[m] death don't have no mercy

POSTED: Tue Apr 30, 2019 11:56 am

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself before your sentence is carried out?"

The rough-hewn sack was pulled from on top of her head, her features battered, bruised, busted. Hands were tied, tightly, this time, behind her back, and shoulders slumped forward as much as the necklace of rope provided, before her fiery eyes looked up at the wolves. They'd expected her to tell them - but she hadn't known a damn thing about directions the Posse were taking, the way they traveled. Lips curled into a sneer as she glimpsed up to the man on his horse, that yellowed tooth poking out past his lip. What an ugly mug.

"I don't got shit to say to you," Jackie hissed, and spit to his horse's hooves, the saliva pink, and she snorted softly, sinuses rattling as she swallowed and went to wet her lips. The man sat back in his saddle, slow, and folded his hands in his lap. The dark-colored lad at her right tightened his grip on the rope.

"Very well. Pippin, son, if you wouldn't mind."


The rope slacked a moment as he released with both hands, only to position them further up, and grip in a vice, pulled it tight towards his body. The brown wolf, the one she'd popped, dabbed at his nose with a handkerchief, but watched her with a vicious scowl as Pippin pulled and hiked and tugged. Jackie started to gag as her chin pulled up against the tether. Her toes were straining to touch the this damned, cold ground, and she missed the desert sands of Utah, the pine forests of the Rockies -

Her found family. O'Malley. Her eyes were watering, and strangling was a slow and terrible thing this way, as she was more or less inched up into the tree. Legs kicked and thrashed, her bottle-brush tail fluffed to its fullest extent in a struggle once off the ground. The old man in her indifferent audience patted his saddle horn.

"May God have mercy on your soul."

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POSTED: Thu May 02, 2019 2:23 am

Dolores stared impassively as the coyote was hoisted inch by inch, gagging and lifting her chin and wriggling her shoulders as if that might free her. Her tongue lolled from her mouth, purpling, as bulging eyes watched her apathetic audience.

A low growl rumbled in Donnie's throat as the coyote was inched further up the tree. Hatred made her robin's egg blue eyes gleam almost white, her face contorted into something spiteful and passionate and beautiful—like fire.

Dolores found her hand reaching for her friend's, fingers entwining, but after the briefest of contact Donnie jerked back and fished for a cigarette in her pouch, harassing Arlo for a light. She shook out the match when its flame threatened her fingertips, sheltering her ember with cupped hands, turned away from the wind and the body. She strode off toward the horses.

After a minute, Dolores followed her friend, not bothering to wait for the hanged woman to stop struggling.

It was not the first coyote she had seen strung up to die.

It would not, God willing, be the the last.

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POSTED: Sat May 11, 2019 2:17 pm


She was an ugly thing, comprised of the mangy and oily coat of a woman abused by her travels.

Granted, they had been the one to drag her, to beat her, to bring her to this fate. And, unwillingly, she had been along for every venture as the wolves sought their quarry, driven by instinct, but perhaps, even moreso than that, driven by the righteous word of God in the heavens above. She would not end this now. She certainly couldn't.

Impassive, they all watched while she wormed in the air, and Solomon's thumb rubbed over the small, wooden cross pendant in his fingers, before he tucked it away in his pocket. With an aged grunt, he slid from his saddle, landed a touch too harsh on his right leg, and rubbed the ache out of his hip before he semi-hobbled his way to Pippin, the young man's arms flexing to hold the rope while they sought to tie it off around the tree's trunk. Just like the last one, and the ones before that, Solomon helped to secure the noose, and procured a knife to carve a cross beneath the knot of the tether.

"Spitting like the devil until the end," the wolf lamented, taking his hat off a moment to pat it to his chest, as though in a personal prayer, while Pippin cast his eyes over to the aging man, and they made way back to the horses. The younger wolf helped Solomon into his saddle, and he settled back, resting his palm against the horn.

"Well, Pippin, my boy, we got some law-breakers to catch."


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