Mark Twain let go off Paul Blake, and the dead man toppled over onto the sheriff's floor. He jutted an accusatory finger at the night chilled carcass and complained, “I had found this man dying without a license, not paying his taxes, and swilling copious amounts of gin.”

	“I went to confront him about it, but found him quite handicapped, so I figured it was more of this uniforms forte,” He nodded slightly not talking to anyone in particular. He perked a dark brow of recognition and cocked a thumb over at Maeve, “oh and my nurse over here can confirm my story and sign any more of the legal papers should it come to that.”

	When Twain saw that nobody was really listening and were rather preoccupied with a low whistle, the doctor fit his hands into his trouser pockets and stood upright, “well I’m glad we have this settled then!”

	He watched silently as the group quickly hurried off to take care of something else. In the back of Twain’s mind he felt the itch of curiosity, and the urge of adventure. With a glance to the left, and then a stare to the right, he spun on his heel, patted Maeve a good luck pat on the shoulder followed by a sly grin, and exited the building. 

---

	The chill of the moonlit night contrasted the day’s sun, and the gentle breeze bellowed under Marks dark city clothes, sending a wild energy down his spine and perking the corners of his sly smile. After what seemed like a short journey, he surrendered his shoulder onto a large grey rock and leant on it as he observed the group that had left the sheriff's office. 

	His blue eyes released its gaze from the shadowy group momentarily as he scanned the otherwise wild grass of the flat lands he now found himself in, the silhouette of the town backed by the moonlight in the distance. 

	[i] Only devious things take place at night so far from home,[/i] He thought to himself as he turned his attention back onto the group. 

	Sure enough soon the pounding struggle of an aggressor was made known by shouts and taunts, and even the pointing of a gun. The words of the people in question were blurred by the soft breeze in Twain’s ear, but otherwise understandable. 

	A soft spot in Mark’s heart suggested to leave this scene for a quieter one by the warm glow of a lantern next to a hot bath and even more pleasant company. However, the thought was quickly rebuked by a vulpine grin and the sense of adventure that so often swelled in the Doctor's chest.

	[i] After all[/i], Mark thought to himself while he continued to watch the scene unfold before him, [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iUC8dJ0D6sA][i] You only live twice.[/i][/url]

 
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This is probably one of my laziest and terribly written posts in a long time, I apologize.
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