𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗚 𝗟𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗧𝗢𝗪𝗡

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

THE LONG-AWAITED Sunday rolled in like a puffing locomotive that, at last, emerged from a corner amongst the elated uproar of anxious travellers. It was bright outside, and balmy as only June's summerly mark could achieve. Even though the sun, effulgently peeking from the mountaintops, glared at the soil, Deadwood's warmth remained pleasant. Ellie was glad of it; she had dreaded the coming of summer, but here, it wasn't half bad.

She had gotten a decent night's rest, to her own surprise. At the crest of midday, while all sorts of quaint and plump birds warbled atop her windowsill, she rose. The fair wouldn't be until late in the afternoon — that is, at the time when a brush of cobalt blue began to swipe at the heavens, très near dusk. With this knowledge, she intended to use her sufficient time of solitude as best as manageable.

She set up a canvas of small sizing, which, upon rounding the corner at Sanders street, she had found lying about, amongst empty, scattered cans and tubes of paint that had all dried long ago. She had snatched the canvas off the ground and brought it home. If it did belong to anyone—which, judging by appearances, seemed like the contrary—well, unlucky day for them.

It was an old thing; the cloth appeared yellowish in most parts and the wood it was wrapped around was chipped at the edges. All of those "flaws", as most would call them, yielded some sort of antique charm to it, exceedingly fitting with the one that environed Deadwood. She sketched what came upon her mind: A faceless woman, the eyes uncanny and lost in mist, her hands graceful as swans. She knew to whom it all belonged, which is why she made the effort to blur her gaze — render it as unrecognizable as possible. But when the paint washed over the canvas, she knew it was all futile. Through foggy visage and finger-swept eyes, the olive-skinned woman stared back, all too familiar. Ellie released a heavy breath, tossing the paintbrushes aside and flipping the canvas around, making it face the wall, peeling its eyes off her.

An hour passed. When she, at last, exited her apartment building, she found that the streets were thronged to the hilt by a quaint multitude, all stepping briskly and eagerly into the same direction. She had expected nothing else, but it was still an awe-striking sight.

So she walked amongst the people, cocooned by their elated voices and well-mannered motions. Recognizing most of these faces came as a surprise. She didn't know or remember most of their names, but that didn't matter — those who spotted her shot her warm glances and amiable little smiles, brief greetings that spoke of belonging. Of a home being built. It felt nicer than expected.

She split from the multitude to turn a right toward Aaron's house. From afar, she could already see the group standing by the gates, set to leave. Aaron was tapping his foot, as if anxious; Lana and Jamie stood closely together, speaking about and pointing at the blooms in the hedge. Emma listened to the chatter, holding onto Blake's arm as she loved to do. Emélise was, in quite a humorous fashion, turned the furthest away from the oldest, pretending the crimson paint of her house was more interesting than the group before her. It was surely going to be a fun day, devoid of any sort of tension.

A smile stretched over Aaron's face once Ellie walked up. They all exchanged greetings and she took a good look at them. Everyone looked great, even better than usual: Aaron had a beachy sort of outfit, thanks to the light khaki shorts; Jamie looked more nineties than ever with the insanely tall pants plus baggy tee — and Lana wore many layers, bohemian as only she could be, a mismatch of colors and textures throughout. Emma's little shirt dress was sweet, and like always, charged with an innocent sort of warmth. Emélise knew how to show off her curves and the skirt she wore reflected that. Her lips were deeply carmine. Blake, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy enhancing her paleness, as her proclivity for wearing dark colors could show. She looked... quite refined. Black button-up, slightly undone at the top — fitted trousers that maintained the monochrome aesthetic and minimal accessories: a black bracelet on one wrist and a chain around the neck, peeking through the shirt collar. They all sure knew how to dress for an occasion.

Ellie didn't look bad herself. Her outfit was simple but effective: a loose jacket over a random tee, matching trousers and converse that were less tattered than her old ones (courtesy of Emélise), and a nice haircut to tie it all together. She'd cut it a few days ago, bringing the hairstyle from the farm back. She truly liked that one, as crude as it was. She was no hairstylist.

"Where's Amanda?" She inquired after they'd all began walking.

Aaron replied: "She's already at the festival. Practice, remember?"

Ellie nodded. "Right."

The sun was hiding, the trees changing hues. Emélise slid her hand into Ellie's, and smiled softly. Her eyes twinkled, sincere.

"You look good, like always," she complimented, with a gentleness she seldom revealed. Ellie lifted the corner of her mouth, just barely.

"Thanks. You look better."

"I won't deny that," she chuckled. Ellie couldn't. She hadn't forgotten her plans for after the festival. The decision to end whatever this was. It just didn't feel right. And in those moments where Emélise behaved unpleasantly, everything came as an easy choice — but not in moments like these. Ellie was apprehensive. Didn't want to hurt her.

Emélise gave her hand a soft squeeze, shaking her out of her mind. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," she blinked, and looked ahead. "Got lost in thought."

Reaching the festival was like stepping into another dimension. Almost as if reality crumbled apart into dust, and dragged its flaws with it. Lethal creatures, sickness, death and sin, it all faded away, overshadowed by the magic of grandeur and ubiquitous joy. The American colors flying high or hanging low, the bright lights and enlivened crowd — the graceful waltz of the people up and down. All along, there were stands with much to offer: desserts, bites of spicy or savory or bittersweet foods, games, brief expositions (historical, comedic, dramatic), souvenirs (cards, accessories, supplies). Light, peppy music could be heard from many a speaker, surfing through the crowd in its country glory. Ellie hid her shock well enough.

Aaron greeted his date and she, much amiable, joined the group after kissing everyone on the cheek—Cathy Shaw, a family girl, with flaming hair and gargantuan eyes—. Emma pointed at almost everything she could find, announcing what she and Blake had to try. Blake just nodded along, not bothered, but not elated either. It was surprising how much leeway she could give the youngest. She was a magnet for eyes, too — be it crazed teenagers or old heads, they stared as she passed, or craned their necks to do so if she was afar. Emma was on the end of the more... negative gazes, for reasons Ellie could not comprehend. She noticed the way Emma curled up on herself to become smaller, and the way Blake brought a hand to her shoulder and squeezed gently, a reassuring touch that brought the other to life once more.

"Let's head to the performance grounds, they're gonna get started in a second and Amanda will kill us if we miss it." Aaron pointed at some place beyond.

After that, Emma excused herself; she needed to join her mother and start arranging for the pie-eating competition. Blake whispered something into her ear that made her smile and turn pink. Emma gave her one last nod, with a gaze that spoke of some sort of resolve, before parting ways.

   "You got lost again," Emélise's voice brought Ellie back to the real world. She turned to her.

   "Yeah. Sorry."

The answer didn't seem to satisfy Emélise, but she, fortunately, replied not, and looked away after a somewhat intense eyeful.

They reached the bleachers soon, as the grounds opened up into a large, grassed field. As far as Ellie knew, this place used to be a high school, and this part, one of its sports fields. Aaron sat quite lovey-dovey with his date; Jamie and Lana remained very closely together and Ellie sat with Emélise. Ellie, not thinking much of it, opened up some space on her other side for Blake, who was now alone. But Blake, upon receiving one lengthy, surly glare from Emélise, decided to instead sit beside Lana, on the very opposite side.

Ellie glanced at Emélise. "What the fuck was that for?"

"Why would you even invite her to sit next to you?" Her mouth was tightly pursed. "Next to us?"

"It's called being nice. You should try it."

Emélise drew out a sigh. "Okay, whatever, don't start getting angry. Let's not ruin this."

Ellie bit back a retort. You're already ruining it.

"I mean, it shouldn't be hard for you to respect that I don't wanna be close to someone I don't like, right?"

Ellie slid her hand off Emélise's and rubbed them together. She was right. "Yeah, I get it. It's not hard."

"Good," she kissed her on the cheek, tenderly. Ellie felt her skin crawl.

Aaron, on her other side, touched her shoulder and entertained her with trifling chatter. She was glad for the change of pace, and fell into light conversation as the bleachers filled to the brim.

With great suddenness, a row of floodlights came to life, shining overhead with potent ferocity. The chat died down as everyone looked ahead. A woman, seemingly in her late fifties, emerged and walked to the centered podium. She tapped at its microphone twice, said "all good?" and revealed a tight smile. Ellie was amazed by her white hair, which cascaded down to her ankles like molten silver. Her face, heavily powdered, was amiable, yet stern.

"Dear Deadwood!" She barely said, but it was enough for the bleachers to erupt in applause and screams and whistles. Ellie, a bit out of sorts, clapped a few times. Aaron leaned into her ear, screaming over the cheers:

"That's Helena Winters! Head of Law!"

Ellie nodded once to confirm the message had gone through. Emélise, as if possessed by the same ecstatic energy as her brother, told her:

"She's like the coolest old lady ever! I need to be like her when I grow old."

Ellie glanced at her with amused eyes. "I've never seen you so excited about anything."

"Well, now you have!"

"Oh, what a year," Madam Winters continued, and all the cheers died down with immediate action. "What a year we've already had. And there's so much more to go. We bask in the glory of prosperity, of peace, family and unity — forevermore. I wish the whole of America could look forward and stand like this, with pride, undying. With progress, in furthering."

Ellie thought of Jackson, and a familiar ache imbued itself in the center of her thorax.

"Truly, it is all thanks to you. Yes, you. Everyone present here. The families, each individual citizen... You have built the mountain we stand on. Let us embiggen it, so that Deadwood reaches the stars."

More cheers, only this time, even she felt compelled to engage. It was difficult, rare, in this world of madness, to see so much unbridled joy all in one place.

"I thank the fellow Heads of Family for their inspiring, undying work. What you do matters. It is seen, it is felt, and it is needed. To Clyvence, to Marcus, to Blake..."

A very funny thing happened afterwards: Aaron reached around his date to shove Jaime, which made Jaime shove Lana, and Lana to grab Blake by the collar and shake her around like a ragdoll. Blake simply closed her eyes, not even trying to stop the attack. There was a slight curl on the corner of her lip. It was an endearing sight.

   "Truly, all of you are our very ground. Now, let us enjoy and celebrate Deadwood, before I get too emotional. For the women, the men, the children of Deadwood. For the newcomers who have found home. This is all for you."

She stepped aside, and out came the cheer squad. The group spotted Amanda as if hawks in the wild, and soon showered her with applause and whistles. She was so glittery she looked like a disco ball, but it fit, because her moves and chants to the beat of the drums were as bright as her. And she did, as promised, steal the show.

Ellie watched with newfound amazement. This sort of stuff was a novelty, much more grand than whatever activities they used to do at Jackson. It had the ability to make you forget that you could, at any time, die a horrible death.

Once the show was over, Amanda basked in the glory for a while, taking in the cheers and the applause with her partners, before running over to the group like a dippy child. She embraced them all, smothering them in sweat, and slotted herself between Aaron and Ellie.

   "You were a fucking star down there! Seriously, Amanda," exclaimed he. Amanda blinked away some tears.

   "I was so nervous. Aw, you guys, I love you, thanks for all the cheering."

   "That's what we're here for," added Jamie, leaning forward to peek at her.

A succession of entertaining events ensued: more dancing, singing, and every possible activity one could think of regarding horses. The horse race was what people loved most; it had the entire group betting and bickering like madmen. Emélise stayed out of it, too refined for these tastes (in her own words). Ellie added some comments here and there, but she had never been a horse connoisseur. Aaron had betted on a winning horse, so he brought down the punishment of bragging on them all.

The races brought forth a fresh sort of contentment. Ellie had to come to realize that she hadn't had this much fun in too long. All the wait, the preparation, the sleepless nights — were worth it.

They headed back down to the humble shops and stands, now under the blinking eye of the stars. Walking along the folk, even while clumped more tightly than necessary, felt breezy. It was a pleasant evening, bubbly with the sound of crickets and laughter and life. At a certain point Emélise yanked Aaron off to go talk to Helena, in true feverish passion. Amanda joined them, but Ellie didn't, although Emé had wanted her to. She instead busied herself with eating and promenading about, sometimes taking a look at the trinkets Lana and Jamie decided to show.

Blake had also been asked to go talk to Helena —by Aaron, it goes without saying—. But expressed she had seen plenty of Helena during her childhood, and thus was in "no rush to chase after her like some fanatic." She instead stopped to shop for ink, eyeing the deep tints with a focused gaze.

   "Miss Williams," she called. "Come here for a moment."

Ellie turned to her, swallowing a bite of loaded potato. She walked over and was presented with a small bottle of coal-like ink, which glimmered as the light bounced off the glass.

   "I would like you to use this for your next reports. The ink you've been using —and Alice is to blame— appears lumpy and inconsistent of flow."

   Ellie nodded, receiving the bottle in her hand. "Alright."

Blake payed with a few work cards.

   "I can pay for mine," Ellie shoved a hand inside her pocket, wiggling her fingers around. "How many cards?"

   "Don't bother. Heads of family never run out of these. Besides, it's for work purposes." She started heading for another stand. Ellie hummed, and, for some reason, followed her.

They stopped at a freckled young girl's stand. There were various pieces of clothing on display, all seemingly patchwork. Blake picked up a very... quaint scarf, quite reminiscent of Emma.

   "How much is this?" She asked.

   "Seven cards," the girl's voice was somewhat shaky. "But... for you, six."

   "Seven? Six? What is this, Prada?"

The young one paled. She looked to Ellie with a panicked sort of expression, and she could've sworn she saw her bottom lip quiver. Ellie herself was taken aback by the crass comment, but before she could say anything, Blake stated—:

   "I was joking. I take it my delivery wasn't the best. I apologize."

Ellie stifled a chuckle behind a fist. The vendor released a breathless laugh, anxious eyes drifting to the ground.

   "I am sorry for scaring you," said Blake in a softer tone, trying to remedy the situation. "It is very pretty." She slid eight cards over the table. The girl smiled brightly, swiftly collecting her payment.

Ellie had been staring at a nearby stand, from which breezed a tender jingle. The vendor —an older man who was fighting sleep—, offered hand-crafted wind chimes. She headed for it, and brushed her fingers against one of the wind chimes. The tinkle tickled her ear. A second later, Blake appeared beside her, eyeing the objects.

   "Wind chimes?"

   "I've always liked them. They were very popular back at my old place."

Ellie stepped back, and watched as Blake mimicked her by touching a chime. She saw her close her eyes for a split second, and the muscles in her face relax. It was a peculiar expression, one far from the broad tenseness that typically pervaded her countenance.

   "What?" Ellie crossed her arms. "Not going to make a weird comment and scare the old man to death?"

   Blake exhaled, straightened up, and fixed her eyes on her. "Save the mockery. That girl's reaction was woeful enough."

   "You should stick to the whole being mysterious shtick. Suits you better." She shoved her hands in the pockets of her pants, and walked, with no clear goal in mind.

   Blake fell into step beside her, taking evidently shorter strides to match the pace. "Mysterious?"

   "You've never heard that word before?"

   There was a sharp huff, through the nose, as if she found her comment both amusing and exasperating. "Never in reference to my person."

Ellie was quiet for a moment, thinking. "Back there, were you really joking or just trying to play it off?"

"I was, indeed, joking, Miss Williams." She shook her head softly, as if disappointed in herself.

"Fuck, you can't be serious," Ellie couldn't help but reveal a small, slanted smirk. She was enjoying this too much.

Blake tilted her head. "Would you have preferred me to be rude?"

"It would've been less pathetic."

"Your sense of humor is terribly offensive."

"Ouch."

A short stretch of silence passed, more or less comfortable. Ellie was still in an entertained mood, thanks to Blake's ridiculous social skills. She supposed that's what happened when one remained in a cave, rarely seeing daylight. All in all, it was fun to be a cut above her in something.

"People used to laugh at the things I said," Blake muttered after a while, a bit lost in thought.

"Were they laughing with you or at you?"

"The first, I'm sure."

Ellie huffed out a short, low chuckle. "Then what the hell happened?"

"I grew up. Changed for the worst in many ways. I'm not certain."

The amusement that had been bubbling inside Ellie receded. She realized the other's words were entirely serious. Ellie knew virtually nothing about Blake, so she had no way of confirming the veracity of her statement. Still, she tried to lighten the mood.

"I don't think it's that depressing."

There was no reply. Some dry leaves breezed by, rustling against the pavement. Suddenly, the crowd stirred. Turmoil was brewing from afar, and it spread like wildfire. Blake and Ellie stopped in their tracks, scanning the multitude. There was hushing and muttering, news running fierce.

"Do fights break out often during the fair?" Asked Ellie, placing a hand on her holster.

"No. This isn't a fight."

Ellie eyed her inquisitively, and then the people. Right then, she realized they were staring back. Not at her. At Blake.

From the crowd, with faces befitting horror movie protagonists, emerged Amanda, Aaron and Emma, running towards them. Aaron arrived first, panting. He tried to speak, but failed. Instead he bent down, placing his hands on his knees.

"Oh God... Jesus..."

Blake placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Breath. Breath. What is the matter?"

Amanda and Emma breathed laboriously, too. Emma could barely speak, she just opened and shut her mouth, tightly clutching the pie in her hands. Amanda lifted a hand and took a big breath, before announcing—:

"Montier has just called for a trial! It's due in days!"

Blake closed her eyes, threw her head back, and sighed a long, long, long, sigh.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

DEADWOOD

Blake: *makes a joke*

Literally everybody else: