hold my hand, keep me steady.

[mirrormirrormeme]

handholding meme

ONE: comment with your character and preferences. is that ever not the protocol?
TWO: reply to others.
THREE: your character. that character. holding hands.
FOUR: comfort somebody! reach out for emotional support! keep a kid from running into the street! escape certain death, saving another hapless victim along the way! confess deep-seated feelings! get closer on a date! intimidate your opponent! ...hold their hand for no reason at all, since you don't l-like them or anything.
FIVE: this can be a gen meme. it can also be a romantic meme, if you're a filthy pervert. gross. how can you be so lewd?

Comments

[beatitudes]

Back then, it took a little for him to warm to her. Or, that is to say, it took some time for his edgy exterior to melt around her. He doesn't dislike kids, far from it, but he's never been in a line of work that really allows for them to be tagging along. First, there was John, when Arthur was twenty or so; then comes Ellie, ten years later. The first job she ever snuck on with him meant she had to deal with his quipped, closed-off responses. "Don't," when she tried to explain. "Just get on the horse," when he took her back with him to camp. 

Dutch took no qualms in praising a child (as Arthur was long, and personally accustomed to) who could help bring in money. As for Arthur, it took years for him to pull himself out of his concerned disappointment. What would he do with another dead child on his hands? His resentment had never been personal, and as it took him a while to warm up her, perhaps it took her a while to realize his frustration came from a well of warmth. That seeing her risk her own life distresses him. 

Drawing was perhaps one of the first things outside of robberies Ellie and Arthur bonded over. She, one day, perhaps deciding to not leave him be when he had wandered off to the outskirts of camp, as he was prone to, to seep into his own thoughts, overtaken by his introverted nature, vanish into sketching. Little dandelions nearby; three sister does leaping he remembered from another day. Her voice had startled him, and he closed the journal with such abruptness, his heart racing, ears inadvertently red, looking momentarily bewildered. And it was only when she did not demand to see, when she talked of drawing, or maybe shared some of her own, that he seemed to relax. His gaze softening. From that point, they continued to share moments like it: sitting on a hill side, or at one of the campfires on the edge of camp, talking about simple things. 

Most of Arthur's contributions would've been patient smiling, reflective listening, fondly telling her, "You're too smart."

As she's gotten older, his penchant for fretting hasn't lessened, but he's adjusted to her ability to mostly fend for herself pretty well. She has a stronger independent streak than him, and it makes it difficult to not respect her. If anything, he knows he should encourage it. Hosea's already encouraging John and Abigail to leave, telling Arthur to encourage them as well. There may come a time when Arthur has to convince Ellie to leave, for her own good, her own safety, her own life. Not with Arthur, but on her own. 

When he hears the commotion within the shack, his legs carry him inside faster than he can think. The remaining man shrieks at her: "You little bitch!" just as Arthur's hand closes around hers, pulling her behind him with firm but surprising gentleness. It's instantaneous—the shot he sends between his eyes with his volcanic pistol, the snap of the gun sharp in their ears. He doesn't even register that the blade of her knife has torn through the upper inner flesh of his arm, just below where the sleeve is rolled. Isn't thinking at all except for her security when two streams of blood flood over his elbow. Certainly not enough to put him out, but evidence of her willingness to survive. 

He's let go, gives her space, and has lowered to his knees, his hands set atop his thighs while he waits. "Ellie. Ellie, hey, now." It's just steady, his voice; calm and patient. "It's all right. You're still right here." 

(don't be sorry at all!! it's wonderful! if you need me to change anything, too, please let me know!)

[enduresurvive]

Ellie hears the gunshot and sees the other man fall. But that doesn't completely snap her out of panic, because one dead man doesn't mean safety. Arthur's voice, however, registers after a moment.

Just Arthur, someone she's known for five years, someone she trusts.

"Shit," she says. "Sorry, I let that guy get the jump on me." She's still a little unfocused, but this kind of thing has happened before and she's been fine. Only...when she looks at Arthur, really looks at him, she realises he's bleeding.

"You're hurt," she says, and it sounds hollow in her ears. She looks down at her own hand, gripping her knife with white-knuckles. There's blood on it, but she also stabbed that guy a couple times, so...maybe it's not Arthur's. Maybe she didn't just freak out and hurt someone she cares about.

What a nightmare.

"I think he was the last one," she says, talking because it fills space, distracts, gives her something to focus on for the moment.

[beatitudes]

(wow... clipped. i meant, clipped not quipped. forgive me for seeing it so late along!)

Once he's certain he has her attention, that she's more back in the room with him than stuck in her own head, he starts to stand. At her apology, he frowns, his brows knitting with it, shaking his head lightly. He wants to tell her she shouldn't be apologizing to him, especially when she hasn't done anything wrong, but she has more to say and he respects her too much to interrupt her. 

When she's pointing out the wound, there's something innocent in one way, but completely indifferent in another as he blinks and glances down at it. As if it's taken her words alone to have any knowledge of injury dawn on him. He doesn't seem all that interested, and he leans his weight to one side, shaking such acknowledgement away, his head tilted with it. 

"Shit. You know I ain't no stranger to getting busted up a bit." He reaches down to collect a couple bill stacks, then glances at her with a wry little smile. "Least I don't look like that feller." And he gestures to that last attacker with the shrug of his shoulder, the one he shot last, red and open from the slashes and holes of her determined fighting.

Arthur straightens after slipping the billfolds into his satchel. He exhales, and takes a moment to look at her. "Don't ever apologize for doing what you have to do to survive, got it? Now, come on. If the Braithwaites ain't heard all'a that, the law's bound to of. Why don't you do one last look around, and let's get the hell out of here?" 

He moves to the open door of the shack, and whistles through it for their horses. "Andrasta, come on, girl." And both come to his calling; Ellie's horse, and that trouble-making, not-fully-broke white arabian of Arthur's Ellie may remember him bringing back a few weeks or more ago from the mountain. Except for with Arthur, who she doesn't mind well, but is clearly fond of, even protective of, she's a foul, temperamental, and nippy animal. In that way, they complement each other. The pair of them are more partners in crime, than beast-servant obeying its owner. Arthur had explained he never went to look for her, but found her alone, three wolves hounding her, and he couldn't bring himself to leave her. Ellie's the only one who knows this. 

After Copper when he found him as a puppy all those years ago, the gang delights in teasing him for this part of his nature he can't seem to escape. 

[enduresurvive]

Ellie makes a sound that might be a laugh if she let it, but it's mirthless. She appreciates Arthur's dry humour; it goes with her own, though hers can be much sillier even in grim situations. The months since they've run from Blackwater have been hard for everyone, and it's made her a bit more somber. Part of that is probably just growing up, but part of it is that it's difficult for anyone to be running all the time. Sure, they're outlaws and she likes the danger, the adrenaline, but it's been worse since whatever went down in Blackwater.

"Yeah. Okay. But I still shouldn't have cut you," she says. She doesn't stay to argue, though, instead slipping back into the other room to make sure she didn't miss anything. She finds some ammo (not for a gun she's carrying, but all ammo is useful to someone) and shoves it in her bag for later. But there's nothing else they haven't plundered.

Ellie loves horses in general, even Arthur's incredibly contrary one. Her own horse, Shimmer, is a chestnut that she stole from some men who had no business keeping horses at all. Shimmer is much more chill than Andrasta, despite not having had a great life previously. She likes animals anyway, but horses have long been her favourite, ever since she learned to ride as a little girl.

She slips back out to meet Arthur and the horses out front. It only takes her a second to mount up, adjust the bag on her back, and turn her horse around to leave.

"I wish these guys would give us a fucking rest for a day," she tells Arthur. "How many of them are there?" It seems excessive for just some family feud bullshit, after all.

[beatitudes]

"I don't know," Arthur starts to say as he carefully, gently nudges Andrasta into motion. For now, just an easy, quiet trot. He's always emphasizing to not run the horse unless it's absolutely necessary. Respect their need for rest, and they'll treat you right as he likes to say. With his white mare swinging her tail, he makes his way along with Ellie through both narrow and small trees, scattered shrubbery back to the path. 

"They're pretty pissed off." That is to say: he doubts they'll let up on them. What he doesn't say because there's no use in stirring up stress and doubts is that he feels they're continuing to push their luck. "And the amount of 'em?" He blows air, partially shakes his head, his right hand coming up with the reins loosely hanging from his thumb in a motion of his admitted cluelessness. "Can't say." 

But then he's smiling, that half-smile of his, when he's in one of his mischievous moods. When he gets a gleam in his eye and starts up his teasing, or seeks openings in effort to put her at ease. Or, even more simply, because he can't seem to resist his own troublemaking, even with the heart he's got holed up inside him. 

"Though, you know, probably ain't no end to 'em. Like cockroaches, what with all that inbreeding."

He almost can't believe decent people like Penelope and Beau came from either family. Much too good for the rest of them. 

He shifts his weight, almost abruptly gains tension, and slows Andrasta. Not to a complete stop, but enough that if Ellie sees, it will indicate to her to slow as well. It may take some straining to hear, over the blows of Shimmer's and Andrasta's own breaths coming through their muzzles — soft clop of more hooves ahead of them on the trail, mummering of men talking, a faint horse whinny. None close enough to see, but in their line of work, one survives off listening as much as seeing. 

It could be nothing, just some gentlemen passing through, but with the mess the Van der Linde Gang is accumulating around them, they can't go about things as usual. In New Hanover, after a robbery, Arthur would tell Ellie to keep her cool when they would pass lawmen racing by to investigate. How they couldn't incriminate them without placing them at the scene. Now, they're all here in Lemoyne, trying to stick their fingers into every pie. As a result, the law here is more involved with their plots than they have been before. 

"Let's cut through here," he says lowly, taking his horse around behind hers to move off the path and up a dark hill going left. He glances back at her, adding: "Get out of any moonlight, and wait for them to pass." Waiting is important. If Arthur and Ellie can hear the shuffling of horses, of men talking, then they can be heard too. 

[enduresurvive]

Ellie follows, keeping enough distance from Andrasta to not get her in a fighting mood. Shimmer is pretty responsive, but horses can sometimes be unpredictable, too, especially when their riders are tense. Ellie tries to relax, but she can't quite manage it yet. She'll feel better when they're back with the others (or so she tells herself). Really, the sooner they get out of the middle of these old plantation families, the better.

She pulls up alongside Arthur in time to catch that half-smile. She doesn't quite manage one back, but she recognises the effort. Her sense of humour is a bit twisted, but whose isn't in this business?

She snorts and answers, "Yeah, they probably just churn out babies and raise 'em up on that shitty moonshine. Gotta beat the Grays in numbers as quick as they can." Really, she knows they probably just pay a ton of people a ton of money, but it's a funny enough mental image, just imagining oodles of babies with moonshine.

Arthur pulls ahead of her again, but it isn't long before he all but stops. Ellie's already on pretty high alert, thanks to that business back there, so she follows suit, pulling Shimmer down so she's nearly stopped, too.

"These fucking people," she says, half under her breath. They could be no one, of course, but with their luck these days? That doesn't seem very likely. Still, avoiding them seems prudent. And at some point, they should probably deal with that cut she gave Arthur. He's playing it off, but she still feels bad.

She moves the reins to turn Shimmer's head, following as quietly as they can up the hill. At least it's pretty dark. The horses will do fine, and once they get to the other side of the hill, they should be out of sight of the torches.