meds4sale | Open Post

He took Arthur's hand, fingers curling gently around his as he thumbed the far more prominent knuckles.

"No," he agreed. "You do not."

There was no point mincing the truth, but he gave Arthur's hand a squeeze all the same. Arthur had maybe days at most.

"In your next time around, would you like me to look for you?"

Arthur tensed at the touch at first, as if he didn't want any more connections, but the warmth of the other man's hand in his and the gentle caress over his knuckles had him relax and allow it.

The confirmation that he didn't have long to live wasn't as harsh as it might have sounded. He knew he didn't, already handed his death sentence from the doctor in Saint Denis, and he felt it inside himself. He was at his limits.

But he was...okay with it. Sister Calderone had offered him some of the best comfort and advice he'd had in some time, and he was no religious man in the least. This was his fate. He'd lived a bad life, hurt folk, let his son die, and chose the gang over the woman he'd loved for years. Good things didn't happen to bad people. He'd do what he could for John and his family and ensure it didn't happen to them.

The statement though drew a questioning brow. "Next time around? What you mean?"

"It happens sometimes. A hundred years, two hundred years, I will meet the same person living a new life. Sometimes they remember me, sometimes they do not."

He shrugged, letting his words sink in. He had been evasive about his true nature for the most part, but Arthur wasn't blind and he wasn't stupid. He was sure the man could put two and two together.

"The nature of such things is very strange, even to me."

Arthur regarded him a long moment. He was serious.

He then recalled the story he'd told him, and he glanced to that special box of his that he was certain could not hold everything he carried...his ears and teeth...Not to mention that smoke ability of his.

"You uhh, some sort of magical fox after all?" he asked, a small smile to his lips. he'd been in the presence of and had engaged in the pleasure of some sort of supernatural creature it seemed. Somehow he wasn't too surprised about it.

He nodded, and let his head drift to Arthur's shoulder. The man had maybe days left; there was no point in being coy about these things.

"I am much better than Kuzunoha at keeping my tails out of sight," he said with a chuckle.

"But I could never quite get the ears or teeth right."

He peered up at Arthur, mapping his face. Withered though he was, there was still an echo of his handsome features. He took care to commit them to memory, in case this really would be the last time they met.

"My question still stands, however."

Arthur chuckled lightly. Well what do you know.

He let him rest his head on his shoulder and he felt that similar pang to his heart of something he could have had if he hadn't been a damned fool. But there was no time for regrets, and he always tried to look forward. No sense changing now.

"Question? Oh, right, sure, I guess." he was about to add he didn't really believe in reincarnation or the like, especially for folk like him, but either this man believed so hard he was some mystical creature since he'd been born with sharp teeth and pointy ears, or, he was telling the truth and he was more or less immortal thanks to what he was. And therefore knew that perhaps somehow he'd have another life in this miserable world.

"Yea. Okay."

Not like he had anything to lose.

Arthur's disbelief was evident, but the Medicine Seller would take the answer.

"Then I will keep an eye out for you in my travels," he said with another gentle squeeze to his hand.

"I take it these past months have not been kind to you."

Arthur returned the squeeze, taking a sip from his cup of coffee, shaking his head.

"No, last year or so has been pretty bad but things went from bad to worse shortly after we last parted. Was attacked by a bear, dealt with a bullet wound that got septic, had to move main camp multiple times, lost some folk, even got shipwrecked on Guarma briefly. Lost a lot of money, lost some more folk..." he sighed looking down into his cup.

"Now just, tryin' to get those I care about to safety before Pinkertons kill us all."

"I thought it seemed the world might have been weighing a bit more heavily on your shoulders than when we met last," he remarked, that playful lilt back in his voice.

"I suppose it would be a dreadful time to ask if I could steal you away from you responsibilities for a bit."

He pressed a kiss to Arthur's knuckles, watching the sun creep its way up the horizon. So little time left.

"Depends, for what exactly?" he asked, throwing back the rest of his coffee and setting the cup down.

The soft press of the other's lips on his knuckles was so nice, and he thought of that night they spent together, shown intimacy and care like he'd never had before. He turned his hand a about enough to caress the man's chin and jaw.

He smelled heavily of blood. On his breath, dried in his clothes, but there was also the faint scent of that oil he'd given him for his hair so long ago. He'd used the last of it not a week prior.

"Much of the same as last time. I would have liked to spoil you for a bit."

He leaned his head into the touch, pressing his lips into Arthur's palm, soft as ever with his affections. He could smell the blood and disease and death clinging to him. The last remnants of his oil too. But under it all was still Arthur.

...And a rather peculiar musk...? Perhaps he'd been hunting bears, though he hardly looked in any condition to be doing that. He'd mentioned a bear attack, but that would have worn off by now.

He looked puzzled for a moment, but brushed it aside. It didn't really matter now.

"With the colder seasons setting in, I would have been happy to keep you warm."

Arthur clasped the other's hand, the offer for more of what they shared...Christ, a moment of reprieve from the hell he'd been enduring...But he couldn't, not now, couldn't afford to be selfish even in his final days.

Reluctantly, he unwound his fingers from the other's and curled them into a fist on his thigh. "Sorry but, I ain't got that sort of time." In more ways than one. "Got a train to catch in a bit and have to be on my way."

He stood and began to pack up his tent, paused, and dipped into his satchel. Arthur flipped through his journal a moment before pulling out a page and put the leather-bound keepsake back in his bag before holding out the piece of paper to the medicine seller.

"This is for you." he said.

The paper was of a detailed sketch of a familiar bull moose, down to the antlers with a background of the pond and waterfall.

He knew. Maybe if he had come a little earlier, there could have been some reprieve, but time seemed to tug the strings of fate in the cruelest of ways.

He took the paper, curious at first, and then a fond smile crossed his face.

"Our singing friend," he remarked. "You captured his likeness beautifully."

He would tuck it away safely in his journal, where he kept notes on various plants and medicines. But for now, if they were giving parting gifts...

He gestured, and the top compartment to his medicine box opened so that he could retrieve a small, gourd-like clay jug containing a honey-thick peach wine.

He offered it over to Arthur.

"It cannot save you, but... it can delay the inevitable. I am sure you have something desperately reckless and ill advised planned, so perhaps this will help you see it through."

Arthur smiled in that crooked way, glad the other liked it. he didn't consider himself much of an artist but he tried his best.

He started to work the tent down when the other spoke up again and handed him something. Arthur took it and had a look inside, smelling the sweetness and the burn of alcohol too. He looked at him with a nod, "I appreciate it darlin'" he said genuinely.

Putting the bottle aside-he'd drink it on his ride back to camp-he returned to taking down his tent, though if the man wished to linger, he'd keep the fire going.

"Oh uhh, we got rid of a bunch of the Murfrees in the area, cleaned out a whole cave full of them, but they're still about so, keep an eye open." he advised.

He had dug out his own journal, quite thick now with centuries of accumulated notes that he had bound and rebound many, many times. Some of the earlier pages looked positively ancient. With great care, he gently slid the picture in so it wouldn't get crumpled or otherwise damaged in his travels, before setting it safely back in its little compartment.

He closed up the box, hefting it onto his shoulders, and turned to Arthur for the last time, reaching out to cup his cheek.

"I know," he said softly. "I slipped past a few just the other day."

Arthur paused another moment, looking at the other's own journal, smiling to himself at the quite possibly centuries of notes and sketches within.

Then he was touching his cheek again and he closed his eyes, leaning into it then cupping his hand over his own. He held it there for a long moment before letting go. "Take care of yourself friend." he said and turned away, not one to do goodbyes. He resumed cleaning up his camp, Edelweiss giving the man's shoulder a friendly nibble as if to bid him farewell too.

"You as well," he replied. "Until next we meet."

His gaze lingered just a little longer on the man, the way he hadn't let it when they first met.

The Medicine Seller was intimately familiar with death and disease, but that didn't make it any less painful to watch Arthur pack up to go meet his end.

He gave Edelweiss one last parting pet to her muzzle.

"Look after him, please," he whispered to the horse, before pressing on up the hill.

They both had work to do, after all. The world spun on.

Arthur rode on back to camp, drinking the strange but delicious peach flavored alcohol which might have been better ingested with a spoon with how thick it was. But he downed it and felt better for it, by placebo or because the medicine seller actually knew what he was doing.

The rest of the day was one more event after the other. The train, the loss of John, the loss of Abigail, finding one and then riding back to camp after dealing with Milton, thinking of all the folk he'd helped, and the medicine seller himself too. John back from the dead to fight alongside him against Micah and Dutch, climbing through the caves with him to escape the Pinkertons, then riding hard to continue to run.

Edelweiss falling, having carried him so far for so long, but he had no time to mourn her with the law on their tails. They climbed, and climbed, climbed until he couldn't anymore.

He gave the man his brother his hat, his satchel, and would give his life to ensure the bastards stayed on him while the younger escaped.

Micah. He wanted so bad to tear into him for the longest time, and he got his chance, fists choking, falling-

Dutch...Oh Dutch...

But John got away. He got away, and would be able to live.

Micah and Dutch left him...left him to die, and watch the sunrise...

Winters were hard up in the East Grizzlies, but there was a warm looking cabin by a half frozen lake with smoke billowing from the chimney. Out back with a blanket over his peachy gold coat to keep the cold off him was a beautiful older stallion, enjoying a meal of fresh hay. His ears perked and he nickered at the sight of the medicine seller.

A knock upon the door revealed no one home, but they clearly hadn't been gone long as there was a fire going and there were vegetables, herbs, and spices laid out on the table with a pot of water just starting to come to a boil.

A familiar scent also lingered in the cabin.

The Medicine Seller was well suited for winter in rocky regions. He had been born to the mountains of Hokkaido, and felt perfectly at home in the biting frosts and billowing snowfalls out here.

For now, the day was clear, with only a few inches of snow crunching beneath his feet, and a couple of salmon handing from his pack. He'd seen the plume of smoke from where he'd been fishing and had heard there was a veteran out here of a decent nature, offering work and pay. Perhaps he'd be willing to share some of the Medicine Seller's catch and would let him stay the night for some medicine. Veterans, after all, always had some wound or another still giving them trouble.

After politely greeting the horse, he knocked once, twice, three times on the cabin door, and frowned. His nostrils were thick with the scent of bear and...

No, that was impossible.

He pushed aside any wishful thinking and peered in through a window. Someone had definitely been in recently. Food laid out for cooking, the horse freshly fed...

But death came quickly and even those who had been young during the war were starting to reach the ages where the heart could just give out. This man had not been described as particularly young.

He peered inside each window, making sure he couldn't see any signs of a collapsed body, while occasionally calling out. When he spotted fresh tracks leading off to the woods, he breathed a small sigh of relief. He came back around to the front, setting his box down by the door and using it as a makeshift seat to await the owner's return while stuffing his pipe with tobacco and lighting it to take a bit of the edge off the chill.

The horse out back grew restless with the smell of the stranger nearby, drawing back the occupant of the cabin within a few moments.

"What's wrong old boy?" Arthur asked, giving the stallion's neck a few pats "Found somethin' for the pot-ah ah ah not for you!" he grunted, pulling the wild garlic out of the horse's reach. He scratched his forelock before heading around, pausing at the sight of the familiar man sitting on his box.

Arthur looked quite different compared to when the medicine seller saw him last. No longer pale with sickness, his eyes no longer bloodshot and exhausted. Still had some weight to put back on but otherwise not so bad. He'd grown a goatee to hide his chin scars and his hair was shoulder length. He wore only a blue union suit, boots, and suspenders, not so much as a gun or knife on him, or even a hat for that matter.

He swallowed thickly, "K-Kusuriuri?" he breathed, his breath blowing warm in the chilly air and no hint of wheeze or labored breath.

He very nearly dropped his pipe.

How?!

He stared at Arthur, completely at a loss for words; clearly this was not who he was expecting to see.

He then gave the bowl of his pipe a sniff. Tobacco. Normal tobacco.

He checked his little bag of tobacco too, just in case some mushrooms got mixed in.

No, this wasn't an accidental illusion or some kind of hallucination.

Getting to his feet, he cleared the distance between him and Arthur in a few swift strides.

"You were dying."

He had smelled death on him, Arthur had days at most, less if he strained himself.

"The wine - it could not have. It would need at least another century before -"

He cut himself off, and shook his head.

"It is you, is it not? I have not gone mad?"

Arthur's smile broadened as the man stepped closer to him, that crooked smile broad as ever as he looked down at the man who seemed to have seen a ghost, though he must have seen many in his years.

He let him sputter a moment or two, then closed the distance further with a firm, deep kiss, pulling the slighter man to him and embracing him as he buried his face against his neck.

"You smell so good darlin', yea its me, its me..." he said, pulling back enough to look at him. "But come inside, its damned cold out." he said, leading the way into the warm cabin that smelled strongly of Arthur, and bear, though there didn't seem so much as a pelt in the place.

He had seen more ghosts in the last month than most people see in their entire lives. Ghosts did not shock him. Twisting, writhing nightmarish masses of eyes and limbs did not get so much more from him than a look of mild exasperation.

This was something else.

Arthur was human, he'd been pretty much at his limit. There was no reversing the damage the consumption had done to his lungs, even if the Medicine Seller had pulled a magical cure from his box that day they met by the fire.

How?

He had so many questions, which promptly got shoved to the side because the other man was warm and real and solid as the Medicine Seller cupped his cheeks, pushing insistently into the kiss. No smell of sickness and death. Just Arthur and a lot of bear.

He nosed into the crook of Arthur's neck, breathing in the other man deeply.

Live bear too. Not a pelt or a trophy, or meat, or fat. Live. And very hygienic for that matter.

Had Arthur acquired an ill-advised new pet? You would think a massive apex predator would have trouble hiding in a tiny cabin.

"Yes, please," he said, hands sliding from Arthur's cheeks to his chest. "I cannot begin to say how happy I am to see you looking so well."

Edited (weird tense swap) 2021-10-16 03:59 (UTC)

Arthur closed the door behind them, setting his ingredients on the table and swinging the pot off the fire with a rag to keep from burning his hand.

"Make yourself at home, guess I'll do the cookin' this time." he said.

The cabin was small but enough for one though the table had two chairs. Mounted on the wall above the fireplace was a massive pike, and there were a couple other animal heads mounted as well including a wolf and a boar, both absolutely huge and obviously prized hunts. The place also had a lingering smell of another male though it was much older both in who it'd belonged to and when it was last here.

Arthur began to chop up the vegetables, couple mushrooms, garlic, and some venison, putting them into the pot for a stew, along with a bunch of other ingredients and spices.

"No doubt you're wonderin' how I'm alive." he said as he worked. "We went robbin' a train full of army payload, things went well, all things considered, until my brother, John, was shot off it. Thought he was dead, couldn't go back for him. Returned to camp only to find his wife had been taken by Pinkertons to try and lure him or anyone else of the gang out to Van Horn."

No need to bother hiding just what sort of person he was, or had been anyway.

"Me and another went after her as our fearless leader refused to. Killed a bunch of them lawmen, including one of their bosses who'd been a thorn in our side since before you and I met. Called folk like us savages" he snorted. "Anyway, got her outta there, then sent her and her boy to wait while I went to go get the rest of the money for them. Turned out, we'd been ratted out by one of our own, had been at least once, maybe even further back...Back to Blackwater..." he sighed, pausing a moment before continuing. "I went after him, John returned and we was chased by more Pinkertons up into them hills. Lost Edelweiss that night. Poor girl, carried me 'til the end she did."

Arthur stopped again, prepping more of the stew, stirring it and giving it a taste before adding more what he needed to.

"I had suspected, Arthur, well before I saw the wanted posters," he assured, his voice regaining its slow, even measure as he set down his box, and took off his shoes. He caught the old man's lingering scent but it was, well, old. Likely dead in the seven months between the Medicine Seller getting the tip and Arthur moving in.

He padded after Arthur, peering around at the decor. It was very cozy, a perfect retreat for a hunter.

"I had wondered about Edelweiss when I saw you. I am sorry. She was a sweet horse."

He stepped up beside him, unable to resist combing his fingers through Arthur's hair while the man was bent over the cooking pot. It smelled delicious, and he cold feel the winter chill seeping out of his bones.

"But it was not the law that had you on death's door. I am very familiar with consumption, and you were well past the point of no return, even for my remedies."

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how it should have ended lmao *gross sobbing*

totally did not get a little teary eyed over arthur nope, nuh uh not me *ugly cries*

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how it should have ended lmao gross sobbing

totally did not get a little teary eyed over arthur nope, nuh uh not me ugly cries