Rift growing larger as the area outside the truck curdled and expanded at once, ground moving away from him with a stride towards rest. Motions were made to close down the truck, leave it as the slumbering canine in the yard without breath and fed to the brim with oil and sterling care. Chain it down with a key turn and a parting smack upon it’s ample chassis, the yard was transversed. Colored wax melting away, chemical trails guided by malfunction of systematic downturns managed to bring him to the porch, past the entry and into the hallow home. Lights all left to their proper night time position were no matter as Boyd reached out with the sense of touch to guide. Wallpaper sands below the ridge of peaked skin, thinned away against the fine grit of aged glue, the tops of side boards, the rail of a staircase stained deep with the make-up of a many Crowder essence. All road signals that brough t him to a desperate place of rest.
To the bathroom where the hopes of relieving himself were taken away momentarily by the brief reflection in the mirror, a horrendously whipped, beaten and bruised variation of himself. Swollen about the lips and underlying gums, the taste of tar and polishing grit a mechanical mess upon his taste buds. Attempting to score away the confusion, the beating, the attempts to do right no matter the cost he found himself staring deep at the distortion of his misaligned facial profile. Never traditionally handsome, now plain ugly in their contusions, the silver underneath the glass began to cast back a secondary figure moving closer.
“Conclusions Ava, just steppin’ out those flames we’re so good at settin’.” The only answer he could come up with, spoken into the mirror to avoid direct contact as Boyd ran the sink on it’s lowest temperature setting. Splashing a few pools fulls to cool the burn of the mangled lacerations and built-up fluid he finally stood abrupt and at the ready, only turning when the chill had set in deep enough into tissue.
It took a couple seconds for the demand for his persons to set in, to finally shut off the flow from the faucet and step away from the sink in a stumble. A recovering hand thrown out to the wall to stabilize, his want for argument was below the bubbling mercury. Boot laden feet criss-crossing in a trail that wavered from it’s intended terrace, had the voyage from bathroom to bedroom take far longer than intended before he finally collapsed on the bulk of the laundry hamper. Wicker and well made it did nothing but bow to the weight pressed upon it, shift slightly as Boyd raised the fickle make-up of his profile to Ava.
“Sorry Ava, Just meanin’ to right is all.”
“Mhm,–I’ll be the judge'a that.”
Sifting through lumber cabinet compartments, gauze pads, cotton swabs and antiseptic, were barely reeled against her person when the boisterous crash of weight finding floor carried throughout the room. Its abruptness practically loosened items from her clutch as shoulders jolted. “Jesus Christ, Boyd,” she hissed, obviously startled by the sudden thud. Holding components closely to her chest, azures glared in his direction and she stepped through threshold, she didn’t even bother asking if he was alright as she passed him. Sudden laughter erupted from the depths of her throat as she set medical items on the edge of the bed. The outlaw could drive home utterly intoxicated and make it up two flights of stairs, but was completely incapable of shuffling feet approximately three meters in a straight line. He hardly ceased to amaze her.
Fingers contoured pajama clad hips and she turned at the heel, holding her position. Ava refused to help him into standing posture at first. “What exactly is it you were tryin’ to right?” Palomino crescents narrowed. She was unable to put pieces of his vague puzzle together. “’Cause I don’t recall ever pourin’ no gasoline or lightin’ no matches.” Four short strides were taken in his direction prior to frame hunching over, hands wrapping around forearm and leaning shoulder offering itself up to support his weight during efforts to bring drunken brother in law to his feet. Gluing pieces of a broken man back together was not how Ava had envisioned spending the remainder of her evening.
Hoisting him up into semblance of stability, she released him with hands hovering swaying limbs in prevention of his repeatedly toppling over sideways. “This best not become an everyday thing.” She warned, cerulean hues lifting to unite with swelling olive oculars. She could already deduce he’d have at least one noticeable shiner, a lucky consequence of a heated mishap which could’ve resulted in much worse for either contender. “I mean it.” Forelimb gravitated to contused chin, thumb tentatively wiping away fresh streak of crimson just beneath his lower pout. Azures silently searched emeralds and held their gaze as soft hand withdrew from freshly assaulted aspect. Slippers side scuffed from his path, but she would shadow him closely during continuance of journey. Ava would not let him fall again.
“I want the whole truth, Boyd,” condition fell articulately from unbent lips, the only way she would entertain the idea of patching him up personally was if he were to give her his honesty. “’Cause I’m willin’ to go on pretendin’ like this never happened dependin’ on the circumstances, but you at least have to tell me what it is that transpired tonight.” She needed cognizance the outlaw hadn’t started a lasting feud and that this fight wouldn’t lure any dangerous men to her doorstep. Southern Belle needed that peace of mind so she could rest at night worry free of someone breaking into her home and killing her while she was sleeping.
Raylan Givens already coaxed one stray bullet unintentionally aimed in innocent doe’s direction; she wasn’t particularly keen on dancing to dodge another because of a man she associated with.
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