god's gonna cut you down — meeting [04/25] .

[brock.]

Brock should have felt victory, but instead the war was like a plague. It was a killer of dreams, ideas that motivated Brock to pursue the glory that he’d received over the months. All of this territory was theirs now — sure, they fought one hell of a war to get to this point, but what they’d already claimed would stay theirs. Was that not victory enough? The mere fact that Flintlock Lodge had the upper hand and destroyed the lives of so many rancher’s in the process left Brock angry. Bitter. So, to hell with the consequences; this pain only fuelled resentment worse than anything else he’d ever experienced.

Whilst most vendettas were more than achievable in his eyes (even though he more than often pushed boundaries to the extreme; it was simply the kind of man that he was), this was a predicament that he never anticipated to find himself in. Whilst his leg had since healed up following his grave injury, the chronic pain was exhausting, enough to dampen his resentment towards Flintlock Lodge. Hobbling into the saloon, Brock grumbled as he wandered passed ranchers who quickly silenced upon his arrival, Brock soon taking a seat as he waited for anyone else to arrive before the start of today’s meeting.

[roman.]

— roman didn't quite know how to feel. never in his life had he been prepared for wars, let alone the aftermath that followed. he had always learned it was best to hit the road before the going got tough; perhaps it was his own naivety to not even consider what exactly war left in its wake. on top of that, he had been seeing a different side of brock ever since recent events. the brunette sat back in one of the chairs around the saloon, eyes like a hawk along with others as he watched brock get settled down in the saloon, limping his way to his chair. there was more to brock than what met the eye, and in some way roman felt bitter that he was starting to experience a lighter, more human side to the man. it was always worse to try and humanize people you once considered your enemy, wasn't it? either way, ro remained silent and observant as others settled down for the day's meeting.

[brock.]

Brock tipped his seat back somewhat as he observed ranchers entering the saloon to take their seats. He would have risen to his feet to greet them as he perhaps had done so in the past, but today he remained seated, humming to himself in quiet observation before nodding his head with thanks as an NPC wordlessly placed a beer down for him. He took a sip, cleared his throat, and then he looked up towards the ranchers. ❝ Well... Things are kinda tough right now, I cannot stand here and tell y’all some tentative barefaced lie and expect y’all to agree with me. But we’ve had it tough before. Right now, in this time and place, we are being tested. ❞ The pyrrhic victory. All of the loss they endured for some uncertain outcome in the war. But, if Brock were to take a guess, Flintlock was doing a lot better than Bluestem was right now.

They’d lost a lot of people, and Brock would put it down to them being unprepared. The fight was a dirty one, one in which Flintlock arrived with no notice with their weapons bared ready to attack. The ranchers barely had time to prepare themselves. It was cruel and unclean, and Brock so desperately wished for justice. But justice and vengeance were both similar things; all it took was a mindset of malice to twist justice into something far more sinister. ❝ But we will overcome these challenges! Now that fight with Flintlock? Sure, it weren’t nothing nice — we all know that — but we cannot mull on it for any longer. We must push on, we must resist defeat. We’re going through hell right now, but we’re all doing so together. Remember that! All of you! You stay with me, and we will get through anything. ❞

With gritted teeth, Brock nodded with authority as the ranchers said cheers to his words. If it provoked inspiration to continue to support Brock, then that was all that Brock could wish for. ❝ In the meantime, we return to business as normal! That means ranchin’, hustlin’, tradin’, and most importantly… I want our name out there. We need them to know that we will not be defeated! ❞ He thrust a pointer finger into the air, a clear jab at Flintlock and anyone else who supported their enemies. After all, the prairie was strong. They were resilient. They may have had the upper hand in the bigger picture, but Brock had played a mind game that would forever haunt their paranoid leader.