Tybalt Capulet

Retribution [The Legend of Colt Clementine]

You set the tone in this post so well! Every action that your character takes seems like it has a purpose, and it builds beautifully. I must have read it three times before I started writing on mine.

Retribution [The Legend of Colt Clementine]

Though initially his tipsiness and well-founded self-confidence prevented Reuben from feeling any fear at the gun held by the small young woman, the feel of the cold steel barrel against his nether regions quickly snapped him back to reality. Petite or not, young or not, this young woman had a gun at his tool, and the odds weren't bad that she was willing to use it, at that. He realized in that moment that he had been taking this with far less seriousness than he should have been. Apparently she was right: alcohol had numbed his sense of self-preservation.

Holding his hands out before himself protectively, he stepped back half a pace, then did as he was told. It didn't sit right with him, being ordered around, but a gun is a gun. Best to play along... for the moment, at least.

With a hand on the chair's back to steady himself, he eased down into the seat carefully, trying not to make any sudden moves. "You're a right firebrand, so you are. Take care you don't burn yourself." As he sat, he added "No need for any of this unpleasantness. I'm certain that a couple of rational, reasonable people like you and I could come to some sorta non-violent-type agreement, now wouldn't you agree?"

"You... wanted my name, correct?" He was hesitant to give it out so easily. He was a bit protective of his identity, though, of course, he was a good bit more protective of the region threatened by the Colt. "My name is Reuben Caerwynn, called Luckshot by some, though not so much anymore." He chuckled to himself, with a dark, self-loathing humor. "Back in the day I was quite the character. They wrote dime novels about me, did you know that? It wasn't even more than a couple years ago that my name made blackhats shake in their damn boots." He spoke without a hint of pride, as though he were resigned to the fact that he would be easily recognized, but had tried to put such things behind him.

"And you? I heard a bit o' what you were splutterin' downstairs, but I can't say I caught your name. Only seems fair, since I told you mine and shared my drink. Hell, all you've done for me is kept me from a damn unpleasant whore and pointed a gun at my nethers. Now, either let me get back to my business, or see about explainin' yourself."

Original Story: Three Bullets Of One's Love { Tybalt & Angel }

As was often the case, Fawn was the first to notice a newcomer. Even so, she didn't pay much mind to the girl, at least at first. Not until, that is, Owen also caught a glance of her over the rim of his glass of gin.

Nudging his sister and whispering sharply, he hissed "Fawn! That's Annie Oakley! The sharpshooter, the one from the circuses and all that!" He shot another quick glance at the gunslinger, somewhat in awe. He'd heard tales of her, some probably true, some which couldn't possibly be. Sure, she could probably kill a cricket at forty yards, on a good day. Everyone had their talents. But the idea that she had out-ridden Yellow Horse, or that she could hold her hand above flames without feeling the pain of their tongues... well, some things just couldn't be so.

Fawn was less in awe. Turning immediately, she stood and moved a couple stools down, next to the famed sharpshooter. She motioned for Owen to do the same, and with a moment of hesitation, she did. Extending a hand roughened somewhat by a life of hunting and tracking, she introduced herself.

"Fawn Farrow. And you're Miss Oakley, if I'm not mistaken, isn't that right? It's a pleasure." She motioned behind her. "The fellow over there trying to look all suave is Owen, my brother." She looked carefully at Annie for a moment, reading her expression as well as she could, while taking a swig from her glass. People usually assumed they weren't related, and the questions of that nature had begun to wear on her after years of it.

Owen looked rather unsure of himself, his hand still near the split of his vest, ready to go for his Derringer at a moment's notice. He felt jumpy, despite the relaxed atmosphere of the saloon. He'd been out in the wild for too long, perhaps. Even so, he nodded his agreement with Fawn's words, waving his hand casually to the legend seated a few stools away.

Retribution [The Legend of Colt Clementine]

Thanks for mentioning that! I assumed it to be the case, but it's wonderful to be reminded. Since Reuben is a bit of a gruff guy, I'll ditto that and mention that I already like your character a whole lot!

Original Story: Three Bullets Of One's Love { Tybalt & Angel }

The town was a tired one, yet lively. The sort of place that had once been an impressive hotspot, fed by prospectors seeking gold and by merchants seeking a populace. It had all the accoutrements of such a town: a general store, a saloon, a brothel, even a deep, deep well providing cold, clean fresh water to all. Though the buildings had worn and their facades had faded, there was still a bustling populace; most of it disreputable, but still active.

It was into this town that a pair of siblings rode. On a proud, golden Kiger mustang rode a teenaged girl, sitting pretty on a beaded saddle. Her hair was weaved together into a braid down her back, bouncing against her buckskin vest as the mustang slowly plodded past the town gate.

On her left, on an ash-grey mare, clothed in a white undershirt and well-tailored, but well-worn leathers, rode a young man, squinting against the sun as he sat uncomfortably in a tooled-leather saddle. Both wore their vests open due to the sun, though the young woman buttoned hers closed as they reached town, preserving her modesty.

The horses plodded slowly, clearly tired from a long journey, and upon reaching the saloon, the girl hopped nimbly down from her saddle to the dust, tying her horse loosely at the hitching post. She immediately headed into the thriving place, followed by the young man, who tied his horse carefully and walked with more caution, keeping a hand near his vest, where a two-shot Derringer was stored. The young woman wore her Volcanic pistol openly, low on her waist where she could draw it at a moment's notice.

The batwing doors to the saloon burst open, and the two sat quickly at the bar. The young man spoke.

"Rooms for a night, please." He flashed a coin, sliding it across the bar.

"Certainly, sir! And will you be sharing a room with your lady friend here?"

The young man looked moderately uncomfortable, while the girl chuckled to herself. He finally spoke. "Ehm, yes, but she's my sister. No romantic entanglement."

The barkeep looked skeptical, as the young woman undoubtedly had some native in her, while the young man was white as anyone, only tanned slightly from the harshness of the Western sun.

"Well, whatever you want to tell yourself. Can I get you some drinks? Food, perhaps?"

The young woman spoke now. "Bourbon for me, and gin for my brother. And some stew, if you have it."

The barkeep nodded amenably, bustling off to fetch the drinks and meals. The siblings sat, the brother uneasily, and the sister relaxed.

Original Story: Three Bullets Of One's Love { Tybalt & Angel }

Ooo, you're right, she is better. I had a really hard time finding a good faceclaim for her. I'll look at the picture and see what's up.

Original Story: Three Bullets Of One's Love { Tybalt & Angel }

Fawn

Full Name: Awinita Farrow
Alias(es): Fawn

Age: 19

Occupation(s): Traveling laborer, occasional hired gun, her brother's keeper.

Race: Half-Cherokee
Sexuality: Lesbian/ Homosexual
Gender: Female
Height: 5'3"
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Brown/gold

Immediate Relatives: Owen Farrow, half-brother.

Weapon(s): Volcanic semi-auto pistol, skinning knife.

Summarized Biography:
Fawn and her brother were born two years apart, though they didn't meet until they were twelve and fourteen, respectively. While Owen grew up in a moderately-sized town, with a solid education and the luxuries that their father, a banker, could afford him, Fawn, as a bastard daughter,
was left to live with her mother's family among the Cherokee people. While Owen learned to read, write,
and manipulate, Fawn learned to hunt, track, and hold her own against any who would try to deny her what was hers.
Upon the death of Fawn's mother, her father brought her to town to live with him and Owen, the brother she had only ever heard of. For three years she lived in town, miserable as she had to give up all vestiges of her native heritage. She learned to read and write, albeit poorly, and built within her an immense dislike for the white side of herself.
Eventually, everything went sideways, and after an accusation of fraud, Theodore Farrow, their father, was hanged for corruption. Owen, rather than sticking around town, headed out, sister in tow, in hopes of making something of themselves outside of their father's overbearing shadow. Fawn went back to wearing earrings and leathers, and took advantage of the skills she still held from her childhood to help to protect the only family she had left. While Owen used his clever words and quick hands to earn them their path to fortune, Fawn acted as a backup, her pistol and knife a useful solution to any problem that couldn't be solved with smooth talking.

Personality: Fawn has no time for niceties and pretty words. Where her brother is roundabout and circumspect, she is direct, straightforward, and often painfully blunt. She usually sees force as the best solution to any problem, and treats her Volcanic as a hammer in a world full of nails. This isn't to say that she doesn't have a soft side, but compared to her brother, she seems much more typical of the western wastes. While she keeps her emotions fairly bottled up, she is quite overt in her sexuality, and doesn't hesitate to engage in week-long flings with anything in a skirt that catches her fancy.

Portrayer: Tanaya Beatty

Owen

Full Name: Owen Farrow
Alias(es): Miles Terris, William Hawman, many others

Age: 21

Occupation(s): Traveling laborer, musician, gambler.

Race: Scottish-American
Sexuality: Straight/Heterosexual
Gender: Male
Height: 5'9"
Hair Color: Blond/Brown
Eye Color: Hazel

Immediate Relatives: Fawn Farrow, Half-sister

Weapon(s): Derringer two-shot pistol, metal-capped walking stick

Summarized Biography:
Owen lived a life of plenty for the early years of his life, and the addition of his sister to his dysfunctional little family did nothing to lessen that. Upon the death of his father, he headed West, taking only what he needed: some food, some clothes, and his sister. The early years were difficult, palm-callusing times, but they strengthened both of the siblings, showing them both how beautiful and how cruel the world can be to wanderers in the wild.

Personality: It takes a hard man to survive in the West. Owen Farrow is not one of those men. Where his sister relies upon her skill with a pistol or knife, Owen plays to his own strengths, talking his way into or out of almost any situation. He can appear confident, jovial, or timid, in a minute's notice. While he tends to seem friendly and open, at least compared to his sister, in reality he can be both petulant and constantly worried beneath the surface. Far less promiscuous than Fawn, he rarely dallies with the women they come across, instead playing wingman to his libidinous sister. This isn't to say that he could not be convinced, though...

Portrayer:Louis Ball

Alrighty! I wasn't sure what "Portrayer" was, but here they are! Let me know if anything needs fixin'!

Original Story: Three Bullets Of One's Love { Tybalt & Angel }

Ooo, and start us off? Yikes, but can do! Any preference for the opening scene or the length of posts?

Retribution [The Legend of Colt Clementine]

Reuben Caerwynn considered himself a gentleman. Sure, he had a fondness for drink, and sure, he occasionally hired a whore or two, but on the whole, he figured himself about as upstanding as any man could be in this mess of a world. As he looked down at the young woman on the bed, gun included, and heard her cutting words, he realized that his outer appearance likely did little to convince others of that opinion.

The girl was something else indeed. She was a cute little thing, if a bit young. Despite the confidence with which she held the Colt, she couldn't have been more than a teenager, and a youngish one at that. He shook his head disapprovingly.

"Old man... why that's right unkind, so it is! Heh. Little thing like you shouldn' be talkin' that way. Shouldn' be toting a gun that size either. The second you fire the thing, it'll practically take your arm off." He chuckled a bit, alcohol and misplaced confidence making him forget the gun for a moment. "Don' get your knickers in a bunch, kid. I've no quarrel with you. Jus' mistook my door 's all." He slurred the words, putting a bit more emphasis into his drunken speech than was strictly accurate, hoping that playing up the image of a confused drunk would add to the image of his innocence.

It was a bit of a surprise to him that the child didn't recognize him. Sure, this wasn't his area of influence, but he'd been quite the legend in his day. He edged the bottle closer to his mouth, then thought better of it, setting it on the dresser. Perhaps it was for the best. He was trying to put his past behind him. He couldn't do that if he was recognized at every saloon he stopped at. Hmm. Maybe he should see about growing a beard.

Somehow, he snapped his addled mind free from such thoughts. Something about the girl was familiar. He hadn't seen her before, that was certain. He'd have remembered such a thing. No, it wasn't her face... Ah, that was it. Her voice.

"Say, miss... You were the one hollering downstairs a few minutes past, weren't you? Yeah, that'd have to be it. A fellow I know said you were bounty hunting or some damn fool idea like that." He leaned against the dresser, making himself at home a bit, despite the gun. "I suggest you take a cue from my book." He picked up the bourbon once more, extending it in her direction. "Have a drink, find a shrimpy fellow to bounce around on. Or a woman, whatever your tastes. Keep away from vengeance. Doesn't lead anywhere good. And stop carrying a gun out in the open. You're asking to be shot, is what you're doing." He nodded sagely, as though he had shared some great gift of wisdom with the younger traveler.

He made no move for the door, but nor did he go for his gun. To all outward appearances, he simply didn't count the girl as a threat, but still wanted to be treated with something approximating respect.

Original Story: Three Bullets Of One's Love { Tybalt & Angel }

Okay! It should be better now. I have some clothing reference (thanks for reminding me of that) though not as much as I probably could have. I also softened up Owen a bit.