[ Methusalah is in town, preparing for the feast. That's nice, of course, and Hickey will absolutely partake in that, but that doesn't change the fact that he needs to eat. That while it's day, while animals are out and about, he'll need to check the snares, to see if he caught anything.
And he has made such a good choice in doing so today. As he steps into Tozer's sight, as that rifle is pointed at him, Hickey's eyes light up with a noticeable brightness. There we go, Aurora. Enola. Whoever the fuck brings them here. He's been asking for this for a while, someone from home more susceptible to his way of thinking, not one of Crozier's cronies or Fitzjames's hangers-on. Was that too hard?
This is certainly Cornelius Hickey: alive, in one piece, tongue intact. But he's been here a year and a half. Things have changed. Hickey is still slim, nothing can fully erase that skinny wiry ratness innate to his being. But there's a difference between slim and starving. There's a difference between wiry and gaunt. Plus, he's wearing some wild clothes compared to Tozer's 1840s frame of reference. Deerskin boots, a gore-tex jacket, a scarf, a 2010s style hat—clothes designed to survive the winter. Silence falls between the two for a moment as Hickey looks at Tozer. He is absolutely delighted to see the man, but that's only noticeable through the shine in his eyes and a small hint of a smile.
But there's kind of also a gun. Might want to focus on that first. ]
a, hey bestiiiiiie
And he has made such a good choice in doing so today. As he steps into Tozer's sight, as that rifle is pointed at him, Hickey's eyes light up with a noticeable brightness. There we go, Aurora. Enola. Whoever the fuck brings them here. He's been asking for this for a while, someone from home more susceptible to his way of thinking, not one of Crozier's cronies or Fitzjames's hangers-on. Was that too hard?
This is certainly Cornelius Hickey: alive, in one piece, tongue intact. But he's been here a year and a half. Things have changed. Hickey is still slim, nothing can fully erase that skinny wiry ratness innate to his being. But there's a difference between slim and starving. There's a difference between wiry and gaunt. Plus, he's wearing some wild clothes compared to Tozer's 1840s frame of reference. Deerskin boots, a gore-tex jacket, a scarf, a 2010s style hat—clothes designed to survive the winter. Silence falls between the two for a moment as Hickey looks at Tozer. He is absolutely delighted to see the man, but that's only noticeable through the shine in his eyes and a small hint of a smile.
But there's kind of also a gun. Might want to focus on that first. ]
Sergeant Tozer. I'd suggest you lower that rifle.