only men with violent hearts

And the stars will be your eyes, And the wind will be my hands

The crowd had dissipated, though Santiago still remained there, staring to the little wooden cross he'd buried into the dirt, hammered in place with a rock.

The crude marking did not suit the injustice, did not suit the man who lay beneath it. For all the things the Drygrass Posse had done, the trio from Rattler's Gulch carried the brunt of the sins that their past thrust upon them. He had realized this, now - there was no luck in escape, nothing to barter there; even if Evelyn and himself gathered up, fled north even further, how far would they get?

When would the wolves catch up to their heels again?

There was a price to pay, for the swindling, the lies - in the case of O'Malley, where the crows surely fed on his bones, murder - but it still seemed unjust. The morality lay gray, murky, unclear. The fog gave way to chill drizzling that stuck in tiny droplets to his whiskers, dampened the whips of his hair, that hat in his hand again.

Santiago hoped the sun would come, soon.

He hoped the marigolds would take, that this place would grow with the orange, to bring Calhoun back to them.

It was all he could do.

after that funeral threaddd~ | [wc — --] template by hilli, image from Wayne Stadler

It was not impossible to believe that Calhoun was gone, and she knew she'd be kidding herself to believe he wasn't. She had seen his cold, stiff body in the deep, dark earth – still and quiet in death where it damned well would've killed him to be either in life – and she had watched as they submerged his corpse in dirt. He was dead. Good and truly dead.

And yet, despite all the loss and the chaos and the fear they had endured for so long, there remained a sliver of disbelief within Evelyn's stoic heart that she struggled to ignore. Santiago aside, he was the only other being who had known their papa's propensity for charisma or their mama's tastes for fine brandy or their brother's acumen for theatrics. These folks that they had loved and lost meant nothing to the people of these bitter lands. And now there was one less soul alive to carry on their memories; their significance.

Evelyn stepped lightly forward, her dainty feet making minimal sound, and realized how both she and Santiago were one in the same now: the last of Rattler's Gulch who could speak for their lost families.

"He ain't comin' back," she said as though she had read his mind. The Vicar came up from behind him and stood now at his right, so she could see him more easily from her periphery. She kept her eyes planted firmly on the small wooden cross her friend – their friend – had hammered in place and remained silent for a long while.

There was a storm cloud of grief and injustice and anger spinning and swirling within her chest – a storm cloud that had been building and changing shape since Calhoun's head had rolled to her feet that day in camp – and Evelyn could feel it darkening as she stood there before her brother's grave. She breathed in and held that storm cloud precariously at bay.

"Was it them?"

OOC: T^T Santiagooooo <3

[WC — 337]

And the stars will be your eyes, And the wind will be my hands

Memory was a terrible thing.

It was bittersweet, sharp and vile and cutting one moment before washing it away in the swathes of comfort and warmth and familiarity the next - Like the desert sun, warm, but scorching - like the rains, life-giving but ready to drown the earth when it couldn't take anymore.

Like all things natural, memory was impartial. The knife hid beneath the cloak of sentimentality.

He missed his friend. He missed the families, down there in the south. His siblings - the ranch, his mother - they were all gone, dust in the wind.

Evelyn came to his side, quiet, and his smile was broken in more ways than one when he offered a surprised bark of a laugh at her presence, before it faded just as quickly as it appeared, jaw trembling subtly. He could hear the in-tact teeth that remained in his jaws click and rattle quietly with the shaking as he steadied himself, and it filled his head with a dreadful sense of discomfort. Santiago did not break the silence after that. Quietly, he reached out for her hand, selfishly, and told himself that she needed the physical affirmation as much as he did.

"I'm sure of it," he answered back, throat rasping more than usual as it tightened about the words, strangling them out between his ruined lips. His hold on her dainty hand was firm, and his arm was stiff. "They won't be gettin' away with this, Miss Escuella."

He swallowed about his statements, and cleared his throat, blinking away the dew in his eyes while he tossed his head a little.

"I'm sorry - I failed you both."

EVELYNNNNN <3 | [wc — --] template by hilli, image from Wayne Stadler

The laughter that barked out of his throat and rattled his damaged mouth contained no humor. It was as dry and brittle as sun-scorched prairie and the crack reminded her of the sound a whip made when it snapped against thin air. Her thin lips remained still and static, with neither a twitch nor a quirk to entertain his cheerless laugh.

But neither did the anger she held for the malefactors shine through. Nor did she let slip the tenderness she reserved for Santiago, but for one small act of kindness.

Evelyn let him take her hand and, once his fingers – rough and strong and firm – wrapped around hers, she stepped nearer to his solid frame and looked down upon the cross.

"No," she agreed, allowing the silence to stretch between them after he made his vow. "No, they won't, Mister Tejada, because ain't runnin' no more. We're stayin' and we're fightin'." Her voice was clear and firm: dangerous. And then, spinning on her heel, she turned to Santiago and in her fiery eye there was all the rage and the grief and the determination she never brought to the surface of her face. "And you will do well to quit blamin' yourself, Mr. Tejada."

With her head tilted and her eyes close, she could see in perfect detail all the scars and broken teeth that marred his once-handsome face. "Do we have an understandin'?"

[WC — 241]