[[ tombstone ]]

[almosthonorable]

whitetextiswhite

Ben's more than a little sorry he poked fun at the Lieutenant when she suggested a trip to Canyon Diablo.

Now, the thought of getting out of the bar -- space to ride, space to breathe -- couldn't be more welcome.

(Even if it is to see a giant hole in the ground; Esfir's clear excitement alone is worth the week-long ride.)

He adjusts his hat on his head and swings open the Front Door in Milliways; just beyond is a saloon at the edge of Tombstone, Arizona.

"After you, Lieutenant."

Comments

[aimedforthemoon]

On the down side, he is holding the door open for her. On the plus side, he called her 'Lieutenant' and is taking her to Canyon Diablo.




She'll let it slide.

Stepping through, Esfir automatically steps out of the way for him and scans the room. She's been in bars before, but this is...different. Very, very different. A hundred years and another country different, in fact. Given she's dressed like Ben - boots and trousers, waistcoat over long sleeves and a coat over that - she's by far the most clothed woman in the room.

Of course, given she's dressing like the men, the fact that she is a woman herself isn't that obvious.

(she's grateful for that)

[almosthonorable]

Hazy mid-morning light filters through the slatted windows, and dust motes drift in the air that's somewhere between warm and cool.

(It's dry -- dry as dust, here in Arizona.)

Esfir and Ben get more than cursory glances from the half-full bar, and as he surveys the middling-to-rough patrons, Ben's thankful Esfir can be easily mistaken for a man in her shapeless get-up.

Until a woman wearing too much powder and too little clothing to be called a lady sidles over to them.

"Well, hello."

Her eyes move from Ben to Esfir, and it's hard to gauge who she's leering at more.

(Ben's doing an admirable job of keeping his amusement to himself.)

[aimedforthemoon]

Ben can feel entirely free to say something now.



He isn't going to, is he?



Fuck.

Stiffly, voice low and accent thicker than normal, "Morning."

[almosthonorable]

Ben steps between Esfir and the woman, touching a fingertip to the brim of his hat.

"Mornin', ma'am. You'll have to excuse my friend, here -- he's new to the place."

(Butter wouldn't melt in Ben's mouth.)

The woman's eyes light with what looks like possibility.

"Well, sugar, y'all could let me -- "

He's already shaking his head.

"Just gonna show 'im around, get him acquainted with the town." Another tip of his head in the woman's direction. "Now, if you'll kindly excuse us ... c'mon, Yazy."

[aimedforthemoon]

'Yazy' comes along. And you see that face? That is the face she perfected in the Soviet Union, the bland-neutral-show-nothing face of someone who has a lot to hide.

(In this case, something rather close to shock and outrage)

[almosthonorable]

He's seen her poker face before.

And he's got a damn good idea what it means.

Leading them out of the saloon and to the livery across the dusty street, he inclines his head toward her.

"Awful friendly folks here."

[aimedforthemoon]

"I noticed."

[almosthonorable]

"And they noticed you."

He opens the door to the makeshift office, striding in first and holding it open behind him.

(Ordinarily, he'd hold it and let her step through first, but they're trying to keep up appearances.)

He nods to the grizzled man making notes on a ledger.

"Howdy, John," Ben says, taking off his hat. "Need a couple horses, full tack. You got any to spare?"

John looks up, his face brightening.

"Surely do, Mr. Wade. Got just the pair."

[aimedforthemoon]

Despite Esfir's love for the wide steppes in the part of Russia she (calls) called home, and despite her grandfather living on a farm, Esfir is a city-girl through and through. Horses are...horses. Some are bigger than others, some are prettier.

Bargaining she knows, but most of what Ben and John debate and argue about goes straight over her head.

What this means is that when she rides out of the town, all she really knows is that Ben's horse is so dark a brown to be black, and more of a prancer compared to her own horse, which is a nice soft tan-gold-brown with lighter mane and tail.




Not that she minds. She quite likes this horse.

[almosthonorable]

This mare isn't Gabriel, but, then again, no other horse is.

They head north and west, and Ben's content to let Sugar pick her path among the dust and rock and scrub.

There's little wind, and despite the cold, he's damn near sweating by the time morning bleeds into afternoon.

"You doin' all right, Lieutenant?"

[aimedforthemoon]

This kind of riding is hard than in the Bar, and she's damn sure that by night, her legs are going to be making her pay in the most passive-agressive way possible, but...

She grins at him.

"I'm oke."

[almosthonorable]

Ben's will be, too; being used to long days in the saddle doesn't always guarantee a dent in the soreness.

"You look good up there, y'know."

[aimedforthemoon]

Esfir raises her eyebrows at him before her attention goes back to where the horse is going.

"I look good?" She repeats, curiously.

[almosthonorable]

"You look good," he says with a nod, lips quirking.

"Like you know what you're doin'."

His grin widens.

"And I like that hat."

[aimedforthemoon]

She flicks her hat up slightly and glances at him.

"And I thought you'd be commenting on my boots."

[almosthonorable]

"Oh, I like those an awful lot, too."

A beat.

"Then again, could be I just like you."

He adjusts the reins in his hands, concentrating on the feel of the leather between his fingers to tamp down his grin.

"C'mon, Sugar."

With a squeeze of his calves, he urges the horse into an easy canter.

[aimedforthemoon]

Did...he just...?




Feeling a little confused (or rather, more than a little), she urges her own horse into a canter and follows him out.