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keeping-writing-frosty · 20 days ago

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At The End of a Warm Gun

Chapter Two - Bloody Noses Well-Earned

Close to O’Malley’s ranch, on the northern end where the green-yellow rolling hills split by a thin, lazy river where most of the local kids went to fish underneath the copse of bright-green catclaw trees. An old fisher’s shack, cock-eyed on its brick and wood foundation, acted as a bit of a get-away that all parents knew about but let the kids do what they wished with it. Where the school-mother and minister have set up a little reading nook, of which Alexandra and several others had taken to quite nicely. Even if she spent some time reading, most of her time was spent on Jacobson’s Rock.

Which was a giant boulder that jutted off the tallest hill just a short distance up the wagon-wheel jutted trail. At the top of the boulder was an ancient, gnarled oak tree where they used to hang criminals and wrong-does back before real law came to the county. There sat an old wooden cross at the edge of the ground and the rock, the painted-on words long faded to time many years ago.

This was where more of the older kids who were still too young for a job would spend a lot of time. Some of the boys would be down the hillside playing baseball or some other game, while other boys would challenge one another to climb to the top of the tree. Patrick Clarke had climbed into the tree this time, Alexandra gathered beside Sally Mae Stevenson and Maria Santos. All three covered in a faint layer of dirt and dust from the various games they had played since late in the morning. While a semi-circle of a half-dozen boys, three of them the Reynold boys—Joseph the oldest and most even-keel of them with Jackie as the middle child who always had something to prove, and Teddy seemed the most kind and caring of the three, especially toward animals, but wasn’t against egging on a situation when it wasn’t needed.

“Hey Pat!” Jackie called out as he attempted to start up the tree with the easy and obvious footholds. His sweat- and dirt-stained shirt tucked into his denim pants with its canvas patches to cover the numerous holes. “I can beat your ass to the top.”

Sally Mae tugged on the sleeve of Alexandra’s linen shirt. “Jackie’s going to bust his butt going up that tree.”

“He’s a fool,” Maria added, her tanned complexion had taken on a ruddy appearance from the sun that hung high above head. “Patrick at least has some type of coordination. Jack’s just going to fall and break his ass!”

A snicker ran through them. Joseph shouted up at his brother to come down, otherwise he’d whoop his butt, and he never said something he wouldn’t do. Which finally became enough for Jackie to stop, along with the fact he had no chance to actually beat Patrick in anything athletic. He was, after all, the most gifted physically of all the boys and a sight to look at for sure. Something that always caused Alexandra to bite her bottom lip and her heart to race when her eyes laid upon his shirtless form. Especially since Patrick hit a growth spurt over the last few months.

As the thirteen-year-old got to the higher branches of the ancient tree. Patrick seemed to hesitate when the narrower branches started to bend and bow just by trying to pull himself up. While the boys cheered him on, jeered Patrick when he hesitated, but egged him on. The girls, especially Alexandra, begged him to come down before he fell and broke something.

“Don’t be a bunch of sissies,” Jackie spat at the girls. “Who cares if he falls? He’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Teddy said as he drove the point of his elbow into the stomach of his elder brother. “I’ll push you off next time you go up if’n you are going to be like that.”

Joe stepped between the boys, but it just redirected Jackie. Like always, that redirection turned towards the girls. The same three girls his anger seemed to always focus on. Since they were little, Jackie had a thing about picking on and mocking Maria. His words were cutting, sharper than a knife, which caused worse wounds than any physical attack.

Jackie’s smirk belayed a devious intent. “What are you even doing here?” Wasn’t a question, more of an accusation. “You and Alexandra aren’t even welcome here. This is a Texan tree in a Texan town. This ain’t Mexico.”

“Oh, go bite off, Jack,” Alex spat back. “Maria’s people came here three hundred years ago or so. While my mother comes from the mighty Aztecs. This land is as much ours as it is the actual tribes here more than your white ass.”

“God be damned, we took this beautiful country fair and square. Even if Maria can claim some blood ties. What about you?” Jackie took a step toward the girl, who was just a hair taller than her. “Neither from here nor Ireland, eh? Your dad’s probably already dead in the dirt out there. Watson Boys strung ‘em up! Then what is your wetback mother going to do?”

As the teen spoke, his brothers tried to stop them, but when they spotted Alexandra balling up her firsts, both brothers took a step back.

Jackie couldn’t help himself as he prodded Alexandra more and more. “Are you even a girl? I bet you’re faking it. You look like a boy. Do you even have a, uh, a-“

“Do you even know what girls have?” Sally Mae interrupted; hand cocked on her hip.

“S-shut up! Of course I do. I’ve kissed a girl before.”

“You mother doesn’t count,” Maria added in, emboldened by the diatribe.

This caused Jackie’s face to light up a bright red as all those gathered round laughed at the man.

“You bitch, spic-ass-“ Jackie was cut off by the fist of Alexandra connecting solidly with the bridge of his nose. Then another to his jaw, and before anyone could even react, he was piled in a heap.

Everyone stood aback and watched the scene unfold as Alexandra yelled and unloaded kicks to the boy’s back, legs, stomach until Joseph and Teddy grabbed her. She jerked back but was held in place by Patrick.

“Aye, girl, you got him and proved your point. Nary a thing else you need to do,” his voice calmed a bit of the rage inside of her.

Alex looked at the quivering teenager on the ground, who is being roundly mocked by his brothers while also being helped up. A stiff wind blew through the area, which caused the leaves above her head to dance and twirl. Everyone else disappeared for just the briefest of moments as Alexandra’s bronze skin lit up in a warm crimson.

“Thank you,” was all Alex could croak out before she turned on her heel and stomped back up the trail toward that old fisher’s cabin.

Where past a young mesquite, and under the heavy shade of a linden tree, sat Kelly his nose buried deep in The Small House at Allington. When Alexandra sat beside him, he asked, “what was all the commotion up there?”

“I adjusted Jackie,” Alex replied plainly. “Wish I could fix ‘em completely. At least his brothers aren’t pieces of shit.”

“He’s such a waster,” Kelly said but didn’t look up from the pages of his book.

As they sat there Alexandra watched as a single lonely cloud drifted on the azure sky above, much like what she imagined a giant ship on some distant ocean. The breeze would slow and stop occasionally, but it seemed to blow almost continuously. It brought with it the smell of the wild, earthy grass and of the herbs and wildflowers that dotted around the landscape.

Tears fought on the edges of her eyes to be released and flow down her cheeks, but she couldn’t do it. Just in case Jackie saw her, she didn’t care much what the others thought about her. Still, like mother told her, Alex stuffed her emotions back down, and the day returned to its usual routine.

By the time the sun started its descent toward the horizon, Kelly and Alexandra walked back to town. Down the dirt path, along the side with just the two of them. An occasional wagon or rider trotted by with smiles and questions if the pair wanted a ride back to town. Which Alex would always decline with a smile and a polite word.

“Can we stop for a moment?” Kelly asked as they crested over one last hill with the entirety of Dry Rock before them.

She looked at the town for a moment, once a tiny trading post, now had turned into a bustling little village. Which the incoming railroad tracks and station being built on the outskirts of town gave a promise of future prosperity. For a moment her thoughts drifted to her father, this was the life that he wanted to give both Kelly and herself, and by indirect extension, everyone else here. No longer a land of lawlessness, at least that’s the promise.

“Are you sure, Kelly? We’re almost back.” Alexandra just wanted to get back. A soft growling came from her stomach. “I’ll get you a sweet roll if you can just tough it out, okay?”

With a deep breath, Kelly nodded. “Okay, just this sun is something fierce today. The walk just tires me out.”

“I know. I’ll carry you if it gets too bad, okay?”

Kelly laughed. “You can’t lift me.”

“Want to place a bet on it?” Alexandra goaded her older brother, before she feinted a grab at him.

That forced Kelly to jump back before he laughed and ran off towards town. Which spurred on a good-natured game of tag. Where when Alexandra would get close, and often she would with her longer stride, and out of good sportsmanship she would let him get ahead of her and never truly being able to catch him. It was a good way to get him to move and push toward town. Alex was really hungry.

Dry Rock used to a small collection of wood houses and shacks that supplied settlers heading further out west as well as hunters and the few homesteads out on the prairies and plains of northwestern Texas and what is now the Oklahoma territory. Alexandra heard stories of the town back when it was formed, however, her experiences have been with the ever expanding and growing town. Where the ranchers and farmers had grown up around the town, and new homesteaders cropped up every other day.

With hard orange-red dirt pounded down flat from all the people who have walked, wagoned, and rode across it, the main road went down the middle of Dry Rock. Though not as large as buildings she had seen in artistic renditions and imagined when she read, yet she still loved walking by the tall two- and three-story buildings. From the general trader, Sally Mae’s father Gustav and her brothers ran the store, and the whole familiar lived on the third floor above the storage area. To the saloon, of which the pair of children headed off to for their delicious food, more specifically the little tartlets that Miss Julia baked every morning and sold throughout the day.

To the twelve-year-old’s eyes the saloon seemed the fanciest place that Alexandra could ever see. With the various paintings on the wall that depicted the beauty of the western frontier; from a scene of wild buffalo being chased by natives on horseback to some picturesque waterfall off in California so many days away. All hung and covered jade green wallpaper kept in the most meticulous of conditions. A player piano off in the corner played a tune seemingly at all hours. Though the place was nice, well-maintained, and upkept well, the patrons varied as much as those that came through Dry Rock.

When Kelly and Alexandra entered the Dust and Dirt Saloon, that familiar aroma of freshly-cooked food which intermingled with the persistent smell of alcohol that scrunched up Alex’s slightly-upturned nose, tinged with the perfumes of the various working women that called the saloon home. A rather well-dressed woman in a fine silken red dress trimmed with black sat at a large mahogany table with a cigarette between her full, pale red lips. Deep, dark blue eyes peered at Alexandra, and she couldn’t figure out if the older woman was sizing her up or looking at her as if she was a bug to be squashed. Madame Rose wielded power and influence with those who truly control the area, father said no one should get on her bad side. So, Alexandra gave the woman a warm smile, and it was returned in kind.

“Ah, the Sullivan children once again,” a large, bearded man with a sizable gut and more gray than brown in his facial hair said in a voice deeper than any water well yet warmer than the summer’s sun. “A couple of tarts?”

Kelly nodded far too enthusiastically, to the point that Alexandra wanted to laugh at him, but he didn’t deserve that. “Yes, please.”

“Two ciders, as well, sir,” Alexandra added as she pulled out a dime and two pennies.

“No, no,” the man said with a shake of his giant head. “It’s on me and the missus this time. What your father is doing? It’s a real service to Dry Rock and every other town, ranch, farmstead, what-have-you. A God-fearing man doing God’s work.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cooper.” Kelly climbed onto one of the bar stools, a large smile stuck to his face.

Once done with the buttery pastries and the slightly alcoholic cider, the two wished the man goodbye. As they needed to head home for whatever last chore mother might need done. That the sun which once hung high in the air, drifted about a third of the way toward the horizon. Casting ever-longer shadows like dark fingers that spread across Dry Rock.

“Shit,” Alex cursed as she quickened her pace toward home. “Mother ain’t going to be happy with us.”

Kelly shrugged his thin shoulders. “Probably, but we got free tarts, and Jackie got a broken nose. Mother will understand.”

A wry smile brightened Alexandra’s features. “I can’t wait to see him in the schoolhouse tomorrow. He’s going to be so pissed.”

This made her brother’s smile grow lazy. “I wish I could’ve seen that.”

#writeblr #writing community #creative writing #western #queer fiction #stories #chapter two #writers #authors #writers of tumblr #authors of tumblr

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kisnin · 1 year ago

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"Simple" does not mean "crappy".

Just cause you have a sword and I a club, does not mean I'm not capable of beating the living SHIT out of you.

This kinda a callout to people who write about improvised weapons/simple weapons in a negative light.

Good example: Pitchfork. It's a farm tool and it has some SHARP AS FUCK points to it. In steady hands, it can be an excellent weapon. You can use it as a spear/short pike. You can whack people with it cause it's got good weight. You can even give someone the catclaw treatment XXL with the tines by slashing. You can catch weapons in it and spin them out of an opponents hands.

Another example: javelin. They're simple to make but are devastating. You will rarely survive a clean hit from any sort of throwing spear.

Examples continued: sticks and rocks. Never underestimate the effectiveness of beating someone over the head with a stick or slamming a rock into their chest. Even good armor will have issues against shear concussion force. Or, employ the rock via sling. Or just drop it on them from high up.

Another thing to mention is bronze weapons. Bronze is in many ways an excellent material. While it doesn't have the hardness of iron or steel, it's still capable of fucking someone up. Bronze can also, despite popular opinion, be hardened. This is done by working the material with a hammer, causing the crystalline structure to compress, short explanation. While this still doesn't have the same hardness of hardened iron or steel, it dramatically increases the durability of the piece.

Whatsmore, many writers, historians, and such have a very "civilocentric" (which is a word I pulled out of my ass, but I will define as... uh. I need a language expert @mommalosthermind, I apologize for name dropping but you seem to have a grasp of this based on your blog) view of history, and often weapons.

IE: a sword (or other object) has to be metal.

It don't. There are WORLDS of cultures (not just non-western ones, though they are really easy to use. I'd draw your attention to the celts and Germans but that would mean I'd have to get out my notes from HS and extended education so well skip that.) WHERE SWORDS ARE NOT METAL. Take a trip down to the Kiwiville Before the Tommies (New Zealand, and brevities sake Polynesia) and you'll find any manner of examples in many different materials ranging from the possibly impractical (shark tooth) to the downright terrifying (sharpened fucking WOOD) that sit in the category of a sword.

Or we could take a trip across the pacific (or just far south for me) to Mexico, where the Aztecs and other cultures used obsidian blades glued to wooden paddles to achieve an effect something between a sawblade, cleaver, and club. Said weapons were VERY effective, and in some cases may have even destroyed European swords in action.

In similar style there's also evidence that atleast one person naped some flint into a blade shape, and the glued it to some backing. They then probably became the single most stabby motherfucker on the block (flint wounds are fucking terrifying, cause they often come with a serrations status effect).

To conclude this rant.

There is an entire wide world of THINGS to use. ANYTHING is a narrativly possible and reasonable weapon.

#i rant on the can #young man yells at confused writers for no reason more at 8 #my fuckin foot in it #history: its not just for funny suit people with shiny paper #source: my ephemeral bussy #fite me

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bignaz8 · 2 years ago

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East Boulder Canyon as the very last rays of sun strike Weavers Needle. Wildflowers are still blooming in the Superstition Mountains Arizona as temperatures climb into the 90s here. Catclaw Acacia, Prickly Pear cactus, and Verbena flowers all share the magnificent view. Weavers Needle was named after Pauline Weaver, an early mountain man here in the wilderness. The needle is perhaps the most iconic and most photographed landmark in the mountains and is the remnant core of an extinct volcano.

#arizona #superstition mountains #weavers needle #spring

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vanilla-cigarillos · 2 years ago

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Rootwork Amulets

When you get into the intermediate sector of rootwork (A.K.A. Conjure, Hoodoo), you’ll begin seeing amulets. These amulets are typically small and are meant to either attract or dispel chosen intentions/impacts with the wearer.

They are typically made from natural materials (preserved animal parts, plants, bones, stones, etc).

Ankh Amulet

Probably one of the most popular you’ve seen, the Ankh amulet is meant to represent both the masculine and feminine energies as well as everlasting life. It is also believed by some to represent everlasting life, others believing that when used properly it can help to protect against disease.

Other Amulets

While amulets can genuinely be made from just about anything, there are a few common examples that you’ll probably start noticing once you begin to look. Some of these examples include:

Alligator foot (good luck with money)

Crossbones (absorbs negative energy)

Catclaw (draws power)

Rabbit foot (fertility/good luck)

Wishbone (good luck/wishes)

#conjure #rootwork #conjure magic #conjure woman #hoodoo #southern #witch #witchcraft #culture

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shaanks · 1 year ago

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need to put those lil rubber beans made 4 catclaws onto sukuna,as punishment

category 5 pouting and sulking event incoming if you cover up his nice manicure that way lmfaooo

#av answers #ask #answered #anonymous #Sukuna

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tamagofried · 1 year ago

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⤅ CatClaw . do not edit or logo crop

(HQ: 1 - 2)

#ive #liz #hq #fs:catclaw #211211

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luasworkshop · 2 years ago

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(Cribbing this format for my Arcana self-insert from Yeshe @the-iron-orchid)

Name: Coral Alice McCarty

Pronouns: She/Her will have to do

Gender: Uh. Hm.

Age: Late-30s

Occupation: Cheesemonger by day, artist by night, dreams of little fishes

Nationality: A mess, just Vesuvian for sake of ease

Favorite Food: Fried Shrimp

Favorite Drink: Cucumber Melon Soda

Favorite Animal: MANY (but especially cats, sharks, marine isopods, birds, hagfish, octopus, horses, bees, snakes...)

Favorite Color: Green

Favorite Flower: Wysteria

Major Arcanum: Justice (how’s that neurodivesity workin’ for you, buddy.)

Minor Arcanum: Queen of Wands

Fun Facts:

Managed to avoid the plague, but suffered not one but two major medical crises during it. Survived ok, but feels real REAL weird about it.

Is reasonably artistically skilled, but struggles making a living at it due to just… not having any concentration for any one thing or another. Keeps at it for fun and occasional profit but without consistency. Jack of all trades, master of none, but still better than a master of one. Has done some real weird/cool commissions.

Would have liked a scientific career, but further education was a bit of a disaster and it’s too much to try again (mentally, emotionally, financially.)

Knows a lot about food, theater, art, architecture, animals, the ocean, and won’t shut up once going. Can come across opinionated or bossy but is usually just excited and eager to share.

Fell into chesemongering by chance, but enjoys it and keeps it up in lieu of many many other things that haven’t played out. It works, it’s fun, it’ll do. Makes a great shark coochie board.

Owns a storefront but doesn't manage or run it – focuses on buying and supplying and being the ‘face’ for large suppliers and buyers and deals with catering and party planning, but does step in to do anything else in a pinch. Didn’t found the business either – took over from previous owners by chance (just worked up the ladder,) which is why management is it’s own hired entity.

Parents are still around and live close to the border of the Catclaw Desert North of Vesuvia, near the ocean, but aren’t from there. Both spent years working in Prakra as architects (although they aren’t natives there either.) Massive inferiority complex next to parents who are loving but distant.

Needs glasses to see distance, and to see in dark situations.

Associates:

The Brewer (Husband and Closest Friend)

Yeshe, The Temple Painter (Friend and Conspirator)

The Bouncer (Friend)

Lua & Aleis (Friends, Buyers)

Asra Alnazar (Buyer)

Count Lucio (Frequent Buyer and Occasional Arts Patron, Unfortunately)

Nadia Satrinava (Frequent & Bulk Buyer)

Evander Murena (Frequent & Bulk Buyer)

Aiello Family (Antony’s Family – Suppliers (Dried Fruit, Nuts, etc.))

Conti Estate (Liliana’s Family – Buyers)

Valerius’ Estate (Bulk Buyer)

More TBD!

Quotes:

“What are you gonna do? Get a horrible butt disease???”

“There’s some people who don’t like spiders who like other things...”

“Cheese isn’t lube.”

#Not really married to the name yet #Still feeling this idea out #But I want to play too!#Coral #Self-Insert #Cheesemonger #I know the glasses look too modern #might fix that in another pass

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