Post by Lady Idril on Jun 19, 2007 3:53:25 GMT -5
Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction written purely for the fun of it, no copyright infringement was intended. Magnificent Seven and the characters, places, etc. therein are property of CBS, MGM. I'm not making any money off it, either.
A/N: Well, this is what happens when you've got too much of one guy on your mind. This is an Ezra oneshot, but be kind as I've only just started watching the show and certainly don't really have the stuff it takes to start doling out fiction. But I was inspired by the dramatic disfunction between Ezra and Maude Standish, so I thought I would try my hand at a little reflection fic for the sake of things. I know that Ezra will always be the gambling conman, but I firmly believe that there's a good strong heart underneath all the lying and cheating. Let's pretend, shall we?
Rated: K
Genre: Angstish
Bluff
The steady growl of rolling thunder echoed its small warning to the simple little town of Four Corners, New Mexico as deep torrents of rain began their harsh onslaught on the dusty streets. The town was silent - deserted, it seemed - as every man, woman and child had made their way to the theatre for the newest song-and-dance that had rolled into town that week.
Erza felt that the desertion of his mother’s tavern was a blessing in disguise; a small gift from some unseen host who felt compelled to oblige the smooth-talking gambler with a half-hour of reticence and reflection.
Tossing his exquisitely-tailored crimson jacket on one of the empty bar stools, he slid into the one beside it and poured himself a shot of expensive Scottish whiskey.
He was off his game - he new it. He had been ever since he’d joined these six remarkable men in their continuous pursuit of peace and justice. He often wondered how he had come to belong to such an unlikely group. It all seemed a blur, yet one thing tugged at him every hour of every day, from the moment he awoke to the moment he went to sleep. The thought was there even in his deepest ventures to the bottom of the whiskey bottle. This - whatever he was doing - was right. It felt right, at least. More right than anything he had ever done in his life. And for the first time, he felt proud of the things he did. That was more than he could say for his mother.
He flinched then, and wondered for a moment if it was due to the road his mind was wandering down or perhaps the typical jolt of fire the whiskey had as it slid down his throat.
Ezra wondered if his mother at ever been truly proud of him; proud of something that would demand pride by people unlike them. People unlike her. He was a man of morals now, a man of conviction and purpose - a purpose far higher than monetary gain could compete. But was this the image he had achieved or perhaps one he could only aspire to? Once a cheat and a stone-blooded conman, always a cheat and a stone-blooded conman.
“No,” he said aloud to the bottle, “that’s her in my head again.”
Maude had always impressed upon her son that what he did was the best he could do and what he did was con. Gamble. Cheat, lie. Twist fate. Why would he want to change? There was nothing on the other side that would give him half the pleasure. That’s what she had taught him, and he had believed it. Had believed it.
Now, with such connection as he had found in this small town, he was beginning to question everything he had ever known. Had he found true friendship in Josiah, the spiritual philosopher? Nathan, the steadfast healer? J.D. the intrepid youth? Buck, the philanthropist soldier? Vin, the silent hunter? And Chris Larabee, the fearless man of truth and honor; the man each of these others could not help but admire in a way?
Ezra shook his head as he downed another swallow of his drink and set the glass on the table with force. A part of him yearned to let go his early ways of deceit and grasp firmly the far more righteous path that lay before him; but would his mother’s words crush the barriers again? She would twist his mind right back to the early days. The days when she had taken him into her regard only as a prop. He had never been a son to her, not unless it was in the re-enactment of one of their many tall and invaluable tales.
There were days when he wanted to hate her for the things she had done, but if there was one thing he did receive from the aunts, uncles and otherwise implacable relatives it was decorum. He was a dignified Southern man of charm despite his dark repute, and it was not in him to dishonor the only true compassion that had been shown to him.
His thoughts were ripped of their order as footsteps broke through the whiskey-induced barricade, and jolting to attention Ezra attempted to focus his eyes on the intruder.
Inez took little notice of the gambler as she loaded several gin bottles of various worth onto the shelves. It was not until she saw the half-emptied whiskey bottle that she raised a brown brow to his person. A silent question lingered in the air, and though she never spoke it Ezra knew what words would match: ¿Qué estás haciendo?
He had heard her shout it on many occasions, most notably in the direction of Buck Wilmington, but she was not adverse to ask Ezra the same. What the hell was he doing anyway? He ran a hand over his forehead in thought. Oh, that’s right: he had been drinking away the small irritant that was his maternal figure. He chuckled sarcastically at the thought and raised his worry-worn eyes to Inez.
“Do you trust me?” The words sounded like a plea, desperately demanding such compassion that he had never before known himself capable of instigating.
“What?” came her flat reply. He asked her again, this time controlling the tone of his voice far better than he had before.
Her first answer would be the truth: of course not! She had never trusted anyone in her life. She had never known what trust was. At least, not before she had come to this town with these men. Vin had taught her to understand trust, and Buck had been stupid enough to rely on it. She had discovered that in viewing a trust as deep as that of these seven men one would come to catch on to it.
“With my life,” came her heartened reply. The open, innocent vulnerability in Ezra’s eyes pierced her as the silence between them resumed. After a moment Ezra’s head dropped softly as a sarcastic chuckle escaped his lips.
“And what makes you think I am not standing on charming ceremony in this quaint-yet-fruitful town for the purpose of fraudulently obtaining a, shall we say, monetary pillage?” He noticed with a gleam as her lip twitched, encumbered by his natural way with words.
“Conning me, you mean?”
“Exactly.”
Now it was her time to chuckle as she closed the gap between them, her eyes not leaving his.
“I can see it in your eyes,” she said smoothly. “I look in your eyes, and I see straight down to here.” She allowed a finger to run over his chest, resting above his heart. She took no notice as Ezra’s eyes flashed with something akin to respect. “You’re a good bluff, senior,” she added, “when you are bluffing.”
A knowing gleam lit his eye as Inez removed her hand and turned back to the bottles. Neither one of them said another word as both seemed to contemplate the words she had just spoken, and the very fact of her admittance to trusting him. He had never expected her to own to it, he didn’t even really know what had made him ask her. But her response was encouraging, and he dared to believe that maybe he could live to be a man of true goodwill. A second thought struck him then...
When her figure disappeared through the doorway, Ezra no longer attempted to hide the sardonic smile that played across his features. He brought his hand up to rest above the pocket of his vest where her hand had graced moments ago, and drawing into the pocket he pulled out a single playing card.
He twirled the one-eyed Jack thoughtfully as he swigged another burning swallow of the fiery whiskey, contemplating her statement. A proverbial fork in the road. Perhaps his life’s path had not been bereft of him entirely, and just maybe creating his own fate was in the cards this time.
With one last look at the bottle he had emptied his troubles into, Ezra threw the card in the air and drew his pistol. A steady aim, the creak of metal as he cocked the gun and finally the tension and release of the trigger summoned his dark past and hurled it forward in the shape of a small bullet. A hole was left in the middle of the card as it fluttered slowly to the floor, and its owner took no notice of it as he left the saloon with a deep, uninhibited breath.
Finis.
A/N: Well, this is what happens when you've got too much of one guy on your mind. This is an Ezra oneshot, but be kind as I've only just started watching the show and certainly don't really have the stuff it takes to start doling out fiction. But I was inspired by the dramatic disfunction between Ezra and Maude Standish, so I thought I would try my hand at a little reflection fic for the sake of things. I know that Ezra will always be the gambling conman, but I firmly believe that there's a good strong heart underneath all the lying and cheating. Let's pretend, shall we?
Rated: K
Genre: Angstish
Bluff
The steady growl of rolling thunder echoed its small warning to the simple little town of Four Corners, New Mexico as deep torrents of rain began their harsh onslaught on the dusty streets. The town was silent - deserted, it seemed - as every man, woman and child had made their way to the theatre for the newest song-and-dance that had rolled into town that week.
Erza felt that the desertion of his mother’s tavern was a blessing in disguise; a small gift from some unseen host who felt compelled to oblige the smooth-talking gambler with a half-hour of reticence and reflection.
Tossing his exquisitely-tailored crimson jacket on one of the empty bar stools, he slid into the one beside it and poured himself a shot of expensive Scottish whiskey.
He was off his game - he new it. He had been ever since he’d joined these six remarkable men in their continuous pursuit of peace and justice. He often wondered how he had come to belong to such an unlikely group. It all seemed a blur, yet one thing tugged at him every hour of every day, from the moment he awoke to the moment he went to sleep. The thought was there even in his deepest ventures to the bottom of the whiskey bottle. This - whatever he was doing - was right. It felt right, at least. More right than anything he had ever done in his life. And for the first time, he felt proud of the things he did. That was more than he could say for his mother.
He flinched then, and wondered for a moment if it was due to the road his mind was wandering down or perhaps the typical jolt of fire the whiskey had as it slid down his throat.
Ezra wondered if his mother at ever been truly proud of him; proud of something that would demand pride by people unlike them. People unlike her. He was a man of morals now, a man of conviction and purpose - a purpose far higher than monetary gain could compete. But was this the image he had achieved or perhaps one he could only aspire to? Once a cheat and a stone-blooded conman, always a cheat and a stone-blooded conman.
“No,” he said aloud to the bottle, “that’s her in my head again.”
Maude had always impressed upon her son that what he did was the best he could do and what he did was con. Gamble. Cheat, lie. Twist fate. Why would he want to change? There was nothing on the other side that would give him half the pleasure. That’s what she had taught him, and he had believed it. Had believed it.
Now, with such connection as he had found in this small town, he was beginning to question everything he had ever known. Had he found true friendship in Josiah, the spiritual philosopher? Nathan, the steadfast healer? J.D. the intrepid youth? Buck, the philanthropist soldier? Vin, the silent hunter? And Chris Larabee, the fearless man of truth and honor; the man each of these others could not help but admire in a way?
Ezra shook his head as he downed another swallow of his drink and set the glass on the table with force. A part of him yearned to let go his early ways of deceit and grasp firmly the far more righteous path that lay before him; but would his mother’s words crush the barriers again? She would twist his mind right back to the early days. The days when she had taken him into her regard only as a prop. He had never been a son to her, not unless it was in the re-enactment of one of their many tall and invaluable tales.
There were days when he wanted to hate her for the things she had done, but if there was one thing he did receive from the aunts, uncles and otherwise implacable relatives it was decorum. He was a dignified Southern man of charm despite his dark repute, and it was not in him to dishonor the only true compassion that had been shown to him.
His thoughts were ripped of their order as footsteps broke through the whiskey-induced barricade, and jolting to attention Ezra attempted to focus his eyes on the intruder.
Inez took little notice of the gambler as she loaded several gin bottles of various worth onto the shelves. It was not until she saw the half-emptied whiskey bottle that she raised a brown brow to his person. A silent question lingered in the air, and though she never spoke it Ezra knew what words would match: ¿Qué estás haciendo?
He had heard her shout it on many occasions, most notably in the direction of Buck Wilmington, but she was not adverse to ask Ezra the same. What the hell was he doing anyway? He ran a hand over his forehead in thought. Oh, that’s right: he had been drinking away the small irritant that was his maternal figure. He chuckled sarcastically at the thought and raised his worry-worn eyes to Inez.
“Do you trust me?” The words sounded like a plea, desperately demanding such compassion that he had never before known himself capable of instigating.
“What?” came her flat reply. He asked her again, this time controlling the tone of his voice far better than he had before.
Her first answer would be the truth: of course not! She had never trusted anyone in her life. She had never known what trust was. At least, not before she had come to this town with these men. Vin had taught her to understand trust, and Buck had been stupid enough to rely on it. She had discovered that in viewing a trust as deep as that of these seven men one would come to catch on to it.
“With my life,” came her heartened reply. The open, innocent vulnerability in Ezra’s eyes pierced her as the silence between them resumed. After a moment Ezra’s head dropped softly as a sarcastic chuckle escaped his lips.
“And what makes you think I am not standing on charming ceremony in this quaint-yet-fruitful town for the purpose of fraudulently obtaining a, shall we say, monetary pillage?” He noticed with a gleam as her lip twitched, encumbered by his natural way with words.
“Conning me, you mean?”
“Exactly.”
Now it was her time to chuckle as she closed the gap between them, her eyes not leaving his.
“I can see it in your eyes,” she said smoothly. “I look in your eyes, and I see straight down to here.” She allowed a finger to run over his chest, resting above his heart. She took no notice as Ezra’s eyes flashed with something akin to respect. “You’re a good bluff, senior,” she added, “when you are bluffing.”
A knowing gleam lit his eye as Inez removed her hand and turned back to the bottles. Neither one of them said another word as both seemed to contemplate the words she had just spoken, and the very fact of her admittance to trusting him. He had never expected her to own to it, he didn’t even really know what had made him ask her. But her response was encouraging, and he dared to believe that maybe he could live to be a man of true goodwill. A second thought struck him then...
When her figure disappeared through the doorway, Ezra no longer attempted to hide the sardonic smile that played across his features. He brought his hand up to rest above the pocket of his vest where her hand had graced moments ago, and drawing into the pocket he pulled out a single playing card.
He twirled the one-eyed Jack thoughtfully as he swigged another burning swallow of the fiery whiskey, contemplating her statement. A proverbial fork in the road. Perhaps his life’s path had not been bereft of him entirely, and just maybe creating his own fate was in the cards this time.
With one last look at the bottle he had emptied his troubles into, Ezra threw the card in the air and drew his pistol. A steady aim, the creak of metal as he cocked the gun and finally the tension and release of the trigger summoned his dark past and hurled it forward in the shape of a small bullet. A hole was left in the middle of the card as it fluttered slowly to the floor, and its owner took no notice of it as he left the saloon with a deep, uninhibited breath.
Finis.