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gentlemancrow · 3 years ago

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idk if you’re still taking requests so no pressure but maybe jmart 18 about jon’s scars? or,,, honestly however you wanna interpret that lol

Hehe bet you thought you weren't getting one. But of COURSE you're getting one! <3 HERE YOU GO!! Sorry it is late I am not a fast writer haha! This was a VERY interesting one to interpret and I got a little wonky and metaphysical there for a bit WHICH I LOVE and THE IDEA MIGHT HAVE BEEN A BIT LONG FOR A DRABBLE BUT! It's soft and I'm soft and I enjoyed this one SO SO MUCH ; w ; I hope you do too!!

Jon had Seen enough. Martin had decided that long ago. He had witnessed enough, been forced to witness enough, been the vessel into which literally everything had funneled into in an unrelenting typhoon of unspeakable, unfathomable horrific knowledge comprehensible only to him long enough that he damn well deserved the luxury of imperception. He had earned the right to not notice when Martin accidentally bought the wrong brand of chai, the one he insisted tasted like someone rubbed a stick of cinnamon on plasterboard and jammed it in a cardamom pod, but honestly tasted just like the one he preferred. The universe, whichever one they happened to be in now, owed him not realizing the buttons on his cardigan were one off until they were about to head out and Martin had to fix them, fingers humming with the warmth of him lingering in the cashmere every time. He deserved to forget his keys and then also have to go back to check that their flat door was locked twice, just to be sure. He deserved tossing cabbage in the trolley at the market, only to get home and realize it was a head of iceberg lettuce instead, and also he had completely forgotten the onion anyway so back he would have to go. Tiny and insignificant, patently human foibles that any normal person might tally up to a really rotten day overall and gripe about over a glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pape he had won as gleaming, pyrrhic badges on the ruins of his humanity yanked back from the claws of the yawning, devouring dark matter of the cosmos and stitched painstakingly back together with love.

But mostly Jon deserved to not notice the way people looked at him.

He need not see the painted-on expressions of strangers that ran the gamut from quiet pity, to voyeuristic curiosity, to outright revulsion that Martin could not help but see everywhere they went. They had no idea. Not even the slightest inkling of what, exactly, had composed that magnum opus of horror and pain scarred resplendently on his flesh, his bones, his sinews and synapses. To even try know was to go mad, the mind looping through and around and between consciousness and logic and love and fear and philosophy and metacognition until it squeezed into an ouroboros black hole singularity of dense unknowing that collapsed in on itself and perished in cataclysm. They had merely gotten lucky that being extruded through the plumbings of creation seemed to straighten out their fibers enough to be woven back into the fabric of reality, but they were too kinked and snagged and gnarled to ever lay fully flat again. And that was why they stared.

The invasive beings of Jon and Martin had come to mutual terms with it long ago, but they also knew they would be forever incongruous with an innocent world, with a world where they did not belong and that collectively looked at them both like an ontological cancer, benign but festering and ugly. They would never know the thing that crouched behind the stars with pointed knees and elbows that even then, groped to find their new world in the lightless vast, and Jon deserved to not perceive any hints of that either. He deserved their quiet, their peace, their wordless human acceptance.

Jon deserved to be innocently chewing a periwinkle-painted thumbnail in front of the ice cream counter, just as he was that gossamer spring afternoon, turning woeful and forever mismatched brown and green eyes at his husband and asking if he should get mint chip or rum raisin before deciding, actually, could he have a sample of the salted caramel ribbon first? He pointed eagerly at the various frozen tubs behind the glass with his gnarled right hand, where the fingers never did quite open or close properly again, and missed in his wonderment at the veritable cornucopia of sweet delights available to him the mingled look of pity and horror on the cashier’s face as she doled out samples at his request. Martin lurked protectively behind, silent, sentinel, seeing it all, a hot brand of fury boring its way through his chest as he glared icy blue daggers at the clueless young woman, who only compounded her crimes by complimenting the permanent white forelock in his ginger curls as she took his order.

Martin snatched his double scoop of rocky road and pralines and cream out of her hand with a withering scowl and said nothing. Jon, frowning in the dread shadow of Martin’s hushed wrath and finally deciding on just the mint chip, took it upon himself to pay while the poor young woman skirted around both their gazes. They took their ice cream to enjoy in the balmy sun on the metal patio tables outside the shop under a cloud of unspoken insults and slander which Jon was more than happy to pop open the conversational umbrella beneath before the downpour.

“Something wrong?” he asked solicitously.

“Nope. I’m fine,” came the curt answer, suspiciously also lacking in eye contact as Martin stabbed his pink spoon into the rocky road.

Jon’s mismatched eyes narrowed shrewdly. There was one thing that never escaped his notice, even now, and that was the painfully obvious way Martin always broadcast his inner hurts and the physical language of his turmoil he had become fluent in over the years.

“Okay, yes you are probably fine. And I’m guessing it has nothing to do with you actually, because you’re angry and you rarely get angry on your own behalf, which means it’s probably something to do with me or some perceived slight. What happened in there? Did someone make a snide remark about my eccentric ice cream selection? The long skirt on a warm spring day? Oh, no, I’ve got it. It was probably the earrings, yes? I knew I should have gone with the feathers instead of hoops, matches the outfit much better.”

The corner of Martin’s mouth quirked up in a hapless, crooked smile as Jon coaxed a laugh out of him, and he looked up into his gaze adoringly to grant him unspoken conciliation.

“No, no not at all. Nothing like that. It’s nothing, love. It’s not a big deal. Just low blood sugar or something. Just eat your nasty mint chip or rum raisin or whatever that unholy concoction is,” Martin snorted, gesturing at his cup.

“Liar,” Jon crooned with loving reproachment, reaching out to thumb a little bit of rum raisin on the tip of Martin’s nose as punishment.

Even breathed with such unfettered, undying affection, Martin hated that word. He hated how transparent he still was to the man he loved, how much he still truly saw him, saw through him. At least all it took to compel him now was a little melted ice cream rubbed clean off his nose and a winsome smile with love-puddled green and brown eyes.

“Okay, okay… fine,” he admitted with a resigned smirk and a sigh, “I don’t like the way they look at you. Okay? That’s all.”

Jon’s brow knitted together curiously.

“Hmm? Who? What do you mean?” he asked.

“Everyone!” Martin finally effused in frustration, “Everywhere! They look at you like you’re… like you’re damaged goods! Like you’re some pitiful beaten animal on the street, or worse, like you’re some sort of- some sort of um…”

“…Monster?” supplied Jon, lips pursed and lids drooping.

“…I wasn’t going to say that,” Martin stammered.

“What other word is there?”

“Fine, they look at you like you’re a monster. They take one look at your face or your throat or your… your hand. And I can just see it on their faces. They look at you like you’re a monster, and I hate it. You don’t deserve that. You never did! They don’t even know you! They don’t know what happened to you…! And sorry, Jon, but I get angry about it because it’s not fair, and I can’t exactly go about lobbing right hooks into the faces of everyone who even looks at you cross-eyed, now can I? Much as I’d like to��"

Jon went quiet as he listened, dabbling first in the rum raisin, then indulging in a little mint chip chaser, cocking his head to the side thoughtfully as he nibbled on the plastic spoon.

“Is that what you see?”

The color rolled out from Martin’s freckled cheeks along with the very spirit from his eyes in a fog, his entire mien awash in pallor.

“What? How could you say that to me? I would NEVER think that about you, Jon! How could you ever think I would think that? I-I know I said some awful things in the past about your scars, but I-“

“No no! Martin, no! Of course not! I know you would never!” Jon cut in, reaching across the table to snatch his hand and squeeze it reassuringly, rubbing his knuckles and over his wedding ring, “You misunderstand! I was asking if that’s what you see in their eyes?”

Martin clung to Jon’s hand, heart palpitating and breath easing.

“Oh…” he blurted dumbly, flushing with lively hues of reds and golds once more, “I-? Of course I do, what else could it be?”

“I don’t see that. I don’t see that at all,” Jon answered simply, “It’s… hard to describe but, damaged goods, disgust, morbid curiosity, those are all… Hard things. They have sharp edges. And when people here look at me, I don’t feel anything hard or sharp, it feels… soft? It feels gentle.”

Shaking his head, Martin frowned.

“Gentle? How is openly gawking at someone’s scars in any way gentle?”

“It’s just a feeling I have. I suppose,” Jon mused, thumbing at his beard with his free hand as he constructed an analogy that would make sense in his mind, “Mmm… Think of it like this. Humans, life, we’re all very visually oriented creatures, right? We respond to visual cues in our environments that are universally understood. We wear these rings so that everyone knows we belong together, just the same as bright colors usually mean poison, or how specialized feathers, or horns, or dewlaps and the like let others know they’d be a good mate, or how some things look like eyes or like entirely different creatures to scare off predators, and so on.”

The creases in Martin’s forehead only deepened in confusion.

“Okay sure, but scars aren’t a natural adaptation? We don’t look at scars the same way we look at pretty eyes on a moth wing or something.”

“I know that, that’s not what I’m saying,” Jon reiterated tenderly, “What I’m saying is I’ve always felt like my scars are a visual cue, but one that says to others ‘treat me gently’, because clearly I haven’t been. And it’s… well it’s been quite nice. You were about to tear that poor girl’s head off, but didn’t you see how she not only gave me about six samples when the sign clearly said two per customer, but then she also gave me the rum raisin ‘by mistake’ and then conveniently forgot to charge for it?”

“Wh-did she?” Martin gasped in shock, rewinding the transaction to remember that indeed, Jon had only asked for mint chip, but there was clearly also a generous scoop of rum raisin in his cup, ”She did… No I… I guess I didn’t notice…”

Jon let Martin’s hand go to cup his cheek pointedly in his scarred palm, running his thumb over the soft curve of his cheek and the spray of his ruddy freckles comfortingly.

“You want to know what I think? I think what you perceive as disgust or aversion or even pity is just fear, like you had. Fear of pain, fear of disfigurement, of fallibility. People are always afraid of seeing what can become of their mortal bodies, but that has nothing to do with me, or being disgusted by me. People are, at their cores, good and gentle, Martin. I know they are, we both do. They see me, my cane, my limp, my hand, my gray hair, my face, and they don’t even ask, they just know, on some primal level, that life was not kind to me. And so in some tiny way, like free rum raisin, they almost always try to give something back to me.”

Jon had known. He had noticed. It had never escaped his perception as Martin had assumed. Jon had known all along, but it was only Martin who still saw daggers in the smiles of strangers while he had taken the last vestiges of his powers irrevocably branded on his body and soul and sowed something delicate and beautiful and blossoming in his new earth. Martin had made a weapon. Perhaps no less delicate and beautiful, but still cold and sharp and deadly. The razor white edge of the sun through frigid fog.

“I’m so sorry, Jon,” Martin choked, his throat pinching shut with the threat of tears, “I-I had no idea…. I-I only thought…”

“It’s alright, please don’t cry, darling, you have nothing to be sorry for. I understand. You only thought you were protecting me. I protected you for so long, when you were desperate to do the same for me, to save me, but had no power to do either. Now you’ve got your turn to do the protecting in earnest, and honestly, it’s a… can I- can I say hot? Can I say it’s a hot look on you? Or is that weird?” Jon asked, tips of his ears blushing coyly.

Martin managed a laugh as he sniffed back the tears and thumbed both sets of lashes dry under his spectacles.

“It’s a little weird for you, in particular, to say it, just because it’s you. But I’ll take it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Perhaps then, Martin thought as Jon leaned over their whimsical little metal table outside an ice cream parlor by a park with a striped canopy above them and birds singing and kissed his tears away and then kissed his lips into a smile, that sharp things needn’t always be weapons. Perhaps his sword was, in reality, a spade, or a hoe, something to tend and nurture the new and fragile happiness Jon had tilled. Gentle things deserved gentle protection, and he was still going to devote every iota of his being to protecting Jon until the end of their days. After all, as they finally got to enjoy their slightly melted ice cream, Jon still dribbled a bit of rum raisin down his beard and carried on none the wiser. Martin let him go on like that, blissfully unaware, talking about Polyphemus moths and the myth of the cyclops and something about someone going about as Nobody, until he finally reached out with a napkin to attentively wipe it away.

Other than a gracefully paced ‘oh, thank you dear,’ Jon never missed a beat.

#The Magnus Archives #TMA #JonMartin #Jmart #Fan fic #Crow Writes #Ask Drabble #Fricklefracklefloof

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elizacornwall · 4 years ago

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Vengeance is an Idiot’s Game - Chapter 20 - Of Sheep and Wolves

Read all the published chapters here.

-------------------------------------------------- Camp was quiet over the next couple days. With Javier gone there was no more guitar play, only the rare tunes of a banjo played by Uncle. He was an old, fat man, not unkind, but Eliza couldn’t really see why Dutch kept him around, lazing about all day. But then again so did the Reverend, and she had never questioned him either. Rising before everyone else had become somewhat of a habit to her, brewing the first pot of coffee and sitting by the drop, staring over the landscape. She enjoyed the peacefulness and solitude of the early mornings, filled with birdsong and often the bark of coyotes nearby. The canines had scared her at first, but after Arthur had lent her some binoculars to watch a pack at play, she decided they were more like dogs than wolves and grew to like them. He had sometimes sat with her in these early mornings, in quiet companionship, admiring the valley until Dutch or some other person called for him to send him off on some task. His company was much preferred to Dutch’s, Eliza wasn’t much of a talker this early in the day and that man could do her head in with his endless stream of words. This morning was no different, she sat cross legged with the hot brew in her hands taking in the scenery, the sun rising slowly behind her. She wondered how long the boys would be out. Hosea had mentioned it was only supposed to be a short mission, but what did she know about how much time ‘short’ typically meant. She surprised herself by realising she was worried. Not so much about Charles maybe, he was always good to her and of course she would be concerned about his safety, but about Arthur and Javier. Laughing quietly to herself, she supposed their good traits outweighed them kidnapping her. Turning at the sound of footsteps, she saw Tilly heading towards her, her hair dishevelled, rubbing the sleep out of her dark brown eyes.

“Miss Grimshaw is up early today, she says we need some supplies from town. You comin’ with us?” Yawning, she stopped next to Eliza, peering down to the river. “I’ll never understand why you’re about so early, starin’ out there. The view’s really the same every day”, she said, a bored tone in her voice. Eliza chuckled. “Well, there’s different animals about every day, but I see your point.” She got to her feet, finishing the rest of her coffee. A trip to town got her excited, she hadn’t been there yet herself. “Valentine, is it? Let me just change into something fitting to present myself to the outside world.” She was only wearing a light cardigan over her night gown, while that wouldn’t draw any looks here in camp, she highly doubted that would be the same with strangers. “Are we riding there?” “Heavens, no! We’ll take the carriage, much easier to load up on supplies. Sadie’s comin’ too, she said she had some errands to run.” The two girls walked back into camp where they parted. Back at her cot Eliza chose a light blue skirt and a simple white shirt, looking decent but not too flamboyant. She had her fill of fancy clothes in her life and preferred the simple elegance. That was, when she wasn’t wearing trousers. Now that she had her own pair, scavenged out of the delivery Arthur and her had stolen, she had altered them to fit nicely. Growing ever more used to wearing them, she enjoyed the freedom they provided. She met up with the other girls at the wagon, missing Molly and Abigail as it was custom by now. Sadie had already been preparing the horses when Eliza changed into her town getup, and waved at her now as she approached. She had her repeater strapped to her back and a revolver on either side of her hips, carrying them with such casual ease, Eliza couldn’t help but admire it. Mary-Beth was talking to Miss Grimshaw and going through the list of items to get with her whilst Karen and Tilly sat on the back of the wagon, both looking equally tired and disgruntled at this early start of their day. Sadie checked in with the old woman, reassuring her she’d take good care of her girls before hopping onto the driver’s seat, patting the bench next to her and looking at Eliza invitingly. “You gonna join me up here or you wanna ride with the kids in the back?” She joked, ignoring Karen’s grumbled retort, and smiled wide as the younger woman lifted herself up to take the shotgun seat. The horses were trodding on the narrow path through the trees and Mary-Beth was going through the list in her hand again, organising who would get what. She was very practically inclined and Eliza liked the rational approach she had to her chores, always trying to be as efficient as possible. “I’ll head to the doctor’s office to get the medicinal supplies, Karen and Tilly, would you mind getting the general store items? We need a ton of food and one pair of hands ain’t gonna be enough to load it onto the wagon. Eliza, Miss Adler, could you head to the gunsmith to pick up the ammunition on here?” She had carefully torn the list into three pieces, handing them out to the respective groups. Eliza glanced at hers with a light frown. Sadie steered the horse to the left as she drove out of the woods under an arch formed by a collapsed tree. “Don’t you worry Mary-Beth, we’ll get you all of them things. Just make sure ya ain’t gonna get into trouble, I don’t want to cause a ruckus if I ain’t have to!” Sadie’s tone was cheery, but she shot a warning look over her shoulder. Eliza thought it was especially directed at Karen, but wasn’t sure. The blonde girl sneered. “Oh sure, we ain’t gonna cause no trouble. Can’t promise trouble won’t find us though, usually does.” Sadie gave an exasperated sigh. “Better hope it don’t this time”, she murmured, but didn’t press the matter any further. Soon the first buildings came into view and the putrid smell of cattle filled their noses. Sadie noticed Eliza half choking, and grinned. “Yeah, it smells like a field of flowers, don’t it! It’s a livestock town, ain’t gonna get any better as we get close.” She

had slowed the horses down to a trot approaching the railroad by the station, and got them to a walk. Eliza was eyeing up the sheep perched in their pens, there must be at least a few dozen. There were people around, throwing the odd curious glance at their little troop, but apart from a few “Good mornin’”s, there wasn’t much reaction from the locals. It was all so exciting for her, after having spent the better part of the last few weeks amidst the same twenty people, barely leaving the clearing on the cliff. The wagon headed up a gentle slope between some wooden houses and turned left down the main street. It was early and there wasn’t much activity to be seen, but Eliza didn’t mind and stared at the buildings with wide eyes. Sadie halted the horses in front of the general store and dismounted from her seat. Eliza followed her but pulled her mouth into a grimace as her feet sank a good inch into the mud, dirtying her shoes and the hem of her skirt. The three girls in the wagon got up and clambered down, Tilly groaning about the bumpy ride. “Alright then ladies, let’s get this over with. We wanna make this quick so we don’t keep old Grimshaw waitin’”, Sadie announced. Karen and Tilly headed into the store, whilst Mary-Beth, Sadie and herself walked up the street where they came from, parting at the end. The two women entered the gunsmith to their right. The man behind the counter looked up from the rifle he was polishing, his eyebrows raised. “Can I help you ladies?” His eyes trailed down Sadie, lingering on the revolvers at her hip and on her trousers. “We’re here to get some cartridges”, Eliza said quickly, walking up to the counter and placing the list in front of him. Sadie wasn’t looking too impressed with his blatant staring, and she wanted to avoid an argument. “Could you get all of this for us?” His eyes fixated on her now, narrowing slightly. After a pause, he nodded. “Sure, just one moment.” He took the piece of paper and turned, carefully selecting cardboard boxes of bullets in various different sizes and shapes from the drawers in the closets. Eliza’s eyes fell on the big cat at the right end of the room, mounted motionless and looking very real. She shuddered. The man stacked up the boxes on the counter, doublechecking the list and nodding to himself. “Here, that’s all of them. Anything else she I can help you with today?” She began to shake her head, when Sadie spoke up. “Actually, there is somethin’. Have you got a revolver and gunbelt for my friend here? She needs somethin’ to protect herself.” Eliza’s eyes widened, she stared at Sadie in shock. “Sadie, I- I don’t have the money to pay for this!” The blonde met her eyes, and only shook her head, a corner of her lips lifted into a sly smile. “Take it as payback for my... Uuuh... Improved accommodations.” The store owner just looked between them, his eyes narrowing even further as Sadie winked at him. He sighed. “Of course, give me one moment. I might have something in the back.” He headed out of the room and Sadie pulled up a stack of dollar bills, looking over the interior. Eliza’s gaze still rested on her. “What?” She said, her smile widening, but she didn’t take her eyes off the rifles behind the counter. She tried to find the right words, wanting to explain that she never owned a gun and probably couldn’t even shoot it, but decided against it. It would mean she had to show weakness again. “I… Thanks, Sadie.” Eliza sighed, defeated. “My pleasure. Did ya see that big ugly cougar there in the corner?” She pointed at the cat she was looking at a moment ago. “Nasty beasts. Don’t know why anyone would wanna keep one of them lookin’ as if it’s gonna jump at ya.” She shook her head and Eliza giggled in agreement. The man reemerged from the back room, a dark leather belt and holster in one, a small revolver in the other hand. “I got a Smith & Wesson here, they’re small and easy to use. That any good?” He was looking at Eliza, and she looked at Sadie in turn. “As long as it’s shootin’ bullets, I don’t care what you give ‘er. We’ll take

it.” The clerk was adding up the numbers on his abacus and Sadie counted the dollar bills, handing him the right amount. He nodded and packed up the items in newspaper. The two women took their leave, carrying the supplies out of his shop. They arrived at the wagon where Mary-Beth was just carefully stowing away the crate of tonics and tinctures she had gotten from the doctor’s office and smiled at them, as they approached. “I’ll go help Karen and Tilly, they’re almost done in there.” Sadie placed the ammunition on the wagon and stowed the wrapped means of self defence away safely. An idea sprung to Eliza’s mind. “Would it be too much to ask for some change? I’d like to buy a paper, a boy was selling them next to the gunsmith”, she remembered. Sadie turned, confused. “The paper? Hosea run out of books for you to read?” She shook her head in disbelief but handed her some coins anyway. “I’ll come with ya, makin’ sure no one ain’t up to no good ‘round you.” The two headed back up the road, Sadie hung back in front of the gunsmith, while Eliza purchased The New Hanover Gazette, startling the poor boy with her polite conversation. She tucked it into a pocket of her skirt and was on her way back to join up with Sadie as one of the men on the porch next to her stood up and approached, slowly eyeing up the taller woman. “Oy, lady. Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Eliza froze in her spot. Sadie turned her head to look at the man that had spoken, and her hand twitched towards her hip. Her voice sounded casual, but it was different than usual, Eliza noted. “Pretty sure we ain’t met before.” Nervously, her eyes darted between Sadie and the dark haired man, he was scanning her face and attire with suspicion. He seemed to be with two friends, who now moved to stand next to him, observing her in their turn and nodding slowly to themselves. “Yeah, I know you. You’re that outlaw woman, from the posters!” Shit. Sadie laughed, seemingly unfazed. “Outlaw? I sure as hell would be stupid to wander ‘round town if I had a price on my head, don’t you think?” She turned sideways, only looking at Eliza for a split second, but the gesture of her hand she made whilst her eyes connected was clear as day. Go. She was unable to move however, as if her feet had grown roots, and watched Sadie with a thunderstruck expression as she started to walk away from the men, taking a first step down the road. “You ain’t foolin’ us woman! Now stay where you are and we ain’t gonna hurt ya!” The men moved quickly, ropes being pulled off their belts and one of them hovered his hand over his gun as they followed. It all seemed to happen so fast, but Eliza just stood and watched as if time was slowed down. The first foot of the bounty hunters dropped to the step below the porch. Sadie spun around, her blonde braid swinging behind her, suddenly wielding both revolvers in her hands, pointing them straight at the men in front of her. The few people on the street stopped what they were doing and looked onto this scene, eyes wide open. “You boys ain’t gonna hurt no one, least of all me. Now get lost ya dirty bastards”, Sadie snarled, her guns aimed without so much as a jitter at the three men. A second foot fell onto the stairs. Sadie pulled both triggers, snapping two of the guys heads backwards, making them collapse on the spot. Screaming ensued, and the people on the street scattered, and Eliza, finally ripped out of her stupor, threw herself beneath the gunsmith’s deck, peering over the wooden stairs at the scene with her heart pounding hard. Sadie and the single man left alive were stood at gunpoint, neither one willing to give in. “Give it up woman, whole town’s gonna be out in a bit, you ain’t getting out of this. Better lower your gun and come with me peacefully.” There were faces peering out of the windows all around them, he was right. How incredibly thoughtless this whole plan was, taking a wanted woman into a bustling town? Reminding herself that Sadie was the one that had come up with this, Eliza tried to make out the wagon with the rest of

the girls. It was still stood at the same spot, but there was no sign of Karen, Tilly and Mary-Beth. They were probably hiding in the store, she prayed to the heavens no one would have noticed Sadie driving in with them, they’d all be in much bigger trouble as they already were. “Peacefully my ass, I ain’t gonna come with ya at all. I disposed of plenty guys just like you, thinkin’ I ain’t much of a threat just ‘cause I’m a woman.” Sadie started to back away, slowly. Her guns were both still pointed at the man’s head. “You think we’re alone? There’s more hunters here in town.” As if to prove his word, the door to the hotel further down the road was thrown open, and a handful of men spilled out onto the street, guns in their hands. Sadie muttered a bitter “Fuck” before she pulled the trigger and twirled around to face the group opposing her, before his body hit the ground. Eliza’s breath faltered when they opened fire, and Sadie dove into cover behind a wagon. The gunfire ceased and the men shouted out to her to come up with her hands raised. “You think you gonna get me this easy, you’re more stupid than you look!” She taunted, laughing. Was she enjoying this? Her eyes flicked to Eliza’s spot and she could almost see the groan escaping Sadie as she saw her. It then occurred to her that this position was less than ideal, and the woman would feel responsible for her safety. Eliza let herself fall to the floor and crawled to the side of the house, out of the line of any stray bullets. Her heart pounded hard in her chest, the familiar sensation of anxiety spread through her limbs. The newspaper boy was cowering a few feet away from her, and she realised she was still clutching the newest issue of the Gazette in her pocket. More doors slammed open and shouting reached her ear. The gunfire opened again, and there were more screams. Within it all, she thought she heard Sadie laughing. Wondering which one of them two had gone insane, she resisted the urge to peer around the corner, afraid of getting hit in the crossfire. The yelling got louder, bullets was hitting the fence at the top end of the street, and yes, that was Sadie’s rough, raspy voice, laughing between it all. She came into view in the corner of her eye, running towards a spooked horse that was tethered beside the sheriff’s office, just when the man himself came running out the door, star on his vest gleaming in the sunlight, with open breeches and wielding a gun. The gunslinger woman didn’t take any notice and jumped onto the back of the horse, momentarily shielded by the building, then her eyes locked onto Eliza. She flicked her head at her, gesturing to get going down the street. She shot up, just as Sadie started the horse into a full gallop, closing the distance between them in a second, her hand outstretched to reach down for her. Eliza took it, and she got swung onto the back of the horse, helped by the momentum. Sadie passed her one of her revolvers. “Cock the hammer and shoot, girl! Keep ‘em off us!” She yelled, and Eliza desperately tried to cling onto her, fumbling her thumb over the little metal piece to ready the revolver to shoot. Her hand shook and she clamped down on it, desperately trying not to let go, while the first gunshots were fired into her direction. Sadie sped past a barn, and she finally managed to click the hammer into place when the men came galloping around the corner towards them. She held out the gun in their direction, giving up trying to aim after a second of being shaken about, and shot. She missed and the bullet buried itself somewhere in the ground behind them. Cursing, Eliza cocked the hammer again, letting off another projectile in their direction. One of the pursuers cried out but she didn’t have the time to look who it was, in that moment Sadie yanked the horse around a tight corner and she had to grip onto her with both hands as the horses hooves risked to slip on the muddy ground. The train station whirled past in a blur and they made their way over a small hill, the ground dropping at the other side. Eliza’s

stomach lurched at the sensation and Sadie crossed a couple paths, then took a left as the men came back into view. She lifted the gun again, firing another shot in their direction, and another. Two bullets left, but there was four of them, more would be very likely coming after them soon. The horse galloped in full speed along a cliff to their right, dangerously close to the drop. “Hold on!” Sadie shouted, not a moment too early. Eliza just about wrapped her arms tightly around her when they leaned into yet another sharp right bend, thundering down a steep slope towards the riverbed. A scream, like nothing she’d ever heard before sounded from behind them, turning her head slightly she saw the massive body of a horse struggling at the bottom of the cliff. That poor thing must have been pushed into the curve too early by its rider, she felt anger flaring up inside. The path was steady enough again to turn around, firing the last two rounds, aiming more carefully now. At least one of them had hit, the rider dropping out of his saddle, before Sadie swung around herself with her repeater propped against her shoulder, and with three quick shots, she took care of the rest of them. They rode in the same hard pace until the river came in sight, crossing right over it and only slowing down when the horse struggled up a small hill covered in pines at the other side, breath going heavily. They crossed another road and the woman halted the stallion next to a wall of heavy boulders. Eliza slid off, almost falling to the ground, her legs shaking. On her hands and knees she wretched and spilled the coffee she had earlier onto the gravel beneath her. Sadie dismounted and crouched down next to the girl, her eyes scanning through the young trees surrounding them. “I don’t think there are more followin’ right now”, she hushed, her voice quiet. “You alright?” Wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt, Eliza raised her chest until she sat upright, her hind resting on her heels. “B-been better”, she managed, hoarse. Her stomach was still writhing, threatening to force more liquid out of her gut. Shaking all over she stared at the woman next to her who was patting her shoulder with such a sympathetic look, it bordered on pity. “What in the world was that?” “Ya survived your first chase”, the blonde woman laughed, “Congratulations. It get’s easier as you do more of ‘em.” “Don’t think I’m too keen on repeating that experience, thank you”, she mumbled weakly, shaking her head. “We could have been killed! I could have killed someone! That poor horse, it-it…” Her voice broke and faltered. Sadie looked at her, considering for a moment, her eyes stern. “This is the life I chose, and so did you. It ain’t all sugarplum fairies and rainbows ya know. I told you, remember?” She sighed, straightening up to scan the river. “If you’re not up for it, ya better leave ‘fore it’s too late.” Her words stung. Eliza knew she wasn’t as hard as the rest of them, and the feeling of being useless spread itself again inside her. Sadie was right, what was she doing? Playing at being a gunslinger, not even knowing how to shoot a gun proper? The gang was dangerous, living a dangerous life and for the first time she had experienced the harsh reality herself today. “I hope the rest of them girls are alright”, Sadie murmured, “Grimshaw’s gonna bite my head off for this.” She sighed. “Come on, don’t look like there’s more of ‘em that made it this far. Let’s head back to camp.” Offering her a hand she looked at the younger girl, expectantly. Eliza grabbed her forearm and let her help pulling her to her feet. Patting down her skirt, she tried to take a few deep breaths to calm her nerves. Sadie sat up into the saddle again and helped her swing up behind her. The skirt rose up her lower thighs, but she couldn’t care less about being decent right now, she didn’t trust herself sitting sideways being as shaky as she was. “We’re gonna stay on this side of the river for a bit, just in case. Keep your eyes out.” Sadie kicked the horse into a slow walk and followed the

road down river. The trees opened up after a short while, and she pointed up a cliff on the opposite side of the valley. “We ain’t far from Horseshoe, see the smoke up there, above that cliff? That’s where you’re sittin’ every mornin’.” Eliza followed her outstretched arm with her eyes and hummed in recognition. Apart from a thin trail of smoke, nothing would have given away that there was an outlaw group hiding up there. Her insides twisted at the thought of that. Outlaws. “S-Sadie, I… I’m sorry.” The blonde woman turned her head and she could feel her eyes on her, but kept her gaze down, staring at the back of the saddle. “I know I’m not much use, and I can’t even keep my head in a chase like we had. I’m just a… A liability.” “Stop, you ain’t that. You think I didn’t throw up after getting’ shot at the first time? Only difference was I couldn’t shoot back, the fellers did it for me!”, she exhaled in amusement. “You took that gun and emptied six rounds into them sons of bitches, I say ya did well.” Murmuring about not having another choice Eliza lifted her head a bit, the praise didn’t cut through the self-disdain entirely, but it made it sting less. Sadie returned her head to face the road and chuckled. “I know you must be feelin’ mighty shaky right now. Trust me, it gets better.” Eliza gave a huff, half laugh, half sob. “That’s what Arthur told me, when we robbed that wagon. Not so sure about that.” “Well, are you lookin’ at it every day when she go to sleep, thinkin’ how you shouldn’t have done it?” This question startled her. She hadn’t thought twice about that, not after it had been made into her own sleeping space. Did she really have that little of a conscience? Sadie laughed at her silence, guessing what was going on in her mind. “See, it does get better. Gettin’ shot at and shootin’ back will too.”

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