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He was just like his father.
Even whilst using the evening to settle down after a long day of planning their next and hopefully final attack on the Ranchers, Eddie would still sit, deeply immersed in thought. A brain like cog works, mechanically going through each and every step with such precision and he was certain that Bluestem would not come out of this victorious.
He lounged on the couch in the living room, feet resting against the edge of the table as he propped his acoustic guitar on his lap. Fingers worked across the strings, a laid-back and mellow blues riff sounding across the room. It was no secret that Eddie enjoyed the blues, especially the songs with impressive solos on the guitars. He was by no means a musical man, but instead this was one of the few hobbies that he actually enjoyed to pass the time.
But, his mind was busy. Eventually, with one sharp strum, Eddie then rested his hand on the body of the guitar, eyes gazing over distantly into the crackling fire in the fireplace. His eyes were made for war, this was what Alfred had raised him to do, and yet his heart slammed with uncertainty in his chest. He missed his children, he missed Henry and Ida, he missed his dear Maxine, the woman he’d propose to once this war was over. And, even whilst the war was all he knew — wars in his family, wars against his family, wars forever in his head — this one made him feel uneasy. The ranchers played dirty, and Eddie had lost so much to them.
Slowly, his head lowered to stare down at his lap, head slowly nodding as he was clearly in his own world of thought. Alfonso should have been sitting on the armchair opposite him, jesting and cheering Eddie on until Eddie would eventually crack a smile. The insistence for Eddie to play him Wonderwall, the only damn song Alfie would request persistently. Eddie lifted his head to stare across at the armchair, as if expecting to meet the gaze of his older brother shifting around energetically on that seat, singing along without a care in a world. Eddie missed him. He missed him a lot.
Shoulders slowly slumped. Eddie had lost far too much in this war. Instead of fond memories of the brother that never failed to bring Eddie joy when he otherwise spent everyday silently suffering from his own mind, he instead would remember the couple dozen stab wounds the Ranchers left in Alfie that fateful day. Eddie’s face twitched, otherwise stoic as he slowly returned to playing the guitar. One day, he’d seek justice for him. It would never bring him back, but perhaps it could bring Eddie some peace.
He was just like his father.
Even whilst using the evening to settle down after a long day of planning their next and hopefully final attack on the Ranchers, Eddie would still sit, deeply immersed in thought. A brain like cog works, mechanically going through each and every step with such precision and he was certain that Bluestem would not come out of this victorious.
He lounged on the couch in the living room, feet resting against the edge of the table as he propped his acoustic guitar on his lap. Fingers worked across the strings, a laid-back and mellow blues riff sounding across the room. It was no secret that Eddie enjoyed the blues, especially the songs with impressive solos on the guitars. He was by no means a musical man, but instead this was one of the few hobbies that he actually enjoyed to pass the time.
But, his mind was busy. Eventually, with one sharp strum, Eddie then rested his hand on the body of the guitar, eyes gazing over distantly into the crackling fire in the fireplace. His eyes were made for war, this was what Alfred had raised him to do, and yet his heart slammed with uncertainty in his chest. He missed his children, he missed Henry and Ida, he missed his dear Maxine, the woman he’d propose to once this war was over. And, even whilst the war was all he knew — wars in his family, wars against his family, wars forever in his head — this one made him feel uneasy. The ranchers played dirty, and Eddie had lost so much to them.
Slowly, his head lowered to stare down at his lap, head slowly nodding as he was clearly in his own world of thought. Alfonso should have been sitting on the armchair opposite him, jesting and cheering Eddie on until Eddie would eventually crack a smile. The insistence for Eddie to play him Wonderwall, the only damn song Alfie would request persistently. Eddie lifted his head to stare across at the armchair, as if expecting to meet the gaze of his older brother shifting around energetically on that seat, singing along without a care in a world. Eddie missed him. He missed him a lot.
Shoulders slowly slumped. Eddie had lost far too much in this war. Instead of fond memories of the brother that never failed to bring Eddie joy when he otherwise spent everyday silently suffering from his own mind, he instead would remember the couple dozen stab wounds the Ranchers left in Alfie that fateful day. Eddie’s face twitched, otherwise stoic as he slowly returned to playing the guitar. One day, he’d seek justice for him. It would never bring him back, but perhaps it could bring Eddie some peace.
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I'M OUT OF MY MIND, REPLAYING THE SCENE