𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒 [ 𝘢.𝘮 ]

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍. Survival

The silence is draining her.

She's fixed on an unyielding chair in the corner of a large tent, foot bouncing with impatience. She doesn't know these people. Doesn't know who they are- why they slaughtered an entire camp of men. Answers. She needs answers. 

She sits alone in the tent, looking around.

A makeshift bed in the opposite corner. A blanket of what looks to be soft animal fur. A pillow. A rough, irregular one, but a pillow nevertheless. A greatly sized wall carpet is adding to the features- the material seems rough, but the delicate sewed markings among the light shade of red make up for it.

A wooden table. With worksheets and maps spread freely over the surface. 

And a book. The dark leather covers are shielding the delicate pages. She can't help herself. Reaching for the well-kept item, she finds herself flickering through the yellowing paper with a light touch. Mindful not to rip the paper.

Engraved in the leather cover, a few words make their appearance.

Pride & Prejudice

Her thumb touches the rugged material, lips moving as she reads the title in her head.

She learned the basics of reading way before joining the gang, but she's certainly not the finest at it. As long as she keeps the reading in her mind, she's alright. Yet, once she's forced to verbally voice the written words, it's like she all of a sudden grew a stutter overnight. 

The clear of a throat makes her whirl around, the book still resting in her palms. Eyebrows are raised in surprise as she takes in the stranger before her.

The man is clad in black, with raven hair to match. Jewelry of gold is hanging carelessly down his vest, a crimson ruby adding to the look of honor. A dark mustache complements his appearance, drawing attention to the unlit tobacco between his lips.

Once she realizes the book is still in her hold, she quickly stores it back in place, cringing as she does so. Well done, Lilly.

"I need an excellent reason for bringing yet another O'Driscoll into my camp," he speaks unnervingly composed. Lilly believes the words aren't directed at her, and the moment a more familiar man enters, it's confirmed.

Arthur lingers just behind the man of authority, yet far enough to the side to get a sufficient sight of the woman. His thumbs are resting on his gunbelt, giving him an overall relaxed attitude.

"You're Dutch, right?" the blonde questions carefully. His words had finally sunk in, the term my camp giving her a pretty good illustration of the situation.

The raven-haired man hums, taking a step in her direction. "Perhaps wait with the informal?" he discretely demands, "I do not believe you're here to have a chat."

"Frankly," she cuts, "I would like to have a chat. No- I would love to know why you slaughtered an entire camp of men without a goddamn decent reason."

The man, Dutch, lifts an eyebrow, not expecting the woman to be so upfront. Surely, he wouldn't expect differently from an O'Driscoll- but not when they're outnumbered. That would be plain out foolish.

"Are you even aware of the consequences? God, Colm will lose his mind about this," she keeps on rambling, not truly thinking through her own words. Her wide-eyed gaze darts between the two men. She's scared. Terrified. "And where would I stay from now on? Here? With a bunch of cold-hearted murderers who likely hasn't seen a day without coating their fucking hands in more blood?"