Well, it's not huge for the amount of time, but I hope it sets something up, at least a bit. I didn't want to assume anything about what Kate would say in response.
Tybalt Capulet Member
Honorable Heretic
STATUS: Anyone out there trying to write about some sad cowboys and cowgirls? I love me some western, and god is it tricky to find. 4 yrs ago
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- Tybalt Capulet 7 yrs ago
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4 yrs ago
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Anyone out there trying to write about some sad cowboys and cowgirls? I love me some western, and god is it tricky to find.
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6 yrs ago
I've started book 2 of my trilogy! Thanks to those who beta-read the first one for me!
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6 yrs ago
First DnD session went awesomely! My players loved it, and a dragonborn was nearly killed by a bugbear.
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6 yrs ago
Starting up DMing my first campaign this weekend!
6 yrs ago
50,033 words written! I finished NaNoWriMo!
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Bio
Heyo! I'm Tybalt, and I'm an alcoholic...
Shoot, I think I'm doing this wrong. Y'know what, I'mma just throw up a character sheet for myself, y'all know how to read those.
Name: Tybalt
Species: Human. But, like, kinda Hobbit, too?
Age: 24
Rank: Peasant, probably.
Personality: Hard to nail down since I'm the one writing it, but I'm a type three on the Enneagram if that's worth anything.
Description: Two arms, two legs, a head, no feathers.
Abilities: Casual to advanced writing. I love a good advanced, but it's gotta be engaging as well as deep. Advanced is an investment, so I rarely keep up with more than one at a time.
Likes: Pirates, Knights, Cowboys, and everything in-between. I don't mind a good romance, but I'm just as happy to have a bro-tp as an otp. I also love anything by Brandon Sanderson, so if we've got some other fans out there, hit me up in the pm's.
Dislikes: This is less a dislike than a personal failing, but I tend to over-commit to too many stories, then not respond very quickly. You have been warned, I guess.
Shoot, I think I'm doing this wrong. Y'know what, I'mma just throw up a character sheet for myself, y'all know how to read those.
Name: Tybalt
Species: Human. But, like, kinda Hobbit, too?
Age: 24
Rank: Peasant, probably.
Personality: Hard to nail down since I'm the one writing it, but I'm a type three on the Enneagram if that's worth anything.
Description: Two arms, two legs, a head, no feathers.
Abilities: Casual to advanced writing. I love a good advanced, but it's gotta be engaging as well as deep. Advanced is an investment, so I rarely keep up with more than one at a time.
Likes: Pirates, Knights, Cowboys, and everything in-between. I don't mind a good romance, but I'm just as happy to have a bro-tp as an otp. I also love anything by Brandon Sanderson, so if we've got some other fans out there, hit me up in the pm's.
Dislikes: This is less a dislike than a personal failing, but I tend to over-commit to too many stories, then not respond very quickly. You have been warned, I guess.
Most Recent Posts
Though Reuben had plenty of vices, from a love of alcohol to a fondness for loose women (especially tight loose women), he did have a few strengths. One of these was patience. Hunting required it, tracking required it... hell, most anything worth doing was worth waiting for. The difference here was that Reuben had already seen each of these things pay off: tracking gave him his quarry, hunting gave him food for a week or so. He hadn't had any luck at it himself, but by all reports, gold panning could pay off beautifully if you had the patience.
Waiting for a spite-filled girl to get her makeup ready and her panties straightened was far from any of these. Reuben had little interest in waiting as long as that, and felt that he'd been plenty clear with his instructions. Dawn, he'd said. Well. It was a good stretch past dawn now, and no sign of the girl.
He couldn't claim to be surprised. Maybe he'd hoped that the girl would be more than she'd seemed, but if he was perfectly straightforward with himself, the girl's soft hands and youthful face had been enough to set his opinion from the start. She'd seemed like more for a moment, but that moment had passed.
That was fine. He had prepared for such an eventuality. With a grunt of effort, he swung up onto the paint mare, muttering "Well, Poppy. Looks like this is it for us in this town. Can't say I'll miss it terribly, though there's something to be said about a soft bed and a cold drink." He looked forlornly at the slim flask at his belt. "We'll just have to be careful with our usin' of what supplies we've got. C'mon, now. Off y'go."
The mare wasn't as young as she had once been, but she was no tired, plodding beast, either. Before long, nothing but dust and sun remained behind them. Reuben bounced lightly in the saddle, shotgun sheathed at his left, in a saddle-holster. It was a quiet trail, for a main one out of town. Oddly quiet, though he supposed that there wasn't much reason for anyone to leave home this time of the day. Hell, he would have left sooner if he hadn't wasted his time waiting on the young woman.
He shook his head, dismissing the youth from his mind. It had seemed like a promising path for him to tread again, but oh, well. Life goes on; perhaps it was best if Luckshot stayed dead.
As Poppy trod slowly over the well-worn trail, Reuben began to feel his suspicious rising again. It was faint, but off to the sides of the path, and marked into the dirt itself, were the faint traces of someone having passed in the last few hours. It was light enough that most would have missed it, but then, Reuben had never been blessed with a lack of observance. He cursed quietly as he turned Poppy slightly away from the main trail, following the faint sub-trail. Either the girl had decided to test him, or she had changed her mind about having him work with her. Either way, he'd be following her trail. It wouldn't do to set up the precedent that the famed Luckshot missed trails, especially those of people he'd encountered before.
The trail itself grew a bit easier to track once he picked up on his target's quirks. It was like the tells you find as an experienced gambler, just faint enough to escape an inexperienced gaze, and keyed to the individual. After a few miles, he could have picked out this trail as belonging to the target even among a dozen others. Hopefully it led him to the girl, though if it didn't... well. That would be yet another adventure.
By his estimate, Reuben had only left a few hours after Kate, maybe even less than that. Even so, catching up wasn't easy, and every sign pointed to the fact that the girl rode at a surprisingly capable pace. Hours passed swiftly, and the sun rose to its zenith, then began to creep slowly across the sky. Poppy kept doggedly onward, her pace never slacking, and Reuben found himself reaching for his canteen more and more.
Finally, a faint plume of dust was visible. It grew, bit by bit, slowly in the center of Reuben's field of vision, and with a soft "Yah!" to Poppy, he rode toward it. The plume resolved into a silhouetted figure the closer he rode, and eventually, his suspicions were confirmed. As sure as he was fed up with the sun, the figure ahead of him was Abigail Kate Clementine, The insufferable young woman herself. With a pat on Poppy's shoulder, he slowed her just a hair, then rode quietly to the young woman's side.
"So. I see you decided to leave on your own terms." By now he was neck-and-neck with his supposed partner. "I thought you wanted company on this mission of yours." He had been drinking from his canteen all day, but as a sign of his view of his potential employer, he instead reached for his flask, unscrewing the tin cap with his thumb, and then taking a healthy swig from the thin bottle. "We ought to clarify something, 'fore you go and get me killed because you figured it was easier than telling me about some bastard waiting behind some door later on." He pocketed his flask once more.
"You're paying me to help you find retribution. You hired me, instead of some sad fucker in that inn. Your options were plentiful enough, but you chose me, drunk, washed-up has-been or no. I'm not clear on how much you know about me, but I'm sure someone, at some time, has told you something of my reputation. I worked alone for fifteen years. Fifteen years. Before that, I had a partner, but she wasn't dumb enough to do things without running it by me first. Now, if you want to act on instinct or somethin' like that, be my guest. But don't go riding off without me because you couldn't be bothered to take a moment to find me."
He went silent for a long moment, realizing he'd been talking for much longer than he usually did. He took a breath, then continued, to his actual point. "I saw someone, this morning. At dawn, when I was readyin' Poppy here. Didn't get a look at his face, but he was wearin' black, or something damn close. Can't say I recognized him, but he looked like bad news. If that means anything to you, you'd best tell me. I hope I've made that clear enough for you."
Waiting for a spite-filled girl to get her makeup ready and her panties straightened was far from any of these. Reuben had little interest in waiting as long as that, and felt that he'd been plenty clear with his instructions. Dawn, he'd said. Well. It was a good stretch past dawn now, and no sign of the girl.
He couldn't claim to be surprised. Maybe he'd hoped that the girl would be more than she'd seemed, but if he was perfectly straightforward with himself, the girl's soft hands and youthful face had been enough to set his opinion from the start. She'd seemed like more for a moment, but that moment had passed.
That was fine. He had prepared for such an eventuality. With a grunt of effort, he swung up onto the paint mare, muttering "Well, Poppy. Looks like this is it for us in this town. Can't say I'll miss it terribly, though there's something to be said about a soft bed and a cold drink." He looked forlornly at the slim flask at his belt. "We'll just have to be careful with our usin' of what supplies we've got. C'mon, now. Off y'go."
The mare wasn't as young as she had once been, but she was no tired, plodding beast, either. Before long, nothing but dust and sun remained behind them. Reuben bounced lightly in the saddle, shotgun sheathed at his left, in a saddle-holster. It was a quiet trail, for a main one out of town. Oddly quiet, though he supposed that there wasn't much reason for anyone to leave home this time of the day. Hell, he would have left sooner if he hadn't wasted his time waiting on the young woman.
He shook his head, dismissing the youth from his mind. It had seemed like a promising path for him to tread again, but oh, well. Life goes on; perhaps it was best if Luckshot stayed dead.
As Poppy trod slowly over the well-worn trail, Reuben began to feel his suspicious rising again. It was faint, but off to the sides of the path, and marked into the dirt itself, were the faint traces of someone having passed in the last few hours. It was light enough that most would have missed it, but then, Reuben had never been blessed with a lack of observance. He cursed quietly as he turned Poppy slightly away from the main trail, following the faint sub-trail. Either the girl had decided to test him, or she had changed her mind about having him work with her. Either way, he'd be following her trail. It wouldn't do to set up the precedent that the famed Luckshot missed trails, especially those of people he'd encountered before.
The trail itself grew a bit easier to track once he picked up on his target's quirks. It was like the tells you find as an experienced gambler, just faint enough to escape an inexperienced gaze, and keyed to the individual. After a few miles, he could have picked out this trail as belonging to the target even among a dozen others. Hopefully it led him to the girl, though if it didn't... well. That would be yet another adventure.
By his estimate, Reuben had only left a few hours after Kate, maybe even less than that. Even so, catching up wasn't easy, and every sign pointed to the fact that the girl rode at a surprisingly capable pace. Hours passed swiftly, and the sun rose to its zenith, then began to creep slowly across the sky. Poppy kept doggedly onward, her pace never slacking, and Reuben found himself reaching for his canteen more and more.
Finally, a faint plume of dust was visible. It grew, bit by bit, slowly in the center of Reuben's field of vision, and with a soft "Yah!" to Poppy, he rode toward it. The plume resolved into a silhouetted figure the closer he rode, and eventually, his suspicions were confirmed. As sure as he was fed up with the sun, the figure ahead of him was Abigail Kate Clementine, The insufferable young woman herself. With a pat on Poppy's shoulder, he slowed her just a hair, then rode quietly to the young woman's side.
"So. I see you decided to leave on your own terms." By now he was neck-and-neck with his supposed partner. "I thought you wanted company on this mission of yours." He had been drinking from his canteen all day, but as a sign of his view of his potential employer, he instead reached for his flask, unscrewing the tin cap with his thumb, and then taking a healthy swig from the thin bottle. "We ought to clarify something, 'fore you go and get me killed because you figured it was easier than telling me about some bastard waiting behind some door later on." He pocketed his flask once more.
"You're paying me to help you find retribution. You hired me, instead of some sad fucker in that inn. Your options were plentiful enough, but you chose me, drunk, washed-up has-been or no. I'm not clear on how much you know about me, but I'm sure someone, at some time, has told you something of my reputation. I worked alone for fifteen years. Fifteen years. Before that, I had a partner, but she wasn't dumb enough to do things without running it by me first. Now, if you want to act on instinct or somethin' like that, be my guest. But don't go riding off without me because you couldn't be bothered to take a moment to find me."
He went silent for a long moment, realizing he'd been talking for much longer than he usually did. He took a breath, then continued, to his actual point. "I saw someone, this morning. At dawn, when I was readyin' Poppy here. Didn't get a look at his face, but he was wearin' black, or something damn close. Can't say I recognized him, but he looked like bad news. If that means anything to you, you'd best tell me. I hope I've made that clear enough for you."
Douglas Adams is fantastic! I'm writing a sort of pirate/naval sort of thing. It has a heavy focus on individual strengths in a whole, and has a bit of humor as well, I think. I tried to channel Brandon Sanderson and Scott Lynch, and it turned out pretty okay, so far.
Also, sorry for the crazy long wait. I'll have the post up post haste!
Also, sorry for the crazy long wait. I'll have the post up post haste!
Nice! What kind of books do you dabble in?
Aster
Health: 1,500/1,500
Mana: 300/300
Renn: 762
As she faced down the boss, Aster felt herself splitting in two. Not literally, of course, but a sort of shift in perception. Half of her mind looked at the epithet granted the beast, and remembered the Aster she'd left behind, the one who knew that Fenrir was the wolf son of the Norse god Loki, a sign of the end times. She could remember specific legends, even picture the illustrated page she'd first read the legend from. That half of her mind was filled with fear, and somehow also curiosity. She wanted to know more, and wanted to run, to hide behind the strapping guy beside her.
The other half of her mind looked at the beast and only felt the thrill of competition. She looked up at the creature, way, way up at it, and felt the smile building on her face. She didn't know how to feel about it, but that didn't matter. In that moment, caught between the two selves, she made a decision. She cast away the Aster that snubbed those less than her, the Aster that thought money and privelege were the hallmarks of success, the Aster that was blind, blind to everything. And she accepted the Aster that stood by her friends, that saw clearly through the haze of battle, that was something like a hero.
If Aster had been fire in battles before, now she was lightning: fast, deadly, and precise. Her sword moved... not like an extension of her body, exactly, but more like an extension of her will. She moved without thought, instinct guiding her movements with a precision that would have scared her had she not given herself entirely over to the thrill of it. She roared out a challenge as she sped across the distance between herself and the wolflike creature, leaping forward, higher than felt possible, her katana held one-handed as she plunged forward, activating triple strike in a flurry towards the beast's unprotected chest, aiming for wherever such a creature would have a heart. She was vaguely conscious of the presence of her team members near her, and for once, didn't try to block them out. She let their presence buoy her in her action as she released the third strike, and then shifted her grip to a two-handed slash as she finally met the ground.
Summary: Uses triple strike, uses two-handed strike (critical from battle focus) and lands facing Fenrir's Herald. Also, introspection.
Agreed! It was wonky for a while. I'm working on my post, though, so no fear! I also got back to work on the second book of my series!
Wow! That's quite a post! I love her introspection and doubtfulness, it really builds up her image as a careful character, and her morality and age keep being called into question. Really, really well done!
No worries! Whenever is convenient for ya!
For all that the handshake may have meant to Kate, to Reuben, it was far less. That wasn't to say that he didn't appreciate it; it signified the start of a partnership, and the hand itself was also surprisingly smooth, wrapped up in his own. That concerned him, frankly. If this girl, fearsome though she was, had such soft hands, it hinted at the potential for softness elsewhere. Reuben had agreed to help her in her quest for vengeance, but he'd be damned if he was going to drag a prim little girl through the roughs. The West was known for its wildness, but on the trail, living in the elements... they could test even the toughest. From fending off coyotes to roving bandits, it was a wilderness that allowed for the worst of mankind to flourish.
No need to rush? He could deal with that. He'd paid good money for that whore. It wouldn't do to waste the time he'd bought. The extra time would give him a chance to get his things together, too. He'd stayed in enough rooms here that it could take a good long while.
Something rubbed him wrong as he withdrew his hand. He had trouble nailing it down, until Kate repeated herself. Her voice was shaking a bit... either she was ready for vengeance, and couldn't wait for it, or she really was a normal person, with emotions and all that shit. He looked her up and down again, this time with less restrained lust, and more curiosity. How old was the girl? She talked like a full-blown deputy, but she was soft and small, like a youth. If he had to guess, he'd peg her at fifteen or so. Certainly too young for him to be looking at her the way he had been. He chided himself, but didn't worry about it too much. He was drunk, he could be excused some indiscretions.
As the girl welcomed him "back to life," he realized something startling. If he really went through with this, Luckshot was indeed back. Somehow, though he'd fought for so long to leave that reputation behind, he didn't mind too terribly to be stepping back into those boots. It'd been too long, he now realized. Perhaps he was getting older, but Luckshot was a part of him, sure as his Comanche heritage and knack for being in the wrong place at the right time.
"Yeah... thanks for that." He didn't know what else to say. This girl kept surprising him, kept being more than she seemed, even as he adjusted his opinions accordingly. "Dawn is agreeable to me. If you aren't ready by then, though, forget it. If I'm Luckshot now, my time is worth plenty." He pushed the chair to one side, looking away suddenly as the girl smiled, smiled with such intensity that he was forced once more to redirect his thoughts. You're a dirty old man, Reuben. She's half your age, probably even less. Keep it in your pants.
The door closed more quietly than seemed fitting, and he realized he'd left his bottle behind. That was all right by him. He'd had enough in the last few days, and it might do the girl some good to have a couple swallows in her. Might loosen her up a bit, make her smile like that again. Damn, she had quite a smile.
Reuben was met with a contrast to the youthful, vibrant personality of Kate as he opened his door once more. In comparison to Kate, the whore he'd hired, whose name escaped him completely, just seemed... sad. Her breasts sagged like pendulums, her skin was just a bit too loose, and the makeup was far from enough to cover the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. The scent of stale booze didn't help either.
He had to give her credit for her willingness, as she dropped to her knees before him, pawing at his belt as though wishing to skip any middleman and take his gold as quickly as possible. Normally he would have given in, taken his money's worth, but the contrast was too much. He pushed the woman away, sending her from his room with but a few terse words. He didn't want to explain his emotions, and he would be better able to prepare for the journey without the old bag filling up the space. She left with a grumble, but left all the same, and in the quiet room, Reuben became Luckshot Caerwynn.
First, he trimmed his beard to a neat, short stubble. He washed his face and hair, then went about dressing once more. The clothes he'd been in were all but ruined, stained nearly beyond repair. Fortunately, he had a clean shirt in a drawer, and after pulling it and a patched, but serviceable pair of trousers on, he tucked his derringer into his breast pocket holster. Next was a thick leather belt, tooled with weaving lines, like a snake's trail on the sand. From that hung a holster and a sheath; the first for his pistol, the last for his bowie knife. The shotgun hung from a leather strap, to be slung over one shoulder once he was actually ready to go.
One final check in the mirror, and he was satisfied. He pulled on the heavy buckskin overcoat, his shield against knives and inclimate weather alike, and finally topped it all off with his turquoise-beaded hat. That'd have to do.
Dressed this way, his shotgun leaned against the bed, he lay back, hat tipped over his face, and caught a few hours of sleep, before his internal clock forced him awake.
The sun hadn't yet begun to rise when Reuben crept quietly down the stairs to the stable. He had his shotgun slung over his shoulder, and was pleased to see that his horse, a paint-patterned mare he'd picked up a couple of years back.
"Hey, girl..." He murmured the words softly, rubbing the horse's neck, his voice totally devoid of its usual gruffness. "Sorry I haven't made it down here in a while. Been right busy drinkin' myself to death. You know how it is. But it looks like we'll have some work now, so you'll be gettin' some exercise. 'Bout time, too." He fed the creature a handful of oats, then gave it one more pat on the neck for good measure. He looked up at the horizon, determined to head out whether or not the girl showed up. If she did, he had a job. If not... well, he'd been in this town too long anyway. It'd do him good to have a trip, even a brief one.
No need to rush? He could deal with that. He'd paid good money for that whore. It wouldn't do to waste the time he'd bought. The extra time would give him a chance to get his things together, too. He'd stayed in enough rooms here that it could take a good long while.
Something rubbed him wrong as he withdrew his hand. He had trouble nailing it down, until Kate repeated herself. Her voice was shaking a bit... either she was ready for vengeance, and couldn't wait for it, or she really was a normal person, with emotions and all that shit. He looked her up and down again, this time with less restrained lust, and more curiosity. How old was the girl? She talked like a full-blown deputy, but she was soft and small, like a youth. If he had to guess, he'd peg her at fifteen or so. Certainly too young for him to be looking at her the way he had been. He chided himself, but didn't worry about it too much. He was drunk, he could be excused some indiscretions.
As the girl welcomed him "back to life," he realized something startling. If he really went through with this, Luckshot was indeed back. Somehow, though he'd fought for so long to leave that reputation behind, he didn't mind too terribly to be stepping back into those boots. It'd been too long, he now realized. Perhaps he was getting older, but Luckshot was a part of him, sure as his Comanche heritage and knack for being in the wrong place at the right time.
"Yeah... thanks for that." He didn't know what else to say. This girl kept surprising him, kept being more than she seemed, even as he adjusted his opinions accordingly. "Dawn is agreeable to me. If you aren't ready by then, though, forget it. If I'm Luckshot now, my time is worth plenty." He pushed the chair to one side, looking away suddenly as the girl smiled, smiled with such intensity that he was forced once more to redirect his thoughts. You're a dirty old man, Reuben. She's half your age, probably even less. Keep it in your pants.
The door closed more quietly than seemed fitting, and he realized he'd left his bottle behind. That was all right by him. He'd had enough in the last few days, and it might do the girl some good to have a couple swallows in her. Might loosen her up a bit, make her smile like that again. Damn, she had quite a smile.
Reuben was met with a contrast to the youthful, vibrant personality of Kate as he opened his door once more. In comparison to Kate, the whore he'd hired, whose name escaped him completely, just seemed... sad. Her breasts sagged like pendulums, her skin was just a bit too loose, and the makeup was far from enough to cover the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. The scent of stale booze didn't help either.
He had to give her credit for her willingness, as she dropped to her knees before him, pawing at his belt as though wishing to skip any middleman and take his gold as quickly as possible. Normally he would have given in, taken his money's worth, but the contrast was too much. He pushed the woman away, sending her from his room with but a few terse words. He didn't want to explain his emotions, and he would be better able to prepare for the journey without the old bag filling up the space. She left with a grumble, but left all the same, and in the quiet room, Reuben became Luckshot Caerwynn.
First, he trimmed his beard to a neat, short stubble. He washed his face and hair, then went about dressing once more. The clothes he'd been in were all but ruined, stained nearly beyond repair. Fortunately, he had a clean shirt in a drawer, and after pulling it and a patched, but serviceable pair of trousers on, he tucked his derringer into his breast pocket holster. Next was a thick leather belt, tooled with weaving lines, like a snake's trail on the sand. From that hung a holster and a sheath; the first for his pistol, the last for his bowie knife. The shotgun hung from a leather strap, to be slung over one shoulder once he was actually ready to go.
One final check in the mirror, and he was satisfied. He pulled on the heavy buckskin overcoat, his shield against knives and inclimate weather alike, and finally topped it all off with his turquoise-beaded hat. That'd have to do.
Dressed this way, his shotgun leaned against the bed, he lay back, hat tipped over his face, and caught a few hours of sleep, before his internal clock forced him awake.
The sun hadn't yet begun to rise when Reuben crept quietly down the stairs to the stable. He had his shotgun slung over his shoulder, and was pleased to see that his horse, a paint-patterned mare he'd picked up a couple of years back.
"Hey, girl..." He murmured the words softly, rubbing the horse's neck, his voice totally devoid of its usual gruffness. "Sorry I haven't made it down here in a while. Been right busy drinkin' myself to death. You know how it is. But it looks like we'll have some work now, so you'll be gettin' some exercise. 'Bout time, too." He fed the creature a handful of oats, then gave it one more pat on the neck for good measure. He looked up at the horizon, determined to head out whether or not the girl showed up. If she did, he had a job. If not... well, he'd been in this town too long anyway. It'd do him good to have a trip, even a brief one.
Thank you! I really put some effort into that one, trying to make use of the space. I'm excited for them to head out on their adventure!
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