[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 7.3pt; color: #333; line-height: 1.5; letter-spacing: 0.5px; word-spading: 3px; width: 400px"] beatrice wasn't usually one to make impulsive decisions.
no, impulse was scary. impulse had risks that— if were to happen— she couldn't take back. but that night she did, her head a little haywire from that fancy wine that eddie provided for them , heart racing from the kiss she'd planted not even an hour before. what had she been thinking? it was easy to say she wasn't. she didn't drink often in fear of the fool it'd make her out to be, as all of these emotions made her foolish enough. now those emotions were out on the table. she couldn't face eddie. and as supposedly her friend, she couldn't face max. she'd overwelcomed her stay, anyway. she should have left months ago, when she'd first heard that there was a chance that michael ford was somewhere out west with a group called badlands. she was not even remotely close to him, and she's afraid that if she waits any longer, he'd move on or worse.
she didn't want to think about worse.
the trip there was rough. if she's kept track of time correctly, she and her beloved mare, poppy, have been trekking for just over a week with barely except to eat and rest. poppy is good company, but she isn't sure if her presence is enough to fill the hole in bea's chest. it's enough to make her wonder if the decision she made was a bad one. traveling alone was a dangerous one , and had she told eddie she was leaving the lodge , he'd had sent someone to accompany her no questions asked , but she knew she couldn't go back now. she knew that they'd already know she was gone, and she didn't want to have to explain herself to them. and maybe this was for the best, she thinks. she could move on from those feelings that plagued her and eddie could be happy with max without the guilt that followed, knowing one of his closest friends had feelings for him all along. he gets his happy ending, and if michael foster is here, she gets hers.
well, kinda. jury is still out.
she tastes the salt on tongue , the warmer weather allowing her to strip from her heavy jacket and she knows that she's close. finally she thinks with relief. now hopefully there's a patrol around here. if she was in the right place, that was. poppy gives an apprehensive snort as she treads forward. beatrice feels guilty for even making her travel out this far. she was used to being a patrol horse at most. who knows how long it'd been, if at all, that she made a trip like this? but beatrice knew she couldn't do this trip without her. [size=9pt]"just a little further, girl." she comforts, stroking the horse's mane before tugging at the reigns. the horse halts, and beatrice dismantles her, before proceeding to grab on the reigns to lead her. if they were close, she wanted to make sure she looked harmless. still, she has the rifle strapped to her back just in case.
[align=center][I]the more that you say, the less I know —
[align=center] "Wow, that's one freakishly huge Dalmation." Comes the comment, casual in nature. A black-haired man appears, stopping in his tracks to get a good look at the spotted mare. Of course Mutt knows that it's a horse, though he has never seen one with that pattern before. They're usually bland, of the tan and black variety with hardly any markings to offer. This mare, though, is a sight to behold.
Now that Mutt has made his presence known, his gaze fixes onto the woman. She is unfamiliar to him, and albeit he's new around town he isn't stupid. He knows that she isn't a local and can especially tell because she appears uncertain and wary of her surroundings. Mutt wouldn't give her a hard time. He wasn't like those other stone-faced henchmen with sticks shoved way too far up their asses. Hell, he could hardly say that he was even loyal to the Badlands.
Without further ado, the young man moves on to say, "You two look a little lost." Mutt doesn't say anything more. Surely this girl knows the standard protocol for showing up on another group's border; he didn't feel like giving the run-of-the-mill "name and business" spiel. She could speak for herself.
[align=center] " BOULEVARD OF BROKEN DREAMS "
[i]— mutt . prospective of the badlands . click for storage
text SALEM ENTRY #01 8.15.16 BL ENFORCER [div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 333px; min-height: 347px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; font-family: georgia; font-size: 7pt; color: #000000; line-height: 99%;"]"Woah..." Salem couldn't help but gasp as she approached the two. Mutt clearly had the situation under control: there was no real reason for her to approach. But yet...when she saw the horse, she was astounded. She'd never seen a creature like it before, so big and strong, yet so delicate and pretty.
"That's a dalmation?" Salem wrinkled her nose at Mutt in disbelief. She hadn't the slightest ideas what horses were, but she was eager to find out. VITALS > overall status: 100%
> physical status: stable.
> physical health: 100%
> physical afflictions: none yet.
> minor injuries: none yet.
> major injuries: none yet.
> mental status: stable.
> current status: stable.
> mental health: 100%
> mental illnesses: None
> mental damage: None TAGS ━ ━xGENERAL
> Elisa Barone | "Salem"
> Female
> 23
━ ━xAPPEARANCE
>Human
> Dark brown hair that varies in shade, pale, blue green eyes.
> Carries at least 2 cigars at a time, a small handgun, and a small switchblade.
> tall, lanky and a bit awkward physically.
>
━ ━xABILITIES
> N/A
> N/A
━ ━xCONFRONTATION
> Easy physically | easy/medium mentally
> non-violent power-play allowed
> no kill | request maim/capture
> ask to attack in bolded, underlined and italicized black
━ ━xRELATIONSHIPS
> Lionel King x Melissa Barone
> Half brother Rafe
> Half niece Gigi
> Cat Chrisanthymum "Chrissy"
>Bisexual | no crush
>
━ ━xOTHER
> this text + this color = this meaning I'VE COME TOO FAR TO SEE THE END NOW ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ even if my way is wrong
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 7.3pt; color: #333; line-height: 1.5; letter-spacing: 0.5px; word-spading: 3px; width: 400px"]""wow, that's one freakishly huge dalmation."
the voice seemingly comes from the woodworks, opposite from where she stood. beatrice doesn't have to turn too much to find the voice. he strolls coolly stopping short of her. his doesn't seem threatening. there isn't a weapon in his hand. his stance is casual with a tone to match. of course, that doesn't always mean that someone isn't threatening, but beatrice has yet to properly learn that, nor could one be too sure she ever would. she only saw the best in people, had trouble delving beyond the layers that were presented to her. if he happened to have ill intentions, beatrice is quick to miss the warning signs.
[size=9pt]"no, not a dalmation um-" dalmations were dogs right? she hadn't seen one in real life, but she reads many books, and has come across ones that educated one on different dog breeds. not many words, but she thinks she remembers seeing the picture of a dalmation. . . hence the joke. right , it was a joke. the woman who joins his side seems to bounce off of that, and beatrice doesn't want to seem as if she's out of loop. social cues could be hard sometimes, even harder when you haven't anything social in a few weeks. [size=9pt]"oh jokes, right." she laughs through gritted teeth. [size=9pt]"this is poppy." she reaches up to give the horse a quick introductory pat.
she's a little relieved when the conversation switches course , allowing her to ask questions that needed to be answered. she couldn't get too comfortable , not yet. just because she thought she was where she thought she should be, doesn't mean that she was right. sometimes people were people , but two didn't mean a whole group underway. she had to find out if this group was the one she was looking for and better yet, if this group had held her . . . michael.
[size=9pt]"lost is a way to put it ," she says. [size=9pt]"but i'm hoping not anymore . . . i'm hoping i found the right place , i mean." she was making this much longer of an explanation than it needed to be. [size=9pt]"have you guys heard of the badlands , by chance?"
[align=center][I]the more that you say, the less I know —
[align=center] Salem arrives moments after he greets the pair (girl and horse, that is). He doesn't feel the need for backup, really, but it's always nice to have just in case things go south. Mutt spares a glance towards Salem and murmurs a reply, "Tch, it sure looks like one." He still hasn't caught onto the idea that, perhaps, Salem is being serious in her inquiry.
The woman seems friendly, nonthreatening. There's something off, he feels like, but doesn't mention anything. Instead, he makes a wide grin at the introduction of Poppy and laughs, "Aww, Poppy! Is she a friendly horsey?" It was a legitimate question, as he leans forward to get a better look at the mare. He would jump at the opportunity to pet her; he's never been this close to one before.
She next inquires about The Badlands. Oh! What a coincidence. She just so happens to be in the right place. Donning a matter-of-fact smirk, Mutt gently throws his hands up and states, "Well, uh, you're in it." He quirks a brow, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Why? You looking to try your hand at gang life?" Little does he know that this girl has ties here, deeper than he realizes. Had Mutt known, he would have simply stepped aside and let her go about her business. This was still a stranger in his eyes, however, so he was trying to get information out of her in a laid-back and casual manner.
[align=center] " BOULEVARD OF BROKEN DREAMS "
[i]— mutt . prospective of the badlands . click for storage
[align=center] [table] | trigger warnings alcohol, death, lots of blood, profanity, heavy violence, religion.
tags 45 years old, difficult/hard opponent, nonviolent interactions are open, pm or ask for violent interactions.
| [/table] "speech" 'thought' text
Michael, active as ever approached the growing group of people, two of whom he knew, the third, a young woman with a horse had a slightly familiar air about her, but he couldn’t exactly place it, and so dismissed the thought entirely. Instead clenching his jaw slightly and watching the conversation continue.
It would do no good to tell this nice seeming young lady that this was no place for he. It wasn’t his place to interject, and he was relatively sure Teddy would murder him should he continue what the man probably saw as meddling. He wasn’t though, just casual conversations with people some of which he honestly didn’t remember due to his state of incapacitation at the time.
He nodded his head gravely to the young woman and stuck his hands into his worn blue jean pockets. Mike was never going to resemble anything close to a fashion icon, he really just wore whatever was clean and on hand. He shrugged imperceptibly and waited for the young woman to respond to Mutts words, merely a spectator.
[align=center] MICHAEL FORD Michael Ford is a 45 year old, man, he's stubbornly loyal to whatever cause he chooses, protective of his family and friends, he's a member of the Badlands. Michael has issues controlling his anger in most situations. He is a difficult opponent and well trained, feel free to power play nonviolent interactions though.
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 7.3pt; color: #333; line-height: 1.5; letter-spacing: 0.5px; word-spading: 3px; width: 400px"][size=9pt]"she is , actually."
and one of eddie's favorites. beatrice was introduced to her about five months prior when the flintlock leader offered her riding lessons. poppy was only meant to serve as practice, travel, but quickly became more than that. she became therapy. a friend, even. technically, she hadn't been hers. she was the badlands property, used as a rotation for those who didn't have a horse to call their own. beatrice thought about this as she took her away, that night. but she couldn't see not taking her. there was too much shared history between them. and if this was all she had of flintlock, then she was going to hold it close to her.
[size=9pt]"you can pet her in you want." he spoke about poppy the way she did when she first say her; amazed by the horse's unique spotty coat, something she hadn't really seen back at poppa and mama's ranch. to instill the offer further, beatrice beckons the mare forth with a light tug on her reigns and a gentle click of her tongue. the two move forward until she's an appropriate distance from both mutt and salem, her smile indicating that they had her further permission. [size=9pt]"she loves the attention." beatrice can't help but give her lovin' herself. she reaches up to rub her neck, just as mutt confirms what she'd hoped: she was in the badlands.
again , with the half-hearted jokes , right? or that's how she took his inquiry at least.[size=9pt] "no, not really. I was actually looking for someone. not as if the gang life isn't fun - read it in a book once and it sounds glamorous." but books liked to glorify things that weren't meant to be glorified, she read enough post-apocalyptic books to recognize that. she'd push further if, on cue, he arrived. dark hair and tired eyes, he's aged, but not beyond recognition. she'd been enamored with that face since she was a girl, and then sometimes when she was alone at night, she'd glance at the locket and brush her thumb over the picture, praying that one day she'd get to see him again. he wasn't dead, not as her mama had thought. he was here. her daddy.
she could have crumbled to her knees at that moment , but she stayed strong. it was a good thing she did , because one glance at his face and she doesn't see a hint of recognition. it seems as if he almost tries to fade into the background. did she look that different? sometimes when she looked in the mirror, she was annoyed by how not much as changed, but apparently something had. beatrice tries not to feel too disappointed , too upset. it had been a long time , after all. well , she can give him a reminder.
promptly, beatrice's gaze flickers back to mutt, forcing a smile that notably wavers. she's never been good at hiding her emotions. [size=9pt]"my name is beatrice, by the way." she takes a quick glance at michael , praying for that spark.
[align=center][I]the more that you say, the less I know —
[align=center] [table] | trigger warnings alcohol, death, lots of blood, profanity, heavy violence, religion.
tags 47 years old, difficult/hard opponent, nonviolent interactions are open, pm or ask for violent interactions.
| [/table] "speech" 'thought' text
The stockily built man squinted at Beatrice as she spoke, she sounded familiar, seemed familiar, was familiar, and yet he couldn't quite place it. If it was twenty years ago, he might have thought she was Lizzy, but it wasn't twenty years ago. It was the present, he blinked and looked at her in a scrutinizing manner. When she said her name, he let out a soft gasp, it wasn't a super common name.
Suddenly the pieces began to fall into place, and in a strangled whisper, he spoke. "Bumblebee?" He asked breathlessly. He felt as though he'd been punched directly in the gut robbing him of breath. He frowned and looked over at Beatrice, then at the beautiful dappled horse, he was in shock, and saying words seemed nearly impossible. "Is your mother Lizzy Reyes?" He managed to choke out the question.
He folded his fingers together, and placed his thumbs on his lips, deep in thought as his first real relationship was brought to mind. Elizabeth Reyes, they'd been engaged... but things hadn't worked out, he blamed himself, and his family, but mostly himself. He was silent now, waiting for Beatrice to answer his question. He should tell her to turn around, ride away, ride far away... and yet, he couldn't speak.
[align=center] MICHAEL FORD Michael Ford is a 45 year old, man, he's stubbornly loyal to whatever cause he chooses, protective of his family and friends, he's a member of the Badlands. Michael has issues controlling his anger in most situations. He is a difficult opponent and well trained, feel free to power play nonviolent interactions though.
[align=center][div style="width: 430px; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 6pt; letter-spacing: 2.5px; word-spacing: 0px; line-height: 12px; color: #000"]Teddy had a way of ruining most great things.
At the sight of a small gathering around a horse on the beach, Teddy stared with confusion for a couple of seconds before he decided that he ought to investigate himself. Hair licked back from the salty air and shirt casually unbuttoned part of the way, Teddy was nonchalant as he strolled over, preparing the way he’d greet the newcomer in the most sickening of sweet ways. But then, he came to an abrupt stop as he overheard the wobbling query from Mike, Teddy stopping to stand in between Mutt and Salem as he flitted his gaze back and forth between Mike and the newcomer, arms folded across his chest.
Whilst he wanted so badly to turn the spotlight onto him — understandably so — something told him that this should be one of the few times he should just keep his mouth shut.
[align=center][div style="width: 400px; font-family: verdana; text-align: justify; font-size: 6pt; line-height: 1.4; letter-spacing: 0.5px; word-spacing: 2px; margin-bottom: 5px;"] ✧･ﾟ: I'VE BEEN IN LIKE A THOUSAND TIMES, DATED EVERY WOMAN IN THE ATMOSPHERE. I'VE BEEN TO EVERY CONTINENT, BROKEN ALL THE HEARTS IN EVERY HEMISPHERE, AND IF I'M NOT THE TYPE OF GUY YOU LIKE TO CIRCUMVENT, JUST REMEMBER NOT TO LOVE ME WHEN I DISAPPEAR. I GRADUATED AT THE TOP, I LIKE TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE BOURGEOISIE . . .
03-14-2021, 04:08 PM
(This post was last modified: 03-14-2021, 04:13 PM by BEATRICE..)
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 7.3pt; color: #333; line-height: 1.5; letter-spacing: 0.5px; word-spading: 3px; width: 400px"]"bumblebee?"
it's crazy that in her nine years of yearning, her four years of traveling— looking , hoping— to find him that she didn't think she would. the same beatrice who wanted to see the positive outcome in every situation. the same be a that sometimes stroked her mama's hair reassuring her that everything would be okay without ever really knowing the full extent of her pain, bea still thought that all of her searching would be for nothing. she'd follow the rumors like breadcrumbs only to find out that that's all they were . . . rumors, and that michael had died two years prior, that she had been too late. she hated the idea of finally crawling home, tears streaming down her face as she's forced to reconcile with what her family, even her own mama, thought was true: how and why would she ever chase a ghost down?
but this wasn't a ghost, she thinks, she's not crazy. out of her twenty-three years on earth, no one else has ever called her bumblebee. her mother called her bea, the rest of her family beatrice, but michael— for as long as he'd been in her life— had called her bumblebee. hearing the nickname almost made her feel like a kid again. made her feel like she was being tucked into bed for the night without any forethought on what her parents' fate may look like. little beatrice would look at michael with a sort of admiration; one that sticks with her even as she looks at him now. she wishes she could explain it, wishes that she could brush it away. . . but all the emotion is out on full display, trapped behind the barricade of her eyes as she looks at michael. there's no longer any confusion; he knows who she is.
[size=9pt]"yes" she confirms , the words feeling foreign on her lips as she takes a step a feeble step forward , surprised that all of the air hadn't been knocked out of her lungs at the mention of her mama. she'd grieved long ago , learned to live with the pain she felt at elizabeth's death. but to hear her name again , to see the man whose memory last shared with her when she was happy and alive , it suddenly seemed to resurface again. [size=9pt]"I do." did. but she couldn't tell him, not yet. instead, she fumbled with the clasp of her necklace until it unhooks, wrapping her hand around it into a fist and finishes the careful trek to him. she reaches out for his hand, prying it open gently, placing the locket into his hand. the same locket her mama wore , a picture of a younger michael smiling into the camera. the one thing that kept his memory alive. [size=9pt][b]"hi michael ."
[align=center][I]the more that you say, the less I know —
|
