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Post by Chørd on Mar 27, 2012 16:27:55 GMT -5
`JAMES For springtime it was remarkably warm, and Private Scott found his head to be roasting away in the leather cap he wore as part of his light infantryman's uniform. Why they weren't up further north where they should be fighting, and keeping cool, he didn't know. Maybe the Jack-Puddings had foreseen some possible attack from the south and instead of finishing off the job at hand in and around the more important colonies, they'd decided to traipse cross-country to start on a new set of orders.
The foraging party, albeit a small one, had spent a while aimlessly wandering across the Virginian countryside. There'd been farms, yes, but they all looked busy and occupied. While the temptation of food from those farms was great, the last thing they wanted was trouble from the landowners who like as not wouldn't take kindly to a pack of redcoats taking their produce.
Finally they stumbled across a farm that looked in good condition, yet deserted. Whether or not the owner was at market, hiding in the farmhouse or had recently died - or worse, run off to join the rebels - was unclear. What was clear though was how much food there was available - abundant crops, evident food storages, and even animals.
The patrol divided itself up to inspect the farm and gather any resources available. James, unloaded musket held ready to smack anyone who may suddenly decide to jump out and surprise him, entered what he guessed to be the back of the farmhouse, where there were a multitude of foods stored - probably ready to go into town to be sold, or eaten by the resident farmer. There were boxes of vegetables and fruit, each of which were scrutinously inspected by James who, upon finding them edible-looking, began to gather some of each produce into his arms - a difficult enough task considering he had to juggle the musket as well as the food.
The adolescent grinned as he noticed cupboards, which showed promise, and went to open them, only to find them locked. He glared at them for a moment, indignant that they wouldn't budge, before dropping the produce in his hands and slamming the butt of his musket into the cupboards and grinning in triumph as the wood gave away.
Flour. All that...for flour?
James turned away in disgust, evidently unhappy with his findings, and instead went to investigate more of the fresher foods in the room, kneeling down to pack his current findings into his knapsack for safekeeping beforehand.
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OOC: I suck at naming threads
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Post by Raeoki on Mar 27, 2012 17:13:48 GMT -5
The sun beat down on the Virginian farmland, settling a golden haze over Oliver's crops. The farmer walked through the rows of corner with a satisfied smile. The Farm was absolute perfection, as it always was and will be. It was his home and sanctuary; the only place that was safe and could be kept safe in a world of harsh realities.
Oliver stepped out of his small field of corn, glancing at a tiny farmhouse that generations of Loofields had considered home. He had been born there, was raised there, and was currently its master, or at least an occupier that liked to think he was its master every now and again. Oliver assumed the latter.
A figure entered his farmhouse, holding what appeared to be a musket like a club. A stone dropped into Oliver's stomach. A hard lump formed in his throat. His heart beat its ribcage bonds, screaming to break out. Oliver scanned his surroundings, spotting other figures moving around, disappearing into buildings and crop fields.
Oliver clenched his shirt, breathing deeply. Questions whizzed about in his head like an angry hornet, with no answers to sting. He let out a small groan, and then rushed towards his farmhouse.
He threw open the door. "Wh-what-" His tongue fell numb.
Oliver stared at a bag of flour that had fallen to the floor from what was its supposedly safe cupboard - but that wasn't the least of his concerns. There stood a British soldier, as uninvited as a rattler, and a hole in his beloved cupboard of flour.
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Post by Chørd on Mar 27, 2012 17:43:31 GMT -5
`JAMES There was certainly abundant food here, enough to keep the redcoats from going hungry for a few a days - if not a week or two, depending on what the others found to add to James's pickings. Combined with a chicken or, if they could even consider getting away with it, a cow, the meals would be more than decent for a while.
James jumped in surprise and whirled around as the door was flung open and swung on it's hinges to slam into the adjacent wall. Out of instinct his musket went into his shoulder, and he pointed it in the direction of the newcomer, his hand moving to cock the weapon despite it having nothing to fire.
Realising the imposter was nothing more than a mere farmer - and a dumbstruck one too, by the look of it - James slowly lowered his musket again, eyeing the stranger suspiciously as if the man might assault him at any moment. Eventually he relaxed, assuming there was little harm the farmer could do him, and that he was therefore not a threat. If he did swing for him, he had a weapon, and the other man did not, which automatically gave him an advantage over the stranger anyway.
"Any more food 'round here?" He asked, snapping out of the train of thoughts he'd gotten list in. Oblivious to any of the damage he'd caused the property during his brief but fruitful raid, he returned to tucking some of the produce into his pack, testing its weight every so often to check he hadn't put so much in it that he'd be unable to carry it.
"This your farm?" James turned to the farmer again, finally noticing the flour bag that had fallen out of the smashed cupboard and spilled its contents onto the floor. He grinned sheepishly, but made no move to apologise. It was just flour, after all.
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Post by Raeoki on Mar 31, 2012 10:31:55 GMT -5
Oliver stood still and stiff as the musket pointed at him, as long and straight and grim as a judge’s finger. Oliver was sure that even his heart didn’t dare to beat, as the redcoat decided whether he should live or die. He held his breath, knowing that it would be his last.
The musket drifted down, pointing at the floorboards. Oliver exhaled out of his mouth, his muscles relaxing in unison. For a split second, the farmer considered converting to Catholicism, but then the suspicious eyes of the soldier bore into him, and all thoughts of religion flew out of his mind. Oliver locked eyes with the soldier, balling his hand into a quivering fist. The redcoat’s eyes softened; Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, feeling himself calm again.
“Any more food ‘round here?”
“Eh?” Oliver’s eyes opened. He glanced down at the bag of flour on the floor, then back to the British solider. The redcoat was stuffing produce into his bag – as if Oliver didn’t matter, as if the Farm didn’t matter. Oliver’s body straightened, staring at the redcoat with a furrowed brow. The soldier wasn’t a friend, but a thief – a thief who had almost put a musket-ball in Oliver’s chest. Oliver glanced up at his broken cupboard; the redcoat was a thief who had put the Farm in danger.
Oliver could see the butt of the musket smashing into the cupboard with his mind’s eyes, could hear the wood smashing, its splinters sprinkling on the ground. The sound of wood breaking came out more like a woman’s screech of agony. Oliver winced. He should have tackled the redcoat the moment he entered; he should have torn the musket out his grimy hands and put a musket-ball in his heart.
The terrible noise of wood snapping replayed, torturing Oliver’s ears as a scream seemed to harmonize with it. This time the scream was ridiculing; blaming him for its troubles, its pain, convicting him of being an uncaring lout who merely shrugged his shoulders as the poor Farm was being bludgeoned to death. Oliver cringed, gnashing his teeth. I’m sorry, I’m sorry!
The British solider spoke up again: “This your farm?”
Oliver glared at him, his eyes dark. “Aye,” he growled, “an' rahtfully so.”
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Post by Chørd on Mar 31, 2012 17:57:33 GMT -5
`JAMES He watched the man with growing curiosity as he seemed to be mentally reprimanding himself. Probably cursing the fact he hadn't used James's earlier surprise to his advantage and disarmed him when he had the chance, no doubt. Not that the musket was of much use, really. He had no intention of loading or firing it - least of all using it against this farmer - so its only real use to him was to use it as a club.
And, judging by the damage done to the cupboards, what a fine club it was.
The eh? he received in response to his question made him smile, and James stood up straight again and pulled his pack onto his shoulder.
"I said: you gots any more food 'round here, 'cept for that meaty lookin' cow you got out there?" He repeated his question slowly, unsure whether the farmer was simply in shock at having his property being raided, or whether he was just simple of mind.
James noticed the farmer glaring at him furiously, his dark gaze surprisingly unnerving when paired with his clenched fists, and he hefted his musket and held it close to him, as if doing so would protect him from any possible harm coming his way.
"Well me 'n the boys are just hungry," he offered the explanation hesitantly, ready in case the other man swung for him. Was shouting for help an option if the man somehow managed to produce a weapon and bludgeon him to within an inch of his life? He looked angry enough to do so.
"We're just takin' a li'l bit of food to keep us from starvin'. Ain't nuffin' wrong with that," he added on, giving a small shrug and moving to leave the small building and head outside again. He stepped around the farmer, who was blocking his way out, making sure he kept his eye on him the whole time in case he got any ideas about trying to wrestle him to the ground and smash his face in, similar to the way James had smashed the cupboard. In all honesty the poor man was badly outnumbered. There were eight redcoats in the foraging party, all armed, and only one of him by the look of things. It was unlikely they'd use force against him though. Wasn't there some sort of military law against killing innocent civilians...as well as stealing from them?
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Post by Raeoki on Apr 1, 2012 1:56:22 GMT -5
Oliver’s dark stare began to lighten as the soldier sheepishly explained. His fists unrolled themselves into a pair of harmless, unthreatening hands that dangled at his sides.
“‘Ungry?” Oliver mumbled. It was a word he wasn’t used to saying; the Farm had always produced food for him, even during winter, when all the stored vegetables were finally put on the dinner plate. But he had often thought about starvation, adding it to one of the many reasons why he dared not to venture far from the Farm.
Oliver glanced at James’s face, noting every detail. His eyes widened; his shoulders slumped. He’s barely a man… The realization was like taking a knife in the gut. Oliver cast his eyes to his boots, digging his fingernails into his white shirt.
The redcoat tried to shuffle past him. Probably thinks I’m still a threat to him, the poor lad, Oliver reasoned, wincing again. Oliver side-stepped out of his way, a loose floorboard letting out an obnoxious creak as the farmer put his weight on it. Oliver flinched, the creak mixing in with the voice of a reprimanding female in Oliver’s ears, her voice as harsh and painful as a parent slapping her child over the back of the head. But Oliver knew he deserved the rebuke, for putting some little thief who was probably lying about how hungry he “and the lads” were before the Farm. Oliver swallowed down a lump in his throat. The Farm always came first, no matter what the price. His hand lashed out for the bag, trying to take hold of it and tear it off of the boy’s shoulder.
In that moment, he realized how much he hated himself.
(ooc: Terrible post is terrible! D:< And Ollie’s not gonna go all suicidal and stuff after this. He’s just really confuzzled at the moment.
…You know it’s bad when you feel like you need to explain a character’s reasoning. >___> But it's almost two in the morning and I'm tired and all that jazz...*facedesks*)
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Post by Chørd on Apr 1, 2012 11:41:17 GMT -5
`JAMES He frowned as he noticed the farmer flinch. Was it because the floorboards were squeaking, or was it something James had done? The teenager's brow furrowed in confusion. What a strange man.
At least he was letting him out though. The last thing he wanted was trouble, least of all if the sergeant had to come and bail him out. He didn't want him screaming in his ear for the rest of the afternoon for upsetting the locals.
Let them be upset, James thought, his nose wrinkling in disgust. If they wanted to kick up a fuss over whatever it was they were rebelling against, then they'd pay the price. That's how things worked in England...or at least, that's how he assumed things worked back in England, giving that he'd spent hardly any time there.
He was jerked out of his daydream when he felt the farmer grab for his pack. So he wanted to pick a fight, did he?
"Ge' off it!" He yelled, loud enough to rival a sergeant's parade-ground voice. There wasn't enough room in the doorway for him to swing his musket - or even lift it and aim it. He tried to yank his pack free, to no avail. How dare a farmer try and steal his belongings? His cap was in there, and his knife, and what was left of breakfast. It was of no use to him, save for the fact it had the man's vegetables in it. "Finders keepers!" He shouted the protest at the same volume as before, hoping his yelling would be enough to make the farmer let go. He didn't want to resort to violence, but if this man kept getting in his way then he'd have no choice but to.
He lurched forwards out the door to try and tear the man's hands off of him. Maybe he should have just gone with the other men. The chickens would have put up less of a struggle, no doubt, and eating them would be far more satisfying than sitting down to a meal of vegetables.
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OOC: It's fine! xD
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Post by Raeoki on Apr 6, 2012 17:33:26 GMT -5
(ooc: Thanks.  ) The young fellow screeched at Oliver like a drill sergeant. The farmer narrowed his eyes, a sudden stubbornness coursing through him as the pang of dehumanization and disrespect stabbed at him. Oliver wasn’t a subordinate, nor was he a soldier of any sort. True, he was a civilian, but did that mean the private had a right boss him around, and to steal from his farm? Oliver wrinkled his nose. “ You git offa it, yah damn brat!” he barked. “Those veggibles 'r' mahn, yah ‘ear?!” I’m being selfish, Oliver realized with a slight wince. He was thinking about himself, not the most important thing in his life: the Farm. The lad wasn’t just treating Oliver like some insubordinate subordinate – he was treating the Farm like one, too. The Farm was paying a harsher price for this experience than Oliver was. The redcoat was stealing the Farm’s produce, not Oliver’s; it was the Farm’s cupboard the soldier had broken, not his. It was the Farm Oliver should be worried about, not himself and his insignificant feelings; he could harbor those once the Farm was safe again. “Finders keepers!” barked the soldier, lurching out the door. “ Quiet!” Oliver snapped back, yanking at the strap. There was a ripping noise; the part of the strap in Oliver’s hands snapped. The farmer’s body lurched backward. Oliver grunted as he collapsed, sprawling flat on his back, his right hand still clenching the strap. (ooc: Sorry that you had to wait.  ) |
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Post by Chørd on Apr 15, 2012 3:43:13 GMT -5
`JAMES James turned his head to glare indignantly at the farmer. Brat. He had the audacity to call him a brat?
"I'm not a brat!" He snapped back hotly, lurching forwards again. It would be easier to just shrug off the pack and whilst the farmer was busy relishing his small victory, slam his musket butt down on his foot. He didn't care if he broke a toe or two, so long as he got his belongings back. "An' that packs mine!" He argued, yanking on the strap that the farmer had a hold of. He should have made to shoot him while he had the chance!
As he was told to be quiet, James felt his cheeks burning angrily. How dare he talk to him like he was some misbehaving child? That...that was an insult to his masculinity!
"You le' my p-!" His shout was cut short as the strap broke, coming away in the farmer's hand, and he fell forwards out the door, landing awkwardly on his musket. He inhaled sharply as he felt a pain in his hip where it had connected with the weapon.
He propped himself up on all foors, glaring around him in momentary bewilderment before he saw his damage pack on the floor and grabbed it, holding it close to him to prevent the farmer - also lying in a heap - from taking it from him.
"Look wha' you've done!" He screamed indignantly at him. "I'm gonna have t' fix that!"
If the others in his party hadn't heard the scuffle by now, he doubted they ever would. He stood up, grabbing his musket as he drew himself up to his full, considerable height. He cocked the weapon, despite it not being loaded, and lifted it into his shoulder, pointing the muzzle directly at the farmer. Perhaps he could scare him into letting him get away? That, or make such a drama out of it he would sympathise with him and let him off.
He stared at the farmer's face, waiting until his angry panting subsided before he spoke again. Theatrical way out is was.
"I don' think y' understand, Mistah," he growled. "I 'ave to 'ave this 'ere food, as if I don', I'm in fer a floggin'."
The lie was coming along easily. He just hoped it would be convincing enough to persuade the farmer into stop kicking up such a fuss. It was only vegetables, after all, and it wasn't like he didn't have enough already.
"If'n I don' get this food, the off'cers'll 'ave the skin of me back," he continued, never once lowering his musket. "An' me step-fath'r, the corp'ral, 'e threatened to beat me and me Ma if I don' give 'im some food sharpish."
He lowered his musket's muzzle an inch or so, so instead of pointing it at the other man's head it was pointing at his chest. He waited for a long moment, willing himself to cry and almost smiling in triumph when he felt a tear finally snake its way down his dirty cheek. "I can't take anoth'r beatin', Mistah."
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OOC: I'm sorry you had to wait 
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Post by Raeoki on Jun 10, 2012 1:34:10 GMT -5
(ooc: OH MY GOSH I AM SO SORRY!!! Dx I didn’t mean to die like that, really. I’ll see to it that it never happens again! DDD: )
BIC: Oliver lifted his head off the wooden floor, squeezing his eyes closed. His hand drifted to the back of his smarting skull, his fingertips brushing against a large welt given to him by the hard, wooden floorboards. Oliver wrinkled his nose slightly, a small grunt escaping from his throat.
He opened his eyes, just as the British soldier shoved a cold, menacing tube of metal in his face. Oliver paused to stare at it for a moment, his eyes glazing over, before suddenly alighting with realization and terror. The farmer’s head jerked back, almost slamming against the floor again. Oliver gritted his teeth, his chest heaving up and down with each rapid breath as he awaited death.
To his surprise, a musket ball didn’t come bursting out of the barrel and into his brain. The redcoat spoke in a rough, husky voice, filled with dread and misery. Oliver’s eyes flickered off the musket and onto his face, the farmer’s harsh pants slowing down as he listened to the poor lad’s tale. The terror in Oliver’s eyes melted into sympathy, becoming softer and softer with each depressing word.
As the boy finished up his tale of woe, the musket drifted down, hovering over Oliver’s chest. The farmer’s hand flew to his heart, covering up the precious organ. Oliver swallowed down a lump in his throat. “L-listen, p-please,” he stammered, “g-go on ahead and take the bag, i-if it’ll ‘elp yew and yer ma.” Oliver nodded his head vigorously. “I-I’m sorry f-fer the trouble.”
Oliver curled his hand into a fist. “A-and if yeh need any more help, j-just tell me.” He shook his head. “I-I won’t let ‘em touch yew and yer ma. I-I can promise yeh that.”
His eyes drifted down to the musket – the same musket that did harm to his beloved Farm. Oliver tensed, wincing as he readied himself for the Farm to screech at him for being weak, for letting the boy get to him, for not protecting his personal utopia. Oliver paused, holding his breath.
Merely silence came. There was no harsh growl that harmonized with the snapping of wood; just the relaxing drone of silence. Oliver’s muscles relaxed, and he exhaled a sigh of relief.
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Post by Chørd on Jun 10, 2012 3:40:44 GMT -5
`JAMES Oh, this was too easy. Though James had to admit, he was surprised the farmer had taken the bait. He must have had no idea about life in the army, if he thought a young soldier would be flogged for not bringing back food. He'd be yelled at, no doubt, but flogging was reserved for the real crimes. Thieving, raping, pillaging, murder and desertion. Though of course a hanging or a shooting could be an answer to all of those as well.
He managed to bite back a smile when he saw the look on the farmer's face. It was a mixture of fear and...well, sympathy he supposed. It wasn't a look he got often, that was for sure, so it probably was some emotion along those lines.
He finally set his gun down at his side, leaning on it lightly to take some of the weight off of his aching hip.
"Much 'bliged to yuh, Mistah," he nodded when the man said he could take his pack. He had planned on taking that with or without the farmer's permission anyway, but it was nice that they could finally see eye to eye.
But oh, how sweet. He was now assuring him no harm would come to him or his mother. It almost made James feel guilty for lying to the poor man, given that he seemed so moved by his little sob story. In truth, if his step father wanted to beat his Ma, there wasn't much he could do about it. He outranked James, and it would be the silly woman's fault for marrying the man in the first place if she wound up with a few bruises. That and she never cared much for son, so why should he care for her?
Still, he was certain he could milk this further, and was adamant he was going to try to do so.
"You got any meat?" He asked, bending down to pick up his pack and sling it over one shoulder. "Or alcohol? The officahs love a bit o' beef an' wine in the ev'nings, so they do. I'll be sure to be in their good books fer a while, if'n I was to come back with a bit o' that. Keep my back clean o' stripes fer a while, that."
He also was partial to a bit beef and wine himself, but he wasn't about to let the farmer in on that. What the poor man didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Besides, if the officers wanted beef and wine they could bloody well buy it themselves. They certainly weren't short of money - not in comparison to the men in the ranks, anyway.
James held out a hand for the farmer with the intention of pulling him to his feet. "C'mon," he urged him, hoping that he would have meat and alcohol to spare for him. He'd hate to have to resort to force to get some, especially as the farmer had been somewhat cooperative so far. "You gotta name?"
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OOC: No worries, it's good to have you back. ^_^
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Post by Raeoki on Jun 11, 2012 2:27:07 GMT -5
Oliver felt his heart slow to a more comfortable pace as the boy lowered his weapon, obviously grateful for the farmer’s mercy. Oliver closed his eyes for a moment, quelling the fear that had frazzled his brain. Everythin’s fine. I ain’t gonna die today. Good. No, it’s great. Great!
Terror’s leave permitted pity to conquer the rest of Oliver’s heart, making it wrench and soften for the poor boy and his mother every time the farmer glanced up at James’s face. The corner of his mouth lifted, forming a gentle, reassuring smile. The Farm was forgotten; all Oliver could think about was giving aid to a mother and her son.
“You got any meat? Or alcohol?”
“Meat?” Oliver echoed. He rested his hand on a wooden plank, and gave his body a small push upward. His palm pressed down on the floorboard, which let out a faint creak with the added weight.
A practically inaudible voice hissed in his ears. “TRAIT-”
Oliver sucked in a sharp breath, falling back down immediately. His heart beat rapidly, pounding harsher than it had when the boy pointed his musket at Oliver just a few moments ago. Oliver clawed at his chest as a hideous realization barreled into him, paining him more than a hard punch to the gut ever would.
Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. The Farm wasn’t just furious with Oliver; it hated him now.
Panic flooded Oliver’s mind. The Farm! How could he forget his duty to his personal utopia? How could he abandon it, only caring about a pair of total strangers: a brat with mucus dripping down his nose, and a “Ma” whom Oliver had never met nor seen.
Oliver squeezed his eyes close. Fool. Y’ damn fool! Now look what y’ev done!
“C’mon.” Oliver opened his eyes. The soldier extended his hand towards the farmer. Oliver blinked slowly, his muscles tensing. He was half-tempted to say, “T’ Hell with ye,” just to please the Farm. His gaze drifted up to the boy’s face, his heart immediately twisting itself with sympathy. Oliver lifted his hand up slowly, quivering slightly as what felt like a heavy piece of ice fell into his gut. The farmer squeezed the redcoat’s hand firmly, and allowed the boy to help him to his feet.
The boy asked for his name. “Ol’ver,” Oliver grunted. He turned around, balling his hands into fists. “I-I got some beef stored away somewheres. I c-can’t help you find any alcohol, though. ‘Ve always preferred water.”
He hurried over to the corner of his farmhouse, every footfall making an obnoxious creak. “HATE. YOU. TRAITOR. HATE. YOU. TRAITOR.” Oliver winced, clutching at his stomach as if someone had gutted him.
Oliver glanced down at a barrel of salted meats. He knew that the barrel didn’t have much in it by just looking at it; Oliver always felt a little nervous when he killed animals, and even more so when going off to town to buy some. Sighing, Oliver tipped the barrel over and began to roll it towards the soldier, hoping it would be enough to please his officers.
(ooc: Ugh, sorry, this post's kinda lame. Dx )
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Post by Chørd on Jun 11, 2012 10:20:34 GMT -5
`JAMES It was surprisingly entertaining to watch all the expressions that flashed across the farmer's face. One minute it was terror, the next pity and sympathy, and then something along the lines of panic, with underlying anger. For a moment James wondered if the farmer had realised he was being played for a fool, as surely the adolescent had given him no cause for alarm - unless he thought that his outstretched hand was some sort of threat to him.
He was about to return his hand to his side when it looked like his offer to help the man to his feet was going to be rejected. But, the farmer relented after what seemed like some sort of internal conflict, gripping tightly to James's hand as the boy hoisted him to his feet with ease.
"Ol'ver," he repeated the name, then offered this 'Oliver' a broad, friendly grin. "M' name's Scotte. James Scotte, bu' you c'n call me Jemmy, if you likes."
He tried not to look disheartened when his beloved alcohol seemed to be out of the equation for today. Still, he would have his beef. That was good enough for him. Maybe he could trade a scrap with another soldier in return for some grog...though that depended on the quality of the meat, of course.
He followed Oliver across to the farmhouse, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of disturbance around him. If the other men in the party were starting to head back, it was probably be best he started leaving too, in the same way it was best he legged it if there was any possibility of there being rebels amongst the trees.
"I'll 'ave a place like this some day, Mistah, jus' you watch," he told the farmer, who no doubt probably didn't give a damn for a young redcoat's ambitions. Nevertheless, James was planning on enlightening him anyway. "I'll 'ave meself a wife, so I will, an' she'll love me. Keep me bed warm fer me, like." He paused for a moment, one eyebrow raised. "You gots yourself a fam'ly, Mistah?"
If he did have children and a wife, he could understand why he would seem so touched by his little lie. If he could imagine his own wife and sons struggling to survive with the threat of beatings and death on their doorsteps, then that could explain why he was willing to help a stranger. He didn't have to help after all, though perhaps he'd worked out by now that James would take what he wanted whether it was given to him or not.
As a barrel was tipped over and rolled towards him, he stopped it in its tracks with his foot, opened the top of the barrel and began to pack some of the meat into his pack, which was already full. He had no need of a barrel, nor all of the meat inside of it, so that at least the farmer could keep.
"I wouldn' of shot yuh, Mistah Ol'ver," he assured the farmer, grinning up at him as he continued to try and cram as much food into the knapsack as possible. "D'you see any cartridges on me?" He stopped his packing to spread his arms wide, pulling his coat aside slightly to give Oliver a good look at his waist, which was also free of weapons. "Can't load a gun without cartridges, can yeh?"
He stood up, satisfied he'd stuffed all that he could into his pack, which looked fit to burst. The vegetables he'd gladly share out, but the meat...that was his. He'd made sure to shove it to the bottom of his pack, too, just so there was less of a chance of his catch being found.
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Post by Raeoki on Jun 15, 2012 0:18:54 GMT -5
(ooc: Ugh, sorry for the wait.)
BIC: Oliver hadn’t realized that Jimmy was speaking until the barrel was slowly rolling over to the young lad. Oliver was only able to pick up: “…you gots yourself a fam’ly, Mistah?”
The farmer fidgeted. Had Jimmy been talking all this time? Oliver cringed as he realized how rude he was being, if that was the case and Oliver hadn’t been paying attention to Jimmy at all. He deliberated apologizing to Jimmy, but decided not to, in case the boy had just piped up at that moment.
Oliver let his mind wander onto Jimmy’s question. “Ah, well,” he mumbled, and faltered. His parents were both dead, so no point in mentioning them. He had always imagined the Farm as being like a relative, but in its current mood, Oliver doubted that the Farm would agree with him. “I-I guess I don’t,” he continued, loneliness suddenly crashing into him like a tidal wave. Oliver grimaced.
"I wouldn' of shot yuh, Mistah Ol'ver," Jimmy informed him, smiling up at the farmer.
Oliver blinked slowly. “Wut?”
Jimmy obliged in opening up his coat a little for Oliver. The corners of Oliver’s lips twitched a little, forming a weak smile. “O-oh,” he stammered.
"Can't load a gun without cartridges, can yeh?"
Oliver let out a weak laugh. “N-no, guess yeh can’t.” He turned away from Jimmy, his weak smile still on his face. “Rather silly tah think otherwise,” he mumbled, more to himself than to Jimmy, his hand drifting over to the scratch the back of his head.
His hand halted suddenly, hovering over his shoulder. Oliver’s gaze meandered over to the broken cupboard, a lump forming in his throat.
“You couldn’t fight off a little boy? A little, HARMLESS BOY?”
Oliver sucked in a sharp breath. It seemed he was past the point of no redemption now; the Farm wanted him gone, and it wanted him gone now – or at least, his rotting carcass sprawled across the floorboards of the farmhouse. The lump in his throat grew. It was the first time had ever feared the Farm, as its fury seemed to weigh down his chest like a boulder.
He needed to go, but where? Oliver eyes flickered about in random directions as his mind fought for answers. He glanced at Jimmy, then down at his boots, his forehead creasing. “So, erm, how long will you be stayin’ ‘round ‘ere?” Oliver asked, just for the sake of small talk. His mind soon wandered back to his dilemma, no longer heeding Jimmy’s presence.
Perhaps I could make a livin’ in town…erm, but that sounds expensive…s’pose I could sell my animals and try to find a job or somethin’…then again, it ain’t like I know ‘ow tah do anythin’ besides farmin’…all the other farmers ‘round ‘ere don’ seem tah need anybody like me…An’ there’s no chance in ‘eaven I’ll make it in those woods…
Oliver sucked in a deep breath, and sighed deeply. “Eeergh...”
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Post by Chørd on Jun 15, 2012 10:25:08 GMT -5
`JAMES Poor bugger must have been quite lonely then, without a family to keep him company. It made James feel almost sorry for him, given that he himself had quite a large 'family'. At the same time, though, it made him feel relieved that he wasn't stealing from a man who perhaps had young children to support. Yes, it was survival of the fittest, but stealing from little tykes was hardly justifiable, was it?
He returned Oliver's smile, relieved that the farmer hadn't taken advantage of the news he wasn't under threat. It was perhaps a silly thing to reveal to the man, but the party was not completely without ammunition - they'd merely left it with a guard whilst ransacking the farm to avoid any guns going off unintentionally or any unnecessary damage being done.
"Ain't silly," James corrected him. "It's good t'be cautious, ain't it? If yuh let yuh guard down, yuh could wind up with a lead ball in yer stomach, couldn't yeh? Besides, if I 'ad ammoonishon on me, I'd 'ave shot yuh, Mistah, without a doubt I would'a."
At the farmer's question he shrugged, adjusting the pack on his shoulder. He'd have liked to have done a bit of personal exploring of the farmhouse if this Oliver hadn't shown up but, alas, things had played out like they had and he wouldn't be able to. All the better for the farmer though, if he didn't want any of his more valuable possessions being 'mislaid'.
"Pro'ly start 'eadin' back now, I should," he answered after thinking about it for a while, frowning when his temporary companion made some sort of guttural noise.
"You a'righ', Mistah?" He asked, one eyebrow raised, before turning away and not waiting for an answer. He headed back out away from the farmhouse, smirking when he spotted another of his party emerging as well. Did Oliver know there were others raiding his property? Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. If he did know he certainly hadn't hinted at it to James.
As he approached the other soldier, a proud, smug smile on his face, he set his pack down on the ground with a heavy thump.
"Like shootin' fish in a barrel," he commented. "Got me lotsa vegetables, so I 'ave. Stupid beggar farmer didn' 'ave a clue 'e was bein' made a fool of. Jus' gave me the food, 'e did."
His messmate huffed in amusement, nudging the pack with the toe of his shoe. "'Ow?"
"Told 'im I'd be flogged if I brought back no food, didn' I? Silly bastard fell for it an' gave up 'is stuff, jus' like tha'! Even promised to protect me an' me Ma," his broad grin was almost wide enough to split his face, and as he gathered up his pack again he felt pride wash over him from his success. Oh, just wait until the others at camp heard about this...he'd be a hero for the day, no doubt.
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