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+---- Thread: HE USED TO BE A COWBOY || open, campfire + singing (/showthread.php?tid=9294)
HE USED TO BE A COWBOY || open, campfire + singing - A. MORGAN - 02-28-2019
EASTWARD BOUND
ARTHUR MORGAN — MALE — SNOWBOUND — SNOWSEEKER — HARD
Snowbound was great. It really was. But there was something Arthur always felt it was missing; or, rather, lacking. Arthur always ran on very little sleep, a couple of hours, yet he seemed to be just fine. He was always late to bed and early to rise, making sure not to waste the day if he could help it. Of course it wasn't hard to notice how most of the Snowpokes seemed to call it quits early on in the night right when it was just getting started! Frankly he thought it a crime, but he wouldn't tell others how to live their lives. And sure, during the night you couldn't hunt much, or fish, or go on patrols, but nighttime could still be fun.
And Arthur decided to have his own fun. He picked a spot away from the main camp, being sure to choose a place that wouldn't disturb anyone wanting to rest. It took a bit of time to gather the wood and clear away some of the snow, but eventually the timber wolf had made a nice campfire for himself. He could almost hear the bustle of old friends. Mary Beth and the girls playing dominos, Javier strumming his guitar while the rest erupted into song. It was a happy memory, one that brought a smile to his lips. He missed those days. Missed his family so much he ached. The bitter sweetness of it all brought him an odd sense of comfort. And slowly, his voice rose over the quiet air.
"Dan Taylor is a rollicking cuss,
A frisky son of a gun,
He loves to court the maidens
And he savies how it's done.
He used to be a cowboy
And they say he wasn't slow,
He could ride the bucking bronco
And swing the long lasso."
He isn't amazing. His voice is hard and gruff, and he hums the tune more than he sings the lyrics, but he does what little stuck into his head and he couldn't be more pleased. Maybe one day he'd remember enough to get through to the halfway point? Hah.
And Arthur decided to have his own fun. He picked a spot away from the main camp, being sure to choose a place that wouldn't disturb anyone wanting to rest. It took a bit of time to gather the wood and clear away some of the snow, but eventually the timber wolf had made a nice campfire for himself. He could almost hear the bustle of old friends. Mary Beth and the girls playing dominos, Javier strumming his guitar while the rest erupted into song. It was a happy memory, one that brought a smile to his lips. He missed those days. Missed his family so much he ached. The bitter sweetness of it all brought him an odd sense of comfort. And slowly, his voice rose over the quiet air.
"Dan Taylor is a rollicking cuss,
A frisky son of a gun,
He loves to court the maidens
And he savies how it's done.
He used to be a cowboy
And they say he wasn't slow,
He could ride the bucking bronco
And swing the long lasso."
He isn't amazing. His voice is hard and gruff, and he hums the tune more than he sings the lyrics, but he does what little stuck into his head and he couldn't be more pleased. Maybe one day he'd remember enough to get through to the halfway point? Hah.
Re: HE USED TO BE A COWBOY || open, campfire + singing - guts - 02-28-2019
As for West, she wasn't fond of this place. She was never one for groups, and she definitely didn't trust any of her 'clan-mates.' She slept with one eye open. But, at the same time, she was still here. She supposed it was mostly because each time she looked out towards the horizon and tried to find the will inside herself to go on, she couldn't. What was beyond this place of snow and ice? In her case, not much but danger and uncertainty. Still, it wasn't like she was safe here, not in her mind.
It wasn't uncommon for her to still be up in the late hours. She had a sleep schedule similar to Arthur's, going to bed late and waking up early. In her case, though, she was worse for wear. She was used to getting more sleep, but with the paranoia and nightmares, falling asleep and staying asleep was a challenge. It was just another thing she would have to get used to.
The falls of her paws on snow are soft, yellow eyes sharp against the darkness that fell over the landscape. She doesn't like the impaired ability to see, yet she was still out and about, mostly looking for something to occupy herself with. She got restless staying cooped up in the room she was temporarily staying in. The last thing she was expecting, though, was to hear someone making such noise.
Curiosity getting the best of her, she quietly stalked over towards the light of the fire, crouching where the embers or wind couldn't reach her and give her presence away. Luckily she realized this was a Snowbounder before she ended up pouncing. Still, she stayed hidden as she was, trying to decide whether to make herself known or sneak away. Eventually she gave up the mental war and stood.
"Whatever you're doing is dangerous. Someone could sneak up on you and you wouldn't even notice until their teeth were in your neck." the female points out as she steps forward, keeping a safe distance away from him. The warmth from the fire was nice, though.
It wasn't uncommon for her to still be up in the late hours. She had a sleep schedule similar to Arthur's, going to bed late and waking up early. In her case, though, she was worse for wear. She was used to getting more sleep, but with the paranoia and nightmares, falling asleep and staying asleep was a challenge. It was just another thing she would have to get used to.
The falls of her paws on snow are soft, yellow eyes sharp against the darkness that fell over the landscape. She doesn't like the impaired ability to see, yet she was still out and about, mostly looking for something to occupy herself with. She got restless staying cooped up in the room she was temporarily staying in. The last thing she was expecting, though, was to hear someone making such noise.
Curiosity getting the best of her, she quietly stalked over towards the light of the fire, crouching where the embers or wind couldn't reach her and give her presence away. Luckily she realized this was a Snowbounder before she ended up pouncing. Still, she stayed hidden as she was, trying to decide whether to make herself known or sneak away. Eventually she gave up the mental war and stood.
"Whatever you're doing is dangerous. Someone could sneak up on you and you wouldn't even notice until their teeth were in your neck." the female points out as she steps forward, keeping a safe distance away from him. The warmth from the fire was nice, though.
Re: HE USED TO BE A COWBOY || open, campfire + singing - Grimm - 03-01-2019
[align=center][div style="max-width: 420px; line-height:120%; font-family: arial; font-size: 8.5pt; text-align: justify; margin-bottom:5px"]Elusive the fine touch of slumber, brushing along the ragged edge of each shallow breath and encircling the steady thrum of wandering thought until it melted away, quiet the whispering touch, lulling her forth into the lightness of surface sleep. Yet rare the occurrence when her mind fell further, found within the warmth of darkness broken into a kaleidoscope of colours and scenes, drawn forth from the fragmented presence of loose memory, a fine pane of glass shattered with a soft touch. She had grown accustomed to those few stolen hours, ever twitching the ragged scraps of skin adorning the top of her skull still, sliver of lilac parting the thin skin of her eyelids, worry a steady beat playing behind her heart.
Difficult to pinpoint the moment her mind roused, drew itself forth from the light touch working through the tense draw of muscle, overworked beneath the slow waste, parting from skin and bone until it seemed all that linger was such beneath the fine covering of translucent hairs, ragged breath parting her mouth in a sudden intake arising in the ragged shape of a cough. It burned. Her throat constricted in a painful vice, soft groan escaping upon the next shallow exhale, seconds trickling past unresponsive thought. Smart may the decision to linger be, simple movement allowing her the chance to quell the throbbing heat of a parched throat, but she was not known for the level of her intelligence. Oh idiotic was it to think her stupid in any fashion, more she was a prisoner to her whims, grown callous over the years of her life no matter the jovial tone that marked her words, easy the compliments that fell from her tongue.
Groan passed the press of teeth and slow was her progress, body protesting each minuscule movement, wanting nothing more then the quiet moments of rest if it may not have true sleep. Old hinges offered their own sounds of protest, the sound of the door striking the splintering frame resounding, bouncing off the covering of fresh snow about her, on her own path continued. Mindless her wanderings within those first minutes, encircling the space the various cabins inhabited, before on she was moving, abandoning the spire upon which she had made a place for herself – not a home, far from such a sentimental thing but merely an area she may rest her head for a time, assisting where her tired body may allow.
Time passed and in those moments when the song of the fire found her, quiet the crackling and pop of each flame as it licked along the fuel it was permitted, reaching forth with tongues of red and orange as though it sought to taste the sky suspended above, better had become a mood that was sour in her first minutes of waking. Still an edge was there, present in the uneasy curl of a smile as she heard a voice, tone dipping within the range of a monotone allowing the barest hint of something to slide through, though if it was merely the mark of a woman who had felt the harshness of life and come through with blood between her teeth or the trace of emotion barely withheld she may never know.
“Ain't nun out 'ere wit a lick a sense, freeze der asses off fore dey got ta us,” faint traces of humour lacked her words, the softening of a dragged out wheeze, twist of pale features showing momentary displeasure. Glance spared for she, darkness bound within the fragile skin broken with fine lines of raised skin, within her own way a beauty, strength within the muscle and broad structure and easy to tell was how appreciative the gaze that found her. Yet away it skittered until she found the other, brief the twist of smile. Amusing was the fact both proved canids, though different their kinds, and she but a feline bearing a name that may have made this situation rather different for indeed did she seem but a scrap of meat for either, nothing more then bone and gristle a dog might chew upon before growing tired of a lacklustre treat.
As close as she may dare to settle near the fire, which still proved to be a fair distance for the harsh light irritated her eyes, weak as her vision had grown, directing her attention towards Arthur. “Ya got a good set a lungs, pretty boy, I thought all a ya cowboys couldn't sing but damn, ya proved me wrong, dat's fer sure.” Teasing the lilt about her words, the slight twist of her pale lips too showing the soft prod, though within some measure of truth.