Katherine "Kissin' Kate" Barlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ikissdhimbck) wrote2011-05-06 04:37 pm
ikissdhimbck) wrote2011-05-06 04:37 pm
Entry tags:
AU: Western Texas - Gene Hunt - 1888
**NOTE: This is part of a plot arc that was meant to occur in Milliways over the Spring/Summer of 2011 in Bar Time. It has since become an AU, and should be treated as a standalone plot not associated with any game, and not fitting into Kate's continuity.**
A door opens out of thin air, admitting a pair of riders. The gentleman in proper Victorian dress astride a perlino gelding is the first to ride out, followed not long after by the woman on the starred bay. It's late April, and Texas lays open on every side of them. Behind them, to the north, is a low rolling mountain range leading to Kenedy; descending ahead is desert plain, pocked with scruff and scraggly trees. Some ways off to their left are train tracks.
It's midday. The sun is hot, but despite being a little muggy the air is withstandably balmy. It's just the way Kate left it when last she was here. She can even see the dust clouds Beaut kicked up still settling behind them. They're just south of Beeville now, and likely there ain't anybody from Kenedy still chasing after her.
She combs a few renegades from her messy braid back behind her ears, and sets her hat down on her head to ward off the winking sun. Glancing at Gene from the corner of her eye, she just manages to bite back a smirk.
"Home sweet home."
A door opens out of thin air, admitting a pair of riders. The gentleman in proper Victorian dress astride a perlino gelding is the first to ride out, followed not long after by the woman on the starred bay. It's late April, and Texas lays open on every side of them. Behind them, to the north, is a low rolling mountain range leading to Kenedy; descending ahead is desert plain, pocked with scruff and scraggly trees. Some ways off to their left are train tracks.
It's midday. The sun is hot, but despite being a little muggy the air is withstandably balmy. It's just the way Kate left it when last she was here. She can even see the dust clouds Beaut kicked up still settling behind them. They're just south of Beeville now, and likely there ain't anybody from Kenedy still chasing after her.
She combs a few renegades from her messy braid back behind her ears, and sets her hat down on her head to ward off the winking sun. Glancing at Gene from the corner of her eye, she just manages to bite back a smirk.
"Home sweet home."
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"Snake's don't technically run, they sl — "
You know? Now isn't the time.
"How far away is it?"
She's already picking her way towards him.
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He sounds nonchalant. He doesn't bloody feel it.
'About a metre?'
It makes its noise again. Somehow it's a lot more menacing in the flesh than in the movies.
Can't think why.
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"That's good."
She blinks to adjust her eyes, seeking out his silhouette.
"Y'still have on your boots, right?"
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Does it matter?
And he can't for the life of him think why a metre would be 'good'.
'Can I move, or what?'
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And, potentially, his life.
She's caught sight of him, and squints hard at the rocks and bushes that all look the same in the pale moonlight.
"Slowly."
She keeps her hands on her belt, creeping closer, looking for any signs of movement.
"Back away from 'im. Slowly."
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It's hard to pinpoint the noise; as soon as he thinks it's obviously in front of him, he listens again and it seems to be behind. Either the thing is moving, or he's just second-guessing himself.
He can't just stand here though. So he...guesses. Or just assumes that it must be in front of him, and so starts to edge backwards.
'...shit!'
There's a clatter as he backs staight into the water he'd brought out from the fire.
Hopefully rattlesnakes don't freak out at loud clattering noises?
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And a strike.
Kate is about five feet to Gene's left, arm outstretched and palm open.
Her bowie knife is sticking out of the ground, buried in the meat four inches below the snake's head.
(It's rattle is still going.)
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He knows what a thrown knife sounds like. He's had a couple tossed around near him in his lifetime, but never quite like that.
And the thing's still rattling.
'You get it?'
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She doesn't answer. Straightening instead, she steps over and presses the head of the snake beneath the sole of her boot, taking the knife out of its body and cleanly cutting off its head.
"Yep."
She turns her overlarge eyes on him.
"You all right?"
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'...'course,' he says, like he's just lounging behind his desk at work, or something.
'...heard you can eat them.'
And, y'know. Thanks, Kate.
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"...Yeah. I met someone at the bar who said he'd show me how t'skin 'em right."
Beat.
"You scared the hell outta me."
In other words: don't do that again.
(And you're welcome, Gene.)
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'Weren't you about t'get bit.'
He bends down and stands the water bucket upright.
'We got any more of this? I'm freezin' me bollocks off.'
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"I told you t'keep your distance from critters."
Her voice may be flat, but the hand she puts at his elbow is tender, and the look on her face is that of mild relief.
"C'mon back t'the fire. I think I can somehow manage t'keep myself off'a you long enough t'get you cleaned up."
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'An' how can I keep my distance from somethin' I can' see?'
No matter. He leans in suddenly, and pecks her on the cheek.
'Ta.'
And then strides off back towards the fire.
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"Y'learn t'keep your eyes open."
She mutters the words under her breath, more to herself than anything.
Once back at the fire, she shakes a blanket open and tosses it at Gene. It will have to double as a towel for now. She refills the pot and sets it on the fire to warm; then she gets out her bowie knife, and starts to clean it.
"Be careful with the water. We ain't got a lot t'spare, an' whatever y'don't use can be reused in the mornin'."
It's cowboy law.
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That sounds alarming. He doesn't mind getting covered in muck, but he likes to be able to get rid of it and...not have to drink the water the next day.
Though she probably doesn't mean that. But he feels the need to check.
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Dry. So dry.
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Funny, Kate.
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"Gimme your shirt. I'll lay it out t'dry."
The water is tepid, but it should do for a quick spit bath. She doesn't say as much to Gene, for fear he'll take that turn of phrase seriously, too.
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He strips his shirt off without hesitation, balls it up and chucks it at her.
'Ta.'
Just like home, this.
He picks up the bucket and is about to just pour the thing over him, but then thinks she'll probably not take too kindly to that. So he shoots her another look, then does the best he can.
And it really is sodding cold, now.
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"Y'should probably turn in soon. We'll wanna start ridin' early, before the sun crawls too high. Cooler that way."
She glances at him, sweeping her gaze over his exposed flesh — but only briefly.
"An' stick close t'the fire. If your boots are wet, leave 'em next t'the embers so the leather don't shrink up."
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'I should turn in? What abou' you?'
He's not going to sleep and leave her sitting up on her own. He's not a kid.
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"I'll feed the fire for a bit. An' wash up myself."
And, as it turns out, she can't help herself from reaching out and fixing a few cowlicks.
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He lets her mess with his hair. He doesn't mind it. Quite nice, really. It almost makes him lean down and kiss her again, but he restrains himself. Tonight will likely be awkward enough without that in his mind.
'I won' look.'
He turns away to find something to put on. He's deciding the desert isn't as much fun at night, at least so far.
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She almost says something, but in the end she actually believes him.
"Don' stay up on my account."
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