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[color=808080][color=89684d][b]#89684d[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://imgur.com/LWDQJLF][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c].....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [b]weston ranch > main street[/b][/color]
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[indent][indent][indent][indent][justify][color=808080]Mornings on the ranch started when the faint glow of the sun kissed the sky beneath the horizon. Amber bled into indigo, and the shadows darkened and stretched before daylight scared them away. The dawn had always been Clint’s favorite time of day. The world had yet to stir awake, existing in a delicate, serene balance, undisturbed by the dregs of society that prowled the night like nocturnal predators. Sunrises were for nature and wildlife. It was for the world as he used to know it, free to exist in a vacuum before modernity suffocated and snuffed it out. He had a deeper, richer appreciation for the sun after spending decades in its absence, surviving on only candlelight and incandescent bulbs like cheap imitations. If the sun was up, then so was Clint, because possibilities were born in the light of day… and Clint liked the man he was by day, rather than the monster he was at night. 

Clint had been out tending to his cattle long before the Townsend boys crept onto his property, yawning with large thermoses already half drained of coffee by the time they pushed through the old wooden gate. The frost and dew that clung stubbornly to the long blades of grass crunched underfoot as the men set to filling one of the readied wagons with bales of hay and large pumpkins that had been growing all season just for this occasion. They moved in a synchronous rhythm learned from years of working together, little words shared beyond quiet confirmations and the steady grunts of manual labor. 

The first wagon filled quickly, topped off with feed for the animals, three troughs, and a handful of brushes. The second took far more patience and time. Half a dozen wooden cages lined the bottom of the wagon, lids opened and ready for whatever creature was going to be placed inside. They took their time, making sure not to frighten any of the animals, and calm the skittish ones, before placing them gently into their own cage with enough straw to cushion the journey and a few treats, like carrots, to sweeten the deal. When they finished there were two pygmy goats, three young pigs, and half a dozen adolescent hares tucked away safely. 

While Coop worked on strapping the ranch’s strongest stallion, Maverick, up to the wagon weighed down with hay and pumpkins, Tucker went and grabbed Tulip, the calmest mare in the stables, so she could pull the cart full of small, caged creatures. Clint, on the other hand, took it upon himself to take the rope tethers and gather up the last remaining animals. First was Sunflower, a pony already saddled and ready to give kids a ride around the pen. Followed by Walter the alpaca, and Dandy the sheep. 

When he returned to the small assembled herd, Coop and Tucker sat on top of the fence, passing a cigarette back and forth while taking a small break. [color=89684d]"Y’know that’ll kill ya,"[/color] Clint goaded them, sparing the young men an incredulous look from beneath the brim of his hat as he looped the animals’ tethers loosely around Tulip’s breeching. 

The brothers both laughed, smoke billowing from their mouths in white ribbons. [color=d6d6d6]"It’s a vape,"[/color] Coop countered, holding up the small plastic contraption like it made a lick of sense to him. 

Clint sighed, pushing off his knees as he stood upright. [color=89684d]"I don’t reckon it makes much of a difference."[/color]

Tucker took one more hit that smelled faintly of strawberries before sliding the device into his jacket pocket and hopping down from the fence. [color=d6d6d6]"But you’re like a cowboy or whatever… Shouldn’t you dip or chew or whatever the hell you old people call it?"[/color]

A laugh, deep and unbidden, roared to life in Clint’s chest. The irony of [i]‘old’[/i] hitting a little harder than either of the young men intended. [color=89684d]"I used to—[i]centuries ago[/i]—when I was young blooded, such as yourselves,"[/color] he mused, playing into their jokes about age with a surprising truth that they’d be none the wiser to. [color=89684d]"But then I realized I like my teeth more than the fleetin’ rush from tobacco."[/color] His smile widened, bright, white, and undeniably charming. Sure, over a century of chewing never made a dent on his smile, but he read about the newer discoveries, and what have you, and while they didn’t affect him personally, there was nothing wrong with advocating for healthier life choices. Plus, the blood of a nonsmoker tasted [i]significantly[/i] better.

Clint dipped his hand into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a pack of spearmint gum. He flipped open the paper box and pulled out a single piece of gum, then tucked the pack back into his pocket for safe keeping. Calloused fingers patiently started peeling back the silver foil, revealing the thin green rectangle covered in glistening sugar crystals. [color=89684d]"I also discovered that ladies prefer a man that smells—[i]and tastes[/i]—like mint over tobacco."[/color] His grin widened knowingly as he popped the piece of gum into his mouth and started chewing. 

The brothers spared each other a quick sidelong glance before they both doubled over in laughter, gripping their sides and slapping their knees as their roars carried across the field and stirred a flock of birds. [color=d6d6d6]"[i]Ladies?[/i] What ladies?"[/color] Coop wheezed out between laughs, hardly able to catch his breath. 

Clint shook his head and rolled his eyes as he made his way over to his [url=https://imgur.com/LkiiyTc]horse[/url] that was tied to a fence post off to the side. He lifted up his hat for a second to slick back his hair before setting it securely back on top of his head. As he approached the loyal mare, he gave her an affectionate stroke to the mane along with a gentle whisper. [color=89684d]"[i]Atta girl, Obbie.[/i]"[/color] Then curled up in the grass not far from the horse, a [url=https://imgur.com/UU1gQLJ]blue speckled cattle dog[/url] stirred awake with a big yawn. Clint crouched down and gave the boy some ear scratches that brought his tail to life, beating against the ground and stirring the early morning bugs with its lively wag. 

As he stood back up, he glanced over his shoulder toward the farm hands as their laughter eased while they wiped tears from their eyes. [color=89684d]"It’s called a [i]private[/i] life for a reason, boys,"[/color] Clint replied, used to the playful jabs and barbs hurled around between himself and the men that worked for him. He reached up, grabbing the horn of the saddle while he slipped his left foot into the stirrup. Then with the ease of a man who had been riding since he could walk, he hoisted himself up in a single fluid motion, swinging his other leg over the back of the horse, and setting into the seat. He gathered up the reins in his left hand as he gently guided Obbie over toward the wagons, his cattle dog, Spur, stretching dramatically and following after them. 

When the horse came to a stop, he rested his hands lazily against the saddle horn, looking back and forth between the amused young men. [color=89684d]"I also don’t recall seein’ either of you sportin’ a young lady on your arms while walkin’ through town."[/color]

Coop and Tucker’s laughter stopped abruptly as they shared a glance, and coughed around their own embarrassment. [color=89684d]"That’s what I thought,"[/color] Clint mused with a quiet chuckle of his own. [color=89684d]"Alright. Coop I want you with Maverick at the front. Tucker you’ll be with Tulip. Take the others with ya."[/color] He nodded his head toward the pony, alpaca, and sheep that waited patiently beside the horse in question. [color=89684d]"Spur ‘n I will be at the back, or directin’ traffic if needed."[/color]

The young men laughed once again as they drifted toward their assigned positions. [color=d6d6d6]"[i]Directing traffic,[/i]"[/color] Tucker mused as he gathered up the rope tethers. 

[color=89684d]"Yeah, well,"[/color] Clint conceded with a sigh and a shrug of one shoulder. [color=89684d]"The Mayor paid for all that fancy advertisin’, so who knows how busy this place’ll get."[/color] He ran his hands along the leather of the reins, finding his grip as he adjusted himself in the saddle. [color=89684d]"We’ll take it nice ‘n slow. Walk right into town ‘n down Main Street. There’s no rush, so let the animals set the pace."[/color]

Their journey toward the center of town was slow, having to stop more than once to get Walter’s lazy ass in gear. And while Pine Ridge had started stirring to life as the sun crested over the tops of trees, their trek was rather uneventful with citizens giving them a wide berth and a wave, or going a different route entirely. It seemed as though there wasn’t much of a need to take tourists into consideration, until it very much became their problem in the worst way possible. 

They weren’t far from Main Street, no more than a block, when a minivan—far newer and more expensive than most of the metal contraptions that plagued the streets—came barrelling down the street, faster than any of the posted speed signs, careless, and obviously in a hurry. Their brakes squealed as they waited far too long to slow down, stopping close enough to Obbie’s heels that she huffed, shook her head, and cantered forward a couple steps. Clint glared back at the driver over his shoulder while stroking his horse’s mane to try and keep her calm, but he didn’t hurry or move his procession aside. They weren’t far now, and like everyone else, they could either wait or go around. It wasn’t like the festival was starting in five minutes anyway.

It lasted for no more than thirty seconds before a loud horn sliced through the cold mountain air, piercing and alarming against the quiet backdrop of their peaceful town. Obbie reared, startled and frightened, hooves carving sharp arcs. Clint reacted on instinct before he could think, leaning forward to counter balance the shift in his mount, thighs gripping firmly to her chest while his hold on her reins tightened. Underfoot, Spur yelped and dashed onto the sidewalk, narrowly missing one of the hooves as it came back down to the ground. Meanwhile Coop struggled with Maverick’s leads, trying to calm the large stallion before he tore through the town with the wagon in tow, and Tucker held tight to the rope leads, doing his best to keep Sunflower, Walter, and Dandy from running off in all different directions. 

Leather groaned beneath Clint’s grip as he did his best to calm himself, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling the dull ache of his fangs against his lower lip. The tip of his tongue ran along the edge of his teeth, in an attempt to steel his temper with measured breaths. But that only lasted long enough for his fangs to retract, then he moved. Leaving his men to handle his rattled livestock, Clint dismounted in one smooth, fluid motion. He tethered Obbie’s reins to a nearby street sign, then turned and headed toward the vehicle. 

[color=d6d6d6]"Boss,"[/color] one of the Townsend boys called after him, but he paid them no mind.

His spurs clicked against the asphalt in a slow, rhythmic beat as he approached the idling minivan. He tapped two knuckles against the driver’s side window. His face was a picture of easy, sun-baked charm, a polite smile pulling at the corners of his mouth beneath the shadow of his Stetson. When the window rolled down, Clint rested his left forearm on the roof of the car while his right hand flicked his hat back just enough for the golden glow of morning sun to catch in his eyes. [color=89684d]"Mornin’ folks,"[/color] he greeted them with a grin and the quiet pop of chewing gum. 

The driver, a balding middle aged man, red in the face with a ring of sweat around the collar of his shirt, looked Clint up and down with visible distaste. [color=d6d6d6]"Aren’t you a little [i]old[/i] for Halloween?"[/color] he practically snarled. 

Clint laughed, perhaps a little forced, but it looked genuine enough in the way his head tilted back slightly and his hand lightly slapped the side of the car. [color=89684d]"Now if I had a nickel for every time I heard that."[/color] He let out an amused little whistle as his right thumb hooked on his belt beside his holster, a motion that was subconscious, born of comfort and repetition. But not so much to the tourists. The husband shared a panicked sidelong glance with his wife, knuckles turning white along the steering wheel as his gaze snapped back to the revolver then up to the cowboy. Clint’s attention followed, punctuated with a quiet click of his tongue. [color=89684d]"Don’t you worry yourselves about that, friends. It’s for the wolves. Big ole pack runs through the Black Hills,"[/color] he added, waving his finger toward the woods around them. [color=89684d]"Never can be too safe."[/color] He patted the side of his holster once for emphasis before making an effort to rest his hand a decent ways from it. 

He leaned over a bit, getting a better look at the man’s equally frazzled wife, along with their pair of ankle bitters sitting in the backseat, who looked far more entertained at the concept of a living and breathing cowboy standing just outside the car. [color=89684d]"Y’all in town for the festival?"[/color] Clint asked, his drawl thick and smooth as molasses. 

[color=d6d6d6]"Yeah, [i]yes,[/i]"[/color] the driver responded quickly with a curt nod, his stress evident in the tensing of his shoulders and the contorting of his face. [color=d6d6d6]"Just got in. Drove through the night. Would really like to—"[/color]

[color=89684d]"[i]Say,[/i]"[/color] Clint interrupted, not giving a shit about whatever the man’s excuses were, instead lowering his head and looking past him to get a better view of his kids. [color=89684d]"’Bet you kids like pettin’ zoos."[/color]

The children practically bounced in their seats with palpable excitement while their mother spared them an affectionate, albeit incredulous glance. [color=d6d6d6]"It’s all they’ve been talking about."[/color]

[color=89684d]"I figured. Most kids do."[/color] Clint’s smile widened, but it never quite reached his eyes as he looked back at the driver. [color=89684d]"’Well, you kids can thank your pa for not being allowed near [i]my[/i] pettin’ zoo tonight… Seein’ how he spooked my animals ‘n nearly got my dog killed."[/color]

The little girl’s lip began to quiver, and within a matter of seconds, the car devolved into a cacophony of loud wails and flailing limbs. The mom unbuckled her seat belt, quickly turning around to try and sooth her kids as best she could. [color=d6d6d6]"Oh, sweetie. No, it’s ok—[i]Shh.[/i] It’s ok."[/color] The woman’s gaze then snapped to Clint, brows furrowed as her face reddened to nearly the same shade as her husband's. [color=d6d6d6]"Look what you did. Was that really necessary?"[/color]

[color=89684d]"Apologies, ma’am. But your husband scared my livestock. I simply returned the favor in kind."[/color]

[color=d6d6d6]"Gary!"[/color] the woman squealed nearly as loud as her own children, not knowing if her anger should be directed at Clint, her husband, or perhaps both. 

The driver thumped his forehead against the steering wheel twice, no doubt a man who had long suffered the naggings of his wife regarding his own lack of patience or piss poor attitude. 

Clint’s hand slipped in through the open window and caught the man’s sweat slick forehead before he slammed it down a third time. He couldn’t help but grimace slightly at the moisture along his fingers as he pushed him back until his head bumped softly into the headrest. [color=89684d]"Careful. We wouldn’t wanna make the same mistake twice, now would we?"[/color]

[color=d6d6d6]"Look, man—[i]sir,[/i]"[/color] the man started his groveling. Clint wasn’t entirely sure if it was on his behalf or more out of fear of his wife, but he couldn’t help but be moderately entertained as he watched the driver panic as he tried to make things right. [color=d6d6d6]"It was an accident. My hand slipped—"[/color]

[color=89684d]"Your hand [i]slipped?[/i]"[/color] Clint echoed, his brows lifting in quiet disbelief. 

[color=d6d6d6]"I wasn’t thinking. I’m tired—We were just trying to get to the motel before it was all booked—I’m sorry. Is your dog ok?"[/color] The man continued to ramble, his eyes darting back and forth between his fuming wife beside him, the screaming kids in the backseat, and Clint still leaning against the side of the minivan waiting for the truth in the slew of his lies. [color=d6d6d6]"Look, I can make this right—"[/color] He leaned to the side, hand diving behind him as he fumbled for his wallet. 

Before he was even able to flip the black leather open and dig for cash, Clint laughed, his expression twisting into a mix of amusement, bewilderment, and pure disbelief. [color=89684d]"I don’t want your paper, friend,"[/color] he commented between chuckles with a small shake of his head. [color=89684d]"Those animals are my livelihood, ‘n that dog is my family. Your money don’t ease their jitters or buy back a broken leg."[/color]

The man sighed, sweat trickling down the side of his face while his wife beside him bounced back and forth between trying to calm the kids and whispering expletives in her husband’s ear. [color=d6d6d6]"[i]Please,[/i]"[/color] he practically begged, desperation and exhaustion plain across his face. [color=d6d6d6]"They’ve been looking forward to this all week. We drove all the way from Wichita."[/color]

[color=89684d]"Then you should have practiced some patience,"[/color] Clint replied as his sunny disposition dropped entirely, replaced with a grave seriousness and anger behind his eyes. [color=89684d]"I don’t want you, nor your kin, anywhere near my pens tonight. ‘N if you scare my animals again, I’ll slash your fuckin’ tires. Do we understand each other?"[/color]

The driver gritted his teeth, kids growing louder and more despondent in the backseat, while his wife leaned back in her seat with her arms crossed furiously over her chest. No words were shared, just the faintest nod of acknowledgement. 

Clint stood up straight, adjusting the brim of his hat with a crisp, polite flick of his wrist as his charming smile widened brightly and slipped right back into place, like it had never left. [color=89684d]"Now y’all enjoy the festival,"[/color] he offered warmly, giving the car door a friendly pat before taking a step back. [color=89684d]"And welcome to Pine Ridge."[/color]

Before he reached Obbie, the minivan was thrown into reverse. And if Clint was a betting man, he imagined that sweaty driver had every intention to floor it until his wife nagged in his ear about not scaring the animals, because that car [i]crawled[/i] backwards so slow, he wondered if it was moving at all. 

He didn’t spare them another glance as he checked on Spur, making sure he was ok, then untied his horse from around the street sign. By the time he climbed back on top of Obbie and settled himself in the saddle, the minivan was nowhere to be seen. He reached up to adjust his hat, looking over Coop and Tucker who both stood nearby, a little confused, but mostly laughing. [color=89684d]"What are y’all gawkin’ at?"[/color] The brothers shared a sidelong glance, snickered, then returned to their posts alongside each of the carts. [color=89684d]"Let’s get these animals to the pen before I end up killin’ one of these damn tourists."[/color][/color][/justify][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]

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