bakerstreet | ( picture prompt meme )

( picture prompt meme )

the picture prompt meme

I — Comment with your character.
II — Others will leave a picture (or two, or three...)
III — Reply to them with a setting based on the picture.
IV — Link to any pictures that are NSFW, please.
V — Be aware that this meme will be image-heavy.

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Billy took the cards and held them respectfully in his own. He knew Faraday liked these things more than he probably liked a lot of people. So, with care, he dealt out the right amount of cards and then set the deck on the ledge of the windowsill nearest to them. His glass was picked up, another swig taken before being handed over to Faraday. It was only then that he looked at his cards.

And realized that he had pretty much nothing. But this was where the true game of poker came in, he recalled. He'd watched Goody so many times as he held a handful of nothing and still managed to win someone's prize horse. Billy was sure he'd never be that good, but he was skilled at keeping his face neutral. And that would have to take the place of all Goody's words.

He turned in two cards and drew two more. A pair of Queens was all he had. But that was fine. This was just trying it out, after all.

"How's Vasquez?" Billy asks, trying not to think about the fact that, across the way, there seems to be a lot of movement in Goody's room. It could just be them changing some of the dressings, after all. He wouldn't know because he was banished.

"I've been busy," he continues shortly. "Haven't kept up. He's all mended, yes?" And if that sounds bitter, it might just be. Not that Billy wanted the man hurt, of course. But. Well. He'd trade a great many things for his friend to pull through, tonight. And he can't help but begrudge the people who already have.

Himself included.

Faraday observed closely as Billy dealt – in part because, being an occasional cheat himself, he had learned to watch the dealer for any signs of foul play, but also because strangely, selfishly, he did like this new deck of cards. Sentimental of him, maybe, but they had been a gift – and those were terribly rare for a man like Faraday. (He rarely deserved gifts, after all; rarely did anything to deserve them in the first place.) Billy's care with the cards made something pinch in Faraday's chest briefly. Gratitude, maybe. Possibly embarrassment for appreciating it as much as he did. Hard to pick it out from the messy tangle of emotions that had been coiling in him since the fighting ended.

His own hand ended up being equally unimpressive: a five, a six, an eight, a nine, and a King of Hearts. A gutshot draw, and he huffed out a near silent laugh. He took the suicide king as a sign, tried his chances on drawing a seven; lucky son of a bitch that Faraday usually was, it apparently failed him this time, and the draw produced a three. The round went to Billy, and Faraday took the loss without a fuss.

Faraday glanced up at the mention of Vasquez and felt a quick pang of something that might have been guilt. The two of them had been rooming together at the boarding house turned makeshift hospital. Practical reasons, mostly, given the state of Faraday and Vasquez's relative health. And during Faraday's convalescence, he had slipped away from Vasquez's watchful gaze more than a few times – in much the same way as he was doing now.

Whoops.

Vasquez had escaped the fight relatively unscathed, suffering a wound to his arm that was quickly stitched up once the dust settled. It healed cleanly – weeks ago, in fact, which made Faraday wonder why the man didn't simply take his share of the gold and get out while the getting's good.

"He's fine."

And the bitterness didn't escape Faraday's notice, though he offered only the slightest narrowing of his eyes in response. Billy was upset, embittered by the uncertainty of Goodnight's current state, which Faraday understood to an extent – but that was a dangerous tone he was taking.

"What about you?" Faraday looked up at the other man, gaze sharp and watchful. "You been takin' care of yourself?"

Billy glanced up at the question, but didn't provide much by way of a response. The next hand was dealt and Billy had a four, five, and a six. Not the same suit, but he liked those odds a bit more than chancing on another pair. He traded in cards and got nothing for his troubles. He tapped the hand on the side of his chair and looked back towards the sky.

It was going to rain. Had to, clouds like this. He wondered if it would even wait till morning for the heavens to open and the remaining blood on the ground to finally be washed away.

He wondered who would be around to see it.

"I'm alive," he explains belatedly. And it's not an answer to Faraday's question while at the same time being the perfect answer. He's alive. Which is all that's necessary, right now. No need to do anything more or less when others didn't have the same assurances.

He picks up his drink and swallows a generous amount before fishing around for a cigarette. And that's a pretty good answer, too.

"You don't have to look at me, like that," Billy exhales with a slow stream of smoke. His eyes close, the act of smoking forcing him to breathe slowly. "I'm not going to hurt anyone. Even if I wanted to." He looks over at Faraday. "We don't have to talk, if it bothers you."

The offer of silence made Faraday screw up his nose in distaste. Sure, Billy was being slightly... intense, but Faraday figured that was about normal for the man. Or at least, that was about what Faraday had come to expect, especially considering after their official introduction back in Volcano Springs, an off-hand joke had Faraday thinking Billy would legitimately toss that hairpin of his straight into Faraday's throat.

Faraday had quickly backed off at the time, just as Billy had, and Faraday hoped the same would happen again, if either of them crossed a line.

"Never said I was bothered," he replied lightly, as Faraday tended to do. Easier to offer a quick joke than a kind word. "Never said I was worried, neither. But now I'm startin' to wonder' if I ought to confiscate those knives of yours."

There was a thread of truth to the words, but the wry tilt of his smile, the quirk of his eyebrow, did will to mask it.

A quick examination of his hand showed him a pair of sixes, and his luck didn't change after the redraw. Nothing to write home about, but enough to win him the showdown, at least. As Billy dealt out the next hand, Faraday glanced up at the sky, trying to suss out what, exactly, the other man was examining.

"You lookin' for somethin' up there?"

The next hand has a pair of sevens and a pair of twos. He trades in the spare and picks up another two, making him have the first good hand of the night. He can't help but smile a bit, feeling like he might finally be getting the hang of this, now. And maybe the increased luck was a good sign of things to come, going forward.

His head tilts, looking over at Goody's room. The activity is over but there are people still standing around, the silhouettes visible from where he's sitting. No movement, he decides, is just as troublesome as a lot of movement. All in all, nothing about any of it looks good, actually. Nothing except Sam coming to get him and to tell him the fever broke.

At Faraday's question, his attention snaps back, eyes blinking as he refocuses.

"Stars," he says plainly. But, because it's not that bad of a story, he shrugs a shoulder and leans back in the chair. "Same constellations as back home. I like seeing them. Reminds me we're all still on the same world." He glances at the sky and sees a small window in the clouds. It lets the moon through, a few stars twinkling beside it.

"It's comforting. Or it would be." He frowns as the clouds roll back. "Rain is coming in. Ruins the view."

He shows his hand but watches Faraday instead of what he turns over.

"What do you do? Drink?"

Faraday's own hand is another flop, and normally his control was such that it wouldn't show on his face. Now, though, without any money on the line, he openly frowns down at it in distaste exchanges everything but the two high cards for new ones – which result in little more.

"These cards are shit," he announces without shame during the showdown, tossing them away in a sort of good-natured exasperation. "Pretty sure Teddy Q put a hex on 'em."

He follows Billy's gaze to Goody's room, and while Billy takes the lack of activity as a possibly bad sign, Faraday assumes it has to be good. Folks running around like chickens without heads was always worse than the calm that seems to have taken over Goodnight's room. Had to be, Faraday figured.

Billy's story about the constellations is far more sentimental that he expected to hear, and Faraday blinks at the man – not because the story surprises him, but because he's surprised Billy shared it with him in the first place. It's a different sort of story than what he usually shared with Faraday – hell, than what anyone usually shared with Faraday – and the gambler has to wonder if Billy is sharing it freely, or if he's sharing it because Faraday is acting as Goodnight's stand-in for the night.

The follow up question makes Faraday snort, and he slouches a little in his chair, the wood creaking as it settles.

"For comfort, you mean?" He smiles, lifting his good shoulder in a shrug. "Most of the time, yeah. I drink. Or I find a nice lady to while away the time."

Neither of those things are particularly comforting, mind, but they do at least distract him well enough.

Faraday falls silent for a brief second before he nods over to Goodnight's window.

"Looks like it's calmed down some."

He looks over toward the window and, yes. It's still quiet. But he has no idea if that's a good sign or not. And acutely he resents everyone who'd kicked him out, before, and left him to guess about what shadows in a window could possibly signify. "Yeah," he agrees, tossing the cards away as he collects them all up and decides to give up on poker for a bit. He deals out two cards to Faraday instead, wanting something with addition involved so he could at least use a bit more of his mind. "21. Maybe your luck changes."

He gets a three and an four which would have been great for poker but sucks here. He pulls another card and gets a two, which is just adds to the straight he doesn't need anymore.

He takes a sip from his glass and refills it before giving it back to Faraday. They're emptying the bottle steadily, now. Which is good. It makes Billy feel a bit less edgy, even if it does absolutely nothing for the darkness of his thoughts. Leaning back, he taps his cards on the edge of his chair, face pensive.

"You know he lied, don't you? When we first spoke." He draws a card and God is laughing at him as he pulls an ace.

"We didn't meet the way Goody said we did. New story, each time someone asks. Lie every single time," he says, apropos of absolutely nothing. Really, he has no idea why he said it at all except maybe out of some need to fill the silence that Goody had always done for him. It's strange to not have him by his side. To not hear him flapping his lips and laughing and covering up for all of the silence Billy normally wrapped himself up in.

The change in games is a bit of a relief, considering his unlucky hands in their few rounds of poker. If that had been a real match, it would've been completely unacceptable, and if Faraday's hands were in top condition, he likely would've resorted to palming cards. Slipping away face cards for insurance.

Friendly game or no, he still had a reputation to maintain.

They continue on with 21, and while, he's familiar with the rules and likes it well enough, he never quite mastered it. He liked taking stupid risks too much, after all, which led to him busting more often than not.

Like he does now, trying his luck with a ten and a six and getting another eight for his efforts.

He takes the loss on the chin, though, which is made all the easier when Billy breaks the quiet to speak about Goodnight. He remembers that day in Volcano Springs – sort of. There was quite a lot of drinking involved, admittedly, but Faraday remembers Goodnight's story about a bounty and Billy taking on a room full of men.

"Well, the man wove a good story, I can give 'im that."

A look of open curiosity crosses Faraday's face, and he watches Billy for a second or two, before he decides to take his chances again.

"So how'd you really meet, then?"

Billy glances up. With the next hand, he busts spectacularly, taking a risk on a card and pulling a king. He pushes them away and draws the next hand, but his attention isn't on it.

It's not really his story to tell. But if anyone would understand, strangely enough it would be Faraday. Faraday or Sam, really. The men had seen what happened to Goodnight when he held a gun. How he could shut down and give in to the howling voices of the ghosts in his mind. The hooting of the owl. He looks back over to Goody's room and all is still calm. He chooses to see that as a positive thing, this time. He needs to.

If he were dead, they would have all left, at least.

"We met in a bar," he starts, staring at his hand which is already a 17, but he doesn't really care. "He was a drunk. Told stories from the war for drinks. Every once in awhile found someone with a warrant more drunk than him that he could bring in. Mostly didn't bother." Billy draws a card, busts, and puts the hand away. Picks up the glass instead.

"I was there. Someone recognized me from my warrant." Because that part was true. Still was, he reckoned. It had been awhile since he worried about it. "Became a shoot out. Their friends against me. Whole bar just...shooting. I ducked behind the bar to get cover and...Goody was there."

He doesn't think he needs to say more. He is sure that the details are in the silence. The paleness of the man's face. The way he was whispering and hissing to himself as the gunshots ran out. Broken bottles making him twitch hard enough to come out of his skin. Eyes, sightless, seeing only demons nipping at his heels as he held a useless, unloaded gun.

"I cleaned up the bar. Killed the men and..." He's not sure why he did what he did next. Even to this day. If Faraday asks, he's going to have no answers for it; in the moment, it was just what he had to do. "I took him back to the room I had rented to see if he was okay. Didn't start travelling together, then. But that's how we met."

Billy drains the glass and refills it but doesn't offer it to Faraday.

"He's ashamed. So he makes stories up. Each time, different story. But I'm always some sort of hero in them. I guess that's how he pays me back."

Faraday keeps his silence while Billy speaks, watching the other man in the dim light from the saloon. This is more than he's ever heard the other man speak in their brief time knowing one another, and far more than he ever expected to hear in one sitting.

He fills in the blanks when Billy mentions Goodnight behind the bar in his story. He remembers that first day in Rose Creek vividly, shooting down men as they ran at Goodnight, who trembled and sweated as he backed away. Faraday had only seen that sort of look firsthand a few times, but he recognized it as soon as he saw it. A man in the throes of terror, enthralled by ghosts. He remembers standing over Goodnight's shoulder, watching him stare down the barrel of his rifle at a wounded, retreating man, urging him to shoot; he remembers that bitter pit of disappointment and resentment as Goodnight failed to take him out.

Weak, he remembers thinking. Pitiful. Cowardly.

Faraday glances up to the window, the stillness there. Goodnight had proven him wrong, in the end; seemed unfair that he was still paying the price for finding his courage, but then, when was anything in life ever fair?

"So how'd you decide to work together?" He collects up the cards, now that their game seems mostly forgotten. Just as well, he supposes, since neither of them were particularly concentrating on it. The paper rasps against his hands as he mixes them in that lazy overhand shuffle again. "If it weren't then, I mean."

Billy's eyes are looking down at the wooden floorboards, distant as he recalls the past. "We kept running in the same areas. Same towns. We didn't talk much. I think Goody was still embarrassed and I had enough without bothering with another white man."

Little had he known how much this specific one would come to mean to him. If he could go back in time and tell himself...it would be worth it just to see the look on his own face.

"One town, someone challenged him to a shoot-out. And Goody accepted. As he always does." Billy could remember the look on his pale face as he shouldered the gun and exhaled for nearly a minute before finally taking the shot. "He won, of course. And the boy who'd been sure he was better got mad. Wanted to do it for real." Familiar story. Happened more times than he could count. But that one. That had been the first.

"I knew Goody couldn't pull the trigger against a person. So I stepped in. Said he was my master and would go in his place." Even now, saying the word brings a scowl to his face, but he'd done it. He never really knew why, but he'd done it all the same. "They let me, I won, and from that point on, we just rode together. I took his challenges, he made sure I could get a drink at the bar. Worked well."

He looks up toward the window.

"It's a good arrangement."

Faraday's eyebrows inch upward at the story. He doesn't think he'd ever be able to swallow his pride enough to tell a lie like that, to act as though someone else was his master. The look that crosses Billy's face tells Faraday that it was a difficult lie for the other man, too, but one that he admits to telling, all the same.

"Mighty kind of you."

A mild sort of observation, though Faraday knows there's far more beneath the surface.

"You two gonna go back to that, after all this?"

Because it's easier to ask in absolutes. Faraday has little doubt that Goodnight will recover, even if Billy seems to have his misgivings. Old bastard was obstinate, Faraday will give him that, and maybe it's that lingering awe of the Angel of Death, but close to recovery as Goodnight is, Faraday thinks he'll see it through. He'll come out weak and hurting, sure, but he'll get there, all the same.

"I don't think so," he says honestly. And it's a light thing, almost like he's still considering it. But the hardness around his eyes as he pulls out a cigarette and lights it says his mind is made up. The package is held out toward Faraday as he inhales deeply and lets it go.

"If he makes it, he's going to need awhile to heal. I don't have an interest in pushing him on a horse and dragging him around the desert." But even after that, he has his reservations. They'd been exposed to a lot of gunfire, here. Nearly lost each other and their friends to boot. Goody had been injured enough to brush Death's own teeth; Billy is pretty sure that the next time a gun goes off near his friend, it's not going to go well. And he's not going to invite that back into their lives when they don't even need the money.

"What about you? What are you doing, after this?"

Faraday falls quiet, giving the question some thought. Admittedly, he knew in general terms what he intended to do. Wander off. Go from town to town. Win his money in cards and squander it all away on drinks and women.

Except there's something a little hollow in the idea, having come so close to ending up six feet under. And having enjoyed the other men's company all this time, Faraday finds himself almost a little reluctant to leave it all behind.

Not that he would ever admit that aloud. He knows eventually the seven of them will go their separate ways, and his wanderlust will lead him where it will. Until then, there's comfort in this strange sort of kinship, mismatched and volatile as the assortment is.

"Not too sure," is about as much as he's willing to admit.

"Suppose I've got time, though. Considering..." He gestures to himself, at the mess of his bandaged body. Goodnight's not the only one who needs time to recuperate.

"You two could stay here a spell." He pauses in his shuffling, arching an eyebrow. The corner of his mouth twitches up a little. "Town could use a new sheriff."

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( picture prompt meme )

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