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Guilhartz becomes painfully aware that he has become not a token of interest but rather a splash of difference among the sepia-toned wilds that this place otherwise had been colored. He couldn't exactly understand half of what was being said during the conversation anyway. Try as he might, thick accents and the hushed whispers a language he couldn't call his native tongue was a bit overwhelming all the same. The Bavarian's eyes darted back and forth as he made futile attempts to focus in on what each person was saying but this speech was nothing like the British, nothing like those city folk on the coast. This was a different culture and, to him, a different world entirely.

The gunshot disrupts his focus and breaks him out of the cold sweat before it really became apparent he was consumed by his surroundings. People seem a bit more agitated than they appear to harbor authentic interest in the scene. Realizing he was likely not to be able to understand anything further beyond that she was looking for the sheriff and that he spoke some strange variation of what Guilhartz himself assumes to be an American form of Cockney, he moves to file out of the saloon with the rest.

Witnessing Clyde climb back up from his stumble made him feel pity if not a sense of elation like the townsfolk around him. Guilhartz broke away from the exodus instead to move around the periphery. Here, he would stop cold to get a lay of the land. All the voices around him begin once again to usher into a single cacophony. One thing managed to stand out above the rest and that would be Clyde's attempt to speak a language he had not yet become familiar with. It was now that he was able to see Uzume greeting the young deputy. A woman of the East? He had never seen such a thing back home.

One thing from this whole experience brings him a great deal of comfort. Upon hearing her speak to Clyde, he could hear that the samurai was speaking perhaps just awkwardly as he is sure he sounds to those around him. Until now, he'd been afraid to stand out far too much. If a deserter from Prussia were to speak, others would notice. Ulysses was a town different than the rest he had passed through before. People here are different. It now begins to settle on his mind, and while he stands watching the supplies be tossed about and filtered through, he only thinks of the rumbling at the core of his stomach urging him to eat.

Guilhartz is jolted awake into a cold sweat. His pupils dilated while his heart races, he poses a simple question that he suspects he already knows the answer to "will I be able to run far enough?"

Now on the other side of the world in a country where nobody knew his name but, for the most part, he could blend in rather well, he definitely considers himself better off than back home. There is a long pause while the man blankly stares at a small black scorpion shining in the light that peeks through the window. It meanders back and forth while drawing his gaze, but he never once truly registers the event as occurring. Within moments, the traveling deserter rubs his eyes and stands up.

It is not much here. This, 'land of the free, home of the brave,' was exactly that. He found himself spinning in circles with so many places to go and so many things that need to be done, but Guilhartz never had a skillset beyond his fondness for reading and his linguistic skills. Maybe someday he could change the world, but if he were to even take the first step on that journey, it would be prudent to come into some money. That could not be done renting himself out as indentured for a place to stay.

He would tie his hair up and struggle to view his reflection in the dusty, murky glass panes on the slightly leaning window frame and sigh. There were numerous issues with his appearance, in his opinion, but he was sure he would at least blend in with the rest of the settlers out here.

The door opens as he sidles his way out onto the walk above the saloon where he would look down to the patrons he had been residing alongside for the past couple days and then to his empty pockets. He would sigh, and feel a great unease at a few immodest women with no concerns for their dress. Some spoke to men nearby, and others would eye the Bavarian like he was a piece of exotic luxury that they had to get their hands on. This would shame him into lowering the brim of his cap as he walked past. A man must never indulge without reason.

Patrons weren't roaring between one another today like they usually had been. After descending into the saloon itself, Guilhartz would soon hear hushed words about the Jefferson massacre. The idea that this land is still just as brutal as the one he had fled horrifies him and he begins to reminisce about the escalating European conflicts... but not for too long. Within moments, the man was sitting alone in the furthest corner of the room so that he could keep an eye on all around him. It was a challenge for him to be able to read English but with its similarities to German, he manages to survive. Strange American words, however, consistently catch him off-guard. He is not familiar with the standards and customs of the saloon, much less any people in North America, so he surveys his pool of options until he can find something to his liking.

However, when a woman with the striking visage of a cardinal bursts through the doors, he watches.

Even more peculiar, a man who appeared quite beleaguered approaches her to gossip, he can read the room. The two draw more looks and interest than any of the other brown or gray coats in here. With one glance towards the piano adjacent to him, Guilhartz freezes for a moment then plays it safe. He rises from the corner and wanders his way towards the bar. However, with no money, he wouldn't be able to make an order. Even worse, he was aware that if no destination was found on his way up there that he would not be able to remain incognito. Regardless, he would move to the front of the establishment and endeavor to peer through the window into the street with the hope of learning something new in spite of his communicative shortcomings.

Gercke "Guilhartz" Reinhardt


"I'm not afraid to admit ran. I ran from the gunpowder, the smoke. I ran from the sound of the crying Gaullic bull, and I ran from the cheering of Prussian men. Now I'm halfway across the world with a dream to change it all."

--A fleeing conscript with ambitions to save the world.--

A Bavarian man with medium-length brown hair and soft, earthy eyes. His pale skin seldom gleans out from beneath his long duster and hat. Beneath those, he sports a white button-up partially concealed under his black waistcoat with thick, cotton trousers that would make any Texas day nearly unbearable. More often than not, his hair is tied up in a ponytail.

Guilhartz is able to speak German, French, and English fluently. He is literate in both German and French.
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