[ Her responsibilities are few and simple: hang the clothes and draw the water and brushes the horses. Menial, domestic sort of tasks despite the fact that nowhere is their home and the night sky above is the only roof above their heads. She'd done such things on the farm, having learned how to keep house from her mother's own hands. (The same hands that had held Hansi's dust-smeared face as she kissed her and then pushed her down beneath the floorboards. Be good, child. Be still.)
Poking the fire with the burnt end of a stick, watching the embers snap and pop, she does not look up when she asks: ] That always the case — dead bein' easier?
[ Truth told, he hadn't been much older than she is now — or perhaps he'd been younger, it's hard to say — when he'd first held a gun. His pistols, however, are items he has yet to trust her with. (Maybe he never will, maybe he'll find some family to take her in before he has to; he has yet to decide.)
The caravan is parked with its back to the fire, the doors propped open and Schultz puttering around inside in order to clear up some more space. He isn't too much of a soft touch or a bleeding heart but he doesn't make her sleep on the ground. ]
Fewer mouths to feed on the journey back to collect the bounty, [ he calls, voice muffled as he has his back turned. ] And, on the whole, death tends to make wanted men much more cooperative about traveling to court, where they would — presumably — otherwise be sentenced to spend the rest of their lives behind bars. Not a particularly enticing notion for most, I think you'll find.
[ A moment passes before Schultz emerges in the doorway, the caravan creaking as he settles himself on the back steps. ]
[ The caravan creaks, Schultz's boots settle. Atop the cart his wind-worn tooth wobbles tipsily, its spring singing like a saw bent moon-shaped and played like a fiddle on the knee. Hansi dislikes the noise and the way it reminds her of winter — all the fields frozen underneath the snow, late afternoons spent cooped-up round the stove, the last of the sunlight spent on supper and a song before an early bedtime. Schultz's question hangs in the air as Hansi stares at the tooth defiantly, as if trying to will it still with her mind. But noisily, it carries on. (She's tempted to throw her stick at it and yell hush, but she thinks the kind doctor — 'kind' — wouldn't take too well to it.) ]
The bill said he was a bad 'un, didn' it? [ To bounty hunters the bill was important, wasn't it? To Hansi, they're a preoccupation. Something of an obsession. (The man who killed her ma and pap; they were on a bill somewhere, weren't they?) ]
That was the general gist of it, yes, [ King responds, rubbing his hands together before raising his palms in the direction of the fire.
Kindness is the sort of thing that is in short supply in an occupation like his (like theirs). Chances are that King Schultz wouldn't pass most tests of the definition, and that's the way that he likes it (that's the way it has to be), though it's a fact that most easily lose sight of given the florid quality of his speech and manner. There's very little to temper his trigger finger when a bounty is in question, but when it comes to the collateral damage, sometimes the needle lands neither here nor there.
For example: he finds the Bauer household torn to tatters and a little girl underneath the floorboards. He's on the tail of a gang (he doesn't bring the subject up around her) when he comes across her. She isn't his bounty and she isn't his responsibility but there's nothing much else for miles so he tells her just until the next town, schatz, and pulls her onto the caravan. And that's that. ]
Most men wanted for a bounty tend to have a price upon their heads for a reason.
[ (She spends the first month and a half squirreled away in the cart, not because he asks her to but because she's too frightened to come out into the light. Horses scare her; the bigger, the blacker, the worst they do — the men who'd come had ridden up on big black horses at dusk and from her spot beneath the floorboards Hansi could hear the animals whinny and neigh as her parents screamed.
Like ugly laughter, she'd thought at the time; truth told, she thinks it still.)
Chewing the inside of her cheek she looks at the doctor, watching the way the firelight plays with the shadows across his face, making him look younger and then older and then downright ancient, like he's made out of woodchip and stone. ] Can't figure why anybody'd aim t'keep one of them folks alive. All that hassle. [ Hansi frowns, then resumes poking the fire with a stick before abandoning it altogether. ] When they'd rightfully cut y'r throat while you's're sleepin'.
[ As it happens, he doesn't ask her for much at all. A couple of months pass in which he tries to dump her at each boarding house they come across, telling each respective master or mistress of the house to let the girl sleep, to not tell her where he's gone when she wakes. But she catches up, whether it be by stealing onto the cart into the middle of the night or hitching a ride, and eventually, Schultz gives up on the notion of getting rid of her that way, and just until the next time becomes just until we've killed those men.
(She still isn't used to Fritz, but there's not much to be done about that. Thank goodness, at least, that he's a friendly sort of horse.) ]
Sometimes the bounty is larger, alive, [ Schultz notes, though he doesn't say so out of any intent to start an argument. ] But, the majority of time, the difference isn't worth said trouble.
Jus' gonna up and hang 'em anyway, once they've got 'em, [ says Hansi, the declaration pursed with girlish petulance. Even though she's got a young face and willowy arms, it's easy to forget how young she is; death has made her hard and bitter as an old man and more often than not she frowns in disapproval rather than smile the way a girl her age should. It makes one wonder: when the men on black horses are finally at the end of the barrel of her gun, will Hansi smile then? Will her mouth finally remember the gesture and will her heart relearn how to hold such sentiment inside itself?
The end of the story is sad either way, but Hansi has taught herself not to think of it that way. (What is dead is dead and what will die will die — not if, but when. Just don't die first.)
There's a metal kettle set to bubbling, nestled in the embers at the fire's edge. Wrapping her hand in the thick wool of her sleeve, Hansi fetches it, its contents roiling about inside. The smell of coffee — black and bitter, just shy of burnt — wafts through the air in Schultz's direction. ] Doesn't make a bit'f sense to me.
[ Carefully, she extends the kettle, nodding for him to hold out his cup. ] Y'ever do that? Spare somebody who didn't need sparin'?
[ The end of the story is sad either way, but happy and sad are cheap ways of categorizing stories and from what he's seen, Hansi seems to have figured that out. What is dead is dead and what will die will die. It's just a matter of being careful about one's race to the grave. (Once, he'd wondered who would mourn him, should he ever die, but he's long since given up that line of thought.) ]
I don't imagine I would be a very good bounty hunter if I made a habit of it, [ comes the dry response, strained just a touch as he leans forward to hand her his cup. ]
[ Shadows move over Hansi's face as she brushes her hair back and then pours. It makes her look as if she's just smiled, the apple rounds of her cheek burnished gold by the firelight, though it's impossible to tell either way: genuine sentiment or just a trick of the light. Every likelihood says that it's the former, the girl not given over to such childish fancies (they have no currency out in the wide world, on the plains and in the towns; childish fancies would not tighten her aim or strengthen her hand; and they would not see her safe and un-violated during the moments when Schultz was not by her side). ]
What kinda fool you take me for? [ she asks, a little edge and a little humor in her voice both. ] You think I'd be badgerin' you half as bad if'n you were the type to let a bad man walk? [ His coffee poured, she pours one of her own, her cup dainty and small compared to his — a teacup rather than a tincan, fashioned out of pale ceramic and painted with flowers by a crude hand. ] There's still hogs to be hung.
[ Maybe she smiles and maybe she doesn't — it's hard to be sure — but Schultz most definitely does. (It's an expression he's given to more often than not, the planes of his face lending themselves somewhat better to friendliness, feigned or not, making his displeasure all the more fearsome.)
If her quest for vengeance means latching on to someone in a deadly line of work, then she certainly could have done worse in her choice. He calls her his niece whenever the question is raised and makes up some story about having come from Dusseldorf to visit his sister's family and generally, after that, most lose interest. He calls her his niece and to a certain degree the story feels natural enough. (He feels worse around the girls that some of the slavers keep, now, "ponies" sometimes a handful of years younger than Hansi herself, though he never comments on the subject.) ]
Fair point, [ he concedes, the t ringing sharply in the night air.
Then, somewhat fondly: ] You're stubborn to a fault but you're not a fool.
[ What is this? An AU? Who knows! Probably! Wait, that's a terrible start to a tag. Begin again. Freddie's pencil has been whittled down to enough of a nub that he really can't tuck it anywhere without losing it and can't do anything with it in his hands beyond clutch at it and hope he won't drop it. Still, it is better lugging ink all over the place and hoping it doesn't get all over every thing he owns and/or run out at the exact second he needs it most. ]
Musn't believe everything you read, particularly not advertising. [ And then, with barely a breath to signify a change in topic: ] Is that how these things usually work for you? See something that someone has put up somewhere and go off and do it, no questions asked?
[ Seems like a perfectly legitimate start to me! ]
That would depend on the thing in question, [ King responds, apparently perfectly content to follow the conversation from thread to thread. ] But, for the most part, yes. If there is a bounty to be had, then there will be a bounty hunter to collect it; I have merely thrown my proverbial hat into the ring. I suppose it's one of those instances of simply believing what you read, but what can you do.
[ Freddie scribbles something down. A note documenting this answer, more or less, in case he needs to return to it later. Generally Freddie is not a note-taker, but it's helpful sometimes. ]
So it's a matter of supply and demand, then. [ Because if there's anyone who could manage to be a socialist before socialism became trendy, it would be Frederick Lyon. ] The demand exists, which means that sooner or later someone will come along to fulfill it and reap the benefits of compensation for their labour. So why not you?
[ Schultz raises his hands in a gesture that reads of course in the way that most people might answer the question of is there snow at the North Pole, his smile drawing crows' feet at the corners of his eyes. Still, not a moment passes before he's leaning forward again, one arm braced upon the table and the other propped up, three fingers raised. ]
In my experience, Mr. Lyon, people choose professions that can, for the most part, be sorted into one of three categories: what they love— [ he lowers a finger with each category ] —what they are good at, and what will make them the most money. Fortunately for me, bounty hunting falls into all three categories. [ It's a slightly altered answer, yes, but seems to hit closer to the truth where Schultz is concerned. ]
I don't see any reason not to take advantage of serendipity. Wouldn't you agree?
[ Freddie's head tips to the side, not in agreement or disagreement but just because that's a thing Freddie does when he's thinking. Just like how, a moment later, he raises his thumb to his teeth and bites thoughtfully at the already ragged nail. ]
I can't say I believe in serendipity, [ he says finally, removing his fingernail from between his teeth and using his newly-free hand to gesture. ] It's entirely too convenient. [ The neatness of it, Freddie would tend to believe, can't exist in the untidiness of the real world. ] Besides which, those aren't the only considerations in choosing a career. What about contribution to the community? Work hours? Tell me, Dr. Schultz, do the ethics of your chosen profession ever bother you?
[ The laugh that now breezes its way through Schultz's frame seems to have less to do with actually finding anything funny and more to do with finding pleasure in having someone intelligent to converse with. (Unfortunately, among those that he hunts, quick conversation is a rarity.) ]
I'd like to think that ridding the world of a few more public menaces serves as a contribution to the community, and the work hours are flexible so long as you've earned enough money to allow for that sort of leisure. And as for that last question, you're a clever sort of fellow— [ a beat passes, in which Schultz allows himself a last huff of amusement ] —I'm sure you can divine the answer yourself.
Oh, I have all sorts of answers, right here at my fingertips.
[ Freddie raises both hands and gives his fingers a demonstrative wiggle. He smiles a bit as well, and it's a smile that's not all that different from Dr. Schultz's laugh. If Freddie were more self-aware -- and he is, poignantly so, on some topics and utterly hopeless on others -- he might think that there's an element of chase to both of their professions that probably explains a great deal of their appeal. Dr. Schultz's chase is the quite literal kind, but this, what is happening right here and now in this conversation, is Freddie's. ]
But I would be far more interested in hearing yours, [ he concludes, dropping his hands back down again. ] For example, is it that you're killing someone who has killed before and likely will again? Or is it that you simply don't believe that there's an inherent worth in human life?
Oh, of course there's worth, [ Schultz says, feigning offense as he raises a hand to pat his chest. ] The proof is in my billfold, is it not?
[ 'Amoral' isn't a pretty word to throw around, but in some cases, it's the only one that applies — for the most part, when 'sociopath' falls just short of the mark. Schultz understands Freddie's line of inquiry perfectly — the half-apologetic expression that he wears is proof of it — and his answers are non-answers only insomuch as they are indirect. That said, the gist is this: the crimes don't matter to him, nor does the body count. Nor, however, is the enterprise entirely about money. As he'd said: it's also what he loves to do, and what he's good at. ]
[ When one lives life in a near-constant state of outrage at society -- as Freddie does -- it can be hard to fathom how other people can get along without being outraged. So it is fair to say that while Freddie has not been actively attempting to get a rise out of Dr. Schultz, he is mildly surprised that it hasn't happened yet. That the most he has managed to achieve is that mildly offended hand gesture. ]
I meant that more in the intangible sense. The sanctity -- if you'll let me use that in a decidedly irreligious sense -- of human life and thus the complementary evil of bringing it to an end.
[ To Freddie's credit, however, Dr. Schultz is a hard man to shake. He's waving a hand in the air before Freddie has even finished speaking, in a sort of I know, I know. ]
Good and evil are subjective properties, as well as a little too black and white for my tastes but, much to my regret, the big picture is often measured in similarly broad terms. That aside — all lives end. Mine will, too, eventually. The men that I make my living hunting — scoundrels, for the most part — would hang, had their respective courts been able to incarcerate them properly. I simply move the process. In short: I am not particularly concerned— [ (not concerned at all, more like) ] —with the ethics involved.
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no subject
Poking the fire with the burnt end of a stick, watching the embers snap and pop, she does not look up when she asks: ] That always the case — dead bein' easier?
no subject
The caravan is parked with its back to the fire, the doors propped open and Schultz puttering around inside in order to clear up some more space. He isn't too much of a soft touch or a bleeding heart but he doesn't make her sleep on the ground. ]
Fewer mouths to feed on the journey back to collect the bounty, [ he calls, voice muffled as he has his back turned. ] And, on the whole, death tends to make wanted men much more cooperative about traveling to court, where they would — presumably — otherwise be sentenced to spend the rest of their lives behind bars. Not a particularly enticing notion for most, I think you'll find.
[ A moment passes before Schultz emerges in the doorway, the caravan creaking as he settles himself on the back steps. ]
Would you do it differently?
no subject
The bill said he was a bad 'un, didn' it? [ To bounty hunters the bill was important, wasn't it? To Hansi, they're a preoccupation. Something of an obsession. (The man who killed her ma and pap; they were on a bill somewhere, weren't they?) ]
no subject
Kindness is the sort of thing that is in short supply in an occupation like his (like theirs). Chances are that King Schultz wouldn't pass most tests of the definition, and that's the way that he likes it (that's the way it has to be), though it's a fact that most easily lose sight of given the florid quality of his speech and manner. There's very little to temper his trigger finger when a bounty is in question, but when it comes to the collateral damage, sometimes the needle lands neither here nor there.
For example: he finds the Bauer household torn to tatters and a little girl underneath the floorboards. He's on the tail of a gang (he doesn't bring the subject up around her) when he comes across her. She isn't his bounty and she isn't his responsibility but there's nothing much else for miles so he tells her just until the next town, schatz, and pulls her onto the caravan. And that's that. ]
Most men wanted for a bounty tend to have a price upon their heads for a reason.
no subject
Like ugly laughter, she'd thought at the time; truth told, she thinks it still.)
Chewing the inside of her cheek she looks at the doctor, watching the way the firelight plays with the shadows across his face, making him look younger and then older and then downright ancient, like he's made out of woodchip and stone. ] Can't figure why anybody'd aim t'keep one of them folks alive. All that hassle. [ Hansi frowns, then resumes poking the fire with a stick before abandoning it altogether. ] When they'd rightfully cut y'r throat while you's're sleepin'.
no subject
(She still isn't used to Fritz, but there's not much to be done about that. Thank goodness, at least, that he's a friendly sort of horse.) ]
Sometimes the bounty is larger, alive, [ Schultz notes, though he doesn't say so out of any intent to start an argument. ] But, the majority of time, the difference isn't worth said trouble.
no subject
The end of the story is sad either way, but Hansi has taught herself not to think of it that way. (What is dead is dead and what will die will die — not if, but when. Just don't die first.)
There's a metal kettle set to bubbling, nestled in the embers at the fire's edge. Wrapping her hand in the thick wool of her sleeve, Hansi fetches it, its contents roiling about inside. The smell of coffee — black and bitter, just shy of burnt — wafts through the air in Schultz's direction. ] Doesn't make a bit'f sense to me.
[ Carefully, she extends the kettle, nodding for him to hold out his cup. ] Y'ever do that? Spare somebody who didn't need sparin'?
no subject
I don't imagine I would be a very good bounty hunter if I made a habit of it, [ comes the dry response, strained just a touch as he leans forward to hand her his cup. ]
In short: no. Are you surprised?
no subject
What kinda fool you take me for? [ she asks, a little edge and a little humor in her voice both. ] You think I'd be badgerin' you half as bad if'n you were the type to let a bad man walk? [ His coffee poured, she pours one of her own, her cup dainty and small compared to his — a teacup rather than a tincan, fashioned out of pale ceramic and painted with flowers by a crude hand. ] There's still hogs to be hung.
no subject
If her quest for vengeance means latching on to someone in a deadly line of work, then she certainly could have done worse in her choice. He calls her his niece whenever the question is raised and makes up some story about having come from Dusseldorf to visit his sister's family and generally, after that, most lose interest. He calls her his niece and to a certain degree the story feels natural enough. (He feels worse around the girls that some of the slavers keep, now, "ponies" sometimes a handful of years younger than Hansi herself, though he never comments on the subject.) ]
Fair point, [ he concedes, the t ringing sharply in the night air.
Then, somewhat fondly: ] You're stubborn to a fault but you're not a fool.
no subject
What is this? An AU? Who knows! Probably! Wait, that's a terrible start to a tag. Begin again.Freddie's pencil has been whittled down to enough of a nub that he really can't tuck it anywhere without losing it and can't do anything with it in his hands beyond clutch at it and hope he won't drop it. Still, it is better lugging ink all over the place and hoping it doesn't get all over every thing he owns and/or run out at the exact second he needs it most. ]Musn't believe everything you read, particularly not advertising. [ And then, with barely a breath to signify a change in topic: ] Is that how these things usually work for you? See something that someone has put up somewhere and go off and do it, no questions asked?
no subject
Seems like a perfectly legitimate start to me!]That would depend on the thing in question, [ King responds, apparently perfectly content to follow the conversation from thread to thread. ] But, for the most part, yes. If there is a bounty to be had, then there will be a bounty hunter to collect it; I have merely thrown my proverbial hat into the ring. I suppose it's one of those instances of simply believing what you read, but what can you do.
no subject
So it's a matter of supply and demand, then. [ Because if there's anyone who could manage to be a socialist before socialism became trendy, it would be Frederick Lyon. ] The demand exists, which means that sooner or later someone will come along to fulfill it and reap the benefits of compensation for their labour. So why not you?
no subject
In my experience, Mr. Lyon, people choose professions that can, for the most part, be sorted into one of three categories: what they love— [ he lowers a finger with each category ] —what they are good at, and what will make them the most money. Fortunately for me, bounty hunting falls into all three categories. [ It's a slightly altered answer, yes, but seems to hit closer to the truth where Schultz is concerned. ]
I don't see any reason not to take advantage of serendipity. Wouldn't you agree?
no subject
I can't say I believe in serendipity, [ he says finally, removing his fingernail from between his teeth and using his newly-free hand to gesture. ] It's entirely too convenient. [ The neatness of it, Freddie would tend to believe, can't exist in the untidiness of the real world. ] Besides which, those aren't the only considerations in choosing a career. What about contribution to the community? Work hours? Tell me, Dr. Schultz, do the ethics of your chosen profession ever bother you?
no subject
I'd like to think that ridding the world of a few more public menaces serves as a contribution to the community, and the work hours are flexible so long as you've earned enough money to allow for that sort of leisure. And as for that last question, you're a clever sort of fellow— [ a beat passes, in which Schultz allows himself a last huff of amusement ] —I'm sure you can divine the answer yourself.
no subject
[ Freddie raises both hands and gives his fingers a demonstrative wiggle. He smiles a bit as well, and it's a smile that's not all that different from Dr. Schultz's laugh. If Freddie were more self-aware -- and he is, poignantly so, on some topics and utterly hopeless on others -- he might think that there's an element of chase to both of their professions that probably explains a great deal of their appeal. Dr. Schultz's chase is the quite literal kind, but this, what is happening right here and now in this conversation, is Freddie's. ]
But I would be far more interested in hearing yours, [ he concludes, dropping his hands back down again. ] For example, is it that you're killing someone who has killed before and likely will again? Or is it that you simply don't believe that there's an inherent worth in human life?
no subject
[ 'Amoral' isn't a pretty word to throw around, but in some cases, it's the only one that applies — for the most part, when 'sociopath' falls just short of the mark. Schultz understands Freddie's line of inquiry perfectly — the half-apologetic expression that he wears is proof of it — and his answers are non-answers only insomuch as they are indirect. That said, the gist is this: the crimes don't matter to him, nor does the body count. Nor, however, is the enterprise entirely about money. As he'd said: it's also what he loves to do, and what he's good at. ]
no subject
I meant that more in the intangible sense. The sanctity -- if you'll let me use that in a decidedly irreligious sense -- of human life and thus the complementary evil of bringing it to an end.
no subject
Good and evil are subjective properties, as well as a little too black and white for my tastes but, much to my regret, the big picture is often measured in similarly broad terms. That aside — all lives end. Mine will, too, eventually. The men that I make my living hunting — scoundrels, for the most part — would hang, had their respective courts been able to incarcerate them properly. I simply move the process. In short: I am not particularly concerned— [ (not concerned at all, more like) ] —with the ethics involved.