assassinwithahairpin | (no subject)

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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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"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?"

Goodnight chuckled. "Usually, but I'm sure some poor soul that's not a woman has borne it before." Puritan naming conventions, he felt, were a bit over the top. And he felt that way as a southern Catholic.

"My name is Lucien Eugene Robicheaux," he said, voice a bit softer. That name felt like it belonged to a man he had not been in a long, long time. But there it was.

Bokyung was quiet a moment. His mouth moved around the sound of Goodnight's Christian name, and around his surname, trying to feel out all the trips and trappings of it.

"My name," Bokyung said, and made a bit of a face because English did not capture what it meant, "means secure mirror. And it--It's Bo-kyung. Not key-oong. Kyung."

"Bo-kyung," he tried, carefully repeating. His accent got in the way, but he was fairly sure he was getting the tone right? And it sounded a bit closer than what he had been saying, which was a bit embarrassing.

"Goodnight is just fine. I prefer it to that mouthful." As if Goodnight Robicheaux, on its own, wasn't one.

With Goodnight's accent, his pronunciation was still appalling. But there was only so much that could be done with that. At least he hadn't added in syllables that didn't exist.

Just for the sake of of, he leaned over and wrote his name out, as it was supposed to be written, in the sandy dirt between them.

"Park. Bokyung." He shrugged a little. "The Masters normally just called me boy."

"Well hopefully they went to Hell in a handbasket," he said as he leaned over to look at the characters. Goodnight couldn't make heads or tails of it, but he sort of liked watching Bokyung write it out. Even in the dirt between them.

"Park's your family name?"

"My father's," Bokyung said, soft and quiet now. The fire crackled along, a merry sort of noise. Bokyung curled his knees to his chest. It had been so long since he'd written his name. "My mother's is Ryuk."

"My mother was a Benoit. Rumor had it she married up when she hitched herself to a Robicheaux, but she made that household." He smiled at the thought of her, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He looked over at Bokyung, curled up as he was.

Bokyung considered that, his brows gently pulled together. He found, thinking about them now, that he couldn't remember much about his parents. He'd been old enough to remember them when they'd left for the railroad, but it had been over a decade since he'd seen them.

He reached out and smoothed away the evidence of his writing his name. Then he looked at Goodnight. "I hope you're not hoping I can say any of those names."

Goodnight laughed. "No, no I certainly do not. I barely remember half the family as it is. Entirely too many on both sides." Less now than there used to be, but he tried not to think too deeply on that reality.

He finally moved to actually unroll his bedding, feet near the fire and saddle at the end for some support. He'd probably sink down in the night, like he always did.

He wanted to ask if Bokyung knew where his parents were, if they were still in this world. But somehow-- somehow that seemed like too much when the information hadn't been offered.

Goodnight was settling, but Bokyung had gotten to a point where he did not sleep much when he camped. He was exhausted, the sort that was all weight and pressure behind his eyes, but if Goodnight were going to sleep--it would probably be rude to let the warrant officer get eaten in the night. What was one more day without sleep?

He looked over at Bokyung and huffed a quiet laugh. "Go to sleep," he said. "I'll stay up a bit. I wake easy, anyway."

Granted, that tended to depend on the night, but Bokyung didn't need to worry about that. Goodnight was less worried about being eaten and more worried about being robbed.

"I'm fine," Bokyung assured. He huddled his arms around his knees and ducked his head briefly to smother a yawn. In an hour or two, the exhaustion would fade, and he'd be fine. He just needed to push through. Then, he could sleep an hour or so before they left camp, and be competent enough for riding.

"Go to sleep," he insisted gently, accent a bit heavier. "You'll be alright. Ain't anything gonna happen in the night." But he'd seen men riding tired and he really didn't want to witness Bokyung falling out of the saddle and landing on a rock.

Bokyung grumbled softly, but settled back against his saddle a little more. It didn't take much time at all before he was dozing lightly.

Goodnight stayed up for a while, watching the fire and listening to the soothing sound of the horses nearby. Within a couple hours he had drifted off, slumped down against his saddle.

At least it was a quiet night for him, relatively still and silent. It was the early hours of the morning when he stirred again, woken up by the chill.

Bokyung was still curled up against his saddle. He was shivering slightly, tucked only into his clothes with no additional blanket or anything.

Goodnight got up as quietly as he could and draped his top blanket over Bokyung. Yeah they were going to have to see to that. Nights were only gonna get colder, even if they were sticking to the south.

That done, he worked on building the fire back up. Maybe coffee and breakfast would help. And maybe he kept looking at Bokyung... just to make sure the shivering subsided.

The shivering did die down, and though Bokyung didn't rouse, he was awake. He laid there, watching Goodnight through mostly closed eyelashes, still trying to figure out what the play was here. There was no reason for Goodnight to be taking him in like this, unless he intended to turn him over for the bounty and keep it for himself. Bokyung found he would not blame him. But he did wish that Goodnight would stop acting like this was anything other than bringing him in.