Chapter Text

Do you take pride in what you do? Could you claim truth to that, with hand on your heart and your head held high?

A life in the city is one of servitude. Not just those beneath the will of the unfeeling public or a callous boss or a board strewn with the hands of harsh and ruthless faces kept unseen, no, a life in the city is one of slavery no matter what you find yourself locked to . Slave to the sickening plumes of traffic pollution. Slave to the concrete walls that climb tall from all around. Slave to the inescapable hum of machine ever present no matter where you hide.

If that is the life you live then you are as beta as the unhinged jaw in your stills.

A rancher’s, however, life is one of tranquility: the harder you work, the more plentiful the harvest. That’s good and honest work and I implore you to find a rancher worth their cattle that would tell you any differently. It’s a fairness that no desk jockey could ever achieve in the smog-laden city - a fairness, I would argue, that they would never manage to even understand . A fairness rich with benefits only the beautiful countryside could provide: clean air, green grass, a warming sun... What could be better than a life on the ranch?

Arizona, New Mexico. A quiet town far from the towers and taxis. Far from the ill humanity irreversibly sowed into the rock of the earth. They sowed a far brighter vision here in Arizona: Wheat. Corn. Raddish. Poppy. And above all else? Pride.

Ryan Mason Dixon Magee. A name many here would give a respectful nod to - one rightly deserved. Few had bad to say of the man, and little at that when they did. He was something of a hero to the people of Arizona, with word of his ranch stretching from the horizon’s sun to the horizon’s blue.

Despite his remarkable grandeur, Ryan was in truth a rather simple man. He enjoyed the more modest things in life, like the cooling breeze of the summer wind and the refreshing taste of a cold Arizona Iced Tea (a locally produced drink, of course).

But perhaps more than anything he enjoyed sitting out on the ranch’s porch, leaning far back on his grandfather’s old oak rocking chair. It was relaxed. Peaceful. He had not a care in the world when he had sat down, understandably, as he never really did - but he was sure that, if he had , it would all be gone now. That’s the kind of tranquility he found.

...And then he saw something. Just briefly, out the corner of his eye, like a tiny glimmer in the distance. He slid down his sun shades and took another look. There was certainly something out there. Right at the very tip-top of Giant’s Hill, the tallest mountain in all of Arizona. He couldn’t make out exactly what it was - it was far to far for that. But it had caught his eye, he was sure, for a reason.

“Matthew!” He called out to the ranch behind him in commanding yet respectable tone.

Young Matthew ‘the Ratt’ Watson emerged from within, where he had been cleaning the lavertries with his own toothbrush. He was a frail figure of a boy, severely malnourished and damn near at Death’s door. But Ryan loved him all the same. No other servant man-slave-boy could ever compete with Matthew’s devotion and loyalty, after all.

“Mathew, come here!” Ryan called out again.

The thin skeleton of a man slithered his way slowly over to his master. “Wh-What can I do for you, Ryan?” He squeaked, his tongue flopped out from his mouth - a symptom of the severe dehydration.

“See that over there?” Ryan struck a strong and magnificent finger westword, to the large mountain that overlooked his ranch. He gave a hearty pat to Matthew’s back, causing the poor boy to rattle somewhat, as his mighty point angled to the glimmer atop Giant’s Hill. “Over there!” He grinned his impeccable smile at Matthew. “I want you to go up on that there mountain and get me whatever is spacklin’ up at the top!”

Matthew turned his withered head to his master. “Well geez mister, um... I don’t know if I can make it all that way, given my limbs are all grated to the bone...” It pained him deeply to talk back to his master’s request. He felt as though he should be severely beaten for even suggesting such a thing, though he knew full well that Ryan would never harm him. And for that he was eternally grateful.

Ryan looked over his poor servant slave-man-boy with a sorrow in his eyes. He had tried with all his might to get the lad fed good and right, but no matter how much he tried Matthew would always remain the malnourished bag of skin and bone he had raised from young. “Now you know what? Here’s what we’re gonna do...”

Matthew looked up at Ryan, his eyes glazed and weak, in anticipation for his master’s suggestion. One he knew would be awe-inspiring.

“I just worked out my calves a lot last much. In fact three hours a day!” He smirked, proud of the magnificent body he had chiseled to perfection. Ryan’s calves were almost bursting . They were so large and strong they looked as if they could tear his skin apart at any moment and, in fact, had done so many a time, leaving Ryan to stitch them back up.

With an admiration that could cut diamonds, Matt ran his dry and blistered eyes all over Ryan’s magnificent calves. They were so big and massive and very impressive and sexy , and they had an incredible amount of hair on them, likely because Ryan was an alpha male. You would never catch cowboy Ryan doing the beta male smile, though it was something servant Matthew was known to do frequently. Matthew would often bare a bright beta male smile to the camera’s lense as he took pictures with Ryan’s livestock, his teeth exposed like a true beta male would. It was rather pathetic, frankly

“I’ve been working out my calves,” Ryan continued, “so why don’t you grab on my back hairs, hold on tight, and I-I-I’ll carry us up the mountain!” He gave another heavy pat to Ryan’s brittle back. “But I’m gonna need you to grab hold of whatever that sparkly doohickey is.”

“O-Okay!” Matthew smiled brightly with all the energy he could. “Okay, cowboy Ryan!”

Ryan took to one knee in a pose that would inspire millions had it been caught on film. Matthew carefully gripped his thin and needily fingers, that rather resemble uncooked spaghetti, around Ryan’s back hairs and hoisted himself into a carryable stance upon Ryan’s bare back. Ryan Mason Dixon Magee never wore shirts, of course. Only jorts - cut-off jean shorts, specifically. They helped immensely with the hot weather in Arizona. Similarly, Ryan was seldom seen without his fine straw hat and Lance Armstrong LIVESTRONG wristband, a striking yellow.

Standing tall now, Ryan looked like something of a god carrying a sick and needy child-man. His magnificent body stood proud in the sunlight, as his jorts slipped down slightly to reveal part of the mason-dixon line tattooed on his pelvis. With a quick crack of his neck, as if a warning signal to Matthew translatable to ‘you ready?’, cowboy Ryan began to run at breakneck speed across his ranch.

...But then a problem arose. Ryan realized suddenly that he had forgotten to phone his beautiful wife to inform her of his journey. She had always told him to call ahead, to give her some sign he’d be making his way up that mountain, to the tip of Giant’s Hill. He could imagine her vividly in his mind telling him “Ryan Magee Mason Dixon, don’t you dare go to the top of that mountain without tellin’ me first!” The thought of disappointing his wife drove a dagger through his heart.

The sun was setting now, amplifying the problem tenfold. If Ryan were to turn back now, there simply wouldn’t be enough time. He knew in his heart that he must go back and tell his wife of his journey - to save her the dread of wondering why her darling husband had not yet returned home. But if he turned back now... Then his chance to reclaim the unknown glimmer atop the mountain could be lost forever.

He took a deep breath. He knew what had to be done - what logic would dictate as the right and lawful decision for him to make. He would simply need to remove his legs and give them to Matthew, so Matthew would then have his beautiful set of legs. Even if it meant Ryan would then have Matthew’s skinny little legs.

He set Matthew down, earning him a confused look from the poor slave-man-boy. Without another word, he carefully cut himself in two - slicing at his lower torso, where his mason-dixon tattoo lay. He then performed a similar split on Matthew, though cutting through the lad was much simpler than it had been for his own body.

Ryan put on his new skinny little legs and began back toward his ranch, off on his way to tell his wife of his journey, and leaving Matthew with his large calves.

Matthew got to his newfound feet. He had never felt strength like this before - legs so efficient and beautiful they could kick clean through diamond, he was sure. He hopped forward energetically, ready to scale the mountain.

His foot pressed to the rocky floor below and something clicked. Suddenly a rush of clocks spun by, dizzying him immensely. His vision blurred and all sound began to muffel, until he simply couldn’t take it any longer. He thunked to the floor with a haze, passed out.

...Time had turned back. Matthew was back on the ground below, looking up at his master, who was just beginning to cut through his own torso. Had all that been a dream...? Had he imagined that future? He opened his mouth to tell his master of it, but closed it again before any words came out. Better to let him concentrate, he thought.

Ryan turned to Matthew following his own severing and began to slice through Matthew’s waist. After a few modest cracking sounds, his legs had been cleanly split from his body.

But Ryan seemed... Off . As if he was reconsidering the decision. With a deep sigh, Ryan began to stitch Matthew’s legs back onto his body, and then his own back to his own body, until they were both back to they had been moments before.

And then, just as quickly as he had changed his mind before, he once again chopped his and Matthew’s legs off. He gave a soft smile to his servant boy as he swapped their legs around. “This shiny sparkly thing means so much to me, Matthew, that I want you to go home and pleasure my ethnically diverse wife.”