Most call me Gold. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
amicustenebris) wrote2023-09-02 03:30 pm
amicustenebris) wrote2023-09-02 03:30 pm
Entry tags:
PSL - for Saul Goodman, set Post-BCS, Pre-BB
In all fairness to Saul Goodman, it would not have been uncharitable when he found himself stopped in the middle of the road, staring down what appeared to be the body that just ricocheted off his windshield, and first thinking, even kind of hoping he was being scammed. It wouldn't be the first time, and New Mexico was hardly suffering a shortage of people stupid enough to try it, clearly. The highbeams caught the slow patter of the first rain in what felt like months, picking each little droplet out of the dark as though they did not exist at all until the light touched them. Then the twitch of a set of fingers, shivering in the direction of a cane that had clattered to the ground just out of reach. A glint of the ring on one of his fingers, not a diamond but some manner of precious stone that seemed to glow with inner luminosity.
It was fully nighttime even without the cloud cover, and the stranger really did seem to come out of nowhere. He might as well have not been there at all the instant before he was hit.
From the looks of him once he was near enough to take it in, not the sort that would usually try a scam. Well-to-do, in his forties at the youngest. The curtain of his shoulder-length hair stuck in wet strings to the side of his face. Nice (though now scuffed) shoes. The suit was fine and black, maybe a little warm for this far south and this time of year. The cane was similarly fancy, with a silver handle. Eyes that were awake and expressive but wide and gave too much the impression of an injured animal.
The kinda view that left a guy wishing it was just a punk kid trying to make an easy buck.
It was fully nighttime even without the cloud cover, and the stranger really did seem to come out of nowhere. He might as well have not been there at all the instant before he was hit.
From the looks of him once he was near enough to take it in, not the sort that would usually try a scam. Well-to-do, in his forties at the youngest. The curtain of his shoulder-length hair stuck in wet strings to the side of his face. Nice (though now scuffed) shoes. The suit was fine and black, maybe a little warm for this far south and this time of year. The cane was similarly fancy, with a silver handle. Eyes that were awake and expressive but wide and gave too much the impression of an injured animal.
The kinda view that left a guy wishing it was just a punk kid trying to make an easy buck.