.⋆.✯.⋆. ❝ Hair in the butter. ❞ .⋆.✯.⋆. _____________________________________________ (Inspired by @FireFIight-, @JUICE_B0X_HER0) Reshared due to making edits. _____________________________________________ { Interview #1 : Cree Hickok} 00:55 ━●────────── 07:43 TW: Mentions of death, minor foul language. _____________________________________________ … Click. The audio slowly came to life, the sounds of the machine whirring and the walk clock ticking filling the room before the rhythmic flipping of pages was heard. A sigh followed, though it’s unknown which one of the two was the source of it. … “Name?” “Well, aren’t you a friendly one? You thoroughbreds all love pleasantries, huh.” … Silence, then a bitter scoff is heard. “Hickok. Cree Hickok. Only one “c” in Hickok, ya addle-headed pawn.” The one speaking had done little to veil his disdain for the situation he was in. He felt that he didn’t deserve to be here. “Mr. Hickok. Talking that way will only make things worse for you.” The prisoner laughed, smooth and velvety, yet taking on an undertone of venom. “Psh, don’t get your back up. In this situation, I’m all bark, no bite. I’m not gonna do anything t’ya. Can’t blame a guy for actin’ snappish after being stuck in such a mess.” After the quick click of a pen, it could be heard gently scraping against the paper it landed on. “Moving on. Do you know why you’re here?” “Because I took justice into my own paws.” The clinking of chains could be heard—the prisoner shifting in his seat. “Justice? Burning down a warehouse, multiple counts of illegal break-ins, murder, etcetera.. This is justice to you?” “We have different definitions of “justice”, doll-face.” An exasperated sigh was audible, followed by the frustrated tapping of a pen against the table. The clock was ticking incessantly, as if matching the impatience of the one asking the questions. Before the interviewer could talk, Cree continued. “Before you keep hobblin’ your yapper, let me finish.” Shifting. The prisoner leaned forward, his dark eyes narrowing as his voice lowered. “Those yellow-bellied, arrogant sap-heads who had the audacity to call themselves “lawmen” didn’t listen to me when I told them about gunslingers, robbers, and jailbirds-let-loose…” “—So, like I said before, I took matters into my own two paws while they barked at knots. Earned me the nickname: “The Marshal”.” “You certainly are far from what a marshal should be like.” … There was a heavy silence between the two. Then, a chuckle. A dry one. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.” “Even though I don’t care a continental about your questions, I agreed to cooperate. So, anythin’ more you wanted t’ask, darlin’?” … “…You were accused of directly involved in the murder of the mayor of your home town. Do you know anything about this?” “Oh? Hah, let’s just say that the reason that lick-finger died was to put the fat in someone’s fire. I killed him, alright, but I was hired. Now, don’t ask me who my employer is, because the b*stard remained anonymous. I just liked the incentive that came with doin’ the job.” “So you’re a mercenary.” “Mercs want money. I don’t give a dash about that. I wanted something much more interestin’.” “And that is?” “Information.” “On what?” “None of your business. Turns out it was wrong anyways. Made me get caught by you punks and got me thrown into this… situations.” … Cree let out an amused huff, his chains jingling along. “Quit frownin’ like that. Those lines’ll ruin your pretty face.” “That’ll be all for now, Mr. Hickok. Thank you for your… cooperation.” “My pleasure, teacup.” … Click. The audio ends. _____________________________________________ .⋆.✯.⋆.
