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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 2 months ago

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BOOM! (1/3)

Part 1: The Cowgirl & The Oilman

Stunning, wonderful, perfect art by @lya-dustin

My submission for the 2024 @hotd-bigbang

1928. Targaryen's, the foremost business conglomerate in Europe, is seeking to establish a foothold in the United States - and the mass of wealth and resources it offers. Viserys Targaryen has dispatched each member of his family to a different city to oversee the company's expansion into various new industries. His second son, Aemond, has chosen Dallas, Texas as his destination to take advantage of the continued prosperity of the oil boom. But getting Targaryen Oil & Petroleum off the ground may be harder than he anticipated, all thanks to the determined efforts of a single, stubborn, spellbinding cowgirl.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Nameless Female Character

Warnings: Language, Aemond is a cunt but so is the OC so it evens out?

The birds did not chirp. No squirrels were scuttling around, and no deer creeping through the undergrowth as they emerged from their dens. Even the cicadas were quiet, observing the mournful procession below them.

A beat-up truck hauling a rickety trailer kicked up dirt as it drove away. East, she knew. In a few miles, it would turn south. Then, there would be paved roads. Traffic lights. Other cars with roaring engines and blaring horns. Civilization.

Around these parts, ‘civilization’ meant one thing: Dallas.

The family inside the truck, the Cordrys, had been able to afford a new two-story house with the money the oil company gave them. They even had enough left over to buy a second if they wanted. But they wanted to stay together – family is family, after all. Instead, they would send Buck, their eldest son, to the university that opened in Dallas some years ago. He hadn’t yet decided whether to be a preacher or a lawyer.

The young woman watching them leave from atop a nearby hill dearly hoped he would be a preacher. Buck was always good with words, which would suit either profession, but he was also kind. She had never met a lawyer herself, to her knowledge. But given that it was a lawyer who negotiated the deal for the Cordrys to sell their ranch, she decided she didn’t like lawyers.

Lawyers had come for her home, too. Vermillion Ranch apparently sat on very valuable land, not that her ancestors knew it when they first settled there over 100 years ago. All they knew was that it was the prettiest piece of land for miles and miles. Still was.

Her Papa loved that land so much that when the lawyers came to buy it from them, he’d chased them off with his shotgun. He hadn’t been so proud or happy in years, but it cost him, leaving him so exhausted that he hardly got out of bed for a week. So, when the lawyers came back, she’d taken up the shotgun and did the scaring herself.

They hadn’t been back in a while, but she knew they’d try again soon.

She would never let them have the land, even if they offered her all the gold in Fort Knox.

Loral, her beloved horse, knickered as she chewed at the shoulder of her shirt, breaking her from her thoughts just in time to see the Cordrys’ car fading in the distance, little more than a smudge of dirt against the sunset as they passed by a half-built oil derrick.

“Come on, girl,” she said, patting Loral’s neck. “Let’s go home.”

Within minutes of stepping off the Gay Abandon in what locals called the “Free State of Galveston,” Aemond Targaryen decided he hated Texas.

From what little he had seen of the United States, he could confidently say he hated most of the country, with only a few notable exceptions. But this place? With its cacophony of warring jazz music and industrial clanging, undercut by overloud radios and the people shouting to be heard. With the skyline jumbled with shoddily rebuilt slums, sprawling stone factories and warehouses, and brightly painted beachside resorts teeming with people that would look much better suited to Los Angeles or Miami. With the stench, a horrid combination of fish, brine, booze, and oil.

Perhaps “loathe” was a better word than hate for this city.

At least he didn’t have to stay long.

A car was already waiting for him at the dock to take him to the train that would deliver him to Dallas. The moment the chauffeur was back in his seat, he opened the glove box to reveal an amber bottle of ‘moonshine,’ which he then offered to Aemond in a truly incomprehensible accent. How the man hadn’t already been arrested for so blatantly defying prohibition, he didn’t know.

Yet another reason to hate America - the continued illegality of alcohol.

Though he’d yet to find a city where liquor couldn’t be found with even the mildest of efforts, he still refused to indulge. He could not risk arrest just for the brief escape a good glass of wine offered. There was too much riding on his new task.

Targaryen Oil & Petroleum Inc.

As of now, it was only a packet of legal documents and an office somewhere in Dallas that Aemond hadn’t yet laid eyes on. But given a year or two and no small amount of hard work, it would be one of the most profitable ventures in the history of Targaryen & Sons. After all, it had by far the best potential of any of the other new projects. Texas was at the heart of the booming oil industry, and as the world’s demand for electricity, cars, aeroplanes, and more grew exponentially, so would the market for so-called “black gold.”

Much of the state's southern half had already been claimed, but the north had begun showing new promise. All Aemond had to do was buy a few hundred thousand acres of land from the farmers there and start drilling.

He would win, he had no doubt.

Not that it was truly a competition. Or at least, his father had not called it such. Still, how could it be anything but? The old man sent each of his children and two eldest grandchildren to the New World with one task: make money - lots of it.

Aemond’s elder brother, Aegon, had purchased a film studio in Los Angeles to invest in the new talking pictures. His sister, Helaena, was in New York, where she bought some magazine about nature, or geography, or something similar. His younger brother, Daeron, had gone to a city called Detroit to manufacture automobiles for racing. Viserys’ grandsons, Jacaerys and Lucerys, followed Aegon to Los Angeles to pursue aviation engineering and radio broadcasting, respectively.

All respectable prospects, but not nearly as lucrative as oil was. In truth, the only competition Aemond faced was from his elder half-sister. Rhaenyra had also gone to New York to start an investment bank. She would surely do well, especially with the support from her husband’s shipping empire. But Aemond knew she would soon lose interest and pass her responsibilities onto someone else so she could indulge her own interests - namely parties and men.

Targaryen Oil & Petroleum would prevail in the end, and Aemond could return home as the heir apparent to Targaryen & Sons.

All he had to do was spend a year or two in this hellhole.

“You have gotta settle down, girl,” she grumbled as she wiped the sweat from her forehead with her Momma’s old handkerchief. She glared at the massive mare who had been giving her nothing but trouble for the past six months, holding tight to her leads, only letting go when the new stall door was closed and double-latched. “Lumber’s expensive. We don’t have the money to keep this up, and we’re all outta spares.”

There were seven stalls in the horse barn. Only two were occupied, and only those two still had doors. The mare had broken five of them. Not to escape the barn or the ranch. No, she never went anywhere. She did it just because she was cranky, and she could. The cowgirl also suspected that the horse was somehow amused by it.

“But you like making me suffer too much for that, don’t you?” An exaggerated shake of the mare’s huge head certainly seemed like a gleeful yes. She sighed. “That’s what I thought.”

With the horses tended, she made her way to the house to fix lunch for her and Daddy before riding out to meet the herd. She was only halfway across the yard when she heard a far-away engine growing louder and louder. It couldn’t be neighbor - they were all gone now. That only left a few options, and none she was too pleased about.

Each step up to the porch creaked as she climbed toward the house. Maybe she could use some of the salvageable wood from the latest destroyed stall door to replace them, even if the color wouldn’t match. Paint was just as pricey as lumber.

“Daddy! You up?” She only poked her head through the door, not wanting to get barn muck inside the house. Momma's strict rules still applied, at least to her. “Daddy!”

His grumble sounded an awful lot like the cranky mare’s. “I’m up! How can I not be with all yer hollerin’?”

“It’s almost lunch, Daddy. You need to be up!”

“Fine, fine. I’m up!” He tried to snark back more, but it quickly became wracking coughs. Daddy was sounding real bad again, and even if it wasn’t the usual day, maybe it was Doc Spooner in that car coming to check on him.

The car had gotten close enough that she could start to make out its shape within the cloud of dust it kicked up. A shiny bumper and bright green paint. Not a car she recognized. “Hey, Daddy, is the doctor comin’ today?”

“Not today, hun. It’s Tuesday, ‘member?”

“How ‘bout Pastor John?”

“He’s down in Waco for the rest of the month! Why you askin’ anyway?”

Then who the hell was in that car? She had an inkling, but she was sure the last time Daddy got the shotgun out would be the last time they’d be bothered about this. “Car’s coming up the drive. You wanna handle it?”

She hoped he would. But to her disappointment, he shouted back, “Too damn tired! You take this one, hun.”

So, she shut the door and leaned against it, watching that shiny green car pull into the ranch proper. Chickens scattered away from it, even though they weren’t anywhere near its path. The goats and sheep meandered to the edge of the yard, not wanting to be disturbed but unwilling to wander too far for fear that one of the dogs would come after them. Meanwhile, the dogs barked ferociously at the mechanical intruder but didn’t so much as stand from where they rested in the shade of the house—lazy good-for-nothin’s.

The car finally stopped. It was even fancier than the cars the other lawyers came in, with brass polished to look like gold on bits that were usually chrome. If it wasn’t absolutely coated in dust, she might even like it. A man in what looked to be a green police uniform came out the driver’s door. Very fancy, then, if the lawyer wasn’t driving himself.

When he emerged from the back seat of the car, the man nearly took her breath away.

He was tall and thin as a beanpole. But he didn’t seem delicate. Maybe that had more to do with his suit - deep blue pinstripes with what surely must be padding in the shoulders. Most of it was likely due to the sour expression on his handsome face. Not handsome like farmhands or cowboys were handsome - gruff and rugged - but like how movie stars were handsome - softer and refined.

Or at least, he would have been if he weren’t sunburnt to all hell and sweating like a whore in church.

This man was not from around here, and as far as she was concerned, he could fuck right off. Of course, he didn’t. He just walked right up the porch and took off his hat, revealing his slicked silver hair.

“Who are you?”

He raised a brow as he looked her over, head to toe. Judging by the slight sneer pulling at the corner of his mouth, he wasn’t impressed with what he saw. “My name is Aemond Targaryen.” Lord, he even talked fancy, with a soft, pretty voice and some kind of accent she’d never heard before. Though his sharp tone left something wanting. “May I ask for your name, miss?”

“No.” Handsome as he was, it didn’t change that she wanted him gone as soon as possible. “What do you want?”

His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. “As I said, my name is Aemond Targaryen, proprietor of Targaryen Oil & Petroleum. Have you heard of our business?”

She certainly had. Not only had it snatched up the land from most of the farmers and ranchers in the area, but it had also started buying land from other oil companies, too. Undoubtedly the worst of all of ‘em. And Mr. Targaryen himself was now standing on her porch, looking down at her as if she was a piece of shit on his shoe. She clenched her jaw to stop it from dropping open and pointedly stayed silent.

“Well, we are relatively new.” He glanced off to the side, his distaste for everything around him as clear as day. “As the name “Oil & Petroleum” implies, we are in the oil business. I’m - ”

“No shit.”

He looked at her like she’d just shot him. “Pardon me?”

“I said, ‘no shit.’” She gave him her best, over-sweet smile.

“Yes, well…” His hat creaked as he clenched it in his fist, his jaw so tight she half expected it to snap. “Our petroleum geologists - very smart people who study oil - have determined, or found, that there is a large deposit beneath this land, meaning that there is a lot of oil deep underground. Oil is used to power electricity, cars, and many other things, so it would be very good for everyone if we could get the oil out of the ground. We do this by drilling. Do you understand me so far?”

Uppity bastard. Did he really think she was so dumb she needed all this explained? “Oh, I understand you just fine.”

“Very good,” he praised, as if she were a child who’d taken her first steps. “Now, to be allowed to drill for oil, you must -”

“I’m not selling my land.”

The last dregs of false politeness faded from his voice. “I’m sorry?”

“I am not selling my land. Not to you or anyone else.” Even if it meant her only neighbors would be oil derricks and lawyers circling like vultures.

“You haven’t even heard my offer yet.”

“Don’t need to.”

“Miss, based on the value of the land and the oil under it, I am willing to pay you forty dollars per acre.” He stepped closer, forcing her to crane her neck to keep looking him in the eye. Very pretty eyes, even if they were filled with frustration. “Given the size of your property, that comes out to over forty thousand dollars. Do you know how much money that is?”

She shrugged as she crossed her arms, raising her brows in mock awe. “Sounds like forty thousand dollars.”

“I -” He shook his head, so visibly exasperated that she had to stifle a laugh. With his skin as red as it was, he looked like an angry tomato. “That is a life-changing amount of money, surely.”

“I don’t want my life to change.” Other things, sure. Of course, she would love it if her neighbors came back or if she didn’t have to listen to the grinding of metal from one of the derricks whenever she was on the west side of the property, but those were just minor annoyances.

“You could go wherever you want, do whatever you want, yet you would rather stay here?”

Looking him dead in the eyes, she nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

“Something funny ‘bout that?”

It took him a moment to reply. “I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to offer -”

“I understand you completely, Mr. Targaryen. You ain’t the first lawyer to come try to convince me and my Daddy to sell.”

Perhaps it was a mistake to mention her daddy. As soon as she did, Mr. Targaryen’s exasperation disappeared, and he was once more calm and smug. Still looked like a tomato, though. “Your father is here? May I -”

“No, you may not.” She pushed away from the door to block him from moving closer. No way in hell was she letting this ass anywhere near her daddy. “I promise he wants to talk to you even less than I do. Now shut up and listen.”

To her surprise and satisfaction, he did.

“You really think everyone else sold their land but me because the lawyers never came my way? Oh, they came my way. Over and over again until Daddy got so fed up, he took his shotgun off the mantle. They all stopped comin’ pretty soon after that. You are, in fact, the eleventh lawyer to come here and try and buy my land. Surprising, ain’t it? I can count higher than ten. I also know how oil drilling works. I s’pose you didn’t notice when you were drivin’ out here, but there are oil fields all around me.”

She stepped toward him, throwing an arm out to point to the nearest one, its steel towers rising from the earth like black weeds. Mr. Targaryen barely glanced at it, his eyes remaining on her as he stepped back, maintaining the distance between them.

“So I know exactly what you’re gonna say to try to convince me to hand over the deed, and I’ll tell ya right now, it’s not gonna work.” When she took another step forward, he did the same. So she did it again and again, until one more step would send him tumbling into the dirt. “So get off my porch, get off my property, and go straight to hell with your forty-thousand dollars. This land is worth at least 90 bucks an acre, and you goddamn know it.”

She didn’t wait for his reaction before turning and storming into the house, regardless of Momma’s rules, the door banging shut behind her. But she stayed just inside the house, her back pressed against the door as she waited for him to leave.

It was a while before she heard the porch steps creaking again, and longer still before a car engine hummed to life and drove away. He’d hung around, for whatever reason.

Daddy was waiting for her when she went to the kitchen, his handkerchief already tucked into the collar of his shirt. “Who was that man you were yellin’ at, hun? Gotta be either a lover or a lawyer for you to get that mad.”

“Lawyer,” she answered. “A new one. Wanted to buy the land.”

“He give you a good offer?”

She laughed as she opened the icebox to grab the meatloaf from last night that would fill their sandwiches today. “Lowest one yet. Think he thought I was dumb enough to not know the value of my own land.”

“It’s still my land for a little bit longer, girl. Don’t go getting ahead of yourself.” She knew he was joking, but it still stung. He’d been doing that a lot recently, making light of the fact that the doctor had told them he couldn’t be cured and would likely be dead within a year.

“Don’t talk like that, Daddy. Please?”

“I know. I’m sorry, hun,” he sighed. The jokes helped him feel better somehow, she knew. But they made her feel so much worse. “Now come on, you woke me up for lunch, so where is it?”

Aemond was once more in the back of his car, dust obscuring the view as he returned to that ranch – Vermillion, according to the faded sign on the side of one of the barns.

After his last visit, he’d pored over every paper in the Targaryen Oil & Petroleum offices, searching for a way to alter his plan without having to acquire the land. It was possible, but it would slow down development and cost him far more than he’d initially planned to invest. Purchasing the land at the price that stubborn cowgirl claimed the land was worth was the frugal option.

Or at least, that’s how he justified the decision with his investors and executives. It certainly factored into his decision to return, but was far from his central motivation.

The cowgirl had pushed back at him, and he refused to concede to a half-wit hick with illusions of superiority. If she wanted to be stubborn, so would he.

So, he once more stepped into the rocky, dirty, foul-smelling yard surrounding the dilapidated farmhouse. Ranch house? Either way, it should have long since been condemned. The wood paneling was saggy and greying, the roof messily patched, and the steps onto the porch groaning like a rusted wheel. And when he pounded his fist on the front door, he half-expected it to fall off the hinges.

Miraculously, it didn’t. But neither did it open.

Instead, a remarkably gruff voice called from inside, “Who’s there?”

Thank God, it wasn’t the cowgirl. She had mentioned a father, who might be far more amenable to selling, but she had also mentioned something about a shotgun that made him hesitate before calling back. “My name is Aemond Targaryen. Do you have a moment to speak?”

There was no answer other than the sound of shuffling feet and something pounding on the floor.

Then, the door opened to reveal a massive man, his years of hard labor evident in the width of his shoulders and stern set of his brow. This was the kind of cowboy who inspired the legends that had spread around the world. But he was also undeniably weak and ill. His skin was thin and sallow, his broad shoulders slumped, and his eyes sunken and shadowed with fatigue. He leaned heavily on a wooden cane, a compass fixed to its head, and its wood mottled yellow and brown and charred in spots. Aemond did not doubt that if he took the cane away, the man would collapse.

Still, the cowgirl had talked about this man scaring away other oilmen with a shotgun, and he didn’t want to risk the same fate.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, dipping his head. He’d allowed himself to be too terse with the girl. Perhaps a more genial approach would help him find success with her father. “I’m very pleased to meet you. May I ask for your name?”

“No.” The word was deep and rasping, followed by a wet cough. “You the man that pissed off my little girl couple days ago?”

Aemond gave a strained smile. “I did have the… pleasure of speaking to your daughter, yes. My apologies if I left her angry following our conversation. I’m afraid I have not yet become used to the heat here and allowed it to affect my mood.”

“I’m not the one you should be sayin’ sorry to.” The man thumped his cane a few times, then turned away.

Damn it, not again. “Sir, I – ”

“She’s in the horse barn,” he called over his shoulder. “Go bother her. I’m too old for your bullshit.”

When she’d heard an engine outside, she assumed it was Doc Spooner coming to check on her Daddy, even if it was a little earlier than normal. It wasn’t until the door to the barn opened that she knew it was someone even more unpleasant than the grumpy old Doc.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” She asked Mr. Aemond Targaryen as he walked into the barn, nose wrinkling in disgust. This time, it was justified – she was in the middle of mucking the stables, a shovel full of shit in her hands.

He forced a smile. “First, I wanted to apologize for my behavior the last time I saw you. I offended you, and I deeply regret it.”

If he hadn’t seemed so genuine, she might have just flung her newest load of shit in his face. Instead, she dumped it into the wheelbarrow beside her before putting her shovel down. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

For a long moment, they just stared at each other.

Her Momma’s voice echoed in her head: a little kindness goes a long way, hun. But why should she be kind to a slimy, good-for-nothing oilman who was probably only saying sorry to butter her up so she’d sell him the ranch? Still, Momma’s angel was firmly planted on her shoulder, and she’d never been able to say no to her.

“I’m sorry too,” she sighed, crossing her arms. She felt like a scolded schoolgirl again. “You were rude first, but it was tacky of me to be rude back.”

Again, silence fell in the barn, only broken by an impatient grumble from the old mare. Mr. Targaryen immediately turned to her, his eyes going wide at the sight. “Who is this?”

“The Jacksons just called her Ol’ Gal,” she explained, stepping forward to try to stroke the horse’s nose. “I’ve been doing the same.”

He just hummed as he came closer, looking at the mare like she was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. “The Jacksons… they owned Live Oak, yes?”

Ah, so he’d been the one to buy it. She missed that place. The Jacksons always hosted the nicest picnics. Mrs. Abbie Jackson made the tastiest green bean casserole in the county. “Yeah, that was them. When they sold, no one wanted to take Ol’ Gal. Too old ‘n too ornery. They were gonna take her to auction, but I knew the only folk that would buy her then wouldn’t treat her right, so I offered to take her.”

“That was very kind of you,” he murmured, stepping closer to her stall. Somehow, the mare didn’t startle or even stamp her hooves.

“I don’t think she’d agree with you. She’s been madder than a whole nest of hornets since she got here.” And had cost her five stall doors and a dozen fence posts, not even counting the time it took to care for her when she fought every bit of it. “Hey, I wouldn’t get too close. She’s prone to bitin’.”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied, not even looking at her.

In all honesty, she wasn’t gonna be too mad if he lost a finger, or at least a couple knuckles. But he would very much mind and, as a lawyer, would probably use the accident to force her to sell Vermillion. “No, really, she’ll – ”

Lean into his hand quite happily, apparently.

“How the hell did you do that?”

He smiled smugly, shrugging as he continued to stroke her snout. “My father keeps horses. I had a fondness for the older ones that were largely ignored in favor of the new acquisitions, and they had a fondness for me.”

“Funny, I thought animals were better judges of character than that,” she mumbled. Oh shit.

His smile was gone, and he dropped his hand from the Ol’ Gal. His eyes, which had seemed to see her as a person, again looked at her like she was the very shit she was shoveling. “Apologizing was not the main purpose of my visit.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured.” The voice of her Momma was screaming in her ear, begging her to apologize for her unforgivable rude words, but her pride shoved it down, down, down, until all she could hear was the hum of cicadas and the faint swishing of Loral and Ol’ Gal’s tails. “What is it you want, then?”

He crossed his arms behind his back. “After some new research, I’ve determined that my original estimate of the value of your land was, as you said, incorrect. I am now willing to pay you ninety-three dollars an acre, bringing the total value of my offer to more than ninety-six thousand.”

Offering her so much money pissed him off, judging by his clenched jaw and strained voice. It didn’t amuse her as much as it did the first time. Still, she wasn’t going to give in just for more money. “My answer is still no. Hell no. Fuck no. Whatever no you need to go away and never come back.”

Something snapped for him, and he surged forward until their chests were nearly touching. He craned his neck to look down at her, fury burning like the summer sun in his eyes. “You stupid little cowgirl. Are you so stubborn that you’ll tell me no just to what? Feel powerful? Feel like you’re somehow superior to me? It’s a fucking joke.

“I’m offering you the chance to become a person. To live in real, modern civilization.” He laughed, cruel and humorless. “But you’d rather stay here? In a house that will fall apart the next time there’s a strong breeze, and spend your days shoveling shit? My God, you’re hardly better than the animals you keep.”

Oh, how she wished she was a horse, if only so she could trample him under her feet. Or one of her cattle, so she could gore him with her horns. Even if she was one of her dogs, she could shred him apart like he deserved.

But she was just what he said, a stupid, stubborn cowgirl.

She turned away from him, opening Loral’s stall to saddle her as quickly as she could. She needed to get away, or she was going to do something she would regret. Likely hurt him. Possibly cry. Either way, she refused to do it.

“Where are you going?” he asked once she was in the saddle, clutching the reins so hard they dug into her skin.

“I have chores to do.”

He stepped in front of Loral, arms out to try and prevent her from riding off, but Loral sidestepped him with ease. “I’m not leaving until I get my yes.”

“Then I guess you better follow me. Or you can always go sit with the dogs where you belong.”

Without waiting for an answer, she spurred Loral into a gallop and left Aemond Targaryen behind.

When the cowgirl and her horse faded into the distance, Aemond screamed. He didn’t care if her father or his driver heard him. He needed to scream. What had he done to piss off God enough that he would put this girl in front of him?

Behind him, the old mare snickered, banging her legs against her stall door.

“How do you endure her?” he asked. God, he really had lost his mind if he would stoop to commiserating with a horse. At least the horse seemed to dislike the cowgirl as much as he did – he had one ally.

If he was going to succeed, perhaps he needed an ally, even an equine one. After all, horses had helped win the Great War, and this girl certainly felt like his personal war. Very well, then.

He had the mare – Ol’ Gal needed a proper name – saddled in mere minutes. Then, he was off, chasing after the most infuriating woman he’d ever met with the determination of a general.

Whatever it took, he was getting his yes.

Author's Note: yeehaw motherfuckers

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