Long John Silver (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
coercings) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
castlewhitespire2021-02-15 04:27 pm
coercings) wrote in castlewhitespire2021-02-15 04:27 pm
Rooksilver;
All things considered, Montana isn't the worst place to hang your hat. It's not ideal--John Silver thrives in busy, big cities where its far easier to disappear at the first sign of trouble--but the night sky is gorgeous and the crickets have been doing a fine job of lulling him to sleep. As much as you can sleep when there's an absolute fucking lunatic wandering around and blowing up Joseph's hard work. It's less the work he's upset about and more that now, with law enforcement that strong and if the rumours are correct holding a pretty little shotgun, things are getting dicey.
Silver doesn't like dicey. Silver likes money and Silver likes surviving. That's precisely why he's hitched himself to Joseph Seed's shenanigans, wearing the clothes, talking the talk and, in some instances, even walking the walk--he can't feel too sorry for people who are stupid enough to try to fight, not when it's so clear cut: follow Joseph, join his little cult, and live. The drugs help, too, even though he makes it a point not to stay near the Bliss for too long. He enjoys his wits about him, thank-you, and he's seen what Faith can do if one dabbles a bit too much in the warm, comforting feeling of the drug.
Joseph had offered him a clean slate from the law and Silver had jumped at the chance, but now that there seems to be a bigger dog biting at their heels, he's not so sure if he's jumping for the right person. Case in point, he's been instructed to go up in the hills to guard one of the shrines. It's something mundane, but it's also 3 in the fucking morning, and the Peggy he's with--it's a derogatory term, he knows, but it's still a little funny--is one who refuses to acknowledge that silence is golden. She keeps singing, voice just a little out of tune, not enough to be noticable right away but enough to set his teeth on edge.
It's when she stops that Silver gets worried. He'd been sitting on a rock, idly watching the stars, careful enough to not be downwind of the shrine and its fumes when her singing goes silent and Silver feels a slow sense of impending doom start to creep up the back of his neck.
The arrow through his acquaintances' skull all but confirms it. Silver's jaw sets, his gaze hardens, thinking quickly. He should run for cover. He should run, period, but where? He's not a survivalist and he's surrounded by woods. There's probably an arrow coming towards his skull at this very moment. If he's not hunted down by the deputy, the trouble will be double with the Seed family.
He's fucked. So Silver tries to do what gets him out of most situations: he talks. He's got an assault rifle slung across his shoulder, and instead of grabbing it he shoots both of his hands up, palms open. A surrender pose.
"Wait! I have something for you," he says quickly, loudly, british accent clipped and clear. "You're going to want to hear me out."
Silver doesn't like dicey. Silver likes money and Silver likes surviving. That's precisely why he's hitched himself to Joseph Seed's shenanigans, wearing the clothes, talking the talk and, in some instances, even walking the walk--he can't feel too sorry for people who are stupid enough to try to fight, not when it's so clear cut: follow Joseph, join his little cult, and live. The drugs help, too, even though he makes it a point not to stay near the Bliss for too long. He enjoys his wits about him, thank-you, and he's seen what Faith can do if one dabbles a bit too much in the warm, comforting feeling of the drug.
Joseph had offered him a clean slate from the law and Silver had jumped at the chance, but now that there seems to be a bigger dog biting at their heels, he's not so sure if he's jumping for the right person. Case in point, he's been instructed to go up in the hills to guard one of the shrines. It's something mundane, but it's also 3 in the fucking morning, and the Peggy he's with--it's a derogatory term, he knows, but it's still a little funny--is one who refuses to acknowledge that silence is golden. She keeps singing, voice just a little out of tune, not enough to be noticable right away but enough to set his teeth on edge.
It's when she stops that Silver gets worried. He'd been sitting on a rock, idly watching the stars, careful enough to not be downwind of the shrine and its fumes when her singing goes silent and Silver feels a slow sense of impending doom start to creep up the back of his neck.
The arrow through his acquaintances' skull all but confirms it. Silver's jaw sets, his gaze hardens, thinking quickly. He should run for cover. He should run, period, but where? He's not a survivalist and he's surrounded by woods. There's probably an arrow coming towards his skull at this very moment. If he's not hunted down by the deputy, the trouble will be double with the Seed family.
He's fucked. So Silver tries to do what gets him out of most situations: he talks. He's got an assault rifle slung across his shoulder, and instead of grabbing it he shoots both of his hands up, palms open. A surrender pose.
"Wait! I have something for you," he says quickly, loudly, british accent clipped and clear. "You're going to want to hear me out."