Multiple Settings D E A D † W E S T - MAIN

[Hell0NHighWater]

xxxx

Location: The Dust Bowl :: Dodge City

Interactions: fuil | Vudukudu | Office Worker Craig | Epiphany | TenshuZninja | Rumble Fish | idiot | zippy

Music to set the Mood

JULIET † MCCRAE

The stench of drying blood filled the air. Her stomach rolled as she steadied herself against the bar and slowly lowered herself onto a stool.
"You alright, ma'am?"
Honey glazed irises snapped up at the sound of a voice. A mix of surprise and curiosity caused her to maintain eye contact with the stranger as she spoke, voice cracking, "Ye-ah!"
She instantly looked away, embarrassed by the sound of her own voice. Leaning forward onto her knees, she cradled her head in her hands, watching the rest of the tavern begin to buzz with dazed activity.

The girl with the red gown had materialized beside the gun-thief, saying something before gripping her gown and dipping into a shallow curtsy. For some reason the action brought up the vivid memory of childhood fantasies fueled by the late night stories her mother referred to as Grimm fairy tales. Her expression softened at the thought, wondering for a moment why a young girl would be frequenting a saloon.

Juliet was vaguely aware of the entrance of two other people, but she was too busy shutting her eyes in an attempt to block out the light to notice.
"I'm Marisol," a voice greeted and Juliet opened her eyes to look at the woman bending over her.
"Juliet." She managed a slight smile, squinting at Marisol as she began to check her over, "It's just a scratch ya ain't gotta—"

"And you've caught the worst of it so far, haven't you."

"Don't know 'bout that," she drawled while gesturing over towards the man she had shot dead, "He's lookin' far worse, don't think you can come back from that."

"Come on, let's take care of that gunshot—"
Juliet jerked her head toward Marisol, complexion ashen as she realized that she was a doctor of sorts, "I get shot all the time—"
Marisol continued as if she hadn't spoken, "and then we'll see about your head."
Sputtering slightly, Juliet tried to lean away from her, "I fall all the time, too. It's just a bump, Doc, really I'll be—" The young woman met Juliet's gaze with a stern look and her protests died in her throat.

Juliet frowned but relented, allowing the physician to examine her head before moving onto the wound in her arm. It was heavily oozing out blood and there was a bluish-purple bruise forming around where the bullet had entered. Blinking, she watched as Marisol lightly pressed her index finger against the center of the hole. Juliet suck in a sharp breath as the pain spiraled across her entire body. Colorful spots contoured the edge of her gaze. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, using her free hand to clutch at the bar top as Marisol went about stitching her up.

"Hm." A woman at the adjacent table made a noise, "If this is what some would call a quiet time, I dread to see a busy one."

Juliet's poker straight mouth twitched upwards and she was giggling despite the pain, "You mean the shootin' and howlin' wasn't a busy time? Well, shit. Guess I gotta get out more." When her chuckling tapered off, she gave the stranger a concerned glance taking note of the blood leaking from her head. Her lips parted to say something but another woman walked over and began to look over her while conversing with Marisol.

“Pardon me, señora, but I don’t think many of these folk would like me getting any closer on account of me bein’ the one what mangled ‘em and ‘specially those two with the broken arms.”

Juliet snorted, her mouth quirking into a half smile, "Helpin' 'em would sort of defeat the purpose of beatin' 'em up." She gave the man a mildly amused look, about to say something further when a scream interrupted her. On impulse she reached for her gun, absent of course, and she felt foolish for having forgotten that it had been tossed aside. Her rifle had been left with Houdini—and it was right about then that she suddenly felt awkwardly naked without a weapon at her side. Juliet was trying not to stare at the man's eye, but she kept finding her eyes had diverted to it. One moment they were obediently set on the older gentleman with the shard of glass and the blond cactus man, the next they were resting on the bloody mess that had once been a perfectly ordinary eye; so ordinary in fact that she could not recall what it had looked like or if she had even seen that man before.

She took a second to really look at the mangled interior. The injured. The smile fell from her lips, cast aside along with the humor that she had found in the situation. Remorse set into her shoulders, causing her posture to wilt a bit. Rubbing the back of her neck she took a moment to look at each of them, suddenly a lot less confident with the knowledge of her own screw ups.

"If I'd known shootin' that guy was gonna result in a bar fight, I wouldn't've done it,"She paused for a second, fighting to keep her voice loud enough for them all to hear, "If anythin' I should be the one helpin'. My mess 'n all. So," She squirmed in her seat, obviously uncomfortable but trying to make the next words she said sound sincere, "Sorry 'bout all that I guess."

Clearing her throat, she glanced back at her wound in an attempt to ignore the feeling of multiple sets of eyes on her. The front door swung open and Juliet lifted her head to see who it was. The woman that walked in was the type that turned every head in a room. Her navy blue dress was boldly short and the neckline dipped lower than any 'modest' woman would dare, but she pulled it off in a way Juliet had never seen before. She gaped, absently wondering how much it had cost her. By the look of the design on the bodice, she would wager quite a lot.

"My, my, my, ain't this quite the mess," The woman mused, her ice blue gaze lingering around the room for a minute, "Ms. Klein, see to this for me, yes? I've a rather busy schedule to keep and the train will be leaving soon so don't dautle." It looked for a moment as if her own shadow dislodged itself from the wall in the form of a scrawny looking girl, "Yes, Ma'am."

The woman left before Juliet could finish admiring her dress and her 'shadow' had materialized in front of their little group. Ms. Klein's gaze bounced between all of them, darting between the Preacher and the Fighter. As if she were in a panicked state of 'eeny meeny miny moe', Ms. Klein decided to settle her gaze on the gun-thief, "You must be Ranger McCrae, my name is Ms. Klein, I represent Ms. Mina Devlin of the Black River rail company."

Juliet's eyebrows shot to her hairline, caught between curiosity and amusement. Raising her free hand to her mouth, she bit on her knuckle to keep from laughing.

"Ms. Devlin requires assistance clearing a mine southwest of here, you will be heavily compensated for your efforts and will notify the Ranger's of your—"

"Don't!" The word fell out of her mouth before she could stop herself, Ms. Klein's gaze speared through her and Juliet forced herself to continue as if that word had been the beginning of a sentence, "Don't exclude the rest of us..." She finished lamely.

Ms. Klein frowned, "I'm sorry, but Ms. Devlin made this request strictly of the Ranger. Seein' as you ain't him, Miss, this doesn't concern you."

Juliet was frozen for a moment, the words echoing around her head like a cruel taunt. Her lips pressed into a thin line as the woman turned back to the man who she must've thought was the Ranger. Absently, she admitted that he did sort of look like one. Burly, and scruffy, an imposing presence that could command a room if he wished it.

Ms. Klein smiled courteously, "If you wish to include an extra pair of hands to help clear out the mine, Ms. Devlin will happily compensate everyone—$450 to each man."

 

[Vudukudu]

xxxx

Location: Dodge City, The Dust Bowl

Interactions: Hell0NHighWater idiot

Music to set the Mood

Ryan † Lonnady

Ryan wasn't used to this much attention, and frankly he was a bit surprised his generally off-putting aura wasn't putting all these women-folk off. Maybe a good old blood rush was doing his poor natural charisma some good, or maybe they just hadn't connected the air of discomfort around him with him yet. Either way, he was the one being made uncomfortable now. The younger lass curtsying was something he'd not really expected to come out of the brawl, and to be honest he hadn't really intended to do her a personal favor of any sort by moving her aside and joining the fray. It was, within Ryan's rather limited mental framework, merely the right thing to do to get involved in a punch-up; it tended to end faster that way, and he was generally good at not killing folks when he tried. Except for the two men he'd put bullets in, everyone else was just battered, which was better than dead, which they might'a been if bottles and such kept being involved. Ryan nods slightly toward the woman in red and murmurs a quick, "No need to thank me, miss."

The nurse was another thing to be dealt with. To be frank, Ryan wasn't much accustomed to being told what to do, man or woman, but his conscious efforts to be polite were able to rein in his rebellious streak. He excused himself from providing medical attention with a sheepish line or two about supposing most of these folks wouldn't like any more of his attention than they'd already got from him and settled down to poke and prod at his own few injuries. Just when he thought he'd get a break, the woman behind the bar, who's gun he'd gotten familiar with, was talking again. Christ, he was starting to wish the fighting hadn't stopped - fewer things to keep track of. Fortunately, she only seemed to crack a joke at his expense before directing her attention elsewhere, and then he found himself bombarded by a job offer. Woman behind the bar, who he was beginning to suspect was more than just some woman who'd sneaked a gun in, opened her mouth again. Finally, he burst.

Turning to address Ms. Klein, Ryan's thin lips broke their customary straight line. "Ma'am, I ain't no god-damned Confederate sunuvabitch and if'in I were, I ain't no slave-catchin' self-important half-assed bandit who hides behind a gun and a tin badge. I ain't your man, and even if I was, I don't much like the prospect of beatin' up your ma'am's honest laboring folk or fightin' something worse in a dark hole in the ground. Dark holes ain't for fightin' in."

 

[Rumble Fish]

xxxx

Location: Dodge City

Interactions: idiot

Carrie † Kiwidinok

The following is a collab written between me and TenshuZninja​

"Ma'am, I ain't no god-damned Confederate sunuvabitch and if'in I were, I ain't no slave-catchin' self-important half-assed bandit who hides behind a gun and a tin badge."

Carrie's eyes tried to stay forward but could not help but dart a bit between the people who spoke, the topic being one she would rather not listen to or partake in. She opted to remain quiet. However that plan was stopped in its tracks when she was approached by the second medical woman who she had seen before. When she mentioned her wound, Carrie simply blinked and her gaze drifted to the river of blood trickling down her shoulder. Despite the pulsing pain within the wound, and her eyes beginning to glaze over, she remained stoic faced.

"This? Must have been an empty one that hit me so you are right. I would point it out but, well," she gestured lazily to the scattered litter from the brawl, "I doubt we would find it today."

Kiwi’s eyes narrowed at the two women as they entered and was not at all interested in her material gown that would have held no protection in the elements in the wild. When the woman left she felt a slight relief as that one smelled of trouble. With the girl left behind it was quiet for a moment as she looked over all of us who were conscious before the deal was brought up to the big man who had killed the bar brawl with two shots and lots of muscle. After hearing the details of the deal Kiwidinok found she wasn’t much interested in bounty hunting even for that absurd (she thinks??) amount of money and though she was clued in that he was a ranger and as an outlaw she ought to treat these people and get going before anyone had the chance to find her bounty poster. She turned her curious gaze back to her patient; whom she’d noticed was looking at the other group of people as if she wished herself anywhere but where she was. When the woman before her responded to the jibe she’d given before she also glanced at the aftermath of the bar fight and chuckled a bit at the woman.

“Not as though it would help me heal this wound of yours.” She moved the woman’s head to look at the ceiling lights and watched her eyes react before walking over to the bar and grabbing a bottle of pure vodka and a glass of water and setting it on a seat nearby. “I’m gonna assume that as you are blood of my blood.” at this a larger softer smile somewhat lit the usually stoic face of Kiwidinok.

“I will be performing a healing song as I patch you up, if you feel the spirits employ you to join don’t hesitate to do so.” Kiwi grabbed a piece of cotton cloth, needle and thread from Marisol’s kit before picking up the glass of water and rinsing the woman’s wound in it. Then she took the thread and poured the alcohol over it and began vocalising the song deep in her chest as she got to work stitching the rather large cut on the woman’s head.

Carrie's soft gaze creased slightly from the subtle chuckle escaping her, "No. Not that it would." when the woman then moved her, Carrie flinched at the initial touch, but after a second she relaxed and simply went along with it. Being looked over was not a foreign concept to her. It happened whenever she had been for sale. A thorough inspection as if she had been a horse and the state of her teeth indicated age and health. When the woman then mentioned their potentially shared blood, her brows furrowed a little in confusion but quickly relaxed as she went on to explain what she was going to do. At the mention of a healing song, it was an effort to not react. With a needle that close to her eye, it would only end in more blood. With a sigh she shut her eyes and sat still, only her temple twitching at the painful sting of the alcohol. As the woman began to vocalise, Carrie kept still. In the dark of her shut eyes, she began to feel the enticement she had mentioned. That song; she knew it. Quietly, and only with a little hesitation, she joined in.

Kiwidinok kept serenely humming the song and finished stitching, and rinsing blood with the water until she finished. When she was done she set the equipment to the side and took the cloth and wet it in alcohol then poured some of the alcohol in a glass and handed it to the woman. "I advise you to drink this before I do what's next. Also, don't bite your tongue." When Carrie drunk the vodka Kiwi took the vodka drenched cloth and properly cleaned the woman's sewn wound dabbing it cautiously making sure to analyze how she'd done. When she was satisfied with her job she tossed the cloth near the rest of the equipment she had used. "All done. Your quite strong willed, even some of the younger warriors begin to blubber like infants when I perform their medical care. Been hurt much?" Kiwi asked as she rinsed her hands with the bottle of alcohol and a quirk to her eyebrows while studying the woman's features curiously.

Carrie wordlessly took the vodka from the woman and promptly drank it. The fire-like water slipped down her throat, causing a slight shudder to pulse through her body as Kiwi got to work seeing the wound. It was painful, very painful but she knew better than to scream. When she asked if she had been hurt before, Carrie took a pause before answering.

“You could say that I have.” She spoke finally, raising a finger to gesture at her face, to the small r on her cheek. Under her clothes, her body was littered with scars, “I won’t bore you with any ‘woe-is-me’ speeches. I can’t be bothered giving them like you probably cannot be bothered listening to them.” A slight snort of a chuckle escaped through her nose as she tried to not focus on the wound.

Kiwi’s eyes narrowed as she took in that brand again. Her lips curled into a subtle smile as she said to Carrie, “When we do have time I wouldn’t mind hearing a good story. Woeful tales often come with lessons that should be passed on. Don’t you know all tales have the power to teach? What did your Vyasa’s stories teach you?"

“They do.” The woman nodded a little. When she questioned Carrie about what her think Vyasa taught her her mind had to travel far back. She hummed slightly, glancing away.

“I cannot say I had the best relationship with my Vyasa. Or anyone else in our tribe.” She looked up towards the ceiling, her hazel eyes growing soft and distant, “It was my mother who told me stories. Stories telling me to not be led astray or corrupted. Or be consumed by hatred and to stay sure footed despite what could happen... they kept me alive.” Despite seeing some of the worst humanity had to offer, she could not become what she hated.

Kiwidinok watched her as her eyes grew hazy. The eyes of one remembering the past. Kiwi nodded suddenly at the woman. “Such is the way of mother’s always caring for their children even after departure. My name is Kiwidinok Old coyote. My tribe is in the plains of what white men call Montana Blackfeet, though I am originally a child of Coyote. What tribe do you hail from? Who’s child are you?”

"Blackfoot?" Carrie parroted softly, her stoic aura was broken at the mention of her tribe's name. Her eyes blinked open wider and she unfolded her arms. Her body was stiffer now as her heart jumped, "Uh... That was my tribe too. My mother was Amadahy."

Kiwi fully grinned at that in pleasant surprise. Kiwi took a moment to calm down her heart and think through what this information meant. “Amadahy raised me after I arrived. Blood of your blood indeed. That would make us siblings not just of the great spirit, sister. Would you accept me as your younger sister?” It seemed only fitting to ask proper permission as from what Amadahy had told her after living together for years her daughter Painted Doe has been stolen by white men before she had the chance to become an adult. Painted Doe probably couldn’t remember a lot about her tribe and her ways.

At first Carrie could not respond. The prickling on the back of her neck and her escaped breath prevented her. A sister? And if what she said was the truth, then Amadahy was alive, something Carrie had been praying for since their seperation. It took a few seconds for her to clear her buzzing head enough to respond.

"Oh-Uh-Of course I would!" She stammered before glancing away, rubbing her arm a bit, "How is she? I wanted to go back to Montana after I escaped but, well. As is life." she chuckled weakly.

"Amadahy." A warm smile grew both on Kiwidinok's lips and in her eyes as she thought of the woman who had raised her after her own family had gone back to the great spirit. "Great Mother was very sad when I first arrived in her home. She lost her only child, Painted Doe, whom she loved more than the earth slept on, more than air she breathed in, more than water she drank on and more than the fire she was warmed with. She loved Painted Doe more than the family she lived and grew with to the white men who had stolen no... bargained to take her."

Kiwidinok stopped herself suddenly as she felt herself falling into the lull of story telling that Amadahy had when she first told her the story of what had happened after Painted Doe had been taken. Kiwi cleared her throat and the trance that had been about to envelop her cleared away leaving Kiwi somewhat sad but still smiling at Amadhy's first child.

"Great Mother is very much better than she was when I had first been given to her. If you want to hear the full story, we shall have to wait until we hold camp. The story is also far more interesting to hear with the spirits and animals listening and the trees and rivers adding their voices. For now Painted Doe, know that Great mother is alive and well and still waits for you at home in the lodge painted with doe and gazelle and bison." Thinking for a moment about when she had last seen Amadahy before she left on this journey nearly two and some years ago. "I have something of yours that you might like from Great Mother. But it will have to wait until I am no longer needed for healing."

As Kiwi spoke, describing her mother, Carrie ran her fingers over the single hawk feather tangled within her black mane. With this feather, she could still feel somewhat connected to her past. The hawk represented courage and strength, something she knew she would need to survive in a world that was less than welcoming to people such as herself. Her brows fell and eyes averted as she recounted how she had been sold to the white men and ripped from her mother's arms. When Kiwi stopped, it was only then she looked up. She wanted her to continue. She wanted to know more about her mother. But with a sigh, she nodded.

"I now know she is alive and well. That is enough for now." she spoke finally with a sigh before looking her new-found sister in the eye with soft blinks, "Thank you. For looking after her for me." a sad smile came across her face at the words.

Kiwi shook her head softly, "She took far more care of me than I did of her and I am grateful for it everyday I breathe sister. What little I did was more or less nothing but be a child who needed a mother." Kiwi looked around the bar with a heavy sigh but she still held a small smile when she looked back at Painted Doe. "Find me when I am done. We really need to talk about everything." Then Kiwi moved towards the civilian woman she was to check over next, standing next to huge built white man.

 

[Hell0NHighWater]

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RYAN LONNADY † JULIET MCCRAE
COLLABORATION WITH: Vudukudu
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Location: The Dust Bowl :: Dodge City


Interactions: fuil | Office Worker Craig | Epiphany | TenshuZninja | Rumble Fish |

idiot | zippy

"Ma'am, I ain't no god-damned Confederate sunuvabitch and if'in I were, I ain't no slave-catchin' self-important half-assed bandit who hides behind a gun and a tin badge."

She blinked rapidly as the words registered, the laughter evaporating from her eyes. Her customary amusement was gone faster than summer rain on the tarmac, features scrunching into a glower as he continued to speak, "I ain't your man, and even if I was, I don't much like the prospect of beatin' up your ma'am's honest laboring folk or fightin' something worse in a dark hole in the ground. Dark holes ain't for fightin' in."

”Scared?” She questioned with a narrowed gaze, ”Figures, only a Union coward would turn away from a challenge like that, let alone a reward that big.”

The woman behind the bar’s words hardly registered in his ears, given as Ryan isn’t exactly the sort to get heated over an insult at this stage in his life.

"Oh, no, there's no...you aren't the ranger?" Ms. Klein's voice cracked as she shifted, looking down helplessly at the envelope in her hands before shifting her attention toward the Preacher, "And I don't suppose you are Ranger McCrae?"

Ryan shakes his head tiredly as all his bluster leaves him, his boiling blood suddenly turning to ice in his veins when he registers the woman’s cracked voice. “No ma’am, I ain’t no Ranger. And apologies for my harshness, that weren’t kind of me.” He says, notably more soft in tone. She was just here to do a job, and it weren’t very Christian of him to get upset about that.

A smoldering animosity was developing in her honeyed orbs, lips pulled into a thin line as she struggled to keep her posture relaxed. Ms. Klein made a distressed sound at whatever the preacher said next, her attention moving to the blond cactus-man. She seemed to think about asking him the same question, before thinking better of it and deciding to smooth out her dress instead.
"Well, if none of you are Ranger McCrae, I apologize for wasting your time—"
"You said $450? For what? What's really down in that mine?"

Ms. Klein frowned, her hold tightening slightly on the envelope, “I ain’t at liberty to tell you—I have strict orders from Ms. Devlin, that only Ranger McCrae—”

”I am Ranger McCrae.” She snapped, jumping to her feet. Juliet took a step in the slightly taller woman’s direction, snarling at her shocked expression. ”What’s in the fucking mine?”

“Oh I, well, that can’t possibly be—”
”Listen Lady, I ain’t got the patience to deal with this anymore,” She placed her hands on her hips, frown deepening as she jerked her thumb over to the Yankee sympathizer, ”He ain’t—” she caught herself, clearing her throat and tugging her overcoat back to pull the star from the inside of her jacket, ”got a tin badge.”

Ryan can’t hide his smirk at the Ranger’s grand reveal. Given how he’d come across her, maybe half-assed bandit wasn’t excessive after all.

Juliet held the star out for the other woman to see before stuffing it back into her coat, ”Now that that’s settled, what kind o’bullshit is going on in Ms. Devlin’s mine?”

Ms. Kelin looked from the badge to Juliet with wide eyes, “I—I ain’t sure. All Ms. Devlin said was that her workers refused to go back. Ain’t no one been in the mine for weeks. And some of the men said there was a…. tapping coming from somewhere in the mine. It scared them real good, especially when the mine carts started getting overturned at night.”

Quirking a brow, she gave the woman a disinterested look, “Sounds like it could be some kids causin’ trouble, don’t see why that would require a Ranger.”

Ms. Klein shook her head, “Couldn’t have been, those mine carts are too heavy for anyone to tip.”

Juliet snorted, “I suppose that would be a bit different from tippin’ cows.” She hummed for a second, strolling towards the other side of the bar. Bending down, she started to clear away chunks of shattered chairs, “You said tapping? Might be a ghost.”

Ms. Kelin suddenly looked a little uneasy, watching the blonde rummage around for something, “Ghosts? You can’t be serious.”

“Ghosts, Demons, the Boogieman—’fraid they’re all very real—ah-ha!” Juliet smirked triumphantly, blowing the dust off her gun. She ran her thumb over a scratch in the metal with a small frown, swinging an accusing glare at the gun-thief before looking back at Ms. Klein. The other woman didn’t look too happy with the news, in fact she looked rather scared.

Slipping her pistol into her holster, she held her hand out for the envelope, ”If it’s a ghost, I want $500.”

Ms. Klein nodded slowly, “I’ll let Ms. Devlin know—”

”And I want information on a man named Coot Jenkins.”

The older woman shifted, “You’re rather demanding for a Ranger so far North.”

Picking her hat up from the bar, she set it back on her head, a crooked smile settling across her lips, ”Far as I can tell, this ain’t Union territory, so I can be as demanding as I damn well please.” She paused to rip open the letter, her gaze lingering over the words with a confused frown. The penmanship was rather pretty, in fact it was written so neatly that she was rather jealous—shame she couldn’t read cursive. Her brows knit together as she strained to make out the letters that looped and blended together.

She stood there for far longer than it normally would have taken to read, her expression pinched in frustration.

“As I’m sure you can tell, the mine is just a couple miles outside town. As for your information on this Coot Jenkins character, I would try asking the local Reverend or visiting the...local Ladies. They may have the information you seek.” Ms. Klein supplied, already turned towards the door, “Now I have a train to catch, any other issues will have to be straightened with Ms. Devlin in Denver after the job is complete.”

”Denver!? Now hold on, I didn’t agree to go anywhere near Colorado—Ms. Klein!” Juliet moved towards the door but the woman was already gone. She sucked in a sharp breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. She tried to tell herself that it was fine; she could find Coot Jenkins, get rid of some stupid ghost, and somehow get to Denver to collect the money she was owed. Iit was far enough North that the chance of coming across another Texas Ranger was slim, and if she had help…

Her gaze swung back to the group, ”I know ya’ll are probably busy folks,” she started, pausing for a second to glare at the fighter, ”I ain't no Confederate sunuvabitch, nor am I a slave-catchin' self-important, half-assed bandit, but if it ain’t too much trouble, I have a business proposal. Whether ya'll are aware of it or not, there's some weird shit going on and,” She paused for a breath of air, "I think there are answers here somewhere."

Juliet cleared her throat, looking from the lady in the red dress to Marisol, ”So, I’m lookin’ for a man named Coo—” Fingers curled around her ankle, a low growl cutting her off. Recoiling in horror, she tried to pull away but the grip around her ankle was tighter than she had anticipated. Falling on her ass, fear churned in the pit of her stomach as she watched the same man she had killed begin to sit up.

The bullet wound was so small. Somewhat ragged around the edges but barely bleeding even. The exit wound must have been on his back somewhere. If it weren't for that hole, and the ice cold, bluish even, color to his skin, she might have thought he was still alive. He reached for her, grabbing her by the ankle and pulling her body towards him with a strength he shouldn’t have been capable of.

He was fast, but she was faster. The sound of a gun going off thundered across the tavern, followed by the dull thump of the undead’s body hitting the floor.

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[zippy]

xxxx

Location: The Dust Bowl

Interactions: One-eye Jeff

Mentions: Ryan Vudukudu | Juliet Hell0NHighWater

Gabriel † Clarke

Gabriel bent down, fully prepared to heft the unconscious man's feet over his shoulder to help carry him out of the bar. Yet again, he was interrupted by the swing of the door behind him. Pivoting his body so he could see, the newest entry's appearance caused Gabriel's face to redden incredibly. He was quite embarrassed to see a woman revealing so much of herself. A large part of him disproved of her fit. It was enough to get used to women wearing pants, but the length of Ms. Devlin's legs was fully exposed to whoever dared to look. Not to mention the cut of the top of her dress, dipping low to reveal the marble white crevice of her...

No.

Gabriel averted his eyes and shook the brewing unholy thoughts from his mind. The sooner he got out of Dodge, the better. He listened curiously to the woman's proposition and the fighting man's rage-induced outburst. Admittedly, the young priest found himself agreeing with the man's point. Not the Confederate bit, mind you. Gabriel's commune had been a bit sheltered from the whole "North vs South" ordeal, and Gabriel hadn't been out in the World enough to form a solid opinion on the matter. Alas, the man was right. Dark holes weren't for fighting in.

Realizing he was listening in on a conversation that had nothing to do with him (certainly no one wanted a man as frail as him to do any worthwhile fighting), he busied himself by ruffling through his pack to check his belongings. It had been dislodged from his shoulder when he was hit, but Gabriel was glad to find that nothing was misplaced. It wasn't until the mention of Demons that he tuned back into what they were speaking about.

"Aye, Demons certainly are real. Hiding in shadows and in the hearts of nonbelievers. Seek God," he said to no one in particular. Naturally, he'd seen many Demon's exorcised from good Christians who'd fallen into temptation. Certainly wasn't something he was yearning to see again.

A twitch of movement behind the ranger woman--McCrae, he'd gathered--drew his attention away again. He squinted at the bodies behind her, but the motion didn't repeat. A slender hand rubbed at his eyes. Perhaps, he'd fallen harder than he realized since apparently he was now seeing things.

Suddenly, as if puppeteered by some unseen being, one of the bodies reanimated. Lurching into action, it grasped at the leg of the ranger before Gabriel could issue a word of warning. His stomach churned with fear and disgust. That man was dead. Or... He was dead. Because now, he was a perversion of alive. The woman fell to the floor and Gabriel lept to his feet. What could he do? He considered leaping forward onto the figure that was pulling at the ranger, but he had no plan past that. But he needn't act. A bullet through the head solved their problem, the corpse falling limp once more.

Gabriel looked rather faint, his previously red face now a ghastly gray. He wavered on his feet before bracing himself against the wall nearest. His mouth opened and closed as his hands floundered uselessly in the air. Finally, he spoke.

"This is no place for a man such as myself. I really must be going now."

He squeezed past the rest of the cast and back out to the street, dry heaving as he doubled over. It took sometime before he'd composed himself and as he straightened himself out he was surprised to find a curious man scuffing up dirt and swearing up a storm.

"Take my damn guns? Think I ain't gon' say nothin', huh? Think yer crew is gon' just take my stuff? Well, I'll tell you what, you God damned bastard. No one steals from One-eye Jeff 'n gets away with it, no one, not even the Marshal..."

Gabriel coughed awkwardly, but the man paid him no mind. "Sir, is there something I can help you with?"

The man paused in his tirade--something about damning everyone to hell--and turned to face Gabriel. It took a lot of willpower to not recoil at the gaping, slightly damp hole where his right eye should've been.

"That dirty rat bastard who calls himself the Marshal done took it upon himself to steal my gun. But there's a pretty penny in it for you if you gon' head and get it back," a large smile spread across his face as he eyed Gabriel. "Ah, where are my manners? Round here they call me One-eye Jeff."

Gabriel reluctantly shook the man's dirt-crusted hand, thinking it was merely for greeting when in fact he was sealing the offered deal presented to him.

"Right then, the office is thata way. I'm sure you know it, you've been there."

 

[idiot]

xxxx

Location: The Dust Bowl, Dodge City.

Mentions & Interactions: fuil | Office Worker Craig | zippy | Hell0NHighWater | Rumble Fish | Vudukudu | Epiphany

Evie † Ellsworth

Evie's pale blue eyes were transfixed on this Marisol woman; the way she commanded the room, unapologetic and frankly a badass. Throughout Evie's childhood, she was taught that women should be prim and proper, speak when spoken to and fall into the shadow of men. She watched as Marisol spoke to the cowboy-looking-woman — or Juliet as she introduced herself to Marisol — on the ground and Evie couldn't help but wonder if she could be like that one day.

Kill her, the voices whispered. Evie shut her eyes, take the knife you killed your daddy with and slice her little throat open. The voices grew more and more aggressive, the voices overlapping. Evie wanted to scream, her hands snaking up to her ears in a pitiful attempt to block them out. Drench yourself in her warm, silky blood...absorb her essence. The voices spoke loud and clear as though her hands were mouthpieces for them, flooding the words into her brain. Eyes focused in on Marisol's pulsing throat, come on, little Evie...prove everyone wrong. A shaking hand began travelling down the red dress to her garter where the blood-stained knife resided, she'll thank you for saving her wretched, dirty soul.

Stop, stop...Evie begged, yet the voices weren't the ones making her reach for that blade, Evie was. Grasp it, girl, wield the weapon of salvation. Hand wrapping around the handle, she began to unsheathe the blade before the swinging doors slammed open. Breaking Evie out of her thoughts, she gasped, watching as two women entered the saloon. They introduced themselves and their reasoning for being in such a dump. Suddenly, the brutish man in front of her was shouting. Everyone else who remained standing was discussing their options of clearing out the mines or not.

The heated discussion was suddenly silenced by the once dead man wrapping his bluish fingers around Juliet's ankle. Evie's eyes widened and before she could react the two were grappling. Unable to help herself, a scream erupted from Evie's mouth, her hands grasping the brutish man's treetrunk arm. A loud shot followed, the once dead man hitting the floor with a thud. Silence followed, everyone seemed just as shocked by the sudden reanimation of the man who had a bullet in his head.

The priest broke the silence before hurriedly exiting. An odd sense of relief filled Evie, she wasn't the only one to witness the man rising — especially considering the stunned look on everyone's faces. Letting go of the brutish man's arm, she gulped. Her throat burned from screaming and the threat of hot bile. Unsure what to say, Evie began for the exit, long hair brushing against her exposed back. All Evie knew was she couldn't stay here any longer. The urge still lingered, Evie's eyes centred on Marisol's throat as she swung open the saloon's doors.

Striding outside onto the street, Evie's lack of awareness led to her running into a figure ahead of her, "I-I'm sorry!" Evie began, her gaze settling on the figure ahead — the priest.

 

[Rumble Fish]

xxxx

Location: Dodge City

Interactions: Nobody

Carrie † Painted Doe

Her talk with Kiwi dug up some memories that Carrie had wished she could bury in the depths of her mind. Left on her own after her wounds were seen to, the woman sighed heavily and looked outside. She remembered the last time she had been in a town such as this, and it was not a memory she wanted...

"Get on ya lazy wench!" A loud crack shot through the air as Carrie felt the whip come back down across her back. All she could do was bite her tongue harder, blood rivering from her maw, fighting back the urge to scream from the scalding pain. She knew a scream would only result in another whipping. Fighting back the urge to snarl an insult, she hoisted up the heavy sack of worthless black rocks and struggled to the door of the town house. They had been at this all day. Or at least she had been. Meanwhile her master sat in the driver's seat of the cart, shouting expletives and whipping her when she did not move fast enough. A fat man whose gut threatened to burst through the shirt only held together by the ever suffering buttons struggling to keep the fabric together as it was stretched. A gigantic pipe hung from his teeth, billowing smoke like a chimney. Once the younger woman had stumbled into the mud to the cart, he clicked the horse forward into a walk to the next house. He was weirdly gentle with the equine, more gentle than he was to his slaves. Carrie groaned and strained her back before struggling through the mud behind the cart.

Their final stop was a hotel. A white and well dressed gentleman stood outside and waved to the driver. The cart stopped and Carrie looked to the man, who was now joined by a woman. The two looked to each other, the woman looking disturbed and holding her husband's arm. The owner looked at the driver.

"Are your sure she can manage all of this?" he asked, his black brows furrowed, "She seems quite worn out." That was an understatement if Carrie had ever heard one. She hadn't eaten since the day before and her throat was almost peeling from the dryness. Of course she could not answer. So her master did.

"She'll be fine! Now get on ya-" he flicked the whip next to him threateningly.

"Look um, don't worry about the coal, come back tomorrow with others and-"

"I said she'll be fine!" the master spat angrily, brown flecks flying from his teeth, "And to prove it... You!" He snarled at Carrie who stood there, "Take two at a time! And be quick! If you waste this gentleman's time, you'll taste more than the damned whip, ya hear me?!" Carrie shrank a little at this, but knew she could not fight it. The couple looked to each other worryingly but said nothing more. Not that Carrie could exactly blame them. Still, they could have done more.

Carrie growled under her breath as she took two sacks, stumbling into the hotel. Minute after painful minute, she managed to put two sacks in each of the bottom and first floor rooms. The entire time her master lashed the whip at her from the comfort of his driver's seat. When she was done, the man finally stood forward.

"Look, that's enough. Come back tomorrow for the other rooms-"

"What?! Ya sayin' I'm a dishonest businessman?" the master snarled.

"No, no it's just that-"

"Get up those stairs!" Once again, that whip. Carrie simply groaned and grabbed two more sacks. Once they were onto her back, she was on her knees. Before she could even attempt to stand up, there was a crack and a sting on the back of her neck. The woman wailed involuntarily, but was only greeted by another snap. Shaking, she pulled herself up, barely off her knees and struggled up the stairs. Midway through the first flight, the weight made her sink and slip. At this, she heard a frustrated growl.

"No-no sir! Sir! That's not necessary!"

"Quiet! I'll teach this lazy (n-word) to obey!" Before Carrie could even turn around she heard the heavy footsteps and wheezing from the fat man's efforts to waddle from his cart seat to up the few steps she managed before she felt another lash on her back. Carrie yowled and struggled against the gravity of the slope and weight of the two bags. After a few agonising efforts, she had made it to the second flight, only to struggle dearly. The whip came again. Again. And again.

"SIR! I'll have you trespassed if you continue this-!"

"SHUT IT!" the roar came before a threatening whisper as Carrie struggled onto her feet, "If ya cost me this payment, ya'll be the one to pay! MOVE!"

The last thing Carrie could remember from that day was a final lash, a snap within her ankle and the pain and momentum of falling...

With a shake of the head, Carrie brought herself back into reality. With a heavy sigh, she took a moment to look around the room. Everyone was occupied. However, there was something that caught her ear and both sent a rush of shock down her spine and fear slam the front of her head. The shuffling of someone moving behind her, but... everyone alive was in front of her and she was not facing the door. Spinning around, she was greeted by a screeching face and flailing limbs.

"KAW-!" Carrie shrieked as she leapt back, losing her stoic aura as the man screeched like a fox being ripped apart before reaching into her holster, only to feel her hand slip in. The gun was still in Jim-Boy's saddle bag! Cursing under her breath, she pulled her hunting knife out but before she could attack, it lunged and swiped. Carrie leapt away, with the speed it was moving at, it'd be impossible to get close without being harmed herself. All she could do was flail her knife in the hope that she could hold it off until someone came. "Sspómmookit! i’nitsísa! Annohk!!" She called out, praying that the desperation in her voice would get their attention.

 

[Vudukudu]

↽LOCATION⇁
The Dust Bowl, Dodge City

↽INTERACTIONS⇁

​

Ryan † Lonnady ​

Ryan's content to let the Ranger go about her business and make her pitch to the rest, seeing as he's disinterested in the opportunity for the moment. When she suddenly squeals, falls, and her gun roars again, he snaps back to attention. Fists raised defensively, he whirls towards her only to see she'd cratered the skull of one of the corpses. "The hell you doin' that fer?" He barks, his opinion of this woman steadily getting worse after seeing her get brutalized in the bar fight and then panic over a corpse. When the dark and light-skinned woman lets out a scream of her own in her strange tongue, he turns in time to catch sight of her defending herself against.. wait a darned second, he shot that man just a minute ago.

Folks weren't supposed to stand back up after getting holes blown in 'em, and the revelation that this here fellow was dead but weren't momentarily stuns Ryan's senses. Fortunately, his muscle memory kicks in despite his confusion and he lunges forward like a horse leaping forward. The thing was facing away from him, and that meant he had the opportunity to go for what Siu Fan had called a wild strike, a blow of the sort where you turned and exposed your back awfully stupid-like to get maximum power behind the blow. Twisting right at the hips, he grabs a chair and throws the whole weight of his body and a nice twist of the hips behind it, connecting the heavy end of the chair with the dead man's spine and obliterating the flimsy chair, spraying splinters and chunks of broken chair across the room as his target gets bent over forward.

When, without much trouble, he stands back up, Ryan resorts to more permanent measures. Using the remaining momentum from his run, he braces on one leg and launches the other foot forward in a low kick, connecting with the back of his calf and sending him down to one knee. With a brutish grunt, he wraps his right hand around the man's face, swallowing his nose and forehead up in his meaty palm, and then throws his left around to grab his chin and the right side of his jaw. His right shoulder rocks downward and he twists left just after, and with a sickening crack and snapping sound, enough to make folks sick to their stomach, he wrenches the man's jaw left and cracks it, just about freeing his jaw from the rest of his skull. The shock and pain alone would kill most men, but Ryan follows it up by raising his fists over his head, joining them, and then launching a downward hammer swing that cracks into the back of the man's head.

When the dead man slumps over, this time on a permanent basis, he steps away while sucking in deep breaths, filling his body with oxygen preemptively in case another one rises. Reaching blindly for the nearest table without taking his eyes off the bodies on the floor, he grabs a heavy looking mug and drains its contents before flipping it over in his hand, ready to use it as a bludgeon.

 

[zippy]

↽LOCATION⇁
The Main Road, Dodge City

↽INTERACTIONS⇁
One-eye Jeff | Evie idiot

​

Gabriel † Clarke ​

"No, no you misunderstand me. I don't-"

"A shake is a shake. Turnin' yer back after an agreed deal? Now that's just bad karma. God don't look too favorably on that now."

Gabriel sputtered, his words jamming in his throat as he tried to come up with something to say. How could he tell the man that he was only shaking to introduce himself, without making himself out to be a total idiot? They exchanged looks, Jeff looking rather smug and Gabriel growing increasingly red by the second. Jeff had a devious twinkle in his own eye, his anger quickly faded once he realized the man seemed to feel obligated to help. Unknowingly, Jeff had struck a real chord in Gabriel. Appeals to God, no matter how shaky, always made him feel especially vulnerable. The idea that God was disappointed in him frightened him to his core. So in a way, Gabriel was now obligated to help Jeff in his quest.

"Well, alright..." he said slowly, reaching up to tuck his curling locks behind an ear. He started to speak again but was interrupted once more. This time, however, it was not by One-eye Jeff's sleazy voice. Someone had collided into him from behind, sending him flying forward a bit before he could catch his balance again. Somehow he kept his wits about him as he turned around, but Gabriel was half expecting the sight of another mangled dead-but-not-dead person to greet him. Instead, he was met with the soft and quick apologies from the young girl who'd been inside the tavern with him. He supposed she'd followed him out, equally disturbed by the suddenly reanimating corpses. Good on her.

He waved off her apologies, not too bothered by her clumsiness. Instinctively he turned back to face Jeff, partially stepping in front of the girl to block her from his sights. He didn't trust the strange man, getting the feeling that pretty young girls didn't look his way much. The uncouth man didn't take long to confirm Gabriel's suspicions either. His tongue slithered vulgarly across his bottom lip, and the Priest allowed the disapproval on his face to speak for itself. There was a pause in Jeff as he took a curious step forward, eyes flicking back and forth from Gabriel to the girl and then back again. A beat of uneasy silence passed before being broken by sudden, loud squawks of laughter. Jeff had doubled over, tears welling up in his one eye before he finally straightened himself out enough to speak again.

"Yer kind sure do like 'em young don't ya," he squeezed out between his unwelcome giggles. Gabriel's frown deepened, wrinkles of confusion interrupting the smooth of his brow. "You righteous folk, hm? Best to bed 'em young, that's your philosophy ain't it?"

It was only then that Gabriel understood, his attempt at a fatherly act had been perceived in the worst possible way. Worse yet, he couldn't even defend himself, as when he began to speak he was cut off yet again.

"Nevermind yer defenses. She can come with, I don't care. Jus' get me my gun back."

Finally, Jeff turned and left the two standing at the side of the road. Gabriel covered his face with his hands and sighed heavily. "I agreed to help that man," he mumbled, hoping that despite the oddness of the circumstances she would accompany him.

 

[Office Worker Craig]

xxxx

Location:The Dust Bowl, Dodge City.

Interactions: Hell0NHighWater

Francis †

Francis agreed on the cowardly man's approach. Their plans, however, was quickly interrupted when an odd woman came into the tavern. The woman wore a beautiful blue dress. Though it was quite revealing, it had some sort of class, unlike the plain and dirty clothing others were wearing. It reminded Francis of Britain with all sorts of beautiful dresses the people wore, caring deeply about how they presented. It was so different here in America where there was no point in keeping up a good appearance if you'll be dead in the next visit at the tavern.

The woman had an interesting proposal. It was a job, including the Ranger Mcree fellow she spoked about. The job seemed simple, just a seemingly easy investigation job that held great value, $450 to be exact, though money was something Francis didn't need. Information was the true value to him.

The brute of a man who the woman assumed to be this Ranger Mcree fellow suddenly went on the tirade, making a reference about the confederate and things alike. Francis had heard of the Northern and Southern war of America, back when he was still young enough to continue his work as a Journalist. As the fellow calmed down, the blonde woman who was knocked out earlier announced herself to be the true Ranger Mcree, a debate between the two women was then followed. Such a unique exchange, were there no paperwork or pre-determined meeting to make assigning task and assignments easier? America truly was a backward country and Francis was loving it.

As the two women talked, Francis couldn't help it but get intrigued when the said Ranger mentioned of the mine being haunted by a ghost. Though it was likely that the woman was joking, she seemed pretty serious when she asked for a raised in the award money if the case truly involved a ghost. Before they could finish their small debate, however, the woman in blue left the tavern, leaving an unsatisfied Ranger.

She turned to them, proposing people to join her on her little quest. Francis had no intention on joining her on the little mission within a dirty mine, he was a tired old man and desperately needed a place to sleep. Like scenes of a haunted novel, the man that was shot dead before suddenly stood up and reached for the ranger. The Ranger struggled from the undead's grip. Francis looked at the creature wide-eyed and stubbled back, this is something that he wasn't warned about. He held his cane tightly, fearful that the dead were walking. What was this creature, no such thing could exist could it? This was...this was something unnatural.

He stared at the creature deeply, the pressure of his heart raising. A non-superstitious man like him couldn't explain the horrors he was witnessing, he feared that he might get a heart attack. Was it healed somehow or strong air suddenly possessed its body? Then a realisation came to Francis. The Ranger sounded confident about the existence of a ghost and creatures alike, was this one of the many unholy abominations that existed in this foreign land? A creature like this was thing people outside the country will never see, this was something...he needed. He knew there was something truly special in America and this proved of it. This was proof that his adventure in this foreign was all the more worth it. What better way to end his career but to report on not just America, but the unnatural horrors it held.

There was panic from the coloured woman, screaming from a language Francis had never heard of before, coloured folks don't have their own language, do they? The woman in the pretty dress was also in a panic, someone needed to do something quickly.

The brute of a man swiftly went into action. Using his mere force, he was able to wrestle the undead creature, being able to gain power over it and kill it with a quick snap of its neck.

What a bloody champion, He thought, If I ever write a report about America's greatest people, he would surely be on it.

In strong contrast, the man from earlier mumbled about not being in the right place then hastily exited the tavern, the woman in red dress then soon followed. Francis couldn't help but see the man's cowardness to be well too amusing, especially since he just witnessed a burly man take down the undead with his bare arms.

He carefully walked towards the dead undead. Using his cane he tapped its head, noticing the massive hole behind his back. There was no way someone could have survived such a wound, this was truly a walking dead.

He turned to the ranger. "Ranger, if it is true that a spectre haunts the mines you wish to explore, I would like to join you. You could have all the award money, all I care about is witnessing another unnatural event such as this. I am an efficient investigator if I say so myself so I would be a good help." Francis then looked over the numerous bodies that littered the tavern. He reached for the hilt of his cane, ready to pull out the sword it holds. "That is...if not more of the dead starts walking."

 

[idiot]

↽LOCATION⇁
The Main Road, Dodge City

↽INTERACTIONS⇁
One-eye Jeff | Gabriel zippy

​

Evie † Ellsworth ​

Evie's face scrunched up in a scowl, watching the decrepit, foul man's tongue running along his dry lips. His eyes were predatory, as though stalking her like a deer. Luckily, the priest from the bar stood in front of Evie, seemingly guarding her. Suddenly the man was cackling, tears filling those beady eyes. Evie was ready to ask what he was laughing about before he spoke up.

"Yer kind sure do like 'em young don't ya. You righteous folk, hm? Best to bed 'em young, that's your philosophy ain't it?" Evie internally rolled her eyes, knowing the disdain for him was clearly present on her face; men really are something else...Evie thought. Her mind lingered on the idea of this man and some that filled the bar; are they all like this outside of the city?

The priest tried to defend himself but was swiftly cut-off by the beaded man. "Nevermind yer defences. She can come with, I don't care. Jus' get me my gun back." Gun? Why was a priest helping this disrespectful old man find his gun? Watching the man leave, Evie's gaze settled on the priest who let out a hefty sigh. The priest had brightly-lit blue eyes upon closer inspection, with a rather pale complexion like Evie's. Unlike the brutish cowboy who saved her earlier, the priest had a less...threatening appearance? Evie almost didn't hear the priest speak.

"I agreed to help that man." He seemed embarrassed, Evie noted, as the priest remained in front of her. Mm...this one is even better, a puny man who prays for a false God. Evie feigned a smile for the priest, trying to not let the distress show. The heiress had more than enough practice at feigning emotions, and while distress was harder, Evie smiled through it all. Chaos ensued from behind the saloon's doors which only made Evie want to leave more.

"If you don't mind, sir, I'd love to accompany you. I have no desire to remain here any longer." Evie's sweet smile followed, tucking a piece of loose hair behind her ear. Despite the innocence radiating through, the voices continued to pester Evie; they say the blood of priests is sweeter than most...

 

[Hell0NHighWater]

↽LOCATION⇁‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎↽MUSIC TO SET THE MOOD⇁
=Dodge City=‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎The Heavy Horses - Pale Rider
‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎
↽INTERACTIONS⇁‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎↽OOC⇁
Office Worker Craig |@Vudukudu ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Srry for the quality, I'm brain dead
Rumble Fish
TenshuZninja | Epiphany

† JULIET MCCRAE †​

"This is no place for a man such as myself. I really must be going now."

She turned her head towards the priest as the door swung shut behind him. The young woman in the red dress followed. Juliet frowned slightly, feeling a bit of uneasiness settle in her stomach. Deep down she knew that this wasn't going to be easy, convincing folks wasn't going to be easy, but for some reason everything suddenly felt a bit more impossible in that moment. Kicking the clammy grip of the formerly and presently deceased off of her ankle, she used a nearby table to help pull herself to her feet.

"The hell you doin' that fer?"
Her gaze snapped to the Yankee, expression drawn in hues of irritation, "If ya had eyes, you'd know—"

"KAW-!"

The scream rattled her enough that she swirled around with the hammer of her gun already drawn back. A hulking mass blocked her shot and it took her a split second to realize that the crazy asshole was beating the undead to death. She snickered a little at the irony, slowly returning her pistol to its holster. The sheer force the of that bludgeoning should have been enough to kill anyone twice. When he was done, silence crept across the tavern.

The older gentleman she had seen at the bar earlier was the first to speak, "Ranger, if it is true that a spectre haunts the mines you wish to explore, I would like to join you."
Her brows lifted in surprise, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her shirt sleeve, "Well, I don't know if it's a ghost fer sure but—"

"You could have all the award money, all I care about is witnessing another unnatural event such as this."

She blinked, "Did you just say all—"
"I am an efficient investigator if I say so myself so I would be a good help."
"Right," she drawled, watching the way his hand moved to the hilt of his cane. There was something about him that made her believe he wasn't exactly what he appeared to be.

"That is...if not more of the dead starts walking."

Juliet felt the need to move almost without end; if her limbs were moving then the anxiety was gone, or at least she could ignore it a while. So instead of directly retorting to his ominous sentence, she
began to pace back toward the bar. "Well I ain't gonna stick around to find out. I got a mine to de-ghost an' some crazy ol' man to find," Juliet stuck her hand over the bar top and snagged a bottle of whiskey. Pulling the cork out, she gave it a sniff before taking a quick swing.

Clearing her throat she focused her attention on Marisol, the young woman who had screamed, and a woman who she presumed was Marisol's friend. Her gaze flickered over to the elder gentleman and then back, "I'll tell ya what: I'm goin' to go deal with this mine—and yes, Sir, I have no qualms about you comin' with so long as you don't get yourself dead—but if you ladies would be willin' to ask the local Reverend about the whereabouts of Coot Jenkins, I'll pay you for the information."

Juliet didn't wait for a response, turning on her heels after flashing the three of them a smile. She strolled toward the door, bottle still in hand. "Alright, ol' timer try an' keep up." She mused, stepping out of the tavern and into the light of day.


[/color]

 

[Vudukudu]

↽LOCATION⇁
The Dust Bowl

↽INTERACTIONS⇁
Hell0NHighWater
​

RYAN † LONNADY ​

Once things seem to have calmed down, Ryan discards the hefty mug he'd grabbed and dusts himself off, giving the third dead man in the room a weary kick in the ribs before settling down. That one had a hole in his head already, and judging by the other two maybe that was responsible for keeping him down. Not being terribly prone to scientific questions, Ryan is content to settle for that and credit the disturbing event to some sort of Satanic witchery. It is not his place to question, after all.

Well, not until that foolish Ranger lass decided to let the foreign codger tag along on her suicide mission. Pretty girl, but not half a mind behind those eyes if she thought she ought to tackle this problem alone after getting busted up that badly just a minute ago. For all he cared she could wander off and catch a bullet, one less Jeanny Reb bastard in the world, but bringing along some old pen-pusher was going to get him and her both killed. If'in he remembered correctly, Jesus had said something about coming as a sword, and Jesus were a good sort, so maybe a shield would have been more apt if he was talking about being protective, but maybe Jesus just weren't the greatest with metaphors and anyway what's his business questioning the Lord?

"Hey now." Ryan says, turning towards the Ranger just in time for her to step out. Lumbering over the bodies and overturned furniture, Ryan steps outside into the sun and gives the Ranger's shoulder a tap with one of his sausage-thick fingers. "Ain't right of me to just let folks go out and get themselves dead. And, well, you might be able to take care of yourself but that English feller is gonna need someone keeping an eye on him. I'll settle fer.. two hunn'erd, cover expenses and fees owed for savin' your pretty head from an early grave. Just going to give most of it as alms anyway."

 

[Office Worker Craig]

↽LOCATION⇁
Dust Bowl

↽INTERACTIONS⇁
Vudukudu Hell0NHighWater
​

FRANCIS † ALEXANDER ​

(Sorry for poor quality, best I could come up with)
Francis grinned as the ranger accepted his request to be her company. She exited the tavern, he was more than happy to follow her out.

As they exited, the alpha of a man followed them outside and came up to the ranger. He looked away from them, pretending he wasn't paying attention, eavesdropping on their conversation. There was nothing of value to note besides the fact of the man showing a slight concern for him, urging to follow them as he requests for payment.

Kind of you to think caringly for an old soul like me. He thought. But fear not, my body might be fragile but both my mind and spirit are barely weathered.

"Nice to join you...uh," Francis paused. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name, same for you ranger. If we're going to work together on this, it might be best to get acquainted with one another. The name's Francis Alexander, nice to meet both of you."