OPEN | prompt one | RAIN

[wrens]

prompt one | R A I N I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain - and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane.

 

Comments

[footfall]

[ He doesn't bother asking why the guy's so angry. They had plenty to be angry about, after all, and it's nothing personal about the Hunter, he gets that. Everybody was trying to make due with what they had and, more often than not, with what other people had too, so long as they could get it out of others hands and into their own.

He takes a moment to take in that expression; the Hunter's own isn't particularly earnest but it's hiding anything either. If there's a lie in him — and there isn't — it's nowhere to be found on his face. ]

Cause we're all fuckin' dyin' already. Don't need help from me, none.

[ He saves that for the ones he's hired out to find. More often than not, they're the ones doing the taking — stealing, marauding, raping, eating. Those were the types the Hunter didn't mind helping along any. ]

[scouting]

[Darren isn't good at reading people - and he knows it. His own face shows every little flicker of emotion, but he can't see much of anything in anyone else's. That's why everyone should be treated with caution and wariness. Darren can't trust his eyes, can't trust his gut, can only trust that little voice in his head that tells him no, stop listening, it's bullshit. The Hunter doesn't look like he's lying, but then, no one ever did.]

Get enough dead bodies under your feet, you're king of your own hill.

[footfall]

[ There's not much he can say to that except: ] Sometimes, yeah. An' sometimes being king of anythin' round here is good enough reason to get your ass killed faster than it coulda been.

[ The Hunter says this because he knows it for a fact. He had plenty of dead bodies cooling and going to rot under his feet, but he'd never been made king of anything; and he liked it that way. Being somebody just made you more of a target, a bigger piece of the pie that someone else would want a hold of. After a moment of staring, the Hunter looks away again, out the rain-spattered windows onto the meager settlement beyond. Lifting his shoulders, he gives them a slow roll. ] You don't look the killing type.

[scouting]

[Maybe that was true. But all the men on their hills than Darren heard about held some measure of safety, looking down at anyone coming to try and kill them.]

We all do what we got to.

[A brief frown, and he looks away again. No, he was not the killing type, though he'd defended himself as he'd needed to a few times (and the memories sat badly with him, like food curdling in his gut). But that was what this land made them all. Liars and murderers and thieves.]