Work Text:
This is about JOSEPH WESLEY WULFSTAN.
Also known as Peacemaker, or The Film’s Overseer.
He is your stereotypical cowboy outlaw with a shire horse.
Joseph was born around in the 1500’s, in the NANO world equivalent of Spain. It’s hard to know what year. His birth name was Maryanne, as he was born female. He never knew his father or his mother, and was practically raised by a man named Manuel, who only spoke Spanish, so that was Joseph’s first language. Manuel taught him how to hunt, fish, how to shoot a gun, swing a sword maybe and overall how to defend himself. He never showed Joseph any real love or affection, he was quite cold and distant, but it was clear he had some sort of liking towards him, after all, why else would he take this kid in?
They traveled a lot, setting up camps here and there until they had to leave again. Mostly because Manuel was a wanted criminal, and had one, too many enemies who were always on his tail.
One particular night, Joseph was awoken by rustling and yelling, and Manuel shouting at him to leave the tent, and that he would keep them distracted and if he wanted to live, he would keep running until he was in the clear. Joseph had barely any time to protest, nor did he really want to, he had learned to just do what he was told with no questions. So he did, he ran and ran until he couldn’t hear the shouting anymore, and ran until his legs hurt and ran until his throat went dry. Just as far as his legs could take him.
Manuel was killed when Joseph was 10 years old.
So, a lone child with nothing but the clothes on his back and no where to go. Sucks to suck. LOL.
He picked up doing petty crimes, stealing from local markets and pickpocketing here and there. He would get caught sometimes, if he was lucky, they wouldn’t punish him and they’d set him
up for small jobs, until he’d be fired for something stupid or a better candidate came along.
He would also be a little bit of a beggar, with his natural talent for acting, he’d pretend to be sick or hurt so people would take pity on him
and lend him money.
When he was 13, he got picked up by a group of bandits, who promised him shelter and food, but only if he brought them back money and proved himself useful. And that he did. Joseph was pretty good at getting away with stealing by now, and would bring them back his contributions, but it soon wasn’t enough, so his crimes got more extreme, to breaking into houses and burglary in general, sometimes threatening or assaulting others with weapons. One stand-off escalated too much and Joseph committed his first kill when he was just 14 years old. He had killed an elderly widowed woman when she pulled her late-husbands shotgun onto him.
Of course, these bandits always doubted his ability as he was a young girl, but he would get mistaken a lot for a young man; he was masculine and kept his hair short and chest hidden most days, if not always. He was always taken as a boy, until they heard his voice, so he just wouldn’t talk. He’d gotten tired of hearing his given name over and over, wanting something less feminine. He eventually found that something, meeting an elderly man whose name was Joseph. Taking a liking to the name, he held onto it. The rest of his name came from some newspaper he had found, where one of the most richest townsman in the area had gotten married to a woman named Margaret. His name was Wesley Wulfstan.
He decided he couldn’t choose between Wesley or Joseph, so he just made Wesley his middle name, and Wulfstan his last.
A weird way to get a name, but you do you, kid.
So anyway.
Joseph always had a strange, borderline obsession with the theatre downtown. Or whatever theaters there were when he was in any town. He loved watching people put on plays and shows as they sung and dance and cried. He found it so interesting, watching other people just like himself putting on an act, playing characters that wasn’t them, but he could also see the bits of themselves that would shine through.
He hoped, that one day, for just a show or two, he could maybe…
No, he was told all that stupid play shit was for women and homosexual men, and that if he really wanted to be a real man, he had to drop the daydreaming and focus on the more important things. Right. Making money for people so he could survive.
When he was just 17, Joseph was booted from the gang for having his head in the clouds too much, and that it was getting in the way of his work. So, he left to join another gang.
… and then another.
…and… another.
… another, again.
He was 29 now, 12 years of gambling and stealing and killing had gotten him absolutely no where. He was just on the road again, with no family, no friends, and a bunch of enemies who would hang his head on a wall and make a rug out of his skin.
A few years of solitude go by, as he barely makes it by with a few bounty hunting jobs and small jobs he would pick up here and there.
Until another gang of outlaws found him useful, again. He figured this would just go the same as it did before, but he was half-wrong and half-right.
Joseph had gotten into a huge shootout, with an old enemy gang. There were guns, explosives, molotov cocktails, fire and whatnot. When Joseph had ducked for cover behind a knocked over wagon, a bundle of dynamite just had to be thrown right his way, blowing the wagon to pieces and his arm had a nasty burn, so much so, you could see the bone if he moved it right. His face was horribly disfigured, now hard to look at without gagging. At least that’s what everyone else and himself thought.
After the fight was over, he was taken into a room, where his what-he-believed-were friends told him his arm was infected, and they would have to cut it off if he didn’t want it to spread.
So they gagged him with cloth and held him down as they took a makeshift-machete and hacked his arm clean off. They wrapped his arm up, and left him there. Except one lady, who held his head in her lap and comforted him for an hour or two before she left.
Cool. 38 and no arm.
He could deal with this, he’ll be fine. Could’ve been worse. He’s fine.
Yeah, no he’s not.
It took forever for him to adjust to having one arm, and it was difficult for him to work, so he was once again kicked off the job.
Eventually on the road, he had stumbled across a beautiful woman, who was a farmer. She said she could use an extra pair of hands on her farm, even if it was just one hand. Joseph was quick to agree. This had been the happiest Joseph had been since he was born, he thinks. The woman was nice, and warm, and he had half a mind to bet she liked him. But what would she think? A man who couldn’t have kids with her, a man who wasn’t born a man, a man who didn’t have a left arm and a man with a disfigured face. He decided it was too risky, and didn’t want to ruin what he had right now.
Her farm was lovely, she had all sorts of animals, and she grew fruits and vegetables, and even gorgeous flowers that were almost as beautiful as her. She grew them because her name resembled a flower, and because her mother always called her “her flower”. She liked flowers, anyway.
But she also had a few horses, one that Joseph took a heavy liking to. A stunning Shire horse, with a sleek black coat and a matching black mane and tail. She had a white diamond shape between her muzzle and her forehead, right between her eyes. The hair that went down and over her hooves was white too.
Her name was Sun’s Shadow, well, actually that was just her racehorse name. Her name was really Mollie. Besides, she would only answer to Mollie anyway. She was an award winning horse, being one the largest horses on this corner of the planet, and one of the fastest. She’s won tons of races. And she seemed to had taken a liking to Joseph too, always walking towards and around him, not for food, but because she recognized him. She always followed him around.
Years went by, and Joseph was finally content with his life, for now, he decided.
“For now” indeed, because the woman who hired him and took him in had fallen deathly ill, and in a matter of a few months, she had passed away. Her brother was on his way from across the country to take over her farm. He didn’t know why he couldn’t take over her farm, maybe it was tradition, maybe it was his lack of a left arm, Joseph didn’t know.
The woman’s brother arrived, and showed Joseph a letter. It was written by the woman before she died, and it was a will of some sorts, but she just sent it to her brother. It talked about how she knew she was going to die, and how much she loved Joseph for sticking with her for so long, and that he could stay with her brother on the farm, or, if he wanted to go live another life, he could take Mollie with him. “Since she liked him so much, I figured it would be right. She would be in good hands… Well, hand.”
Her brother seemed hesitant to show him the letter, and he certainly didn’t let him keep it, or the contract that now said Sun Stone was his horse. Which is really fucking weird but Joseph didn’t care.
At least he had a friend now.
Joseph picked up bounty hunting as more of a full-time thing, locating and capturing fugitives and criminals for a commission or bounty. Which is sort of hypocritical, but the bail bonds didn’t really care, as long as the job was done. Not that they recognized him anyway, his face and arm were beyond recognition for all of his earlier crimes and wanted posters.
A year or two or three goes by, Joseph is now somewhere around his 50’s, he’d given up on counting now. He’s doing… Okay, he guesses.
He entered a few races with Sun Stone, and won every-time. And it was about to get to his head.
Until a group of men approached him, shouting off about the horse he had, how he couldn’t enter anymore races because it wasn’t his, and that he stole it from the woman’s brother.
Joseph tried to explain that he had a contract that said this horse was his, but since he didn’t have said contract, he couldn’t prove it. So he looked pretty stupid.
There was this big fight and they eventually and successfully knocked Joseph unconscious.
He woke up, His legs and ankles tied together, also tied to his wrist, which was very uncomfortable. He was gagged with cloth, which was all too familiar, he thought. He couldn’t move, but I guess that’s the point.
They beat and kicked him until there was blood leaking through the cloth in his mouth, until his head was practically open and bleeding, until he was almost certain all his ribs were broken. He thought it was going to last forever.
And finally, they stopped their shouting and kicking, and turned him over on his back, and he gathered what energy he had as he barely hung onto his life. A large blade, reminiscent, and almost exactly the same as the makeshift-machete his old friends used to cut off his arm, was raised up above his head. It came down in multiple strikes to his throat, hacking and hacking until his head no longer connected to his body. He was decapitated.
Uhh… L.
Joseph woke up in the same place he remembered being nearly beat to death in. But his hand or legs weren’t tied…. Actually, he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t really feel his body.
…..
Oh my God, he’s just a head and his body is right next to him.
Is he dead or something?
He never really believed in ghosts. What the fuck.
It took a lot of maneuvering, but Joseph eventually had his own head in his hand, and was back on his feet. Somehow, someway, in some magical movement, his head was back on his neck, and he could move it around just fine.
Uh. Okay.
He exited the place where he was killed, realizing it was just some basement to a now abandoned house. In fact, everything looked pretty barren now. Uh… How long has he been dead.
He went walking for some time, not a single coherent thought ran through his head. That was until he was face to muzzle with Sun Stone, no, Mollie. She looked a little worn with age now. But she was still just as beautiful as the day he saw her.
Save for the bullet wounds in her side.
Wait.
What.
Bullet wounds?
Was she dead too? Had she been shot?
He was… angry. But there was nothing he could do about it. At least she was still here with him.
Joseph, even if she didn’t need it, patched her up with whatever materials he could find anyway. And they were off traveling again.
Just like before.
This was weird.
This doesn’t make any sense to him. Why didn’t her brother let her keep the contract? Did they just want Mollie for themselves? Did the brother do that on purpose to get his sisters horse back? Why is he here? Why is Mollie here?
He didn’t want anyone to ever touch Mollie again, he wouldn’t ever put her in any danger ever again, she was his only friend, his only family and his only solace in this world, and he’d be damned if he lost his horse.
He doesn’t know how long it had been since he died, the years felt like just a few months. People could still see him and Mollie, so that’s weird. He wonders how many ghosts he’s seen if they can see him. The world was different now, obviously. It had to be maybe an entire generation or two later.
Joseph decided since, he probably had all the time in the world, he’d just travel wherever he wanted and see what the world had to offer. He and Mollie would just rest in forests, most of the time. Laying under trees and whatnot. Of course, he got weapons in case of danger. A good old fashioned shotgun and a blade.
One night, maybe around midnight, he was awoken by cooing and soft laughter, like the kind of voice someone would use to talk to a dog, or a cat, or just any animal in general.
He did a mental double take and got up and noticed about maybe 35 feet down the path, where he could just make out Mollie and another figure, who was petting her head and the bridge of her nose, calling her sweet things, and asking her nonsense questions as if she could answer.
He cocked his shotgun.