Boyd Crowder from Justified RP
“Johnny what are you doing?” A blonde woman walked up a baby in a carseat in the cart and a toddler on her hip. “Oh… I didn’t know your brother got out of prison…” She smiled a little forcefully her accent was distinctly Kentucky as she said. “Emily baby come here.” She pulled her other daughter closer.A shattered escape of air and swallowed surprise almost had Boyd back into a display of Campbell Soup cans. “…Ava?”
“Ava, this isn’t my brother this is… well I don’t know but Matthew tried to follow him.” He looked up at the man and narrowed his eyes. “Just who are you exactly?”
The name so small it was barely audible, a mouthing really that was paired with a wide eyed expression. That’s when the movement hit him— of the man in front of him. It had never occurred to Boyd that they shared a resemblance in the least. Vanity not being one of his more common traits time In front of the mirror was basic to the point that he clearly couldn’t see his own reflection walking before him, separate and sentient.
“….I uh…excuse me.” Sliding along the edge of the shelving Boyd escaped behind the next isle and froze momentarily. Thick rind of hands coming up to his face to shield, rubbing it’s surface raw.
Veiled exhortations departing into the atmosphere coaxed the raising of a stern brow, unanswered queries threatening to linger as bewildering dialect left him to fall to simplistic observation. This male stood upright, taking a domineering stance while the others subtly stood with hunched shoulders — instant response to the assertion of dominance. Guilt flickered within each face, and once a stoic gaze returned to the nameless male, hands thrust into the confines of denim pockets as posture straightened to signify utter lack of fear. The familiar males stiffened, as if the severity of the situation made its alarming ascension. Their delving within the substance industry was already a life threatening and inescapable profession — swindling product was reckless and suicidal.
Several others reached to cradle hidden weapons, as if they dared lash out against the evidently influential male among what was looked upon as a cartel. Momentarily, he was taken aback by the perturbation — the docile town masked secrets which carried distressing prospects. Rather, he was unsure if the acts disturbed him, or the sheer unpredictability of harrowing events. Taciturn nature would aid him now; in turn, he stepped to the side while a familiar face approached the angered male.
"What drugs? Shipment was s’pose to come, never showed." Perhaps it would have escaped smoothly, had the male’s anxiety not asphyxiated him. "Best we don’t have this kind o’ talk front of a guest, in all due respect, Boyd."
Feigning ignorance, Brody’s intonation departed in quizzical tones. “What the fu— drugs? Look, mate. Dinna come for all this. Whatever you did, jus’ give the bloke back whatever was taken. This is foolish to die for.”
Communication back and forth between the two groups in the house may have heralded from different universes. Battling banjos of inflection, connotation and slang threatening to strip the steel right off the strings.
"You best be doin’ what our out-of-towner friend is suggestin’ there Devlin, gonna make all this fire and brimstone even out into nothin but a hot paved road of redemption. You know, you’ve seen it-if it aint the explosion that’ll get yuh, its gonna be the fallout from Detroit makin’ sure your lineage drops at this door." With the pistol actively out of its holding spot it still remained out of focus behind his back until needed- but what Boyd was not expectin was the room to shift in winds and turn back on the stranger still heavy iron in the corner.
"Nobody tells us how to die ‘round here…" A simple snarl boiling up a mounting level of saliva and beer. Murder in their eyes and dimness radiating. With the collection of hallow locals starting to advance on the eloquent man with the eerily symmetrical face Boyd pulled aim and held the back of Devlin’s head. Finger on the trigger, coasting on instinct Boyd began backing up towards the door confusion and concern in equal measure.
"Matthew come on." HE tried again to pull the boy away but all he did was turn and look. from somewhere in the store he heard Ava call him. "I found him Ava, he’s alright." John assured. "Well none the less I’m sorry he’s um, well a little socially behind forgive him.
John noticed that his son had wandered off. “MAtthew come here!” He rushed over to get his son. “I’m sorry, he’s um… he’s got some issues, we won’t bother you again.” He apologized.
"Daddy!" A little girl with dark curls called running up to John, he looked at the other man and frowned. "Uncle James? I thought you were dead."
"Emily stop, go to your mother." John sighed. "I’m sorry about her as well."
An outright laugh was barely stifled from behind a closed fist blocking his mouth. In Boyd’s imagination there was something akin to herding drunk kittens in the whole affair with this man desperately trying to rally his flock. Though the laugh died in the hearth and the embers were washed out with a splash of reality at the little girl’s sudden declaration of his supposed ‘deadness’
”- they both seem social enough.” This time the voice a little cooler in inclination, as if a frost would attach to it on exit. What had Boyd most disconcerted with how the child Matthew was utterly fixated, as if he was attempting to peel back layers of skin to determine the truth of a matter very well sealed.
There was something very wrong about all this.
War. The nightmares of many soldiers. So much death and torture made warriors crumble inside like stacks of straw, curling into themselves like children. William knew the feeling, though he had shut that part out long ago. Buried it deep. Cut the ties.
"Yeah, there were wars, though most countries tried to avoid it. They resorted to espionage instead. Sneaking through back doors was better than crashing through the front." The glass hovered before his lips; he knew the games were still at play. Just because he left didn’t mean anything had changed.
Picking apart the plot for clues, running the lines on the man’s face and tale against America’s military timeline Boyd had a hard time allotting a single tour for which he could be apart of. Age indicating something closer to Afghanistan or possibly initial phases of Iraq, he knew his etiquette better than to ask outright, instead allowing for a gentle push through this fantastical universe brewing.
"By the sounds of it it ain’t the monsters and the ghouls one really needs to watch out for, rulership historically corruptible and just as frightening as any many headed hydra. Meanin’ there’s a generation lost and a shift in politics come every time power needs to be allocated- aint pretty by any stretch of the imagination but a real constant in human advancement." Glass within his grip now ever so slowly spinning through a gear system of constricting fingers Boyd leaned deeper into the bar tap and sighed with a heartfelt bellow.
"to your service…" Raising his drink Boyd nodded slightly to acknowledge and sank the rest of the whiskey, turning over the fibrous aftertaste in his mouth.
“Now I love me a match o’ verbal ping pong much as the next fella, but you’re just gonna have to clarify a little if I’m t’ respond accordingly. That a friendly warnin’ you just laid out, or is that a threat — ?”
"Initially s’pposta be an ultimatum leavin’ that whole pila’ cash on the table for your leisure. ‘Least get a little equity outta this whole situation before it starts turnin downcast."
"Now as tempted as I am to let Darwinism take it’s course here, I’m gonna go ahead and let my sensibilities dictate and offer this one last time: You do what I ask I might just be able to get you out with nothin’ but a foul taste in your mouth."