[ resolve makes emma steady, steadier than she ever thought it could, when she contemplates everything spread out before her and everything that's happened in such a short, painful time. she has lost so much so quickly, felt such intense, wrenching heartache that she ought to be some kind of wreck, ought to be mourning with every fiber of her being, but what keeps her sewn together and viciously focused is the knowledge that the opportunity to face her demons is within her grasp. taking back her town and her life is possible now with chisolm's help and these other six, mismatched men.
good.
but now, as things come together in a way she never expected, she's faced with a new threat and a different kind of challenge.
now, the promise of war and the ticking away of their precious hours before bogue returns should make her hand shake.
but it doesn't.
the weight of the gun in her palm ought to unnerve her when she thinks about the violence that looms in the coming days.
but it doesn't.
the guarantee of death, on both sides, should turn her stomach and rock her determination.
but it doesn't.
emma cullen is steady, and as her fingers grip the butt of her revolver, her eyes fix cold and hard on the distant target. if she imagines bogue's face on the broken tree, oh, that makes this so much easier. she's never killed a man before, but given the chance, she'd shoot bogue dead and not even blink. it was the least of what he deserved.
taking aim, emma sights the tree, and fires. the kick of the handgun is much different from that of a rifle, and while her shot isn't bad, it isn't nearly as accurate as she'd be otherwise. she glares across the way at the bullet that's missed its direct mark, before looking down at the revolver in her hand. she needs better practice, really, because she's not quick on the draw, and she can definitely hit her target, but not precisely where she wants to. ]
Damn it.
[ the words are hissed under her breath, and she adjusts her stance to take another shot. while she anticipates using her rifle, she knows well and good that things can change quickly, and if she needs to use a revolver, she ought to be just as effective. ]
[ He learned his lesson from last time, knows Emma Cullen does not take well to flirtatious compliments, so while there’s a wry tilt to his smile, he keeps his eyes fixed on the tree in the distance as he approaches.
She’s an interesting woman, Emma Cullen, all fire and determination, with an eagle-eyed focus Faraday has only seen a handful of times before – and only then in the types of men whose paths one should never cross twice. Takes a lot of balls to do what she’s done, to journey out to find warriors to defend her little town. He wonders who she must have imagined she would find when she first rode out. Knights, maybe, like from the stories about King Arthur. Fine, upstanding men with heavenly light shining behind them, for whom honor and decency was the norm and not a suggestion. He wonders what she must think, how she must feel, when all her money could get her were killers and oddities.
Maybe after this, they could put together some sort of circus freak show, make a quick buck.
Assuming any of them lived.
Sunlight beats down on the back of his neck despite the wide brim of his hat, and he feels a bead of sweat roll down to the collar of his shirt. The grass whispers around his legs as he steps up beside her, his thumbs hooked over his gun belt. That first day when he saw her firing a rifle, part of him had been surprised. He’s seen more than a few men and women carting around firearms with no earthly clue how to use them, who expect the presence alone of a weapon would protect them – and truth to tell, he expected the same of Emma. So few people realize that carrying a gun means that, one day, they’ll be expected to use it. ]
[ the man's approach barely fazes emma, and truth be told, she isn't averse to the company; it keeps her from being too deep in her own head, keeps her from replaying matthew's death in her mind with every shot.
she'll gladly take that distraction.
she looks from faraday to the tree, lining up her shot and firing again. it's better this time, but not as precise as she'd like to be. she demands better from herself, because she knows she needs to be better.
with a sigh, she lowers the gun, giving the gambler more than just a sidelong glance this time. ]
Not so much as the rifle. Don't think he expected I'd be needing more than familiarity with a pistol.
[ her father had focused much more on teaching her how to shoot; she'd honed her skills through dedication otherwise. however, a great deal of that was target shooting, not so much on speedy dueling-type skills or the kind of rapid responses she might need on hand in the next few days. but really, she could fire off a whole host of rounds on a rifle and hit her mark dead-on, but aiming a revolver, being especially fast with it? not in her wheelhouse. she was far more of a markswoman than she was inclined to the chaos that came from being in the middle of the action, were she to find herself swept up in the battle. she expects she's going to settle in a high place, pick men off from there, and that suits her plenty. ]
But I still hit my mark when I'm aiming to.
[ not nearly as impressive as faraday is with his own guns, because damn, those are some fiercely impressive skills he's got tucked away behind that deceptively disarming smile of his. ]
[ This time when she shoots, Faraday watches her from the corner of his eye, splitting his attention between her and the dead tree. Not bad, he thinks again, wood splintering from the trunk in a cloud of smoke. Not as good as her work with the rifle, but not bad.
What he says aloud though is, ]
Could use some work.
[ Training with a rifle was one thing, and more useful besides, assuming one used the skill for hunting, for guarding his land. Practical, in its way. Training with a pistol had very specific implications – one needed to be fast on the draw, needed to be sure of his aim, needed the added maneuverability a small (though powerful) weapon could provide, because it usually meant he expected to be facing down the sights of another barrel.
Little wonder a father wouldn’t pass those skills down to his daughter.
Faraday doubts Emma’s father ever expected the sharp turn of her life. Then again, he doubts anyone would ever expect a man like Bogue to cross their paths, to raze all they hold dear to the ground, as he has.
When she looks to him this time, he returns her gaze, something solemn and considering just behind his eyes, even while his lips still curl in his usual half-smile. Then, he shifts his weight. ]
Widen your stance a bit. [ His tone lacks Goodnight’s authority, but there’s a steadiness to it that speaks of experience. He moves, then, aiming to circle around her. ] Feet lined up with your shoulders. Arm straight, but don’t lock your elbow.
[ of course her father never anticipated emma might need these skills -- emma never even knew. she could never have expected this level of misfortune and violence would swoop down into her life, that she'd lose matthew, that she'd be placing all of her faith in this mismatched gaggle of men.
it was far different from the life she'd planned -- but she's adjusting.
she has to.
she gives a quiet scoff, but she knows he's right; that's why she's here, after all. ]
Of course it could, Mister Faraday.
[ emma keeps her eyes trained on faraday as he moves around her, more instinctual than anything. she's been jumpy since everything that's happened, and while she certainly doesn't anticipate anything from faraday, she's still...careful, watchful in the way she tracks him.
listening intently, she follows his instructions, squaring her shoulders and setting her feet apart so her body lines itself more evenly with the target. she extends her arm, sights the tree, and then looks back at faraday, expectancy in her expression. ]
Like this?
[ it's almost awkward compared to how she holds her rifle, but she's adjusting. her elbow is locked, though she hasn't noticed it, mostly because of how tense the rest of her is, like she's overly conscious of her stance, overcompensating for the change of position. ]
[ He doesn't begrudge her that mistrust – part of him respects it, truth be told. Part of him recognizes that caution as something he also bears, though he's had years of practice at concealing it under an easy smirk, drowning it out with liberal applications of bourbon. He walks slowly, each step deliberate in deference to her wariness. She won't gun him down, he knows that much; he trusts her instincts, her reflexes, and more than that, her skill, but he also knows better than to give her a reason.
For a second, he expects her to shun his advice, to scoff again and resume her practice, and a look of surprise flits across his face as she shifts, taking his words to heart. He glances down, notes the repositioning of her feet with a quick nod of approval. ]
Good.
[ He moves the other way around her back again, this time to her dominant side, and when she raises her arm, he makes a clicking noise with his tongue. ]
Not as good.
[ His hand reaches out, his fingers lightly wrapping around her arm, above her elbow. ]
Too stiff. [ A quick, demonstrative squeeze, his fingers rough and calloused. ] Relax a little.
[ as much as emma doesn't want to give faraday the satisfaction of knowing she's listening to him, stubborn as she can be, she also wants to get this right. faraday has skills she doesn't, plain and simple, and coming to terms with that will make progress a whole lot easier.
she keeps following his movement with her eyes, vividly aware of how close he stands to her as he appraises her posture. the hand on her arm, however, almost startles her enough to jerk out of her stance, her elbow giving a particular twitch as she fights the urge to recoil from the contact; it's just straight-up surprising, but she tamps down the impulse, instead leveling faraday with a flat look as forces her arm to loosen up again. ]
Awful hard to relax if you insist on touching me.
[ her expression is thoroughly unimpressed, but she hasn't physically tried to shake him off. ]
Is this what you meant?
[ her posture is still a little tense (she's tense all over; how can she not be?), but she's clearly trying to follow faraday's directions. he isn't being unhelpful, and while she's incredibly uncertain about his touch, she knows that what he's showing her is valuable. she might have thought to ask one of the other men, but part of her was prepared to be shrugged off, easily dismissed and told she needn't worry about handling any kind of firearm in this fight, because lord knows the expectations they'd likely have for her. she refuses to cower from bogue, and she will not let herself be counted out when she knows that she can be of use to the town -- and not by staying out of sight with the women and children. ]
[ Whatever reason Sam has for keeping Emma out of the fight, Faraday can't help but disagree. She's a skilled shot – a far sight more skilled than most of the men they've been tasked to train – and with the odds they face, another steady hand certainly couldn't hurt. But he also thinks that regardless of what Chisolm thinks, Emma will make her way to the fight, regardless. He's seen her stubbornness, after all, seen the resolve that helped bring seven strangers to her town.
If Emma Cullen wants to fight, she's damn well going to fight.
And for as much of a fool as Faraday seems to be, he knows well enough to step the hell out of the way of a speeding freight train.
He pulls back at her word, raising both hands up, palms flat, in a gesture close to surrender. A smile ghosts across his lips. ]
Easy, there. [ Slowly, voice dropping to something approaching gentle. ] Easy. Just breathe.
[ A beat, as his eyes flick to her gun arm then back to her face. ] Good. That's better.
You gotta strike a balance, when you're firin' with a pistol. [ He turns to stand beside her, bringing out his favored gun and aiming at the distant tree to demonstrate the stance. ]
Keep your arm straight enough to take the recoil in your shoulder. Too rigid— [ And he demonstrates, arm straightening and elbow locking. ] —and the recoil messes with your aim, makes you waste time getting your targets in your sights again. Too weak— [ His arm bends. ] —and you may as well be shootin' yourself in the head.
[ The gun spins on his finger before he slips it back into the holster at his hip. ]
[ emma is obviously much more at ease when faraday pulls back, looking less like she's struggling with that fight or flight response (but knowing emma, she'd be quick to choose the former). her breathing is steadying, oddly calmed by the sound of his voice and the capitulation in his gestures, and as he stands next to her, she finds herself refocusing on the tree.
watching carefully, she takes in his stance, the way he draws his gun and aims. it's helpful to actually see what works and what doesn't, and once his gun is reholstered, she does her best to mimic what he's done. feet planted, shoulders squared, arm extended: she takes aim down the sights, slowly exhales...
...and pulls the trigger.
the bullet hits just shy of her mark this time, but it's a dramatic change from before, and emma's eyebrows immediately go up in surprise. the kick of the gun hadn't thrown off her aim, and her accuracy was far closer to the kind of shooting she was often doing with her rifle. ]
Now that's much better.
[ she lowers the gun, looking back at faraday with a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. smiles are a whole lot less frequent for her now, but she's been nearly consumed by this quest for justice -- for revenge -- that it's hard to find so many reasons to smile. ]
You have a great deal of skill, Mister Faraday.
[ she doesn't say it to flatter him, because emma cullen has never been a woman prone to needlessly bolstering a man's ego, but it's just a fact. faraday is talented, damn good with a gun, and emma can appreciate that level of accomplishment, because she knows it's had to have come from years of practice. ]
I appreciate the help you're giving me, you know.
[ her tone is genuine, honest. he could be doing any number of other things, whether that was helping the town prepare or enjoying his downtime (what little they may have had) doing something far more satisfying than showing emma how to use a pistol. the fact that he's here, giving her some additional instuction, is actually meaningful to her. ]
[ The bullet slams into the tree in another blast of smoke and splinters. She was hitting her target before, sure, but this time, the shift in her expression informs him far better of the improvement than her words. His answering smile is bright, with none of the trepidation that seems to hold back Emma’s.
(There was a time where he must have felt as she does, he thinks, days when the weight of his sins cast everything in shadow, made the little pinpoints of brightness in life seem dull and dark. He’s learned since then to take the good with the bad, and also learned that a few bottles of whiskey make the sharp edge of reality that much easier to tolerate.)
Approvingly, ] That’s how it’s done.
[ He answers her compliment with a brief tip of his head and a wink, though he knows from her tone of voice that this was strictly observation. He is damn good at what he does – a need to survive made sure of that – but his skill came at a price.
They say the nightmares never go away, he had told her. Faraday was living proof of that.
It’s her thanks that catches him by surprise for the second time today, and it stands naked on his face for the span of a breath. He’s unused to thanks, but that’s probably because he rarely does anything in need of thanks. Times being what they are means he acts selfishly more often than not.
And Emma Cullen seems a proud woman and didn’t seem too fond of him, besides. Must be her upbringing that obliges her to offer a word in gratitude – probably the same reason why she seems compelled her to call him “mister,” when he’s hardly a man deserving of respect. ]
You’re a fair shot. And you ain’t been trainin’ with the others. [ He says it with a quick shrug of his shoulders, eyes fixed on their target and hand resting on the butt of his favored revolver. A grimness in his voice as he continues, ] We’re gonna need you in the fight.
[ the nightmares. emma's had her fair share of those since matthew's death, keeps replaying it in her mind whenever she closes her eyes, and part of her is terrified by how much worse they'll get after the coming battle. she intends to fight, and she intends to kill as many of bogue's men as she possibly can (and god almighty what she wouldn't give to be the one to sink a bullet between bogue's eyes), but she knows the price she'll pay. she knows how heavily it's bound to weigh on her heart. she's never killed a person before, never had to, never truly wanted to until now, and with faraday's warnings of the nightmares, oh, she knows there's bound to be lingering ghosts.
looking away from faraday, out towards the tree again, emma's gaze is hard, determined. ]
I'm fixin' to.
[ she shakes her head, sliding the pistol back into the holster belted around her hip. ]
No, I will. [ she corrects herself with an icy edge to her tone. she doesn't care what protests she may hear, where they may try to shove her; she will fight, and she'll gun those hired goons down until her very last breath. ]
I don't give a damn what the men have to say about it. I'll be out there with the rest of you. We'll need every last one of us fightin', and I will not sit idly and leave the fate of Rose Creek in your hands alone.
[ she glances back at him. ]
No harm intended, Mister Faraday. You know I'm indebted to you for what you're doing, what all of you have come here for, but...
[ trailing off, her eyes fall back to small watering hole, out across at the dead, splintered tree. ]
But this is my home. And I mean to defend it.
[ and so much of her screams for recompense from bogue. every fiber of her being needs to see bogue pay for what he's done to her and to her town, for everything taken from them, for every bloody sacrifice they've made. she needs to see this finished, and she will take what victories she can from a coward like bogue. ]
[ He doesn’t make a joke of it, perhaps surprisingly; a rare hint of sincerity threads his words, absent in so many of their other conversations until recently. Maybe it’s the dark clouds cresting over the horizon that cuts through his usual bullshit. Maybe it’s the severity of her gaze, every time she turns her eyes on him, or how he sees fire in her eyes. Maybe he’s just feeling grim. Maybe he’s just been in a piss poor mood, since he forced himself to not get too far into the bottles until the day’s work is done. But whatever the case, his demeanor has taken a more serious turn, these past couple of days. A quick glimpse at the man beneath the joker’s mask. ]
Chisolm’s gonna try to talk you out of it. Don’t let ‘im. [ And it’s possibly the first thing he’s said to run contrary to Chisolm’s orders, aside from the occasional question or his usual wry asides. Despite the insurmountable odds they faced, the man had a solid plan, but something clouded his judgment, as far as Emma Cullen was concerned. Misplaced sense of chivalry, perhaps.
Her sense of resolve, that steely determination, is one of the many things he’s grown to appreciate about her. Faraday expects most of the others feel the same, yielding over a begrudging sense of respect for a woman who has no reason for an intensity so fierce.
[ emma actually finds herself taken aback by faraday's tone. he's usually so nonchalant, and to see that insouciant demeanor fall away and expose a side of the gambler emma had yet to experience...that was disconcerting. she wonders if it's the genuine severity of the upcoming battle that hits him, same as it's resonated with her. she knows that a great deal of people are going to die, people she's come to care for, that have been as much of her home as the place itself, but this, this is worth it. these risks they're taking, all for the sake of rose creek and everything it symbolizes to them, it's worth it..
and maybe she'll die. any of them could die, but she chooses to believe in what they're doing, and she'll be damned if it's not worth laying down her life to take a stand with others beside something righteous and good. ]
I won't let him. Not for a second.
[ oh, sam could worry over her as much as he pleased, but that wouldn't make one smidgen's difference in what she planned to do. they needed every last gun in that fight, and she refused to put others at risk just because sam wanted her safely hidden and out of the way.
she'd prove herself to him, if she had to. she wasn't sure how, but if he asked what good she'd be on that battlefield, she'd sure as hell show him.
faraday's next words, however, get a bemused look out of emma. she raises an eyebrow at him, cocking her head as she considers the taller man. ]
What would you have me call you, then? I thought "mister" was mighty polite in comparison to other things I've heard thrown your way.
[ there's a flash of sass in emma's voice, her hands settling on her hips as she looks up at him. ]
[ He barks out a startled laugh, looking at her with a renewed amusement. Since they’ve known one another, Faraday has hardly seen more than a vague suggestion of a smile from her, has been at the wrong end of more than his fair share of withering glances, has hardly heard a word from her that didn’t have at least the tiniest bit to do with their plans for the town or the upcoming battle.
So it would seem Faraday has spotted an entirely new facet to this woman, in much the same way she's seen a new one to him. His, with a touch of gravity; hers, with a sense of humor – who knew?
And maybe today is a day of firsts, because as new as this is, Faraday does not find it unwelcome. ]
Trust me, Mrs. Cullen. [ A touch of emphasis on the title, a wry sort of tilt to his smile. ] I know all too well the colorful things any number of folks could call me, which is all the more reason to do away with these shows of civility, don’cha think?
[ He turns slightly toward her, mirroring her posture with his arms akimbo. ]
And as amusin’ as it’d be to hear those sorts’a’ words fall from your lips, Faraday suits me just fine.
[ it's been far too long since emma has managed a truly genuine smile, and though it's small, it's there. congratulations are probably due to faraday for managing that out of her. she can almost appreciate this opportunity for humor, and with the fight with bogue looming over them, it might not be so bad to take any moments they have for these brief flashes of lightheartedness.
honestly, she's been so consumed by what's going on that she's nearly forgotten what it's like to joke, to crack a smile, and with the constant action and preparation, she hasn't let herself find things to enjoy.
(because really, what else would she really appreciate more than seeing bogue burn?) ]
As much as it may amuse you to hear it, I doubt you will. You haven't given me so many reasons to truly insult you, Faraday.
[ it's odd to drop the additional title, but since he's asked it of her, she's at least willing to try it -- but not because she thinks he doesn't deserve that level of civility. ]
But if you'd prefer I not be so polite, I may accommodate that.
[ leaving off the "mister" isn't quite so bad or unmanageable, after all. ]
But not because I think it's an inappropriate way to address you, if that means anything at all. Using "mister" suits me just fine.
[ His smile widens, disbelief in the corners of his eyes. The sass on this woman, he thinks, and frankly, he thinks it miraculous that he even had the chance to experience it, firsthand. For a while there, he legitimately thought it would've been easier to coax a joke out of a tree than one Emma Cullen.
(He has a stray thought, too, muffled and barely there, little more than a spark. It says, That smile ain't half bad.)
It's better to keep things light, in his eyes, despite the dark turns his thoughts have taken as of late. Better to fight with a bit of pep, or else the weight of the dead will drag you down. ]
Suits you, sure. It sure as hell don't suit me, though.
[ It's a certain level of formality that Faraday isn't used to. Makes him chafe a little, feel uncomfortable. Like that little modicum of respect might actually mean he has something to live up to.
Better to temper expectations. ]
If we're gonna be fightin' together, then we can't have that distance. [ That's his excuse, anyway, though even the lilt in his voice turns it into a joke. ] We can't be fellows if you keep callin' me "mister," now can we?
[ miracle of miracles, but emma actually laughs. it's just a soft chuckle, quiet, but definitely a laugh. that...that feels good. it's nice to take just a moment to stop thinking about death and blood and revenge -- just a moment to appreciate someone else's company.
she's oddly pleased by faraday's offer of comraderie, and he does have a point: they'll be fighting together (because she sure isn't going to be cowed by sam), and maybe a degree of familiarity will make that easier. ]
Then if we're to be fellows, do you mean to call me by my name?
[ the cock of her eyebrow, the expectation in her look doesn't come off as icy or vicious -- it's more of a sassy challenge than anything.
she's enjoying the banter, and it exposes a crack in emma's impenetrable armor, the way she hides behind her determination and burning rage. emma is made of fire, but given the opportunity, her quick tongue can be just as witty as it is brutal.
but in this moment, she's letting part of herself slip, and it means that faraday gets to see it. ]
[ Another first, and Faraday laughs along with her, though it's little more than a quick exhale of a breath through his nose. His weight shifts to one leg as he crosses his arms over his chest, taking her challenge for what it is. ]
Hadn't thought that far, tell you the truth.
[ It's different, talking to Emma. The other men take his bullshit in stride, shrug it off with barks of laughter or exasperated little shakes of their head. Truth to tell, he feels a need to puff out his chest, to put on a show to seem like he belongs with the array of veritable giants Chisolm assembled. A legend and his terrifying friend. An outlaw wanted for murder. A savage. An actual bear with Bible verses tattooed on the back of his eyes. Hard to live up to that kind of infamy.
It's not exactly easier with Emma; it's just a different sort of show, but it's refreshing, all the same. ]
I expect you're more comfortable if I call you Mrs. Cullen, still?
[ emma actually considers the question for a moment, her smile fading slightly as she looks back towards the tree she'd so recently sunk bullets into. it's the freshness of it, she decides, that she still feels so strongly like matthew's wife. it hasn't even been near a full month that her husband's been dead, but the reality of it occasionally hits her like a steam engine.
she's a widow now.
...oh, but that aches every time she thinks it. ]
Mmm.
[ it's less of an answer, and more of an acknowledgement that he's spoken. ]
But would you be that same kind of formal with someone else you fight beside?
[ there's a touch of avoidance in her answer, but it sure doesn't carry the same kind of immediate, snappish correction she might have given him before. obviously "mrs. cullen" is appropriate, polite, but she considers that it's an awful lot of formality when they could both easily die in the next few days.
boy, if that wasn't jarring to realize all over again. ]
[ The change in her mood feels like a slap in the face, and Faraday frowns when he sees the second he loses her to her thoughts. He touched a nerve there, that much he can tell; the wounds are still too recent to pick at them. He should've known better.
He lets her keep her silence, watching her from the corner of his eye with the sharpness of any marksman, and simply waits. The damage has been done, but he's not fool enough to think anything he can say would smooth it over.
At her question, he offers a quiet, considering hum, nudging at a hard clump of dirt with the toe of his boot. ]
S'pose I wouldn't.
[ He would, in fact, call his fellows by a whole lot of names that would make a more civilized person swoon. Probably not appropriate for a woman who's only barely started to tolerate him. ]
How 'bout you tell me what I should call you, and we'll stick with that?
[ belatedly, emma realizes she's let the tone of the moment drop sharply, but the intense and immediate reminder of matthew's death was difficult to reconcile. she doesn't especially hold it against faraday, because she knows it couldn't have been an intentional move, but it stings all the same.
her jaw sets, the flicker of good humor fading back into the stony determination that practically wafts off of her. she has so much to fight for in the coming days, so much pain she owes bogue for what he's done to her and rose creek, and it's hard to allow herself too much of that lightness in mood -- not until this is all over.
however, it does say something that faraday is the one who's drawn it out, who managed to bring a real smile to emma's lips and get her to laugh -- damn impressive, is what it is. ]
I think "Miss Emma" will do me just fine.
[ redrawing the gun holstered at her hip, emma takes the stance faraday showed her, aims once again for the tree, and fires quick and fierce. three bullets slam into the dead wooden trunk, splintering it and leaving a small trail of smoke behind, demonstrating that she sure didn't miss.
glancing up at faraday with the revolver still trained on the three, she adds: ] And if we live, it might just be "Emma" instead.
[ He lets out a breath, something close to quiet chuckle, and lifts his eyebrows. ]
Well, then, Miss Emma. That's certainly an incentive to pull through this, if I ever heard one.
[ His voice stays bright, even if hers doesn't. Not because he's trying to recapture the previous mood – that ship has long since sailed, and Faraday lets it go without any resentment – but because it's the tone he strikes by default. Easier to go through life playing the joker.
The revolver in his crossdraw holster practically leaps into his hand, and Faraday shoots from the hip. Four bullets in a tight spread, fired in the span of a breath. He grins – of course he'd be the type to find pride in his own skill – and looks at her askance. ]
You know I'm gonna be holdin' you to that, now, right?
[ not that emma is one prone to needless praise, but damn, faraday sure can shoot. she admittedly never expects to get to that level of skill with a revolver, but she'll never truly begrudge that; it's not where her expertise lies, and she's perfectly content to be a decent shot with a pistol and deadly as hell with a rifle. ]
If we both make it out alive, I'd say you must have earned it.
[ her expression is still solemn, but there's a flash of hope in her words; she doesn't want to consider the possibility of losing, because so much of her is determined to see rose creek free and bogue's body dumped in the middle of the desert. there isn't room to accept defeat, and even if she dies, even if faraday dies, she wants to know that the town won't be taken.
she has faith, and that's what really matters to her. ]
But don't go thinkin' we have that kind of familiarity elsewise, Faraday.
[ she slides her gun back into her hip holster, resting her hand comfortably on it as she fixes faraday with a stern look. like she said, faraday has to earn that from her, but saving the day and escaping with their lives seems to be a fair enough trade. ]
[ He lifts both hands from his belt again, that same stance of surrender which is belied by the amusement dancing in his eyes. ]
I make no such assumptions, I assure you. But trust me, Miss Emma, I plan on claiming that prize, soon as the smoke clears.
[ Not that Faraday has any illusions about his part in the fight, or his chances in surviving to see the other side. They're fighting a war with a handful of soldiers against Bogue's army; to expect he might live is foolish, at best.
Hope, though. That's an entirely different animal. He hopes he lives, knows full well his chances are slim, but somehow, Faraday finds peace with that. He may seem a self-serving, cocky bastard at the best of times, but he's no coward. He sees the job in front of him and knows what he has to do, knows he has folks depending on him to play his role. Horne might say Faraday's sense of serenity has to do with helping his fellow man, finding purpose in laying down his life that others may live, cite some verse to bolster his claim. And maybe there's truth to it.
And it's foolish, maybe, making these little promises and bets, but there's no harm in hope, is there? ]
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good.
but now, as things come together in a way she never expected, she's faced with a new threat and a different kind of challenge.
now, the promise of war and the ticking away of their precious hours before bogue returns should make her hand shake.
but it doesn't.
the weight of the gun in her palm ought to unnerve her when she thinks about the violence that looms in the coming days.
but it doesn't.
the guarantee of death, on both sides, should turn her stomach and rock her determination.
but it doesn't.
emma cullen is steady, and as her fingers grip the butt of her revolver, her eyes fix cold and hard on the distant target. if she imagines bogue's face on the broken tree, oh, that makes this so much easier. she's never killed a man before, but given the chance, she'd shoot bogue dead and not even blink. it was the least of what he deserved.
taking aim, emma sights the tree, and fires. the kick of the handgun is much different from that of a rifle, and while her shot isn't bad, it isn't nearly as accurate as she'd be otherwise. she glares across the way at the bullet that's missed its direct mark, before looking down at the revolver in her hand. she needs better practice, really, because she's not quick on the draw, and she can definitely hit her target, but not precisely where she wants to. ]
Damn it.
[ the words are hissed under her breath, and she adjusts her stance to take another shot. while she anticipates using her rifle, she knows well and good that things can change quickly, and if she needs to use a revolver, she ought to be just as effective. ]
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[ He learned his lesson from last time, knows Emma Cullen does not take well to flirtatious compliments, so while there’s a wry tilt to his smile, he keeps his eyes fixed on the tree in the distance as he approaches.
She’s an interesting woman, Emma Cullen, all fire and determination, with an eagle-eyed focus Faraday has only seen a handful of times before – and only then in the types of men whose paths one should never cross twice. Takes a lot of balls to do what she’s done, to journey out to find warriors to defend her little town. He wonders who she must have imagined she would find when she first rode out. Knights, maybe, like from the stories about King Arthur. Fine, upstanding men with heavenly light shining behind them, for whom honor and decency was the norm and not a suggestion. He wonders what she must think, how she must feel, when all her money could get her were killers and oddities.
Maybe after this, they could put together some sort of circus freak show, make a quick buck.
Assuming any of them lived.
Sunlight beats down on the back of his neck despite the wide brim of his hat, and he feels a bead of sweat roll down to the collar of his shirt. The grass whispers around his legs as he steps up beside her, his thumbs hooked over his gun belt. That first day when he saw her firing a rifle, part of him had been surprised. He’s seen more than a few men and women carting around firearms with no earthly clue how to use them, who expect the presence alone of a weapon would protect them – and truth to tell, he expected the same of Emma. So few people realize that carrying a gun means that, one day, they’ll be expected to use it. ]
Your daddy teach you this, too?
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she'll gladly take that distraction.
she looks from faraday to the tree, lining up her shot and firing again. it's better this time, but not as precise as she'd like to be. she demands better from herself, because she knows she needs to be better.
with a sigh, she lowers the gun, giving the gambler more than just a sidelong glance this time. ]
Not so much as the rifle. Don't think he expected I'd be needing more than familiarity with a pistol.
[ her father had focused much more on teaching her how to shoot; she'd honed her skills through dedication otherwise. however, a great deal of that was target shooting, not so much on speedy dueling-type skills or the kind of rapid responses she might need on hand in the next few days. but really, she could fire off a whole host of rounds on a rifle and hit her mark dead-on, but aiming a revolver, being especially fast with it? not in her wheelhouse. she was far more of a markswoman than she was inclined to the chaos that came from being in the middle of the action, were she to find herself swept up in the battle. she expects she's going to settle in a high place, pick men off from there, and that suits her plenty. ]
But I still hit my mark when I'm aiming to.
[ not nearly as impressive as faraday is with his own guns, because damn, those are some fiercely impressive skills he's got tucked away behind that deceptively disarming smile of his. ]
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What he says aloud though is, ]
Could use some work.
[ Training with a rifle was one thing, and more useful besides, assuming one used the skill for hunting, for guarding his land. Practical, in its way. Training with a pistol had very specific implications – one needed to be fast on the draw, needed to be sure of his aim, needed the added maneuverability a small (though powerful) weapon could provide, because it usually meant he expected to be facing down the sights of another barrel.
Little wonder a father wouldn’t pass those skills down to his daughter.
Faraday doubts Emma’s father ever expected the sharp turn of her life. Then again, he doubts anyone would ever expect a man like Bogue to cross their paths, to raze all they hold dear to the ground, as he has.
When she looks to him this time, he returns her gaze, something solemn and considering just behind his eyes, even while his lips still curl in his usual half-smile. Then, he shifts his weight. ]
Widen your stance a bit. [ His tone lacks Goodnight’s authority, but there’s a steadiness to it that speaks of experience. He moves, then, aiming to circle around her. ] Feet lined up with your shoulders. Arm straight, but don’t lock your elbow.
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it was far different from the life she'd planned -- but she's adjusting.
she has to.
she gives a quiet scoff, but she knows he's right; that's why she's here, after all. ]
Of course it could, Mister Faraday.
[ emma keeps her eyes trained on faraday as he moves around her, more instinctual than anything. she's been jumpy since everything that's happened, and while she certainly doesn't anticipate anything from faraday, she's still...careful, watchful in the way she tracks him.
listening intently, she follows his instructions, squaring her shoulders and setting her feet apart so her body lines itself more evenly with the target. she extends her arm, sights the tree, and then looks back at faraday, expectancy in her expression. ]
Like this?
[ it's almost awkward compared to how she holds her rifle, but she's adjusting. her elbow is locked, though she hasn't noticed it, mostly because of how tense the rest of her is, like she's overly conscious of her stance, overcompensating for the change of position. ]
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For a second, he expects her to shun his advice, to scoff again and resume her practice, and a look of surprise flits across his face as she shifts, taking his words to heart. He glances down, notes the repositioning of her feet with a quick nod of approval. ]
Good.
[ He moves the other way around her back again, this time to her dominant side, and when she raises her arm, he makes a clicking noise with his tongue. ]
Not as good.
[ His hand reaches out, his fingers lightly wrapping around her arm, above her elbow. ]
Too stiff. [ A quick, demonstrative squeeze, his fingers rough and calloused. ] Relax a little.
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she keeps following his movement with her eyes, vividly aware of how close he stands to her as he appraises her posture. the hand on her arm, however, almost startles her enough to jerk out of her stance, her elbow giving a particular twitch as she fights the urge to recoil from the contact; it's just straight-up surprising, but she tamps down the impulse, instead leveling faraday with a flat look as forces her arm to loosen up again. ]
Awful hard to relax if you insist on touching me.
[ her expression is thoroughly unimpressed, but she hasn't physically tried to shake him off. ]
Is this what you meant?
[ her posture is still a little tense (she's tense all over; how can she not be?), but she's clearly trying to follow faraday's directions. he isn't being unhelpful, and while she's incredibly uncertain about his touch, she knows that what he's showing her is valuable. she might have thought to ask one of the other men, but part of her was prepared to be shrugged off, easily dismissed and told she needn't worry about handling any kind of firearm in this fight, because lord knows the expectations they'd likely have for her. she refuses to cower from bogue, and she will not let herself be counted out when she knows that she can be of use to the town -- and not by staying out of sight with the women and children. ]
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If Emma Cullen wants to fight, she's damn well going to fight.
And for as much of a fool as Faraday seems to be, he knows well enough to step the hell out of the way of a speeding freight train.
He pulls back at her word, raising both hands up, palms flat, in a gesture close to surrender. A smile ghosts across his lips. ]
Easy, there. [ Slowly, voice dropping to something approaching gentle. ] Easy. Just breathe.
[ A beat, as his eyes flick to her gun arm then back to her face. ] Good. That's better.
You gotta strike a balance, when you're firin' with a pistol. [ He turns to stand beside her, bringing out his favored gun and aiming at the distant tree to demonstrate the stance. ]
Keep your arm straight enough to take the recoil in your shoulder. Too rigid— [ And he demonstrates, arm straightening and elbow locking. ] —and the recoil messes with your aim, makes you waste time getting your targets in your sights again. Too weak— [ His arm bends. ] —and you may as well be shootin' yourself in the head.
[ The gun spins on his finger before he slips it back into the holster at his hip. ]
Try it now?
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watching carefully, she takes in his stance, the way he draws his gun and aims. it's helpful to actually see what works and what doesn't, and once his gun is reholstered, she does her best to mimic what he's done. feet planted, shoulders squared, arm extended: she takes aim down the sights, slowly exhales...
...and pulls the trigger.
the bullet hits just shy of her mark this time, but it's a dramatic change from before, and emma's eyebrows immediately go up in surprise. the kick of the gun hadn't thrown off her aim, and her accuracy was far closer to the kind of shooting she was often doing with her rifle. ]
Now that's much better.
[ she lowers the gun, looking back at faraday with a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. smiles are a whole lot less frequent for her now, but she's been nearly consumed by this quest for justice -- for revenge -- that it's hard to find so many reasons to smile. ]
You have a great deal of skill, Mister Faraday.
[ she doesn't say it to flatter him, because emma cullen has never been a woman prone to needlessly bolstering a man's ego, but it's just a fact. faraday is talented, damn good with a gun, and emma can appreciate that level of accomplishment, because she knows it's had to have come from years of practice. ]
I appreciate the help you're giving me, you know.
[ her tone is genuine, honest. he could be doing any number of other things, whether that was helping the town prepare or enjoying his downtime (what little they may have had) doing something far more satisfying than showing emma how to use a pistol. the fact that he's here, giving her some additional instuction, is actually meaningful to her. ]
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(There was a time where he must have felt as she does, he thinks, days when the weight of his sins cast everything in shadow, made the little pinpoints of brightness in life seem dull and dark. He’s learned since then to take the good with the bad, and also learned that a few bottles of whiskey make the sharp edge of reality that much easier to tolerate.)
Approvingly, ] That’s how it’s done.
[ He answers her compliment with a brief tip of his head and a wink, though he knows from her tone of voice that this was strictly observation. He is damn good at what he does – a need to survive made sure of that – but his skill came at a price.
They say the nightmares never go away, he had told her. Faraday was living proof of that.
It’s her thanks that catches him by surprise for the second time today, and it stands naked on his face for the span of a breath. He’s unused to thanks, but that’s probably because he rarely does anything in need of thanks. Times being what they are means he acts selfishly more often than not.
And Emma Cullen seems a proud woman and didn’t seem too fond of him, besides. Must be her upbringing that obliges her to offer a word in gratitude – probably the same reason why she seems compelled her to call him “mister,” when he’s hardly a man deserving of respect. ]
You’re a fair shot. And you ain’t been trainin’ with the others. [ He says it with a quick shrug of his shoulders, eyes fixed on their target and hand resting on the butt of his favored revolver. A grimness in his voice as he continues, ] We’re gonna need you in the fight.
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looking away from faraday, out towards the tree again, emma's gaze is hard, determined. ]
I'm fixin' to.
[ she shakes her head, sliding the pistol back into the holster belted around her hip. ]
No, I will. [ she corrects herself with an icy edge to her tone. she doesn't care what protests she may hear, where they may try to shove her; she will fight, and she'll gun those hired goons down until her very last breath. ]
I don't give a damn what the men have to say about it. I'll be out there with the rest of you. We'll need every last one of us fightin', and I will not sit idly and leave the fate of Rose Creek in your hands alone.
[ she glances back at him. ]
No harm intended, Mister Faraday. You know I'm indebted to you for what you're doing, what all of you have come here for, but...
[ trailing off, her eyes fall back to small watering hole, out across at the dead, splintered tree. ]
But this is my home. And I mean to defend it.
[ and so much of her screams for recompense from bogue. every fiber of her being needs to see bogue pay for what he's done to her and to her town, for everything taken from them, for every bloody sacrifice they've made. she needs to see this finished, and she will take what victories she can from a coward like bogue. ]
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[ He doesn’t make a joke of it, perhaps surprisingly; a rare hint of sincerity threads his words, absent in so many of their other conversations until recently. Maybe it’s the dark clouds cresting over the horizon that cuts through his usual bullshit. Maybe it’s the severity of her gaze, every time she turns her eyes on him, or how he sees fire in her eyes. Maybe he’s just feeling grim. Maybe he’s just been in a piss poor mood, since he forced himself to not get too far into the bottles until the day’s work is done. But whatever the case, his demeanor has taken a more serious turn, these past couple of days. A quick glimpse at the man beneath the joker’s mask. ]
Chisolm’s gonna try to talk you out of it. Don’t let ‘im. [ And it’s possibly the first thing he’s said to run contrary to Chisolm’s orders, aside from the occasional question or his usual wry asides. Despite the insurmountable odds they faced, the man had a solid plan, but something clouded his judgment, as far as Emma Cullen was concerned. Misplaced sense of chivalry, perhaps.
Her sense of resolve, that steely determination, is one of the many things he’s grown to appreciate about her. Faraday expects most of the others feel the same, yielding over a begrudging sense of respect for a woman who has no reason for an intensity so fierce.
A pause, and he adds, ]
And you don't gotta keep callin’ me “mister.”
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and maybe she'll die. any of them could die, but she chooses to believe in what they're doing, and she'll be damned if it's not worth laying down her life to take a stand with others beside something righteous and good. ]
I won't let him. Not for a second.
[ oh, sam could worry over her as much as he pleased, but that wouldn't make one smidgen's difference in what she planned to do. they needed every last gun in that fight, and she refused to put others at risk just because sam wanted her safely hidden and out of the way.
she'd prove herself to him, if she had to. she wasn't sure how, but if he asked what good she'd be on that battlefield, she'd sure as hell show him.
faraday's next words, however, get a bemused look out of emma. she raises an eyebrow at him, cocking her head as she considers the taller man. ]
What would you have me call you, then? I thought "mister" was mighty polite in comparison to other things I've heard thrown your way.
[ there's a flash of sass in emma's voice, her hands settling on her hips as she looks up at him. ]
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So it would seem Faraday has spotted an entirely new facet to this woman, in much the same way she's seen a new one to him. His, with a touch of gravity; hers, with a sense of humor – who knew?
And maybe today is a day of firsts, because as new as this is, Faraday does not find it unwelcome. ]
Trust me, Mrs. Cullen. [ A touch of emphasis on the title, a wry sort of tilt to his smile. ] I know all too well the colorful things any number of folks could call me, which is all the more reason to do away with these shows of civility, don’cha think?
[ He turns slightly toward her, mirroring her posture with his arms akimbo. ]
And as amusin’ as it’d be to hear those sorts’a’ words fall from your lips, Faraday suits me just fine.
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honestly, she's been so consumed by what's going on that she's nearly forgotten what it's like to joke, to crack a smile, and with the constant action and preparation, she hasn't let herself find things to enjoy.
(because really, what else would she really appreciate more than seeing bogue burn?) ]
As much as it may amuse you to hear it, I doubt you will. You haven't given me so many reasons to truly insult you, Faraday.
[ it's odd to drop the additional title, but since he's asked it of her, she's at least willing to try it -- but not because she thinks he doesn't deserve that level of civility. ]
But if you'd prefer I not be so polite, I may accommodate that.
[ leaving off the "mister" isn't quite so bad or unmanageable, after all. ]
But not because I think it's an inappropriate way to address you, if that means anything at all. Using "mister" suits me just fine.
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(He has a stray thought, too, muffled and barely there, little more than a spark. It says, That smile ain't half bad.)
It's better to keep things light, in his eyes, despite the dark turns his thoughts have taken as of late. Better to fight with a bit of pep, or else the weight of the dead will drag you down. ]
Suits you, sure. It sure as hell don't suit me, though.
[ It's a certain level of formality that Faraday isn't used to. Makes him chafe a little, feel uncomfortable. Like that little modicum of respect might actually mean he has something to live up to.
Better to temper expectations. ]
If we're gonna be fightin' together, then we can't have that distance. [ That's his excuse, anyway, though even the lilt in his voice turns it into a joke. ] We can't be fellows if you keep callin' me "mister," now can we?
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she's oddly pleased by faraday's offer of comraderie, and he does have a point: they'll be fighting together (because she sure isn't going to be cowed by sam), and maybe a degree of familiarity will make that easier. ]
Then if we're to be fellows, do you mean to call me by my name?
[ the cock of her eyebrow, the expectation in her look doesn't come off as icy or vicious -- it's more of a sassy challenge than anything.
she's enjoying the banter, and it exposes a crack in emma's impenetrable armor, the way she hides behind her determination and burning rage. emma is made of fire, but given the opportunity, her quick tongue can be just as witty as it is brutal.
but in this moment, she's letting part of herself slip, and it means that faraday gets to see it. ]
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Hadn't thought that far, tell you the truth.
[ It's different, talking to Emma. The other men take his bullshit in stride, shrug it off with barks of laughter or exasperated little shakes of their head. Truth to tell, he feels a need to puff out his chest, to put on a show to seem like he belongs with the array of veritable giants Chisolm assembled. A legend and his terrifying friend. An outlaw wanted for murder. A savage. An actual bear with Bible verses tattooed on the back of his eyes. Hard to live up to that kind of infamy.
It's not exactly easier with Emma; it's just a different sort of show, but it's refreshing, all the same. ]
I expect you're more comfortable if I call you Mrs. Cullen, still?
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she's a widow now.
...oh, but that aches every time she thinks it. ]
Mmm.
[ it's less of an answer, and more of an acknowledgement that he's spoken. ]
But would you be that same kind of formal with someone else you fight beside?
[ there's a touch of avoidance in her answer, but it sure doesn't carry the same kind of immediate, snappish correction she might have given him before. obviously "mrs. cullen" is appropriate, polite, but she considers that it's an awful lot of formality when they could both easily die in the next few days.
boy, if that wasn't jarring to realize all over again. ]
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He lets her keep her silence, watching her from the corner of his eye with the sharpness of any marksman, and simply waits. The damage has been done, but he's not fool enough to think anything he can say would smooth it over.
At her question, he offers a quiet, considering hum, nudging at a hard clump of dirt with the toe of his boot. ]
S'pose I wouldn't.
[ He would, in fact, call his fellows by a whole lot of names that would make a more civilized person swoon. Probably not appropriate for a woman who's only barely started to tolerate him. ]
How 'bout you tell me what I should call you, and we'll stick with that?
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her jaw sets, the flicker of good humor fading back into the stony determination that practically wafts off of her. she has so much to fight for in the coming days, so much pain she owes bogue for what he's done to her and rose creek, and it's hard to allow herself too much of that lightness in mood -- not until this is all over.
however, it does say something that faraday is the one who's drawn it out, who managed to bring a real smile to emma's lips and get her to laugh -- damn impressive, is what it is. ]
I think "Miss Emma" will do me just fine.
[ redrawing the gun holstered at her hip, emma takes the stance faraday showed her, aims once again for the tree, and fires quick and fierce. three bullets slam into the dead wooden trunk, splintering it and leaving a small trail of smoke behind, demonstrating that she sure didn't miss.
glancing up at faraday with the revolver still trained on the three, she adds: ] And if we live, it might just be "Emma" instead.
[ maybe.]
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Well, then, Miss Emma. That's certainly an incentive to pull through this, if I ever heard one.
[ His voice stays bright, even if hers doesn't. Not because he's trying to recapture the previous mood – that ship has long since sailed, and Faraday lets it go without any resentment – but because it's the tone he strikes by default. Easier to go through life playing the joker.
The revolver in his crossdraw holster practically leaps into his hand, and Faraday shoots from the hip. Four bullets in a tight spread, fired in the span of a breath. He grins – of course he'd be the type to find pride in his own skill – and looks at her askance. ]
You know I'm gonna be holdin' you to that, now, right?
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If we both make it out alive, I'd say you must have earned it.
[ her expression is still solemn, but there's a flash of hope in her words; she doesn't want to consider the possibility of losing, because so much of her is determined to see rose creek free and bogue's body dumped in the middle of the desert. there isn't room to accept defeat, and even if she dies, even if faraday dies, she wants to know that the town won't be taken.
she has faith, and that's what really matters to her. ]
But don't go thinkin' we have that kind of familiarity elsewise, Faraday.
[ she slides her gun back into her hip holster, resting her hand comfortably on it as she fixes faraday with a stern look. like she said, faraday has to earn that from her, but saving the day and escaping with their lives seems to be a fair enough trade. ]
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I make no such assumptions, I assure you. But trust me, Miss Emma, I plan on claiming that prize, soon as the smoke clears.
[ Not that Faraday has any illusions about his part in the fight, or his chances in surviving to see the other side. They're fighting a war with a handful of soldiers against Bogue's army; to expect he might live is foolish, at best.
Hope, though. That's an entirely different animal. He hopes he lives, knows full well his chances are slim, but somehow, Faraday finds peace with that. He may seem a self-serving, cocky bastard at the best of times, but he's no coward. He sees the job in front of him and knows what he has to do, knows he has folks depending on him to play his role. Horne might say Faraday's sense of serenity has to do with helping his fellow man, finding purpose in laying down his life that others may live, cite some verse to bolster his claim. And maybe there's truth to it.
And it's foolish, maybe, making these little promises and bets, but there's no harm in hope, is there? ]