This is also from Liv's perspective. She's working on the docks with another two characters, Reese and Kutch, when trouble breaks out. Kutch is Scottish, fourteen, and burly, so naturally he intervenes, saves the foreman's life, and finds one of the perpetrators is packin'. So this is a bit of an action scene: I wanted to assert early on that Reese Anwyl was the leader of the children for a reason.
In that moment, the young Welsh looked absolute years older than seventeen. He stepped out into the crowd from behind Kutch, placing himself between the young boy and the deadly weapon. The tattooed man thumbed back the hammer-- even from here, I could hear it clicking-- and glared at the youth with bleary red eyes.
“Stand down, boy! I will kill yew! I’ll shoot!”
Reese’s voice was immeasurably calm, his dark eyes stern and steady.
“Put it down, friend. Come, you don’t need that. Nobody’s wronged you.”
The man shifted aggressively, gritting his teeth.
“Don’t you tell me them lies, yew pree-sumshus cub! Yew don’t know nothin’! Everybody’s wronged me!”
As he spoke, I watched the redcoats who were on dock patrol jogging across the wharf. They yelled for everyone to stand back, which hardly anyone listened to, then started into the crowd of bystanders, beating them to either side with their rifles. Reese, now standing with the pistol’s mouth not five inches from his heart, gestured wildly for them to stand back, not once taking his gaze from the dangerous drunkard’s.
“Calm yourself,” he reasoned. “Breathe in. You see, I’m not tryin’ to hurt you.”
I heard the man’s ventilation heighten and could imagine the smell of his foul breath wafting towards Reese’s face. I leaned forward, gripping the edges of the cart until my knuckles were white. Why didn’t the crowd back away? It would open Reese’s options for defending himself. If he knocked the pistol to the side, there was almost a certainty that it would go off and shoot one of the bystanders. And the tattooed man wasn’t showing any signs of backing down.
“Yer all agin me,” he went on, his breathing laborious. “Always tellin’ me what to do! He’s pushin’ me about, he’s pushin’ me about... that brat goes and leaps on me.”
His watery eyes cleared murderously. He shuffled forward.
“Now yer pushin’ me around, a meddlesome boy! Tain’t fair... tain’t... natural.”
“I’m not pushin’ you anywhere,” Reese replied softly, taking a slow, gentle step back. “I want you to put... the pistol... down.”
Without a hint of warning, he struck. His hand flew up into the pistol, knocking it upwards, and it discharged into the sky as Reese punched the man in the stomach, curled his hand around his neck, and tugged him down into his knee as he brought it up. The tattooed man dropped, winded. Reese caught the empty pistol as it fell.
I didn’t wait a second longer. I launched myself off the wagon and dashed into the midst of the milling, admiring, noisy crowd. I tried to force my way through the sea of sweaty backs and muscled arms, but was shoved about and around. My hat was jarred loose. Scowling, I readjusted it and stuffed my tangled yellow curls back up into its depths, trying to shoulder my way through. Someone’s elbow struck me in the back and propelled me forward, and with a cry I stumbled right against Reese’s shoulder and hurriedly righted myself, but it was too late. He noticed.
“Are you alright?” I asked, not appearing as concerned as I felt.
He had one arm around Kutch and his other hand reached out and grabbed my wrist.
“Yes, we’re fine,” he answered for the two of them, trying to steer us out of the mob. “Cummon now, look sharp. Let’s get back to work before much else happens.”
So this is Reese. I'll give Kutch a better introduction later, as you don't see too much of him in this bit.
Okay, I'll post again soon!
God bless!
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