perhaps i may become a highwayman again

by aphroditesiac

Summary:

marvin is an outlaw on the run. he finds himself in the small town of brimstone. looking for a drink in the town's saloon, he meets the bar's owner: whizzer brown.
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title is lyrics from highwayman by the highwaymen

Notes:

HIIIIII this is a falsettos cowboy au. falsettos and cowboys are like my two favorite things ever so naturally here they are together..... i have SOO many ideas for this im so excited i hope you enjoy this and YAAA YEEHAW!!!!!!!!

Chapter 1: Marvin's Bag

“What the hell do you think you’re lookin’ at, punk?!” 

 

All the patron’s eyes were locked on the scene happening at the wraparound bar. A scruffy unkempt man had a tight grip on one of the saloon’s regulars’ shirt collar, bringing him close to his face. Silence filled the air, even the pianist’s jaunty tunes were at a pause. Nobody dared to say anything or even move the slightest bit, for this unknown man was a bomb in their eyes, and any reaction was sure to set him off. The only thing heard was the quivering breaths of the man in the stranger’s hand. 

 

“Not so funny now, is it?” The stranger finally said. He took his Colt .45 out of the holster and pressed it against the man’s forehead. A woman at one of the tables gasps quietly. The man winces. 

 

“I-I’m real sorry, pal. I-I didn’t mean to, to, upset you or nothin’. It’s just w-we don’t usually get new folks in town. And, and, your bolo tie’s real fancy, mister. R-reminds me of my g-grandaddy’s,” The man nervously smiles, barely managing to get his words out through his stammering. 

 

“You’re getting sweat on my gun, pal.” 

 

The tension gets broken by a tall, well groomed man who appeared to be returning to the bar from a different room in the back. 

 

“What the hell…” He says from afar, walking faster to settle the scene. 

 

“What’s a guy gotta do to get a drink ‘round here?” The stranger shouts with a laughable sense of false authority, releasing the patron from his grip and shoving him to the floor. The stranger makes this oddly clean man out to be the owner of the saloon. One of the patrons whispers to his wife, ‘Looks like he’s already boosy.’

 

“Oh, not even a hello?” The owner replied sarcastically, slowly walking up to the stranger, looking him up and down. He deepens his voice. “How’d a feller like you end up in Brimstone? Ain’t never seen you here before.” 

 

“You got any whiskey?” The stranger wasn’t going to play whatever game this guy was trying to pursue. 

 

The tall man exhales through his nose, frustration growing. He pauses for a beat before continuing. “Look, I don’t know where you think you are, mister, but this kinda thing doesn’t happen in our town and certainly not in my saloon. Now, get the hell out or you’re gonna be sorry,” He responds, becoming impatient and raising his voice.

 

The stranger furrows his eyebrows, the two stare at each other dead in the eyes. It feels like an eternity before the stranger finally turns around and walks toward the door. He shoots a look back at the patrons whose eyes had been fixated on him. 

 

“What, you folks ain’t never seen a gun before?” He scoffs, waving it around haphazardly. “Get back to your goddamn poker and floozies.”

 

“Beat it!”

 

-------------------

“Goddamn it, you bastard, whatever happened to laying low? Stupid fool,” Marvin murmured to himself as he walked down the street, quietly berating himself for his outburst. He sat down on a bench outside probably the only general store in town and put his head in his hands. 

 

Marvin was born and raised in a town not more than a couple hundred miles from the one he found himself in now. Due to a life riddled with challenges and hardships, he naturally turned to a life of crime. At first it was very minor offenses, starting out with an occasional pickpocket, whatever he needed to get by. Slowly he yearned for more. He wanted it all.

 

Pickpockets became muggings, muggings became robbing a bank. Robbing a bank became robbing several banks and barely making it out alive. To Marvin, being alive and caught was worse than being dead. What made the robbing easy was the lack of having much to live for.

 

Marvin had had a rocky relationship with his wife, Trina, from the start. Truthfully, it had been an extremely long time since either of them had been happy. He never seemed to want to make love to her, he frequently had petty outbursts, and they never could go a day without arguing. Their son, Jason, was the only thing that really kept them together, being able to bond over their agreement of his importance and their love for him. That, and Marvin’s excessive lust for control and love. Maintaining their ‘tight-knit family’ seemed to be the most important thing to Marvin. Money wasn’t enough to satisfy him, he wanted it all .

 

Marvin’s lawbreaking was never a secret within their family. In fact, in the beginning, Trina somewhat supported it. She understood it as his effort to support the family. An act of devotion, showing he was willing to do anything for the family. She later came to accept that he wasn’t planning on stopping and settling with a normal legal job, growing a hatred for this life he had created. Not to mention it compromised the safety of their entire family. On their blessed day of marriage, she had not signed up to marry a future outlaw. 

 

Marvin woke up one morning to a letter on his nightstand and an empty house. ‘I don’t want Jason to have to sleep with one eye open,’ She wrote. ‘We love you, Marvin, but this isn’t the life I dreamed for us,’ She wrote. ‘I married an honest man, I hope you find your way out of this darkness,’ She wrote. Really, it was an easy excuse. The more obvious problems served as a blanket concealing the rusted cage of all their other ongoing problems. 

 

As Marvin spiraled, the crimes got more ambitious. His last score was his largest sum of all. He got shot at by the law that seemed to show up inconveniently immediately and luckily made it out only grazed in the arm. He figured he had bitten off more than he could chew with his crimes and needed to back off and leave town so as to not get caught. He wound up Brimstone, tiny, bleak, barren Brimstone with no family, no friends, a soiled reputation and a bag filled to the brim with cash. 

 

Marvin reached for his bag, searching for the front pocket that had his small flask in. In truth, the patron wasn’t wrong when he suggested that he had had a little bit before his incident at the saloon. He waved his hand in the air next to his hip to discover his bag wasn’t there. Damn. Must have left it in the saloon.

 

He couldn’t possibly go back there now, right after making such a fool of himself in front of everyone; however, it would be worse if he went and it wasn’t there. Someone could take it, use it for themselves, or worse: turn it over to the police. They’d be sure to nail it on Marvin based on how he’d been acting. The owner’s voice echoed in Marvin’s head, ‘This kinda thing doesn’t happen in our town.’ It’d be off to the slammer with him. Marvin came to the conclusion that in order to save his ass he needed to suck up his pride and go back immediately. He reluctantly stuck his hands in his pockets and headed in the direction of the saloon. Marvin decided to approach from the back door and knock for the owner in order to not draw attention to himself. Nobody needed to know. 

 

“Ugh, you again? What are you doing here? Thought I told you to get lost,” The owner groaned, clearly still irked from their previous encounter. 

 

“Heh, you know how it is… Already had a little something to drink, wasn’t quite thinking straight,” Marvin explained, putting up the best fake smile he could. “Just wanted to come and apologize to you.”

 

The owner looked down at Marvin’s extended hand, gesturing towards a handshake, and accepted it. 

 

“I get it. Just one of those days, right?” He responds with his own reluctant grin. 

 

“Sorry we got off on the wrong foot. You got a name?”

 

“Whizzer. Whizzer Brown.” Marvin recoiled slightly.

 

“What kind of a name is Whizzer?” Marvin chuckled, though after observing Whizzer’s face, Marvin retreated and swallowed awkwardly. “You probably get that often.”

 

“I’m used to it.”

 

“I’m Marrr…tin. Martin.” Although it was a small town in the middle of nowhere, Marvin wasn’t going to take any chances in case his name made it in the papers or word somehow got around to this town. It’s not like he’d be staying around Brimstone too long, a lie or two to this guy wouldn’t matter in order to get what he needed. 

 

“Nice to meet you, Martin. Uh, you want that drink or something?” Whizzer’s expression was difficult to make out. His eyes suggested that he was up to something but the rest of his face said otherwise. Perhaps Marvin was just paranoid that everyone in this godforsaken town could see right through him and the only life he’d get to live would be behind bars.

 

“Afraid I couldn’t. You see, uh,” Marvin stammers, not wanting to deviate from his initial plan of making amends, grabbing his bag, and going. 

 

“I think you could,” Whizzer says, stiffening his stance. It didn’t help that he was considerably taller than Marvin, towering intimidatingly over him. Marvin’s eyes didn’t dare leave Whizzer’s. “See, I know you didn’t just come here to say sorry, be a pal. I’m not stupid.”

 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Marvin replies, brows furrowed, keeping his intense expression and jaw clenched. Eyes locked on Whizzer’s. 

 

“Heh, man wasn’t kidding about that bolo of yours, real gold ain’t it?” Whizzer smirked, inching closer to Marvin. Marvin instinctively moved his hand to his holster. The papers always described him as being a shooter quick as the devil. “I've got your purse, Martin, I know that's what you're here for. Which is why you’re not going to shoot me, you’re going to have a drink with me, and explain to me why you’ve got a goddamn bag overflowing with money.”

Chapter 2: Marvin's Story (Or So He Says)

Summary:

whizzer brown confronts the new guy in town and suggests a proposition

Notes:

bear with me guys i promise this gets good !!!!!!

also this is like difficult to write the banter well because i have to juggle between it actually sounding like them and being witty and cunning and condescending but theyre still cowboys and talk like second graders

Marvin exhaled heavily through his nose. Nothing was heard between the two of them except for the haunting shrill of wind. His eyes never left Whizzer’s, a mixture of feeling strangely drawn to them and of the intense situation. Several moments later, Marvin entered the saloon through the back door, Whizzer holding the door open for him. Immediately to the left of the door as soon as he entered was a red carpeted staircase that probably led to what Marvin assumed to be where Whizzer lived. 

 

He followed Whizzer down a long narrow hallway that led to the main part of the saloon. Many of the patrons that had witnessed the previous spiel eyed him both with confusion and suspicion. Why was this hostile man that had just physically threatened a beloved townsman sitting down, having a friendly drink with Whizzer like nothing happened? Whizzer acknowledged the uncomfortable atmosphere and sat Marvin down at the end of the bar, sort of in the corner of the room. 

 

“Whiskey, was it?” Whizzer offered. 

 

“Don’t give me too much, already had some this morning.”

 

“Starting off the day with fantastic habits. I’ll drink to that,” Whizzer mocks, placing a glass in front of Marvin and pouring it with his finest whiskey. He then does the same for himself. They sat across from each other while Marvin awkwardly traced the rim of his glass with his finger.

 

“So, Martin,” Whizzer nodded, gesturing to Marvin to begin explaining himself. Lucky for Marvin, he happened to be a fantastic liar. Unlike many of the men one would come across in these parts, Marvin was smart, intelligent, well educated behind the rugged exterior. Perhaps he should have made a backup plan in case anyone were to question him, but he didn’t exactly intend on making himself known. 

 

“Okay, but you have to promise to not tell anyone,” Marvin begins and leans closer to Whizzer to whisper. “Or I might blow your head off.” Whizzer doesn’t verbally respond but nods slightly to signal his compliance. 

 

“It’s an inheritance,” Marvin declares, beginning his orchestration of the perfect lie right in front of the other man’s eyes that would leave him none the wiser of Marvin’s intentions. It required some song and dance, but luckily Marvin had mastered the art of bullshitting. 

 

First, he built his character. 

 

“My pa was a fine man. Damn good man. He always worked hard as a dog, slept late and woke early just to take care o’ me and my three older brothers, worked hard time to make just enough money to keep the four of us fed. Times were tough since my momma died when I was three. 

 

My oldest brother, Randy, when he was old enough decided to provide for the family, found some job at a ranch that paid good money, figured my pa worked long enough. Wanted to let him retire and pursue his true passion.”

 

“Is there a short version of this story?” Whizzer interrupts, unimpressed, pouring himself a second glass of whiskey.

 

“Is there a way you can not be an asshole and just be patient?” Marvin snaps. Whizzer rolls his eyes in response.

 

“What was his true passion?” Whizzer mockingly asks, urging Marvin to continue.

 

“Photography! Was the man a fine photographer. He may not have looked it, but he had a real good eye for the arts. First time he laid his eyes on a photograph, you woulda thought it was my ma! When he got his hands on one of those cameras, he took pictures of just about anything. People, plants, food, whatever was around, he could turn it into something just beautiful. Now he must have dropped a photo somewhere in town because at one point one of his photos ended up in the Sunday papers! Ain’t that a thing?” Marvin beams. Whizzer scoffs. 

 

“I suppose all the right people happened to come across his photo because days later we got people knocking on our front door wearin’ pocketwatches and top hats and carried handkerchiefs made of silk! People wanted to look at his work and purchase these photographs of his. Good lord, he made a fortune! People across the country were paying him to take photos for books, weddings, catalogues, you name it, he did it!”  Marvin’s face of excitement and pride for his fake father slowly hardened. He looked down, staying quiet for several moments.

 

Next, he created a cause for sympathy.

 

“Such a great man,” Marvin stared at his now empty glass melancholically. He met his eyes with Whizzer’s as he refilled Marvin’s glass. “He passed last week.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Thank you. 

 

And so, after everything with his death got sorted out, the money was split between me and two of my other brothers, Randy and, er, Tommy. Uh, Shane, the third one, he was supposed to get the house, but nobody knows where he is right now. He just… disappeared without a trace. Something tells me he wouldn’t have used the money for anything good anyway. He always got in trouble, Shane. We all loved him though. I think the house might have gotten donated to the church.”

 

“Why the bag? Are you running from something?”

 

Finally, he needed a person to blame, someone to fixate on rather than focusing on himself.

 

“Yes I am.” 

 

Whizzer raises his eyebrows in interest. 

 

“My wife, Trina. God, what an impossible woman. I’d been having problems with her left and right, and as soon as I got the money, all that multiplied. I swear to god, every damn conversation we had was about my inherited money! Before all this, she made my life a living hell, the money just made everything worse. It was clear that was all she cared about, all she was after. 

 

I couldn’t let her get the better of me… so I left. Took my horse, rode as far as she would take me. When she, Bessie, my horse, god bless her, couldn’t go no more, I continued here. Found myself in Brimstone. Looked nice enough to lay low for a bit.”

 

“And lay low you did,” Whizzer teased, laced with sarcasm. He exhaled while pouring himself and Marvin a third glass. “Well, Martin, that sounds like a goddamn awful of a predicament to be in. I won’t say I misjudged you, because there’s just one thing I can’t wrap my head around.” 

 

Marvin internally panicked. Was his story too ambitious? Did he slip up on details? Can this Whizzer see right through him? 

 

“You seem to know your way around a gun. Only weapon most folks in Brimstone ever come near are the knives they cut their vegetables with. What’s with that?” 

 

Marvin exhales subtly in relief. “Shane taught me, the little devil. He’d take me out every so often and we’d either practice shootin’ or go hunting for dinner, more often the latter.”

 

“Why bring it?”

 

“You ain’t never met Trina, Whizzer. The woman is crazy, I tell you! Look you won’t think me any less of a man for this…won’t you? You know she’d hit me if I, I don’t know, accidentally sat on the bed after she’d just made it, little things like that. Whack! Right ‘cross the face! Dangerous bein’ a man these days, I’d say. A man’s got to protect himself.” Marvin would have felt guilty for how he was portraying Trina and himself as these demonized exaggerated versions of themselves if he hadn’t been working on his fourth glass of whiskey. 

 

“Well, sounds like life ain’t been too kind to you,” Whizzer smiled, words slurring a bit. Marvin took note of this considering his own state was much more disheveled even though they drank about the same amount. Whizzer’s acceptance of Marvin’s story relieved him, wondering if he actually made it convincing or if the alcohol let Whizzer’s guard down. Either way, it was a win in his book.

 

“Hey you wouldn’t happen to know the best hotel ‘round these parts, would you?” Marvin slurs, reaching for the whiskey bottle that Whizzer snatches and places on the shelves behind the bar, out of Marvin’s reach. Similar to a mother trying to keep a baby from snatching Daddy’s gun that he left laying around on the couch after a night of debauchery. 

 

“Sure, but mind you, it’s the only hotel. Run by my good friend, Charlotte and her partner, Cordelia. It’s a good establishment, good people,” Whizzer explains, then lowers his voice. “Cordelia can’t cook for shit though. I’ve sampled many a meal from her and I swear to you it almost made me toss my cookies, if you know what I mean. No. Couldn’t do that to you. You’d be better off staying with me.”

 

 “Really, now?” Marvin scoffs with a mixture of disbelief and shock. Not only did he fool this… fool, but he also got a free place to hide from the law and family? What was using a couple people to get what he wanted? Besides, he’d be gone before Whizzer had too much time to think. He’d keep going further and further west, maybe to New York or further. He wouldn’t mind hiding out in Barcelona or Rome, take a nice little vacation.

 

“Why don’t you have a think about it? Come find me again tonight,” Whizzer offers, giving a slight flick at Marvin’s bolo tie.

 

“Tonight,” Marvin grins, stumbling out of the barstool.

 

‘You’re lucky this is also the only bar in town! You’re bad enough as is,” Whizzer taunts, watching Marvin wobble towards the door.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll make do!” Marvin laughs, getting blinded by the bright outside as he steps out into the quaint and lively town. Perhaps he can take this time to explore. He just needed to figure out what to do with the remaining four hours afterwards. 

Chapter 3: Marvin’s Dilemma

Summary:

marvin accept’s whizzer’s offer and stays at his apartment above the saloon. marvin is confused about certain events and his own feelings.

Notes:

my bad if this chapter is awkward i lowkey did not plan this to go the way it did but hey happy little accidents

Marvin walked into the saloon, completely taken aback by the change of atmosphere. Warm candlelight dimly lit the room with soothing oranges and yellows, creating a beautiful contrast with the dark blue outside. Marvin had to guess it was around ten o’clock. Outside had also grown a slight chill, which made the saloon feel all the more comparable to stepping into a tight toasty hug. A scratchy, melodic tune played on a gramophone in the corner of the saloon. It had to have been a recent purchase considering its lack of grit, unlike most other things in the town. The gramophone’s bright golden shine and spellbinding music mixed with the candlelight and warmth gave a sort of comfort that Marvin almost became stranger to. It had been too long since he was truly able to relax. 

 

Robbing banks gave him satisfying rushes of adrenaline, but it never overshadowed the overwhelming stress of it. Of course, it was his fault, transitioning from ‘needing to steal’ to simply wanting to. It became a compulsion. Being on the run from the law and his family was twice as taxing. 

 

But it wasn’t time to think about any of that. He was hiding in Brimstone for the time being, more importantly Whizzer Brown’s saloon. Whizzer Brown who naively believed every word that Marvin spat out in his bullshit story. Whizzer Brown who was stupid enough to allow Marvin to stay in the same place as him, hiding him in a place that was just as private as it could be. Whizzer Brown who was none the wiser of Marvin’s intentions, whom he could twist and bind to his every word. 

 

Speaking of this Whizzer Brown, where the hell was he?

 

Marvin scanned the mostly room, observing the two drunks on opposite corners of the room. They didn’t seem to be bothering anyone.

 

“Uh, what’s a guy gotta do to get a drink ‘round here?” Marvin announces, taking a crack at his greeting sentence previously, shattering the stillness of the room. As soon as he speaks, he hears a distant bump and reaction to what sounded like pain. Moments later, Whizzer pops up from behind the bar, hand in his hair, wincing.

 

“Didn’t hear you come in, Martin,” Whizzer grimaces, “I was organizing the glasses behind the bar. Bumped my head.” 

 

“I can see that.” Whizzer looked strangely enchanting in this lighting and atmosphere. Marvin didn’t feel it was right to attach the word ‘beautiful’ to that statement, letting that train of thought die down to focus on getting through the night.

 

Whizzer chuckled, before glancing at the two drunks. 

 

“Hey!” He snapped, Marvin noting a particular growl in his voice. “I told you guys to leave ten minutes ago, we’re closed!” The two grumbled some sort of halfhearted protest however; they eventually hobbled their way to the door and left. Marvin made his way to the other side of the bar, standing across from Whizzer with the bar dividing them. 

 

“Whether the population’s a hundred thousand or three, I will never go out of business,” Whizzer sighs contently, wiping the bar with a rag he had slung over his shoulder. 

 

“Heh, yep. This world ain’t never gonna run out of fellers like ‘em,” Marvin smirks, hinting at the irony of that statement as he recalled their afternoon. Whizzer finished up his closing of the saloon, slapping the rag down on the counter, turning off the gramophone, and blowing out the candles, leaving them in a pleasant darkness. 

 

Marvin’s breath slightly hitched at the sudden transition to the cooler air, his exhales creating clouds of condensation. After Whizzer blew out the last candle, he turned to look at Marvin, who he could really only see a dark silhouette of. Marvin looked back at Whizzer, unsure if he was looking at Marvin or the clock behind him or whether he fell asleep standing up. Not a single sound could be heard, unlike earlier when the silence was accompanied with the ambience of music and chatter and life from the town. Nothing was happening yet Marvin’s heart was pounding in his chest, so loud he wondered if Whizzer could hear it. 

 

Whizzer stepped towards Marvin, close enough so their clouds of cool air were slightly mixing together, creating a beautiful mist. Whizzer then slowly brought his hand out for a moment, before moving his head and awkwardly retreating it, shying away to create a fist. He cleared his throat.

 

“Um, shall we?” Whizzer announced with an odd since of fake enthusiasm in order to cover his previous action.

 

“Lead the way,” Marvin replied uncertainly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What the hell was all that? Marvin came to the conclusion that he would have to accept that whatever just happened would go unspoken between the two of them.

 

Marvin followed Whizzer up a flight of creaky wooden stairs, carpeted with a brown that would have been red if not for the dirt and grime on it, aging it with years of footsteps. Whizzer proceeded to unlock the door to his apartment above the saloon. He first turned on several small lamps around the space. 

 

“Welcome to my humble abode, I guess. Sorry, I know it’s not much,” Whizzer remarked as he turned on the last light. Marvin assumed he was commenting on the size of the apartment, which was the least of his concerns. He was more focused on the tastefully unique decoration of the space. He scanned the room. The walls and floor were made of a gorgeous dark wood. There was an unmade bed in the corner of the apartment, a couch on the other side of it with an animal skin throw draped over it. The whole place gave Marvin a sense of cheap luxury, that Whizzer had an expensive taste, but not quite the money or privilege to go all the way. It sort of felt more authentic or genuine that way.

 

“It’s perfect. You’re very kind for letting me stay here. I’ll be out o’ your hair soon enough, don’t you worry,” Marvin smiled, the reminder being more for himself than Whizzer, remembering to not get too comfortable here. Remembering that every one of their exchanges was fake, a little bit of collateral damage in order to chase freedom. Ideally there would be no damage, Whizzer would never have to find out. 

 

“Uh, if you need to take a leak or something, outhouse is down the stairs, out the door, to the right,” Whizzer gestured. He paused for a moment before rushing over to his bed to make it as tidy as possible. You can have the bed, I’ll just sleep on the couch.” 

 

“No, Whizzer, I ain’t gonna do this to you in your own home,” Marvin scoffs. Who did this guy think he was?

 

“Come on, let’s not do this,” Whizzer replied, continuing to fluff and prop up his pillows. 

 

“Right, let’s not. I’m taking the couch,” Marvin stares. Whizzer stops and stands up to look at Marvin for several seconds. 

 

“Alright, Martin. You win,” Whizzer shrugs, leaning back over to grab a couple of pillows from the head of his bed that, in Marvin’s professional opinion, occupied entirely too many pillows. How many could one man need?

 

He throws the pillows on the couch and kneels down to grab a blanket from a storage compartment beneath his bed. He draped it over the couch and confidently placed his hands at his hips. 

 

“It might not seem like much, but I’m tellin’ you that couch is a lot more comfortable than it looks. I take great pride in my interior decoration, along with that the quality is never overlooked,” Whizzer preened. Marvin glanced around the room again, nodding.

 

“I can see that. You have very interesting taste. I like that there painting you got in the corner o’er there,” Marvin pointed. 

 

“Those I gotta admit are fake, but they really do brighten up the room, don’t they?” Whizzer smiled, exhaling with satisfaction. He then turned away, back facing Marvin, and slipped his shirt off over his head. 

 

“I’m gonna draw a bath. Had a tiresome day,” Whizzer declared, turning his head back to shoot a joking glare at Marvin. Marvin felt strangely drawn to him. He knew it wasn’t right to look, but why did he want to? His eyes quickly surveyed Whizzer’s smooth back before immediately looking away when Whizzer began to turn. He was simply in admiration of Whizzer’s physique, that’s all. Since he had been on the run, although he had been a bit more physical, the drinking had taken a physical toll on his own body, leaving him more unfit than he was when he left. Whizzer was young, or he looked younger than he probably was. Marvin was simply… envious, chasing after his youth. 

 

“Sorry,” Marvin mumbled.

 

“Well I won’t say it wasn’t your fault,” Whizzer smirked, looking back at Marvin whose eyes immediately shot to the ground. “Come on, make yourself comfortable. You’re making me nervous just standing there like that.” Whizzer changed into more homely attire as Marvin set his bag of money down at the foot of the bed. He sat down on the couch with the same clothing he’d been wearing for the past few weeks. To his surprise, it was very comfortable. He flung his body out across the length of the couch, rested his arms behind his head and crossed his legs. 

 

“Hey, hey, hey buddy, at least take your shoes off, what are you, an animal?!” Whizzer erupted. Part of Marvin subconsciously did it just to rile him up. The other part was too tired to care to take them off. “This is a fine chesterfield sofa, alright? Mighty fine–pure aniline leather here,” Whizzer displayed, his hand smoothing over the couch in pride. Marvin more focused on the Whizzer’s chest: broad shoulders, smooth and strong with dark chest hairs scattered across. 

 

Marvin snaps out of his not so obvious trance to observe the couch. If he spent much money on anything here, it’d be this couch. Marvin held his hands up in surrender and took his shoes off. “Slob,” Whizzer might have muttered in the distance. 

 

Marvin was starting to drift off to sleep before he felt a sudden heavy weight on top of him. 

 

He jolted up as soon as he felt the weight and had hand at his holster. He saw Whizzer a couple feet in front of him, frozen, eyes wide in fear.

 

“Didn’t realize you were asleep, sorry,” Whizzer uttered, “Just some clothes for you for tomorrow. You stink. And you look like you dressed yourself with your eyes closed.” 

 

Marvin held his face in his hands in shame. “Sorry,” he mumbled. Whizzer puts out the lights and Marvin hears the weight of Whizzer thud on his own bed. 

 

Now Marvin finds that he can’t sleep. He tosses and turns for hours but can’t seem to get his mind off of the day’s events. 

 

His reckless outburst at the saloon could have ended in a thousand tragic ways. He’s lucky the wanted posters haven’t yet made their way to Brimstone. He’s lucky the townspeople were miraculously tolerant to his actions. He’s lucky that Whizzer was kind–or daft–enough to invite him in his home and believe his bullshit story. Speaking of Whizzer, what the hell had just happened earlier at the bar? What was that… strange tension and why was it so exciting? It was a different thrill than anything he had ever experienced during his robberies. 

 

Something about the privacy must have worked him up. 

 

What was Whizzer going to do?

 

Part of Marvin instantly went to Whizzer somehow knowing, but most of him didn’t believe that to be true. Nothing in Whizzer’s behavior had indicated anything like that so far. Another (smaller) part of Marvin wanted Whizzer to continue. He so desperately wanted to understand what had just happened. 

 

What was it about this Whizzer?

 

Marvin turned to face Whizzer who slept on his side, facing Marvin. One arm was slung over the bed, hanging off the edge, while the other was under his pillow, the blanket was only covering half of him. Despite his tangled sleeping position, he still somehow managed to look perfect. His hair still fell in all the ways it looked like it was supposed to. It was rare to come across anyone well groomed that wasn’t filthy rich or royal. People had their priorities. What perfect hair compared to Marvin’s curled desheveled mess. How alluring he looked while asleep.

 

-------------------

 

Marvin must have fallen asleep during his observation of Whizzer because he was woken up by the sun shining in his face and the low chatter of people talking. He blinked away the sleep from his eyes and rubs them to clear his vision. 

 

“Anyway, to cut a long story short, I think he may fancy me!” A giggly woman announces. Marvin glances over and sees Whizzer leaning on the doorframe talking to someone outside. Must be a friend. She was too far for Marvin to see who it was.

 

“Right on, little lady, you best tell me what happens next!” Whizzer responds. They finish up their conversation and Marvin sits up. “Mornin’, lazybones.”

 

“That was the best sleep I e’er had in my life,” Marvin yawns. He looks up at Whizzer and sees that he is all dressed, looking like he’s been awake for at least an hour. He pulls a small pocket watch out of his pocket, the time reading ‘10:37.’ “Who were you talking to?”

 

“My friend, Trisha. She came into town several months ago. I set her up with this fellow in town, studies psychiatry or something. Guess they hit it off,” Whizzer shrugs. 

 

Huh. 

 

“Well, I’m off to work. See you later, Martin. Make yourself at home, I guess. Explore town some more. Sorry you picked Brimstone of all places to hide out, ain’t a whole lot to do around here.” 

 

“I’ll make do just fine,” Marvin replies. Just fine. 

Notes:

i wanted to title this “marvin’s confused journey of homosexuality and chest hair” but eh, it would have spoiled it.

Chapter 4: Marvin’s Adjustment

Summary:

marvin and whizzer bond over dinner.

Notes:

i know its been a super long time since i last updated i hope someone is still interested in this but i have been sooooo busy

i swear this chapter is the best one so far it will be worth the wait maybe

Marvin stared at the ceiling taking in the silence after Whizzer’s leave. Today would be a day for Marvin to recharge. Gather himself. Have a chance to breathe for once. He sat up on the couch and turned his body to sit normally. He leaned down, reaching for his bag. Inside one of the outside pockets of the bag was a notepad and pencil. 

 

He tried his best to recall his story from the day before, remembering the specifics of names, places, the sequence of events. The more detailed he made his story, the more believable it sounded. It also made it all the more challenging for Marvin to uphold. 

 

After Marvin finished setting his story straight, he spent his morning lounging around Whizzer’s house, feeling the ever growing urge to snoop through his belongings but morally decided against it. 

 

Maybe just a cabinet or two. Perhaps he’d find a coin or two that Whizzer would never have noticed had gone missing. Or perhaps something to blackmail him with. After fifteen minutes of very careful poking around, he found nothing of use. As if he had been expecting someone to come and inspect his house. Whizzer was careful. He had to have been hiding something. Not that Marvin needed to know what it was, but it would certainly be beneficial to have something to use against him if or when they were to go toe to toe. 

 

He sat in silence on the couch for a few moments. He had been on the run for so long, now that he’d settled, he wasn’t used to having time to just think. To sit with himself. To relax.

 

Relax. He didn’t even know what that word meant. Most people that Marvin was around his whole life didn't. He came from generations of tough, hard workers. Honest, genuine people who didn’t stop for nothing to do what they needed to do. Hardly for a buck anyway. Only people who got to relax were the rich and the dead. 

 

Marvin just so happened to be somewhat rich, considering his recent scores. Too bad there wasn’t a bigger town nearby Brimstone where he could be stupid, blow some of his money, buy things he’d never need or use. Not that he hadn’t been a little kind to himself. He took pride in the bolo tie that he bore around his neck. Rich, high quality leather string, wrapped around the metal, beautifully engraved medallion. The center had a shiny, gorgeous dark turquoise gem. At first, Marvin almost felt uncomfortable wearing it, but when Trina said she hated how it looked, he wore it twice as much. Now, he almost felt naked if he were to be without it. 

 

Anyway, going to a bigger town wasn’t an option right now. He had to settle with what was right in front of him for now. All he needed was patience—which never came easy to Marvin. All he needed was patience and maybe one of these days he’d escape to Rio or Cuba or something. Make something out of island life. 

 

Marvin spent the rest of the day lounging around Whizzer’s apartment. He did eventually inspect Whizzer’s closet. He found no shortage of clothing whatsoever, some pieces significantly more extravagant than the other. Very stylish, Marvin thought to himself. But who the hell’s he dressing up for in Brimstone of all places? He also stared out the window and attempted to draw one of the horses that was eating hay outside. Failing miserably, he tore the page out and crumbled it, determined that it would never see the light of day again. 

 

Looking out the window, Marvin noticed the sky turning a beautiful purple and blue, wondering when Whizzer’s shift would end. He had gotten pretty hungry having not eaten anything except for a couple small biscuits he had stashed in his bag.

 

Marvin decided on sleeping off his hunger, taking a nap to pass the time that has seemed to slow thrice as much today. He figured he’d leave in a week or so, might as well rest up while he can. 

 

————

 

Marvin awakened to the sound of a loud, “FUCK!” He jolted up, startled, in search of the sound, fight or flight response triggered. He then relaxed his shoulders when he saw Whizzer standing in his small kitchen behind the counter with his pointer finger in his mouth. 

 

“Look who’s up! Sorry ‘bout that, accidentally touched the damn pan, burned my finger. Supper will be ready shortly. Makin’ a thing with roasted vegetables and stuff. Recipe called for pork, but I’m Jewish, so I made it with chicken instead. Well, half, anyway. Jewish, that is.” Whizzer’s thoughts were clearly scattered as he was still recovering from the burn, dunking his hand in a bucket of water on the floor. 

 

Marvin, still groggy from his nap, looked at Whizzer. “You have too much energy for me right now. Is your finger okay?”

 

“Sure, it’s nothing. Hey, maybe I’ll have Charlotte look over it for practice. I didn’t tell you this but she really wants to be a doctor someday. She’s learning. Not that she doesn’t enjoy the hotel thing with Cordelia, but she really wants to help save people.”

 

“I’m Jewish too…” Marvin mumbles, falling behind on the conversation, still half asleep. “I’m gonna use the bathroom.”

 

“Out the apartment, down the stairs, to the left is the bathroom,” Whizzer says, bending down to peek in the oven.

 

“Thanks, genius, where do you think I’ve been all day?” Marvin replies, leaving the apartment. 

 

When he comes back, he’s awake enough to fully process the scene in front of him. The apartment is dimly lit by a couple dozen candles spread throughout the small apartment, most in the kitchen. The table by the kitchen was set with plates and silverware. Whizzer was cooking dinner. His hair, that was normally pretty dark, had a warmer brown to it due to the candlelight. Something about him was enticing…although all he was currently doing was stirring a steaming pot with a wooden spoon.

 

“Come here, Martin,” Whizzer gestured. Marvin went. He held out the spoon in front of Marvin. “Give that a taste.”

 

Marvin could swear he felt his heart stop. “Jesus, you put the whole ocean in there or something?!” He exclaimed, taking a step back to recuperate. “Look, I am grateful for your hospitality and all, but I ain’t ever tasted anything saltier in my life.”

 

“Oh, well I thought it weren’t quite right either, that's why I needed a second opinion.” 

 

“Suddenly your friend Cordelia might be worth visiting.”

 

“Alright, can it, pal.”

 

Marvin chuckles and sits down at the table. 

 

“Course with the money you got, you have enough that you could hire your own personal chef if you wanted to. Thought about what you’re gonna do with it yet?” Whizzer asked, raising his eyebrow, pouring in some other ingredients in hopes of saving his dish. 

 

“Not really. Maybe travel. Have a little fun. Buy a horse. Try every wine in the world. Buy this pair of green leather boots I’d seen once in a shop,” Marvin replies, fiddling with the fork on the table. 

 

“Ugh, green? As if your outfit wasn’t hard enough to look at,” Whizzer chuckles. Marvin scoffs. “I’m wearing your clothes now, Whizzer. What even is this, silk?” Whizzer removes the pot from the stove, walks over to the table to grab the places, and spoons the meal into the plates. Marvin watches the room fill with steam with his empty stomach hopeful. Whizzer brings the plates to the table and sits down. 

 

He stares at Marvin in anticipation, gesturing to him to try it before him. Marvin smiles, raising his eyebrows as he glances at the dish. It’s a thick soup with carrots, corn, and shredded chicken. How long had Marvin been asleep for him to conjure all this, he’d never know. 

 

“Try it.”

 

Marvin dips his spoon in the soup and picks up a generous bit. He brings it to his mouth, braces himself considering his prior taste test, and…

 

Marvin had never been more thankful for the human ability of self control. His gag reflex and tongue were having a war with each other, fighting to the death on whether or not to save Whizzer’s dignity or to spit it all over his face and wash his mouth out with a hose. Swallowing was the last thing Marvin wanted to do.

 

“Martin?” But he did it anyway. “How…uh-”

 

“Whizzer.”

 

“...Yes?”

 

“This is bad. This is really bad.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I sort of figured,” Whizzer chuckled in defeat. “Look, I got more food in the pantry if you’d like me to make something else or whatever, you know, cooking’s never been my strong suit. Just wanted to try something nice for you being your host or whatever.”

 

“Appreciate it… but I got a different idea in mind.” Whizzer raises an eyebrow at this. “Say, what’s the most expensive restaurant in Brimstone?” Marvin inquires.

 

“Heh, I don’t know what you expect, not like there’s many restaurants in Brimstone period,” Whizzer remarks. Marvin makes some facial expression gesturing ‘Answer the damn question.’ Whizzer clears his throat. “The Mangled Spur has the finest food in Brimstone. Takes a fine chunk outta manfolk’s paycheck the same.” 

 

“Let’s go out. I mean, I got all this cash, might as well spend it on my dear friend who’s been so kind and generous to me so far,” Marvin suggests, smiling. Whizzer, Marvin suspected, had not been familiar with being treated to nice things and nice places. It would be a good thing to do. Well, anything seemed like a good thing to do as long as it didn’t entail choking down Whizzer’s hellspawn of a dinner. 

 

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” Whizzer replied, nodding enthusiastically. 

 

————

 

“And so I got grounded for fourteen days, would you believe that? It took me a long time to forgive Kevin after that,” Whizzer giggled, finishing his glass of wine. 

 

“That’s a hell of a story,” Marvin laughed hard, wiping a tear from his eye. Once he gained his composure, he took the final bite of his bowl of pasta. Marvin didn’t have very high expectations and this far surpassed them. It felt good to have a real meal for once.

 

It also felt good to have a real conversation for once. The whole dinner, Whizzer and he had been exchanging stories about their lives, Marvin’s being somewhat truthful, still aligned with his nonsense story he had told the day before. It was good to talk to someone like this. Any conversations he had with his wife or son felt forced. Unnatural. They talked because they had to. Because it was one of the few things that kept their relationship tolerable. Even though Marvin wasn’t exactly being truthful with what he was saying, the banter, the laughter, the listening, it felt easy. Luckily in several days time, Marvin could be free of the lying. Free of his fake backstory and persona. Free from… the people he’d manipulated to be free. 

 

Whizzer reached for the bottle of wine, poured, and frowned when he realized the bottle was empty. Marvin glanced over at Whizzer’s plate, acknowledging that it was finished, counted a couple bills that were in his pocket, and tossed them on the table. They got up from their seats and headed back to Whizzer’s home. The moon, almost full, shone bright and elegant on the terrain around them. It was quiet, the only noise to be heard were their footsteps on the dirt roads and the occasional breeze. They weren’t in any hurry to get home. 

 

“Well I ain’t never been there before, but that was a damn good meal,” Whizzer mentioned, breaking the silence. 

 

“How have you never been there? Not like there’s many other places to go. Just yesterday I took a stroll just to kill time y’know? I must’ve gone around the whole town fourteen and a half times! I mean you live here, how could you not have explored each and every crevice from the bottom of the water wells to the… To the inside of your neighbor’s nose! I mean if you were to stand at the very end of the town and someone else stood on the other end carrying a bundle of wood, and you lit a match, all it’d take was a gust of wind to start a fire!” Marvin challenges, clearly being affected by the wine. 

 

“What are you going on about? This town is massive,” Whizzer snorts. 

 

“Okay, smartass, time for a real answer,” Marvin snarks. 

 

“I just…haven’t. I don’t know what to tell you,” Whizzer replies. “I’m not as rich as I may seem. Why should I eat out when I can eat my own… Well you’ve tasted it.”

 

Marvin shutters at the thought. “And yet you spend your money on… what, nonsense asinine chesterfield sofas and silk shirts?” Marvin teases. 

 

“It’s aniline!” Whizzer grits his teeth, “And I’m sorry if I like to spend my money on taste and style and elegance! Clearly three things you do not possess.” 

 

“Oho! Just you wait ‘til those green leather boots are mine, then we’ll talk about taste!” 

 

“Oh please, don’t talk to me about taste. You wear those green boots with those maroon pants you were wearing earlier, I’ll kill you myself!” The two laughed hard. 

 

Before they knew it, they were home. They had spent the rest of the walk, chatting quietly, their banter settling down. Whizzer unlocked the door to let Marvin in. Marvin looked up at the staircase, dreading climbing up it after their walk. He stepped through the doorway.

 

“This was nice. We should do this again sometime, Martin.” 

 

Marvin stopped. 

 

“Right,” Marvin started, attempting to keep this lighthearted. “You remember I have to leave soon, right?”

 

Whizzer was silent. The words had left his mouth too quickly and now he’d wished he didn’t say anything at all.

 

“I mean, I’m just hiding out. You know I never intended to end up in Brimstone, but here I am. There’s no life for me here,” Marvin continued.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Whizzer smiled. Marvin could see it in his eyes that it wasn’t one of happiness. 

 

“I appreciate all you’ve done for me, of course, and I’m lucky you’re a good conversationalist,” Marvin grinned, realizing the longer he spoke, the more he fanned the flame. There was an uncomfortable pause. Far too long.

 

“You should sleep,” Whizzer stated, his tone soft and blank. “Maybe I’ll put you to work tomorrow so you don’t try looking through my stuff again.”

 

Marvin’s stomach dropped. He watched Whizzer walk in before him and fade into the darkness of the staircase, overcome with guilt. He attempted to decipher his facial expression when he stood before him. He didn’t look mad or disappointed or even upset. He just looked… numb. Like he felt nothing, or was doing a damn good job at hiding it.

 

Marvin closed and locked the door behind him gently, the silence making his thoughts entirely too loud. 

 

He was no stranger to the life of crime. He was not new to the art of deceit and storytelling. He was familiar with the consequences of building people up just to break them. 

 

Why did this feel different?

Notes:

i have so soooooo so so so many ideas i hope you liked this chapter and i hope to update a lil more frequently YAY bye