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 Posted: Mon Dec 12, 2016 10:51 am
 OOC FICTIONAL PIECE OF WORK THIS RP IS BASED OFF: The Lone Star Ranger TITLE OF FICTIONS: It Must Be High Noon Somewhere CURRENT PRP SETTING: Texas in the early 1915s. The Bandit Wars are at a climax, an attempt by the Seditionistas rebels to gain control of the states bordering on Mexico and annex them. Only the Lone Rangers can mobilize to stop the threat. TWO MEN STAND AT THE READY .... but at least one of them is a murderer. ignoring the other tons of people who actually had an impact because this is a work of fiction
The sun was low on the horizon, setting. It was unnervingly quiet in the small town. Posters plastered the walls of the building containing the local tavern. Amongst the mess of notices, there were two posters with faces that seemed the newest.
Harland knew better than to surface during the day, but he was desperate; he thought maybe his old friend would listen to his story, but the trouble was: his old friend was the hero of brownsville, apparently. Harland stood with his duster neck up, hat pulled down low to cover his face, hair tied neatly back. Sweat and dirt beaded any stray strands of hair to his neck and his face.
"Of course they'd be celebratin' ye, while 'm out here hidin'..." he said, rubbing his face with one hand. In doing so, he knocked his hat off, and started. The strings caught it around his neck, but he spun around, looking to see if anyone was watching. No one was, he figured-- except for that at that moment, someone stumbled out of the tavern and even in their still-drunken stupor they figured it was him, staring at the wanted poster and back again.
"It's the murderer!" the man yelled, "Damn dirty murderer, I'll kill ya myself and take the reward!" He drew his weapon, and Harland tried to back up, stumbling.
"It wasnae me-- The murder mighta been but-- It's not like ye ken!" Harland's back slammed into a solid wooden post as he tried to retreat clumsily. He was so tired and hungry, he didn't know how to be an outlaw at all. Born to outlaw parents had marked him from childhood, but he'd never merited the scorn. Now he deserved it, apparently, and he had no idea what to do. He'd always dreamed of being a Texas Ranger, but they'd never have him-- especially not now.
The drunk was drawing his weapon, and Harland realized what was happening a fraction of a second too late to stop it-- "Now wait a hot minute, yer gonna blow yer own h--" The gun did nothing when fired. They stared at each other, Harland frozen midstep, and then the drunk looked down the barrel of his own gun. Harland couldn't help but think that was incredibly stupid, as it proved to be hang fire. He shot himself. Harland was motivated to move, finally, and dashed forward. "Son of the devil 'imself, now it's gon' look like I shotcha," Harland lamented loudly, checking the man over. There was blood everywhere, and Harland tried to wipe some of it off himself hurriedly when he realized the man had in fact killed himself. Second murder to his name, he suspected-- well, the second one he'd even been present for.
Harland straightened and looked for escape, making a mad dash for a dark alley between two buildings.
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Posted: Mon Dec 12, 2016 6:44 pm
He hated that damn poster.
It was thrown up in every building around, from the saloon to the sheriff's office, to the little hotel across the way. Every time he looked at it, Alistaire could feel the anger rising, thick in his throat, barely tamping down on the urge to reach out and rip them down to throw them into the trash.
He couldn't be seen tearing down a wanted poster; not with his standing in the town, not with this ridiculous title and position they'd given him. Hero of Brownsville. It felt like a weight on his shoulder, dragging him down until everything he knew was in the dust at his feet, until he had nothing else for him except that.
It was dusk outside; Alistaire's boots made scuffling sounds as he passed through the quiet streets, every now and then giving a little nod to people that he passed. There weren't many out; too many people getting drunk, by the sound coming from the tavern.
Except -
Except there was somebody out.
Bang.
A figure was bolting towards the alleyway nearest to where Alistaire was currently lurking - a figure, who, even in his duster and hat, Alistaire would have been able to recognize anywhere, his heart clattering noisily in his chest. Ignoring the little voice in his head that said that it was a bad idea, he lunged forward instinctively, caught ahold of the man's arm, and dragged him into the alleyway, clapping a gloved hand over his mouth to keep him silent until they reached a door. Alistaire staggered back, pulling the other with him, shoving until they were both inside the office that Alistaire had just left.
The door was hastily shut and bolted, Alistaire whirling around, ignoring the rapid pulse beating in his neck.
"What the hell are you doing?"
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Posted: Tue Dec 13, 2016 4:52 pm
Harland's heart felt like it was going to burst in his chest. He thought it was all over, as he lost his footing and was dragged back into an alleyway, mouth covered. As soon as he was released into an office, Harland staggered, and collapsed to his knees, burying his head in his hands. "Ghuigh mé go dtabharfaí maithiúnas dom," he said, his shoulders shaking. "An' I know I'll never be forgiven now, an' ye may never let me breathe a word of my innocence, but I swear I am, on my future grave--" Harland realized he was still alive, and unfettered. And then he realized, that voice was so familiar...
"It's you," Harland said, shocked, rising to his feet immediately. "I never thought I'd live t' see yer face again," he added, his hands reaching out to Alistaire as though he wanted to embrace him, then recovering in the gesture and running a hand through his hair instead. "I was hopin' tae see ye again, even though.. .I never as suspected it'd happen. Thank god for the opportunity," he said. If it means seeing your face one last time, and it was all I could hope for, he thought. The hope to see Alistaire, to explain... "I didnae do all they've accused me of," he whispered. "But ye cannae shelter me here, lest they find out an' persecute ya along with me..." Harland said.
He turned towards the door to stride out, hand on the handle. "Oh. If I walk out of here they'll jus' think that exact thing, won't they?" Harland's face fell, and his shoulders slumped. He let go of the handle and stood there, facing the door, his cheeks wet with tears. He'd pulled someone he cared about right into the fire with him. How had he fallen so far from grace?
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Posted: Tue Dec 13, 2016 9:24 pm
The smattering of another language wasn't entirely unexpected, but Alistaire was too busy trying to get the jabbering man into the sheriff's office to actually listen too closely to what he was saying. Crossing the room, he checked the doors, the windows, and then the cells - empty, for once - and then, once everything was locked, he came back to stand in front of the other.
Devil's Hand was a rugged, vibrantly haired rebel, but Harland Leander Belle looked the same as when Alistaire had last seen him, if not a little more careworn. His expression was one of stunned disbelief, which shifted to one of...Alistaire couldn't quite tell, though the movement of his arms made Alistaire's heart constrict in his chest.
Don't think about it. Don't think about it.
"I wasn't..." Alistaire started to say, then stopped, gritting his teeth together. One gloved hand rested atop the desk he stood in front of, the other arm hanging at his side. "I wasn't aware we would be meeting again anytime soon, either, especially under the present circumstances."
And yet here you are. In front of me. Again.
The ache in his chest wouldn't ease. Alistaire's eyes flickered across the strong lines of Harland's back and shoulders as he turned to leave, then traced the familiar jawline before it disappeared from view - but no, he couldn't, he wasn't thinking of it, just as he'd told himself before, for months, for however long they'd been at this.
"You're not going anywhere," said Alistaire, because what he wanted to say wasn't allowed. "Sit down, Mr. Belle, and take a breath. Tell me what happened before you run off into the sunset."
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Posted: Tue Dec 13, 2016 9:35 pm
Harland wanted nothing more than to be a hero, he'd always wanted that, but that was not what he was born to. Not what he was born to, and not what he'd ended up- still, he wanted to face Alistaire as a free man. He wanted to face him as worth beholding. He did not feel worth it, at that moment.
The nickname was a joke; he was hardly guilty of the things he'd been accused of. Except for the one. The one dead body that he was responsible for, and the one he'd been caught red handed in the killing of.
"Please forgive me, I never meant tae involve ya," he said, his face a mask of grief that looked as though it would crack off at any moment it was so severe, when he turned to face him. In his eyes reflected a heat and a longing that only a creature entirely cornered could conjure up. One that felt there must be no hope, and yet believed that in Alistaire perhaps there was one last breath of it.
"They'll execute me if they catch me," he reminded Alistaire. "That'll never change." Harland knew even if he told the truth, he'd still be killed. No one would believe him. He was a convenient scapegoat; son of an Outlaw, he was always expected to amount to nothing and no good.
Harland walked towards Alistaire and stopped, a few steps away. "Lock me up, at least, yeah? An' that way if anyone catches ya, they'll think... I was bein' detained." Harland passed Alistaire, striding with purpose towards the cells. It was hard to dissuade him, stubborn creature that he was. A simple, stubborn man.
If ever he'd needed Alistaire to be clever on his behalf, now must certainly be the time.
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Posted: Tue Dec 13, 2016 10:02 pm
He distinctly remembered the last time that he had seen Harland; several months ago, a long while back. The dust and the grime from the day had settled into skin, and there had been a body on the ground, and Harland had been going, going, gone and Alistaire had not thought he would ever see him again.
But he'd wanted to. He'd wanted to so badly that it ached, but he'd never admitted to it, even to himself, no matter how much restraint it had taken to hold himself in check. Alistaire's monumental self will was iron at the moment; he couldn't break it, not then, not now. Acting on selfish emotions had never happened, he couldn't let it.
And he couldn't let Harland know how he felt, either.
"You didn't involve me, I involved myself," said Alistaire flatly, though Harland's grief stricken face was making his chest hurt. The openness of his expression, the heat in his eyes made, for some reason, Alistaire's face flush, his chest constricting as though it was now more difficult to breathe.
Don't look at me like that, I can't -
He knew the consequences. He knew that Harland was on the run. That he was an outlaw, his posters slapped up on every building in the town. Alistaire felt the faintest brush of Harland's shoulder against his own as he moved past, and he sucked in a sharp breath.
He moved before he could stop himself, a hand jerking out, seizing ahold of Harland's arm to drag him to a halt.
"Don't be stupid," Alistaire ground out. "I'm not going to lock you up. Not when I haven't heard everything there is."
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