|
Post by Deleted on Sept 13, 2018 21:43:11 GMT -5
gay cowboys with 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 this page is a work in progress
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Sept 18, 2018 21:47:31 GMT -5
Kohaku Avila Sacramento, California. uninjured, just hungry.
As was more or less commonplace for a social outcast such as himself, the 29 year old found himself recently laid off and looking for work.
He'd been working as a cattle herder in the Sacramento River Valley for quite some time--a little over a year, to be exact, which was strange, given that his employers usually only needed him for short amounts of time--and doing good, hard work, but as things usually went, Kohaku was framed. At first, being blamed for and punished for a crime he didn't commit deeply disturbed him, and the young man sought to defend himself in any way he could, but the longer he stayed in the workforce, the more he realized it wasn't an issue of his personal integrity. His employers knew it, too, but there always existed a barrier of fear and distrust that prevented him from staying the course of his labor from his cheating, lying, and stealing coworkers.
The young man had more or less grown used to false accusations now. It was simply an essential part of his existence: eat, sleep, breathe, be framed, be unseen, be unheard.
On that ranch in the Sacramento River Valley, the criminal justice system proceeded with the haste that Kohaku was painfully familiar with. Every now and then, the mistress of the home invited him and the other farmhands in for leftover tea sandwiches and goodies from her book club meetings, since they were going to get thrown in the trash or to the dogs, anyway. He always accepted them graciously and politely, only taking a small serving's worth, while the annoying and garrulous teenagers that he worked with filled their shirts and pockets with the delicate bread treats like they were stuffing a Christmas stocking. Sometimes the mistress would stay and try to make conversation with these individuals she'd never be able to relate to; other times, she left, claiming she had some other business to attend to.
During one of those periods where she let the boys in and left them alone, one of the bolder youngsters stole a beautifully carved crystal ball off its shelf. Even at a pawned value, it was probably worth more than half a year's wages--a complete game changer, something that'll put a turkey on the dinner table and a pair of fine leather shoes on a man's feet. They all saw it. He didn't try to do much to make it a subtle effort, either: he just waltzed up to the thing, eyed it for a moment, then stuffed it deep in his pockets to mingle with the cucumbers and prosciutto. When the others gave him questioning looks, he put it off as long as he could until the bold young man answered them with, "They have enough of these. Not like they'll be missin' 'em. They're not even gonna notice it's gone, I bet." Then he paused. "Plus, they're not gonna think it was me anyway."
The shift in attention in the room from the speaker to the elephant. If his skin was any lighter, he would have had a blush as deeply red as the sunburns that flanked all the shoulders of his fellow farmhands. Kohaku kept his dark gaze low, absentmindedly studying the ornate curls and shapes of stems and petals of woven flowers on the carpet below his feet, keeping his expression unaffected and placid as could be. Hell, he didn't even have it in himself to stir up an ounce of anger against these boys--not men, but boys, as they truly were both to him and the rest of society. Secretly, he pitied them. He pitied all of them. And he knew they'd loathe him even more for knowing that, but the man couldn't make himself angry at a truly mistaken group of people. It was something he'd made an uneasy, begrudging peace with.
Two days later, the man of the house fired him. He was greeted by the man with a shotgun casually slung across his shoulders on a strap, arms firmly crossed on his broad chest. It didn't take much inference on his end to understand what had happened: surely the thief had told the mistress about the robbery when she returned to the house sometime later, and no doubt, it earned him a bonus of some kind. Kohaku thought of Colossians, chapter three, verse twenty five--a com mon gesture of self-reassurance, though said payback never seemed to come. Maybe God was partial to the whites, too. That may explain some things.
"We don't take kindly to stealin' 'round these parts." He wasted no time at all, and didn't seem phased by eyeing his former employee atop a horse, looming overhead.
Kohaku swallowed dryly. "Of course, sir." Tone matter of fact, quiet.
The husband eyed him with scrutiny for some long intolerable moments. "Don't make this harder than it has ta' be, boy." He shifted, and, by some incredible stroke of coincidence that wasn't an intentional display of seriousness, in the slightest, the shotgun slid further down his chest, in plainer sight. "I reckon you oughta find some other place ta' work."
He stared at the shotgun gravely; the mare beneath him seemed uncomfortable, too, with a nervous, restless, moving stance and flattened ears. "... Yes, sir." Kohaku jerked the reins softly, alerting his horse back to attention. "Thank you for your time," he added after a moment's hesitation, then pulled his mare away from the ranch. He moved her at a moderate pace for a while, but then slowed once he knew he was out of the ranch's line of sight, he slowed to a depressing shuffle of sorts, considering what exactly all this meant. His only steady source of income had just vaporized before his eyes, like a dead leaf in a spark of flame, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
But the young man happened to come upon a job advertisement nailed to the front wooden gate of town, and, he thought for once that his luck may just change. Scrawled out in plain letters in front of him read, unmistakably:
THE PONY EXPRESS SACRAMENTO CALIFORNIA TO ST. JOSEPH MISSOURI IN 10 DAYS OR LESS WANTED YOUNG, SKINNY, WIRY FELLOWS NOT OVER 30. MUST BE EXPERT RIDERS, WILLING TO RISK DEATH DAILY. ORPHANS PREFERRED. WAGES $25 A WEEK. Kohaku couldn't seem to make his mare get to the post office fast enough. No doubt was this the opportunity of a lifetime--where else could he get paid potentially $20 for a week of work? For the first time in his entire life, he seemed to fit all the given criteria of a job like a key fits perfectly in the lock made just for it, and vice versa. After tying up his good girl on the stand right outside the office, he strolled in confidently into the office, hat in his hand, posture straight, tall, a sparkle of genuine determination lighting up his gaze for the first time in a long, long time.
"Afternoon, sir," he greeted the front desk politely. "I saw your, ah, advertisement, out there on the street. I'm very interested in this job, you see--I've been riding horses practically since I started walkin', and I'm an orphan." Kohaku offered a sheepish smirk at the unimpressed man sitting before him. "And I can start working tomorrow--no, today. Is there any paperwork--"
The front desk clerk raised his hand, effectively cutting him off. "Easy, easy, boy. Slow on down, why don't you?" He spat his chaw in a conveniently placed bucket to the side of his desk and typewriter. "It ain't... Just that easy, I hope you know." He paused, leering up at him from behind half-moon spectacles. "What did you say your name was, boy?"
"C-Cole Peterson, sir," he managed, albeit rattled.
He smiled cruelly at him. "I know that ain't your name, son. Don't lie to me--I could very well give ya' this job."
"That is my name, sir, I promise. I can come back with my papers if you just give me a mom--"
"I don't wanna see no damn papers from ya'." He paused, giving the younger man a very obvious lingering gaze up and down his figure. "We don't... How do I put this? People wanna trust whoever it is that's carryin' their mail, ya' see. Don't think they'd like to know that you're the one doin' it."
|
|
|
Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Sept 22, 2018 22:53:01 GMT -5
Jamison Andersen Sacramento, California. Longing for the raw air of twilight.
There truly was no rest for the weary. There was, however, usually a silver lining.
Much like the sun itself, which would shine even when no one was looking, Jamie knew better than to quit. And unlike anyone else, who might become dejected by a cloud’s shadow over them, he would look up. It was especially crucial that he not take breaks. Stopping for a full day was the equivalent of shooting himself in the knee. If he brooked himself to rest, he knew it wouldn’t take long for the dull ache of butterflies below his sternum to make him feel sick. He would get restless and his brain would be blotted with a fear dark as the shadows hiding from the illumination of moonlight. He would watch over every memory that he so wanted to forget until he could think about nothing else and he would lose his job, his purpose, everything he’d worked so hard for in the past decade of his life. He couldn’t let that happen, so he simply couldn’t afford to rest.
Therefore until he came to his senses, he would not rest. The closest means of sleep he had was a rented room in the River Valley of Sacramento. It was toward this place, which he’d decided was a fine replacement for home, that he rode his thoroughbred. The horse’s muscles worked rhythmically against his legs, stretching taut and relaxing. Her heather-gray coat looked black as a pearl under the night sky, whose starry eyes had followed his eight-hour journey from Diamond Springs, Nevada, even when he couldn’t see them. He was pushing the mare as fast as he knew she could go. The even-wind played through his hair, singing softly in his ears to the blunt echo of Thielen’s hooves. She was breathing heavily, anxious to arrive.
“Almost there, The.” Jamie didn’t need to tell her, for she knew. His hold on the reins was almost a caress, nonexistent; they had made this trip enough that the mare could lead herself. It was the longest section of desert, especially with the Sierra Nevada standing in the path he took. Whereas other riders might stop at stations and exchange horses, Jamie kept the same for this particular part of the route, which might have been unorthodox. But in truth, this was his favorite part, and he preferred spending the time with an equine he knew and liked. The thrill of traversing the ragged peaks of the terrene waves was inexplicable. The air in the mountains was reminiscent of cedar and felt more like home than the aridity below, and although they had already passed it then and were travelling over a flat earth, Jamie turned his head around to glance back at the imposing figure of the mountain range, its faces almost ominous from here.
Thielen tossed her head in excitement, pace picking up. Jamie tightened his grip and forced his gaze forward. The town was within sight. Thank God, he thought, letting out a breath he’d been holding, as if trying to grasp the scent of the Sierra Nevada in his mouth. The saddle beneath him was getting cold. He adjusted his posture, sitting up a little straighter as the road spread itself before him. Thielen slowed to a happy trot as they approached the River Valley.
“Glad one of us feels welcomed,” he spoke to himself, seeing as his horse ignored him. She was intent on going straight to her stables and her apples. That was fine with him; he needed a walk. Despite the exhaustion slumping his shoulders, his eyes were alert. He’d been sitting for the past ten days and was aching to move, at least enough to get himself to bed. I’m too young to feel this damn old, he thought, miffed.
He walked Thielen through the dusty street to the stables, where she promptly fell asleep after he brushed her. He kneeled, filling her box with feed and a few apples before he patted her flank and stood, stepping out of the stall and shutting the door behind him. Shortly thereafter, he was on his way back to the Tacuba Building. Although it was not extremely late, he did not pass many people, which was for the best. He didn’t have the energy to talk to anyone, acquaintances or otherwise. The last in his recollection of this night included the creak of a wooden staircase leading to his room, and the key turning in the doorknob with a succinct click, then afterwards collapsing into bed as his mind went blank.
Jamie slept until the sun rose, at which point he could be seen walking along the road. As morning slid into the sky, it filled the bowl between horizons with a happy, light blue. It was almost like a river in the sky, he mused, walking at a calm pace. Some time passed, and soon others joined him outside, milling through the streets to get to their respective destinations. Nodding in greeting here and there, he pretended—though he would never admit it aloud―that he wasn’t walking alone.
The days when he had agonized over whether or not Jane had had the same thoughts were gone; he was now left with nothing except the picture in his mind of her at the fair. It was a blurry picture around the edges, the crowds were faded in his memory, but her face was crystal clear. He could see her hair in her face as she turned and looked back at him, the hem of her dress fluttering as she wove around a small group of people. She was running through the throngs of people, teasing, and he was giving chase, the rich, bright colors of the flags in his periphery. That was all he allowed himself to hold on to from a life that was no longer his, and even this keepsake made him more than sad.
He felt empty for a minute or so as he placed unwavering steps, trying to repress the numbness of guilt crawling through his veins. Carefully, as if this memory were a tangible, delicate moth, he tucked it away. She won’t become a stranger. He told himself, biting the inside of his cheek and moving on, the dirty stones of gravel crunching under his shoes.
As he walked, his thoughts jumped from one thing to another. One of the more arbitrary thoughts that occurred to him was if his life could be played on a piano, it would have a slow tempo, with the metronome set at 60 beats per minute. The key would probably be G major. Before he knew it, this unplanned and seemingly frivolous pattern of thoughts was at the center of his attention. The introduction would be low and kind of sad, with scattered higher notes to tell the listener that not all was lost, like a song of pleading. “I’m scared you’ll forget about me.”
Jamie wandered for a couple hours before finally turning down the boulevard where the stables were situated. There, Thielen was waiting for him, ears perked. She stamped and swished her tail when she saw him, leaning over the stall door to nuzzle his reaching hand.
“Hey, girl,” he murmured, stroking her forehead, wishing he shared her quick enthusiasm when his was mostly transient and short-lived. Biting back a sigh, he gave a sideways, half-hearted smile, and Thielen tossed her head in response. Jamie saddled her up, tightening the stirrup straps and adjusting her bridle before he slung his gear and the mochila over her back, along with the rest of her tack. Holding the loose reins in one hand, he guided her out of the stables before mounting.
“Take a day off ever?” A voice to his right at the door bid him turn to face an employee at the stables. “I just had a half-day, Philly,” was Jamie’s response, and the older man feigned a pout. “A half-day?” Philly repeated, as if the words were Indian and he was cautiously tasting them on his tongue. Judging by the bitterness in his wrinkled face, he didn’t like them. “Not a full one?”
Jamie shook his head, and Philly went back to work hosing down the horses’ water buckets for a minute before he continued, “hear about what happened in Nevada?”
Jamie frowned. He hadn’t, and that concerned him. Philly wasn’t one for small talk, so this was something bigger than a cloudfront or inclimate weather on the plains. “No, I just came from there last night, what happened?” Philly paused, grinning mischievously, visibly tickled to be the messenger of bad news. “Some Paiute was brutalized three days ago, which I dunno what ‘at means, but then they killed about five men because of it.” Jamie blinked, opening his mouth to question his friend, but was cut off when Philly said, “They say they declared war and they gonna shut down Diamond Springs today ‘cause they’re bein’ attacked so much.” He smiled and let the information sink in. Jamie’s mind raced so that when Philly mentioned the military, he hardly understood his meaning. “Why the military?” He managed, and Philly grinned. “To escort riders through Nevada at least, I think.” “I didn’t see anything yesterday.” Jamie finally stated, looking to the stable-hand for explanation but Philly shrugged his shoulders and the hiss of water in the buckets told Jamie that the conversation was over. He set Thielen at a trot toward the post office to pick up his assignments, trying to figure out what he might do about this immature “war” with the Paiute. In Jamie’s eyes, they weren’t really the enemy, but most white men were more eager to blame the Indians than each other for the hostilities between the north and south. It seemed useless to bring in troops when the riders could handle the skirmish themselves, but no one ever listened to his ideas, so as he halted Thielen in front of the post office, he resolved to keep his mouth shut about it. If he made good time, he might reach Diamond Springs again before they rerouted the delivery. Even so, he was uncertain as to whether or not he wanted to leave Thielen there this time around.
Jamie dismounted once they reached the post office and tied his mare to the post, opposite another mare who was looking at them with half-curious eyes. Thielen snorted at the strange horse, and Jamie pushed her muzzle away, telling her to behave. Then he went inside.
He caught the screen door just before it slammed behind him, a soft thud announcing his presence instead. Another man was standing at the counter, hat in hand. Jamie assumed it was a customer looking to send mail across the frontier. He met the gaze of the clerk, who gave an almost imperceptible nod to Jamie before asking the man in front of him for his name. “C-Cole Peterson, sir.” He sounded like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs.
Unconcerned, Jamie was walking toward the counter, meaning to collect his own assignments from the storage room behind the swinging door, when the clerk’s next words gave him pause. In essence, the clerk was questioning the man about a job that he didn’t want to give him. Jamie didn’t like his tone, and soon enough, he knew why. The clerk was piling crap excuses on the counter, and a fire blossomed in his stomach when the dark-haired man said nothing. Doesn’t he have any sense of preservation?
Jamie stepped up to the counter and glanced sideways at the man under fire. He was Japanese, at first glance, which explained the clerk’s tone. But other than that, all Jamie could think was that this man had no self-respect. His gaze was downturned, brow furrowed in disconcertion, but there was no indignation at the less-than-fair treatment from the clerk. Unfortunately, Jamie wasn’t surprised; perhaps ‘disappointed’ was a better emotion in the moment, though it wasn’t only directed at the poor man being scrutinized.
He kept his countenance unaffected, however, when he asked the clerk, “what’s the problem here?” “You know, Andersen.” He did. The man looked smug enough that Jamie had to swallow the impulse to punch the glasses off his face. It bugged him that the postmaster knew his name, but he couldn’t dwell on that then. “He told you his name, he’s got the papers to prove it. What’s the problem?” Jamie repeated his question, looking over at the man next to him and frowning before facing front again.
The postmaster smirked, standing up from his stool to make himself taller, though he was a good four inches shorter than Jamie. “It’s really none of your business. Shall I send for my supervisor so he can settle this and make sure you keep to yourself like you’re s’posed to?” Jamie said nothing, since the man wasn’t done speaking, and he was starting to regret bothering with this. His silence was taken to mean ‘no’. “That’s what I thought. Now keep your mouth shut, and I’ll let ‘im join up. And ‘cause you’re clearly so caring a person, you can take him on his first round-trip. After that, Johnny’ll decide what to do with ‘im.” At this, Jamie opened his mouth to protest and closed it just as quickly when he saw the look on the clerk’s face. “Now get outta my office, I’ll bring you yer mail outside.” Jamie scowled, giving a sarcastic smile before he turned and stormed back out. He’d won that argument...right? It was difficult to say; he’d likely just been handed dead-weight and an unfavorable opinion from the postmaster. He didn’t need either. He’d been doing so well, performing his job and going unnoticed.
A silent shadow at his side, following slightly behind, told him that the other man had followed him out. Jamie paused at the bottom of the porch steps, turning and trying to meet his gaze. “Sorry about him,” he said, though he wasn’t wholly honest. He didn’t want this man to think that he was dismissing the clerk’s behavior, but Jamie didn’t know what else to say. He was sorry, he did hate the way the man had been treated, but he himself had little power to resolve the hatred in most people’s cores. Bad apples. So here he was, almost glaring at the man of minority and waiting for him to say something.
They would be stuck together for the next twenty days or so, because Jamie was not about to stray from a direction. In a way, he had asked for this, so he would make the most of it. Biting his lip, he studied the man’s face. It was slightly angular from lack of nutrition, though he seemed strong despite his lean figure.
Jamie was at a loss for words, which happened once in a blue moon. The air was charged with incredible discomfort, though from the humidity of the day or the awkwardness of their situation, he couldn’t definitively say. Before the tension dragged itself by its claws up their clothes like a cat, the door swung open again and the postmaster came out, his arms laden with envelopes and a few small parcels wrapped in brown. He unceremoniously tossed a few of the letters at the Jap and they fluttered to the sand at his feet. The rest of the mail he handed to Jamie directly, which made him scowl at the man’s back as he retreated into the post office.
Jamie looked at the man who called himself Cole Peterson and let out a huffy breath. “Sorry.” He stepped over and picked up the few slates of white off the dark tan earth. Jamie brought the mail over to his horse, opening the cantinas and placing the letters in two of them, the packages in the other two. Hands free, he checked the knife and pistol on his belt out of habit before approaching Peterson again, reaching out his hand for him to shake, thinking he would introduce himself.
“I’m Jamison, but call me Jamie.” He made a face of hesitation, as if he hadn’t meant to let that pass his lips and it was too late now to change his mind. “Andersen.” Another break in the sentence, and he smiled a little. “Pleasure to meet you.”
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Sept 29, 2018 18:59:15 GMT -5
Kohaku Avila Sacramento, California. uninjured, just hungry.
The sudden intrusion from a voice he hadn't ever heard before, from somewhere unseen and behind him, was enough to make Kohaku's blood run ice-cold, even on this sweating, sweltering May afternoon where the sun shone white-hot on the fertile earth all around them.
He peered nervously from the corner of his nervous eyes, watching this newcomer subtly but carefully, not daring to move as much as his pinky finger; the air in the room was tense enough with the conversation between himself and the postmaster, but Lord only knew what this stranger had in mind. At the very least, he was about to inquire something for himself--forgetting him altogether, and that would be the most ideal. But he and everyone else in that room who was gifted with lighter skin and wider eyes than he knew that people rarely didn't stick their noses into situations like this, so he steeled himself for the very worst as he watched the two men square each other up.
But, surprisingly, the worst never came. Kohaku was privately shocked as he watched the dialogue between the two, uneasy and unbalanced in power as it was, but he was sharp enough to recognize that there was so much more going on here than what mere words could convey: the shorter man, another roughneck-looking fellow not too unlike himself, had not only stuck up for him against a blatantly racist man and system, but had also agreed to let him work alongside him for their first job together. Nothing like this had ever happened before, in the short and very unfortunate time he'd been alive.
This isn't going to end well, something--common sense, maybe?--whispered, tenderly reminded, in the back of his mind. That much he could almost count on at this point: for every small favor he'd ever received--an extra helping of bread at dinnertime, a spare coin tossed his way from a generous client, a word of gentle reassurance from the pastor after Sunday church--was followed by something so much worse. He'd be questioned where the coin came from, interrogated to find out what family secrets he'd spilled to that pastor, and beaten and whipped mercilessly for it all. Told to pray about it. To return the coin, barely even able to squeak out a tear, nevermind see the confused hand to which he gave the change back to through swollen black-and-blue eyes.
From the quick first glance he took at this man called Anderson, though, Kohaku couldn't even hope to find anything secretly menacing in his visage. He tried to, too, but nothing screamed 'secret sadist' or 'self-interest seeker' in those bright eyes or youthful glimmer of a smile. It was strange that he didn't pick up anything of the sort; he'd been trained to see that sort of thing, and considered himself an expert in the field of finding prejudices that people wore on their sleeves or pretended to hide. He couldn't hide his uncertain grimace, but the young man did his best to keep it subtle.
How strange. He was quick to correct and flatten out his expression once he became acutely aware of the crease knotting in his tanned brow, golden with sweat, rich and saturated with color--stark and dark against the sea of European heritage he was surrounded by.
Things started moving too quickly in the few moments that followed for him to be able to manage any of the million words he wanted to share with this man, but he kept his mouth shut as he tried to follow the dizzying string of events. Not even ten seconds had passed before Kohaku found himself employed and partnered and given--well, they were thrown in his general direction, but given nonetheless--parcels to carry and literally defend with his life. The usually calm man was starting to find it difficult to even breathe, but he followed behind Anderson's easier, relaxed stride with the silence of a cat but the persistence of a herding dog.
"Oh--it's fine," he answered softly, his normally already soft tone a few extra degrees quieter with the uncertainty of this situation. I'm used to this. This isn't even really bad. There was just so much to process: the postmaster, with his begrudging allowance of his presence and labor, and this Anderson fellow, few and far between as the true good souls out there were. In all honesty, he couldn't say with much confidence that he'd met someone who was kind to him without any ulterior motive.
He shifted the letters and small packages to his left arm, nestling them snug to his side underneath it, and shook Jamison's hand with his newly free right hand firmly. "Likewise." He let the silence linger a moment longer so he could gather his thoughts before clearing his throat, getting some of the shock of the day out of his throat. The weight of everything he wanted to say made him anxiously silent--so much of what he wanted to tell this absolute stranger was absolutely beyond the realm of what was appropriate and, probably, beyond the realm of this man even caring.
But he couldn't just let such a gesture go unacknowledged, though. "I want to--" He stopped himself, licked his lips. Shifted from side to side in his boots as he reconsidered his wording, precise and politically correct as he always strove to be. The young man paused, drew in a breath, then sighed it out softly.
"Thank you for saying what you did back there." Kohaku deliberately avoided meeting the shorter man's eye, instead choosing to fix his gaze on some point just past him, a little lower, off to the side. "I don't know why you did, but--you didn't have to. I appreciate it." He offered a tender, friendly half-smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with sincerity, but it was fleeting, and a moment later he was back to seriousness.
"You'll have to tell me where we, ah--where we go from here." He glanced over to his mare, who with all her empathy that bordered on humanlike, seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, and was eyeing the pair of them intently, curious. "Can't say I've done this before."
|
|
|
Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Oct 4, 2018 11:08:07 GMT -5
Jamison Andersen Sacramento, California. Longing for the raw air of twilight.
The scorching desert wind almost snatched the words from the man’s mouth, like ashes from a fire, before they reached Jamison’s ears. Shifting his weight forward slightly, he caught the last word before it blew away. Fine.
Peterson was accepting his apology, almost dismissing it. The whole exchange had been a formality, nothing more than a gesture of common courtesy, and they both seemed to recognize it as such. It really only served to make the atmosphere around them more discomfiting, and so Jamie was reassured when Cole took his hand and shook it. As he had thought, appearances were deceiving at times; Cole was stronger than his frame would indicate, likely from hard labor where he could find it.
“Likewise.” Peterson responded, and in the silence that followed, Jamie nodded once, walking back over to Thielen to check the stirrups before mounting as he always did. However, he had barely taken three steps when he heard Peterson clear his throat, as if to get his attention. Of course, it worked, for Jamie turned around to face the man again, musing to himself that Peterson was behaving more like a shadow than a human. He was quiet as the pastel smear of purple at dawn; you wouldn’t see it unless you looked for it.
Jamie had worked beside enough immigrants to know that many of them trained themselves to be invisible. Their reasoning, whenever he asked, was that it’s better to be ignored and payed than hated and hung, and Jamie didn’t have the heart to point out the flaws in that ideology. He knew there were flaws in the way he lived as well, so he had little right to scorn them for theirs.
He was pulled from his thoughts abruptly when Cole started speaking, squeaking out three words before he stopped, started again. Jamie watched him as he shifted first right, then left, always looking down at the ground. Jamie couldn’t fight the frown that laced its way into his brow. He couldn’t tell if this was just how Peterson interacted with everyone, or if he was acting so diffident because he was talking with a white male.
Peterson took a voluntary breath in before releasing it. He looked up after a moment, but he didn’t meet Jamie’s eyes, which sent a spike of irritation through his chest until he tried to see himself through the stranger’s eyes. He decided that he looked about as uptight as every other employer Peterson had in his life. Mentally scolding himself, Jamie visibly relaxed his soldier’s posture, letting his shoulders drop forward slightly, and straightening the tense lower curve of his spine until his chest wasn’t puffed out so prominently. By then, he judged their postures were similar enough that Peterson would see him as an equal, and the man finally had his voice back, but what Cole said next was not what Jamie had been expecting.
Thank you.
Jamie understood that Peterson meant more than those two shy, limited words could really convey. His expression softened to something resembling sadness and Jamie lowered his gaze a little in respect. Still, the corner of his mouth lifted a little when Cole smiled at him, and then it was gone. Jamie followed his eyes as Peterson glanced over to the other mare waiting there. She looked back at them, a bold question in her eyes, as if she was asking them to explain the planets’ orbits in the night sky.
Thielen, on the other hand, was growing impatient and disinterested from standing around. She snorted at him and pawed at the ground with her hoof, brushing up clouds of dust to express her disapproval of him looking at another mare. Jamie gave her a reprimanding look, but he walked over to her and ran a hand over her neck before facing Peterson again, contemplating his question. He had to admit that he’d never done this before either, not with someone at his side. It was better in every way to ride alone, but he supposed new riders had to be trained with a bit more finesse than throwing them into the desert, as they had done in the beginning. From what Jamie had heard, this had cost more lives than necessary, and the company seemed to have realized the mistake. Or so he hoped. If that wasn’t the case, then he was being saddled with training this man for no reason other than as punishment for pissing off the postmaster.
Raising his brow briefly, he set his jaw before responding. “Well, assuming she’s yours―” He gestured to the horse beside Cole as he said this. “―that takes care of the first step, but we should probably get you a mochila so you don’t have to hold that mail.” He chewed at the inside of his cheek, thinking. “And you should probably have a water canteen and a pack for food. Not that you’ll ever need it, the trips between most stations are so short, but just in case.”
Jamie was about to mount when another thought occurred to him and his eyes brightened.
“Oh, and there is an oath I almost forgot. Repeat after me,” Jamie raised his right hand, nodding that Cole should do the same.
“I, state your name, do hereby swear, before the Great and Living God, that during my engagement, and while an employee of Russell, Majors and Waddell, I will, under no circumstances, use profane language, that I will drink no intoxicating liquors, that I will not quarrel or fight with any other employee of the firm, and that in every respect I will conduct myself honestly, be faithful to my duties, and so direct all my acts as to win the confidence of my employers, so help me God.”
Jamie gave a soft smile when Peterson had sworn to the last statement. “None of that is really binding, though. Believe me. I won’t tell on you if you break it, since I know I do." His smile spread to reveal his dimples as he joked, turning around and placing a boot in the stirrup before swinging his leg over Thielen's back.
“I think you’ll find what you need back at the stables,” he said, waiting for Peterson to mount his horse before giving Thielen a leg cue, lightly tapping her side with his ankle to urge her forward. Thielen responded to a tug of the reins, swerving left and leading the way down the street at a pleased trot. The echo of Peterson’s horse clopping along behind told him that the man hadn’t thought better of this adventure yet. That was a good sign. Off to a good start.
Jamie slowed Thielen and glanced back at Cole, feeling his first twinge of uncertainty about him as they turned a corner, but the question that came to his mind was not one he thought he should ask, so he faced forward again in silence, a shadow of a frown over his countenance as they approached the stables.
They halted their horses after passing through the wide barn doors. Jamie dismounted with a soft thump, following the sound of mutters to one of the stalls on the left. Philly was not happy to see him again. When Jamie knocked on the wood scaffolding to announce his presence, the older man whirled around in the stall from where he’d been kneeling and scrubbing the floor.
“What, back already? Decide not to go after all? I can call you chicken?”
Jamie rolled his eyes. “No, Philly. This is Cole Peterson. He’s a new rider, gonna be my partner for this trip.” Leaning against the door, he opened his mouth to continue, when Philly cut him off.
“What? Him? Are you joking with me right now, boy? You know I can never tell. Is he comin’ in here cleaning these floors instead’a me all by m’self?” At this, Jamie straightened as if stung by a bee, glancing over at Cole. His cheeks felt like they were burning, pale skin flushing to red in embarrassment. He had to tread carefully. Philly’s words were ignorant and inexcusable, but he couldn’t let it get around that he’d yelled at the old man.
“No, Philly. He’s a rider. Maybe if he gets as old as you, he’ll retire and work here, yea?” His voice was hard as he defended Cole, as if he were explaining a mistake to a child in timeout.
To Jamie’s relief, Philly smiled at the jab. “Yea, alright, boy. What do ya need?”
“A mochila. Still got that one in the closet?” Philly nodded. Jamie took a breath, hoping his next words wouldn’t be too much. “I’mma get it for him. Can you help him with supplies?”
He held his breath, knowing this was crossing a line. Philly looked at Jamie with narrowed eyes, not acknowledging Peterson as of yet. After a moment of intense waiting, the old man relented.
“I got horse food, that’s all I got, swear. Carrots and apples too.” Jamie released the breath he’d been holding. The old man was lying, shifting his gaze around at the floor and cracking his knuckles. Better than nothing. He’d have to try again at Diamond Springs.
“Fine. But give him clean water, please, or I’ll show you ‘chicken’.” He turned to Cole, holding out his hands, offering to take the mail he was still holding. “I’ll put those in the cantinas.”
With that, Jamie walked to the other end of the open stables where a closet sat propped open by a hat, and Peterson was left alone with Philly, who eyed him suspiciously.
“Come on then, boy.” His tone was markedly more sinister now, with Andersen out of hearing range. Philly pushed past Cole, his gait stiff and slow. He pointed at the large crate filled with bags of horse feed, showing him a scooping motion with his hand, indicating that he wasn’t about to do anything for him. Peterson had no choice but to get it himself. As he did that, Philly started muttering again, shuffling over to another crate to gather the promised apples and carrots into a backpack.
Jamie, meanwhile, had found the mochila hanging on the wall in the dark closet. It was worn and fraying, but otherwise in good condition. Hanging it over his arm, he hesitated, thinking about the old man’s words earlier. If Philly was right about the Paiute, he might need something more drastic than the weapons he carried on his belt. His rifle was sitting in a safe just a few feet away with the other riders’. He looked that way then, debating. He had never felt unsafe or unprepared enough to bring it with him; he was delivering mail, nothing important. It wasn’t cumbersome, but it would be blatantly obvious to anyone looking that he had it, which wasn’t what he wanted. The fact that, this time, he had another body to protect, convinced him to open the safe and take the rifle out with its saddle scabbard. I won’t use it. I won’t use it. Grabbing a handful of ammo, Jamie shut the door and locked it again, stepping back into the daylight of the stables, just as Philly was giving another instruction to Peterson.
“Wait here,” Philly said, dropping the backpack at Cole’s feet and stepping outside to fill a bota canteen with water. He returned a moment later, holding it out for Peterson to take. Before he could, though, Philly spoke again, his foggy eyes glaring at the half-breed with a white-hot warning like a brand.
“You best watch your back, Peterson.” He was mocking him. Jamie looked over as he approached their horses, pausing to listen but finding he couldn’t as Philly was purposefully keeping his voice quiet. That’s a first.
“I’m not a rider, so I don’t know how you got the position, but you listen here, anything happens to that mail and you’re the one to pay, you know that, don’t you?” Philly stared at Peterson until he was affirmed.
“You don’t know how lucky you are to have that one on your side.” This clearly wasn’t a compliment. A threat. “Be it me or anyone else, you’d not make it to the first stop. I may not respect Andersen’s opinions, but he’s more similar to me than he is to you, so you know you in trouble if something happens. Be better if you don’t come back. Make sense?” With that, he allowed Cole to take the canteen and backpack, walking back over to the stall where he’d been working without another word for either of the younger men, even after Jamie thanked him. Jamie had stuck the letters and packages into the pockets of the mochila, placing it over Peterson’s saddle before petting the mare’s neck. She seemed to appreciate it. Thielen, on the other hand, whinnied in envy, eyeing Cole as he approached as if it were his fault that she was being ignored.
“Don’t mind Thielen, she gets jealous. But I think she’ll get used to you after this trip.” It was a strange thing to say; he didn’t know why he’d said it, so Jamie shook his head to dismiss it. Picking up his rifle in its scabbard from the floor where he’d placed it, he attached it in the northwest position on Thielen’s saddle. He looked over to where Philly could be heard brushing the floor. “Let’s get out of here.” He sounded tired. Once outside the stables again, making their way to the edge of town, Jamie turned to Cole.
“What did Philly say to you? I know he can be a bit of a handful, he’s got an old man’s bias and he’s on his way out, so he feels like he can say and do whatever he wants. He’s got no one at home to hold him back, either. I hope he behaved himself.” It was mostly a rhetorical question, so why he was rambling, he didn’t know. Stop talking so much. But there was that one question he was still dying to verbalize, and just as they reached the gates, he looked at Peterson again, bringing Thielen to a halt.
“I, ehm, don’t mean to be rude, but, is your name really… Cole? Peterson?” He was well aware how horrible the question might sound to the man, so Jamie did his best to convey that he meant no harm. He lowered his voice, eyes wide with the subconscious worry that he would offend him.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Oct 26, 2018 21:54:42 GMT -5
Kohaku Avila Sacramento, California. uninjured, just hungry.
He could see quite well in the other man's bright eyes that he'd cut down to the very essence of what he was trying to convey with the simple "Thank you," that had just left his lips, but Kohaku was again privately thankful when he didn't make much of it. If he hadn't caught the subtle change in his expression, the young man would have thought that Anderson was going to dismiss it entirely and act as if it hadn't even happened--they were men, and men rarely allowed lapses in outward strength like he'd just allowed. Maybe there was more rare common decency with this Andersen fellow than he could have inferred from appearance alone.
Then came the oath. Even though he had as many moral obligations to hold his right hand to his chest as there were peppery stars in the sky or sand grains at the beach, honoring the indifferent God lurking somewhere around them, Kohaku jerked to action, a little embarrassed that it had taken him a split second to copy the other man's gesture. It didn't matter if he thought it silly or pointless: a white male was basically outright telling him to do it, in every way shy of just flat out saying so, so he would do it without question. That was just the way things were.
"I--" a slight hesitation, since using that name was a bit out of practice on his multilingual tongue, "Cole Peterson, do hereby swear, before the Great and Living God, that during my engagement, and while an employee of Russell, Majors and Waddell, I will, under no circumstances, use profane language, that I will drink no intoxicating liquors, that I will not quarrel or fight with any other employee of the firm, and that in every respect I will conduct myself honestly, be faithful to my duties, and so direct all my acts as to win the confidence of my employers." That much he could do, without question; Kohaku was a mild-mannered man by nature and by nurture. Despite that though, he paused, swallowed, and looked down at the other man with flat eyes that hated the last repeated line.
"So help me God.”
It was said and it was over in an instant, but even at his modest, adult age, the man still couldn't shake the metaphysical weight and implications that those words, and certain phrases sprinkled into the American vernacular like a Bay leaf in a pot of cooking soup--those innocent enough like Lord help me, amen, God bless you after a sneeze--left on his overworked shoulders. Maybe it was going to be one of those things that would stay with him forever, like those brown marks seared deep into his skin and soul.
Andersen's light comic relief after giving the oath didn't help ease his easily religion-fried nerves enough, but he knew better to be impolite, so Kohaku returned the smile with a brief one of his own, before following suit and mounting his own horse. She didn't make a fuss about being ridden so soon after a short rest, since the two of them were one of a kind: weathered souls, traded many hands before learning they couldn't think much of it anymore. Kohaku couldn't even remember naming her, or having to call her by much of anything. She was perceptive and sharp and wary all the same, just like he was, and they read each other masterfully. It was the most intimate relationship he'd ever had with anyone or anything on this planet, and he was nearly sure she felt the same way about him, too.
He gave her a gentle prod in the side of her belly, and they followed a couple lengths behind Anderson on his horse, keeping mind to give them enough distance to allow for a sudden stop or a change of a horse's behavior; even if Kohaku's mare was as steadfast and predictable as they came, he couldn't say the same for most other horses, and he'd learned that lesson from other flightier creatures. For some reason, he was a little reluctant to leave her tied up and in a place she didn't know well after he dismounted, but their understanding was mutual, and he left her next to Anderson's. As the two walked to the stable building, invisible people--stable hands, trainers, groomers, feeders with wide-brimmed hats and tattered clothes much like his own--came alive before him, with his eyes trained to see people like him. Kohaku acknowledged them cordially, flashing gazes full of goodwill towards them, and they were more or less returned before they headed on back to work.
Nothing about the ensuing conversation surprised him. Although he could tell that Andersen was outright reeling at some of the things this bitter old man had to say, that, and his mannerisms and what information he didn't want to flat-out divulge with--oh, you know, him--standing nearby. Sad as it was, Kohaku was used to this kind of treatment, so as the two conversed on, the young man acted as if he wasn't listening at all, instead keeping his gaze fixed on the floor beneath them, distracting himself by trying to find anything besides hay covered in a light film of dusty dirt.
His guard rose up when Andersen left him, though. Kohaku straightened his posture, just a little bit, to convey a lack of weak-willedness, but not enough to come off as overconfident. And even what he considered avoiding either extreme wasn't guaranteed to be another man's standard, but nevertheless, it was worth trying.
Keeping his eyes low and expression neutral all the while, he did what was instructed of him, not a moment too soon or too late after being told, and he painstakingly began to fill up his bag with horse feed. It was tricky work: the grainy stuff threatened to spill so easily, but with those cruel eyes watching every twitch in his body, he couldn't afford to spill, and worse than that, spill and admit his error and clean up after himself. Still though, despite the condescending words and stares, he was getting supplies he needed, so all of this had to be tolerable for him to survive the next couple trips. The immense pressure from the wordless interaction was cut short when the old man that he refused to dignify by remembering his name briefly left to get carrots, apples, and water, and he was able to finish his task in peace.
It wasn't long before this man was back in his face again, and Kohaku was left without the choice to avoid his seething gaze. "Of course, sir," he answered quickly, spitting the string of words out faster than he could think about them. But the rest he listened to more gravely. He let his more concerned gaze, brow furrowed, lips tight, fall to the floor before he was thrown out of the conversation as quickly as he was shoved into it, and before he knew it, the young man was stumbling back outside, hands, heart, and mind full of weight. Again though, it wasn't entirely new news to him, either, and even though he didn't like the feeling the one-sided conversation left him with (which was, precisely, chilled to the bone and watchful of every step he took, even as he walked further and further from the stable), he had work to do now.
Out of everything the old man had to say, he left the interaction with two major takeaways. One was that this Andersen fellow truly was a good egg, and a diamond in the rough--a true rare breed. The second was that he really ought to consider disappearing into obscurity in some other part of the country. Even if California had been his home, it didn't have to be for the rest of his life. And if there was one thing he knew, it was that home wasn't always kind.
After making quick work of packing, and tolerating another string of Andersen's lighthearted comments, he followed off to the man's side as they rode slowly off and out of the town. Kohaku hadn't expected him to ask about the encounter, though, and he intended on treating it as if he were speaking to anyone this man would be treated fairly by: others of his kind.
"He didn't have much to say," he answered quietly, dishonestly. "Just general advice for a first-time rider, I suppose." That much might have not been a lie, depending if you were taking it from the perspective of a mulatto rider. Even with his thick outer skin, he couldn't help but crack a small smile at Andersen's second question. "Legally, yes, that's my name, but it was born as Kohaku Avila. I've changed hands a couple times in the course of my life--those are the two names I've needed."
|
|
|
Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Oct 30, 2018 0:04:58 GMT -5
[ okay I got this done fast and it's shorter but only because i wanted to slow our pace down a bit because i’m a thot for good dialogue and i didn’t want to cram all the things i have planned into one post bc that would make it flow awkwardly. Not to mention that jamie is a lonely son of a btch who likes to talk to ppl and i love him ]
Jamison Andersen Sacramento, California. Longing for the raw air of twilight.
Thoughts flew through his mind the way snowflakes got swept up in a flurry. Although his ear was gradually becoming acquainted to the softness in the man’s voice, there was a different inflection to his response this time. It was easy to not believe what he was saying about Philly, who wouldn’t be caught dead helping someone like Peterson, whose skin was far from the pale beige of sheep’s wool. Even a tan like the desert sand was offensive to the old man, so with Peterson’s complexion bordering on topaz, it was miraculous that the stable-hand had agreed to Jamie’s request and done anything for the new rider.
Jamie couldn’t have been more relieved when Peterson smiled at his second question regarding his name. He seemed amused, which was unexpected, but a better reaction than scorn. More troubling than anything else he said, however, was the way the man talked about himself, as if he were property. Jamie almost didn’t hear the man’s real name. I’ve changed hands, he’d said. As if he were nothing more than a few bills crumpled in a pocket. Jamie wasn’t naive. Hoping for a different world did little to change reality, but this was the first time he’d heard something like that said aloud. The man’s tone was so even and factual. Jamie’s throat felt like it was closing, so he took a deep breath, released it, keeping his eyes down until he could gather his thoughts. The man didn’t need his pity. This was basic, common sense, but what made him anxious was that he didn’t know if Peterson would even want his friendship.
Still, he had the response he was looking for. Spurring their horses forward again, their journey began as no grand affair, with the bounce of their horses’ gait and the weight of the desert air on their shoulders. They were starting at a trot, mainly because Jamie wanted to ease Thielen into a sprint after only a few hours of rest between yesterday and today. And, in some not-so-secret, more sociable part of his mind, he was still curious about his new companion. Jamie did well to hide behind a frown as the dusty road passed beneath them.
The sharp, rolling peaks of the Sierra Nevada were stretched before them, about a two hour ride from where they were starting. He had yet to make up his mind about the path they would take. He didn’t know anything about the man or his horse in regards to stamina. The feeling in his gut was that neither would complain if he pushed them harder than they were used to. He didn’t want to do that, and Philly’s information was obviously limited; he had no idea how widespread the fighting with the Paiute really was.
130 miles to Carson City station, give or take half a mile. It was more than half the distance to Diamond Springs, but he had always flown by every home and swing station around Lake Tahoe without a glance. He was tempted to follow this pattern again. He didn’t want to stop near such a large body of freshwater when he knew he could get Thielen to go further. And though he knew there was no sense to it, he felt safer on land that was dry, far from any shore. So he felt cursed, for hating the desert yet needing it for his own sanity.
Jamie allowed the silence of horses’ hooves to fill the emptiness when he didn’t keep up the conversation. He was preoccupied, mentally scolding himself, you can swim, fool. And it’s not like the lake is a sinkhole. Yet he couldn’t recount the number of times he’d dreamt that the earth was melting beneath his feet, sucking him in.
If they did stop in Carson City, they would be able to make it through the majority of Nevada without a break in Indian territories. They would have to pass Diamond Springs regardless, so he was resolved to see for himself if the news was true. If it was, fine, they would have to continue and leave their horses at Butte station or Schell Creek before crossing the border into Utah. From there, he figured the trip would be a little less haphazard.
Jamie decided, after a few minutes, that he liked the name. Kohaku certainly suited him better and seemed more natural, but his surname was Spanish, that much he could tell from phonetics. It occurred to him it was his turn to say something, according to the rules of speech interactions. The man was probably wondering why Jamie had fallen silent, but was too polite to interject his own thoughts. Jamie glanced sideways at him in an attempt to ascertain where those thoughts lay. He couldn’t say he saw anything, but Jamie’s own brow was drawn in, as if he were troubled and worried. He turned his face away a moment later when he couldn’t think of anything to say in response. Jamie was about to give up when a thought wound its way through his brain like a ribbon.
“So.. What d’you want me to call you? I mean, I told you I prefer ‘Jamie’, but… what about you?”
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Nov 11, 2018 0:34:00 GMT -5
Kohaku Avila outskirts of Sacramento, California. uninjured, just hungry.
It became easier to forget the further the lone pair pulled away from that bustling town; all the shouts and the noise and the whinnies and rattling of chains and exchanging of hands and thuds and bangs faded into the vast Californian wilderness. Half desert, half scrub brush, all heterogenous and united all the same--no glance in any direction was the same, with a different mosaic of yucca and tangled bushes and cacti, and then, looming far in front of them, jagged mountain peaks. Kohaku squinted up at them as his mare edged alongside his partner's. The Sierra Nevadas were always something of books and maps to him, so seeing the library illustrations come to life was a privately thrilling experience for the young man, and, for a moment, he recalled the exact elated feeling of an eight year old in a library who was discovering the world's tallest mountains for the first time.
He blinked out of it rather quickly--his mare had a lapse in her usually even, steady pace, and she dragged her hoof a bit, gently jostling the rider back to full attention. This was no longer the stuff of dreams, Kohaku reminded himself as his mind went to the contents of those letters and packages at his side. This was now work--something much greater than him. People he'd never meet depended on him to relay God knows what to God knows who, nevermind if it's dire or not. For all he knew, it all was. But the importance didn't really even matter, no: this was the biggest task the young man had ever been given, with the largest amount of trust on his shoulders that anyone had ever bestowed on him (begrudgingly or not), and it was his duty to fulfill it the best he could.
He kept speed with Andersen well, keeping a close watch on his subtle tug on the reins and digging of spurs so he could do the same and avoid dragging too much behind or daring to take the lead. The silence between them was comfortable enough, he supposed. Out of any other coworkers he'd had, none had ever been as kind or agreeable during the entire course of their work together as this Andersen fellow had been in the first five minutes, but that being said, the young man still didn't quite consider the ice broken between them. Kohaku tried not to meet his eye, tried not to stare, all for the goal of taking up less space and being seen less and seldom heard. It was just the way things were. Sure, he'd love to chat (in all honesty, he'd love even more to listen) about whatever was going on in the town or other crazy stories from Pony Express past, but, it was fine--
Kohaku glanced across his shoulder, in Andersen's direction. He hadn't been expecting the other man to speak, and he was surprised that he'd chosen to talk about that, considering all the other million work-related or other not so personal things to discuss. He's got a good heart, though, he silently reasoned. So he gave a little bit.
It did take him a moment to think of a reply, though. This question was a completely new one ever asked of him, as was the concept of his own personal preference. "Honestly?" He let it hang in the quiet air as he struggled on. "I don't really mind what you call me. Never really gone by my, ah, birth name, when I've worked with people, but." He paused, swallowed, thought some more. "This is a different type of job than I've ever had before. Names don't matter as much when you're not reporting to a boss every day. So it's really--it's up to you, Andersen--Jamie." He smirked drily. "Sorry."
He was quick to turn the conversation away from any accidental prying from the other man that would only yield answers that Kohaku didn't want to give and than Andersen didn't know he didn't want. "I just gotta ask--are we planning on camping out in the mountains tonight? Or are we gonna try and push for an inn in a town along one of these roads?"
|
|
|
Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Nov 16, 2018 11:03:46 GMT -5
Jamison Andersen Outskirts of Sacramento, California. Longing for the raw air of twilight.
If the man had asked Jamie to explain why he wanted to know anything beyond face value about his name, he wouldn’t have been able to. Jamie couldn’t definitively say why he thought he even had the option to ask, and he would deny any accusation of prying. In a country severely lacking in honesty, he craved the bareness of facts, and that was what he’d decided to focus on. Kohaku was the man’s real name, and whether the name Cole Peterson was legal or not didn’t matter to Jamie. He had almost made up his mind about what he would call him before Kohaku could even respond.
Jamie wasn’t expecting the answer that he got, which he realized had been happening consistently, and although he wished otherwise, it was starting to get to him. His shoulders became tense as he fought to understand why. Even in this occupation, with all its road travel, he had not encountered too much that was unpredictable or staggering. But here was this quiet, enigmatic stranger that caught Jamie off-guard every time he said something that should have been simple. It was strange. To say the least. That’s an understatement.
He had ample time to think this all through, while Kohaku paused for what felt like an eternity, as if he didn’t know himself what he should be called, as if his two names were of equal standing. Jamie couldn’t understand this, unfortunately. He’d only ever had one name, his name. He turned slightly to look at his compatriot with some incredulity at his hesitation, but said nothing, swallowing potentially harmful words and forcing sufferance upon himself as he gritted his teeth.
“Honestly?”
Kohaku sounded startled about making the decision for him. Jamie was silently impatient, unaccustomed to the kind of uncertainty Kohaku displayed. He has a lot of humility, but what’s he afraid of? As he spoke, Kohaku granted a graceful permission for Jamie to call him whatever he wanted, and with that, he had moved on without giving Jamie a chance to respond. Kohaku is fine. He found himself biting his tongue at the change in topic, telling himself to listen, since this was the most Kohaku had spoken at once since they’d met. Jamie didn’t have to count his words to know that he had a habit of saying as little as was tenable. Jamie turned his face skyward, observing the vagrant clouds across the sky. The sun was blinding, reflected off the shimmery white clouds. He adjusted the brim of his hat to shade his eyes better before looking over at the other man again.
His inquiry was logical, reasonable enough from someone who probably hadn’t traveled much. He had said it himself that this job was different, but a soft cough escaped his throat as Jamie restrained mirthless laughter.
“No, camping in the mountains isn’t an option, gets too cold up that high. We’ll get through them before dark, if that worries you. Beyond that, well. I was thinking you could tell me when we take a break.”
In some trained-yet-tired part of his mind, Jamie had considered each of his plans before abandoning them all to the gentle wind that was floating around the open stretch of land, hugging the width of the desert and enfolding them in a warm that could only be described as similar to the sun-hot sand of a beach.
The idea that it was best for fate, through Kohaku, to choose their path, was more appealing at this time than ever. Jamie wasn’t keen to admit how fond he was of being in control, especially when it came to this job, but he’d gone back and forth so many times that he quite honestly couldn’t choose this time. He figured the best way to show Kohaku would be to lead the way, and his new partner would let him know when they needed to rest.
“Just because… I know how far I usually go before switching mounts. I don’t know how far you’re willing to go.”
He continued, “I guess I’m obligated to tell you that most riders trade their horses every ten miles or so. There’s stations built, just for that, along the route. If we really wanted to, we could stop at stations before and after crossing the mountains… But I try to cover at least a hundred miles before stopping at all, since I can get Thielen to Nevada before an exchange.”
Jamie hesitated, pondering the easiest way to explain something that came naturally to him. “I mean, in order to reach Missouri in ten days, we should ride through the night, but if something happens, we can always stop and let them rest until morning. Not ideal, but possible. So I’m gonna leave this one up to you. Most of the time, we should be fine, unless―”
He stopped himself, unsure where he was going with the thought. Did Kohaku need to know about the Paiute? Not yet, seeing as they weren’t in mortal danger.
“I know where we’re going, but you know your horse. I would recommend covering as much ground as you can before taking a break. But it’s up to you.”
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Dec 3, 2018 21:30:17 GMT -5
Kohaku Avila outskirts of Sacramento, California. intoxicated with newfound liberty.
"I--oh." He turned his sullen gaze to the ground and watched as patches of scrub brush rushed by him in the sea of sand and dirt.
I was thinking you could tell me when we take a break. I don’t know how far you’re willing to go. This was all so bizarre; Kohaku found his head spinning with all this delicious idea to choose Never before had he been given this much leverage over anything. Yet as foreign as it was for him, and as good of a man Andersen seemed to be, the young man was beginning to sense that his apprehension to say much of anything was strange in the other man's eyes. It would probably begin to annoy him over time. Perhaps he needed to stretch out his arms and legs for the first time in this vast space of allowance he'd been so suddenly given, but to do it more gracefully and naturally, as if he'd had these privileges his whole life.
The word echoed in his mind. Privileges. His gaze lifted from the ground and rested steadily, comfortably on Andersen as he rattled on about the way he did things. This handsome fair-skinned man, sparkling personality and charm and fire all, would never know what it was like to hold your tongue so carefully for literal decades that when you did finally get clearance to speak, it failed you. Andersen's career overflowed with freedom: there was nobody out on these plains for miles and miles, and no trace of any authority, seen with a badge or unseen and unspoken like an accent, a skin tone. The exact antithesis of life as Kohaku had known it. None of this had come to mind in the short amount of time he'd spent deliberating whether or not to ask for the job, since all he was chasing was bills and coins that would keep clothes on his back and food in his stomach, but this was...
Something beautiful. He let the other man's words wash over him with the perfectly pleasant breeze that blew so gently over this land, and he closed his eyes, taking it all in. Maybe this could be the change he'd been promised for all these years. As the Scriptures tended to do, a verse from the Beatitudes in Luke came to his mind, and he considered whether or not his meek self was about to inherit this land. It sure seemed like he was going to; when he turned his head into the wind, it whispered something warm inviting that he just couldn't articulate with words.
He cleared his throat. "Oh. I see," Kohaku answered. He made an effort to manage a more agreeable tone (and added an appropriate, conversational volume to it to do away with his ingrained habit of mumbling) when he spoke to this man now. "No worries. I, ah, sort of jumped into this whole business about as blind as one could be, so. Thank you for telling me all this." Nothing Andersen described seemed out of the realm of things he could tolerate silently, if it ended up bothering him much at all. Though he or his mare had never been on traveling jobs like this one before, they've had to run for their lives more times than he wanted to admit: when it was time to go without stopping, it was just something they had to do.
The young man shrugged, glancing again over at the other man. "My mare is good and faithful," he added, going on. "And about the most hardworking animal on the Earth. She'll go as long as I tell her to, so--I'm fine with going as long as you usually do. We can take it." Kohaku offered a gentle smile, the corners of his eyes creasing with goodwill. "Trust me, we've seen much worse than riding through the night. Go on and lead the way, Jamie."
One of the unforeseen side effects of no longer being terrified to speak to a white man was all the questions sitting on the tip of his tongue: there was so much that Kohaku felt he could say and declare and ask and demand now that he felt his lips twitching with all the cascading thoughts that threatened to run out with the breath right off his lips. Maybe if he spilled absolutely every thought he had about the Pony Express and its couriers in a minute or two, he'd rub the other man wrong--with all the good graces he'd been given, opportunities to speak, invitations to be his equal, that was the very last thing he wanted to do to Andersen. That man was his greatest (and only) ally.
All that being said, a more important inquiry rose to the top of his mind. "Ah--I'm sorry," he began again after a couple quiet moments had passed, "But.. Do you mind me asking--how dangerous are these rides?" He paused. "I'm assuming you've covered a lot of ground on your trips, seen a lot out here. Are the Indian rumors really true?"
|
|
|
Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Dec 20, 2018 20:52:19 GMT -5
Jamison Andersen Outskirts of Sacramento, California. Longing for the raw air of twilight.
“Okay.” The word rushed into the open before Jamie could contain it. That, and a sigh of relief which broke free from his lungs, as if there weren’t enough air in the desert to sustain him. His cheeks felt suddenly hot with involuntary shame, anxious that he’d responded too quickly, and that now it was obvious to Kohaku that Jamie had been hoping for that exact answer because he didn’t want to stop to rest unless he had to. He hated that it was true.
It might have seemed Kohaku didn’t even have a choice in the end. With one brief sentence, he had allowed Jamie to reclaim control. He didn’t have to go anywhere near that immense lake, he could take his regular course to the south. Of course, his mind was soothed, but a quiet guilt crouched in his chest. Jamie was compelled to ask, “are you sure?”
He didn’t doubt what the man was saying about his mare. Looking at her, it was easy to believe that she would take her rider to Colorado if she had to without stopping. Trust me. Jamie met Kohaku’s gaze as he spoke again, a gentle, vacant frown on his face. Hearing his name drew a smile to an otherwise callous expression.
“Alright, but if we need to stop before then, you’ll let me know.” Glancing toward the mountain range ahead of them, he paused before facing Kohaku again and adding, “please.”
Despite the kindness of the wind through his hair and against his ears, he was attuned now to his new partner’s voice. Jamie listened to Kohaku, apprehension building as he went on. How was it that Kohaku also knew about the Paiute when Jamie had only just been informed this morning himself? News travels fast, he thought, rolling his eyes, faster than I do. That’s ironic.
As much as he tried to shield his emotions from sight, carry them close to his chest like a baby bird, he’d never been successful. “Let the bird fly, Jamie. You’re crazy thinking you can keep it. Nothing like that stays forever.” Jane would say something like that. Jamie shook his head once as if to dismiss the thought. He was scowling, without anger, though there was something closer to fear in his eyes.
“It’s fine, I─ I actually don’t know. I just got back last night, and I didn’t see anything the entire time. Philly just told me today about the fighting with the Paiute, that they’re bringing in military escorts for the Basin, I think.” Jamie took a breath, trying to alleviate the tightness in his chest. The last thing he wanted was for Kohaku to think they would be in danger. We probably won’t be. If his companion recognized Jamie’s uncertainty for what it was, Jamie wouldn’t be able to convince him that there was no danger. He couldn’t lie; doubt and hesitation were steadfast and silent shadows. Jamie’s gaze was drawn down to Thielen’s right flank where his rifle bounced slightly at the back of his knee before looking sideways at Kohaku.
“We’ll be fine. We aren’t defenseless, and if we get near Diamond Springs and it’s closed, we go a different way.” It sounded simple, truthful enough, but Jamie was overly aware of his nerves sending a disquieting chill up his spine. He was grasping for something more to say, but caught nothing that would assuage either of their fears. I’m not afraid, he told himself firmly. He’d never been afraid of venturing into the unknown. Here, he knew the land well enough. He couldn’t place logic to his unease, but perhaps verbalizing all of this aloud was acting as a jinx, or perhaps it was the man beside him. Shutting his eyes for a moment, Jamie set aside these thoughts, but the one that prevailed was he couldn’t allow a glimpse of weakness. They would be fine, after all. He decided he would ignore his instinct for now, blame it on the heat as he often had when he first met the desert.
After another period of silence between them, Jamie assumed they were through with talking, at least for the time being. Was his answer enough for him? Biting the inside of his cheek, he debated. There were two options at this point in the road: maintain their current pace and continue asking the man questions, which might not be appreciated, or spurring their horses and falling into a comfortable silence as they rode into the mountains. Perhaps making up his mind without meaning to, he shifted his center of gravity forward slightly. He gave Thielen a short ‘yip’ to urge her on, and she edged into a canter.
They had been riding merely minutes, and sweat was already sliding down the back of his neck. The sun was relentless in its watch, and it was one thing to stand still beneath its gaze, another completely opposite thing to travel with some speed and intention. The old-familiar feeling of restlessness was starting to kick in; his muscles twitched and he nearly nudged his mare’s side. She felt his intention, taking a quick breath and huffing it out, but the movement was too slight for it to be an actual cue. Thielen kept steady but tossed her head in a way that felt accusatory. Make up your mind.
Jamie was thinking of addressing Kohaku again, searching for a way to transition to a normal riding pace without creating a stiff, unnatural silence. His impatience was likely to get the better of him soon if he didn’t say something.
“Any more questions? Or you ready to get going? We’ll hafta slow down in the mountain trails, so we should try and make it there before three if we wantto reach the Basin on the other side before dark.” Asking this was harmless enough, or so he thought, but his subdued tone made it unclear as to whether he was just teasing or serious.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Jan 9, 2019 23:40:00 GMT -5
Kohaku Avila outskirts of Sacramento, California. intoxicated with newfound liberty.
The young man flashed his kind, still gaze across the space between him and the other man, the upper corner of his lip perking up just a bit. “I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Cole, don’t tell lies. God knows when you tell a lie—might as well just confess aloud to the person you’re speaking to when you do, and hope He takes mercy on your wretched little soul. Kohaku blinked away the memory. It seemed as if the longer he was off the Peterson homestead, the more persistent his childhood adages remained. Maybe his adoptive parents had been right, after all. He’d never really forget about everything they had to say.
Even if a considerable amount of time had passed since he left the ranch, their so-called divine whisperings in his ears hadn’t quieted much at all. Nothing he seemed to think, none of the experiences he had, none of the things he heard or people he met who told him otherwise chased those unsavory commandments out of his head. His adoptive parents still lurked in his dreams, in the shadows of dark, uncertain rooms, wielding belts and paddles and holy words that stung worse than all of the things they could beat him with.
Kohaku listened to Andersen’s reply with scrutiny, trying to see past his words and pry into what he really did and didn’t know about the Native situation in parts unknown. Although he liked to think of them of much like himself—marginalized people who’d been moved far from home, far from the ones they loved, in a hostile world with people who never considered understanding their point of view a valid solution, denying them their humanity—he didn’t anticipate them having the same view of him. Most likely, they’d never seen a person with his slanted eyes or tinted skin before, and that kind of wishful thinking could quite literally get him killed.
“Okay.” His dark eyes stayed fixed on the subtly worn dirt path ahead of them. Part of him wanted to assume the worst of the US military, but if what Andersen was saying was true—and he couldn’t imagine why this man would want to lie to him, considering the brief history of their interactions and their state of partnership—he’d have to trust that they’d protect them as best they could. “Sure hope they get there and take care of whatever’s going on before we get close,” he mused softly, barely audible among the thumping of hooves in the dusty earth.
He lost himself in pointless, nameless thoughts when Andersen addressed him again. He lifted his eyes from his own mare’s velvety, muscular neck, realizing that he’d been lost in a little thoughtful revelry. The young man blinked out of it quickly, and then it was back to the present business once more.
“No,” he answered coolly, “I’m all good to go now. Sorry to slow you down.” Kohaku drew bak on his mare’s reins just slightly, slowing her down just a hair. “I’ll let you lead the way from here out—don’t worry about me and this one. We’ve been riding together for a while now. We’ll stay right there with you.”
|
|
|
Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Jan 18, 2019 18:57:35 GMT -5
[ so i’ve been doing my research when it comes to travel time and distances and whatnot but i’ve already recognized i made a mistake earlier and it affects everything going forth so whoops. I’ll just say I’m taking some creative liberty and that geography has changed since then lmao feel free to check my math at any time, just know it’s not perfect but it’s fine ]
Jamison Andersen En route to the Sierra Nevada. Longing for the raw air of twilight.
He’d made a mistake. He hadn’t been clear enough. He could almost hear the apology before it was even spoken, but it was indifferent, almost mocking. You should explain yourself, he thought. You should say that wasn’t what you meant. He’s not slowing you down. But of course he was. The only thing he ever did was run, fast as he could, to get away from whatever was in front of him until he put it behind him. And still he would keep running. Kohaku’s questions, while justified, were tiresome to a man who wasn’t used to taking the time to answer them. They probably could have come from anyone, and he would have gotten annoyed. He told himself that the questions he asked were more pertinent because they were about a person, not a job, so they mattered, but Jamie was lying to himself, and this brewed more anger than Kohaku’s tone had. Whatever the man went on to say, Jamie didn’t hear a lick of, and so he gave no reply. They were done talking, though the air between them wasn’t exactly much of a barrier to that effect.
Tapping his horse’s side with his heel with conviction this time, she gave an excited snort and began galloping into a sprint. The pound of her hooves echoed in his chest. For two hours they rode, semi-hunched over in their saddles, hiding from wind that sought to snatch their tears right from their eyes.
Twice, they passed through towns that barely had one street. Swing stations, Folsom and Strawberry, each with a stable and not much else. The Sierra Nevada climbed as they came closer, stretching stony fingers to the sky. After some time, the passing dirt grew darker, the earth more tender beneath them. They had reached the foothills of the mountains, and large rocks were jutting out of the side of the ground as it rose before them. There was a moment where they stopped, looking up in silence, before Jamie spoke.
“Take us only half an hour to get up this first peak, but about three and a half more for the rest, one hour to get back down. Then we got about five more hours to Diamond Springs.” A pause, that should have been filled with a question. But he thought about it before rewording it: “It’s not too steep, and we’ll go careful, but we can stop here before we go on. If you want.”
Jamie, for once, thought he knew for certain what the man would say. We’re fine. We can make it. He leaned away from Kohaku, bending over for a second and pulling out a silver, rectangular flask. Unscrewing the cap, he took a swig before replacing it in its leather pocket. With a flick of the reins, they began their ascent.
Up on the slope, they found thick, heavy snow still clinging to the ground in wet clumps beneath thickets of wind-bitten rose bushes. A few scattered roses left from last year hung shrivelled, a brown over pink that made an almost gold shell on the petals. The tops of the bushes were scantily covered with gray-green leaves, giving some semblance that they had once been full-bodied and of a sunnier disposition. If not for the pale buds on the skeletal branches, Jamie would have thought that the plants were dead. But they were nearing the crest of the mountain; spring was inherently delayed at this elevation.
The sun was less harsh as low clouds blew by to shade them. Alders and what looked to him like silver birches populated the incline. Shed needles softened their steps as they avoided rocks in the path. Gradually, as the land evened again and they weren’t walking against gravity as much, the air was still warm, but tolerable, almost chilly compared to the heat on the flat land behind them. Jamie pulled back on Thielen’s reins to stop her.
“Almost at the top of this one,” he told Kohaku, voice rising slightly at the end. He sounded happy in the purest way anyone could, like he wanted his companion to feel the same. Without needing to explain that he wanted to stretch his legs, Jamie stepped down from the saddle. A five minute walk to the top would be good for him.
“Where you from, then, if you don’t mind? I only ask ‘cause you sound like you were born and raised in California; you got that Western accent that sounds Southern, but softer.. But you talk more proper, as if you’re not.” You talk like I do. He thought it was obvious, especially when comparing him to someone like Philly, who’d never been through grade school, but he didn’t want to voice this thought as well. A compliment in his mind could very well be an insult to Kohaku, though something told him the man wasn’t easily offended, and if he was, he was rare to show it. It would, however, make for a bitter ride, if Jamie was wrong about that.
As he had done before in almost every interaction with Kohaku, he would have continued speaking without giving the man a chance to respond, if he hadn’t stopped himself this time and reflected. He didn’t think it was rude to ask a question and answer it for himself before Kohaku could. It was the way he was trying to connect to the man beside him, since he was quiet as the morning mist, but Jamie felt as though his body was turned to marble in a moment of sudden shyness, his voice trapped. He didn’t want to talk about himself first. It would be different if he asked me too.
Taking a breath and allowing the mountain air to run over his tongue and to fill his lungs with a mint-tainted clarity, Jamie focused his gaze on the trail, walking with Thielen’s rein in his hand. Her presence was one that comforted him, radiating heat, and he could see her foggy breath when she exhaled. Her pulse was quick, but slowing when he lay a hand on her throat, running it down to the point of her shoulder. Wordless, he told her they were almost at the stream where she could get a drink, and she understood, nudging his forearm with her nose. Despite how much he appreciated her presence and how well she listened (most of the time), he hoped he would enjoy the company of another person, and he hoped it wouldn’t make him nervous because he wasn’t used to it. It’s not likely. It’s less than a month, and he’s hardly intimidating.
Five minutes later, the trees fell back and the ground became more rocky until they were standing on an outcrop at what looked like the top of the world. It wasn’t the highest peak in the range, but it was fairly impressive, and Jamie never tired to see it. The mountain dropped off in front of them, revealing the heart of the Sierra Nevada. Rolling hills like waves stretched for miles around them. The dull gray and brown scenery didn’t seem pretty at first glance, but the snowy tips of the mountains sparkled when the sunlight reached them.
They stopped there briefly, Jamie standing near the edge and scanning the horizon. To their left, he knew Lake Tahoe was curled in between the mountains, hidden from this vantage point. To their right, the Sierra Nevada was even taller than it was here. The steps to the heavens.
“Isn’t it lovely?” He half-spoke in reverence, barely loud enough to be heard, not expecting an answer. After a minute or so of silence, broken only by bird chirps, he turned away, leading Thielen to a side clearing, where a stream ran back down the mountain the way they came. The mare bent her neck to drink, swishing her tail in pleasure.
Jamie looked back at the mountain range, then he looked at Kohaku. “Ever seen anything like it?” Then, falling into old habits, he added, “Almost makes you wish you could stay… Sorry. If I ever start babbling, feel free to cut me off.”
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Feb 26, 2019 23:41:16 GMT -5
Kohaku Avila the wilderness, California. a new kind of silence.
Neither the horse or rider had expected the change in terrain as they began to ascend into the Sierras, however gradual it may have been. At first, the keen-eyed man noticed the grass beginning to thin out and turn coarse and brown, but he thought nothing much of it, even as he stared down the looming white far out and above them. His mare bore her uncertainty about the strange new texture and softness beneath her hooves as they both experienced Oh, so this must be snow for the first time. Kohaku had only ever read about the Sierra Nevadas before, or seen sketchy attempts at their visages in encyclopedias, but the grandeur that they conveyed in real life made him feel as if he'd never even heard of them before. They were bigger, more piercing, more magnificent than his imagination could ever cook up--and it was a pretty magnificent thing, since there was a lot he had to escape from as a boy.
Kohaku intentionally let Andersen gain about a horselength or two of space ahead of him so he could watch this seasoned expert navigate this new terrain, even if the snow was nowhere close to dangerous, at least, at this altitude. Still, though, flanking the piled-up snowbanks were stretches of absolutely soaked earth and mud, which visually seemed to take in everything and hold strongly to it if it tried to make its way out of its earthen grip. The mare underneath him seemed to sense his cautiousness, so she trod lightly, just a touch more slowly than Andersen's horse. He never had to prod her much, only once or twice here and there for reassurance.
The two were beginning to tire--the mare from her obvious labors and the rider from gripping for dear life with his legs, steering, and fretting--so they were both thankful when Jamieson walked to a stop just ahead of him. Once they caught up and were shoulder to shoulder once more, the young man tugged ever so slightly on his horse's reins, and she sighed from underneath him, relieved, relishing in the brief rest. He reached down and out to give her cheek a few well-meaning pats before answering his human travel companion.
"Ah. Good to know." Kohaku did the most he could to hide his private relief at that announcement. He opened his mouth after a brief moment had passed to ask how it was that he knew, with no map or anything of the sort in hand, but he snapped his lips shut quickly: these Pony Express riders were the real deal and tough as nails, and this man to his side was no exception. It probably wouldn't be much longer until he knew these mountain trails like the back of his hand, rain, snow, or shine. The thought of holding onto a knowledge so secret, so scarcely known to anyone else, delighted him.
He pondered his wording as he stepped down off the mare, taking his sweet time in stretching out his aching legs. No matter how he planned on answering, Andersen was going to want to know more--that much was certain: if he was vague, the man was going to try and pry, and if he was honest, the private, peering questions would never end, both spoken aloud and held in his mind. Kohaku made the mistake of divulging it all before to the young son of a sharecropper, roughly his age, on the farm next door, and the next day, he found himself suddenly without a play partner out in the fields where property lines became uncertain. It was just too much.
Kokahu decided to err on the side of caution and intentional vagueness. "That's fair to ask," he began. It was a more polite way of saying, You don't speak the way I'd expect you to. No accent, no word disagreement, you can read--what's the deal? But he put his subtle discontentment with the question somewhere deep and away, knowing the other man's intents were nothing but innocently curious.
"I was brought up by a sort of pastor and his wife--I have a very religious background, I 'spose. I grew up having to know my prayers and my alphabet, and when I wasn't in a book, I was out in the field, working." He paused, then dismissed it all with a casual wave of his hand. "There wasn't much else to it. The rest is kind of boring, if you ask me."
The young man followed again a few cursory steps behind Andersen and his horse, with his own mare naturally following at his side without guidance. Even her master couldn't pinpoint what drove her to be so attentive and curious in this moment. Was it the unfamiliar setting, and her own fear of being left alone among so many tall trees and woods? Was it her desire to make friends with the other mare? Could she hear the stream and was dying of thirst? Either way, she led herself to the water once they approached it, taking mind not to infringe much on the other horse's space. Kohaku watched her drift off for a moment, then turned to fully embrace the view.
Andersen was right: it nearly took his breath away. Never before in his life had he experienced something so natural and raw and beautiful. He didn't even notice the subtle chill on his skin, it was that mesmerizing. Those expensive, commissioned oil paintings could have only hoped to capture an iota of the magnitude of feeling that swelled deep in the man's chest, stirring up something he'd never quite felt before. It made him want to believe in the goodness of God again, if he could be perfectly honest with himself. And the best part of all was that all of this was his. Something of his own to remember and think about when times were harder and he wanted to give it all up--this memory, untainted by anyone or anything (Jamieson was a touch forgettable at the moment) was all the freedom he could have wished for.
He blinked away a drop or two of moisture from his eyes when Andersen addressed him, dropping his gaze to the valley looming below them, with less harsh, sparkling snow and sun to calm his eyes. "No." It was soft. "I haven't."
|
|
|
Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Apr 26, 2019 13:47:04 GMT -5
Jamison Andersen the mountains between California and Nevada. a sense of peace, but pensive.
After seeing the sunlit visage of the mountains a countless number of times, Jamie was glad each time to find it was still astonishing. It had a constant, magnetic attraction. He couldn’t imagine anyone resisting it once they’d seen its tireless magic. The only thing that had changed this time was that he had the privilege of showing it to someone else. He paid close attention to Kohaku’s reaction, thinking that if anyone appreciated this spectacle, it would be this gentle-mannered man. It was quite possible that Kohaku had always seen the Sierras from the ground, at a distance, the way most people did, and not thought about them the way Jamie did. It was possible, but judging by Kohaku’s expression, it didn’t sound realistic. The man looked like he’d been stuck with a pin, standing motionless near the edge of the drop-off.
His gut twisted with the unmistakable feeling that he was intruding, as if he’d walked in on an intimate moment between two old friends who hadn’t seen each other except in another lifetime. This uncomfortable sensation of being the outsider was strange to him, and having to witness someone experience the mountains for the first time felt wrong. There was no quiet gratitude the way he was expecting there to be, it was just… quiet. Normally he would have basked in such stillness, and he shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Yet the outlandish, isolated feeling persisted.
He remembered what it was supposed to feel like. A stomach-drop, flying without falling. The only power that he would submit to, power over the part of the human soul no one could reach or tap into on their own. The mountains had whispered in his ear with the voice of a lark, clean as the running water in the stream. The smell of the moss on the rocks had a kind of sweetness, along with the tart sting of a berry in the mouth. It had taken an unbelievable sleight of hand for these unassuming mountains to contain a treasure grand as this. He knew how lucky he was to have found it, but right now, all he could think was that he’d been abandoned by the mountains.
He turned his face away from the melancholy sight in front of him as Kohaku’s mare approached the stream. Jamie left Thielen there with her and stepped over to stand at his new friend’s side… but he was getting ahead of himself. It was a bit premature of him to call Kohaku his friend. He was not as vocal as some of the other riders, who could go months without seeing each other and then reunite within one conversation that would last anywhere between ten minutes and five hours. What would they think of him? He could imagine what might have happened to Kohaku if Jamie hadn’t walked in when he did, if it had been someone else. It wouldn’t have been a surprise for Jamie to find Kohaku on the ground outside instead, his face a myriad of dark bruises and blood. It was uncommon for anyone else to stop and help him, not when they didn’t see a person there. No, they wouldn’t like the fact that he was hired.
The relief and awe on the man’s face was like that of a child who’d finally found his way home after being lost. Like a prodigal son. No, of course he hadn’t ever seen anything like this. Jamie glanced at Kohaku as he trailed off, not expecting him to continue. If he talked less, it was probably because he thought more. He held his tongue for fear of being put down when he spoke. There wasn’t much Jamie could do, beyond what he’d already done by making it clear Kohaku could talk to him honestly, to reverse the damage that had been done throughout the man’s life. When he glanced at him again, he blinked and quickly looked forward at the mountain range again. Was Kohaku crying? How could he be? Was something wrong? Was some bitter regret gripping his heart, squeezing the sorrow from his veins, or just the opposite, did he have that much joy he couldn’t hide it? But no, though the man was unassertive, Jamie could already tell he was not weak. Perhaps Jamie had just imagined the tears, or perhaps they were from looking at the sun too long. The man had probably never seen snow, not the way he saw it now, blazing a trail of desire through the darkening ground. Beside the rocks that sat chilled in shadow, a layer of ice lay atop the snowbanks, starkly different from the snow directly in the sun’s gaze, melting to slush like fresh dough.
Jamie didn’t know if there was anything to say about it.
He couldn’t deny having ever cried. He’d cried for his wife, cried from missing her, cried from hating the man that had taken her away. He’d cried each time he pictured those faces, their smiles burned into his mind as they offered their condolences. Their eyes had held a high-and-mighty grief, as if their presence made everything okay. They could pretend nothing had happened. They knew only a fraction of the woman that he knew. They could go on with their lives, thinking they’d done something good for their neighbor, because their grief wasn’t really theirs. It was false pity. They had borrowed it from him for just a few hours in the church. They’d carried his grief quietly, for a respectable amount of time, but it was really his to bear. And that was okay. He hadn’t wanted anyone else to see or to help. Now it was a stone in his shoe that he couldn’t get rid of.
If Kohaku felt the same about this, or something else, Jamie could respect that. He scanned the valleys between the peaks intently. He let his mind wander back to what Kohaku had said before they’d reached the top. He’d called it boring, and Jamie had gotten the sense that Kohaku didn’t actually want to talk about his family or his past, anything about himself at all he brushed away as a nuisance. Jamie was the same way. Maybe I should stop pressing him. He understood the need to hide the past, bury it in a deep lake with a mucky surface, making it appear deceptively shallow. He had his reasons, and he was sure Kohaku had his. Curiosity and deflected questions were a better alternative to Kohaku asking him anything, so he was left speculating instead.
He hadn’t said parents, hadn’t used the words ‘mother’ and ‘father’. He had called it ‘brought up.’ What kind of person used such callous terms? He wondered, but the answer came soon enough in the silence. The kind of person who wasn’t raised by people he thinks of as family. It sounded like the opposite feeling that religion was supposed to invoke, which was love. Right? He hated to think that the indifference was mutual from the “sort-of pastor”. Jamie’s own parents were faithful Protestants, and though he had practiced the religion they taught him, he never felt it meant more than just something to do because everyone did it; it was a way of life, end of story. He hadn’t said a prayer since before he left New York.
A deep breath in filled his lungs and cleared his thoughts. Jamie held that breath, afraid that the slightest noise or sigh would disturb the other man, and Kohaku would remember they were supposed to be delivering mail. He would turn and look at Jamie, and they would have to leave. He let his mind fill with songs of winter, despite the belief that summer days were fast approaching. Another month or so, and the desert would be even hotter, somehow. The lack of seasons in Sacramento was wearing at his body. He could feel it in his liver and his bones, almost like he was weak at the knees. The fiery air was almost intoxicating in the way that suffocation was, and the only way to combat the heat was to drink, it didn’t matter what. He wasn’t looking forward to riding in those conditions. This could quite possibly be the last ride before the earth shifted toward the intolerable sun and there would be no hiding from it.
His companion was probably more well-suited to the kind of weather that Jamie dreaded. He had noticed, during the brief time they’d spent on their feet and not on their horses, that although the man was only slightly taller than him, he took longer steps. He’s never had to walk on ice. He’d allow his weight to linger, almost dragging his shoes over the dust in reluctance. Jamie didn’t detect any reluctance just then, however, not from Kohaku. He hated it, but they had to keep moving. Jamie bit his lip, hesitant to break the silence with his voice. He turned around to see Thielen stretching her neck toward the other mare, sniffing her nose at her in greeting. Jamie whistled a short, low note for her to come, and with one last attempt at interacting with the other mare, Thielen turned and trotted over to her master, happy to be paid some attention. She knew their break was almost at an end, and they would be traversing a more treacherous path from then on, but nothing phased her at this point. Once they passed through the rest of the Sierra Nevada, they would be nearing Paiute territory, which meant they would likely run into some skirmish, or run around it, more likely. He wasn’t looking forward to meeting either Paiute or the U.S. military. Hopefully we’ll reach Diamond Springs without incident.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 1, 2019 14:57:05 GMT -5
Kohaku Avila in mountain wilderness. contemplating.
The sound of his new partner’s whistle, sharp and cutting through the serene stillness, snapped the young man back to reality. He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath as he took it all in until he was suddenly choking, chest empty, heavy, tight. He drew in a long breath, then finally tore his gaze away from the mountain. They had to get going again at some point; breaks like this ought to be few and far between if they truly did want to reach their destination on time.
Yeah. I do wish I could stay, he sadly concluded, silently echoing Andersen’s words. The majesty of this was unlike anything he’d ever felt before.
His disappointment wasn’t visible, but it sat heavy on his shoulders and his mind. Don't worry. There’s going to be more views like this, he reassured himself, and for the first time, this wasn’t an empty one. Who knew what was just around the corner from here? What lay only a day’s journey ahead? The thought of seeing more wonders, vastly different ones from this snowed-in mountain scene, filled him with a strange hope and optimism that was quite new to him.
Kohaku snapped his fingers twice, and his mare perked up and trotted to his side, eyeing him intently. “We’ve got to get going again,” he softly mumbled to her, and she seemed to understand in her gentle way—she was one of those animals who saw into the depths of your soul. She lowered her head obediently as her owner stepped back up on the saddle, and she bore his weight diligently, dutifully. He knew he’d never asked this much of her in the past, and she was living true to her nature and surprising him with quiet strength. They had that much in common. “Alright,” he muttered in an exhale. The young man watched as Andersen repeated the same action with his horse, then nodded to him once he was securely sitting on top. “Ready?” He asked. “We’re trying to make it to Diamond Springs tonight, right? Only a few more hours down, then a couple more on the road.” After hearing the affirmative answer, he again followed closely behind the other man as they meandered their way through the mud and snow banks, down the mountain just as they had ridden up it.
As they descended—Kohaku’s horse was taking it magnificently well, for never having traversed such uneven terrain before—a couple of distinct truths settled on his mind. The first was that he’d never seen himself as talkative as he had been recently, which was quite a lot, according to his own standards. That being said, the second was that the young man was much more comfortable discussing work and business than he was about anything personal. It was obvious—he loved fussing over and hearing about the details of their trip, yet, he struggled to tell Andersen enough to sate his thirst of getting to know the other man.
There was an immense amount about him that he never wanted to share with anyone. Kohaku watched that plain but attractive, rugged but harmless, white man ride just a few meters ahead of him. His heart ached in his chest. It was only because of polite, friendly conversation that he asked and pried, and it was only because of his ignorance on just what life was for him that he did. He looked at the other man and saw a kind naïveté. Kohaku guarded a large deal of pain and terrible things, and for some strange reason, he thought himself responsible to preserve that at all costs. Maybe he’d abridge his own personal history. Maybe he’d censor it. And perhaps, if he told these stories enough to others, his own mind would begin believing them, and he could, slowly but surely, forget it all.
But no amount of storytelling could take the lashes off his back or the brand off his chest. It would take a miracle act of God to wipe the slate of his body clean again.
- - Quite some time passed until the duo had finally made their way down the mountain and onto level ground. The relative monotony of the ride didn't get under Kohaku's skin just yet, since the landscape changed enough to keep his interest sharp. He couldn't say the same of his horse, though, but she dutifully trod on despite the tremendous amount of ground that she'd covered with no real warm-up period. It was nearly dark at this point: the only thing lighting their path was the last fingers of sunset streaking the sky, faint stars peppering the space where darkness had steadily crept in. He couldn't help but wonder if it was getting time they stop to pack up soon, but he didn't dare raise his voice to such an experienced rider, especially when he showed no indication of stopping, more less slowing down.
Thankfully, though, they began encountering signs of civilization: a sign indicating they were approaching a town, some run-down looking fences and faraway ranches, the odd windmill, until finally the duo on horseback stumbled upon a full-fledged town. It wasn't until they slowed down, a courtesy where there was so much human foot traffic, and began reading signs and taking in clues that they realized this was something of a military outpost. Kohaku's demeanor changed at that point. He immediately stiffened on top of his horse, eyeing his surroundings with caution and doing his best to maintain a low, silent profile behind his partner. He'd never known figured of authority to be particularly kind to minorities, but this was different--this was the literal wild west, where these types of cops could be as crooked as the devil himself, where there were fewer eyes on the happenings out here to keep them in check. He could only imagine how they treated people like him.
They were stopped by a rather put-together, middle-aged fellow, brandishing dual pistols on a well-stocked ammunition belt. "Hold it right there," he commanded, raising his hand, and the horses knowingly slowed to a stop in front of him. He raised an eyebrow at their wares and the riders, then paced around to examine their baggage. "You're Pony Express then, hm?" The officer's tone was considerably lighter now that he'd established a clear motive and intent. "I hate to break it to y'all, but I've gotta warn you--you'll need to find some other route through here. We've barely been able ta' keep the Injuns outta here, and they're real mean and ornery for some reason. We've lost a couple men to 'em."
The officer put his hands on his hips and sighed, gazing up at them with concern. "I'm not sayin' you won't be able to get through there unharmed, but I'm also not sayin' they won't scalp y'all. We're not gonna escort you folks, either--too great a risk."
Koahku blinked at the officer, stunned, then moved his gaze to Andersen. He wondered if the much more experienced man had ever come across something like this before in his travels, and what he'd done to either avoid harm or push through it. He couldn't hide his apprehension this time, though; his brow was wrinkled as he looked to the other man for some indication of a decision.
|
|
|
Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Jul 15, 2019 20:16:51 GMT -5
Jamison Andersen Nevadan plains. already tired.
For the first time since they met, he was actively avoiding the other man’s eyes. Yes, they had to keep going. No, he hadn’t meant to be so abrupt, or to make it seem like his whistle was to call Avila’s attention rather than the horses’, but how else to get a move on, if not abruptly? Thankfully, the man didn’t seem to misinterpret anything, signalling for his own horse. This was a positive sign, maybe even a sign of change, but now that he was thinking about it, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Kohaku did get offended. Jamie wasn’t about to walk as if on eggshells around the man, but he made a mental note to pause before he spoke, going forward. He was sure that a lot of what he did could be misconstrued by someone who wasn’t unused to being whistled at.
But it hadn’t been noticed by the other man. A misunderstanding avoided. Jamie promptly put it from his mind, stepping up on to the saddle, smiling to himself when he heard the other man ask him if he was ready, thinking how strange but not unwelcome it was, to hear this from someone else. He was straight-faced, however, when he looked up at him, nodding.
“Yeah, not far now.”
Nudging Thielen forward, they rejoined the path that would lead them further into the mountains. Down this peak, up another. Once again, Kohaku stayed back a few paces, especially when the slopes angled downhill. Jamie would glance back occasionally to make sure he was still with him. The optimism he had initially was fading as he became painfully aware of the reality of having a green rider trailing behind him. He did not account for the time it took to become accustomed to the terrain, and a rider was only as fast as his horse.
Not to place any blame, but Jamie had slowed considerably upon glancing behind him to find the pair of them were following gingerly. The mare was doing extremely well for all her uncertainty, despite slipping every now and then. She kept her head down and walked faithfully, her rider patting her neck to reassure her. Neither of them noticed Jamie watching, as they were concentrating all their energy on learning the twists of the earth, which could be sharp at times. He almost asked Kohaku if he’d ever seen snow before, but stopped himself. He held his tongue, facing forward again and pulling back on the reigns to slow his horse a bit. She didn’t appreciate it, tossing her head back at him. He leaned back to avoid being hit.
“Easy, girl. All in good time,” he said, quietly, so as not to disturb his new companions. Thielen was resigned into a slow trot, bouncing more than she usually did in expression of her displeasure. But she was a good girl and would obviously have to put up with a different pace than she was used to. If this was the first snow they’d seen, Jamie tried to think about how they might react later. He’d eventually have to tell Kohaku that they had a bigger surprise coming. “Wait ‘til you see the Rockies!” he would say, and it might almost be funny, the look on the other man’s face. But it also might not. Either way, he wasn’t about to tell him that this wasn’t a steep incline, as far as Jamie was concerned.
So they were a bit behind. Not to worry, he told himself. Kohaku had to get accustomed somehow.
Tahoe was far behind them by the time they passed through the Sierra completely, finding themselves on level ground, where Jamie made them stop for ten minutes without telling them why. As they stretched their legs and gave the horses water, Jamie could only hope that they actually needed the rest, for they hid the effects of any burden well, that mare and her rider. Avila hadn’t asked for this break, but Jamie had a feeling that he wouldn’t, in all their time together, so he made the decision for the man, and there were no complaints. He hoped he was right.
Then they rode without stopping for hours, until the mountain range had shrunk behind them, barely visible above the cloud of dust kicked up under the horses’ hooves. As the sun retreated to its mountainous nest behind them, their shadows grew longer and Jamie started to look around them more frequently, wary. Pyramid Lake was to their north, and, if he guessed correctly, so was the majority of the native territory where the fighting was taking place. But that was a big ‘if’, and his information was limited. The best thing for them to do was keep going. The plan was to continue all the way to Diamond Springs, and not stop until they reached the outskirts and could see for themselves what was going on there.
They were less than two hours from their destination by the time dusk had taken over the sky, turning the clouds a muddy yellow color, similar to the color of the dirt in the basin they rode over. The sky was graying, on the verge of darkness, when they approached a station that he recognized, but couldn’t recall a name to. Fallon? Stillwater? In the end, it didn’t matter, if they would just press on through.
His first clue that something was amiss was the darkness. Distant ranch houses stood black against the horizon without any candles in the windows, and as they neared the heart of the town, Jamie saw fewer than five lanterns, most of which were floating over the ground, carried in a person’s hand, rather than lighting store porches as one might expect them to. There were more people walking through the dying light of day than could possibly live there, which was another curious thing, and it made him look closer as they slowed their horses to a walk. What he saw first: they were all men, and they were all wearing uniforms. The things they had passed up until this point: carts full of weapons, broken fences and empty fields, suddenly made sense. The town’s civilians, including women and children, had probably all been evacuated to make room for the military. This was the first town to the east of Indian territory, which explained the silence. If Diamond Springs was closed, the attacks had likely migrated that far east already. What are these soldiers doing here, then?
Many of them stood, sentinels, along the side of the road. They eyed the two on horseback as they walked by, but made no move to question them, until Jamie noticed one of them walking beside them, a little ahead, to a man who looked like he was waiting for them, watching their approach and listening to what his man was telling him about them. Reporting, observing. Jamie’s thoughts flew to the rifle against his horse’s flank, but he kept his gaze up, expectant, as the man in charge stepped out in front of them, ordering them to stop. Their mares obeyed with a sigh, and Jamie found himself biting the inside of his cheek as the man walked in a tight loop around each of them. He should at least recognize the mail bags for what they are, he thought, frowning, despite knowing that he probably had a protocol to follow in this situation.
As the commander lingered by Kohaku, Jamie turned to follow him with his gaze, watching for danger. If the man was interested to know why someone with contrasting ethnicity was riding alongside a white man, carrying parchment that was equally- if not more- important, he didn’t say. Jamie glanced at his partner, whose shoulders were tense, eyes lowered and keeping quiet.
The military man stopped in front of the two horses to address them, apparently satisfied with his findings. Jamie nodded in confirmation: yes, they were Pony Express. At the man’s next words, however, he almost rolled his eyes. Some reason, he’d said, as if it was under mysterious circumstances that the Indians were being ‘mean’. From what little he’d heard, it seemed like the military was at fault for starting this war. But he couldn’t exactly say that to this man. Jamie, quite honestly, didn’t care what this man had to say. He intended to get through and see Diamond Springs. But Philly had said the military was stationed in the flatlands between mountain ranges for nonviolent purposes, to escort riders. Clearly, their instructions had either shifted from guardian angels to warmongers since just this morning, or the old man’s information was dated. The latter was the more likely of the two options, since he’d never known the military’s duty to involve protecting mail carriers. It would seem trivial and beneath them, he was sure that was what the man meant by calling it “too great a risk”.
“That’s fine,” Jamie responded. “We’ll take that risk.”
The commander looked at him, processing, as if he hadn’t heard him right. “Are ya sure? The trail’s crawlin’ with them Injuns. All the roads are not to be used through Diamond Springs, that’s as far as they’ve got, last we heared. Now, I know y’all got a job to do, but so do we, and I advise you against goin’ right through this way. Be better to turn south at this point, ya know? Then you can work yer way back up after yer inta Utah.”
Jamie shook his head. “Take too much time, but thanks for the advice. We’ll be alright.” He took on a slight drawl, audible in his vowels, as he spoke to him, trying to sound more like the present company, Kohaku excluded. He flicked the reigns and the commander sighed, stepping back toward a building that looked like their headquarters.
“Those in California appreciate you boys doing your job here, sir.” Jamie gave a little salute, maybe laying it on a bit thick, but the commander’s ego lapped it up. He returned the salute and his face relaxed a bit, nodding.
“Best of luck to you, then. Hopefully we’ll see ya on yer return.”
Nodding, Jamie spurred Thielen forward, checking back to make sure his partner was following. He was, and his eyes were wide with relief. The farther they got from the patchy groups of soldiers, the calmer Kohaku seemed to be. Jamie couldn’t blame him. He looked over at him as they left the middle of town.
“Doin’ good?”
The unspoken truth was that they would get to Diamond Springs and it was starting to look bleak, whatever they would find there. Jamie was willing to face the danger. Was Kohaku?
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Aug 10, 2019 20:28:05 GMT -5
Kohaku Avila Nevada, apparently. beginning to feel weary.
The young man could only do so much to hide his nerves as he listened to the two ahead of him discuss the state of things; Kohaku found himself biting his bottom lip, and when he realized exactly what he was doing, it was only then that he became acutely aware of how hard he was biting down. He raised a gloved hand to wipe at it, wincing. Had he drawn blood? Good Lord--he couldn't remember the last time he was this nervous, but, to be fair, he had never been so close to so many trained professionals with guns before. He'd never occupied a lawless country like this one before, where killings and lynchings and disappearances were as commonplace as the sunrise in the East. Even his mare stirred lightly under him, which was also uncharacteristic of her.
And although he wasn't entirely prepared for the immediate, confident answer that Andersen offered the officer, he wasn't entirely surprised by it, either. Why would they stop for some vague threat of violence that may not even happen to them? They were the Pony Express, after all--the goddamn Pony Express, unafraid of all, conquerers of the wild, deliverers of money and secrets and love or whatever it was so tenderly sealed into those letters. Kohaku watched with muted shock as he continued to mitigate and altogether ignore this military man's sound advice, and then found himself hesitating to follow after him, unable to move, unable to swallow.
Get yourself together. The voice in his head was not his own. Look at you. And just like that, he was shorter and scrawnier, younger, his eyes fixed on an endless pattern of dark hardwood floor beneath his bare feet. A looming, threatening shadow obscured his much smaller figure standing in front of its source. You've got a job to do, son. Quit your cryin' and get back to it, or so help me God-- And when he didn't move, the silhouette of a hand rose up from his side to--
Kohaku was forcefully snapped back to the present by feeling his mare shudder underneath him. Perhaps she also knew about these brief reveries into less than pleasant times he would take on occasion, when something someone said or did, or even something his own body did, reminded him of one of said times. Sometimes these trips into memories were just that, innocuous little glimpses into the past, but other times, they were tumbling, distressing events that sometimes left him gasping for air, tears clouding his vision, all as an invisible hand pressed down hard on his windpipe. He was fortunate that this was not one of the worse ones; they seemed to happen more and more often these days.
He followed wordlessly after Andersen, his mare trodding as noiselessly as she could, it seemed. They both held their eyes and heads down as they passed through the rest of the bustling settlement, both doing their best to ignore the strange looks and prying stares that strangers were giving them. Those kinds of looks were a given, no matter where it was that he went: even in California, a place with more mixed-race (sometimes, he heard 'mestiza,' which meant the same thing, just specifically referring to those of Hispanic descent, like him) people existed, people still seemed dumbfounded that he have the audacity to enter public spaces. Or maybe it was genuine curiosity. He couldn't tell the difference anymore. All stares burned like a thousand tiny little brands, one for each pair of eyes.
Those lantern lights eventually dimmed and dulled, blending into a soft haze, a blip of bright in the darkness the further the duo on horseback strayed from the town gates. Being back underneath the still night and ever-present pepper of stars eased the young man's nerves once more. Even the air outside of the crowd was fresher, and already he liked it much more than the city air he'd gotten to used to in these last few years he spent working in and around them. The mare was in better spirits too--although he could tell her legs were beginning to tire, she perked up gradually, just as the rider had. They truly were in synch, kindred spirits.
"Yeah--yeah, I am," Kohaku answered back, almost too quickly, too eagerly. Had he slipped up, shown a sign of weakness as he hesitated back in the military town square? Did Andersen even stop to notice--was he overthinking all of this? The young man finally lifted his eyes from the scrub brush earth and met the other man's gaze, finally feeling back to normal. Well, almost.
"Ah." He swallowed dryly in an attempt to clear out the slight rasp in his voice. "I understand that we have a deadline to meet, but I am concerned about these Indians. I'm inclined to believe the officer, back there." He hesitated, wondering how to best voice his worries without sounding too insecure or too doubtful in his partner's beliefs and experiences. "Have you... Dealt with this problem before?" And God, could he use a rest.
But why was he even that concerned about it? In a way, Kohaku was just like these Indians, or so he thought from the stories he heard about them and pictures he saw in the newspapers. They were a strapping, particularly indigenous looking people, with dark, weathered skin and broad features similar to his own. They were no doubt wildly misrepresented, marred with slurs and lies about their true selves. And they were a resilient people, fiercely, remarkably so. But, unlike him, and perhaps this was the part that scared him most, they had strength in numbers. They were empowered by people who looked like them and spoke the same language and held the same beliefs as each other.
Perhaps if he had that same support system, he'd want to defend himself from those who killed and maimed those few remaining of his people. Maybe he'd seek revenge too, unprovoked, senseless, like the violence that wandered onto their land so long ago. But even if Kohaku completely understood their fears and desires to just be welcomed seamlessly into the rest of society, would they care? Did he even stand a chance of communicating that to them, or did he look just like more of the enemy? Was it worth finding out? Either way, they were going to venture into that possibility, quite literally, and he felt unsure of what course of action he would take in the worst case scenario.
|
|
|
Post by 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝 on Aug 11, 2019 20:25:30 GMT -5
Jamison Andersen Nevadan plains. already tired.
The stars were starting to align as the horses thundered from town, slower than before, in an easier lope that allowed them to breathe for a moment. Avila assured him that he was fine, but his voice wheezed, like he hadn’t gotten enough air before he nodded eagerly in a way that told Jamie he was expecting the question and answered with practiced words. He said nothing, facing the open basin before them, the horizontal line between earth and sky a blur. Casting his eyes down, he could almost pretend he was looking at one black, starless night.
Yet there they were when he looked up again, flickering like fireflies. Watching them, even for a few seconds of silence, made his neck ache. The dull weariness spread to his back, and to all his muscles, or so it felt, as they tensed to keep him from falling out of the saddle. Jamie looked sideways at his partner.
The other man began to speak and Jamie listened, his expression muddled. He was pleasantly shocked at how little he hesitated this time, as if Kohaku had finally found his footing, at least when speaking to his colleague. It sure sounded hopeful to Jamie, and he wanted to view this as a sign that the journey might not be as grating on his nerves as he’d anticipated. Just because the winds were changing, didn’t mean he was any more comfortable with his companion, but this newfound confidence was a good omen, just as blue skies were for sailing.
He wasn’t as happy to hear what his actual words were and the meaning behind them that he was trying to avoid. Jamie had to tell himself that his partner’s increased vocality was something he had wanted, and made clear enough to Kohaku that he didn’t have to hold back his thoughts, even if Jamie disagreed with them. Which was the case, currently, because he didn’t like to hear his judgement questioned, even if it was out of innocent worries.
Kohaku had a right to be afraid. Hell, Jamie was scared too, though he would never make it so apparent. All of his fears had been confirmed by that military outpost, and when Avila said he was inclined to believe what the officer said, Jamie sighed and let his shoulders sag in defeat, now that they were away from any civilization.
“Oh, yeah, I believe him too,” he muttered. It was not a matter of belief, however, in his eyes. Still, Jamie had to seriously rethink everything he knew at the behest of Kohaku’s honesty. The man doubted him, which was understandable. He would admit, it was fairly easy to see what Kohaku was talking about and why he was worried. It was considerably more difficult to not dismiss his perspective entirely.
What did he know, anyway? This was his first ride. But if their roles were reversed, Jamie would have doubted this whole venture from the start. Rumors had a tendency to intrude in one’s certainty and peace of mind, sharp as a splinter of wood. He reminded himself that they were no longer rumors, but rather an unfortunate truth, as they passed a makeshift sign indicating the fork in the road ahead.
All Roads to Diamond Springs Closed P. Express, U.S. Army and Others Follow Roads to South The road they wanted to take to Diamond Springs looked the same as it always had, flat and pounded in by hooves, reaching toward the east beside its twin reaching south. There was a single fence, lying across the middle of the road, trampled by Indians or other riders who had previously ignored the warnings, or hadn’t been aware until it was too late. Now, Jamie felt his partner slow. He followed suit until they had skirted around the broken fence and Kohaku looked at him, his eyes darkened by some emotion Jamie didn’t recognize.
Had he dealt with this problem before? No. Nothing like this. But as anyone with eyes that weren’t blind could see, the country was shifting with the ground it rested on. Friction mounted beneath the cracks in the dirt, creating pressure that bubbled to the surface and escaped into the air. This war with the Paiute would only fan the flames.
Trepidation. That was the look Avila gave him that made him feel like there was some weight on his chest. Jamie wasn’t one to make second guesses. He stuck to his guns, so to speak. The first instinctive pull in his heart was the one he followed, and it hadn’t led him astray until recently, it seemed. He didn’t doubt his decisions because he based them on experience and common sense, but gradually he felt his blood running cold. Would that be enough to make it through this trip?
Nothing’s impossible, child. He still believed the old adage, but there was a chill on the back of his neck, as if the man beside him was the one leading them through the valley of the shadow of death. All make-believe, of course.
“No, I haven’t.” This was the first he’d heard of such attacks happening. In the past few months, he had noticed a strange duality among the people in California: a cautiousness in some, and a carelessness in others, all at once. He didn’t think it was because of the Indians, though. He had only ever seen them once himself, maybe a year ago before he’d reached the west coast, hunting in the distance, so far away they looked like mere fleas on miniature horses.
With his voice sucked through the air so fast it was heard and then gone, Jamie nearly pulled Thielen to a stop with the sudden barrage of reality’s embrace. He had no idea how to deal with this dilemma. If he took this threat lightly, in the middle of a combat zone, he could get them both killed. The luck it would take to get them through unharmed… needless to say, it was unlikely they had that much between the two of them.
But they couldn’t take the time to go further south. They would be out of a job. Ten days or less, those were the only conditions, and virtually the only expectation of a rider was to be punctual, with the cargo intact. They spurred their horses on, following the forbidden road to Diamond Springs, Jamie under the false impression that he would be able to see an attack coming, and prevent it. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if they had to fight, because he already knew they wouldn’t win. For as well as he knew the land, this was their home, and they would know its secrets more intimately.
These attacks were threatening to unhinge part of society, as most would see it from the inside. But they were on the outside, outcasted as if they didn’t belong. It was no wonder they retaliated against an unjust brutality, but Jamie, strangely enough, wasn’t as afraid of running into them as everyone seemed to think he should be. He was wary, of course, and uncertain of his abilities to protect him and Avila if it came to that, but it wasn’t the attacks or even Kohaku’s fears that made him hesitate to reassure his partner, though no mistake, these were on the forefront of his mind.
It was the bodies. He shuddered and closed his eyes to picture them. It would be foolish to think there wouldn’t be any along the road, probably military and Paiute. To see them lying there, sprawled in the dust, bloody and browned in the sun, scalped. All bodies had that telltale vacancy to them. They were limp without a soul to harbor. But the only body he’d seen had been swollen and soaked in water and the bodies here would be dry as a bone, missing their eyes, nothing more than carrion for vultures and hawks. To think about it was a crime, to say it aloud was blasphemy. The dead terrified him more than the living, but he would be damned if he let that change his mind.
“I wouldn’t worry,” he told Avila gently, “We’ll keep a careful eye out, and we don’t have to stay on the road if it looks like there’s trouble ahead.”
What about behind? The question danced silently through his mind, but he shoved it aside. We’ll be fine.
“We’ll have to go around Diamond Springs and stop at the next station that’s safe.” Jamie hesitated, wondering if Kohaku could make it that far, or if the man would even want to consider it without a rest first. At this point, there was no turning around to go back and show their faces in the militarized town so soon; the only way out was forward. Jamie didn’t think stopping would be wise, not as long as they were in these plains, each rise in the land bristling with hostility.
“Unless you want to stop here for an hour or two now? We’re near enough to the border, we might be okay. Better than stopping halfway, in the middle of the prairie, you know?”
He was well aware of how sore they would be by the time they found somewhere safe, whether they stopped now or after they were clear of Indian territory. Sore and hungry. He glanced down and leaned to one side to look over Thielen. She looked like she was doing alright. This was no farther than she was used to, and they still had farther to go. If she sensed his anxiety, she didn’t react with any uneasiness of her own. She plodded on, content enough but growing tired by the mile, he could tell. He had barely given her one night off between this leg and the last return trip. A pang of guilt echoed through his head, and he patted her neck in encouragement, finally showing some sympathy. Jamie then took a drink from his flask, metal glinting in the moonlight for a moment before he put it away. Shivering as the alcohol loosened and warmed his muscles, he stretched as much as he could on horseback, glancing back to see what Kohaku would say. Did he want to stop? Jamie prayed silently that the answer was 'no', but he knew if the other man had to stop to rest in order to not fall asleep on the ride, he would have to.
|
|