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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Red7VII
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Red7VII Magnificent Bastard

Member Seen 8 mos ago


Location: Armadillo || Mentions: NONE


"We'll need more than that." Draven rolled his eyes at her words as they rang out behind him. His long hair tickled his cheeks as they acted as a curtain to his face. The slow, rhythmic clip clop of the two horses sounded off like a clock in the night echoing upon the distant hills and dunes. Draven looked back to the girl, regarding the ten year old with a sort of suspicion, silently questioning her qualifications before doing so verbally.

"Why in the hell would we need more? That's you, me, two gunners, and a safe-" Draven cut his words short. The young girl's face, framed with long brown hair, took on a sudden expression that only meant one thing: trouble. Before even witnessing the problem for himself, Draven's hands shot toward his holsters as his head whipped back.

"Uh-uh, pilgrim," said one of several men on horseback. "Hands where I can see 'em." Draven's eyes slowly met the man's. He looked upon this stranger with hatred as he stared down the barrel of the fool's pistol. These idiots clearly did not know who they were up against. "I hate to interrupt a late night stroll between a father and his daughter, but if you aim to finish your stroll, it's gonna cost ya some coin, sir." Most of the bandits were dressed in bland leather with shirts so dust ridden that you couldn't really tell what color they started off being. The mouthpiece of the group seemed the cleanest, but only slightly, with a mustache that was waxed to a point on each side of it. Between speeches, the head honcho couldn't help but twitch it.

"Listen, fellas, I've got no coin to give. She and I are just passin' through." He didn't see her approach, but Draven suddenly realized the young girl and her horse were now right beside him. Her demeanor was uncomfortably calm as she starred ahead, her eyes shifting between each of the three other bandits while Draven focused his attention on the fourth.

"Then give us the horses and the metal." Head Honcho's tone was becoming more stern, his patience withering away. Draven looked over to the girl and she looked right back. There was a silent exchanged followed by a slight nod from them both. The duo looked to the gang ahead once more, but there was something different. There was fire behind the eyes of this couple. As soon as he saw it, the Honcho shouted, "Kill those-"

Four shots rang out in such rapid succession that it really only sounded like two. Soon after, four different bodies hit the ground with sickening thumps as the dead weight of the new corpses fell off of their horses. Draven and the young girl, their smoking guns still held in the air with each of their hands, looked at eachother one more time before holstering their weapons and beckoning their horses to move forward.

"Want me to grab their billfolds?" the girl asked as they approached the bodies.

"Those fucker's ain't got no billfolds," Draven said with disgust. "Look at 'em, Seven. Human trash. Let's go."

The lights and sounds of Armadillo were in the distance. A small bit of relief fell over Draven's face. He had built up quite the thirst along the journey. Once they crossed the railroad tracks and found themselves on the main town road, Draven nodded toward the saloon. "Go get us stocked up on provisions. Meet me back in there. I need a drink." Seven said nothing, but she would undoubtedly do as she was told. As the two hitched their horses, they parted ways.

Draven opened the swinging doors to the saloon and smiled, basking in the light above while his ears were filled with the sound of chatting, curses and someone at the piano slapping some keys down to a tune. Before taking another step in, he looked at each and every face he could. You never knew where you might meet an enemy. It was always best to take inventory of the people around you ahead of time.

Satisfied with his company, he made his way to the bar, slid some money toward the tender and pulled back a glass of whisky straight. There was only one table left in the bar that wasn't occupied. After a healthy sip of his poison, Draven sauntered over, sat down and made that table his own. Seven would be back soon. Once she got there, they'd have to decide which one of these folk could handle a bit of danger.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by DisturbedSpec
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DisturbedSpec Someone who has a theroetical degree in phyics.

Member Seen 18 days ago



Location: Near Eris Field - En route to Blackwater

Interactions: Closed [INTRODUCTION POST]

She’d rehearsed this a million times. Done it almost a quarter of times. Now she was doing it again, and this time, she was going solo. She couldn’t fuck this up.

The Levictus Cornwall branded locomotive had just left Emerald Station minutes earlier, and between the crisp chirping of crickets and gentle sway of trees in the dawn breeze, a low rumble vibrated from the train tracks- signaling that the vehicle was on its way and fast approaching. At this rate, she had a few minutes to spare and prepare her assault from behind a lone tree; her figure perched atop a muscular shadowy quadruped. Giving her repeater and akimbo revolvers a once-over, she glanced out to the direction of the ever-louder growing rumble and fixated her bandana to her head; obscuring her mouth and nose from view. Sweat tinged the back of her hands as she sighed sharply. As nervous as she was, she was confident that Felix would shine his luck down on her during the skirmish. The plan was simple: Board the caboose, clear security, neutralize the conductor, stop the train, and ransack the everliving shit out of it for those documents. She could try to sell them off to a rival company, but that would probably just start a corporate war in that Godforsaken town. She didn’t take solace in thriving off unorganized chaos like the others did. Otherwise, she may as well have been an O’Driscoll with a rope around her neck.

The rumbling grew notably louder, and she could see the smokestack billowing steadily in the horizon; streaking across the sky like a fat-fingered black paintbrush. Her Arabian horse, Butch, stirred and neighed lightly- prompting a soft shushing coo from the outlaw as she reached down and gently patted her trusted companion. A mere reflection of comfort for them both before the bullets started flying. The train in all of its glory finally made its debut appearance as Nora peered around the tree, silently marveling at such a technological feat of construction that she was going to bring to a screaming halt. Alone, without her mentor beside her. She hoped that Felix would be smiling down on her through the heist, and she briefly glanced by to the pink-orange clouds and placed her hand over her heart. With a bellowing loud call of the train whistle signaling a quarter-mile approach into Saint Denis, it was time to get going.

“Start the clock.” She once heard Felix say before a robbery in Lemonye. As the train blew past her, she whipped the reigns and tapped the underbelly of her Butch with the back of her spurs and shouted, “Hyahh!” With a rearing war cry, the Arabian bolted out from behind the tree as she steered her stallion to tail behind the caboose a few meters away, then pick up the pace into a galloping sprint. As she got closer, she immediately took note that the guards stationed at the back weren’t at the balcony of the caboose. Most likely inside, this meant she already knew she had the upper hand. Matching Butch’s breathing as she prepared herself to engage, Nora brought the horse right to the side of the train’s caboose as she swung her legs out from the stirrups, stood on her horse, turned toward the balcony, and kicked herself off in a midair leap. Reaching her hands out in front of her, she successfully grappled the metallic bars as her body slammed into the side with a light grunt. Butch peeled away into the distance, and Nora pulled herself up and into the back balcony of the cabin. Quickly, she ducked behind the right side opening leading into the caboose, and whistled once. She heard a light startle, a mutter of a voice, and fast approaching footsteps as she readied her knife in her left hand, and one Schofield in her right. As predicted, the guard stepped into the doorway as Nora lunged out from the side into a deadly uppercut; impaling the wide-eyed, young looking guard in the bottom palate of his mouth; burying the blade up to the hilt as the force lifted his body up off the ground, releasing a sputtering cough of red mist. Nora leaned out from the door and made her way into the lobby as she leveled the Schofield at the reacting second guard and fired off two shots in his direction. One bullet embedded itself into his shoulder with a sickening ‘THWACK’, causing the guard to stumble back and fire off a retaliatory shot. Unfortunately, the intended bullet for Nora was intercepted by the impaled guard’s back, who let out a wet gagging screech as the bullet found its way into his spinal column. Firing off another round at the guard who’d fallen on his back, the bullet embedded itself in the man’s forehead as his dome snapped back, body hitting the floor. Turning her head to the guard still on her knife, she executed a downward yank and freed the knife from its Human imprisonment; leaving the man collapsed and bleeding out on the wooden floor beside her. Flicking the blood off of her knife and wiping the rest on the dying man’s coat, Nora sheathed both her blade and the revolver before reaching behind her to retrieve her repeater.

Cocking the lever back and raising it toward the front door out of the caboose, she could hear footsteps fast approaching to intercept the obvious intruder. Firing a shot toward the door, the bullet splintered into the wood as a grunting scream was heard from the other side. Cracking the lever back and chambering her second shot, she charged the door and reared up her right leg into a powerful front kick. The wooden door swung backward and into the face of the hapless third guard as he and two others stumbled back and onto the floor of the storage coach. Snapping her aim to the trio in utter silence, she lowered the barrel of her rifle into the direction of the men and fired three more times, each bullet hitting their mark and nestling themselves comfortably into the center mass of each man. As they lay dying, she stepped over them and slung her repeater across her back as she reached for both her Schofield revolvers; scanning the area in front of her as quickly pressed her left hand to her right to assist it in opening the chamber, ejecting the spent cartridges, and reloading the remaining three shots of the righthand Schofield. ‘Six bullets, twelve targets each.’ It became clear to her that a rifle was not needed until she spent all of her revolver bullets, and that she could make do with just fine. Charging the front door of the storage coach, her eyes widened as the door burst open before she could get to it; knocking her to floor with a startled yelp as a burly Irishman entered the carriage.

On her back with the strongman giving a baritone grunting laugh, the massive behemoth-looking dude scoffed and piped up. “Oi, now this is qual’ity craic. Lil’ pathetic woman tryin’ ta take us on? Lassie, get back in tha’ kitch’n fer someone gets hurt, aye?” Already recovered and quickly backing up, she got into a combat-ready stance and paced herself before the Irishman charged her with a loud cry of his own. Swinging her body violently to the right and extending her right leg sideways into a twirling roundhouse, the risky move paid off as her foot connected with the man’s head as a blood-curdling shout from the man signaled an injury. Upon regaining her stability, she briefly caught a glimpse of the damage she’d done. Her spurs had horizontally gashed across the lefthand side of the Irishman’s face in a violent tear; taking out his left eye as a stream of crimson was the only thing seen seeping out and down a closed shut pair of lids. The scene was short-lived as the man charged her in an adrenaline-fueled fury; tacking her to the floor on top of him and straddling her to the floor in a pin as he landed a firm right punch to the side of her jaw. Her vision flashed white with splotches of red and gray as her head was violently jerked to the left from the kinetic force absorbed by the impact. Reflexive tears welled up in her eyes and clouded her vision before a blinding anger took over as she reached for her right revolver and had her hand promptly pinned to the floor as the Irishman lifted his spare hand in her face and wagged his index finger in a taunt. Big mistake. Reaching for her left holster, the Irishman’s eyes widened as his own foolishness moments before she’d drawn her revolver and promptly blown his left temple into his right side brains in a close-quarters headshot.

The man stiffened and toppled to the right as Nora scrambled backward and used the momentum to get the body off of her. Taking a moment to recover herself, she picked her hat up off the floor and continued onward into the train. For the past three cabins, she was perplexed to discover that no-one else was safeguarding the train. Security was lax on this transport and most likely diverted elsewhere, which filled Nora with a sneaking suspicion. As she approached the engine carriage, she stacked up against the door and entered the cabin. Empty. Stepping one foot in, she was blindsided by the conductor as he yelled at the top of his lungs and tackle-slammed her into the narrow wall of the cabin. The sweaty man who attacked her had waited in an ambush; pale face perspiring violently as the surprisingly agile skinny man threw a righthand jab into her solar plexus; knocking the wind out of her with a drawn out grunting gasp as he grabbed her by the torso and threw her back against the furnace. The Devil’s tongue caressed against her flesh as the searing heat licked her skin; the metallic housing of the furnace beginning to heat up her back rather uncomfortably as she struggled for breaths in the rapidly humidifying compartment. Another haymaker from the man, this time to the woman’s stomach. Bile rose in her throat, and Nora fought the urge to vomit as she dropped her left Schofield, grabbed his left hand by the elbow and shoved it underneath her armpit right into the metal furnace wall. A light sizzling was heard as the man’s eyes widened as he screamed in pain, struggling to free his pinned hand as she took this opportunity to free her right hand from her weapon to shove the man back against the wall. Now reaching out to tackle him and reversing their roles, Nora proceeded to take the man quickly by the right shoulder with one hand and lean forward into an aggressive shove- right to the opening orange maw of the furnace.

The man virtually flew into it; skin erupting and cooking like a steak as the most ungodly howl permeated the compartment. Reaching down and out to grab her weapons, she leveled the twin Revolvers point-blank at the man’s back and fired the remaining eleven shots into the exposed body, silencing him for good. Holstering her revolver, she pulled the break handle as the devices engaged into the wheels; causing a sudden stop as the train screamed against the railroad in a flurry of orange sparks. She quickly moved back to the first storage coach and quickly began rummaging through chests, boxes and crates. Finding a small safe in one, she frantically placed the box to her ear as she tried the combination hurriedly; hearing a series of clicks as the mechanism disengaged and freed the metal door from the assembly. Therein laid a stack of papers, most likely holding value of some nature as she took the contents out from the safe. Rolling them up to tuck into her field satchel, she finally allowed herself to glance up out of the nearest wide-brimmed window- only to freeze in place. The train had stopped a couple hundred yards away from Saint Denis station, and she could see the familiar blue coats of lawmen on horseback make their way toward the locomotive. God-damn it all. Nora quickly darted toward the back of the caboose and let out a sharp whistle; attracting the attention of both her horse and the hearing of the closest lawman. Butch arrived first, and Nora wasted zero time in jumping from the balcony onto her horse as she quickly kicked the horse’s side and yelled, “Let’s go!” Butch screamed obediently, and broke into a breakneck sprint away from Saint Denis and the train. She heard the telltale whistle of alerted lawmen, and kept going as fast as she could even if the occasional bullet landed in the dirt in front of her. She wasn’t out of trouble yet; she wasn’t until she made it into Blackwater.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by sly13
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sly13

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James Kelly




James sat with his back against a tree shuffling a deck of cards mindlessly as the sun was setting over the beautiful landscape. His favorite Horse, Iris, was laying beside him asleep as the loyal horse she was. Bridging the cards in his hand he fanned them out once more before bringing them back into a neat stack once more in his left hand. With a serious look on his face, he gazed out over the road just in front of him to see what appeared to be a wagon with two other horses trotting alongside it. Making a card appear seemingly out of nowhere in his right he placed it back on top of the deck with a smile. Patting the top of Iris’s head he spoke “Well looks like it's time to go to work.” before standing up.

As the wagon drew closer he stumbled out into the road waving his hand while keeping the other around his midsection as if he was injured. “Help. Help. Please Help me.” he called out causing the Small caravan to stop in it tracked much the irritation of the men who seemed to be the guards. “It's best if you get out of our way partner. Less you want to end up worse off.” one of the men called down from his horse. Putting his hand up again James spoke in a sorry and worried tone “please I don't want any trouble. It's just I'm stuck out here all by myself and my horse just collapsed.” after saying this he pointed over to Iris. as the men turned their heads naturally they saw as his horse decided at that moment to stand back up as if nothing was wrong. The realization struck the two men a little too late as by the time they looked back they had already been shot square in the chest.

As their bodies dropped to the floor James’s colt was trained on the wagon driver daring the man to reach for something. “Don't worry son, I don't want to spill your blood today.” He said with a small smile before moving closer to the door of the Wagon. “Mr. Johnson, I am here to rescue that sum of money you have with you from your greedy hands so if you could step out of the wagon that would be great.” As the door slowly opened an older well-dressed man stepped out of the beautiful wagon with a face that had a mixture of anger and worry. “If you could be so kind as to step of there sir I would be much obliged,” he said as he motioned with his right Colt. Compiling the man merely walked off to the spot in question and watched as James stepped into the Wagon for a few seconds before coming back out with a small strong box. “You won't get away with this I hope you know.” the old man said in an even tone showing just a hint of anger. "Bandits like you don't scare the likes of me. Do you know who I work for the people that I know? Well, have bandits and criminals like you gutted.”

James chuckled a bit “oh I've heard that one before and as you can see.” he paused as he moved his hands putting emphasis on his person. “I'm still standing. But you make a good point. I'm sure you will hire some men to try and hunt me down and put my head in a rope necklace, so I'll make you a wonderful deal.” he said as he seemed to play with the cylinder of his gun. Satisfied after a second of mindlessly playing with it he threw the revolver to the man who caught it awkwardly clearly not used to holding a gun. “I'll let you skip the trouble of having to go hire a couple of bounty hunter when you can deal with me your self. All you gotta do is beat me in a duel and I'd be more than happy with leaving you with this money here.” as he finished James placed his gun back in his holster waiting for the man to think over the proposition.

Grinning evilly the man chuckled slightly before instantly attempting to fire the gun at James' forehead without a second notice. Much to the man's dismay however the gun merely clicked signaling the fact that there was no ammo in the gun to speak of. “What, what is this. how.” he tried to speak before James cut him off as he slowly lifted his own gun out of its holster. “You think I would trust a greedy price of shit like yourself with a loaded gun.” he slowly began to walk closer as the man began to step backward like a coward. “If I thought you had even a sliver of honor I might have considered giving you a fair shot, but as you can see you clearly don't have any.” by this point the man had tripped and fell to the ground hard. As the man looked back up he has greeted a flash that would be the last thing his eyes ever saw in this life as his body fell back down.

Picking up the strong box once more James looked through it grabbing the money that was inside which unfortunately wasn't as much as he was hoping. Looking it over he soon looked back up to the driver of the Wagon who was a young boy frozen solid with fear to scared to even look at James in the eyes. “Now listen here, son. I don't want to hear anything about me being in this robbery do you hear.” as the boy slightly nodded his head showing he understood while still being scared to death. “Here,” James called as he handed the boy some of the money. “I don't take from the working man you understand.” after receiving a nod James whistled as Iris slowly made her way over to him.

With a soft kick into her under section and small Hyahh, the horse began its slow trot towards his next destination…. BlackWater
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by ONL
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ONL Occasional Private Dick

Member Seen 8 mos ago


Location: Armadillo || Mentions: NONE


"I'm going to ask you one last time, mister, and then I'll stop being so nice. Where did they go?" Two men stood outside under the open, now dimming sky of New Austin as the darkness of night was arriving in fast stride. One of the men stood tall and proud, though to the untrained appearing less than threatening to the normal cowboy out here on the arid plains. In his hand he brandished good old revolver, held firmly in its grip and swaying calmly by his side. So far, the talking man had not pointed it at the other one. The other stood not as tall or proud as the first, all beaten up and barely standing as he had just gotten up from his feet. The man was not a pretty sight to behold, neither his bruised eye and limping leg a sign of anything good having happened to the man.

"You can ask as many times as you'd like, pal, but I ain't talkin'. Not to a goodie two-shoes who'll get me hanged, you bastard." The broken man spat back at his interrogator, spitting a clot of blood at the blonde haired man. He was cleanly shaven and looked young, though the bags under his eyes spoke years of a difficult life. The blonde man sighed audibly, his eyes drifting down to his boots. Clearly he had not gotten the answer he'd wanted. The answer he needed. "If that's so…" he spoke up to his prisoner, head rising up as well as the revolver, pointed straight at the beaten sorry sod of a man. "Then I suggest you start running. I have no need for a silent man, and your kind's not welcome in this world either. I'll give you ten…"

The beaten man looked at first in angered confusion at the blonde man, until the cogs behind his eyes began to turn. Ten. Ten seconds. "Nine, eight, seven…" The count continued. He began to limp away as fast as he could, though it was too little, too late. "Three, two, one…" A shot rang out through the emptiness, wildlife scattering off in the distance, and then a quiet thump not too far away. The man was dead, shot through his back. The alive man stepped slowly over to his body, turning him around with his foot and looking at the dead man in his now empty eyes. "Our last lead, cold…God damnit…what now?"




Erik calmly rode into the only town he knew of in New Austin, his trusted stead Knegg carrying his human master on his back. Armadillo. It looked like a quaint little town, not too different from the one they had back home. Peaceful, open for newcomers. Hopefully. Erik longed for a drink, something to fill his empty stomach and cheer him up after today's failure of getting information; Where the "Gang" had gone off to. The only thing was that they had gone in the direction of Armadillo, but he doubted that they'd stayed there for too long, and decided to investigate around it. Came across a bandit who tempted him with hints, but never giving him a straight answer out of the bastard. And now he was dead, and Erik without clues.

"Perhaps tomorrow will come, and God will give an answer finally…don't you think, Knegg?" Erik asked his horse, who acted only as a horse should and went where Erik told him to. Without a reply from his trusted friend of a stead, Erik steared Knegg towards what must have been the local saloon, tied him to the post and made the now tiring steps up the stairs and through the swining doors. It looked just like any saloon, filled with exactly what Erik thought he'd meet of both people and mood. Erik walked slowly over to the counter and took a seat. "One whiskey, please." With the order put in, Erik reached into the satchel on his side and pulled out a worn piece of paper. On it was the unmistakable design of a wanted-poster, in the middle a few faces stacked beside each other of real mean-looking people.

These were the people who would pay dearly in blood. Erik would ensure that.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Nyther
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Nyther Savage Narcissist

Member Seen 3 yrs ago

Charles Starrett




Location: A day's ride from Armadillo

The sun hung low in the sky as Charles opened the door and walked into the sheriff's office. "Well boss," Charles addressed the older sheriff leaning back in his chair, his feet propped on the old wooden desk. "rounds 'er done. All quiet, like always." He sighed contently as he plopped down on the bench lining the wall.

"That so Charles?" The sheriff replied. "No big gunfights to break up or bank heists to stop?" A sly smile forming.

"Gotta call me Church, Ernie." Charles shot back, emphasizing and drawing out the sheriff's name mockingly.

The sheriff pulled his feet back and place them on the floor, leaning forward in his chair and narrowed his eyes at Charles. "Boy, ain't nobody every gonna call you that crazy name." The sheriff stood up and sauntered over to Charles and propped one foot up on the bench and leaned over, resting his elbow on his raised up knee. He leaned in close and stared quietly at Charles. "So, how's about a going away drink, Church?" He spat out the name.

For several moments both men just stared at each other before Charles was the first one to break a smile, with the sheriff following suit by letting out a hearty laugh. Charles stood up as the sheriff slapped him playfully on the back. Both men walked over to the sheriff's desk. The sheriff pulled out the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. He placed both glasses on the desk and poured whiskey into both. Both men raising a glass to each other before shooting the brown liquid back into their mouths, letting out a satisfying "oooh".

The sheriff poured two more and once they had finished, put the bottle and glasses away. "Once word gets out," Charles started. "Everyone's gonna be calling me Church. Cause once you see me, I'm sending you to God." The sheriff almost choked he laughed so hard.

"That so?" The sheriff managed to say between laughs. "Well pastor, let's go finish the night for the last time." Charles nodded and followed him out the back door to the office. Behind the office was a makeshift shooting gallery. Bottles stood on top a wooden beam off in the distance. "Best shot keeps the Marlin?" The sheriff asked.

"Hey now!" Charles exclaimed. "That's my damn gun."

The sheriff shook his head. "You were issued that when you became my deputy. So, it's mine to keep or give." As these words left the sheriff's mouth, he quickly drew his Colt and fired off five shots that connected to five different bottles, shattering them.

Charles grimaced. "That's ok, I guess for an old man." With the he walked inside and returned moments later with the Marlin in his hands. The sheriff stood back as Charles ejected all but two of the .44 bullets that were loaded into the rifle. He smirked at the sheriff, then suddenly, turned his head and unloaded two shots into the distance. Charles then stood the gun up, butt down on the ground, turned towards the sheriff and motioned towards the bottles. The sheriff furrowed his brown in confusion as he walked down range followed behind by Charles.

Upon reaching the bottles the sheriff turned to Charles and shrugged. "The whiskey bottle on the ground." Charles said smugly.

The sheriff turned and picked up the intact bottle and scoffed. "It wain't even broke. You missed."

"Look through the top." Charles replied. Still confused, the sheriff flipped the bottle over and peered into the opening. His jaw dropped in shock as he saw a bullet hole through the bottom. The sheriff looked up at Charles then slowly turned and looked at the wooden beam the bottle had previously sat on and shook his head and laughed. Charles had shot the wood below the bottle causing it to fall, then shot a bullet through the opening and out the bottom.

"Damned show off." The sheriff said. "You know, the men you're gonna be going after will probably be faster shots." He paused and placed his hand on Charles' shoulder in concern. "Just don't be gettin' into no duels out in?" The sheriff trailed off.

"Armadillo." Charles replied. "Plenty of bounties out there. Gonna make enough to buy this little town out from under ya'"

"I hope so son." The sheriff replied patting Charles' shoulder. "Let's go finish that whiskey. You'll have a nice long ride to sober up tomorrow."
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Gunther
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Gunther Captain, Infantry (Retired)

Member Seen 14 hrs ago

Location: In the hills a few miles north of Armadillo
Interactions: Collaboration with Sad Ogo / John Stone


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.




Location: Armadillo


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.




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.”
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by DisturbedSpec
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DisturbedSpec Someone who has a theroetical degree in phyics.

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Location: En route to Blackwater

Interactions: Closed [TEMP]

'Come on... Just a few more minutes, and then I'm in Blackwater. The Law can't do anything outside of their province.'

Butch screamed as Nora kicked him mildly again. "Faster! Follow the trail to Blackwater- I'll keep them off of us!" Nora shouted just loud enough for the Arabian horse to hear over the blowing wind. Barring any other interaction, it would've seemed borderline surreal that a horse could comprehend Human instruction, must less know exactly what it was supposed to do in all the chaos. Yet the Arabian horse generally displayed a very high intelligence, and Butch knew exactly what Nora was telling him. Breaking into a galloping sprint down the trail, Nora kept her left hand secured to the horn of the saddle, while her right reached for a Schofield revolver- they were going too fast for her to be able to utilize her Lichfield. Turning around to look back at the fading visage of the locomotive, Nora's silent predictions were confirmed as the familiar blue-clad men on horseback began to gallop after her; albeit at a slower pace as they favored Andalusians.

She really wanted to avoid killing these men, and she quickly holstered her Revolver and returned her gaze ahead of her. They weren't her target- hell, they were just doing their job. Nonetheless, her record kept by the State of Lemonye would almost certainly end in her up at the gallows without trial if she was caught. She couldn't afford either possibility. As Butch kept following the trail, Nora heard a sharp 'CRACK!' behind her as a signature white line flew past her and into the ground just meters ahead of her; the dirt detonating into a miniature cloud as the bullet embedded itself into the dusty soil. 'Just a bit more...' As if her internal pleas were answered, she could very faintly hear the sounds of the posse breaking away as she saw the town of Blackwater up ahead. A grin overcame her face as she sighed in relief, steering her horse over to the Saloon and stopping at a hitch post. She leaned down and patted Butch on the underside of his neck, reaching into her satchel and giving the horse a handful of hay to graze on as she disembarked her stallion. Throwing the reigns over Butch's head to secure to the post, she straightened herself out and casually walked on in to the Saloon.

Nora walked in cooly, hearing some version of Ragtime being played on the piano as she approached the bartender. Tipping the man a dollar and fifty cents, she softly said "Mule Skinner." The Bartender nodded, and reached behind the counter to prepare her a drink made of whiskey and blackberry liquor. Nora was thankful that the glasses serving the beverages were small, otherwise she might not leave here on two feet. As the barman was tending to her drinks, Nora took the time to glance around the establishment. Blackwater's Saloon was nothing too fancy compared to those in Saint Denis or some parts of New Hanover. An assemblage of grizzled, weathered characters sat around tables, some alone or in pairs or groups playing Poker if they wern't shotgunning drinks. It's not like Nora wanted to stop here- this place had a seedy undertone that she wasn't particularly fond of.

"Ma'am, yer Mule Skinnah'." The Bartender said with a slight smile as he handed her the drink. His eyes lingered on hers as she fought the urge to reach over the counter and slap the pervish grin off his face. Tipping her hat down and sipping her drink, she turned her gaze down to the mesmerizing oakwood groves etched into the countertop. She had just raided a Cornwall train, ransacked it for documents and killed all its members... What the hell was going to be her next move?
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Berlin
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Berlin

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The day was falling swiftly, pulling the sun across the sky and towards the horizon with what seemed to be little difficulty. Roz sat atop the ledge of her open bedroom window, feet tucked beneath her body and glass of amber liquid held loosely between her slender fingers. The falling light draped a golden hue across the woman’s cheeks and reflected sharply against the lighter accents deep within the irises of her eyes. They were fixed outward and only flickered as the woman was yanked from her own thoughts.

“Miss Roz?” The sudden break of silence was hardly startling, as the voice transgressing was faint and airy. Rosalyn knew the source before her gaze shifted to it - a petite young woman in the doorway with her hands clasped together at her waist. “It’s just that you wanted me to warn you when things picked up downstairs,” she continued, quickly working to justify interrupting what she already knew to be a moment Roz held sacred. The woman was new to both Armadillo and the business, having only arrived days ago in a fit of desperation to escape a home life she would speak very little of. This was the narrative for nearly all of the girls who walked through the door, most with their chins tucked to their chests.“That’s alright, Love. I appreciate it. You managed to eat, yes?” Rosalyn had emptied her glass and unfurled her bare feet out from beneath her at the explanation, tugging on a pair of boots that brushed just above her ankles.

“Oh, I- well, no, I don’t suppose I have.”

Rosalyn started towards the younger woman, promptly rested her hands upon the woman's hips as she spoke, “There’s plenty downstairs. Some of the girls and I made a stew you’re welcome to. I’ll have you run to the general tomorrow to gather a few of your favorites. And loosen this-” Roz had wrapped her arms around the girl, suddenly yanking the knot of her corset free. “You’ve hardly left enough room for air, let alone a meal.”

Rosalyn stood at the landing overlooking the bar, her arms folded and resting on the banister. The unusual fullness of the bar space left a feeling of unease coiled around her stomach, tightening each time one of her girls approached a client or someone’s hand moved near their waistline. From her vantage point, she could make out a few of the cards grasped by the men settled around a table. Despite never having considered gambling to be a trade she would involve herself in, she made a mental note of this.

The flash of a weapon sent instinct into action at nearly the same pace as Rosalyn’s ability to process the scene, shamelessly hoisting her skirt to retrieve her own weapon from her thigh. The absolute ignorance of her actions was apparent before she could even remove the gun from its holster, however. She would undoubtedly have injured someone unintentionally, if not herself. She hastily flattened her skirt with a silent prayer of thanks that there had been a much larger distraction below before rushing down the stairs.

It became clear that she had missed much of the action when she finally pushed through the crowd, with the assistance of a few fierce words, just in time to see the bloodied man scramble out of the front door. Her attention was pulled next to the girls who had collected themselves behind the bar counter, just as instructed to do during situations such as this. Rosalyn spend a moment with each, ensuring they were okay to continue for the night. Most moved back out to the floor to resume the conversations that had been interrupted, while others silently escaped back upstairs to their rooms.

Roz shot a scowl to the bartender that had taken the payment from the gentlemen she had quickly learned were both at the source and the solution to the prior disturbance. She wrangled the key that hung from her neck out of her shirt and retrieved the money that had just been placed within the register before snagging a bottle of the bar’s moonshine from a lower shelf. She strode confidently towards the table that the two had settled at, slapping the change down hard on the surface between them. “Your kinda money is no good here,” Roz’s words were sharp and her expression was equally as aggressive as she glared down at the two of them.

Rosalyn couldn't even maintain her facade long enough to gather a reply from the men, her lips lifting into a wide smile. “I apologize, Fellas, sometimes I think I’m more amusing than I really am. Whiskey seems to be your choice, but I figured we could thank you both with a bottle of our own shine.” The bottle was placed beside the money and a gentle hand was rested on each of their shoulders. “A few of the girls would be happy to offer you company this evening as their own way of showing their appreciation as well, should ya have an interest.”
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by c3p-0h
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c3p-0h unending foolery

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Temp
Location: Armadillo


Son of a half-cocked horse fucker, fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck--

Temp barelled through the streets of Armadillo, dust billowing up from her feet like smoke off an open fire.

"For fuck's sake, move!" she shouted at a frail old woman, laden down with packages of groceries. The old woman blinked up blearily behind her glasses, just in time to see Temp dodge around her and continue down the road. Forty-seven seconds of sprinting later, the door to the Armadillo Saloon opend and in crashed a short figure with a flop of short, messy hair, a collared shirt and a waistcoat, and a scabbed over cut at the eyebrow with a purple-green blossom of a bruise sprouting around it.

Temp ran past her boss (Ahh, shit-balls.) to the bar, placed a hand on top of it, and vaulted over to the other side, barely stopping herself from ramming into the liquor cabinet... too hard. Glass bottles rattled precariously...

And then a full bottle of amber whiskey toppled over.

Temp's eyes widened. "Shit!--" Her hand shot out to catch the bottle just in time, turning it quickly in her hand to slam it upright on the bar behind her.

Temp's entire body sagged in relief. Her chest heaved up and down, lungs fighting for air.

There was the sound of a single pair of hands clapping beside her. Temp looked up to glare from under her hair at her coworker, Jessie.

"Not late," Temp muttered.

Jessie raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Suppose 's why you were so leisurely in gettin' here then."

Temp opened her mouth to tell Jessie to shove it up her daddy's piss-hole. But then she saw Roz's figure out of the corner of her eye. She snapped her mouth shut and turned to the nearest customer, still panting from the run.

There was a whisp of a girl on the other side of the counter, delicate fingers worrying each other, and eyes looking at the ground, the bar, the ceiling... anywhere but at another person. Temp's eyes softened a bit. She recognized the girl -- some stray Roz'd taken in like an underfed cat. She had some.... dumb flowery name. Daffodile or Pansy or something.

"Need somethin'?" Temp blurted. The little flower jumped at the words.

"The, uh... Miss Roz says I need to..." Temp sighed and rolled her eyes, though it was more for show than any actual annoyance.

"Jess," Temp said over her shoulder, interrupting Jessie's conversation with a customer. Jessie stopped and shot a mild glare back at her. "Go show the new girl where the food's at."

"There a reason you can't do that?"

"Someone needs to serve drinks that don't taste like piss." Jessie scowled, but pushed herself up from the bar nonetheless. She paused though, as she passed by Temp, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Keep an eye out," she murmured. "Somethin' in the air today got everyone rowdier than normal." Temp nodded, moving to put the bottle of whiskey back up on the shelf. "Come on sweetness, let's put some fat on ya," Jessie said to the new girl, leading her back towards the kitchen.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Nyther
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Nyther Savage Narcissist

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Charles Starrett


The sun began to peek over the horizon and shot a single ray of light directly into Charles' closed eye. He closed his eye tighter and rolled over in his small bed, but it was too late. His eyes popped open and he yawned loudly. "Definitely not gonna miss these wake ups." He slung his legs over the bed, stretched and wiped the sleep from his eyes. He wandered over to the foot of his bed, disrobed from his long johns, picked up his clothes that laid over the foot board and got dressed. He stepped into his boots and grabbed his hat, gun belt and rifle from the door as he left his small bedroom over the Sheriff's office that he had called home for many years.

As he plodded down the steps, the smell of coffee permeated the air. As he reached the lower landing he saw the sheriff already at his desk enjoying what was no doubt his second cup of coffee. Charles poured himself a cup and plopped down in the chair that sat at the other side of the desk. "I'll never know how you always get up so early and don't look like death warmed over." Charles shook his head as he slowly sipped from the cup.

"Old age'll do that to you." The sheriff replied, finished off the last remaining drops of coffee that remained in his cup. "So, you sure about this?"

Charles nodded slightly as he sat his cup down. "Bag's by the door." The two men sat and simply nodded at each other. Charles got up from his chair and headed to the door. "Guess I need to get going if I want to get there before it gets too late."

"Hold on a second son." The sheriff said, putting his hand on Charles' shoulder. "I've got something you should have."

Charles turned and watched as the Sheriff pulled out a folded piece of paper from his front pocket. He held it out to Charles and Charles could see a concerned look form on his face. "I fought with myself on givin' it to ya since I found it a few years ago." The Sheriff forced it into Charles' hand. "It's the bounty poster for the men that robbed and killed your parents. I never stopped looking for them once I found you. Never found out where they went to or anything other than who they were. You don't have to open it, and I think you shouldn't. Vengeance'll only eat you up inside, but, you need to have the option to know."

Charles looked at the folded up paper and then back at the Sheriff. So many emotions swam through his head and he processed what he was just told. Charles smiled weakly as she shoved it into his pocket. "Thank you. For everything." Charles said extending his hand out to the Sheriff. The Sheriff looked at Charles' outstretched hand and gripped it firmly. He then pulled Charles in close and hugged him tightly for a few seconds.

"Take care of yourself out there." The Sheriff said releasing his grip on Charles.

Charles grabbed his satchel from the front door as he headed out to the stables. "You know it." Charles shot back as he shouldered the satchel, turned and waved and briskly walked to the stables to get his horse. Within a few minutes he was at the barn and retrieved his horse. He slung his satchel onto the back of her and holstered his rifle on the saddle and jumped onto the horse. Before he took off he pulled the bounty poster from his pocket and unfolded it and scanned the names and faces of the gang that was printed on the paper. A solemn look crawled across Charles' face as he folded it back up and put it in his pocket. "I'm coming for every last one of you bastards." He took off towards Armadillo, now with a different objective.

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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Tsar Gatto
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Tsar Gatto African or European?

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Finn


Nuevo Paraíso, Mexico. Several days ago.


Finn squinted into the setting evening sun as he watched the dusty trail ahead for any signs of movement. From his crouched position atop the craggy hill he could see the surrounding countryside stretched out before him clearly for miles. It had been a hot and relatively still day, hardly a single cloud in the sky.

He wiped his moist brow with his sleeve and cursed the heat of this goddam country. The sun was setting and it was still hotter than he was comfortable with, a feeling he was becoming all to accustomed too. He’d been camped out at this god-forsaken vista for two days over a week now, each day the temperature outdoing the previous whilst he was forced to do little more than endure as he waited and watched.

Sighing Finn reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and retrieved a battered packet of cigarettes. A Mexican brand that in his opinion simply tasted like dirt, but without an alternative he was shit out of luck. He took a few moments to light a smoke and take a deep drag before he once more brought the old pair of binoculars to his eyes and scanned the horizon.

He quickly caught the glint of movement and focusing in he spotted what he had been waiting for.

A wagon was speeding down the road behind two large draft horses, practically tipping as it barreled around one turn in the path. Something was wrong, he quickly realised. He could see that the carriage was being pursued by several horsemen. Moments later he heard the distant but unmistakable sound of gunshots ringing across the dusty landscape before him. Fuck. Something was definitely wrong. His mind instantly went to Freya - even though he knew she could more than handle herself his heart skipped a beat and he felt his mouth become even drier than it was before - if that was even possible.

Scrambling to his feet and tossing the newly lit smoke Finn quickly turned and as fast as he could made his way down the rocky path to where he had been making camp. Almost slipping he scrambled over to his horse and leapt into the saddle. Beethoven needed little prompting and took off at a gallop, skidding out of the little canyon that concealed his hideaway and down towards the rapidly approaching carriage and riders as he gritted his teeth and prepared himself to do whatever he needed to.

Freya

Also Nuevo Paraíso, Mexico. Several days and about 1 hour 30 minutes ago.


“I must admit” spoke Gerardo in his deeply accented voice “you are not what I expected at all… chu know for a gringa that is”.

Freya forced herself to laugh and flash a smile at the greasy little man before she responded “Oh darlin, you don’t know the half of it”.

The pair reached the carriage and he pulled open the small door before gesturing for her to enter. She elegantly shot him a wink as she climbed in and took a seat, taking a moment to rearrange the rather uncomfortable dress she was wearing as she did. It didn’t escape her notice that Gerardo kept his eyes on her the entire time before clambering in himself. He removed his suit jacket and placed it on the opposite seat as he did before leaning out of the window and shouting a few commands - this time in his own native language, directed at the group of soldiers that was his escort.

With another command barked at the driver they were away. Truth be told Freya was insanely happy to see the last of the small town as she turned her gaze upon it for what she hoped to be the last time. She watched the soldiers for a few moments - there were eight of them. Not an unsubstantial number, but not enough for her to worry about things going belly up.

It had been no small feat to ingratiate herself to this rather unlikable but important man, let alone to arrange things so that he would ‘offer’ to escort her to the next town where there was a railway station she could use. She had spun him tales of her wealthy father and brothers, ranchers out of New Austin who would gladly repay his generosity whilst feigning the kind of disposition that only a daughter of the wealthy could manage.

She too had not batted an eye when her Mexican hosts had brought a young girl from a nearby village and more than several of them had ‘introduced themselves’ to her. It was easy enough to feign an uncaring and superior disposition, after all why would a white American woman care what they did to one of their own. She felt more than a twinge of disgust, but pushed it down as she kept up the act and reminded herself coldly that shit happened.

Of course it was the cargo that this man carried that she was really interested in, a large trunk which was now affixed to the rear of the carriage. See Gerardo Gonzailez was the newly appointed overseer of a string of gold, silver and copper mines, a reward from Porfirio Díaz for crushing some peasants insurrection in the south of the country before he was ‘retired’ from the army - or at least that was the information they were going off. It should be filled with either ingots or cash, maybe both - either way she knew he had just completed a tour of one of his establishments and would be making his way back to Mexico City via train.

The pairs conversation flowed from liquor to business as she tried to keep him as distracted as possible. She guessed it would be another hour or so until they were passing through into Nuevo Paraíso, which is where things would get interesting.

The plan was simple enough, Finn should be waiting and lurking to stickup the coach at which point she could take Gerardo hostage whilst the soldiers were distracted and they could do whatever they needed to relieve them of their valuables. She was glad for the hidden revolver strapped to her thigh, a wave of excitement shooting through her as she thought of the action ahead.

***


“… and then the governor shot him!” Finished Gerardo with a snort and a laugh. Freya forced a giggle and was about to reply when suddenly a gunshot rang out - shattering the relative peace of the journey.

“Emboscada!” Shouted one of the men outside as more gunshots began to pierce the air and the carriage jolted suddenly.

“Que mierda?” Barked Gerardo as the body of their shotgun rider tumbled backwards past the window, a bullet-hole nestled squarely through his right eye socket.

Freya too was shocked, was this Finn’s doing? This wasn’t the plan at all and she was certain her partner wouldn’t fuck things up like this unless there was a good reason.

Peering out of a window she briefly saw a group of masked riders barreling towards them before a bullet slammed into the wood beside her. Gerardo was already firing from the other window as he screamed aggressively in his own language. Several moments later Freya was still fumbling with her dress as she tried to lift it and retrieve her own weapon.

Swearing she instead reached into one of her boots and pulled out a small flip-knife which she then used to slice away at the bottom portion of the fabric. With a determined yank she ripped away the dress from the knee down before finally pulling her own revolver from its holster.

In the time it had taken her the wagon had veered from the path and was coming to a stop - she guessed their driver had also bought some lead from their unknown attackers. Gerardo shot her a bewildered look at her tattered dress and the weapon in her hand as he ducked behind the wood paneling to reload his revolver, fear now beginning to spread across his features.

“You can never be too prepared Mr Gonzailez” she yelled over the gunfire as she joined him behind what little cover there was. She took a few moments to appraise the situation outside before in one swift movement she kicked the carriage door open and fearlessly leapt out into the fray with a gleeful expression spread across her face.

It quickly became apparent that whomever these attackers were, they were well prepared and knew what they were doing. The majority of them had dismounted and were surrounding both the wagon and the remaining members of Gerardo’s entourage who were rapidly falling as their horses began to panic and buck. She knew she had to move before they managed to get into a position to surround them entirely.

Firing two of her six shots she grinned in satisfaction as two of their attackers who had just reached the wagon crumpled to the dirt before she quickly pulled herself into the driver’s seat. Grabbing the reigns she shouted and frantically spurred the horses to move forwards as a few rounds whizzed passed her far too close for comfort.

As they began to speed away she heard one of them shouting at the others to finish up with the guards and get after the carriage. Seemed they were Americans too she realised quickly as she fired a third shot at the last man stood between them and the path ahead - the round caught him squarely in the face and she couldn’t help but let a short laugh escape her. She heard Gerardo firing from the carriage behind her at the now pursuing men, with what was left of their escort seemingly left behind.

As she yanked on the reigns to turn a rather steep corner she began to feel an ache in her left arm. Sparing a moment to glance down she was more than a little shocked to discover she had been shot, blood beginning to seep down her sleeve and onto her hand.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by Heretic
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Heretic Queen of Sarcasm

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Madeleine Hart

The cries echoed off the bare walls within the house. Madeleine Hart was slightly flustered and covered in sweat, her bloodied hands tightening the blanket a little bit more around the newborn. An unconscious Minnie lay on the bed behind her, enough blood pooled underneath her nether regions to compare her to a slaughtered animal. She was dead--poisoned to be exact, but nothing violent. The blood was simply the result of childbirth.

"Shh, it's okay, you're fine now darling."

Maddie got up from the wooden chair to approach the window, the baby still cradled in her arms. It was oddly quiet outside, a stark contrast to the small voice in the back of her head. Maddie looked down at the newborn baby, her bright blue eyes exploring the room before focusing on the young woman once more. The girl was oblivious that her life was hanging on a very delicate balance at the moment, that of revenge for someone else's sins.

"Surely it's as simple as that! Why didn't I think of it before?" Maddie walked back to the other side of the room before gently setting the baby down on the wooden cradle. She then went to her bag looking for a small map she kept tucked away. Once she unfolded it, Maddie studied the neighboring towns. In the middle of such distraction, a crash from outside startled the woman to the point where she lost all common sense and started heading towards the front door. Maddie had barely cleared the room when she found herself starring down the barrel of a gun.

"Do not make a sound, and we won't have any problems," the stranger instructed, shaking his head just the slightest for emphasis. There was some shuffling behind her, and even though she tried to look without turning her head, she was quickly warned against it.

"Please, what do you want? It's just us here and we don't have--"

"I said shut your mouth!"

Maddie immediately did as told. She knew she was outnumbered and outgunned, regardless of whatever elaborate plan she could think up on the spot.

"I got her, let's go." The voice behind her belonged to a woman, more than likely the man's wife. Maddie's eyes widened in response but she was just as quickly grabbed by the front of her blouse and pushed back against the wall, the tip of the revolver painfully digging against the side of her neck.

"If you even dream about taking a step before we're gone, you won't live to regret it."

Maddie stayed in place, watching the man retreat out of sight before the couple disappeared through the bedroom window. The moment it was quiet once more, Maddie sank to the floor. She went numb, unable to cope with what had just happened. Was she sad? Angry? Relieved?

"Oh Madeleine, you need help if nothing else."
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 4 yrs ago Post by One Who Tames
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One Who Tames Trigger warning. Range is hot.

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West Elizabeth
Tall Trees


The morning air was already hot as the sun raced into the sky. There was a slight sound of critters hurrying to get a meal in before the heat became too much to bear. Birds chased bugs and deer stepped cautiously through the thickets looking for the best seedlings to harvest.

This was a good spot to set up a home if one wanted to be away from society - or if they wanted to lay low and be hard to find. There was plenty of game, grass enough to keep a pony fed and even a modest stream of fresh water from the mountains. Trees broke the wind and provided shelter and wood while the land was fertile enough for a small garden.

Evidently, somebody had already come to this conclusion. You would have to look hard for it but, tucked under a lovely set of trees, there was a small cottage. An easy walk away from it was an outhouse. Scattered about were tanning racks, lines for drying clothes and meat, a work station and even a small barn fit for only one horse and some tools - horse included. In a clearing with good sunlight was even a modest patch tilled earth. Nothing had sprouted yet but somebody seemed to be building a fence around it. Already there were over a dozen posts sticking out of the ground and a stack of rough cut lumber laying next to it.

It was into this quaint clearing that Savage rode his horse. He moved at a walking pace around some trees and thick brush, putting the building on his right, and moved slowly onward. Although he was armed, both of his hands were in his lap holding lazily onto the reigns. He made it about half way to the house when the front door opened and a man stepped out holding a double-barrel shotgun.

Quickly, Savage lifted his right hand and half looked over his shoulder. "Woah," he called out, at the same time tugging on the reigns to bring his horse to a stop. This action seemed to startle the man with the shotgun who began peering into the trees and brush behind the mounted man.

"Why'r you here," yelled the startled shotgunner. He was clearly past his prime but still fit for his age. A weathered leather hat rested upon his head and he was dressed normally for the time. His brown hair flowed messily from the hat and a formidable beard grew from his face.

"There's a bounty on your head," Savage called back. "Alive. So for both of our sake, don't raise that shotgun. I'm keen on getting paid and I wager you're keen on making bail unharmed."

Silence stretched between the two of them. The man with the shotgun scanned the trees with narrowed eyes, occasionally clenching and relaxing his jaw. He had recognized Savage's raised hand as a signal but couldn't find any evidence of more people.

"How many are ya?"

"Just a few," Savage replied. After another moment of tension, he added, "Your crimes aren't that bad. Give it a week and you'll be back out here. I promise even not to tell anybody where I found you." When the gunman still hesitated, Savage gave his hand a wave. "My arm is getting tired, you know."

"Alright," the fugitive snapped. He gripped the shotgun tighter for a moment then thumbed the hammer down gently and slowly put it on the ground. "Now what?"

"Now walk forward with your hands up, please. Nice and easy."

When the man complied, Savage dismounted and walked to him. His rifle was still slung with his saddle and he made no move to go for his revolver. Instead, he grabbed a short line of rope and made his way over to his soon-to-be captive. Without a word between them, he firmly tied the man's hands in front of him then guided him to the stable to saddle up the horse there. For the sake of safety, he tied his prize to one of the posts while he prepared the horse for riding.

After everything was ready, Savage checked the man for any extra weapons then grabbed his fallen shotgun and placed it back inside his cabin. Then he helped him mount up and took the lead of his horse before mounting his own.

"You comfortable," he said to his captive.

"Yeah," he grumbled.

"You comfortable for a long ride?"

"Yeah..."

On the way out, the fugitive asked, "So, where are the rest of you?"

"Hmm? Oh, they disbanded once I had you tied and mounted on your horse." Savage grinned and half turned to face his man. "Relax. There is no way you would surrender to just one person."
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Red7VII
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Red7VII Magnificent Bastard

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Location: Armadillo || Mentions: @Gunther@Berlin@ONL@Sad Ogo@c3p-0h


Draven was the proverbial fly on the wall. While the world around him moved, he remained mostly still, just watching and taking notes. The whiskey he had ordered a while ago had barely been touched since he sat, but his hands clasped the glass anyway, raising it to his lips a few times, but barely letting any of the liquid touch his tongue. He was working. Draven never got drunk when he worked. He'd have to play the part, though, in order to blend in. When the commotion arose, he had simply dipped his head, letting his hat cover his face as if the gesture would aid in making him invisible. He had no intention of intervening unless he was forced to be involved. Luckily, the problem took care of itself.

His eyes darted sideways, taking in the view of a short dark-haired woman as she offered money and drink to a table occupied by the the two that had been a part of that ruckus. The fact that she was offering anything at no charge made it obvious what position she held within this place. She would be someone worth knowing. The duo also piqued his interest. Draven had watched the Hispanic man used his wit while the other employed his brawn. Neither one of them had flinched at the sight of a gun. Perfect.

Just then, a young woman had burst into the room and vaunted over the bar, nearly dropping one of the liquor bottles. A second later and her quick reaction paid off as she caught the whiskey and eventually put it back in its place. He craned his neck around, looking over his own shoulder as this woman consoled another frailer girl at the end of the bar.

"Fifteen." The hairs on Draven's neck shot straight up at he felt the words tickle his ear. Acting on pure adrenaline and instinct, he sent a punch flying toward the source of the sound. Seven's hand flew up and slapped Draven's wrist, jeopardizing the trajectory. She looked him straight in the eye as his fist whizzed passed her ear, missing it's mark.

"Jesus, Seven! 'Da fuck did you come from?! We're putting a goddamn bell on you, girl!" he spat out, clearly upset with the start.

"Not likely. I was able to swipe about fifteen dollars from the townsfolk while I made my rounds out there. The shops are closed, but the door locks ain't nothing. I'm going to need you, though, if you want me to get anything bigger than what I can fit in my pockets." Draven looked at her, his mask of incredulousness still being worn as he tried to figure out how this little girl got the jump on him.

"Just sit down, we'll deal with that later," he said finally, his eyebrows furrowed. She did as she was told, taking the seat across from him and propping her elbows on the table, letting her fingers intertwine around themselves as she took in the saloon's scenery. Draven straightened his shirt a little before rolling his shoulders, trying to rid himself of the panic the girl had set off in him. Once he had settled back down, he decided to fill her in. "Your 4 o'clock. The two fellas seem like tough enough customers. Took care of a drunk ass earlier. They didn't blink when the metal came out." Seven nodded, but hesitated to look for herself in an effort to avoid being obvious. "The woman by them. I'm guessing she runs the show 'round here. Most of the rest of 'em haven't been too remarkable, though that one behind the counter pulled off an interesting lil' feat." Seven gave another nod, only this one was directed upward beckoning Draven to continue. "She damn near threw herself over the bar and caught a bottle before it shattered."

"Fast."

"Exactly."

"How many whiskeys have you had?" Draven squinted his eyes in response. He wasn't sure if a she was about to accuse him of being drunk.

"Just this one. Why?"

"Not fast. Can I have it?" Draven's eyes continued to squint but now he couldn't help but cock his head to the side as confusion took hold of him. "I've never had one before." He thought about it for a moment, considering the ramifications, before ultimately surrendering to the request. He shoved the half empty glass over to her. Seven looked upon it but tried to hide whatever glee she felt. Draven told her before to never broadcast her emotions, especially in mixed company. She eagerly took a sip.

The joy that she was hiding poorly suddenly vanished as her mouth and nose contorted. She looked at Draven as if he had performed some horrendous betrayal. The man looked right back with stern eyes, curious what the girl's next move would be. She refused to swallow and you could see her eyes bouncing around, frantically looking for a solution to her problem. Finally, she raised the glass back to her lips and spit the whiskey back in before sliding the glass to Draven once more.

"I see why you're taking your time with that." Draven allowed himself the briefest laugh as he picked it up and took another swig.

"So what do you think?" he asked, gesturing to the saloon in general.

"You missed one," she responded curtly. Draven looked around, but wasn't seeing what caught her attention. "He's at the bar. The shaved one. He's got a wanted poster he's wagging around."

"Bounty Hunter," Draven deduced, finally seeing the man for himself.

"Maybe." Seven then stood up and started to walk toward the bar.

"'Da fuck are you going?"

"I need something to wash the gross off my tongue." Draven rolled his eyes and let her take her leave. In her white hat and beige jacket covered in patches of dust, she walked up to the bar right beside the man she was discussing and called out for a bartender. "Water...? Milk...? Do you have anything back there that doesn't taste like it came out the wrong end on an animal?"
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Gunther
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Gunther Captain, Infantry (Retired)

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Leo was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth and was quite tempted to take the woman up on her offer. He looked up into the woman’s hazel eyes with the auburn hair. “Thank you very much, m’lady. I honestly won’t have time to entertain one of your ladies. I have some errands to run. I was just heading to the general store.” Leo looked at the woman who he found quite stunning and could spend some time with her. He imagined her ladies were just as attractive, although in some towns, not so much.

Finishing the last of his whiskey, John gently placed the glass down and looked up at the woman beside them. She was very pretty but dressed in a way that made it obvious that she didn’t use her looks to make her living. At least not in the more blatant way the soiled doves did. She either simply worked the bar or owned the place. John’s gut and the ladies apparent charisma told him it was the latter. She placed the bottle of shine on the table and placed her hands on both Leo and his shoulders. It was pathetic but John instinctively tensed up and had to stop his hands from balling into fists. It occurred to him that the only time he ever really got human contact was when he was in conflict and he had to stop himself from laughing out loud at his own pitiful nature. Pretty much sharing Leo’s sentiment John did his best to meet the woman's eyes but soon found himself nervously tapping his finger on his whiskey glass as he did so.

“Uh, yeah. I have a couple of things to do myself… Maybe later though. I will probably need a room tonight.” He spoke, somewhat quieter than he might usually.

“Oh, thank you for the moonshine.” He met her eyes again suddenly remembering it was the polite thing to do, especially when showing gratitude. An inane smirk shaped the corner of his mouth as he wished deeply he could have already gulped down a good portion of the moonshine. It might have slowed the fear he felt rising in his chest. He grabbed the bottle off of the table and poured himself a glass, drinking slowly to hide what he thought was his breathing too fast.

Disappointment visibly fell over Rosalyn’s face, her lips dropping into a frown and head tilting towards one shoulder. The reaction might as well be called rehearsed as it was used frequently with visitors unable or unwilling to utilize both aspects of the woman’s business. Her ability to make those she was conversing with feel as though they owned her full attention and complete adoration was practically impeccable.

“Oh, how unfortunate to hear. Just traveling through town, then?” Inquiring about the business of strangers was not a common practice of hers, but the tightening of one of the man’s shoulders at her touch was palpable and she was desperate to avoid addressing it. She subtly noted the man’s additional anxious movements: his finger’s twitching, chest rising rapidly, avoidance of eye contact. The surface coarseness of his appearance made it very apparent that his occupation certainly was not one that left his palms soft. She pulled her hands away from both of them and planted them on her own hips.

“I would have to recommend the lodging across the way for overnight stays. They seem to be better equipped for guests, but should they have no rooms available, I’m certain we can get you settled somewhere.” Roz was careful with her words and avoided offering the man a place to sleep in the business. Her stomach rolled as the thought of a particular man who overstayed his welcome invaded her mind. I suppose he did sleep well she thought, referencing his resting place only steps from her back porch.

“Thank you ma’am,” Leo responded to her words. “I must bid adios.” With that he stood up and headed out the front of the saloon.

He stepped into the street, while heading to the general store when he heard a familiar voice call out his name with a Mexican accent, “Cucaracha!” yelled the voice. In Spanish he continued, “we’ve been waiting for you!”

Leo turned to his right and caught the site of three members of the Del Lobos gang. “Cucaracha, I’m afraid you’ve eaten your last meal and drank your last sip of whiskey.”

“Roberto!? What are you doing here?” Leo yelled to the Del Lobos member. “You want to duel it out here in the street!? One on three? That hardly seems fair at all.”

“Fair, who wants fair?” Roberto Colon laughed at the half breed, Leo Velez, also known as La Cucaracha. The three men brushed their ponchos and coats away from their pistols revealing their sidearms for all to see. Leo swallowed realizing what was coming next. He also slowly pulled his coat tail behind his back.

The four men were no longer smiling. They stared at each other over a distance of roughly fifteen yards. The three Del Lobos members were standing more than five feet from one another. Leo counted his blessings and muttered off a quick Padre Nuestro in his head. Then made up his mind. He was ready to go.

“Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!” The shots rang out in rapid succession. Leo was able to get the drop on Roberto Colon, sending him to his grave, but three bullets also found their mark to Leo Velez allowing him to follow Senior Colon to the grave as well. Leo Velez, also known as the Cockroach fell back into the dusty road with a hole in the forehead and a widening pool of blood covering the dirt behind his head and a second hole in his chest causing a second pool of blood to form behind his torso. His marker would read, [i]R.I.P. Here lies Leo Velez, b. 1875 d. 1897 The Cockroach.”

Collaboration: @Sad Ogo@Berlin
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by One Who Tames
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One Who Tames Trigger warning. Range is hot.

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West Elizabeth
Tall Trees


Savage resisted the urge to push the horses for a quicker pace. They still had a lot of distance to travel and running them to death wouldn't improve his situation in the short or long term. So he selected for an easy step that would eat ground while keeping the animals healthy. They were heading South, toward the Lower Montana River. There was a rail camp in that direction where he would turn his fugitive in for the bounty. Most of the day was already gone from the ride. He wanted to find a decent hidden spot to bed down for the night before the trees thinned out and turned into plains.

The two of them had been mostly silent. When they stopped to water the horses, Savage let the man tend to his own needs then offered him food and what little bit of whiskey he had on him. He never threatened the fugitive outright but he also didn't need to. The trees were nowhere near thick enough to hide him if he decided to run and a bullet could go a lot quicker than a man on foot.

Suddenly, there was a not-so-distant shout.

"Whose that," the bound man said, nodding toward the direction they were headed. Even with the trees, three riders could be seen racing toward them. There wasn't a clear path so they did have to move with some care, least they risk their horses. "Friends of yours?"

"No," Savage said. He had seen them too. "Don't listen to anything they say."

Savage looked around but didn't seem to find anything he wanted to see. Next, he began to direct his horse backwards until he moved past the fugitive's. The way he did it ended up tugging the horse across him, putting the man and animal between him and the oncoming riders.

"What'r you doing?"

"Don't say anything. You'll be fine."

Savage's words seemed to conflict with how he discretely drew his pistol while he was hidden by his bounty.

"This is your backup, isn't it?"

The bounty hunter smirked but didn't say anything. By then, the three riders were slowing down, having caught up with them.

"Just what in the fuck do you think you're doing, Savage," yelled the lead horseman as they were coming to a stop. "I said we were taking him together! How in the blue Hell did you get him on your own anyway?"

"You didn't think you could just double-cross us and claim the money for yourself, did you," another snarled. "You an't that fucking slick, boy."

"Easy," Savage yelled as he held his pistol in his lap, just out of view. It looked like he was simply holding onto his saddle. He could pull this off for as long as the bounty was between them. "You were slowing me down. I told you I like to move quick-"

"That's a load of pig shit! You went with us until you learned whereabouts this fella was. Then you rode off without a word! Slowing you down my ass; we did all the work learning about him in the first place!"

"Easy, Ralph," the lead horseman said. Ralph seemed to have more to say, though.

"You tried to screw us, boy. Now you're handing him over or by God I'll cut you in half myself!"

"No need for that," Savage said in an easy, friendly voice. "He's all yours."

This seemed to surprise all of them to some degree. The shot that rang out from Savage's revolver surprised them more. The fugitive's horse screamed and hopped away. He let go of the reins as it stumbled over itself then fell, throwing its rider onto the ground. It was still alive but Savage had put the round into its lung. It would have to be put down.

When the beast moved, it revealed the weapon. It was aimed square at the riders.

"Easy," Savage repeated, raising his pistol for emphasis. Of course they had gone for their weapons, however none had actually drawn them at that point. "As I said, he's all yours. We square?"

By their expressions, it didn't seem like they were square. The fugitive complained about his leg and made no attempt to get up while his horse continued to panic and kick at the ground. A long moment of tension went past as the animal slowed its thrashing and the three riders debated on just how badly they wanted revenge.

"We square," Savage asked again, this time lifting his revolver to pointedly aim down the sights at each of them until they gave in.

"Yeah. I suppose we are."

Savage nodded and slowly began to walk his horse wide around them, keeping his pistol on them as he went.

"I'll be going now."

"You do that."

He took his sweet time gaining distance from them until he was at the edge of a pistol's effective range. Then he kicked his horse into a run and made for the plains. He knew this wasn't over yet. It was never that easy. But he had a head start on them at the very least.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by ONL
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ONL Occasional Private Dick

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Location: Armadillo || Mentions: @RedVII@Sad Ogo@Berlin


"Okei Erik…hva nå…What now?" Erik was talking to himself, again like so many times he had found himself sitting by himself. Be it in a saloon, a church, a low-life dump of a shanty town filled with the dowtrodden and…himself. Soon Erik was given his drink of whiskey, to which he duly paid as he got it and starting drinking. Now he wasn't a heavy drinker, never had. It was only after the murder of his parents and burning of their farm that he started taking to the bottle. It didn't fill the hole in his chest, but it helped.

So with the glass of whiskey in one hand and the wanted-poster in his other, Erik sat at the saloon counter and simply stared at the same faces he'd stared at so many times before. He was out of clues, out of leads and without any friends. "Come on, think. What now…"

Erik didn't expect anyone to answer his questions to himself, so when he heard the commotion going on behind him, he turned around to see what could be trouble. It was a saloon, trouble was a constant companion for these sorts of places. Erik couldn't make out all the conversation, but clearly someone was not happy with the outcome of a poker game and the Mexican-looking fella who won. Erik was about to get up, getting ready to step in and calm down the situation as guns were pulled, but someone else stepped in to play the role as diplomat. Good, things turned out better than expected. No one got shot, and even the barmaid thanked them with a bottle of their own. Now that was new, but Erik took that as the cue for minding his own business again.

Not that he got time to contemplate his own troubles, as someone bull-rushed through the swing-doors of the Armadillo saloon, vaulted over the counter and rammed into a cabinet…What on Earth was going on in this town? But nothing bad was happening at the moment, and so Erik turned back to his whiskey. The Devil's water, but these days, Erik had made a few deals with Him for the greater good.

"Well hello there, little Miss." Erik's attention was drawn to the little girl that walked up to the counter, asking the bartender for something less stingy than a wasp in a bottle. Poor thing, had some of these bastards tried to get her drunk? Turning to the same bartender the girl talked to, Erik pulled out some more money and raised his voice to her. "Hey bartender, get the girl a glass of lemonade. And no booze in it, woud you? Please and thank you." Erik ordered from the bartender, slowly not feeling surprised if anything like that could and had happened. But he gave them all the benefit of the doubt, and turned back to the girl.

"Drinking booze at your age isn't something I would recommend, Miss. Trust me, I talk from experience. May I ask what you are doing out here at this time?" Erik began to talk with the girl, wondering what on Earth a little girl like her was doing in a saloon out of all places? Was she trying to find and bring back her drunkard of a father? Did her mother work here, either behind or in front of the counter? "My name's Erik, what's yours?" But As he still held the wanted-poster there, another question became more interesting for him.

"Say, you wouldn't happen to have seen these men? You or your friends or parents?" Erik asked her instead, letting his previous musings go unanswered as he held out the wanted-poster for her to see. If she was in a saloon, God knew what else she could have seen. "These are some bad, bad men, let me tell you. Last time I've heard, they called themselves The Melbattons or something. Have you seen or heard of them?"

It wasn't supposed to be a quiet night in any manner, it seemed. Just as Erik had finished asking the girl about the gang he wanted dead, there was a series of shots coming from the outside. Erik was on his feet in a matter of seconds, having pulled out his revolver and making a run for the wall just beside the revolving doors of the saloon. If there was trouble ahead, Erik wasn't going to run away. Pearing his head out just enough to make out the scene on the street, he saw two men lying dead on the ground. One was the Mexican who had just won the poker game…

"You two, don't do anything more stupid!" Erik shouted at the two remaining men, who both turned as quickly as he had exited the saloon, guns aiming towards him. He had warned them, hadn't he? Before the two could pull off an easy kill on the blonde cowboy, Erik had planted two or three bullets in them and their guts. "…why do they always resist…" Erik holstered his gun, slowly making his way down the steps and towards the dead or dying men. The Mexian was dead, shot in the head. Erik sighed at the sight, closing his dead and empty eyes and quickly muttering something akin to a prayer in Spanish, before getting up on his feet and making his way back into the saloon. "Someone get the Preacher and the Sheriff, now. Looks like someone wanted revenge over justice out there…" He called out to the saloon, walking back to where he had been sitting only a few minutes before and downing the whole glass. "Duels…I hate duels, they never end good…"
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Hidden 5 yrs ago Post by NorthernKraken
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NorthernKraken Legit Texan™

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⯎ Location: Armadillo Saloon ⯎
⯎ Mentions: Temp@c3p-0h, Seven@RedVII, Erik@ONL, Roz@Berlin


Penny had been in Armadillo almost a week now, and each day of that time had been spent, diligent, as she smoothed out the creased bit of paper on shop counters and against windows, the same questions passing her lips time and time again. Each time, the same reply - variations upon the theme of a solid and resounding no.

Fortunately, no one had outright asked her to leave yet. Unortunately, the woman with blood on her skirt and no husband was starting to draw attention, and so, Penny had decided the previous night it was better to leave of her own volition than to be chased out with pitchforks, or worse, bullets, at her back. She’d come up with a plan.

Evenings at the Armadillo saloon were always loud and full. Bounties and bets and promises, lifelong loyalties and bitter rivalries, made and kept and broken, all over the course of a stiff drink. It was a place of birth, and it was exactly where she needed to be.

A bright red sun hung low in the sky as she made her way down the main high street, it was a quiet day, people going about their business as calm as they ever did in Armadillo, and Penny drank it all in. She’d never considered herself much of a talker, but there was something comforting about being around people, even the weathered sorts you found all the way out here. It was calm, until it wasn’t.

Footsteps pounded behind her, the sound of a young woman shouting loudly for someone to "For fuck's sake, move!". It wasn’t directed at her, but Penny found herself shifting hastily, long skirt rasping against the dusty ground as she pressed herself against the nearby window of the general store. Her eyes widened, just a little, as a short whirlwind of a woman barrelled past.

She was gone within seconds, but Penny continued to stare at the spot where she’d been long after. It wasn’t an uncommon sight; a disconcertingly large portion of the population moved about Armadillo as if the devil himself was coming for them, but Penny was in a reflective mood, and for a moment, she allowed herself to wonder.

There was only one thing in Penny’s life she had anything approaching that level of certainty about, and it was nowhere to be found in a place like this. What was important enough in Armadillo for someone to be quite so intent on getting to it?

She didn’t get chance to dwell any further.

Gunshots rang in the distance, the closest thing to a church bell Armadillo had; it sent a chill up Penny’s spine nonetheless. As always seemed to be the case now, her memory betrayed her, awareness leaping to the revolver secreted away in a makeshift leather holster wrapped about her thigh. When she drew close enough to see the poor men who’d fallen victim to the violence, she saw six bodies instead of four, and the little red holes picked in their foreheads had been put there by her hand alone.

It perturbed her, yes, but it did more to spur her onward. Armadillo was a breeding ground for the easily tempted, the violent and cruel. It brought out the worst, and whilst she didn’t know the whole of it, Penny had a feeling she had a lot for it to take. She had to move on. The sooner she found her husband the better, and that meant leaving with the first group who’d have her.

She walked into the saloon.

There were several figures who drew her immediate attention. A man who’d walked in shortly before her, downed his glass and called for the sheriff seemed to have the eye of most patrons, something which allowed Penny to enter mostly undetected. Perhaps almost as intriguing was the young girl, a child really, sat, forthright at the bar, as at home as any one of the couple dozen grizzled looking men in varying states of sobriety. A woman stood by a different man, looking like she owned the place, meaning that she probably did.

And then Penny saw her - the woman from earlier, the one who’d been in such a rush, stood behind the bar, serving drinks. Late. She’d been late, that was all. Penny almost laughed aloud at the mundanity of it. It was hard to imagine caring so much about something so… normal. That probably said more about Penny than it did about the woman, but still, her attention had been caught, and she needed to start somewhere.

Carefully, she slipped through the crowd towards the bar, before sliding into a free spot. Arms folded delicately on the varnished counter top, she waited patiently, attempting to draw attention with little more than the slightest amount of eye contact.



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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by c3p-0h
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c3p-0h unending foolery

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Temp
Location: Armadillo


@redvii@onl@northernkraken


Temp glanced up at the figure approaching the bar. She raised her eyebrow at the runt, already reaching for a water-spotted glass to get her some water, when a man butted in. Temp’s eyes narrowed at the implication that she'd give a kid liquor. Snatching the money with more force than necessary, she opened her mouth to tell the bastard off when --

Gunshots.

Temp's eyes widened, adrenaline immediately spiking. Her hand was quick to find the wooden bat stashed under the bar, and then she was jumping over it to follow the man out the door. She stopped though, in the doorway. Guns were already drawn. A short series of shots. Then there were two new bodies dropped to the ground, to join the two that were already there. Temp's stomach churned. Four growing pools of crimson blood stained the dusty ground. Death. There was something in her gut like nausea... like fear. Then the man from the bar -- the only man left standing -- turned, and all of Temp's emotions were pushed down, remolded into something easier for her to process.

She glared. Temp spun n her heel and stomped back to the bar, walking behind it properly instead of vaulting over it. She all but threw the bat back down under the bar. She grabbed the large bottle of lemonade that rested against the back wall and poued it into the glass she'd set down in front of the kid, wondering how hard she'd have to hit someone in the head with it to drop 'em. The man returned and if Temp could've set the bar on fire with her gaze, then she reckoned she would've been seeing smoke by now. She capped the bottle and slammed it down.

"You killed them, you get the damned preacher," she all but spat at the man. Makes a fucking mess and can't even bother to clean it up. Anger bubbled in Temp's blood. Her hand snapped out to grab the empty glass from his hand and drop it roughly on the counter behind the bar.

"What?" she suddenly demanded of the new face that had perched itself in front of her.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Berlin
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Berlin

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“Someone claim her and get her home or I’m gonna keep her!”

Roz had stationed herself behind the bar and was lifting herself up onto her toes in an attempt to shout across the crowd that only seemed to be growing thicker. She had originally returned behind the bar in a frenzied chase after Temp to inquire about her tardiness, her impeccable entrance only drawing the attention of anyone with ears, but the child resting on a stool in front of her had demanded a far higher level of regard.

Rosalyn was able to catch most of Temp’s interaction with the two guests and she could hardly fault her employee’s bitter tone as he further demanded a nonalcoholic lemonade from the bartender.

“You her Pop?” Roz had inquired of the man, but her natural softspokeness never lent itself well to the constant buzz of conversation within the bar. Her words seemed to be unable to compete and fell flat.

“I like to think that we’re not all terribly pinheaded here,” Roz protested a bit louder as she looked down her nose at the man, though she shot a reaffirming wink in the direction of Temp. She offered her best customer service smile, but the acidity laced within the turn of her lips negated anything positive within the action. The discourse that had already occurred had put the woman on edge, but the man’s audacity to indirectly accuse them of serving the girl was enough to sour her attitude. She knew these feelings would be mutual.

“We’re not in the business of boozing up children. A little risky I’d say if I’d like to keep the deed in my name.” Rosalyn was shamelessly flaunting her ownership of the establishment and she found her upper lip curling subconsciously in annoyance as he offered the girl a view of a wanted poster, telling of some group of dangerous people as if recounting a ghost story. She found a level of humor in the idea of that describing half of the company situated in the saloon at that exact moment. She used this as an opportunity to try and verbally ruffle the man’s feathers in retaliation once more.“You’re gonna give the kid a nightmare, Pal. Leave her be or help me find her folks if-”

The rapid and undeniable sound of gunshots invaded the woman’s original thought and she found herself desperately turning to Temp for an action plan. Rosalyn’s instincts in the face of immediate danger were parallel to that of a trapped rabbit. She was capable of action only after formulating a plan and outline, but when things went to shit in a hurry, she found her logical thinking had a tendency to screech to a dead halt. Temp had proven to have a reaction time nearly as quick as her wit and was invaluable in situations such as the current.

Blood rose up into and warmed Rosalyn’s cheeks as she peered outward from behind the slated Saloon doors. Her throat constricted within itself, though she was grateful that perhaps it would block bile from rising into her mouth.

Dead bodies were strange.

Suddenly, vessels of life turned into empty containers. Glass bottles drained and discarded. Their skin instantly paled as the vascular system ceased its work and blood began following the rules of gravity. Her interaction with Leo had been brief at best, but she knew enough about the man to find herself reflecting on the impact of his sudden death. His errands would go uncompleted. He would never visit the general store. She wondered if his five dollar winnings were still tucked in his pocket. Someone would make it their own reward.

Roz hurried back to the bar at the first signs the crowd would be trickling back inside, but not before noting how quickly Temp’s legs were moving beneath her. She watched silently at the woman returned instantly to her work without a comment. Never had lemonade been poured with such ferocity, however.

Roz had begun scene control as soon as the man from earlier pushed through the door. She positioned herself between the two offending parties, one of them blatantly unaware of the tensions brewing as he called out yet another command. Perhaps he was wrong to have done what he did and perhaps not, but his type was all too familiar to Armadillo. A law enforcer, truly a general enforcer, of his own volition.

“The town is small enough. Perhaps you can go to the law yourself? Explain what happened and how you… stepped in.” Roz selected her words with attentiveness, careful to not place herself on a specific side of the line as she addressed the man.

"What?"

Rosalyn’s eyes widened as Temp nearly spat at the new customer and she instantly hooked her arm around the bartender. “I am so terribly sorry. I will be right back to help you, Ma’am,” she reassured the guest as she practically towed Temp along with her back into the kitchen.

“What in God’s name, Temp?!” Roz started in, “That girl out there looks like you might blow her out of her chair hollering at her like that! And look, I get it, the fella is a royal piece of work. A royal piece of it, okay? And you just saw something horrific. That was absolutely terrible, I know. I hope that the Sheriff handles it all appropriately. But you-”

Rosalyn’s brow furrowed as something stole her attention and she tentatively placed her finger to the cut above Temp’s brow. Her voice noticeably dropped a few octaves and softened significantly, “Who did that? Are you okay? That’s not new. When did that happen? Was that here? In town? Let me get you some ice. You should take a break. Get something to drink and relax for a bit.”

Rosalyn moved to gather a towel and ice, though her tone returned unphased to continue reprimanding, “-but you cannot be tossing yourself around out there in a fit like that! You’re gonna cost us customers and therefore money! Money that goes into everyone’s wages! That keeps the place as a whole up and running!”

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