Chapter Text
Not much happens on a ranch. It’s day in day out work, work, work and by the time you can sit back by the fire you’re already half dozing off. This was the life of six men at the time this story starts. When you’re stagnant you don’t see a way forward, only the past you’re stuck in. When all you see is horses and dirt, it’s hard to find a road ahead. And here, is the slightly unfortunate and overall bizarre way these men found their lives again, with many a casualty in their wake.
Eric Idle was not a betting man but he was always willing to bet on who would win; Jonesy or Cleese. Because he was usually right.
You see, in Eric’s opinion, Michael was too nice. He was always arguing that Terry could keep his cool better, that he didn’t really want to fight, John just made him so angry he had to. And if he really tried: he’d win.
Eric didn’t know Jonesy all that well but he doubted that was true, in fact, he didn’t know just about anyone on this damn ranch.
They all had their little groups, well, the ones who’d caught his interest anyway. Michael and Terry had been travelling and herding together for over a year now. Graham and John had too but they less acted like it, keeping to themselves and leaning in for the occasional whisper. Even Gilliam was always running into old friends. But Eric was just Eric. No accompanying name, no ties, no links, nothing. And maybe he liked it that way, maybe that way he didn’t have nothin’ to worry about but himself.
Eric didn’t know Jonesy very well but he did know that he always lost. And Eric wasn’t even sure the guy minded. I mean, he got pissed off, and I mean pissed off, blow up and scream and rave and churn kind of pissed off but he never seemed to win. And if Eric were slightly more of a sceptic, he’d say… Well he’d say the guys on this ranch were fucking freaks. But that’s just him.
“Stop eyeing the brawl and come do your job, Idle.” Barked a voice from behind him, he jumped and turned, breathing sharply out his nose at the sight of the ranch owner in front of him, scowling. He was a snivelly man, about 5 '4 with a rat-like quality, slimy and slick, always waiting to catch out his workers while sitting on his ass and drinking like a fish.
“Yeah, on it.” Eric nodded, teeth grit and pushing sharply past him, kicking up dry dirt in his wake as he strode down the dusty track.
When tall grass started nipping his legs and the road trailed off, he saw some of the other guys off in the field, Gilliam holding down a struggling calf while Graham tried to tag its ear.
“C’mon Idle, where’ve you been? We got twenty-three more little ‘uns to tag and you’re just lazin’ about!” Gilliam shouted, craning his neck around and promptly getting kicked in the shoulder by a small hind leg.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Eric huffed, striding across to them. “How do you even get a calf this riled up?” He laughed, grabbing its hooves and planting them on the ground.
“Gilliam chased it halfway ‘round the field.” Graham said calmly, not looking up from his work.
“How else was I supposed to-!”
“All done.” Graham stated, giving the young cow a pat on the head.
The two men let the calf go and it sprinted off to its herd, Gilliam crossing his arms and leaning back. “Not my damn fault.”
Eric rolled his eyes, punching the man lightly on the arm. “Better get to the rest of ‘em.”
He yelped as Gilliam jolted and chased him through the long weeds. Graham stood and smiled into his flask.
The bunk room was pretty quiet at this time of night, a candle burning on a small table, the light chatter of some guys playing cards, soft snoring. Eric sat up on his bed and let his legs swing in the empty space below, tapping a tune out on the bed frame.
“Aha!” Called a voice, promptly followed by a slam of cards on the table. Eric peered down at the game; Some guy he wasn’t sure he knew and Cleese, dead still except for his hand, moving in and out his jacket to hand over the money. It was kind of unnerving. Like a desert snake.
John slowly stood up, tucking away the cards and going to lie down on his bunk, hat tipped over his eyes. Eric found John eerie, some sort of animal waiting for an opportunity to pounce. But his opponent seemed unfazed, happily pocketing his winnings and striding outside to light a cigar. It always gave Eric the shivers when he saw John fighting, he just seemed to enjoy it too much, the release of a coiled spring, Eric supposed.
It was late out, you could tell by the cold spring breeze and how the moon hung high above them. A damn shame to have a barn roof between yourself and the stars on a night like this. Eric always preferred nights when he was travelling from ranch to ranch. Sure, it was damned near freezing but nothing beat being just you and the desert expanse, not another man in sight for a hundred miles.
“Hey, Idle.” Someone said, pulling him from his daydream. “What d’ you think of it?”
His eyes focused on Gilliam, sly smile on his face.
“Huh?”
“Getting that good for nothin’ gull to hit the road.”
“What the boss?”
Gilliam nodded, turning to face Jones who was tilting his head in curiosity, lip split and cheek bruised from his earlier ruckus. Although no-one had the guts to mention it, Graham did give him the occasional glance.
“Pull in your horns, Terry.” Mike whispered, though he didn’t look too opposed.
Eric puffed out his cheeks and leaned forward.
“I’d certainly like to see you try.”
There was a murmur of agreement throughout the bunkhouse, not loud enough to be heard if you weren’t listening for it.
Gilliam shrugged and leaned back. Even Graham was glancing up now, though half-heartedly.
“I might just.”
Gilliam wasn’t known to lie.