[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/6bK49TU.jpg[/img][/center]
[b]”The Ranchero of Miracle Mesa” - Glitter And Gold: Part Two[/b]

[center][i]“The Cowboy must never shoot first, hit a smaller man, or take unfair advantage.”[/i][/center]
[center][indent]-Anonymous[/indent][/center]
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[indent][b]Warpath, Texas[/b][/indent]
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Vigilante never gave much thought to his quiet moments, though he did get precious few of them. He sat on the roof of the local motel, swinging his legs and chewing through a baloney sandwich, watching the sun rise over the valley that lay before Warpath. His gun belt lay beside him, pistols freshly cleaned after that morning’s chores. It was these moments he relished. Calamity wasn’t hangin’ over no one’s head. Warpath wasn’t on the brink. He wished he had a player around to put in some of Pop’s old VHS tapes and curl up with a warm glass of milk like he did as a boy. Simple livin’. He might’ve settled for a sit in the rundown Movie Theater, rememberin’ what was, but most of that space was crammed with the petrified.

That was what most of the buildings were like, anyhow. Even a coupla’ the outhouses set around town. Only place he could find his peace from them was on the roofs, looking up at that sky and letting himself dream. He wondered what the team’d be up to. The Seven Soldiers hadn’t crossed his mind in a good long while… They’d left him with his hands full in Warpath.

Frankenstein was still on the lookout for some magical leads to give ‘em the edge; last communication Vig got said he was now on the hunt for a feller by the name of Doctor Occult. Sir Justin and Lee were still lookin’ for Justin’s gosh darn horse. Vig thought it was a fool's errand, lookin’ for a magic horse with wings n’ all, but if stranger hadn’t happened in Warpath already, then Vig was lyin’ like a no-legged dog. Accordin’ to Sylvester and Pat, they were havin’ a mighty kinda trouble wrasslin’ any help outta’ SHIELD. But then, those boys had a lot on their plate, yessir. Between that Silver feller n’ all manner of mutant and madman poppin’ up? No wonder they didn’t have nothing to spare. Sylvester said he’d try a few more ways, but then he was gonna set his sights on lookin’ for Captain America. That boy was plum convinced that the old timer was out there, somewhere. Maybe someone like that could set the madness in this world right. Lastly, Jonah Hex… Well, Vig tried not to think too hard about Jonah Hex. He’d set him n’ Billy Gunn sittin’ side by side in Gunn’s living room, turned toward the TV. Sometimes if he let his imagination get away from him, he could almost hear ‘em grumbling to each other like it was old times, before… Well, before all this. Before The Dummy. Before The Spirit.

The Spirit had contented itself to remain real quiet since The Bounty Hunters. There were times when Vig though to go lookin’ for it, and thought better of it. Maybe that fight did it, and that was all that thing had left in it. In his heart and in the back of his mind Vig knew it was still there, lurking. Whatever he could guess on it was near blank, just vague senses of emotion. Anger. Sadness. Guilt. It seemed absent from his dreams too, like it was trying to separate itself from the man who’d massacred those people. [color=#f92a0e]”Those Bounty Hunters”[/color], Vig corrected himself. He still wasn’t sure what to make of it. That was his first [i]real[/i] fight since he’d been out of Hell, and he’d relished it… Even though that was supposed to be what he was getting away from. Instead he’d dug into it and hadn’t considered what those Hunters might’ve been. Who he might’ve killed. He tried to pretend it was just what was best for Warpath, but he knew those Hunters were coming for him and him alone. Maybe if he’d let them take him, those boys would still be alive.

Anyhow, best not to think on that. Least not now. Supposedly Frankenstein would be ready to rendezvous somewhere in afew days and discuss the situation down in Warpath. Til’ then, Vig just had to make sure that the town didn’t try to burn itself down again. Vig stood, wiping the sandwich crumbs off his garments. He hoisted his gunbelt and carried it over his shoulder. He took a long stretch, feeling for the subtle tension and pop in his shoulders. He rolled them, and took one long look up into the sky. Something told him this’d be his last rest for a long while. 

Like it was responding to his thoughts, he was a burst of blue dancing over Warpath. It started as a tiny speck, winding through the air like it was giving itself emergency flying lessons. As it started to get bigger its flight leveled off a little, but it was losing altitude like a one-winged pigeon. Vig ran across the rooftops, gritting his teeth and flinging himself over the bigger gaps. 

[color=#f92a0e]”Buildings ‘round here are too big to be doin’ that...”[/color] He grumbled. The thing was much lower now, and he resolved itself into the form of a man… Type thing. It was humanoid, that was for certain. Whatever it was, near as Vig could tell, but it had blue dangly bits comin’ off it all over the shop. Vig reached into his bag for a pair of binoculars and held them up to his eyes.

It wasn’t human, but it certainly wasn’t no demon or spirit neither. Plus, those things don’t exactly come from up top. It looked a bit like a man in a some kinda future armor, bit like what that Wonder Woman lady tooled around in, but.. Different... Definitely different. It had all kindsa blue spikes n’ spines n’ wing lookin’ things comin’ off it. He was holding to the air with jets in his hands and back, but he didn’t seem much like he was doin’ a great job of it. Poor feller looked like he was tryin’ his damndest just to stay aloft, say nothin’ about landing.

Well… Whatever it was, it didn’t really seem to know how to work its own contraption. Couldn’t be too darn big of a threat. Either way, it’d have to come down eventually, when it ran outta’ whatever kinda fuel it was on, or figured how to land the thing. Might as well start off on the right foot.

[color=#f92a0e]”Hey! Need some help there, feller?”[/color] Greg cupped his hangs around his mouth and shouted like his Pop taught him to. You could always hear Sheriff Mort from cross the clean other side of town. He bellowed deep from his lungs and his belly. Hopefully it’d be enough for the thing to hear him from that high up. He gestured with one hand. [color=#f92a0e]“There’s plentya hay over yonder! Land there!”[/color]

Greg hopped off the roof and landed in a roll. He dusted himself off and drew his pistol, setting off for the hay bales out front of Ms. Hart’s barn.