dumbshow | highly new, slightly improved open post

highly new, slightly improved open post

assorted morons

optional prompts/ideas

☆ caught in the rain meme
☆ little steps meme
☆ affectionate physical contact meme
☆ picture prompt also acceptable but link them so it's tidy
☆ AU ideas: soulmates AU, reincarnation AU, Bad End AU, canon divergent/roleswap AU, dorky college AU, crossover AU, super indulgent high fantasy AU
☆ melodrama is ultimate tier
★ SHIPPING AND FUCC:
☆ non-fluffy relationship types I'm down for: codependent, master/servant power imbalance type ships, "we're bad for each other but worse for anyone else," other things I am failing to think of tbh
☆ things I am not into: noncon (includes "dubcon"), incest, tsundere shit if your tsundere is just verbally abusive, gratuitous torture porn, you'll probably have to ask me about harder kinks and they will vary by character
☆ I don't have a kink list so pitch me an idea if u thirsty
☆ if you would prefer a locked post I can also make that happen

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[Dressing behind a fancy screen? Jesus! Arthur once again resists the urge to make some smart remark, although he does give Reim a rather critical once-over when he finally emerges from his makeshift dressing room. ...Well. The outfit could be worse, he supposes. Those pants are going to be covered in red dust as soon as they hit the dirt roads, and that jacket isn't going to do a damn thing if it starts to rain, but the outfit could be worse.]

So sure, fine, he'll turn back toward the door with a quiet snort. Oh, Lemieux will definitely notice... not that Arthur cares. Unless he plans on speaking to the Pinkertons—which is doubtful—then the best he can do is, what, send small posses after him? Tell the Saint Denis gangs to shoot him on sight? Small stuff, especially since Arthur has no plans ever return this far east. Who needs all of this civilization...]

Guess he'd better stop pissin' people off, then, 'cause I ain't about to come back here. I've got other plans. Out west.

[Which involve Arthur doing hoodrat stuff with his friends, so that's all he's going to say about that. For now. Hopefully Reim picks up on this meaningful silence and just, you know, decides to quietly follow Arthur through the front door and over to the very, very large horse tied to one of the street's many hitching posts. If Reim knows anything about horses, he'll notice that this monster is... exceptionally well taken care of? And she's clearly happy to see Arthur; she swings her head right around to butt her nose against Arthur's shoulder, and he gives her an affectionate pat before quickly untying her lead.]

You're gonna have to ride with me 'til we get you a horse of your own, but it shouldn't slow us down none. Boadicea's plenty tough. [Boadicea! Hidden depths, part deux!! Anyway: Arthur hauls himself into the saddle with practiced ease, making sure he's nice and settled before he stretches a hand down to Reim.] Hand me that bag of yours.

[He's going to temporarily place it in his lap, you see, before she stretches that hand out to help Reim clamber up behind him. Boadicea is standing perfectly still and everything... love her...]

[Hmm, out west, very exciting... Reim is satisfied with this answer, it seems, since he doesn't press the issue further. He wouldn't want Arthur harassed for his sake, but if he's just going to shepherd Reim out of town and then disappear, then that's-- better? Perhaps Mr. Lemieux will have to clean up his own messes for once, with the both of them suddenly gone. This is very clever and funny of him and so he almost says it to break the tension as they head outside, but--

That is a giant goddamn horse and he's instantly not very funny or clever. Now, Reim has ridden a horse before, sure. He's fancy and rich, he's even owned several, but they were ordinary sized... Even the apparent affection this creature has for Arthur can't get the look of vague terror of Reim's face. Big horse...??]

That's what you named your horse...?

[Help, he's paralyzed by Big Horse and hidden depths. It takes him an extra few seconds to hand over his bag, and even more before he'll consent to letting Arthur pull him up onto the horse. Really, he only volunteers to get on this horse for fear that Arthur will just throw him over the back of the saddle like a sack of potatoes if he takes too long, so don't worry-- he's still mortified. This horse makes Arthur look child-sized? Help him.

So while he is up here on the horse, he is also stiffly uncomfortable and more than a little clingy. Do not let him Die from this, Arthur Morgan...!!]

She's-- very calm.

[It's a compliment. The best he can do, given the circumstances.]

[That is indeed what Arthur named his horse, but as this is hardly the first time someone has asked him that question, he just, you know. Continues expectantly holding his hand out for that bag, which he places in his lap as he helps this poor, scared little dweeb climb up behind him. How many horses has this man been around, anyway? Ponies, all of them... Arthur can feel it...

So this, uh, clinginess? Not entirely unexpected, and yet he unconsciously tenses up the slightest bit as he adjusts to being touched. Arthur Morgan: the toughest outlaw.]

She's used to— [Gunfire! Screaming! Hmm!! He reaches up to scratch the side of his neck.] ...Well, I suppose this is an awfully quiet night for her.

[The understatement of the century, really, but as he steers Boadicea to the side and urges her forward, he finally seems to settle down. It's hard for him to feel ill at east atop a moving horse; he'll feel even better once they're out of the city limits for good.]

She ain't gonna throw us off, if that's what you're worryin' about.

[Even if it does get a little loud, but why add another worry to the pile? Catch that slight hint of amusement in his voice and suffer, Reim.]

[Arthur had better shut up and get them to their destination as quickly as possible, so Reim can get off this horse! Reim doesn't even notice him tense up, like a fancy rich boy grabbing him like this is so much more intimidating than his life of crime... incredible.

Okay, so he notices that a little, but as much as he isn't comfortable on the horse, he also doesn't want to get kicked off the horse for sassing too much. Give it time.]

I am concerned to the exact degree anyone would be about this arrangement, thank you. But no, I don't think your horse is the greatest threat to my life at the moment.

[Hmph!! The man wakes him in the middle of the night to rush him out of town, and now he has even more attitude. Let Reim cling to these tiniest scraps of dignity, please.]

[Poor Reim, stuck on the back of this horse while Arthur cautiously picks his way through these winding streets. It's not his fault that these things loop around in highly confusing ways? This is what we call poor city planning!

Still—as houses shrink, so, too, does the police presence. Arthur is still keeping a close eye on everything around them, but soon he's able to pick up the pace as he considers Reim's words. The greatest threat, huh... well, that's very true...]

Probably not.

[He slowly exhales, thinking of Lemieux and Bronte and all the other nasty people who call Saint Denis home. And, you know, of tourists like himself. Lord.]

No, I'd say you've got other things to worry about, [he says in that casual way of his, trusting that Boadicea will continue trotting down this avenue as he looks back over his shoulder.] Now, I don't know much, but you? You're a smart man, Reim. A real smart man, but here you are... 'cause of that letter, I know. But did you ever stop to think that this whole thing might just be some sorta set-up?

[Just... professional curiosity, all while they continue making their way out of so-called "civilization." But he quickly holds up his hands as high as the reigns will allow, adding:]

And before you pull out that tiny gun of yours, it ain't.

[You know, that's... a point. A decent one, even, which is why Reim frowns at the back of Arthur's head. He thinks about it; sure, he expected something like this- the letter asking Arthur to quietly get rid of him- was going to happen eventually, but a whole extended scheme...? Hmm.

Well, Reim is usually the point man for the schemes, so that didn't occur to him in any, like, significant capacity.]

Why would you bring it up if it isn't true...?

[He's already stressed! He's going to have a heart attack at this rate!!]

If this were an elaborate ruse... I likely wouldn't have been involved as my own messenger, as it were. It would have been easier to let you make up your mind about how to trick me, don't you think? Fewer moments for something to go wrong.

[He shrugs, which Arthur can at least feel the motion of, then he sighs. Why are they talking about this. Cowboy, please.]

But I will freely admit that I hadn't thought of it. I suppose I've decided I trust you, [don't make it weird; he adds wryly, before Arthur can be weird:] and I have my tiny gun if that turns out badly for me.

[Why did he bring it up? To see where they stand, he supposes, but also to see how Reim... thinks. Arthur has been running with outlaws since he was, what, fourteen? Fifteen? Taking people at face value—trusting them—is a luxury he simply can't afford, because the only person looking out for him in this world is himself. Fellow outlaws will sell him out to divvy up his share; rich men will sell him out to save their skins; normal townsfolk will sell him out to claim a reward. He's wary! Extremely so, and that's the only reason he's still alive and kicking.

This man, however, has lived a much different life, and boy, does it show. Not that it's a surprise; like, Arthur listens to all of this quietly because it's just about what he expected to hear, but if Reim is going to live life on the run for the foreseeable future... with him... mmph. Arthur has his work cut out for him.]

So you do, [he responds amiably enough, because he's not, like, flattered that Reim apparently trusts him at this early stage; he personally thinks it's a piss-poor decision, but that's something he keeps to himself for the time being.] I'm petrified.

[Now that's some dry sarcasm right there, boy, but when he speaks again—hmm. His tone is... sober? Almost business-like? This is as professional a criminal you've ever seen, Reim.]

Well, reasonin' ain't never been one of my strong points, so I guess I'll just trust you on that. Survival, though? That's my specialty, and where we're headed— [The wilderness and a few wild, wild towns. Whew.] If I tell you to do somethin' your reasonin' don't agree with, I'd say it's in your best interest to listen to me. Not because of what I'll do, but this? This is a braaand new world you're about to see, Mister Lunettes.

[And he's not going to like it one bit! Arthur is, oh, 99% sure of this fact. Anyway, chew on that as Arthur gives Boudicea another sharp urge forward. It's time to head over this bridge—the last real piece of Saint Denis—and head out into the wide open world. Look at this beautiful fucking... swamp. There are gators everywhere.]

[Boy, is it lucky Reim rolling his eyes nonstop back here can't be seen. It isn't as if he's expecting anything from Arthur, really— a ride to the next town and a gruff goodbye and then they'll probably never cross paths ever again, and even the goodbye is a stretch, there. That's it. It's for that reason that he doesn't bother to explain himself, that trusting Arthur to at least stop him from getting murdered for a little bit longer and trusting him in any other capacity are different things. It's fine like this.

But good god, what is this? A lecture? Sass? Is he being lectured and sassed at the same time? Reim frowns behind him, at Arthur's words and at the... beautiful nature around them now... hmm.

Maybe he should have stayed home and waited to get shot. Oh well; in those first few early morning minutes Arthur burst into his home and told him he was going to get murdered, Reim didn't have time to let reality set in, the reality of traveling around with this man he barely knows and his giant horse, and listening to his odd, country boy lectures, and wondering just how much he's going to hate this and thinking about how he's left his whole life behind in a matter of minutes...

Well, he did make his choice. Gator scenery it is.]

It may shock you to learn that I have been outside before. [jackass.] I will do my best to avoid needing any rescuing.

[....alright,] Any further rescuing, that is.

[Ha! Jokes! He's dutifully pushing his existential anxiety aside to remain goddamn calm, so there's that. He's tired too, but it's the single worst day of his life to date, so excuse him for that one.]

You're free to think me incompetent out here, if you really must, but if I could make one request: as long as you and I are involved in whatever this is, let's not lie to one another.

[See, that way no one has to wonder about any secret betrayals.]

[There's venturing outdoors, and there's surviving outdoors, but—well, his Very Important Point has been made. Reim is, as he said, a smart man; Arthur has no doubt that he understands at least some of what can—and probably will—go wrong out here, which is why he accepts that "I will do my best" and decides not to push for anything more, uh, solid. Will he throw those words right back in Reim's face the very second the man balks at an order and/or tries to argue with him? Absolutely.

But until then... hey, at least this fancy man possesses both a) some level of self-awareness and b) a (snippy) sense of humor. Rare traits to be found among the more, mmm, privileged members of society.]

Oh, I must.

[Like, he has to say it? Just like he has to follow it up with a dry sort of chuckle, because this is how Arthur stalls for time when dealing with a strange request like... honesty. Is he, personally, an honest person? Yes, surprisingly enough. Do many people straight-up ask this career criminal to be honest? Nah. It's enough to throw him for a loop, but after a slight shift in the saddle, he manages to recover.]

But alright, alright—no lies. I'll give you my word... for all that it's worth, anyway. [Self-deprecating humor: Arthur's specialty.] Just don't act all offended if say somethin' you don't necessarily want to hear.

[Get ready for some BRUTAL HONESTY.]

[ohhhh myyy goddd]

I'm only asking for honesty, Mr. Morgan. [...hmm.] Arthur.

[See that? He's serious, and not in a sassy way, so he'll use the First Name. He doesn't need Arthur to be nice to him or sugarcoat his inevitable myriad failures out here in the wilderness. Maybe one day he'll revisit this deal and ask for something like the occasional compliment, but not now. Good heavens, perish the thought.

Now, on the other hand, he's tired. He knows he won't be able to sleep later tonight— no matter how exhausted his body is, he has too many things to think about, leaving him with only one choice: nap... here, on the horse.

It's a terrible idea. And yet.]

Please, let me know when it's time to stop.

[And yet don't say a single goddamn word, Arthur Morgan, about Reim quite literally leaning the side of his head on the back of one (1) grimy cowboy shoulder like he's a bulky, rude pillow. Dimly, he remembers again that Arthur is a nasty dirt man who did not change his clothes between last night and now, but whatever, just leave him alone... He won't fall asleep like this, and that might be obvious, but if he pretends that he's asleep and Arthur just shuts up and lets him, they can each tolerate the rest of this ride to wherever Arthur wants to go in silence.

So, good night. Zzz. So sleepy. Don't question this.]

[Honesty is a big thing to ask for, buddy, but Arthur's said more words in the past twenty or so minutes than he typically says in a day; he will gladly let this matter go without throwing any more smart remarks into the mix, both because he's already agreed to be honest and because he generally knows when and when not to push his luck. They have a long ride ahead of them; he doesn't want to deal with a pissy passenger.

A tired passenger, however? That's easier to deal with, even if said passenger wastes no time making himself comfortable. Well. People lean against him far less often than people touch him, for, ah, rather obvious reasons, so he finds himself automatically tensing up once again. Is this how this entire trip is going to go...

...Hmm. He shifts ever so slightly, making sure not to move that shoulder too much—surprisingly considerate of him!—as he wills himself to relax.]

Sure, I guess. It'll be awhile.

[The... better part of the day, really, because Arthur likes the idea of putting as much distance between their first camp and Saint Denis as they possibly can. At least it's not a difficult journey? Like, Arthur rides hard, and Arthur generally likes to ride fast, but that's a difficult thing to do when there's a man leaning against him; he's forced to keep the pace at a more manageable level, which... isn't all bad. Pros: Arthur can keep a closer eye on their surroundings, Arthur can catch the odd animal sighting, Reim can continue dozing without fear of sliding off this monster of a horse. Cons: Arthur frequently sings snatches of (terrible) songs under his breath, Arthur tells Boadicea that she's a good girl every ten or so minutes, Arthur offers a polite "Howdy, Mister!" to each and every person who greets him as they pass.

But it's not like he can keep this up all day! A man has to eat... and a man needs to set up camp well before nightfall, which is why he eventually heads off the beaten path. He knows this area; every outlaw worth their salt is familiar with Van Horn and its surroundings, so finding a decent place to camp near the Kamassa river isn't too difficult.

So... plenty of trees for cover? Check. A good distance away from the main road? Check. A spot high enough to give people sneaking up on them a hard time, but not high enough to attract an undue amount of attention from any possible passerbys? Check. Plenty of grass for his best girl? Check. He does one last lap of the place, just to make sure he hasn't missed anything, before he gives the shoulder Reim has claimed a gentle sort of shake.]

Up and at 'em, friend. Now it's my turn to catch a bit of shut-eye.

[After camp is set up, and after he catches some food to eat, and after he keeps watch for the first half of the night. He's not going to get any sleep and he knows it.]

[Luckily, Reim can't feign sleep all day, and so does not have to listen to Arthur sing to himself for hours on end. He doesn't sleep the whole time, far from it, but the moments he's jostled awake on accident aren't exciting enough to rouse him to actually sit up and look alive; it's much easier on the nerves to stay right where he is, listening to Arthur talk to his horse and every single stranger, goddamn, not even Reim has this much stranger-politeness in him.

So it's not bad. It's not good, either, but it's something. He realizes only a few hours in, half-awake and squinting down at the ground as they trot along, that other people who ride by them can see him, clinging to Arthur's back and semiconscious, and that embarrasses him for the better part of another hour until he resigns himself to it. Whatever! With luck, no one who'd recognize him will be this far out of Saint Denis, anyway. Everyone else is an acceptable loss for his dignity.

He's already awake when Arthur makes a move to get him up, has been for maybe half an hour while Arthur talks to his horse some more and surveys the area. Having to rouse himself and get off the horse puts a sort of tangible finality to all this— now that he has to spend the night in the middle of nowhere and sleep on the ground, there's no chance of waking to discover this has all been a strange, strange dream.

He sighs and does sit up then, pushing his glasses up to rub his face with one hand and giving Arthur's shoulder a simple pat with the other without thinking about it. Thanks, this has been a great pillow for the entire day.

Now then, his first real impression of this campsite... it could be worse. But putting his feet on the ground will be a welcome change after being hauled around on this monster horse all day, so he wastes no time in swinging himself back down to the ground. How many pins and needles is his whole lower half right now? So many. Worst day ever.]

Well, this has already been a learning experience.

[About cowboy songs, specifically. Where is his bag.]

[A shoulder pat and the perfect set-up? Oh, Reim. So thoughtful.]

You tellin' me there's things to learn about sleepin'? [A chuckle, then, as Arthur swings one leg over the saddle and drops to the ground, because he just can't help himself.] And here I thought you were just a natural.

[Give him a moment to pop his back, to rub Boadicea's neck and remind her that she's a very good girl—just in case she's forgotten!—before he (stiffly) walks over to begin unstrapping their camping necessities. Everything, including Reim's prissy bag, is tossed over into a pile, and if Reim wants to complain about it? Tough! Arthur is too busy giving Boadicea a thorough once-over to offer anything more than a grunt, because the first order of business is always, always taking care of the horse that's done, like, a majority of the day's work. She's the top lady in his life...

But Boadicea is, of course, just fine, even though she could certainly do with a good brushing. ...Ah, well. He only has so much daylight to work with, which is why he lets her meander over to a particularly tasty patch of grass as he turns back to that pile o' stuff. There's a collapsible fishing rod in there somewhere, and you bet he's going to crouch down and start digging around for it—after he spares Reim a thoughtful glance. Hmm.]

If you're lookin' to make yourself useful, we could do with some firewood. Think of it as another, uh... learnin' experience.

[In that there's, you know, nothing to really learn. Yeehaw.]

[Boy... Reim gives him a look while he dusts off... like, all of him; who knew riding down dirt roads all day would be this dusty. This is the worst. Still, Arthur knows what he means and so now he's just being sassy, is that it? Is that Reim's terrible fate?

Whatever! He doesn't complain beyond his stern look, but he will go over to this pile and pick up his bag... to put it back on the ground next to the pile. He'll accept - sadly, but he will - dust on everything he owns, but not having his things crushed by... bedrolls. Or whatever one takes with them to go camping. Reim has never done this before.

Speaking of things he's never done before,] I'm getting the impression you don't take me very seriously.

[Grim... he can pick up sticks. Uh, in theory. He doesn't even dignify this second sass with a "yes, sure," he just looks in a few directions before picking one and marching off to get... sticks. The learning experience is that he hates camping, but since he already guessed that, there really isn't anything to learn.

But look, he agreed to more or less do what Arthur tells him, and he's doing it! He even has the sense to not wander down the side of the road looking for sticks, even if the amount of people out and about has dwindled since midday. Reim and the sticks will be back soon, please do all of the other campsite labor without him.]

[Is silence the best way to respond to that? Probably not, especially when it's paired with a pointed look, but—well. Arthur is sure that Reim is very, very good at pushing papers, and delivering orders, and doing who knows what else inside a plush, comfortable office, but it's an entirely different world out here! Arthur knows what he's dealing with!

And because he knows what he's dealing with, Arthur will indeed set up their entire camp while Reim is, like, puttering about the underbrush. There's nothing fancy about this camp; it's just, you know, a small canvas tent, a single bedroll, and one carefully cleared spot for the firewood. Welcome to rough livin', Reim. It's grand. At least there is one (1) tin coffeepot sitting out in the open, because that is the one (1) luxury Arthur refuses to go without.

Anyway, catch Arthur sitting beside that cleared spot, sharpening a few sticks as he waits for Reim's triumphant return. That fishing rod of his is out now, resting atop the one cooking pot he has, so... hmm! Whatever is the plan here!]

Well, look who's back. [He could make a joke about how long it took! He could say something about how he, like, almost rounded up a search party, but he doesn't; instead, he just sort of... points at Reim with one of those sticks he's working on. Hi. Hello.] You ever been fishin', Reim? Ever looked your dinner in the eye before it wound up on your plate?

[Has he ever had to work for his food... you know, that's a good question! Not the real reason Arthur wants to take Reim down to sit by the river for a spell, but hey...]

[Reim has half a mind to dump his armful of sticks right over Arthur's head, when he's immediately sassed upon returning. Please! It's been a very long day and he doesn't deserve this treatment!! But again, all he does is look at Arthur blandly, like he's just unimpressed... truthfully, he's exhausted, and dusty, and he had to pick up sticks, and he would love to have a sip of water for dinner and call it a night.

But no, that's not happening, so he sets the firewood down in what he assumes is the firewood spot, looking down at Arthur and not sitting. If he sits, he can tell, he's going to be told to get up and go somewhere else. Somehow he just knows. It's a gift, and not Arthur being transparent at all.]

No and no, I'm afraid. I'm not going to faint at the sight of animal blood, if that's what you're worried about. It's so kind of you to ask.

[GAZE... Anyway, what's next, just tell him. Spoil his dreams of going to bed right now, he can take it.]

[Arthur holds up his hands, palms out, trying to look as guileless as a man possibly can when he's holding both a pointy stick and a sharp knife. Reim? Please.]

Now, there ain't no need to be so damn defensive, [he says, like the thought of Reim passing out after watching him gut one (1) fish didn't cross his mind at all. He deserved this read? He definitely deserved this read, which is why he looks more amused than anything. Called out by this twig! Damn!] It was just a simple question.

[Or, well—two simple questions, but please, cut him this much slack as he slowly lowers his hands and pushes himself to his feet. God damn, but he's getting old? He used to be able to ride for days on end without any problems; now he has to pop his back yet again, uttering a colorful curse under his breath before he bends back down to swiftly swoop up the necessary supplies. Everything but the fishing rod goes into the pot! Efficiency!]

See, I was just thinkin' you could use a bit of, uh... well, maybe not rest, since I think you got enough of that. [He is just! Saying! Amiably enough, too, as he holds out the fishing pole for Reim to take.] Relaxation, though? I guess you could use some of that, and that's what fishin' is all about.

[Arthur is a simple, outdoorsy man with simple, outdoorsy hobbies. This is him trying to be... considerate of Reim's, uh, terrible horrible, no good, very bad day, all while ensuring they have something to eat for dinner. Fish with him!]

[Hmm!! A simple question indeed. Reim watches him get up, still frowning slightly - he'll be as prickly and uptight as he likes, on this particular day in his life, thank you very much Arthur, but— the offer to go fishing does actually seem genuine. Reim's thoughts ping-pong uselessly back and forth: he doesn't, uh, want to go fishing? Nor does he want to sit at this campsite alone and wonder if every snapping twig is someone coming after him. But at the same time, Arthur has been taunting him...

He sighs, eventually, rubbing at his temples and looking forlornly at the fishing rod. Here's an idea: Arthur catches the fish, and Reim watches. It is a very long look.

But he knows when he's defeated, and when ridiculous cowboys who are more or less in control of how much he gets to eat tonight, that seems like one of those times. He tells himself, at least Arthur is trying to be friendly, and he takes the fishing rod.

uggghh]

Oh, alright. Well, shall we...?

[But if Arthur is the one catching the fish, he won't have any time to draw? Or: It's been a long, hard day for them both, but Arthur patiently—well, stubbornly—continues holding that fishing rod out there until Reim finally decides to take it. Arthur is the one who's going to enjoy, like, a solid two hours of sleep tonight, at best, which is why he's determined to kick back and do as little as possible by the river.

Now, though? Now he's free to give an exaggerated sort of half bow, because good Lord, Reim!]

Oh, we shall.

[All of that thinking over one of the best parts of being out in the wilderness! But Arthur is, above all else, trying to be considerate, which is why he only shakes his head a bit as he turns to head toward the river. He'll even stick to a nice, easy pace as he scans for the perfect fishing spot, all in the hopes that Reim will catch right up on his own; it's why he just, you know, keeps on talking.]

It ain't like it's hard, if that's what you were worryin' about. And you ain't the first person I've had to teach. [A beat as he considers this, actually, before he adds:] The other one was a helluva lot younger, mind you, but I guess that don't matter. Much.

[A five-year-old boy, a fancy rich man... hmm. There are some definite similarities, so hey! He's qualified!]

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highly new, slightly improved open post

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i'm back on my bullshit

the dawning of a new cowboy age

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howdy, partner... haw yee

drops this thread

ouch... my achy breaky heart

i hate this

i will spare you... for now

thanks.....that's merciful

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