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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[While Faraday deals with one Jack, the other remains outside, leaning up against a tree, his eyes lingering on the livery not terribly far from him. Impatient as he is, the youngest (and only) Marston is already wishing that Faraday would hurry up; he hates having to bide his time, especially when it involves waiting around for something to happen. It's literally the worst, and Jack idly kicks his boot at a gnarled tree root, digging his heel into the dirt — not very much unlike an anxious horse himself.

Frowning, he casts his gaze down the path they initially came from, lit only by faint circles of lamplight hanging from the odd building lining the road, and the moonlight itself. All seems well enough, quiet and uneventful as it is, and it's only after a few silent minutes pass that Jack begins to allow his shoulders to relax... just a little.

Naturally, that's the exact moment when voices can be heard, and vague silhouettes coming his way could be made out in the dark. All of Jack's tension rushes back to him in a wave, and he strains his ears to listen to the men sauntering slowly towards them. Sounds like there's three of them, and he picks up mentions of if I find that sonnovabitch I'll put a bullet in his head myself and let's just get our goddamn horses go home exchanged between them. He swears under his breath and his eyes flicker to the livery. Still no hide nor hair of Faraday just yet.

Looking back to the path and cursing at his luck, a hand comes up to straighten his hat. Looks like he'll have to play the part of distraction, since calling out for his companion to hurry the hell up wouldn't exactly be conducive to the notion of stealth, probably alerting whatever stable hands were lingering around nearby. And so Jack pushes off the tree and begins to walk towards the three men. On his face is the most... strained... and fake... smile you can ever imagine.]

Evenin'. [-he calls out. His brain strains for something vaguely related to sounding like small talk.] Was wonderin' if ya'll could point me in the direction of the nearest general goods... [Jack begins to trail off, now that he's closer and can see the expressions on the men's faces. They look, well, angry. The sort that comes with a truly unfortunate kind of recognition.]

...store. [-he finishes, only to have himself grabbed by the shirt and pulled forward by the man directly in front of him. He glowers, a hand tentatively reaching for his revolver as the individual (reeking of whiskey), practically spits in his face with his words. "Been less than twenty minutes and you've already forgotten?" he says. "You're one of them bastards that swung at me back at the saloon!" The two men next to him sneer in what they believe is a fortunate turn of events for them.

At first, Jack can only think to himself, Dumb bastard, you probably got swung at by more than just me, but instead, he decides on something a little more scathing, the front of his shirt still caught in the man's fist.] Sorry, all ya'll have the same ugly inbred faces to me.

[It's almost worth the punch to the jaw he gets soon after, and then how he's tossed to the ground, catching himself with his hands and knees before he find himself completely prone. Pulling himself back up with a snarl, Jack hears the man respond with, "Wonder just how funny you'll be when you're dead." The moonlight catches the silver glint of a side arm being pulled from its holster.

Great. Just great.

Hurry the fuck up, Faraday.]

[ Faraday hears the murmur of voices, though the exact shape of the words is lost behind the stable’s walls. Suppose it would logically follow that a clean escape would be out of the cards; just his luck, tonight. He curses quietly, adjusting one last strap, and gives Jack a fond little pat on his nose, a quick glare that says, Behave, before leading him out of the building by his reins.

They slip past the dozing stable hand in his stall, out into the crisp night air – just in time to spot the vague shape of three men near a tree, accosting a fourth man. Marston, if Faraday had to guess, and caught up as the four of them are in their quarrel, they don’t seem to notice Faraday’s approach.

He grins at the tail end of the barb Marston flings at them, winces when the man earns a fist to the face for his troubles, and moves when he sees that familiar glint of silver, of metal catching what sparse light there is.

A shot splits the air, knocks the gun from the man’s hand as he takes aim – likely dislocating a few fingers or breaking the poor sap’s wrist in the process, but that hardly matters to Faraday. Faraday’s second gun comes to bear on the two men standing behind the first, and Faraday smiles, something dark and dangerous. ]

Now, now, gentleman. Do we got ourselves a problem, here?

[Jack’s starting to get real tired of all this nonsense. First the saloon tussle, and now this? When the shot rings out in the air, and the man yells as his fingers are snapped and his wrist is dislocated, the young Marston probably feels more annoyance than relief.

The other two aggressors are blind-sided by Faraday’s sudden appearance. They fumble around for their guns, but their few seconds of hesitation gives Jack the upperhand. Already, he’s on his feet, his own revolver pointing at one of the men. It’s a stand-off, of sorts; a bit of a lopsided one, however, when only their side have their guns completely drawn.

For a moment, everyone stands frozen in their spots. Jack calls out to Faraday without even looking at him.]

Took you long enough.

[ Faraday snorts derisively, keeping his gaze fixed on the three men, two of whom only have their hands wrapped around the grips of their guns before Marston gets to his feet, adds his own revolver to the mix. ]

Really? That's how you're gonna talk to the man who just saved you from an undignified death?

Once again, my friend, I've rescued your sorry hide – and from the likes of these men. [ Faraday shakes his head, as if to express how terribly embarrassing that must be for Marston. Evidently, Faraday is embarrassed for him. ]

Frankly, I deserve a reward for steppin' in.

[ Still that mean, sharp smile, even as he grouses. He pulls back the hammers on both of his revolvers. ]

What do you think? Kill 'em?

[Jack has to bite back the "yes" that wants to fly from his lips so disturbingly fast. Instead, he manages something else, his revolver pointed squarely at one of men's forehead.]

Depends on them, I reckon. [And don't you dare feel embarrassed for him, Faraday! He can handle himself just fine; today's just been an odd sort of circumstances, enough to upend any man who usually finds his days a bit more predictable, violence or otherwise. For example:

The one who had his gun shot out from under him, and his wrist shattered, snarls at the two of them in equal parts anger in pain, one hand clutching the other. Jack knows that look — it's the sort that's been blinded by all manner of strong emotions, the sort that's stamped out reasonable thought like an old dying ember. The sort that gets a man killed when they forget just how much at a disadvantage they really are. He sees the way the man's feet shift, the way he's coiling up his muscles to bum-rush him. Jack figures he'll make some foolhardy announcement about it first.

"You're dead, you're dead, you fucking bastard-"

A shot rings out from Marston's gun, smoke lacing up from its barrel. His fingers had moved automatically, his mind running on instinct. His would-be attacker immediately crumples to the ground in a pool of blood. A bullet right through the skull will do that to a man.

Jack's expression hasn't changed. He shares the same discontented look as when his horse was stolen, except this time he's just killed a man. (Well, this sort of thing happened every day, didn't it? There's always someone or something trying to pull him deeper into the rabbit hole, some damned nuisance getting under his skin when he was tired and hungry and irritable, so why even try hanging on at this point? The day is shot. He'll try better tomorrow. He just wants to fucking go home.)

The other two men freeze in shock, one of them yelling something about how Jack and Faraday are goddamned crazy madmen, but they're not reaching for their guns any longer. They're far more likely to turn tail now than they were just moments ago.]

[ Faraday hardly flinches as the shot rings out, only the faintest flicker of something betraying that he might have any particular thoughts as the man’s body hits the ground.

It’s a complicated thing, killing a man. A necessary evil out here, if one intends to survive, but as much as Faraday enjoys the thrill of a fight, that surge of electricity in his veins as his heartbeat kicks up, he’s never relished killing. But whoever that poor bastard was, whoever he might have been if Marston hadn’t offered him the gift of a bullet between the eyes, he shouldn’t have been such a fool as to gamble with another man’s life, if he wasn’t prepared to lose his own.

Which leaves them with two men, one of them babbling in wide-eyed terror, and if he doesn’t shut up soon, his screaming will draw a whole lot more attention than the blast of two gunshots in the night. Faraday rocks a half-step forward, expression stormy even in the dark, which is enough to cow both men into freezing in their boots. ]

Weapons on the ground, boys.

[ They exchange looks, but the faintest twitch of Faraday’s dominant hand spurs them both to action, tossing their revolvers, gun belts and all, to the dirt. ]

Good. Now, then.

[ A flash of teeth, as Faraday grants them a feral smile.

In a voice that’s practically a growl: ] Run.

[ And they’re off like a shot, racing up the road from where they came. As the sound of their footfalls fade into the distance, Faraday thumbs the hammers of his revolvers back into place, slipping the guns back into his holsters. Behind him, Jack the horse snorts impatiently, evidently unmoved by the commotion. Faraday scoops up the fallen belts, slings them over his shoulder as he turns back to Marston with a critical look.

He purses his lips, looking the other man over for a second or two. ]

Alright there, Marston?

'M fine. [His answer comes quickly, almost immediately, probably more dismissive than actually sincere. Jack returns the hammer of his own revolver back to its original position, tucking the gun into his holster. He moves towards Faraday, his gait purposeful and his expression impatient, not even bothering to look across the path at the two other men who have retreated down it.

Behind him, the man with the hole in his skull continues to bleed red into the dirt, but he doesn't look back at him, either. What's done was done. No point in dwelling over it, at least not right now, not when he's finally got his ride back home.

He does, however, look at Faraday's horse with something that resembles a curious sort of skepticism, bafflingly enough.]

This supposed to be "Jack"?

[ The stallion that’s supposed to be Jack watches Marston approach, tail lashing and ears flattening. Faraday’s been with this particular creature long enough to know that when Jack starts tensing like that, it’s best to warn people off. Which is why he makes a hissing noise, directed at Jack, and to Marston, ]

I’d back up. Jack don’t take too well to strangers at first blush. Tends to get violent.

[ The horse has, in fact, bucked and trampled a man for daring to try and steal him. That had been an interesting day.

Faraday moves past Marston, gives the horse a companionable pat on the neck to calm him. He offers Jack a few quiet words, the general shape of which is, Knock it off, before he turns to flash Marston an impish grin over his shoulder. ]

Suppose that makes him kinda like you, don’t it?

[ Without waiting for an answer, he hauls himself up into the saddle. Once he’s settled, he offers Marston a hand. ]

Comin’?

[As questionable (and sometimes completely absent) as Jack's sense of self-preservation can be, he's no fool. He's not about to irritate the horse that's his only reasonable way back home, and so when Faraday gives him fair warning, the young Marston keeps his distance.]

Yeah, you're real funny, Faraday.

[Regardless, he'll take that offered hand when ready, pulling himself up and over to take his spot behind Faraday. The man can probably hear the wryness in his tone, and the frown that frames his words.]

I'm only a violent man when the situation calls for it. And I'm startin' to think bein' around you attracts all manner of these unfortunate circumstances.

[He straightens the brim of his hat, making something of a "hmph" noise to top it all off.]

You know, I'm not entirely certain if I appreciate the insinuation you're makin'.

[ The tone he affects is a mildly affronted one – though if he were truly offended, Marston would've found himself falling ass-first into the dirt. Evidently, Faraday finds poking at the mildly perturbed, drowsy bear that is Marston's temper to be an endless source of amusement. ]

I could just as easily say it's you who's been raisin' Cain, especially considerin' I wasn't the one antagonizin' three armed men without any backup.

[ He pauses, glancing around at the land cast in moonlight. ]

Now, are you gonna give me directions, or are you gonna keep bellyachin'?

[Thankfully, only mildly poking and prodding at his temper or patience (or lackthereof) is hardly a capital offense in his book. Especially when he's racking up those very annoying I-owe-you-one's with Faraday, as loathe as he would be to admit it. At worst, he may earn a grumble and a few sharp words. At best, a most tired and exasperated sort of tone.

Right now, it gains him something in-between, but he's quick to mutter out directions first.]

Northeast from here. Just keep followin' the trail until you see a corn silo out in the distance; I've got a ranch out there.

[Not much of a ranch, barren and run-down as it is. Jack has little incentive these days to make it any better, much less operational. He'll wait before they start moving before he bothers speaking again.]

And just so you know, I wasn't the one who started the "antagonizin'". I was keepin' them from stumblin' across you.

[ He turns Jack in the direction Marston points out. He could shove the man off for his penchant of redirecting the blame, but Marston had done him a few favors, over the course of the night, just the same as Faraday has done for him. Faraday was never what one would call an honorable man, but he at least had a certain sense of decency.

He repays his debts. Even if those debts come attached to surly cusses like this Marston fellow. ]

Coulda just hemmed and hawed. [ This in, a bit of an undertone. ] Didn't have to accuse the man of havin' a mother who doubled as his aunt.

[ A pause, and Faraday snorts. ]

Even if you probably weren't wrong.

[Another roll of the eyes (though Faraday can't see it), but despite the unpleasantness of the memory, his remark can't help but spark the smallest crooked sort of grin from him. (...though Faraday can't see it. Maybe that's purposeful.)]

I wasn't wrong, and you know it. You saw how them bastards looked; ain't my fault they got angry hearin' the truth.

[He shakes his head, scoffing. Idly brings a hand up to rub at his jaw that had been hit, as they ride.]

Could've been worse.

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