forum place i belong // oxo // closed

Started June 13, 2023 by @larcenistarsonist group

tune

The air is dust, the ground is dirt, the clouds are a rolling pink across the setting western sun. The summer heat is getting harder to breathe in, and travelling character A needs to finally get a place to settle, to hide, to turn a new leaf and start a new life. Dodging bullets in saloons, sniping so-called quick draws in a duel, and making his way out of every small town with a large pocket of gold–A had quite the life going for him. But he's tired. He's so tired.

Character B is the to-be-head of the house on his family farm. His father is old, yet still kicking, too stubborn to knock the bucket over yet. His mother is a kind, doting individual. His four younger siblings all look up to him as the ideal picture of a man. He wakes up at dawn, feeds the horses, milks the cows, waters their crops. He smiths their tools and tans their leather and does everything a perfect man should be able to. But B is tired. He's so, so tired.

A stumbles across B's family farm one late day in the afternoon. He's sweating, bleeding and seconds away from passing out. B leaps over the fence to come to his aid. It's not B who invites A to stay in their barn for a while, but B's mother. A accepts, figuring this is his first step into rehabilitation. And then it's over campfires, whiskey, and stories do A and B begin to bond.

But how long will it be until A's criminal past catches up to him? How long will it take for B to finally work up the nerve to leave everything he's ever known?

Hi I want gay cowboys

I would prefer to be character A but im chill with either. I'll get templates up if someone shows interest

uhhh rules

• dont be a dick
• have decent grammar and at least paragraph responses
• be active once every 2-3 days
• i can ask for a sample and say no (please experienced rpers only)
• all sexy scenes will be skipped over/fade to black

awesome thanks for reading 👍

Gay- Gay cowboys? i dont need another rp i dont need another rp i dont fuck, can I?

jagdgsgshjak you guys like. responded at the same time.

I think I'm gonna give this one to Carrots bc I don't have one with them yet. sorry Ice angdhs

Gay cowboys!! Thanks MJ omg

and shush Ice you're too nice stop

aldjjskd yeah go ahead and stalk ice!!! and np Carrots I've wanted to have an rp w you for a while lol

okay! template!!

Name:
Age:
Sexuality:
Gender/Pronouns:

Appearance:
Personality:
Likes/Dislikes:

Backstory:
Other?:

and then anything else you want akdhjdjd

Bruh you should have DM'd me oml - I'll get to work on me cowboy :)

slfhksjd oof well we got one now

and I'll get to work on mine hehe

Name: Dane Casper Elliot
Age: 26
Sexuality: hnng…men
Gender/Pronouns: male he/him

Appearance: Tall, athletic build but can still be snapped like a twig. He has long limbs that always move very smoothly, and he moves like he always has a fun ragtime jig in his head. Dane has strawberry blonde hair that reaches to about his shoulders and is cut like he does it by himself and with no mirror (very true). He has bright blue eyes, a face full of light freckles, and a big smile. His nose is pointy and the bridge is crooked from being broken a few times. He usually wears black and tan cowboy clothes with a scarlet bandana that he only pulls over his mouth and nose when it's crime time. He likes leather gloves and vests over button up shirts. His fashion sense is pretty good for a guy o never buys any new clothes. At his side is a pistol in a leather holder. He rarely buys ammo because every shot hits.
Personality: Dane is a very polite individual when he's not in the middle of a heist. He addresses everyone older than him as sir or ma'am. He can be very mild mannered and is mildly terrified of angry parents. When he's actually comfortable, Dane is loud and messy and always cracks jokes. He's an avid storyteller, loving to take people on crazy rides with just words. His words are always honest and to the point, not really figuring theres a point in lying. He is not by nature violent, but he has a strong sense of self preservation that ends in blood for his own skin. He mostly steals for fun and out of habit. He has a reputation and buys into it. However, if he can't make a use for something he steals, he donates it or leaves it behind. He doesn't like destroying things.
Likes/Dislikes: he's very fond of bourbon and whiskey, especially around campfires with a story. he loves animals and the color red. Dane is not a fan of authority and limits on freedom. He enjoys spontaneity and fun timed and considers anybody who stops that a buzzkill. He also does not like strawberries or tomatoes.

Backstory: Dane grew up rough, in a town full of crime by a drunken single father. He lost his mother and baby sister when he was young to fevers. Dane did what he had to do. He got tough, he learned to fight back. He killed a man in a shootout when he was sixteen and it all went downhill from there. He stole a horse and escaped his small town, but he just went to the next. And the next. And the next. It continued and Dane got better at stealing and killing to keep himself afloat. He's selfish, but he's alive and he's damn getting tired of outrunning the enemies he's made. Diligent sheriffs, challenge seeking quick-draws, sons of murdered fathers. Dane is running on fumes. He needs someplace to belong.
Other?: The criminal name most know him by is Tiger Snipe, due to his reddish hair and single-shot killings. He has killed quite an amount, but his most common crime is grand larceny. He's always stealing new horses to leave in the next town, large sums of gold that always disappear in the middle of the night, large storybooks and diaries read over firelight.

Name: Christopher 'Kit' Brooks
Age: 23
Sexuality: Believes himself to be straight however hasn't explored his sexuality - newsflash, he's very gay
Gender/Pronouns: Male, he/him

Appearance: Kit is exactly 6' and has a worker's build - strong arms and defined muscles there along his chest and legs. He's not big despite all the muscles he is fairly skinny and slim in the stomach but it just makes his abs and muscles much more defined. He has tanned skin with freckles all across his face from days and days in the sun and tending to the farm. Usually has dirt under his nails across his hands and face, well, everywhere, really, because all he does is work outdoors 24/7, rain or shine. He has deep green eyes, a defined jawline and nose and soft pink lips and a sweet, kind smile that he tries to sport as much as possible. His hair is light brown and wavy but he usually tucks the front strands under his hat so it doesn't get in his face while working. His hands are calloused and rough but overall his skin is softer than it appears to be. Usually sweating. Kit tends to wear loose-fitting jeans that flare out at the bottom, leather boots and a belt to accompany them. His upper half consists of a range of flannels in different colours or tank tops that range from a little too small but he can't afford to buy any new ones. Also seen wearing a black leather cowboy hat when he's outside and a broken watch on his left wrist.
Personality: Kit is too kind for his own good. A heart of gold that makes him easily manipulated by others at times and difficult for him to stand up for himself in bad situations. He is kind to everyone, at least he tries to be, even if he's been wronged by the other person. A sweet soul that loves adventure and wants to get out and see the world but is unable to so so due to his obligation to the farm and his family. Mama's boy through and through and its obvious that where he gets his sweetness from (and his looks). Doesn't necessarily like violence or fighting but knows how to, its why he stays on the farm and doesn't go into town all too often. But due to the same old routine, the pressure from tending to the farm on his own and doing everything, the man is a bit depressed however hides it as well as he can.
Likes/Dislikes: My man loves the stars. He loves the sky, the constellations and planets and everything about them - a bit obsessed, really. Green is his favourite colour and he loves cows and horses the most. Again, not fond of violence or fighting, and has a strong dislike for those who are rude and unnecessarily aggressive

Backstory: Kit is the eldest of five children: there's him, James, Otto, Kane, and Dolly and yes, all four brothers are very protective of their younger sibling. Their farm is one of the most well-known in their area due to the name their father made for them (not necessarily a good one but still), however despite this they live on the poorer end of the market. His siblings are still too young to work and regardless, his mother (Clara), wants them to get an education rather than tending to the farm so they are often away in the big city compared to the farm but they visit as often as they can. His dad (Zeke), is a rough man but loves his children to bits and pieces, even if sick and old shown in the fact that he is still living.

Kit tended to the farm from a young age and hasn't stopped since. He loves the place and his family and his little town but longs to get out and see something different, something fun and interesting rather than the same old routine. It's why he is so tired. Doesn't help that he doesn't have many friends.
Other?: Kit's best friends are technically an old cow he calls Mols and his horse that he has been raised with since birth, Dandy (short for Dandelion) - Dandy is a brilliant, striking black horse with white around her feet and down her nose.

sjgfhsjsj aaaaaaaa I love Kit,,,

I can get a starter up tomorrow when I am not very sleepy

Kit and Dane are gonna go well together i love them. and no probs bestie, im heading bowling anyways aksjakd - get some rest!

(alright hello)

Evening has always been Dane's favorite time of day. It's warm, the stars are beginning to show, the sky slowly drips away into darkness. It's best for setting up his campfire, a balled up jacket beneath his head as he recounts his day and eventually begins to make up stories for the audience of a stolen horse and a handful of dust devils. Except this evening is far from ideal. Dane is bleeding.

He should've seen it coming, damnit. He shot a guy through the heart in broad daylight and the man's second retaliated in a very unkind way. With a hiss, Dane presses a hand to his ribs. If the bullet had landed just half an inch to the right, Dane would be a dead man and would've died in the most idiotic way possible. What kind of man doesn't honor a duel? Dane wants to ask, but he's too busy biting on a strap of leather to speak. His stolen horse is at least generous, not fighting him every step. She still whinnies and huffs and makes it very clear that she doesn't like being stolen from her stable, but Dane will make it work. He's dealt with far more problematic horses. But he wasn't bleeding out then.

God, he needs to stop soon.

At first it's blurry, just a smudge of gray across the lavender sky, but as Dane approaches, he finally deciphers it as smoke. Smoke. Where there's smoke, there's fire. And where there's fire, there's people. Dane has never considered himself religious, but he finds himself thanking every god he knows of. As he urges the mare on faster, Dane takes a labored breath and grits his teeth. Black spots swarm in his vision and he realizes that he won't make it to the heart of the town. He doesn't even know if his paper face will be plastered across every tavern wall. It's possible, damnit, but he'll be captured. They won't set his expiration date until after they've cleaned him up. He'll still escape with a brand new horse and then he'll try to find the next town that doesn't know who he is.

The black begins to close in. The town is too far out of reach–but… But not this farm. Dane yanks on the poor mare's reins and redirects her to the farm. He hacks, the leather falling from his mouth with far too much blood for Dane's liking. Through the fog and the black, Dane spots a man on the other side of the fence, practically knee-deep in crop.

"Hey there–" he tries to call, but his balance sways and he slides right off the bare back of the horse. Dane's unconscious before he hits the ground.

(I am also now conscious)

Working in the crop fields at dusk had become one of the only ways for Kit to take his mind off the fact that life had become nothing but a repetitive routine with not much else to do but work. Fun, it seemed, had left him long ago. Considering he was the only man on the farm who was able to actually tend to everything he was more than grateful that the days went by faster than they might've had he been lounging in the saloon with nothing else to be doing, but it did, however, leave him alone with his thoughts for far longer then he liked. At least by keeping busy, he could focus on something other than his own head, which was more than a blessing. Besides, the farm was big, probably too big for one person, but Kit never complained. His Papa was unable to help and he'd be damned if he ever let his Mama do hard labour. With his siblings at school - thank God for that, some of them needed a proper education - it was all down to him. It was fine. It would always be fine, at least that was what he kept telling himself.

Tonight was no different, with the sky a dusty lavender mixing with those rose pinks and sweet oranges he loved as he fixed up a new patch of potatoes. Kit was practically finished with the job and was ready to head inside, wiping his hands on his jeans to remove some of the dirt and that was when he heard it. The call of someone over the fence. Who would be out so close to their property at this hour? It didn't matter, because Kit looked towards the fence, to the man on the horse not too far away, and watched him plummet to the ground.

Shit, "Mama!" Kit called. Luckily the woman had been headed his way, about to reprimand him for staying out when dinner was going cold in the kitchen, but any thoughts of scolding her son left her when she heard his cry and she, too, saw the man fall off the horse.

Kit ran, and he was glad of his speed and easily hopped the fence as he rushed to the side of the man. Oh God, he was bleeding, and bleeding bad. He shrugged off his flannel and was quick to move the man in order to tie it tight around his chest to help stop the bleeding, at least enough for him to get him to town. But he wouldn't make it. Realistically, he knew that the stranger wasn't going to make it that far.

That was when he felt his mother at his side, "Oh, goodness, Christopher. Do you know this man?" Kit shook his head.

"No, no he just- Mama, he's bleedin' real bad." He kept pressure on the wound but the longer they stayed and spoke the less likely they had of him making it and getting some sort of explanation.

"Take him to the barn, you know first aid, I'll deal with his horse."

Kit didn't bother to argue because there was no point. The man's horse didn't even have a saddle be damned, was it even his own? Not many rode bare back for it was too uncomfortable. Luckily all those years working gave him the strength he needed to pick the man up and he hurried to the barn as fast as he could. When there, he set him on the softest piles of hay he could find. The man was unconscious so he hoped he couldn't feel anything, which was good because it meant he could patch him up with little issue. Kit only hoped the man made it as he removed his own flannel and the strangers shirt, too, to get to work cleaning him up.

(sorry it's a little shorter skhdhsj there's not a lot for Dane to do bc he's unconscious)

There are arms around him, one below his knees and the other supporting his back. Too tired to even hiss at the pain, Dane cracks his eyes open. There's a man above him, brown hair pink in the setting sun and his skin glowing with sweat and shine. Dane cracks a lazy smile. "Yer' an angel," he mumbles before his head lolls back, fully losing himself to his injury.

There are hands on him. They pull at his shirt and find his wound. Sure enough, a silver bullet lodged itself between his false ribs, just centimeters from his liver. Well, it could be worse. There could be no bullet and it would be lost somewhere in Dane's thoracic cavity. Damn, even unconscious he's finding fancy anatomy words he used from his stolen physiology book. Soon enough he's going to start referring to up and down as supeior and inferior.

When Dane wakes next, it's the middle of the night. He knows from the way his right knee aches with the moon and the lack of warm lavender seeping through the slats of the barn. He groans, very loudly, and to the best of his ability stretches his long arms above his head. He ends up knocking his hat off the straw bed he's laying on and swears at the sharp pain that slices through his bandaged side. Thank the fucking gods that the farmers who found him were nice enough to patch up his lil bullet wound. Now he just hopes they're nice enough for some strong liquor to kill his pain. "Damnit, anybody in here?" He calls without caring if he's too polite. He's never been too polite after an awful nap.

(lmao understandable)

Kit barely registered the comments made by the man when he had been more focused on getting him into the barn and to somewhere safe. His patch job had been as good as any, but the bullet wound was out and there were stitches where the weapon and pierced skin. At least he wasn't going to bleed out all over the barn and die on him. The man was a stranger and Kit wouldn't put it past any of the townsfolk to blame him for a death when they already had a dislike for his father and his farm. Either way, Kit had bandaged the man up and had left him to rest and eat while he had slept.

But after that, the young man returned to the barn, not wanting to leave him alone. If the stranger died on his watch then well, it would be a shit show. Besides, Kit was good at keeping himself busy, which was exactly what he had been doing no matter how tired he was. Sleeping was out of the question when he was worried, it was the same with anything or anyone that he came across - friend or foe - and with an injury like the one the stranger was sporting there was definitely going to be no sleep for him. Luckily he had Mols to keep him company. Dandy was away with the other horses in the stables, including the one that the stranger had arrived on. Luckily she hadn't been too much of a hassle for his mother, thank God, and she had returned to the house not long after with Kit, making sure he ate before heading to bed herself. She was more than aware that her eldest was able to take care of himself, and others, and so she was mainly only worried that the man wasn't going to survive the night without proper care. But there wasn't anywhere else to take him.

And Kit was brushing Mols down when he heard the man speak. The cow was as wrapped around Kit as she could be with the man lying against her side, lazily brushing her out. He was quick to stand, quick to open the gate to her little stable, closing it behind him before hurrying out to the other. When he got there he crouched down beside him, "Yeah, yeah I'm here," Kit ran a hand through his hair to brush the strands out his face, "How are you feeling? Is there anything I can get you?"

He's in a barn. Classy. To distraction himself from the searing pain, Dane looks to the rafters spilling with staw and alfalfa. It smells of animal–all types. Dane just hopes he's not lounging in some fine horse shit. That would really just tip him over the edge of this very no good terrible bad day. Getting shot wasn't enough, but horse shit in his last really nice pair of chaps might as well kill Dane on the spot.

He almost jumps when the man appears at his side. Not actively dying, Dane manages a good long look at him and immediately realizes it's his angel. "Hello there," he drawls. His blue eyes meet the angel's green. "I hate to bother ya', but I'm in a world of pain. Any whiskey? Bourbon? Hell, I'm so desperate I'd resort to tequila." The thought of tequila makes Dane's mouth dry. It's an unpleasant taste and he'd much rather suffer with the warm feeling of bourbon on his tongue.

To be fair, it wasn't even Dane's fault he was shot, but he's not about to go blabbing his whole life story to the angel crouched beside him. He killed that arrogant loudmouth fair and square, but his buddy didn't like that and decided to try and return a favor. It's a good damn thing Dane had shifted when he did. He's been shot before, but only in manageable places like the forearm or the shoulder. This was his closest call yet and it led him right to this angel in a barn where Dane's probably laying in horseshit.

"Oh, and I'm Dane. Dane Elliot." He closes his eyes as he tips his head back against the straw. You might know me better as Tiger Snipe, is what he doesn't say. Who is he to go introducing himself as the most notorious thief in the west? Or at least the most annoying one if notorious feels too generous. If this angel knows who he is, then he really is an angel because who in the right mind would save someone like Dane?

Luckily for Dane, the bed of straw and hay that Kit had placed him on earlier was fresh. The softest of the lot and clean as it could be. Bringing the man into the house hadn't been an option because his Papa would have raised hell, bringing a stranger in. Let alone one that was bleeding the man would have dropped dead on the spot if he had seen that. So Kit had done what he could to make sure the man was comfortable enough while he had slept. Now that he was awake, maybe he would be able to get some answers as to who he was.

It seemed, though, that he was in luck because the stranger, Dane, introduced himself mere moments after asking for a drink. Kit should have been able to guess that he would have asked for something along those lines, he would have done the same if the roles were reversed. The pain that the other must have been in would be overwhelming. For God's sake, he was lucky to even be alive. That shit damn well could have killed him if whoever had done so had been a better aim. At least Kit didn't have to deal with a dying man, just one that was in pain, and he would take that as a win any day of the week.

Striking blue eyes met his own and Kit took a moment to collect himself. He wasn't used to caring for strangers. His parents and siblings were easy. Animals? Walk in the park. But a stranger? Whole different ball game. Regardless, why had he been shot in the first place? Was he a wanted man? A criminal? Kit didn't want to have to deal with that mess, either, let alone dealing with an injured one. Those thoughts he kept to himself, however, and instead he was standing only a second later, "Oh-" Kit moved and hummed, "There's some whiskey here," He grabbed an old bottle. He didn't know if it would be any good but he guessed Dane wouldn't care, "And there's some fresh bread for you 'ere as well." Balancing the bottle in one hand and the plate of fresh bread and cheese in the other, Kit was back at his side once again, "I wasn't sure if you we're gonna wake up tonigh' or not, sorry it ain't more."

Because if he had thought that Dane would wake he would have prepared more of a meal, if the man could stomach it, but this was the best that he could do. Kit crouched just in front of him, "Christopher- uh- Kit, Kit is fine." Rarely did he ever go by his full name these days.

Dane watches the man at his side, marveling at the way Dane can physically see the pieces click together and the gears grind behind those green eyes. He smiles, tilting his head back because it currently hurts too much to keep it upright. Maybe he could ask for a pillow, but that seems like an awful lot to ask for a man who just saved his life. A couple stitches, a bottle of whiskey, a bed of straw to snooze in. Yeah, that's already more than Dane deserves.

"Thank ya'," he mumbles, accepting the whiskey as soon as his hands stop shaking enough to grab the bottle. It still trembles as he brings the bottle to his lips, knocking it back and downing at least a third of the stale liquor. There's not a trace of a sour expression on his face, the man long grown used to the bitter, fiery taste He pries the top from his lips with a pop, some of the whiskey dribbling down his chin. He doesn't have the decency to care as he licks his lips like a starved man. The numbing relief will kick in soon enough. It's a dangerous habit to get into, but hospitals haven't quote invented something as portable as a flask. Dane doesn't worry about it. He'll worry about it if he's ever damned enough to get a child. That won't happen, though. Dane won't become his father because he'll never be a father. Simple, foolproof plan. Plus, no pregnancy scares if he never beds a woman to begin with.

He hands the bottle back to the other man and paws the loaf towards himself. "Christopher Kit?" Dane raises an eyebrow. "I think I'll just call ya' angel if yer alright with that." After all, Kit did save his life, surely an angel if he ever saw one. "I think you made me religious, angel, bringin' me back from the brink and all." He tears into the end of the loaf. "I thank you kindly fer that. Wasn't ready to kick the bucket yet." He still has to live out a normal life. Damn it, Dane wants a house and a full liquor cabinet and enough cigars to puff on his patio with a perfect view of the sunset. "And don't apologize fer shit, angel. You didn't have to get me anything." He peels a piece of cheese from the board and studies it before slapping it into his mouth. He can feel a buzz in the back of his mind, which is nice because the odd feeling takes away from thw former throbbing ache in his side.

Kit couldn’t help but flush a light shade of pink at Dane’s insistence to call him ‘angel.’ Pet names, sweet names, whatever the context of them may be always had him blushing, he couldn’t help it. They weren’t common for him especially since he really didn’t have any friends - actually he definitely didn’t have any friends that weren’t his cow and his horse and his parents didn’t count since well, they’re his parents. Hearing a pet name from a man that he didn’t know, calling him an angel no less, was more than enough reason to blush in his mind. He just hoped that the other didn’t comment or notice. Considering Dane’s state he figured he wouldn’t, too focused on the drink and the pain and then the food to pay him much mind. That was how he liked it, anyway. Kit didn’t need any unnecessary attention or eyes on him no matter if it was just him and the man before him.

He couldn’t help but feel a little impressed at how easily Dane knocked back the drink as if it were water. He wasn’t much of a drinker himself, regardless he never felt the need to and there was never any in the home. The bottle that he had given Dane was probably the last bottle on the whole farm. His mother never drank and his father was too sick to do so anymore and Kit didn’t like the taste. No alcohol. No getting drunk. And tending to the farm with a wicked hangover wouldn’t be fun, he imagined. Being in the sun all day on top of a wicked headache? Kit would be damned if he thought that was a good idea. Chances were he’d end up in the middle of a crop field passed out and dehydrated.

Chuckling softly, and a little nervously, Kit turned his gaze to the bottle in his hand, “You’re too kind. ‘Am no angel.” He shifted until he was sat crisscross with his legs under him. With one hand he twisted the bottle on one of its corners, the other he sat comfortably in his lap, “Anyone would’a done the same. Gave me quite a fright though, how’d you get shot in the first place?” He wasn’t around these parts, he knew that much. Kit had never seen anyone like him before and from his mother’s reaction, she didn’t know him, either.

Dane chuckles softly, an action that pains him greatly to do. He doesn't quite mind, though, not at the pretty dust on Kit's face. His hand goes to his side, the bandages miraculously dry. "Y'musta patched me up real good, angel. Isn't even bleeding too bad 'nymore." Through the bandages he can feel the faint outline of the stitches holding his wound together. He can also feel the xylophone of his ribs. God, it's been at least a few days since he's had a decent meal. It's hard to when he spends most his time on stolen horseback. Let's just say Dane's got rather used to gnawing on old jerky and moderately moldy bread.

The angel is a much better baker than Dane's used to. It's the best type of treat he's had in years. Dane smiles. "Well, it's not really a long story. Some kid thought he was a big shot and… well, shot me. It was completely unfair if ya' ask me. My back was turned and everything." Dane purposely leaves out the parts where he killed a man in a legal dual and stole the horse he was running away on. He's always tempted to name whatever steed he steals, but Dane has the sense to not get attached to animals he'll just dump in the next town over. Tiger Snipe, the bulls-eye red-haired outlaw with horse consistency issues. "And lemme assure ya', angel, not everybody would've done the same for me."

Most would leave him to die. Most would watch with a smile as serial sniper and thief bled out on the dusty ground. Looking up at the angel–Kit–Dane knows that the man is unaware of his identity. Nobody in the right mind would knowingly save a soul as damned as his. "How 'bout you? What's your farm life like? Cows 'n' chickens 'n' sheep 'n' all that."

Kit tried not to let his eyes go too wide. Some random kid just decided to shoot at Dane? Unheard of in his own town, if it was a duel the rules were honoured through and through, no one would dare shoot if someone's back was turned. They'd be shunned, cast out, it was cowardly to shoot when someone wasn't looking. Even if Kit did know who Dane was he still would have felt slightly bad. It was in his nature. No one, not even criminals in his mind - well, depending on the convictions, of course - should have to deal with that. At least he wasn't there now and he was safe. Kit had every mind that his Mama wouldn't let Dane leave until she was sure the man was fully healed and able to look after himself. And if Kit let him leave before then? Well, he would get an ear-lashing for sure.

"That's horrible!" He said, shaking his head in disbelief, "Not'in like that 'appens round 'ere, I can promise you that." Especially not out on this farm. They were too far away from the town for anyone to bother to come looking for a fight unless they wanted something. But usually Kit took their produce in for selling, or over to the markets of the next town to avoid dealing with conflict. It was easier that way. Meant he didn't have to deal with the idiots that had a vendetta against his family - his father.

The question of what his farm life was like had Kit spluttering for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck with a bit of a sheepish smile, "Oh ah- ya know, is… nice. Lo's a work, dawn till dusk but uh- peaceful, I guess. Yeah, peaceful." Boring was another word for it. As much as he enjoyed what he did the same old routine, one on his own, at least, was quite tiring after so many years of the same old stuff.

The shock evident in the man's eyes nearly mirrors Dane's own expression when he felt the searing hot pinch of a bullet lodging in his side. Don't let what the authors and actors tell ya, fool ya. Bullets don't nearly hurt as much as they're supposed to. It's a lead punch, a whizzing sting, a continuous ache. Dane figures he would've been able to handle his wound by himself if it didn't hit so close to home. In times past, Dane bites down on a hard piece of leather and uses his own fingers to wriggle the silver rounds from his flesh. Dane would've done it himself. He would've eventually woken up after he passed out and pulled the bullet free and stitched himself up–but blood loss certainly ain't nothin' to sneeze at. He'd rather be shot three times over again than deal with the dizzying ordeal of bleeding out.

"I'm glad I'm safe here, angel," Dane mumbles through a yawn. His jaw pops like a snake's, Dane slapping a hand over his mouth to at least appear polite. "No animals with firearms, I hope." He smiles, running a few pictures through his mind of the goofy idea. Hell, that could make a funny story… What did they call it…? Satire, maybe? Makin' fun of the pigs by making them actual swine with pistols. Heh. Dane tucks the idea away for later. He's sure his next acquired steed would love to hear his ramblin', story-telling voice.

"Peaceful?" Dane raises an eyebrow. God, wouldn't that be nice–not having to run, not having to steal, not having to see somebody drop dead just twenty paces away. "Sounds nice 'ere." Quiet. It's really been far too long since Dane has had a proper few days of quiet. "Farm work… Hard work but simple work, ain't it?"

Kit didn't think he would ever get over Dane calling him angel of all things. He was far from it. His mother might agree with Dane, and would probably go on and on about how he was a hardworking young man who never complained and always did his work in a timely fashion. Always kept the farm in top condition leaving her with nothing to worry about but his dad and children and what they might be having for dinner. In his mind, however, it was a title that he didn't feel that he had earned or deserved. But he wasn't about to argue with a man who had been bleeding to death a few hours ago. Maybe it was just the blood loss.

He couldn't help but chuckle softly at Dane's comment about animals and firearms, shaking his head a moment later, "No no, no animals anywhere near firearms on this farm." When the other yawned Kit was quick to stifle his own. It was a reminder that he had been up for far longer than he should have been. Up at the break of dawn and hadn't slept since, especially since he had been tending to and caring for Dane. He didn't allow himself to rest just in case something went wrong and Dane needed him. Luckily, that hadn't happened, and all that was left was Kit's own exhaustion from the end of a long and tiring day. But once again he wasn't going to complain nor did he have any intention of leaving Dane alone. What if something went wrong when he went to sleep? Or if he went back up to the house and he wasn't here to help?

"Yeah, you're right 'bout that." Hard work but simple work was one way to describe it, "But you're welcome to stay until you're feelin' better. Mama would throw a fit if I let ya go whilst you're recoverin'." And in the morning he would take Dane back to the house instead of staying in the barn, give him a proper bed. He could stay in his room instead of his younger siblings, Kit could pull their beds together and sleep there instead for a while so Dane didn't have to be uncomfortable.