assassinwithahairpin | (no subject)

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voice test

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Texas was blistering hot, in a way that Park Bokyung had never known in Korea or in western Washington. He'd been traveling for four days, exhaustion starting to set in. The horse he had was a skinny thing--bought from an Arapaho tradesmen when he'd crossed through Colorado for more than Bokyung had really been able to spare, but it was a resilient thing. He could commiserate with that.

He came into a small town, unsure what it was called or where he was on the map. It didn't really matter. He wasn't near enough the Rio Grande to really orient himself. Just passing through scrub and sand and a hundred miles of blue skies in every direction.

People were staring. Bokyung was used to that, and so he paid it no real mind. He approached the boarding house and left his little Arapaho mustang at the post as he went in and inquired for room. The matron at the front said there was none but to try and saloon, as it might be more to his style. He highly doubted that, but unhitched his horse and went over to the saloon instead.

It was an effort to ignore the stares. Hadn't any of these men ever seen an Oriental before? There were rail tracks laid not too far from here--he knew from crossing them--which meant they must have seen some variety at some point. Unless it was a rare track laid by Irish and Germans. But Bokyung doubted that.

The music in the saloon did not stop when he stepped in. Nothing did. That was certainly preferable.

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"Tacoma, Washington." The words dropped out of Bokyung's mouth like syrup, disdainful and curious what it mattered anyway. He looked over at Goodnight, pinned him with a narrow stare. "My family is Korean, if that's what you're asking."

Goodnight rolled his eyes. "I couldn't tell by your accent if you were born here or over there, pardon the curiosity. All I knew was your name didn't sound Chinese. But if you like I can just start making wild assumptions."

"Is that not what we're already doing?" Bokyung arched a brow. He was certainly coming to some of his own conclusions in regards to this Goodnight fellow, and he had no doubt that Goodnight was making his own. They were just being civil enough not to start bandying them about.

"I am attempting conversation. However the goal does not seem all that mutual."

Not that it actually put him off any. If Bokyung preferred silent bristling, Goodnight could endure that.

He just wouldn't endure it quietly.

Bokyung shrugged and, giving Goodnight another one of those narrow, deadpan looks, he said, "My English isn't very good."

That was a lie, and such an obvious one, but he'd much prefer that he be left to his thoughts than harangued for the next however far they were going to travel.

Goodnight snorted a laugh. "Have it your way," he said amicably. Goodnight Robicheaux did not require participation to hold a conversation. He allowed a few minutes of silence for Bokyung's dignity, or something, before he started talking. And maybe he was talking to Bokyung, or maybe his horse, or just himself. But he sure was talking.

Bokyung tuned it out, for the most part. He was mostly pretty good at that. He did not answer any questions directed toward him, or in his direction, and nor did he offer any reaction to most of the things being said.

For the most part, he was, again, just considering the logistics of getting out of the situation.

When the sun started sinking Goodnight realized they probably wouldn't have the luck of hitting a settlement before dark.

"We're stopping for the night," he announced when he saw a promising copse of trees on the edge of stream they'd been following on and off for hours.

Finally, Bokyung thought. He felt his shoulders sag just a little, a relief that infused his whole body. He felt bowlegged and overworked, even though they hadn't been riding hard and his horse was so skinny.

They came to the edge of the copse and Bokyung slid, exhausted, from the back of his horse. He still said nothing for a moment, naturally and easily following into getting the camp ready. He wasn't entirely sure he trusted this well dressed warrant officer to know how.

Goodnight, however, set camp just fine. He'd been doing it on his own long enough that it took him a moment to adjust his regular choreography to include another person. Once he was sure Bokyung was set to tend the fire they'd started, Goodnight turned his attention to his horse. He took the saddle off, took the bit off the bridle so she could graze without being hindered, then made sure she was tied to a tree and couldn't wander far. The last thing he needed was for her to get curious about the fire. Again.

"There's more food in one of those saddle bags," he said, gesturing at some of the ones he'd dropped by his bedroll.

"I'm fine," Bokyung said, staring into the fire, curled into his oversized riding coat. He waited until Goodnight had come to settle as well, and then got up to tend to his horse as well. He wasn't sure how close he wanted to be to a man that had technically arrested him.

Goodnight shook his head but he managed not to make a fuss. He'd cook what he had and if Bokyung decided he was hungry, it'd be there. He hummed and sort of sang to himself while he worked, just for a sound other than the horses snorting and grazing.

The Arapaho mustang mouthed at Bokyung's hair gently, once or twice, and Bokyung talked to it quietly in Korean. He didn't want to forget how to say his parents--his--words. He brushed the horse down and then brought the saddle over to the fire so he could fiddle with it a bit and see if he could mend any of the fraying parts of it. He couldn't afford to have it professionally fixed, after all. And he'd had the saddle longer than he'd had any horse.

Goodnight quieted to listen to Bokyung talk to his horse. He didn't really understand a word of it, but he liked the way Bokyung's voice sounded - far more affection with that pony than anything he'd said to Goodnight throughout the day. He made them rice and cut up a few pieces of pork to throw in, just for some flavor.

When it was done he divided it into a bowl and a mug. He leaned to put the bowl and a spoon next to Bokyung.

The food smelled amazing, and Bokyung was bitter about it. He stared at it for a moment, and then kept working on his saddle until there was nothing more he could do.

He set the saddle aside and looked at the food again. Slowly, he picked it up. He ate slowly, like he had as they rode, and kept his eyes trained down.

"Here I was worried you were going to tempt coyotes into camp leaving that." Goodnight was relieved he was eating. The last thing he needed was this kid falling out of his saddle from hunger. Goodnight finished his portion and sank back, propped against his saddle. He knew he should open up his bedroll before he relaxed too much or he'd ache more than usual in the morning.

Bokyung grunted, at least acknowledging that Goodnight had said something this time rather than just staying quiet. He ate slowly, but steadily, and shortly the food was gone.

He felt overfull when he was done. That was going to be terrible in the morning. He got up, grabbed Goodnight's bowl, and headed toward the creek to wash them both.

When Bokyung came back, a canteen was resting by his saddle. "That's full, and it's yours." Goodnight was in the habit of carrying more than one; he could get himself another in the next town they passed through, or get Bokyung one of his own and take that one back. Either way, they both needed water, and he didn't want Bokyung feeling obligated to ask him for something every time he needed a drink.

"I have one," Bokyung growled, frowning deeply as he shoved the canteen back at Goodnight. He did not appreciate being treated like he wasn't an adult, like he hadn't been out in the frontier for years, like he couldn't take care of himself. It was one thing to be arrested by the man. It was another to be patronized while it was happening.

It occurred to Goodnight he probably should have thought harder about that one before acting; Bokyung had survived just fine this far. He held up his hands a bit in a sort of mea culpa and took the canteen back, attaching it to his saddle again. At least they had extra, then.

Then again, if the kid didn't have food - and hadn't in a while - was he that far out of line in thinking the same might be so for water?

Probably, Goodnight.

"One less thing to worry about, then," he said mildly.

Bokyung felt, certainly, he was going to roll his eyes out of his head at this rate. He leaned back against his saddle and pack and stared at the fire, letting everything narrow down to the light.

"What sort of a name is Goodnight, anyway."

"My name," he answered, lifting an eyebrow. Then he shrugged, turning his eyes back to the fire. "One I picked up years back. It stuck well enough."

"Goodnight is not a name, it is a salutation," Bokyung objected mildly, arching an eyebrow at the warrant officer. If he was going to have to be around him, it made sense to at least attempt a conversation. But he'd go back to silence if that was how it was going to be.

"It's also an exclamation, where I come from. And it is not the objectionable name I've heard. I would sooner die than be Prudence, Chastity, or Silence." Goodnight chuckled and shrugged one shoulder.

"Does Bokyung have any special meaning?"

"Yes," Bokyung said simply. It was hard to explain his name in English. He had looked up what the words meant, but when he said them aloud in English, they didn't have the same importance. Nothing like Prudence, or Chastity.

He looked up from the fire and let the reminder of it flash and crackle before his eyes as he looked up at the stars. "Isn't Chastity a woman's name, anyway?"