Realistic or Modern Johannsson, WY - A Small Town Out West (Western RP)

[Winter_Wolf]

(Here's a Marty Robbins ballad to get you in the western mood!)



Welcome to Johannsson

Maybe you're from around here, or maybe you're just coming into town, but you're in Johannsson, Wyoming in 1880 anyhow. Wyoming Territory--it ain't a state yet. The Wyoming Territory was established in 1868, and wouldn't you believe it, not only did women get to vote the next year but Colter and Bridger were right about Yellowstone, so the federals made it a shiny new "National Park" in 1872.

Johannsson ain't the biggest or the prettiest itself, Cheyenne wins on the first bit for sure. And not least thanks to the railroad. Some other towns may have gotten the railroad, but hell no one in Johannsson's seen a single tie laid down except maybe on the tailor's shop counter. Yes, now that is one thing we do have--we're not entirely devoid of human culture out here. We have a few trade shops, not to mention the general store, saloon, and all. It's just we ain't no Manhattan. Or Cheyenne, but we've covered that.

There's some other things we have in the region, and that would be bandits and natives. You best get some protection for yourself if you don't already got it, because the law's probably not disposed. Maybe you have other ways besides good old firearms to deal with undesirables--or God forbidding, you are one yourself. There's a lot of things we know about each other in this little town...but perhaps not everything...

The RP

Welcome to the official RP thread!

NOTE: I said before that this is the first RP I have set up, so I hope that I'm starting it off alright, and not leaving you unsure of how to begin. I have some idea of what I'm supposed to do but still learning, so any feedback would be appreciated so I can improve it. Despite never having done this before I just couldn't let this RP drop because I was itching for a western RP!

The Town: TL,DR the setting is a fictional small western town in the Wyoming Territory circa 1880 named Johannsson. Named after its founder, Carl Johannsson who died many years ago. It doesn't have the railroad, which has made things difficult, but you can assume that the town is still afloat...for a time.

Scope: I imagine it only makes sense that you would be allowed to go outside the town at times. At least to the areas around Johannsson and fictional neighboring towns, if not a couple of large real towns/cities like Cheyenne and Denver. However Johannsson and its people should still be the focus. (by the way, the picture there isn't our town, but it is a historical photo of Cheyenne from 1867)

RULES: I'm going into this assuming that I won't need to tell you all--ahem, y'all--how to act or what not to do. I'm assuming I won't have to throw the gauntlet down. That goes for post length as well. Aim for at least a few sentences or a paragraph as the goal, but you can use your judgement from post to post. I encourage you to be creative and have fun!

CHARACTER THREAD: Make your character before posting.
Small Town Out West Characters (Western RP)
The Saloon (WY Western RP OOC/chat)

*Shoots Pistol* "AND YOU'RE OFF!"

 

[Mr_Wiki_96]

“A dollar? Are you kidding me? A dollar!?” she exclaimed. Jenny stands in a general store, visibly angry at the old shopkeeper in front of her. She proceeds to aggressively pick up the small bottle of herbs placed on the countertop; it sat beside a couple of fresh deer pelts.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to get these? They only grow on the other side of the damn territory.”

“Fine then, two dollars,” concedes the shopkeeper. Jenny gives a frustrated sigh, showing her continued dissatisfaction with him.

“I want five dollars.”

“Five dollars!?”

“You heard right.”

“I’m not giving you five dollars for some flowers.” Jenny rolls her eyes at his ignorance and puts the jar in front of his face to emphasize her point.

“These are not just some ‘flowers’, these are the herbs that you specifically requested because you wanted to make your own medicine and compete with Doc Harrison down the street. I agreed to help because I know where they grow and I know where to get them. All I want is to be fairly paid for my work. Don’t you dare punish me because you were to stupid do your goddamn work.” she concludes her rant at him by slamming the bottle of herbs back down to the countertop. The shopkeeper gives a short gasp to her liberal use of the swear and her disregard for his establishment. He looks at her dead in her eye with contempt, internally holding himself back from lashing out.

“Now look. I do not appreciate being berated in my own store nor do I appreciate your blatant disregard for our Lord. So I will give you a chance to apologize and maybe we can come to a better deal.”

Both look at each other in a deadlock, neither backing down and both brimming with disdain at each other. The shopkeeper starts to slowly move his hand to under the countertop. Jenny does nothing as his hand reaches its destination. A metallic click tingles the room. The shopkeeper inclines his neck as a warning to her. Jenny didn’t no warning. She knew what was under that table and she knew it wasn’t worth it. Without dignifying him a word, she takes her haul (the herbs and the pelts) and storms out of the shop.

She is greeted by the sight and smell of the town of Johansson, Wyoming. Men and women travel the boardwalk of the buildings around, traffic gallops peacefully through the street and the sound of hope and opportunity fills the air and all six senses. Jenny takes her haul and marches back to her horse tied at the hitching post, feeling very vexed by the altercation and by her luck. She places the jar into one of the many pockets on the horses' pouches and she starts to tie the pelts onto the back end of the horse; tightening them for safe caution. She then looks at the saloon down the street. Her energy to resist is worn out and her liver has suddenly become mighty thirsty. She heads on down the road and towards the drinking hole, passing various colors of folk; some of them got more gloomy as she got closer towards the bar.

As she enters the bar, she is welcomed by the bumbling and rambling of drunks, whores and the jaunty sound of music. The lively fire of the frontier burning well inside the saloon. She strolls up to the bar and addresses the barkeep. “Shot of whatever you got.” The barkeep understands and starts to pour her a glass. She waits patiently for her drink but she is interrupted by a blonde young who man who then casually relaxes at the bar near her. “I thought recognized you, Jenny. How you been?”

She doesn’t look at him and stares at the wall of alcohol behind the bar in front of her. “Alright”.

The young man senses her tone and reacts with a more retire expression. “Are you still mad at me?”
Unwavering, she replies, “I’m not mad”.

“You know, you don’t have to be disappointed in me, you’re not my mother.”

“I shouldn’t have to be.”

“Look, I was just trying to make a living, you know. Use my skills for something better. It ain’t my damn fault that bounty hunting pays.” She doesn’t say a word.

“I’m killing bad people and getting paid for it. That don’t make me no devil.” She still doesn’t say a word.

“Oh, fuck you.” He angrily moves away from the bar and marches out of the saloon. Jenny still doesn’t say a word, nor does she move her head away. All she does is look slightly down and exasperates. She knows she’s being harsh but her judgment stays. She doesn’t believe in taking another human life. She refuses to be that person. She knows people look at her with distaste at her morality but she doesn’t care. She was raised with morals and she will never betray that upbringing. Never. As she continues to be deep in thought, she is interrupted by the barkeep placing her order in front of her.

“Thanks”, she acknowledges. She takes a gulp of her drink and stays at the bar, planning her next steps.

 

[Winter_Wolf]

Father Warren Jameson was sitting at one of the tables in the saloon, between errands and jobs. He was wearing black pants and a white shirt with suspenders, covered by a matching black suit jacket. He tapped his foot to the music being played in the saloon, finishing a pour of whiskey at the conclusion of the song.
"Not bad," he said to the musician.
"Thank you. You still have your fiddle?"
"Oh yes, that I do."
"Well why don't you bring it over when you like, that way it ain't just me playing."
"Right," Warren Jameson nodded, getting up from his seat. He paused, not quite upright, as he felt and heard a rip. He screwed up his eyes and removed the jacket.

"Oh, God damn it," he grumbled, "well, that'll need fixing..."

There was a rip between the shoulders. He shook his head as he started towards the door of the saloon. Before he reached the exit he snagged his eyes on the sight of a couple missing floorboards in the opening beside the bar where the bartender would be able to get behind it from the rest of the saloon. Jameson spied the new wood boards leaning in the corner, along with a hammer and nails. He rolled up his sleeves, put his jacket aside, and moved towards the new task. The bartender noticed after taking a man's order.

"You don't need to do that, preacher. I was planning on doing it myself soon anyhow," the bartender said. Jameson began to manipulate the wood, getting down on his knees and inspecting the wood before checking the fit.
"Well I'm doing it. It actually reminds me of the old store back in my childhood. We had a board or two go bad, and my father had the replacements and equipment laid out. I didn't put them in because I didn't think I was supposed to, but as it turned out, I was supposed to. I learned that it's best to just do the thing anyways."

He shifted most of his attention back to the wood, but heard heated voices at the bar, one female, the other male. He thought he recognized the voice of the female as Jenny Stewart but was focused on his work. The two voices subsided and a moment later, Father Warren brought down the hammer on the first nail, producing the expected sound. He banged the nail in and then paused to grab the next one.

 

[rusty]

Laura Adams

Secrets, what secrets? If you asked any person in Johannsson to tell you any tiny detail about another they'd be more than happy to. Most of the time, it was even truth. Everyone knows everyone in a small town like Johansson. Yet, for a town that knew everyone, there were still secrets left to be discovered. For example, Lance Anderson. Everyone read the paper, those who could read anyway, and those who couldn't got any news handed along to them by word of mouth. Sometimes people tried to write pieces in the paper under a pen name, but it never lasted. Either ideas were so obvious, or he got dunk in the saloon and started sharing his tales to whoever would hear them. And Lance Anderson? Not a soul in town knew him and it drove the town folks nuts. They'd stake out the printers, hoping to catch a glance of the mystery man. But it seemed he never delivered his articles in person, but paid a few to deliver it for him.

"Laura!" Clark bellowed as he entered the saloon, waving a copy of the paper over his head. "Fresh off da press!" Clark made his way to the bar where his sister was pouring a drink for a customer. "It don't look so fresh, Clark." Laura frowned at the paper in his hand as she finished pouring. "Weell, I maybe did sits on it a bit." Clark admitted, giving it a shake. "Whats ya do, Clark, let the horse sit on it?" Laura took the paper from him and peered at the front page. "Third page, sis." Clark leaned over the bar and picked up a cup and a bottle of whiskey. "Yer favorite writer, Lance whoesywhatit's back." Laura snatched the bottle out of his hand and pulled the cup towards her. "Ma says you is to stop drinkin'. She don't want yer to come back home with another fiancée ye can't name."

"Aw come on, Laura," Clark protested. "I done brought ye da paper, just a glass and I'll be on me way." He gave her the sweetest face he could muster and Laura shook her head. "Fine, but ya got to pay fer it yerself." She said, pouring the drink. "Aw, yer da best, sis." Clark piled a few coins on the bar and took a swig of his glass. Laura picked up the paper and handed it back to her brother. "Ye take this home with ya, I'll read it later."

"Aw, and now ye don'ts even wants it?" Clark held out his empty glass. "Just another one, 'eh? Laura took his glass and gave him a whack on his shoulder with the paper. "Ye gots work to do, scram!" Clark took the paper with a grumble and tipped his hat. "Mighty thanks, miss, see ya 'round." Clark swung around to leave, almost running into someone approaching from behind. "Pardon me, sir," He muttered, dodging around and scurrying out the doors.

Laura shook her head, looking around the saloon to see where she was needed next. Down the bar, the barkeeper himself was serving drinks and... someone was hammering their floor? Laura had been distracted by her conversation, and it took her a moment to realize it was the preacher, fixing the floor boards. Laura smiled, how kind of him to do so. Laura took a glass and poured a cup of whiskey, sauntering down the bar and set it on the end. "For yer work preacher," Laura addressed the man on the floor. "When ye done." She glanced at the barkeep. She'd take it out of her pay if he objected, but he tended to look the other way at such things.​

 

[Winter_Wolf]

"Eh?!" Father Jameson voiced, upon hearing Laura Adams' own voice.

He was still hammering in the final nail, and it went in with the next stroke. Jameson stood up, nodding at his work. The floor had been fixed and didn't look too shabby. He turned around towards the source of the female voice--he noticed the whiskey on the end of the bar as he did so. That's not mine, is it? he asked himself. He knew that he'd already finished his, but then he connected the dots.

"I thought someone had left the dram, or you'd forgotten about it--but no, you meant it for me then, Ms. Adams? Oh, you're too kind, let me produce a bill..." Father Jameson began to take out his money to pay. However he trailed off as he noticed her facial expression.

"Alright, young lady," he conceded, downing the whiskey, "if I mustn't. I suppose I'll save it for Miss Partridge as she might fix my torn suit jacket. I'll pay someone yet. But if you have just a moment, may I ask if you are doing well? Your family? I see Clark left, but what about your parents, and Polly was it? Do any of you need my services?"

 

[AshleyTheNarwhal]

The faint sound of a brush on paper is like music to Emily's ears. She hummed quietly as she painted. She had to start working soon and this was usually how she started her day. After she applied the final stroke she smiled softly and admired her own work. She did a painting of one of the mountains outside of town that she could see outside of her window. Emily put it on her desk and went to her wardrobe and tried to decide what she was going to wear for the day. She picked a plumb corset and skirt.

Emily made her way down stairs into cigarette smoked clouded saloon. There were quite a large number of people there, She saw a few of her usual "customers" she smiled and winked at them. She didn't go onto to perform for a little while yet. Emily decided to go outside and get some sun while she still could. She took off her shoes and walked around in the grass field for awhile. The soft grass felt good under her feet. It was nice outside, there was plenty of sun but a nice cool breeze was blowing. Emily's long dark hair blew in the breeze.
She sat down picked some wildflowers. They were so pretty, she would have to paint them later. She had so many paintings.

As it got closer for her to perform she went back inside the saloon and went backstage to her dressing room. She knew what she was going to do and it might be a bit taboo but she thought the patrons would definitely enjoy it. Emily left her plumb skirt on but didn't wear anything on top. She grabbed a guitar and went on stage behind the curtain. Emily sat on a stool with the guitar covering her breasts. The stage hand rolled back the curtain the patrons looking in awe. She smiled. The song she played on guitar sounded throughout the whole saloon. she started singing.

 

[Winter_Wolf]

(Bump N NoahtheGuy SandraDeelightful N NoahtheGuy you 3 haven't made a first post yet.)

 

[SandraDeelightful]

(So sorry. The holidays got to me. I'll try to post by tomorrow.)