#redemn

[wcrstarter]

@redemn

The twilight hour had finally arrived, causing the vampiress to stir and awaken. She moved about the top floor of her home languidly, she had no pressing affairs to attend to, no expected appointments or guests. Sonja had only just pulled on her housecoat over her shift when she heard floorboards creak downstairs, along with the thrumming heartbeat of several beings.

A glance to the clock on the mantel told her it was almost midnight, far too late for most mortals to be wandering about. And from how they crept about, it seemed that someone was foolish enough to break into a vampire's residence at night to rob them.

She'd didn't recognize the voices she could hear faintly, so she proceeded downstairs. She kept herself cloaked in the shadows, only a few oil lamps were lit by her surprise guests. Sonja didn't require them to see her way through the house, and it gave quite the breadcrumb trail to lead her right to them, even if their scent alone would have allowed her to track them.

The vampiress moved from the shadows to stand in the centre of a doorway, watching with bemusement as the group of men rifled through her cupboards. It seemed they were trying to loot her home, but were frustrated by her lack of valuables. She didn't keep much in out in the open or displayed in cupboards. Truly, she couldn't believe the sight before her and she began to laugh.

"Gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to simply take a seat and explain your visit, it would be appreciated. You entered freely and of your own will, no?" She called out, hardly concerned. From what she could tell, they appeared to be mortals. Cowboys, possibly outlaws by the look of their weaponry. "

Whomever was brazen enough to tell you to come here, I would be most interested in learning their name. Please, sit, be civilized. I don't particularly want to stain the carpet."

[wildlcck]

ARTHUR (@redemn): *tosses a lasso around her head and tightens it around her midriff . like a child leash* no more fightin' the patriarchy today , it's time to go .

━━━🥀━━━

❛ i- arthur! you let me go right this second, arthur morgan! or, i'm gon' knock you right into the middle o' next week! i swear. god as ma witness... ugh! ❜ kicking, fighting and struggling like a wild animal 'til she's out of breath. ❛ alright... how- how 'bout this? you let me go... an' i'll tell 'em, real nice and ladylike an' polite, how i'm gonna rip their damn arms off and beat 'em dead with them! agh! ❜

[aftermoved]

— 「 RE: @redemn .

THERE'S A CREEP OF A smile on the man's lips, hidden in half shadow as he grabs the beer from the bar and takes a swig. the night had been winding down for a while now, the moon creeping up into the sky and the woman behind the counter starting to yawn. yet here they were, SETTLED deep into conversation, an amused look hiding the quietness in rian's eyes.

❝ y'know, i dueled with death once. ���

there was no HARM in telling him this, not when he was so CLOSE to taking his hand, anyhow. maybe not tonight, but very soon. he would show up when arthur last expected it, softly tell him, 'it's time to go'. but right now ? hazel eyes are dancing.

❝ they're a terrible shot. missed by a damn mile. ❞

[silvertonguesilverdollar]

@redemn- Closed starter

Oh. This situation calls for a little flare~ Tired, weathered eyes light up, looking full of light, joy and life. Formerly a man brought down by age and sickness; Hosea is in his element. And oh is Arthur going to "love" this one.

'I just had a thought.' A shit-eating grin is fired towards Arthur. 'These folk are desperate for a little entertainment. And there is no way we're going to pull this stunt with so many eyes watching.' The house isn't quite a Manor but it's bigger than most humble abodes, with plenty of miserable hands working the horses and the grounds. 'What if...and hear me out before you start your complaining. What if we were two gentlemen,  looking to start up our own prizefighting business. We're looking to hire some burly looking fellas  to be our new fight champions.  To be considered they need to prove their grit. That's where you come in, Arthur.' Oh yes he is suggesting that Arthur tussles with a few of these labourers.

'While you're "testing" out the talent, I'll slip off and see if I can get us that horse we had our eye on.' A rare breed, sure to fetch a heap of cash. 'What do you think? Think you can handle a few overworked ranch hands?'

[cultfic]

⎯ @redemn, arthur morgan : “ i just wanna be done. i’m tired. i’m so tired. ”

❝  yes, arthur. you're tired. ⎯ you're disappointed. you're displeased, you're despondent ..  ❞ the list would stretch for so long he fears not even he would have enough vocabulary to cover the list of complaints repeatedly submitted by one he values most of all. but morgan's insistent criticizing of his methods has become yet another burden to bear, added to his own sleep deprivation and the still recent, burning loss of his partner that he's tried so hard to cast from troubled mind. and yet that he keeps returning to.

❝  we're all tired. and i'm all outta ideas. now, i hear a lotta grievances but not a lotta solutions.  ❞ it's always come down to dutch van der linde to find an escape from ordeals faced over the years, but perhaps he's finally running out of them; or hosea took them all with him when he went. cigar is brought to dried lips and the man takes a long, meaningful drag of tobacco, points a finger in the other's direction. ❝  you wanna be done, you find a way out of this putrid, godforsaken backcountry or you go out there and collect more money because complainin' about somethin ain't never amounted to anything beneficial.  ❞

[unboundtravels]

𝐼𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒?

Strange dreams have been had, recently. Lights in your mind, swaying across the darkness of your mind. A blazing heat licks at your mind's insides, before flash freezing into a bone-chilling freeze. Akin to spontaneous combustion, immediately counteracted by the sensation of being submerged deep under an icy river— swept away under the current. The ice above you prevents you from escaping before you're pulled deep beneath the current. At first, you were on fire— your body alight and your skin boiling. Now, you're pulled beneath the depths of an icy crypt, with weights dragging you further down into the crushing depths. All the while, you remain blind, the lights in your mind flashing brighter and brighter. Everlong. 

Finally, you awake from your dream with a sudden start. At the counter of a bar you barely remember stumbling into, you're able to see down the bottle of foul-smelling alcoholic beverage. The sun peaks in through the windows, warm and hot. The ground outside the saloon doors is dusty, and sandy. Moments before you can even contemplate how the hell you got to New Austin, a hand swipes away the barely filled bottle of beer. The bartender before you seems absent, but the words he speaks feel like they barely come out of his mouth. More as if the sounds he makes just travel to your ear, an illusion you trick yourself into thinking is all in your head. 

"Let me get you another, fella." As if he barely recognized that you were asleep at the bar. Were you asleep? Or did you just get here? Have you been here all night? Or did you wander in minutes ago? Did you submerge into the realm of unconsciousness? Or did you simply lose focus? The sounds around you, the song playing at the piano. A man's fingers wander against the keys, but he's been playing the same few notes in succession. It sounds like a song, and everyone treats it like a song, but is it a song? Or have you just fallen out of tempo with it? A woman moves across the saloon, a tray of beer in her hand that never seems to have less than two glasses, even when she gives one to a patron in the bar— she's briefly obscured for but a moment and one glass turns back into two.

Five men sit at a nearby table, playing poker. Meanwhile, two men seem to share a conversation that never ends. The bar seems like it never progresses a single second in time. It's always just as it always is, nothing more and nothing less. Your eyes finally return to the glass bottle. There's condensation on the glass, but it remains undisturbed. Even as your hand wraps around it, the droplets don't even tremble. However, something about it calls to you, in more than just the normal way that such a vice would. The aroma of what had previously been foul seems more hypnotic, like a scent creeping into your mind. You've been holding the beer bottle for about a minute and a half now—

BANG. The bartender breaks the bottle cap off of the beer bottle, filling your empty hand. A phantom sensation flees your palm before the glass fills it again. Are you even aware of what just happened? Do you even question it? Do you even know what to question? You're not spiraling. You know you can't be. Just take a drink. It won't be too bad, the aroma creeps back into your mind. The bar suddenly gets extremely loud. People are talking, but words don't slip from their mouths. They swirl around you, but they simply just play inside of your ear. They're always just in the back of your ear, but never surrounding you. Never in front of you. Just take a drink. 

Just take a drink—

A hand covers the top of the beer bottle. A piece of purple cloth wrapped around the top of the bottle. Eyes trail over to a man in a navy coat. It's seen better days, stitching at the seams has come loose. Heavy bags weigh down tired blue eyes. Silver hair is messy, almost bed-headed. A brown waistcoat is buttoned over a white shirt and a patterned tie rests underneath a collar. The man seems out of place, wearing boots that are laced up and cut just an inch below the knee, with dark green pants tucked into the boots. He speaks, and it seems to break the mode of what the cowboy's already been subjected too. Sound comes out of his mouth precisely where it should be, and functions exactly as you'd expect: Normally.

"Don't drink that." 

He's English.

@redemn

[blcsscdson]

Having Arthur back and living in Beecher's Hope was certainly not what Jack expected when he rode back to the ranch a few months ago but hey, he wasn't complaining. God knows he could use the companionship, and having someone who knew him and his family from before certainly helped. Arthur, much like Charles had been for his Pa, proved to be an unshakable pillar of strength and both of them were, slowly but surely, rebuilding their home.

Still, Jack had noticed that Uncle Arthur was missing a few things. He'd already given back his hat, pulled it straight out of his Pa's old chest that he'd kept in their room and handed it back with almost reverence. But there was something else missing. Something that Jack wore every day since he turned nineteen. He'd taken good care of that waxed canvas jacket, he'd sewn it back together when it tore, cleaned it to the point it almost shined and in return, that jacket had sheltered him from the elements. Almost like a guardian angel.

Jack cleared his throat to announce the fact that he was standing behind Arthur and, after a few seconds had passed, he spoke.

"Uncle Arthur? I been meanin' to ask, you want your jacket back? I've kept it in good shape these past few years. I figured you'd want it back, seein' how you're back an' all that..." He let that statement hang in the air. He was still a bit unsure on how to speak to the older man.

@redemn asked for a STARTER

[manteaublanc]

" MONSIEUR MORGAN, " THE old man groans as he gets to his feet from tending the fire, knees popping loudly as he draws himself to his full height, " i have always wondered: what do you keep in that little book of yours? if you don't mind me asking, of course. men of our kind are entitled to some secrets, no? "

@redemn // s.c.

[wolfkcst]

His face matches the bounty they had come across while scavenging some items from Blackwater - all the more curious of to what they could find. Impressive that he has such a big bounty on his head, and yet acted as if nothing had happened... Eivor hadn't a clue what happened, and naturally because they're from a different country all together they would be questioned... Even their crimes extended out to sea... ❝You are a wanted man... But you blend in perfectly with your surroundings.❞ It comes out blunt- but they make no moves to try and capture the man - dead or alive. They did not care all too much for these affairs - more curious than anything. ❝I work with a group that hides in plain sight... And hates Cornwall. If you're interested, perhaps we could work together.❞

cont. x @redemn

[dsrtrose]

it's  been  a  harsh  winter  -  where  eliza  is  generally  tolerant  (and  empathetic)  to  all  that  mother  nature  has  to  offer,  she  doesn't  fare  well  in  the  winter.  her  body  was  made  for  a  warmer  climate,  and  come  as  she  may  try  to  get  used  to  the  unkind,  frozen  temperatures  of  an  eastern  cooler  season  ...  she's  counting  down  the  days  until  the  sun  actually  warms  the  ground  below  them  once  again.

spring  rears  her  blessed  head  with  the  welcoming  of  warmer  temperatures  &  less  brisk  rain;  eliza  has  hardly  even  paid  mind  to  the  name  of  whatever  town  they  roll  through.  no,  she's  far  too  happy  feeling  the  sun  on  her  skin  and  anything  but  snow  beneath  her  boots  -  the  boots  that,  as  she  giddily  prances  through  a  mud  patch,  become  entirely  undone  beneath  the  soles  of  her  feet.

she  watches  as  arthur  continues  on,  assuming  that  eliza  was  still  moving  behind  him.  she  tries  to  budge  once  again,  her  toes  poking  out  of  the  seams  of  her  boots,  still  stuck  in  the  mud  &  coming  further  unbound  with  every  movement.  "hey  -  arthur!  wait  a  second,  would  you?"  eliza  calls,  something  halfway  between  a  breathless  chuckle  of  disbelief  &  slight  pout  gracing  her  features,  "i'm,  um  ...  i  think  i'm  stuck."

INSP    /    @redemn  🤍

[mediumhonor]

john has been watching arthur in his periphery all night, has heard the wet barks of his cough across shady belle. he'd thought of excuses to approach him, ranging from hunting to patrolling to trying to wrangle him to whatever shitty saloon the townspeople of annesburg frequent.

he does none of that. instead, he brings his flask, a hunting knife, and an orange he'd stolen from dutch's tent that he doesn't doubt micah had brought to him, brown-nosing lying bastard that he is, to win the favor he knows is his to keep.

arthur's never liked being interrupted while journaling, and john's never quite cared about interrupting arthur during anything, and so he sits down beside him at the big tree he's sat against. the smell of citrus hits the air when he cuts into it and offers arthur a slice.

"we can thank good ol' dutch for this daily bread," john says with his mouth full, wiping the juice that'd dribbled out on his cheeks. he leans back against the tree beside arthur, feels like a kid again, trying desperately to at least be accepted in his space, let alone impress him.

"you ever gonna show me any of that stuff you draw in there or what? you've always acted mighty mysterious about that damn thing."

@redemn

[vastiitas]

@redemn

"Arthur Morgan," he drawls, low, like he ain't actin' out some melodrama, "I know we ain't seen eye-to-eye when it comes to the law, but I never thought I'd see the day."

[ow1et]

strawberry's night life mostly consists of stragglers dragging their feet after a lengthy workday.  passersby blinded to their surroundings other than the dirt road under their feet that will lead them home. so it comes as no surprise that her eyes were the only ones that note a darkened window on the main floor of the welcome center. her entrance, as inadvisable as it may be, isn't met with the hospitality that the building's name would imply.

@redemn — there ain't nothin' 'round here to look at.

wandering gaze finds nothing amiss at first glance, nothing other than smashed glass of the sconces. shipped all the way from across the atlantic. they had only been installed for a week. now, they'll never match with the rest of the fixtures again and — eyes narrow, burgundy lips frowning. she supposes that she should tackle one problem at a time. " of course not. it's nothing of interest to me. "

it's a lie, but a believable enough one. a nod toward the broken light. " but it might be something of note to the mayor or the sheriff. " threat rests on the first impression that he isn't from around here. he certainly doesn't look the part of the soft - hearted population encapsulated by mountains. both enforcers of the law in town leave much to be desired in the way of bravery and promptness ( perhaps it's all smothered by their ambition ). if they were anywhere but the heart of strawberry, she might take care of this herself. " care to explain to me why it would be just as uninteresting to either of them? "

[blcsscdson]

arthur passes the paper he's holding over to jack .   it's a smudged drawing of a sleeping lion ,   and was clearly drawn a while ago .    ❝    you like lions ,   jack ?   got a chance t'meet one few years back .   they're real fierce .   protect themselves with everything they got ,   but  …  think they'd protect their family with everything too .   reminded me'a you .    ❞

Jack blinks a few times before taking the offered paper. He takes one long, good look and in what may as well be the first time in years, he smiles. He'd almost forgotten how good of an artist Arthur was. True, John Marston had drawn in Arthur's old journal but his drawings weren't quite up to par with what Arthur had drawn before. It wasn't John's fault, not many could draw like that.

However, Arthur's next words pique Jack's interest. "When and how did you run into a lion, Uncle Arthur?! They're not native to the area... A bear? Sure. Wolves, coyotes, even cougars but not lions!" Oh, Jack knew all about the local fauna surrounding Beecher's Hope, he still had the scars on his face from that time a bear dug its claws into him and his Pa had to save his ass, that'd been a strange day.

"I... Thanks, Uncle Arthur." Jack manages a shy 'thank you' gesture before carefully folding the drawing and adding it to his own journal. "I ain't never seen a lion before. I've read about them, sure but I ain't seen one. The one in your drawin' looks big. How big was it when you drew this?"

[dsrtrose]

BITTER  SILENCE  IN  ST.  DENIS.    eliza  is  all  but  pouting  as  she  finally  speaks  up,  "i  don't  like  it  here,  arthur."  the  air  shared  between  the  pair  feels  stale,  muggy  &  dirty.  the  beast  of  a  city  paints  a  distraction  all  around  them,  st.  denis  in  all  her  emblazoned  glory  -  manufactured  white  noise  drowns  out  humankind,  and  she  feels  her  temper  turning  sour.

eliza  is  in  rare  form  and  has  been  since  departing  rhodes  in  a  hurry  -  first  sean,  then  jack,  then  the  wretched  pinkertons  ...  she  hasn't  slept  for  days,  much  less  allowed  herself  a  reprieve  from  the  grief  and  unnamed  guilt.  they're  supposed  to  be  finding  the  man  whose  name  &  reputation  hangs  over  eliza's  head  like  an  impending  stormcloud  -  angelo  bronte.  she  still  thinks  she  might  be  sick  at  the  mere  thought  and  implication  of  her  own  helpless  blood  relation,  and  yet:  she  trusts  arthur  more  than  most.  as  discontented  as  her  current  temperament  is,  eliza  wouldn't  wish  anyone  else  by  her  side  -  he  is  of  significant  comfort  as  she  navigates  paralyzing  emotion.

"it  smells,  people  are  mean,  an'  i  can't  even  see  any  goddamn  ..."  she  kicks  a  stray  cobblestone  to  prove  her  point,  exhaling  a  defeated  huff  before  continuing,  "...  grass."

STARTER  CALL,    still  accepting    /    @redemn  🤍

[healthysclf]

" ARTHUR! WAIT! " SKIRTS are gathered in dorothea's hands as she quickly trots up to the wagon, slightly out of breath.

" are you going into town? can i come with you? i'm going insane being cooped up here & we need medical supplies anyway. i was going to just wait until herr strauss ordered more, but given the circumstances, perhaps staying fully stocked is the best course of action & -- "

she takes a moment to catch her breath.

" please? " she gazes up at him with soft brown hues, hoping to resemble a sad puppy more than a deer caught in lamplight.

@redemn // s.c.