for today. Staring down at his distorted reflection on the amber drink, he searched for a word that could describe this numbness; this burning sensation in his chest that made him look at the world around him with such disgust.

Hopelessness? Exhaustion?

“They killed me, you know?” He commented, then quietly added, “And they took my hat again.”

“Well, now that’s just rude!”

With a disappointed click of the tongue, his senior refilled Jimmy’s glass, despite it still being half full. He was already on this third cup himself; the bottle was significantly emptier.

Was that it? Disappointment? Disbelief?

“It’s not the first time, either.” Tim ran his hands through his hair in what could maybe be called exasperation. That still wasn’t it, though. “I’m really starting to think that I should... I don’t know, cut ties with them or— or maybe I should just leave. Find somewhere new to live. I can’t take this anymore, man.”

All he received in response was a soft hum. The past Sheriff stared at the wall somewhere above Jimmy, who wondered if he was even listening anymore.

“Tell you what,” the old man started a few moments later. “Why don’t you show me around them empires? I wanna see what’s changed. And if we happen to stumble upon any of those ‘friends’ of yours, we can show them what for, yeah?”

He blinked. Then he blinked again. And then he laughed, incredulous. His chest untightened the slightest amount.

“I— You— I mean, that— that sounds great, yeah! Sure!”

For the rest of the evening, Jimmy managed to push down the fog of that strange feeling by ranting to someone who would finally listen to him — more or less; he wasn’t sure the Old Sheriff was completely conscious by the time the moon was up. Something at the back of his mind told him not to get used to this by the time he went back home. It could always be a trick, a lie even. The irony of hoping that he could hope wasn’t lost on him.

And irony, much like everything else, would pull the rug from under him.

From the moment Fwhip saw the Old Sheriff and opened that cunning smile of his, he knew that the best of his bravado wouldn’t be enough. He would always fall back to bickering with his ex-deputy, whose verbal traps never failed to demean him. Oh, he tried so hard not to, but could he help it? Fwhip had the ease of pulling people in that Jimmy and his frantic arguments never would.

So maybe he should have listened to that thing at the back of his mind. At least he wouldn’t be surprised when his new partner got so quickly dissuaded from following him; wouldn’t bother going to Gobland or reminding them of his stance with Fwhip. It would certainly have spared him some heartache.

On the way to the goblin empire, the same jokes that had begun to cut so deep were laughed at. At the Drip, his inevitable boiling annoyance was taken advantage of. The slander went undefended and his call for assistance in the ensuing fight, unanswered. His possessions were teased out of his reach and given to a “real sheriff”. In the middle of all of this, his last ally, captured by Fwhip’s determination to take everything he could away from him, rubbed elbows with his enemies without giving him so much as a reassuring look. That’s when Jimmy finally realised what the feeling was.

Bitterness. Unrelenting, cold resentment.

Maybe he wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t commanding or assertive, nor was he easy to live with. Yes, Jimmy had a lot to learn, and he would. But he couldn’t fathom what could possibly made anyone deserving of such a world-shattering emotion. It was all so clear now, he didn’t have to put up with any of this! They don't get to do this to him over and over again!

This is bullshit.

And he’s done.

He didn’t even bother going back for his stuff when Fwhip killed him the second time. His armour, his tools, all of it was tainted with weakness and ridicule — he didn’t even have a badge or a hat to hand in anymore. In the end, there were very little items he cared to take with him.

The very same caravan he arrived in Tumble Town with was loaded by the time night had fallen. Norman had already leaped into the back without Jimmy needing to call him, and Bullseye was harnessed and ready to go. He briefly considered waiting for the Old Sheriff to return, but he didn’t think he could bear looking at the man at this point. By far, the biggest lesson he learned was that it wasn’t worth it getting attached.

Without anyone to say goodbye to, he left the empty silence of Tumble Town behind. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but the sheriff dream was gone — and so was Jimmy.

#Set right after walmart WRA killed Jimmy on the bridge #I like desperation #You go Tim. Find your true villain self out there #I have So Many Thoughts aaaaaa #(meant to post this days ago but I forgot oops-)#Red Light Bandit AU #Empires SMP #Empires season 2 #Solidarity Gaming #RLBAU #Don't Mind Me I'm Writing My Blorbos

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