Chapter Text
If, one day—theoretically—Miorine had to return to the capital of Asticassia and report back to her father; she would describe her getaway town like this.
A horizon that captured the sun at just the right angle to bathe orange every east-side of the townfolk’s houses. The wood, crumbling and damp; cheap woods—lit aflame by the light of liberation itself. She’d sit on the porch every dip and fall just to experience it like the houses do.
No, he wouldn’t care for the warmth. Miorine knew he’d sooner chip his tooth trying to eat the cool iron of his gun than bore himself with tangents of the sun. She tried again.
Townfolk; a lively bunch of assorted people who differed from the food they ate down to the way they carved their words with their tongues. Often, they had something to hide or someone to hide from. Miorine didn’t ask, just solved what they needed her to.
But her father wouldn’t ask either—wouldn’t care. She tried again.
Miorine was the sheriff of a backwater town, randomly handed the revolver and the rickety building along with it as soon as they found out she was a Rembran. The Governor’s daughter, stranded far from home because of a rebellious streak. She wouldn’t reduce it to mere impulse, but this was what her father would surely take from her words.
Life story now? Urgh, she was getting distracted.
The sheriff kicked her leather boots up her table to better settle down in her seat. Only then had Miorine remembered she was in the saloon, because the bartender glared at her boorishness. She glared back.
Why was she having this conversation with herself again? Scared to be dragged back into a fate she had no hand in? Fear of the parent that saw her as a pawn?
Miorine sighed. Mentally, she tucked away a script that should never have to be used. It’d be best to ponder this when not in the company of a drink.
“Good noon, sheriff.” A voice materialized to her left, almost ghostly as it pulled her head from the clouds.
Drawn to the sound, Miorine lifted her gaze to see a lanky young man slip into the seat across hers. This was Martin, with blue eyes and brown hair building up to an unimpressive figure.
Back having stretched and straightened, Miorine’s arm had accidentally slammed into a stray bottle of beer. He scrambled to catch it.
And Miorine regarded him, though unimpressed. “Planning to get tipsy already?” She swept her heel across the table. “It is to be expected, considering that you’re retired.”
Martin chuckled awkwardly at that. “I’m not retired.” He carefully set the empty bottle down. “But it ain’t safe to leave the deputy position empty in a town like this.”
At the reminder, Miorine groaned. “I’ll find a new one soon enough. I told you.”
“Sheriff, you go pumping yourself full of cheap beer, and you still have the confidence to say that?”
“Don’t you forget which of us is running with their tail between their legs, Martin!”
He swallowed dry. “Oh no, but you’re in luck, see.” Martin steered the attention with a different vigor. “I already have my replacement.”
She fixed a skeptic look at him. Martin had strong connections despite his weaker nature, but those branches of his would never turn to crime-fighting. That much she knew, given the number of runaways in town.
“Tell me it ain’t the pink-puff girl.” Miorine’s boots straightened as the ease left her. “And it best not be anybody from your gang either.”
“We ain’t a gang! We’re just friends.” Martin argued. He was shot down with a pressing look, so he continued. “This new deputy; they’re an old colleague from the village over. Not a gunslinger, but they are a peacemaker. Reliable in a pinch, I tell you.”
“Sounds like a nice friend to have,” Miorine mused. “Since they don’t live here already, I’ll assume they don’t got nothing to hide, unlike you.”
Martin threw his hands up helplessly. “Again, not a gang.”
“Leave me a more detailed paper report, will you? I’ll expect it by tomorrow’s morn.”
Martin shook his head though. “No, that won’t be necessary, sheriff. They’re set to arrive quite soon.” He said. “Just go and see for yourself.”
Miorine reached for an opened bottle. “Who is it that I’m supposed to see, Martin? -And you squirm and squirm like you’re itching to leave.”
“Because I am, sheriff. I-I’ve got places to be. I only came by to tell you.” He didn’t elaborate. He often never did. “Sorry!”
Martin turned his tail, somehow still a busy bee after leaving behind his paying job. She couldn’t fault him for it though; the nature of being a deputy didn’t match his lack of a spine.
“Ugh. This is why I’m glad you left. I can’t tell if you’re annoying me by accident, or on purpose!” She groaned after him, but Martin had already fled. The saloon door swished back and forth behind him.
She didn’t even have time to ask for his replacement’s name.
By the time that the sky had its rays stretched toward the horizon, bearing the coming of night at its tail end; Miorine found herself glued in place. If she was any chipper, maybe she’d bask in the sunset view, but the days were slow and her thoughts; heavy.
She sat alone at a corner table next to a short set of oak stairs. The saloon itself wasn’t empty by any means—men and women mingled around the open floors—but the cozy spot was hers, and nobody wanted to disturb a drunken sheriff either way.
Miorine choked the bottleneck of her nth beer with gloved hands, and took from it a mighty swig. The liquid burned her throat; numbing, aching, sweet.
How many drinks was it now? Unfortunately, she’d lost count. But if it turns her stupid, then let it.
The problem was, she could only be certain of her mental tact if she wasn’t seeing double and spinning circles with her stomach. Sluggishly, Miorine dragged her feet out the saloon to vomit her malaise.
Silver hair made her stand out, strapped with a gun and working-man’s-clothes; even more so. It didn’t surprise her that a stray no-gooder decided it best to saunter over at her most vulnerable.
And so, behind the building where Miorine had ingested her own demise, a man approached her.
“Why, if it ain’t our pretty sheriff!” He called, hopping over the rotting fences around the back. “Miss Rembran; waterfalls of bile and beer.”
“Don’t get any stupid ideas now, you scamp.” Miorine had her back to the man, struggling to even stand. Still, she coughed and growled and haphazardly drew her gun. “Take another step and you’ll see ‘em prettier angels from the afterlife.”
He ignored that. He acted like he couldn’t hear. The men in her life often did.
“You can’t shoot me, lass.” The man sneered. “You ain’t ever even killed.”
A bluff—Miorine knew. He wasn’t particularly built, and if she kept her distance, his fists would never reach. It didn’t scare her, but it did push the bile back up her throat. Would this be the first?
“Good sheriffs serve their good folk, ya’ know?” He advanced again. “So, let’s get along for the night.”
A repulsed chill ran down her spine and forced her back to go rigid. On the alert now, Miorine aimed her revolver. She glared at him down its sights. “I- I will shoot. Don’t make a game of testing me.”
Suddenly, the man yelped; and Miorine’s hold around her gun faltered.
“Didn’t yer’ mother teach you any manners?” A new voice hissed.
Miorine craned her neck up to see him locked in a chokehold; eyes wide, knees buckled, and clawing at the captor’s arm around his neck. The face behind him was obscured by both the night, and the shade of a hat.
“Fuh-“ the man’s words were cut by gasps, “F-Fucker!” He cried, then locked his hands together to jab his elbows into the newcomer’s side.
They groaned too, their grip laxing as they shoved his face down into the muddy ground instead.
Now, the stranger stumbled into view. It was a young woman; a fiery red mane flowed down her back in a ponytail. There was a textile shawl draped over her shoulders—dyed colors Miorine normally saw in foreign trade. But, the hat she wore was of American leather, and there were spurs attached to the back of her dirtied boots. She couldn’t be certain because of the darkness, but the woman had tan skin that suggested hours under the sun.
If Miorine had to gander, this was a cowgirl. Despite herself, she sighed in relief at her arrival.
“Stay down now, mister! We shouldn’t cause any trouble for the-” she looked over her shoulder at Miorine, “the sheriff.” But then, her eyes widened with recognition. “Oh, it’s- it’s you, sheriff!”
Miorine, who was confused, grunted. “Do I know you?”
“You will soon, ma’am!” The woman declared. “Why, I’m yer’ new deputy!” Her previously serious face loosened into a smile—not like Miorine could make it out with her back turned to the light.
The cowgirl raised her hand to tip her hat—what an oddity—but fell forward with a force that tackled her from behind. It was the assailant, furiously grappling with her. “We ain’t finished here!”
The cowgirl squeaked when she hit the ground. “Ah! Mister, yer’ mighty persistent!”
Miorine watched as the two kicked eachother around, but it only made her nauseous. She had to look away to empty her stomach.
In the meantime, the cowgirl managed to hook the ground from under her and earn the advantage of her two feet. She made quick work of the assailant; or that’s what Miorine had to assume, because he was hogtied and squirming once she spun back around.
And if the sheriff wasn’t so drunk, she might’ve been impressed.
“Whoo, that was a shocker! They, uh,” her words trailed away in favor of catching her breath, “-they ought not to let men like you run freely, mister.”
Miorine sighed. At the very least, it was over and she didn’t even have to lift a finger. She pushed herself off the wall. “You. You’re my new deputy, you said?”
The cowgirl perked up at her voice. “Yes, ma’am! Suletta Samaya, at yer’ service.” She raised her hand and—
“Don’t- don’t salute. I ain’t even an official.” Miorine cut her off. “Consider this your first job; drag the bastard to a cell for me.”
“I’m, uh, new to- to town though, ma’am. Where is it?”
Oh yes, definitely seems like a friend of Martin’s. But, Miorine couldn’t consider herself any better, seeing as her new deputy’s first impression of her is of drunken swaying and the trouble of a damsel.
“Ugh,” She remembered to send her gun back into her holster. “I’ll show you. Trail behind me, and don’t lose sight, you hear?”
The cowgirl—Suletta?—nodded. She nodded, then shook her head. “But sheriff,” her gaze shied away, “yer’ full as a tick. Uhm, you- uh, could sling an arm around me if it’s too much…”
Miorine shot her a nasty look. “You best ain’t be doubting me right now, cowgirl!”
“Eep!” Suletta squeaked. “No- no, sheriff! Please, uh, lead the way.”
She turned on her heel and soured at the fact that it almost made her tip over. ‘No more embarrassments, Miorine.’
The sheriff had to swallow before she could speak again. “Good, then grab your criminal here and get a move on.”
Suletta did just that, tossing the angry assailant over her shoulder. He struggled, but she kept him down with a firm grip. “Nice to finally meet you, sheriff!”
Miorine only huffed in response. She didn’t look back, but she could’ve sworn there was something wild in Suletta’s cerulean eyes when they landed on her.
===
Judith was a village farm-hand. Her snowy hair was always swirled into a bun, tied together by a white cloth over her head. And sure, the girl didn’t stand out by any means, but people knew her. She had friends.
Martin used to be one of them, back when he was still a boy and worked alongside her and Till for the harvest. When she received news from him that he could find her a paying job as a deputy, Judith finally felt that her life might amount to something.
So, she put her back into plowing at the earth and digging with a renewed vigor. After all, this was her last day at the farm before she was on to better prospects!
By nightfall; when the villagers all retreated to bed and the sun invited the stars to envelop the sky instead, Judith had her essentials packed. Once early morning came, it would be time to depart.
But something was different. Something was wrong.
There was a woman sitting on the horse that Judith had borrowed; with a wild red mane and a gun strapped to her hip. She’d stolen it from the stable, so Judith confronted the stranger in the open maws of the night.
“Oh- uhm, greetings there, miss!” The stranger tipped her hat. “Yer’ horse here—he’s quite a handsome steed.”
Judith’s brows knit, not quite knowing how to approach. Still, she wasn’t stupid enough to engage an armed person. “I’m glad you think so, stranger. Did you want to take him for a stroll?”
“No- no, miss!” The stranger stuttered, which was strange, but Judith found it disarming. “Though I do love admiring a good horse.” She smiled, then ran a gentle palm over its neck as she spoke.
Judith’s shoulders dropped a slight because of it.
“There are others in the stables if you want to make some friends.”
“How’s-about you, miss?”
She made an inquisitive hum. “Me?”
“Y-Yes.” The stranger nodded, but she began to move as well. One of her legs slipped off the saddle. “What’s yer’ name?”
“I’m Judith—Judith Nys.” She grinned amicably, then held out her hand for the stranger as she approached. The newcomer seemed friendly enough.
“Miss Judith?” The stranger echoed. Having seen her extend a greeting though, Suletta mirrored Judith’s smile. “I’m Suletta- uh, pleasure to meet you.”
She took Judith’s hand, and Judith noted how this stranger hid her calloused palms with leather gloves. “Likewise, Suletta.”
A moment passed. Then, half a minute. For some reason, Suletta wasn’t letting go. “Uhm-“ Judith’s palm opened in an attempt to pull away.
It gripped harder.
Suletta’s arm suddenly shot out to wrap around Judith’s waist. She locked a startled Judith in place and only held tighter when the girl struggled. “Please don’t leave, Miss Judith. I’ve come a long ways-away to see you!”
Judith gasped as Suletta’s embrace squeezed the air out from her lungs. Her fingers scrambled to find an anchor around the stranger’s back, but the effort proved fruitless as it kept slipping down her shawl. “What- what’re you—?!”
Gloved hands crept along the side of Judith’s face; higher, then higher. They dug into her cheek; where skin and leather burned against eachother before a dull ‘crrack!’ tore through the night breeze.
One second, then two, and Judith went limp in Suletta’s arms. A slow, haunting wheeze escaped her lips. As Suletta went to set Judith down, the girl’s head bobbled in a morbid detachment from her neck.
“Apologies for scaring you, miss.” Suletta muttered. For a quiet instance, she clasped her hands together to offer an appeasing prayer.
And then she hauled Judith over the back of her horse and trotted over to the outskirts of the village. Silent, passive, and a sharp contrast to her brighter disposition only an hour before.
Though, the moon smiled down at her while Suletta brought them past the village and to the mouth of a rushing river. Finally, she tossed Judith into its current.
The waters devoured her body and claimed her for its own.
Once the sun emerged from the horizon to paint orange every tree along her forest path, Suletta made for the town of Dusk on a stolen horse and assumed Judith’s role as its next deputy.