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Aris The saying goes, 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.' True as that may be, one might reckon a woman pissed off is even more dangerous.

"La madre que me pariĆ³!" Aristide can be heard muttering before she's seen, boots stomping up the farmhouse steps. Where she'd usually knock, or at least call out, she bursts right on through the door into the living room. Pissed off is perhaps putting it lightly.

"Brigham, te voy a matar!" Whatever the hell that means, it doesn't sound good.
Conway The scraped up and bruised Conway sits in the pancake recliner with his double barrel shotgun over his knee, cleaning out the bores with a long wire brush with some fluff on the end. He blinks a few times as he hears some heavy feet going up the steps, the hell is that..? Spanish? Whatever.

Conway looks up from his shotgun slowly as he hears the footsteps move infront of him, also seeing the shadow on the wooden floorboards. He looks up at Aris, squinting. He's got roadrash all on the left side of his face. "English, please."
Aris The dark haired woman squares off with the farmer in his own living room, even though he's seated. He's never seen her like this: shoulders tense, eyes wild. Likely, no one here has. "Choose your words carefully, Conway, and I won't make the right side a' your face match the left." Aris's gray eyes flash with anger. "I'm in town for five minutes watering that horse, an' I hear some asshole telling stories about you down at the Knox place. You wanna clarify 'xactly what went down there and, more important, why?"
Conway Conway stares up at Aris, his jaw a little lower than usual. He closes his mouth and shakes his head, closing the barrels of the shotgun. He sets it aside against the recliner, pushing down on his knees to stand up and look down at Aris. "You want to clarify why your lips were on his this morning at the crack of dawn and why he was on the property?" Conway obviously ain't afraid of getting hit. But he rather not be, y'know. He chews his spearmint gum on the opposite side of his mouth today - the side that isn't scraped up.

"I went down there to have a chat with 'Bart' about what the hell he was thinking showing his face 'round 'ere." ... "In the process, he shot me in the back while I was leaving his house." He keeps stood up with his hands tucked away in his bib overalls. He keeps his elbow winged out a little, prepared to block a hit with his forearm.
Aris Wrong words, cowboy. A muscle in Aristide's jaw flexes. "Lo siento, estanciero," she annunciates every little bit of that enraged Spanish, "But I'm strugglin' to remember the exact day you made an honest woman outta me." She shakes her head once, her dark hair shifting against her shoulders. It actually looks like she might haul off and hit him-- she takes a step toward Conway, her slender fingers flexing into a fist, but something seems to hold her back. For now. Instead, she speaks to him up close, her voice low. "Put more simply, I don't owe -anyone- clarification about where my lips have or haven't been." Her bright eyes dare him to argue with her. C'mon, Conway, she dares you!
Conway Conway looks down at Aris in her eyes, not saying anything. He just swallows hard and sits back down in his recliner, a combination of hurt feelings and fear brew inside of him and he doesn't want to further escalate a situation. He murmurs under his breath what little of broken Spanish he knows through a choked up voice; "Haz lo que quieras".

Conway grabs his shotgun again by both of the barrels in his large palm, continuing to brush the bore. "I just thought you'd be honest for me." He shakes his head a few times while cleaning the weapon, not looking at Aris.
Aris Conway's bit of Spanish is perfect, even if his accent's a bit off. It elicits an incredulous laugh from Aris. "No no no, Brigham, you don't get to play victim with hurt feelings today." When he sits back down and looks away, the woman steps forward, crouching in front of him so as not to let him escape her gray eyes. "You're a horse man. You know the look of a wild horse before you rope it an' break it an' sell it to another man?" Aris beats her chest once with her fist, knuckles white from the strain of not punching the shit out of someone. "That's me. I'm wild, and no man will rope or break or buy me." She takes a slow, steadying breath, trying to find her calm. Who knows if it helps.
Conway Conway continues to shake his head, keeping his eyes down on the bore he's cleaning. He hears her hollow chest be beaten. He chuckles lightly at her metaphor, looking up at her serious eyes. "You're a wild, unbroken horse, huh?" He keeps looking her right in the eye. "Why don't you carry your ass to an open field and go graze then, eh?" He's tired of it. Sick. He continues sweeping the bore with the brush.

Conway closes the barrel of his shotgun, resting it against the armrest beside the recliner. He pushes himself back up to his feet again, pointing towards the door. "Take your horse, take your belongings, saddle up, and go be with Bart or whoever the fuck else."
Aris When Conway rises to his feet, so does Aris. He orders her out, and she smiles, but it isn't in humor. There's anger and disappointment evident in her eyes. "Hijo de puta, Conway, you're serious," she breathes, shaking her head in disbelief. "Can't ya care for someone without owning them? Fucking doesn't make a happily-ever-after, not where I come from. Hope ya find someone else who's batshit crazy enough to think that." Readjusting her Stetson on her head, the dark haired woman burns a path towards the front door. When she reaches it, though, she stops and turns back. Her eyes pin him fiercely. "An' that madness stops tonight. If I hear anything 'bout you givin' the doc-- or /anyone/-- shit for bein' around me, I'll come back an' show you why I don't need any man protectin' my fucking virtue." It's a threat.
Conway Conway folds his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes at Aris. "I ain't a whore like you. I don't get cheap thrills from polyamorous relationships." He spits his gum off to the side onto the floor while he walks around the side of the recliner and towards the door, following behind her. "Matter of fact, leave me my horse. Bart's house is in walking distance." Conway is going at it, even he didn't think he was capable of acting like that. But damn it, he's had it. That's the last straw.

"And honey, you've got another thing coming if I'll be fighting over someone who doesn't give a damn about anyone. Walk your little ass down the road and cry on some guys shoulder in a bar." He walks back around his recliner, grabbing his shotgun by the barrel. He loads two slugs into both barrels. He closes the barrel which automatically cocks it.

"And if you or anyone of your sugar daddies come around here, they'll be getting the bad end of my boomstick." He lets the barrel of the shotgun rest over his shoulder while he holds the screen door for Aris to leave.
Aris Whore? Aris eyerolls hard and shakes her hair a bit as if to say 'typical'. "That's the broken heart talkin'. Feed it some whiskey, you'll get over it in a week." Not deigning to waste more breath on a man whose pride's been hurt, however inexplicably, the woman steps out onto the porch, down the steps and into the cover of night towards the barn where her meager belongings are. "Wasn't gonna take Asskicker, anyway," she calls back at him over a shoulder about the horse, disappearing further into the dark. "Takin' the gun though, think of it as my last paycheck!"
Conway Conway watches her walk out of the house, hearing her make a comment about keeping the gun. "I think not!" Conway calls after her, placing the shotgun in the corner. He swings open the gun cabinet situated behind the recliner, removing his Umbrella Assault Rifle. He turns on the flashlight attached to his automatic assault rifle, shining it out the front door to aim it at Aris while she's walking away.

"You'll leave the gun, sweetheart! You got paid, you ain't taking shit or I'll shoot you and then call the Sheriff!" Conway screams out at her from his cover behind the front porch railing while shouldering his rifle. He keeps the strong beam of light focused on her.
Aris Aristide stops, turning, that bright light near blinding her from his rifle. Her hand rests on her hip, her exasperation evident. "Yeah, Sheriff'd probably be real keen on hearin' about your tresspassin' in houses and shootin' girls in the dark." She shakes her head softly. "You paid me almost a week ago. 'Less you're gonna pay up for what I've done 'round here since then, -boss-, I'm keepin' the gun." No one out-stubborns this lady. Not even at the business end of a rifle.
Conway Conway keeps his rifle shouldered with his right hand with the barrel aimed at Aris, reaching into the bib of his overall with his unoccupied left hand. He pulls out a small bag of caps, already pre-prepared for her to be paid with. He tosses it into the night at her feet. "Set the shotgun on the ground." He replaces his left hand back on the handguard of the rifle, watching her.
Aris The woman eyerolls at the way Conway keeps that gun trained on her as she takes up that bag and counts caps. They click together quietly as she does. Satisfied, she shrugs out of the shotgun on her back and settles it in the grass at her feet, boots wet and sparkling with dew. "You'd have fit in great with my old crew, pointing guns at unarmed folk," Aris muses, half-grinning. "Good luck with all this." She turns and starts walking towards the barn again, the rifle's light on her back casting a long shadow in front of her.
Conway Conway murmurs under his breath, "Bitch." He walks off the side of the porch and side-steps towards the shotgun, still being cautious of Aris. He scoops it up into his arms and walks inside, situating it in the gun case. Afterwards, he locks the front door and shuts off the lights.