07-04-2018, 10:43 PM
(This post was last modified: 07-05-2018, 07:11 PM by RIDLEY â€â€.)
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"]There's something comforting about silence broken only by the crunching of boots through snow and the chatter of birds fluttering through the trees. Ridley hasn't opened his mouth in over an hour, and neither has a certain prisoner that he'd agreed to travel withâ€â€or, at least, Conary has found it in himself to stay quiet when it's convenient for Ridley, who's currently rather stressed about finding somewhere to sleep before night falls and it gets too cold to survive without fire. The other man hasn't complained about the snow and cold much, and for that he's grateful, because they unfortunately have nowhere to go other than further into the bitterness. Ridley holds a map of the surrounding area in trembling hands, and as he runs his eyes over their current route, he's positive there's nowhere else to go. The closest civilization to the prison they'd both escaped had been a small town nestled into the mountains, tucked away from the eyes of anyone without a map. If they want shelter from the wind, this is the closest place to get it, and he's determined to find this place for that reason. He's not going to drag he and Conary all the way out here only to die before they get to their destination. So, folding up his map back into a square and tucking it into one of his pockets, he breathes out, continuing to walk despite how much his legs are shaking, running his hands over the trees around him to steady himself. He realizes though that he should probably check on Conary to make sure that he's still alrightâ€â€it's been a while, after all.
As he lightly drags a gloved hand over the bark of a thin tree, he casts a brief glance over the guitar hanging at his shoulder, gunmetal blue eyes lingering on the younger man following him. In high contrast to his own complete set of black-washed clothing, Conary is unpleasantly dressed in a white tank top, layered over by a bright orange prison jumpsuit. He's not at all kind on the eyes, especially not while he's surrounded by a thin layer of bright white snow, and after a moment, Ridley has to look away, though he's comforted that he hasn't keeled over and died yet. He instead focuses on some point in the distance, squinting slightly to try and make out what he's looking at. After a few moments, he stops in his tracks, furrowing thick eyebrows as he merely stares at what he's seen, a look of interest clear in his facial features. "There's smoke, Conary," the man says after a moment, and he pulls his leather jacket slightly tighter around his shoulders, glancing back at the escaped prisoner yet again. True to his word, smoke does seem to billow out from behind a mass of trees in a controlled pillar that clearly spells out a fireplace. Ridley isn't sure if he should see this fire as good or bad, though. The town has proven to already be occupied, so it's a coinflipâ€â€one side is shelter, food, and friendliness, while the other is a group of dangerous criminals who could very easily attack if they get too close. A hand rests on the gun at his hip, but he hesitates before he draws it, as if he's not certain if he wants to hold it. Eventually he does pull it out of its holder, though, and he glances back at his companion, running his free hand through his hair to rid himself of any fallen snow. "This is what we've come for. If they're dangerous, shoot them."
As he lightly drags a gloved hand over the bark of a thin tree, he casts a brief glance over the guitar hanging at his shoulder, gunmetal blue eyes lingering on the younger man following him. In high contrast to his own complete set of black-washed clothing, Conary is unpleasantly dressed in a white tank top, layered over by a bright orange prison jumpsuit. He's not at all kind on the eyes, especially not while he's surrounded by a thin layer of bright white snow, and after a moment, Ridley has to look away, though he's comforted that he hasn't keeled over and died yet. He instead focuses on some point in the distance, squinting slightly to try and make out what he's looking at. After a few moments, he stops in his tracks, furrowing thick eyebrows as he merely stares at what he's seen, a look of interest clear in his facial features. "There's smoke, Conary," the man says after a moment, and he pulls his leather jacket slightly tighter around his shoulders, glancing back at the escaped prisoner yet again. True to his word, smoke does seem to billow out from behind a mass of trees in a controlled pillar that clearly spells out a fireplace. Ridley isn't sure if he should see this fire as good or bad, though. The town has proven to already be occupied, so it's a coinflipâ€â€one side is shelter, food, and friendliness, while the other is a group of dangerous criminals who could very easily attack if they get too close. A hand rests on the gun at his hip, but he hesitates before he draws it, as if he's not certain if he wants to hold it. Eventually he does pull it out of its holder, though, and he glances back at his companion, running his free hand through his hair to rid himself of any fallen snow. "This is what we've come for. If they're dangerous, shoot them."
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AND HIS MIND IS A BEACON IN THE VEIL OF THE NIGHT
[align=center]FOR A STRANGE KIND OF FASHION, THERE'S A WRONG AND A RIGHT | [abbr=listen to this on 1.25x playback for a good time]SONG[/abbr]. [abbr=message for major plots ; nothing about drugs, please]INFORMATION[/abbr].
WANDERER OF ALL GROUPS & NO LOYALTY | ❪ BUT HE'LL NEVER, NEVER FIGHT OVER YOU ❫
WANDERER OF ALL GROUPS & NO LOYALTY | ❪ BUT HE'LL NEVER, NEVER FIGHT OVER YOU ❫