#there ain't no glory in the west [musings]

[lupinemechanic]

Tagdump

can't put a price on living free [self]

there ain't no glory in the west [musings]

smooth as tennessee whiskey; warm as a glass of brandy [aesthetic]

all that i want is a kind heart to haunt [general ship aesthetic]

[sunbentsky-archived]

They say everyone’s good at something; Ecaterina, for her part, is quite remarkable when it comes to the age-old practice of lying, stealing, and cheating her way through life. Hardly a talent to brag about. After all, it’s not working the loom like her mama tried to teach her or singing in the choir like her tata died hoping she would take to one day. 

Yet it’s lying and stealing that saved her hide on countless occasions before, and lying and stealing she’s doing right now.

“Don’t know what you expect to find, dearest.” If her tone is sweet, it’s sweet like crystals of sugar scratching the throat: remember to stir your tea well, stranger. “Nothing but sacks of potatoes and turnips back there.” A barefaced lie even in broad daylight when coming from a lone woman driving what looks like a rich man’s wagon. In the dimming evening sun, against the slight clink of bottles from underneath the heavy canvas cover-- Ecaterina’s audacity is a threat, not an oversight.

The two horses whinny impatiently and pull the wagon one step forward. Their mood seems to mimic their driver’s, reins held firmly in one hand. The other is limp and relaxed over her lap, but Ecaterina can already map the feeling of metal in the palm of her hand, her revolver hidden not far at all under her coat. A wrong move, a fraction of a second, and she’ll have put a bullet in the other’s head.

“Go on, then,” she encourages. Her eyes don’t offer the same emboldening nudge. “Take a look. Maybe my potatoes were gold all along without my knowin’. Wouldn’t that be a sight?”