[color=a2d39c][h3][i]Location: In the hills a few miles north of Armadillo
Interactions: Collaboration with Sad Ogo / John Stone[/i][/h3][/color]

John looked down at the battered and bruised man tied down tight in an old chair, his face a mess of cuts and lumps, his teeth knocked loose, crooked or broken. His lips swollen enough now that one or two of his teeth looked to be cutting into them. John blew on his knuckles like one might the barrel of a gun, soothing the stinging from the skin he’d scraped off his knuckles beating on the man. He walked over to one corner of the almost empty, dirty old shack he had found himself in and dipped his hands into a bucket of water he’d prepared. He picked it up and carried it over to his captive, taking an old bandana from his belt and soaking it in the water.

He started with wiping away the blood from the gash under the man’s right eye. He winced and pulled back slightly but John shushed him, continuing on to clean his busted nose.

“Please… I don’t kn-...”

“”Hush. Save your energy for what’s coming.” John warned. The man quietly sobbed as he continued on cleaning his face up. Soon he was done.

“So, you’ve resisted something of a beating… From a man as big and as savage as me too, well done. You have my compliments. Unfortunately all that strength you used up resisting isn’t going to stop what comes next and definitely not what comes later. See when the beating doesn’t work I move right on to cutting things off. I’m not the most talented torturer in the world I admit, I pretty much stick to basics. I’m going to try not to kill you but when you’re cutting fingers, hands and feet off shit has a tendency to not go to plan, know what I mean? Anyway… I’ve gotta go in to town real quick and get myself a knife better suited to cutting through bone, some strong alcohol to use as a disinfectant and if you’re lucky maybe something to slow the bleeding some. You sit here and think about what you’re never going to be able to do again if you resist long enough for me to get done cutting off fingers… Dumbass.”

John moved towards the small shacks one door, putting his hand up to open it but then stopping, seemingly changing his mind. He turned back around to face his prisoner. 

“Ya know what, it’ll probably be better if you actually know how much a finger getting cut off hurts whilst you wait.” John said, pulling his bowie knife from its sheath and moving towards the man. He immediately began begging and crying harder as John pushed his hand down into the chairs arm. He was squeezing his hand in a fist as hard as he could, trying his best not to let the blade find his fingers.

“You can either unflex your damn hand or I can start cutting at your wrist asshole, your choice!” John spat, annoyed. 

“No, no, no, please, please! I’ll tell you where he is. I’ll tell you!”

“Where!? You got three seconds before I start carving!” John shouted, placing his knife’s edge to the man’s wrist firm enough that it cut in ever so slightly, staying in place.

“Thieves Landing! He’s in Thieves Landing!”

“Of course he fucking is.” John spoke, shaking his head. 

He pulled his knife away from the man’s wrist and removed his hand from his also. He swiftly moved his left hand behind the man’s head and used his long hair to yank his head back, at the same time using his knife wielding hand to puncture his exposed throat so explosively that the guard of the knife pressed up against his neck.

John stared into his surprised eyes as the light faded from them.

“Couldn’t let you warn him... Couldn’t have you come back on me.” John explained, twisting the knife sharply and pulling it free. He wiped it off on the bodies pants and sheathed it, turning around and walking out of the shacks door into the desert without another glance. 

The sun was blinding, making John squint even looking down.

“Morrigan! Here girl!” He called, walking to meet his companion. He took his black Stalker hat off of a saddlebag and placed it on his head, getting some much needed protection from the oppressive desert sun. He climbed up on his horse looking to the south. There in the distance was Armadillo. A place where he could get a drink and something decent to eat. With a slight kick of his heels he headed towards the town. 

[hr]

[color=a2d39c][h3][i]Location: Armadillo[/i][/h3][/color]
 
Leo Velez arrived in Armadillo the day before. Getting comfortable, he joined a card game in the saloon, playing for the past hour or more and up five dollars and twenty-five cents.
 
“Raise thirty cents,” uttered the gray haired man who worked as a stable hand in town. The bet passed to a middle-aged man with a prosthetic leg. He lost the lower half of his leg after being caught in a storm north of Colter, who saw the bet and continued around the table. The next two players had already folded, which brought the round back to Leo and one empty chair to his left.
 
“I’ll see your thirty cents and call,” Leo stated.
 
The stable hand revealed his hand, “read em and weep, a full house…Jacks over twos.”
 
The man with one leg tossed his cards on the table, “That beats my two pair.”
 
Leo smiled at the stable hand, “ju stink ju hab a good hand, mun? fool house iz good, jes?” Leo smiled wider, then laid his hand on the table revealing four fives. “Ju dealt these cards to me mun.” Leo saw this as an easy win and reached for the pot.
 
The stable hand was annoyed at the outcome of the game. There was over five dollars in the pot and he was certain the halfbreed Mexican cheated. “Your one of those Del Lobo assholes, aren’t you?” angered by losing the hand and drawing his sidearm. “How about you and me take this out into the street.
 
Leo went deadpan serious. No emotional expression; a poker face. He slowed his movements, continuing to gather his winnings. “Sir, I suggest ju put your hand cannons away before you make another bad decision.” Leo picked up the money knowing the game was over. He slowly deposited it into his pocket.
 
“I say you are a cheat and a liar. You are a Mexican and not to be trusted. I don’t play with cheaters and rarely play with Mexicans. I knew better than to sit at this table. I ought to just blow your cheatin’ ass away right here, right now!” The blustering stable hand was loud enough to catch the attention of everyone in the bar. It was evident he had drowned himself too far into a bottle of whiskey.

[hr]

An hour or so later John had reached the town, now thirsty and even hungrier. He hitched Morrigan up outside of the saloon and fed her an apple whilst deciding on whether or not to keep his shotgun on him or leave it on the horse. He quickly decided on the latter. He didn’t have any beef in town from what he remembered and there was no need to send a message. Leaving his shotgun he walked to the doors of the establishment, pushing on in. 

He liked what he saw. Men playing cards, drinking and working women plying their trade. It was timeless. As was the bickering he heard over playing cards and cheating. John had immediately decided it boring and not worth paying attention to until he heard a pretty distinct voice. Where that kid could be heard there always seemed to be trouble. He found it somewhat endearing, or as close as he could feel to it. They weren’t exactly friends, John still hadn’t figured out what that really meant but they had fought together. They had pursued money alongside one another and had both managed not to betray the other over it. In their business that meant something at least.

With that in mind he moved toward the argument, pushing past a couple of men who had moved in to watch. He soon saw a gray haired man standing up and pointing his weapon at the young bounty hunter. Leo as cool as ever was simply gathering up his winnings, slowly putting them away. John fast approached behind the man, slightly to his right. Pretty much on top of him now he grabbed him by his gun toting wrist and pulled it up and behind his back in something of an armlock. John using his hand to pin the gun and the other man’s hand to the back of his head via his hair used the momentum of the movement to throw the man’s head forward and smash his face into the table, rattling the glasses that laid upon it. He quickly pulled him back up and kept him stable and standing via his hair. His nose was bleeding and he seemed a little dazed but at this point he’d be fine in a little while.

“You can drop that Cattleman of your own volition or I can break your arm and smash your face until it’s no longer your choice... Choose quickly.” John spoke calmly into his ear.

He’d seemed to have already made up his mind and loosened his grip on the gun. John took it from him and shoved him off to the side. He fell onto one knee but managed to catch himself and stand back up, stumbling away and out of the saloon. John examined the weapon he’d taken. It was old and worn but he reckoned he might get a few dollars for it. He looked to Leo and nodded.

“Look at this, I won a Cattleman and I don’t even know how to play cards.”

“Good job, amigo,” Leo spoke to John. “The game was just getting exciting and this pendejo accused me of cheating, just because I beat his sorry ass.” Leo located his short-brimmed gambler, returning it to his head. “How bout I buy you a drink, eh, vato?” The final word he used for John Stone could loosely be translated into dude or partner.

John raised an eyebrow at his associate, nodding a little with an ever so slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Like I said, I’m nothing of a card player really. That does seem to be how it often goes though…” He spoke as he moved towards the bar, doing his best to ignore certain looks from some of the patrons.

“Yeah, sounds good to me. I came here for a drink and something to eat anyway. It’s been a tiring day.”

Leo approached the bar, ordered two whiskeys, “what do you want to eat?” Leo asked John, dropping his Mexican accent in favor of one others could understand.

The more aged bounty hunter eyed the menu for a moment rubbing the stubble on his chin as if he were thinking, scanning over what they offered. He was only semi-literate but he could usually make things out given context and time.  

“Beef stew. Definitely beef stew… And thanks for the whiskey.”

Leo was more than happy to pay for John’s meal and hte whiskey. The man got him out of a hairy situation and he was up about ten dollars from his poker winnings. “Barkeep! Can I get a beef stew too?” The bartender brought the food and served the drinks. “Here you go. Let’s take a seat.”

John took happily to Leo’s suggestion and seated himself facing the doors of the saloon. The last thing he wanted was to be surprised and shot in the back of the head by an aging man with a grudge over cards. Settled in he began eating his soup greedily, hungry from a day of pretty rigorous exercise. He finished the grub quickly and pushed it aside, grabbing his whiskey in turn and chugging it down. With that he let out a satisfied sigh.

“That was exactly what I needed.”