Fantasy --Whisky and Bullets--

[ReverseTex]

It's the Wild West hun.. Anything can happen...
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Official RP Page. 
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Info and CS Sheet: 
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[ReverseTex]

 The Man in Black
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Taking in the dusty air, Will gave a kick to his horse as it began to pick up speed. Last night had been productive, he had won a little money in Durango, and left without a trace. Usually he ended up stabbing someone or simply shooting them when he went their, but guess he got lucky last night. Spotting the distant smoke of the incoming train to Brandywine, he'd beat the train, it looked about 15 miles out. Giving another valiant kick, he leaned against his horse's neck to pick up speed.
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Slowing down to a trot as he made the way to the front entrance. Will quickly studied the two man who stood waiting. One was and older man, around his own age probably, and the other around of college age. "Sir, please dispose of your weapons please," The eldest said, holding out his pudgy hand. Looking down upon the man he frowned, "Come on, you don't trust me?" Of course he knew the law here, so avoiding a quarrel, he pulled out his revolver, slapping its barrel into the man's hand. "Now you ain't gettin' my knife sir, or else i'll gut you with it." Tipping his sleek black hat to the man, he kicked his horse into a trot.
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Slowly making his way to the saloon, studying each of the townfolks going about their day. Sometimes he wondered himself how a normal life could've been. Sliding off of his horse, he quickly took the reins and tied it to the post outside of the saloon. Glancing back at the entrance where he spotted the younger man, who still stared at him, turning back around he walked into the saloon.
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The piano's joyous tone filled the air, along with the stench of smoke and whiskey. Debating whether or not to light a cigarette, he slowly made his way to the bar, exchanging a few stray glances around the room. Taking a seat at the bar, he spoke, his worn stern voice filled the air. "Glass of whiskey please, top shelf."
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@Lua
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[Lua]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Those who frequented the establishment often called her ‘Miss Em,’ though she never requested it. In her many years she had seen a lot of faces, memorized a lot of different names. Emmylou Reid was a savior to some and a disgrace to others. But, people often thought their own thoughts and there wasn’t much she could do about it unless some attitude needed to be thrown in. Her business wasn’t particularly booming that much anymore anyway - too many bible folks and those who felt they were too educated to drink. What miserable lives they must lead. The woman oversaw a lot that went on in the bar that her poor son slaved over when his mother was busy talking to customers. Not as many interesting strangers as when she was growing up. She spoke with travelers, but the law never allowed too many in that told the good stories. [/SIZE]


[SIZE=14.6667px]Today however, early afternoon brought in something that caught her attention. Well, from the looks of it, her father’s attention. Old man Tucker took up most of his afternoons sitting on an old rocker outside the saloon, creaking the porch to high hell as he rocked slowly back and forth. Her father wasn’t the same man he used to be, often forgetting things. It was when he looked like he remembered something important that Emmylou got curious. [/SIZE]


[SIZE=14.6667px]She was clearing some glasses away from a table when she saw her father walk into the room, graying eyebrows furrowed together and mustache twitching slightly. The kind of look somebody had when they were trying to recall something...or wanted to beat somebody to death. The woman looked from her father to the bar - found whom he was staring at. A stranger had managed to wander in past her eye site (and not that of the old man apparently). With her free hand she hoisted her skirts and went over to the other side of the room, walking around the bar just in time to hear the stranger place his drink order. [/SIZE]


[SIZE=14.6667px]“Right away Sir.” Her son Jackson had flashed a winning smile with his response; looked like he belonged on a postcard or something. Emmylou took an opportunity to go over and grab the bottle of whiskey before he got to it. [/SIZE]


[SIZE=14.6667px]“I don’t think you know how to pour top shelf yet, son.” She commented jokingly, flashing a similar smile to both Jackson and the stranger at the bar. She glanced up at her father, who was still standing the doorway. “Why don’t you go see if your grand-daddy needs anything, hm?” [/SIZE]


[SIZE=14.6667px]Her son was quick to follow her demand; leaving Emmylou to pour a glass almost to the brim. [/SIZE]


[SIZE=14.6667px]“He woulda made you pay for it.” she commented, pushing the glass towards the stranger. With her free hand she reached up to make sure her brown hair was still secured in once place. If her father knew this man, he must be of some importance. Or the old man had actually lost it. From the looks of it Tuck was saying something to Jackson across the room, but Emmylou couldn’t make out the words over the music. [/SIZE]


[SIZE=14.6667px]“Anything else we can help you with today, stranger?” She now placed her hand flat on the bar, her other on her hip; hoping she could get some information without being to nosey. [/SIZE]

 

[ReverseTex]

[COLOR= rgb(39, 42, 52)]The Man in Black[/COLOR]
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Taking another double-take around the saloon, Will's attention was quickly diverted to a young boy tending the bar. Giving a wink to the boy, as  who appeared to be his mother, brushed him away. Feeling a lingering stare on the back of his head, he turned around once more to see a old man with widened eyes. Tipping his hat, Will turned back around to see the bartender, along with the whiskey he ordered.
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"Much obliged," he said taking the shot, setting the glass back down on the worn mahogany bartop. Giving a once over, he replied, "Well now that you ask I do have one question. I'm afraid I haven't been here in quite some time, and that man over there looks quite familiar. Happen to know his name?" Looking back at the old man, who looked slightly lost, he returned his gaze to the bartender.
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@Lua
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[idalie]

Little Miss Lillywhite
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[SIZE=14.666666666666666px]

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Unlatching her windows during the cool morning, Lillywhite yawned and stretched upward. Padding about in her nightgown as she unwound her dark blonde locks from the rollers she slept in. Always bathing before bed, to get the best curls - yet also giving her the pleasant aspect of being clean. Something she'd become slightly more inclined to do, raised in a House of God. Cleanliness next to Godliness. Discarding her bedwear, she pulled her undergarments overhead; the various petticoats, stockings, till finally the dress itself. A deep blue number, decorated in the simplistic functioning fashion, that was plenty popular among Western women. Rose's collar, decorated by a little silhouette carved of ivory, and ringed with silver - once her mothers. At last shuffling over to her vanity, she collapsed on the stool with a sigh and began the arduous process of pinning her hair up. The finishing touches, completed by powdering light pink on the apples of her cheeks, graciously sprinkling the signature scent of rose water over her wrists and neck. Managing to bend over in her corset awkwardly, the young woman then masterfully slipped her feet into the heeled boots, that elevated her height from a meagre five foot four to five foot five. At last sitting up, she inhaled deeply with an unladylike slouch as she thanked the Lord for being able to accomplish the task without fainting this time from lack of air and blood flow. Corsets would forever remain the bane of her life.
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Moving downstairs, encountering her father, Lilly-Rose flashed a cherubic grin. "Mornin' papa." She called, making her way round to set herself down with the bread and preserves. Spreading butter and jam across the toast lavishly whilst the preacher continued to roll his eyes upwards. "I would be richer, to make jam than have you eat it. Anyhow, Rosie, I need you to go out shoppin' for me. I'm writin' up Sunday's sermon. The list is in your basket, but drop in at the saloon and see if Miss Em wouldn't mind doin' a stall for the Church fête. Last years one was good for donations, and well, we could do with a newer set of bibles. But be safe in that bar, I'm trustin' you Lil' Missy." Rose gave a determined nod, as she finished her toast. "Sure, pa-" "One more thing, darlin'. Stop lookin' into what happened at Pariah. God gave us an answer, it was those Indians. Leave it. No good comes from diggin' up graves" The young woman scoffed, till standing up with her chair scraping backwards. "I can try, daddy, but I gotta go." Snatching up basket and parasol, she vanished from the front door, using a few clicks of the latch. 
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As the woven basket, rested in the nook of her elbow, Miss Lillywhite ventured out into the hot dusty surroundings of Brandywine. Pushing up the parasol, letting the small umbrella cast shade over her lightly sunkissed features she grasped at the skirts of her dress and jogged over the main street toward the open saloon doors, ducking through the wooden archway and sign as she vanished from the desert heat into the smokey haze of the bar, only to see Miss Em caught up in conversation. Yet she could most definitely bide her time by patience whilst taking a breather at the counter and putting her parasol down. The basket balanced upon a stool.
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@Lua
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[madame moiselle]

Andreas Smith
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Back in Brandywine, thought Andreas Smith, an odd pang of sorrow hitting him rather hard and unexpectedly. He should be happy; this is his home town, the place of his birth, of his childhood. Yet why were so many bitter memories made here? This wasn't only his birthplace, this was the birthplace of his sorrow, of his many sins, of his glorified stealing talent, and the starting point of going down that dark path, right up to now, where he's still a damn criminal, an outlaw, a fugitive. 
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Andreas was on his mustang, Snare, a beautiful, free-spirited mare with a sleek black coat and one hell of a temper. He had just come back from Pariah. The young cowboy had last left Brandywine just over a year ago; the discovery of his mother's tragic death and his father's current state devastating, driving Andreas right out of Brandywine again, even though he had only spent one night (in the tavern mostly) back at his hometown, after a whole three years with the nonexistent Clifton Gang. 
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The Clifton Gang.
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The words were sullen in Andreas's mouth. The young man felt a flush of memories overtake him, all about the rise and fall of the Clifton Gang. Oh, the glory days; Andreas was living 'em well. Andreas finally felt accepted among the members, finally felt as if he was more than a nuisance, a burden. He finally felt as if he were worth something. 
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He had been a staple in the rise to power of the Clifton Gang. Because of his thieving talents, the Clifton Gang soon became a name to fear, a name to behold, a name that would seemingly never fade away.
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But that's exactly what happened. 
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It seemed fate had a cruel sense of humour; the Clifton Gang fell just as quickly as it rose to power. Andreas clenched the rein he had in his hand in quiet fury, remembering how many members are now dead, many of them being his friends. People who had helped him, guided him into being the person he was now. 
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Maybe that wasn't necessarily a good thing.
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Snare snorted, signaling that they were at the entrance of Brandywine. A pudgy-looking old man came up to him, holding out his hand. Andreas kept his head low, knowing the brim of his hat hid his face. "Weapons, sir," said the man. Andreas regretted giving up his pistol, but he wasn't looking for a fight today. He just needed a place to stay and a good mug of beer. 
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Luckily though, Andreas had a few cleverly hidden knives tucked away, hidden from the men's view. "Anythin' else?" inquired the elder. Andreas shook his head, and kicked his horse's flanks to get her going. 
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Brandywine looked different. More buildings, more roads, more folks milling about.  A pang struck Andreas; how much did Brandywine change in a year?
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Andreas hopped off Snare, and latched her next to a trough filled with water, so the mustang could drink. He was feeding the mare a few oats, until he saw a dainty, pretty girl clutching a parasol, jog up to the saloon, making him remember he had wanted to grab a mug of whiskey or two as well. 
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He left his mare to drink, and entered the saloon.
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@Lua
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@HumansArentReal
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@ReverseWells
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[Lua]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Emmylou was not too surprised by how the stranger questioned who her father was. She watched as her son led the old man back out onto the porch; the old timer looked as if his interest in the stranger had vanished - another thing that was not surprising. Still, how did the newcomer know her father? Perhaps just had a familiar look about him. She wasn’t too sure. Before he started to go, Tuck was probably one of the sternest yet kindhearted people in the whole county; his family had been in the trade business since the first settlers wandered out in the ox drawn carriages. His father had bought the Saloon many moons ago and now it looked as if Emmylou was going to be stuck with it. If anything her father losing his sanity made the locals feel empathetic, daily people stopped by to talk with him and catch up.[/SIZE]

 
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[SIZE=14.6667px]“You really must not be from around here, stranger.” Emmylou flashed a smile again and she brought her attention back to the man in front of her. “That’s my father, Tucker Blue. Tuck, the fellas call him. He knows just about one person in every single town up to the great state of New York.” The woman nodded, reconfirming her statement as she went to pour her new friend another drink. “Ain’t got the mind he used to though. Doc says it’s part of him getting old. Old bastard didn’t think about passing on his name till he was nearly forty.”[/SIZE]

 
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[SIZE=14.6667px]God must have heard her refer to her father with such unladylike terms. Emmylou had caught sight of a familiar parasol being closed and a tiny figure entering. The preacher must have thought it was safer to send his daughter out in the afternoon - though the amount of drunks that stumbled out was just the same in the evening. She didn’t have an awful relationship with the church, it was mostly the ladies who found it unethical an unmarried woman was practically running a business. Their talk was cheap and their lives were boring; Em probably talked to most of their husbands more than they did. [/SIZE]

 
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[SIZE=14.6667px]“Pardon me Sir, you let me or my boy know if you need something.” The woman excused herself from the conversation and went to join the preacher's daughter down at the other end of the bar. Jackson had come back around now, around the bar again. He didn’t stop to say what his grandfather was going on about; he was so used to hearing sense the one day and nonsense the next. [/SIZE]

 
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[SIZE=14.6667px]“And to what do I owe this pleasure, young lady?” Emmylou asked the younger girl; hands back on her hips. Sometimes her arms got tired from the amount of gestures she performed in a day.  “You look hot in that collar, you want something to drink?” She paused; reaching up and pulling a strand of hair that had fallen loose behind her ear. “Water? Sweet tea?” [/SIZE]


[SIZE=14.6667px]@HumansArentReal[/SIZE]

 

[ReverseTex]

[FONT= 'Times New Roman']The Man in Black[/FONT]


Listening to the women's story, as she set another glass down for him, this time not for free. Setting down the change, for


both drinks, Will moled over the story he was just told. Of course he knew Tuck, he was the bartender in his day, but he hadn't been for certain. He was almost positive he was the sole reason for the signature shotgun behind the bar, which had been pulled on him once. Maybe he'd stop and say a hello, see what the feeble man would do.


Looking over at the young woman who sat down, he stared down at the golden whiskey, silently listening to their conversation. So she was the preachers daughter.. He had snuck to Pariah to get a gander at the ceremony for the pile of bodies, and her father was the one crossing his chest for their rotting souls.


Taking the shot, Will stood up, and slid on his leather gloves. Turning around, he spotted a young face he'd seen before. If he wasn't mistaken, the boy was a former Clifton Gang member, a pity of a group honestly. Purposely brushing  past the young man, he gave a double take, then made his way out of the door, the bright desert sun casting an ominous shadow upon the sauden earth.


Seeing the bartender's son, along with ol' Tuck on the porch of the inn. Making his way to the wooden pole which held up the overhanging roof, he leaned against it lighting a cigarette. "So Tuck, remember me?" He said simply, his icy cold eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat.


(Mentions: @HumansArentReal @Esther_Silvers


@Lua)

 

[idalie]

Little Miss Lillywhite
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"Just here for my pa, Miss Em." Rose replied, offering another grin that stretched her plump lips upwards revealing pearly white rows. "Sorry if I interrupted your conversation, I thought it be best to stop by here first." She then proceeded to bite the inside of her cheek with indecision. "I suppose a sweet tea wouldn't hurt, much obliged. Although I stopped by since this years church fête, its still a few months off but Preacher thought to ask if you were doin' a stall this year? All donations go toward the church and charity fund, but it's a chance to make a little extra on the side of business. Plus I doubt it'd be a party without you and your whisky." Lilly-Rose laughed, setting herself down on a stool beside the basket. "Oh, but I'll pay for the tea ma'am." 
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Lillywhite had always been a ray of sunshine wherever she managed to end up. As a child, Rose would constantly vanish from her father's side, to wander into various establishments. The saloon, barbers, bakers, you name it. All accompanied a few seconds later by a preacher half-mad with worry. It only managed to stop, when she got clipped on the corner of a carriage, spending a month confined to her house and an eagle-eyed nanny hovering over every move. The scar still faintly showed up on her left temple, in the right light. A jagged silver line. 
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Turning to glance over her shoulder as the older man beside them got to his feet, she noticed the young man enter. He couldn't have been older than twenty-three, with features you could cut a finger on. Her cheeks flushed when she caught herself staring, returning her attention to Emmylou. "Uh, well, yeah. That's what I'm here for." She remarked, shifting somewhat, her legs swinging. Although something told her she'd seen him before perhaps in passing. The town only had one school, and she knew almost every soul that had been to education and those which attended church. Alas, nothing came to mind. "I really do hope you can make it, We're tryin' to get a lotta more people involved. There'll be bull ridin' and everything. But for some reason, I don't see no female riders." Rosie huffed.
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@Lua
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@Esther_Silvers
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[Lua]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Emmylou listened to the younger girl and she moved around to get her a glass of tea; tall with a few ice cubes to keep it cool in the stuffy head. She could already see the sweat on the glass as she set in on the counter. “No need to pay, darlin.’ The old man goes through a least three pitchers a day.” She turned to set the pitcher behind her on the counter. “As for helping you’re paw out, I don’t see why we couldn’t.” She was glad the preacher had thought of her - had actually send his daughter to her instead of the old man. Perhaps a blessing in disguise that people would start taking her seriously? [/SIZE]

 
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[SIZE=14.6667px]Rose was going on about the events that would be taking place. Emmylou huffed a bit with the mention of bullriding. That was something now woman in this town would be caught dead doing - not even her. She may not have been much of a lady but being thrown around by a bull seemed like a one way ticket to death. She could picture it being something her father was going to do - and seeing that he stranger she served had wandered outside, she started to get nervous. [/SIZE]

 
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[SIZE=14.6667px]“Jackson, you best be fetching your grand-daddy some water. The heat will make his brain fry more.” Her son nodded quickly at her and grabbed a pitched and some glasses. After watching him go Emmylou turned back to her younger conversation partner, seeing that she had seemed to focus her attention on somebody else. The older woman sighed. “Darlin’,” she added “You tell your daddy he can come talk to me over some lemonade on Sunday about setting up for those donations.” That being said, she smirked at the girl and made her way over to the other side of the bar to say hello to another patron.[/SIZE]

@HumansArentReal
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~
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[SIZE=14.6667px]Meanwhile, outside Tuck had been convinced back into his rocking chair by his grandson. The man in black from inside did not waste any time coming out and lighting up a cigarette. It made the old man wish he hadn’t lost his pipe. When braced with the question on if the stranger was familiar, the old man leaned forward a bit, mouth twisting. “Ya’ll think you can roll in here and act like you own the place? You’re wrong, you son of a bitch.” [/SIZE]

 
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[SIZE=14.6667px]At that moment Jackson had walked outside, and hearing his grandfather's cursing he rushed over and knelt down beside the chair. “Now Grandpa, that isn’t how we treat guests. What if you were serving this man?” As he spoke, he poured a glass of water and placed it in the old mans hand. With his free one the old man made a gesture, waving his hand around frantically, and eventually smacking his grandson on the side of the head; nearly causing the boy to spill half the water he was holding onto the floor. [/SIZE]

 
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[SIZE=14.6667px]“You stop your book talk, boy.” The old man raised his voice as he pointed to the stranger. “That’s how many talk to each other. We call each other names. Bastard, son of a bitch, whore lover - why don’t you start acting like a man and get yourself a whore, son?” [/SIZE]

 
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[SIZE=14.6667px]Clearly embarrassed, Jackson shook his head and stood up, now facing the stranger his mother had spoken to in the bar earlier. “I’m really sorry, Mister.” He rambled, pouring water into the extra glass he brought out that was meant for him and holding it out to the stranger. “My grand-daddy ain’t that right in the head anymore.” He didn’t think to lower his voice for that comment, because Tuck had started up again.[/SIZE]

 
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[SIZE=14.6667px]“Boy, I know damn well who that is!” He raised his voice again, a few locals passing by stopping for a moment to see what the old man Tuck was going on about today. He pointed again at the stranger, furrowing his bushy eyebrows. “I just...can’t put my finger on it, is all. I’m old, boy. But I ain’t stupid like those doctors said.” He kept a finger on the stranger, only moving it up to point at the cigarette in his mouth. “Mister, be a pal and lend an old man some tobacco.”[/SIZE]


[SIZE=14.6667px]@ReverseWells[/SIZE]

 

[madame moiselle]

Andreas Smith
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The familiar smell of whiskey, stale, dusty wood and the chitter-chatter of fellow men brought comfort to Andreas. He made sure his entrance didn't attract too many eyes, and took a moment to enjoy the comfort the saloon always managed to bring. It was like his second home. 
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Home, thought Andreas, thinking of his tiny, ramshackle house on the poor side of town, remembering his pa. Wonder how Pa's been d---
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Andreas was interrupted rudely as an old man dressed in black, muscled into him, as if on purpose. Andreas glared at the old man, as he exited the saloon. A feeling of recognition sparked inside of Andreas; he had seen that geezer before. Heard of him, but never seen 'im in action. The Man in Black, the locals called him.
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A slight feeling dread bloomed inside of Andreas; he knew that was a sign. The old man must've recognized him as a fallen member of the Clifton Gang.
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Andreas tried to shake these worries away as he made his way to the counter. He caught the eye of a certain dainty, pretty girl, the one with the parasol. He caught the sudden flush of red on her cheeks, as she must've realized she had been looking too long, and turned around. Andreas smirked, glancing down for a moment, and looked up again, making his way to the counter. As he took a seat near the girl, he heard a snip of her conversation with the bartender, Emmylou. 
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As the word 'church' came into the conversation, Andreas knew this lady was a church girl. Bible-loving gals who never took a risk in their lives, and never felt true pain. He didn't hate the church-goers, but it ticked him off when they pretend to act as if they could relate to the things you've went through. Andreas had met those kinds of people. Bastards, they were.
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@Lua
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@HumansArentReal
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[ReverseTex]

[FONT= 'Times New Roman']The Man in Black[/FONT]


A smirk formed on Will's face, as he took a drag from his cigarette. "I'm 'fraid you might know who you're speaking to sir. I'm no outlaw, damn sure ain't a bounty hunter, so i'd watch you tone." Listening to the rest of his ramble with clear amusement, he watched as the boy returned, clearly awe-struck by the words his grandpa was using. "Really it's not problem boy, run along inside now." Lifting his head up slightly to make eye contact with Tuck, his icy cold eyes piercing like a bullet. "So since you say your ol' brain still in workin order, maybe you can help me out. Someone in this town is diggin to deep in some ol' myth, and I was curious to see if you might know who?"


@Lua

 

[idalie]

Little Miss Lillywhite
"If you're sure, but thank you, Miss Em." Rose, wrapped her tiny palm around the glass, already slightly damp with condensation as she brought the sweet tea to her lips. A heavenly sensation if ever there was one. Gently placing it back down on the wooden counter, she nodded. "It'll have to be Sunday afternoon, though, if you don't mind. For more or less obvious reasons as to what he's doin' in the mornin'." She jokingly remarked, adjusting her posture. "But he'll make sure to get here, don't you worry ma'am. Even if I have to drag him here, by that white collar of his." 
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As Emmylou moved away with her smirk to the next customer, she turned her head at the sound of a stool being pulled out nearby. This time, her gaze clashed with some sort of certainty and purpose. Trying to deduce the odd sense of familiarity that tugged on the remnants of memory. Nonetheless, she ended up cradling the tea in her hands, taking small sips every now and then. Savouring the drink and delightful chill it gave, even on such a hot day.
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But it soon was asking too much to keep her mouth shut, twisting to face him somewhat. "Excuse me, mister, are you from around here? I'm mighty sorry, but you seem familiar. I'm Rose Lillywhite, my daddy is the preacher? I just - well maybe I'm goin' crazy, sittin' in saloons and talkin' to any old fella." Lilly-Rose shrugged, her head tilting with a sigh as she glanced off toward the shelves of whisky and spirits.
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@Esther_Silvers
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[Horse]

Aidan Smith
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      Steam gushed out of the nearby bucket, as the horse sidestepped uneasily. Aidan held the iron under the water, keeping a careful eye on it, while at the same time giving a reassuring pat to the old gelding he was shodding.


"Alright there Gus there's no need for that hopping and carrying on there, settle down," he murmured, and the horse stilled under his hand.


The molten red shoe had turned a cool grey and Aidan placed it against the horses hoof, and began carefully nailing it in place. Sweat dripped off his nose and wet the dirt below him. It had been a long day for him, and would be longer still, as he had promised several customers that he would finish the repairs on their tools that day. His arms were beginning to grow stiff and ache, but the thought of an empty cupboard was a strong motivator. He stood, releasing the horse's leg and the owner came striding over.


"Alright Mr. John, Gus is sound and solid. I fitted him with the new shoes and checked his others," said Aidan as he dusted his hands off.


He traded a few quick words with the man and was rewards with his pay. Shaking hands, Aidan turned and began clearing off his bench in preparation for his next task, mending some chain for a stagecoach harness that had conveniently, for him, broken a day ago. He rolled his shoulders, stopping for a moment as a wonderfully cool breeze blew through. His forge was a small one, but it suited his needs just fine. He also had the advantage of being the closest forge to town, another blessing he was very grateful for. In his head he again thanked his smith master, touching his fingers to the rough door-frame and surveying the small town.


He turned and continued his work, luckily this was a quick fix, and an hour had not passed before he had mended and strengthened the bolt and chain. Taking them, he slung them over his shoulder and went in search of the man. Aidan guessed that he would be in the saloon, and as he ducked inside, he paused for a moment as his eyes adjusted, scanning the crowd and wishing he had a better memory of faces. Shifting awkwardly on his feet, he scanned and scanned but either could not remember the man's face, or he was somewhere else. He sat down at a table, carefully placing the metalwork on the table in front of him.


'I'll give him a quarter of an hour. If he doesn't come by then I supposed I'll have to try somewhere else," he thought.

 

[gloomAI]

Paola Cruz

 
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Paola could count on one hand how many times she had been to Brandywine; it probably was a fine town if she stayed longer than a week, but she absolutely hated having to part with her guns. The only things she could really remember Jesse by besides the memories in her head. It’s funny how people could be there in your life and the next not. She could not even imagine what her father’s face looked like, he died when she was nothing more than a newborn. Her mother, shot by a drunk outlaw in a saloon and even then life was not done with her, because Jesse died by being shot.

Would anyone blame her for wanting to throw in a towel and drown out her sorrows in liquor till she died? She thought not, especially if she lived El Durango where that was a common story between a lot of people when she was growing up. Yet, she couldn’t just sit by when she had so much fight still left in her. For too long had she wallowed at the parlor house, doing things that had once made her skin crawl but was now met with a cold indifference. Jesse offered her a way out, and she seized it.  No way in hell was she going back now.



Paola had been traveling for about a week and she was just about ready to fall over and sleep. Her last job required her to wrangle in an Outlaw named Rusty. She was not entirely sure why he was called that, and she did not care to. It was an easy job and it was enough to put a few meals in her stomach and her horse; it was  a white, male stallion with a mild temper.


The entrance  gate to Brandywine was coming up in the horizon; wouldn’t be much longer now. She let out a sigh of relief. Her ass was sore from the long rides, and the sun was beating down on her hard enough for her to grow lightheaded. She ran out of water about a mile back, and it’s been hell since. Even the horse was lagging a bit from exhaustion.
 


Paola tightened her hands on the reins as the horse approached the last few steps to the gate. There were two men waiting; one looking to be middle aged as the other looked quite young.

“I’m going to need to take your weapons.” the older man said. Paola sighed, but complied anyway. She reached in her holsters and pulled out her two revolvers. It always felt like a part of herself was being stripped away when she had to hand them in. People were dangerous, and even people in Brandywine could be. She had at least two daggers hidden in her bag.

“Here.” Paola said as she handed them over. The older man took them and gave a grunt as well as a head nod  signalling she could now go inside. She shot them a barely there smile, before giving the horse a small kick to trot on in through the gate.
 


Before Paola could even think about sleeping, she needed to quench her thirst and  her horses thirst as well. From her briefs time here, she remembered the saloon called ‘Tuck’ and it was pretty decent. It was like muscle memory as she rode her horse up to the saloon. Paola hopped off the horse, grabbed the reins and hitched them to a post where a trough of water was available. A few horses were already hitched and drinking; her horse wasted no time to start lapping up the water.

Outside the saloon, there was an old man sitting on a old  rocker and a middle aged man dressed in black with him. There was a faint memory of possibly seeing the man in black, but she was not entirely sure where she had seen him. If anything, the fact that he was wearing black in this weather made her a bit shocked inside. She carefully walked passed them and into the saloon; the last thing she needed was to be caught staring.

Stepping inside Tuck was just how she expected it to be; the smell of heavy liquor, wood, and the loud conversations and laughs of the drunk patrons. It reminded her so much El Durango. Paola walked past a few drunk patrons, who were being rowdy, their arms swinging around as they began to sang a tune she was not familiar with. She tried to hide her annoyance.

Once she made it to the bar, she slid into one of the stools. There were a few people at the bar, but the one that stuck out more to her was  a young girl who looked far too sweet to be in a saloon at all. Paola could feel herself frown, she was not fond of them at all. It took her back to her days in El Durango when she was considered a ‘a painted lady’ and all the ‘proper ladies’ would spew insults. Oh, how much she wanted to punch their faces in.

Paola was going to leave it be and just wait for one of the workers to take her order until she heard the girl speak and introduce therself to a man, who looked like he seen his fair share of trouble. Rose Lillywhite was her name… and she was a preacher’s daughter. Paola could feel her eyes roll; preacher’s daughters were always the worst ones.

Paola, not being able to wait much longer, “I need a glass of gin.”

 

[Horse]

Aidan Smith
​

  Relief crossed Aidan's face as he saw the man step into the saloon. He straightened his shirt and went over to do business with the man. They sealed the deal with a firm handshake, and Aidan turned to the bar, painfully aware of how thirsty he was. As he made his way over, above the double doors he caught sight of the hitching post, and he stopped in spite of himself. He had never seen a horse that white before, not even grey, but gleamingly white. He stared, having to remind himself to keep his mouth shut. Shaking his head so hard his braid whipped over his shoulder, he broke himself out of his trance and stepped up to the bar.


"Just a water, thank you," he said quietly, mindful of his accent and his ever-present battle to fly under the radar.


He noticed a young woman had come in and as he drank he offhandedly wondered if that was her horse tethered outside, but either he was too shy or polite to ask, he told himself the latter. The water was cool against his parched throat and he guzzled it as fast as he dared without making himself sick.


' That's another 3$ for today. I'll get there soon enough, as long as I can keep finding work," he thought, worry creeping into his chest.


When he had first come, there was not shortage of things to do and money to be had if you were willing to work. But now more and more new machines were arriving and increasingly he found himself relying on shoeing and training, a less profitable business for him. In the time that it would take him to train one colt out of a bad behavior he could have finished 10 fittings for gates and hinges. He had even taken to making jewelry on the side, small things here and there as requested, to make ends meet. He gripped his drink tighter, until his knuckles where white, and surveyed the bar, wondering if he could find any more work inside.

 

[Lua]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Emmylou had finished her conversation with the preacher's daughter, noticing how the young girl had taken to talking to another mysterious man who had waltzed into her bar. All these men, where were they coming from? The woman thought nothing of it, relieved when she saw another female sit down at her bar. Granted, she looked like she had traveled in the heat for a long time; Emmylou imagined it wasn’t just to see her. There was a time in her own life where she wished she could have traveled the world - her father was the one who had seen the opportunity before his mind started to get the best of him. Apparently out East the towns were smaller and the bustles on dresses were bigger. Lots more people, too. Emmylou had been born and raised in the west; use to the desert, used to the heat - she knew a lot of the people in town by name. [/SIZE]

 
​

[SIZE=14.6667px]“You got it, Darlin.’ Gimme a second.” The woman responded to the others drink order. Gin, not whiskey or beer. She looked the other woman over, surveying how tired she looked as she placed the order in front of her. “Gin it is. You look mighty tired, dear.” Emmylou was known for butting into the business of strangers - but not too much. Too much will get you a reputation, not that she already had one. Though it was different for everyone. “Miss Helene across the way runs the inn, just so you know. Might be a good idea to rest up for awhile there. The woman makes the best stew in the whole county, I tell you.” Not wanting to talk this poor womans ear off, she smiled and turned away - noticing that the young blacksmith boy had also taken up residency at the bar as well. [/SIZE]

 
​

[SIZE=14.6667px]“How you doin’, Mr. Smith?” She gave him a tiny wave, unsure if she would get a response. Once it looked like everyone was taken care of she went back around the front of the bar and back to the task she was doing prior to all her visitors - cleaning up empty glasses. She managed to place one on a tray before her son was at her side. [/SIZE]

 
​

[SIZE=14.6667px]“Mama, I don’t wanna bother you but I think that new stranger in black is upsetting grand-daddy real good.” Jackson said, bringing down his voice so that those in the smoky room wouldn’t here, though he still talked loud over the music. Em sighed and handed the tray to her son, not asking for an explanation. With both of her hands she lifted her skirts so she could rush outside more quickly into the heat. Sure enough, it looked as if her father had thrown a fit - his face was red, hands shaking, eyebrows furrowed. [/SIZE]

 
​

[SIZE=14.6667px]“I ain’t no snitch, pal!” Tucker was yelling at the stranger and pointing, wagging his finger. He had always done that for as long as Emmylou could remember. She rolled her eyes and knelt down beside his chair, making sure her lavender skirts didn’t rest on the dusty porch.[/SIZE]

 
​

[SIZE=14.6667px]“Daddy, you need to calm down.” She placed a gentle hand on her fathers arm, waiting for him to relax before easing off the ground and facing the stranger. “Mister, I’m sorry if Daddy doesn’t remember you, but the doctor said it’s no good for his health if he get’s all upset like this.” She spoke honestly, though part of her was a little annoyed - she let it show on her face. She clearly had just stated in the bar that her father was losing his mind, and the first thing this stranger did was waltz out and drive the old man crazy. “If you’re staying in town a few days, I suggest waiting to see if he remembers who you are. Sometimes it takes him a few days.” The tone in her voice had changed from dramatically from when she had first spoke with the stranger. She was now stern and spot on. [/SIZE]


[SIZE=14.6667px]@Horse[/SIZE]


[SIZE=14.6667px]@ReverseWells[/SIZE]

 

[ReverseTex]

[FONT= 'Times New Roman']The Man in Black[/FONT]


Leaning his foot against the post, taking another calm drag as the bartender and her son ran out. He wasn't at all surprised by their reaction, he after all did provoke him, but he wasn't going to say that of course. "No need to apologize mamn, sorry for disturbing your ol' man. Just i've came for a long time, and by the looks of it he sure does remember me." Tossing his cigarette in the dirt, Will tipped his hat, and made his way back inside. Now it was time for business.


Making his way back to the bar, he surveyed the young crowd who sat. Listening to one of the man speaking, he sounded European, he was going to ask a simple question, so the Scot would do. Making his way to the young man, he clasped his shoulder with his cool leather gloves. "My apologies for that run in young man, but I have a quick question for you. I'm kinda new 'round these parts, and there is this town i've been lookin for. Pariah it's called. Do you know anything about it?"


@Lua


@Horse

 

[Horse]

Aidan Smith
​

 
​

He snapped out of his reverie as the woman tending the bar called out to him. Flashing a smile he gave a little nod towards the woman, "Yes ma'am, I'm doing well. I hope the same for you."


He watched as a younger man approached the Emmylou and they spoke in hushed tones. He consciously looked away, not wanting to seem like he was eavesdropping. He busied himself by staring intently at the signs that hung all around the saloon, concentrating on taking them in. He was so focused that the bang of the door as the woman left made his shoulders twitch up slightly in surprise.


'I wonder where she's going? 'Ought not to leave the bar unattended," he thought.


While Brandywine seemed a safe enough town, trouble had been kicking up as of recently. New faces, some with dark, cruel lines on their faces, had crept into the town. In truth, Aidan was quite ready to leave it, and continue his plans and dreams, but the lack of money held him fast, as well as the weight of holding aloft what his previous smith had built. The forge was a fine thing, and truly, that smith must have spent his whole life acquiring tools, and the land, and the knowledge to build it on. Guilt tugged at him, and he pushed those thoughts aside again. 


What drew his attention next was the shouting. Right outside the door he could hear it, the old Mr. Tucker, screaming at the top of his lungs. He caught sight of a stranger in black as Miss Em reached them. Though he was too far from them to hear words, he could hear the cross tone coming from her, and see the expression on her face plainly. Before he could decide if he should step out to make sure she was alright, the stranger came fully inside and he was able to get a better look at him.


Immediately, he felt something off. Something he couldn't place but that he felt rolling off the man in black. Aidan had always had a sense about people. Not always able to articulate it, but for now he could tell that this man brought no good news. He watched quietly, with large somber brown eyes, as he approached another young man inside. Feeling as though he was quite done in the saloon, He had almost made up his mind to leave. Although he came in from time to time to check for any work, he seemed to have come up dry today.


'I'll just get one more drink and then I'll head back," he thought, trying not to let his curiosity get him into trouble.

 

[Lua]

[SIZE=14.6667px]DId he really just turn around and waltz right back inside? Emmylou was astonished at how the man in black had acted. She knelt down beside her father's chair again, lowering her voice so those passing by couldn’t pick up what she was saying. “Daddy, if you know that man and he’s done something bad, you gotta tell me -” She was interrupted by her father swinging his hand around as if to brush her way - she dodged just in time to avoid an accidental smack in the face.  [/SIZE]

 
​

[SIZE=14.6667px]“I ain’t no snitch.” He repeated, only now he had stopped yelling. That seemed to be all he was going to say on the matter; the old man eased up from his chair and stared off into the road. Emmylou also stood, wondering if it was best to leave him outside alone - especially with the stranger still looking around. Would it be wise to keep an eye on both of them? Tucker Blue never dealt much with the law, or the other side of the law. For a short time when Emmylou was a child he had helped laundry some money for local gangs - but that was about it. Nothing he would do a lot of time for - everyone respected him. Did her father actually have an enemy? Was that even possible? “I’m gonna go take a walk.” He stated flatly, and Em wasn’t about to bother trying to stop him - watching as her old man stepped off the porch and into the street. Everyone knew who he was, eventually if he got lost someone was going to just have to bring him back. [/SIZE]

 
​

[SIZE=14.6667px]The woman sighed to herself, brushing off her skirt and making sure her posture was straight before heading back into the bar. Emmylou only employed three people. Charlie, who played piano; Ernest, who tended bar and ran poker on Friday nights, and of course her son. The music was still going of course, almost as if the tiff that had taken place outside hadn’t happened. Heels clicking she walked back over to the bar, seeing that her son was not present and wondering where he had gone off too. The boy was always a bit of a wanderer - but not much of a troublemaker. A blessing, really. Though, the one thing he really wanted in life was a proper education out in the east. Wanted to attend some university and become a doctor. How was Emmylou supposed to run a business without him? Who was going to take it when she dropped dead? The old man was most certainly on his way out, and she was next. [/SIZE]

 
​

[SIZE=14.6667px]The only person that still looked thirsty was the young blacksmith. Emmylou went to stand in front of him, glancing at the man in black who now looked like he was wishing to converse with another stranger. “You still thirsty, Mr. Smith?” She snapped back and blacked her hands on her hips for about the hundredth time that day. “How about something a little stronger this time? I got some hard cider back here that was shipped from East. Haven’t gotten a chance to crack it open yet.” [/SIZE]


[SIZE=14.6667px]@Horse[/SIZE]

 

[Horse]

Aidan Smith
​

 
​

"Ah, that's very kind of you. But no, I don't drink," he said, feeling redness creep up his collar.


When he said this, most people immediately took him for a church goer, or a religious man in general. Truth was far more complicated, and he wasn't even sure how to put it into words, let alone telling a stranger. He had never been bothered by what people thought of him before, and if they wanted to assume, it would be one less thing to explain. A man named "Smith" with a thick Irish accent already turned heads around here, he didn't need anything else to help it along.


"If you're offering, though, a glass of water would be wonderful after being in the heat all day," he said, wiping his forehead for the hundredth time, trying to keep from dripping sweat everywhere.


His braid stuck to his back and he wished in vain that the winter winds would arrive sooner. He had always felt more comfortable in the cold and snow rather than heat. At least you could always build a bigger fire when it was cold, but there was nothing to do for the heat. He fished some coins out of his pocket and set them gently on the counter.


Out to the side of his vision he noticed the pianist start another song, and he idly watched the man's fingers fly across the keys as sheets of large white paper sat in front of him. He had always been impressed with musicians, and had he not always collapsed into bed at the end of the day, he fancied he would have loved to learn to play, perhaps even craft himself a set of bagpipes. But he knew even as he thought it that it was foolish. Every spare coin he earned went into his savings stash, for the day when he would finally leave this town.


He had been about to try to make small talk with the barkeep, when he felt a hand clasp his shoulder. He turned and saw the man from before, warning bells sounding in his head.


"No sir I can't say that I know anything about that. Nothing more than legends anyway, " he said, his eyes locked on the strangers.


Some mistook his kindness for cowardice, but Aidan was brave, perhaps to a fault, and felt compelled to hold the strangers gaze, regardless of his initial impressions. He was a firm believer in second chances after all.

 

[ReverseTex]

[FONT= 'Times New Roman']The Man in Black[/FONT]


As he loosened his grip on the young man's shoulder, he could feel the burning eyes of the bartender on him. She wasn't probably happy he was harnessing her customers, but at least he paid for the top shelf. Dipping his head down, the brim of his hate gently touching the man's temple, he quietly whispered. "Well thanks anyways, would you do me a favor? Make sure nobody goes askin round about it. And if you say anything bout me telling you... Well i'll leave it as a surprise." Fixing his hat, Will gave a nod, his icy eyes showing a hint of playfulness, along with the usual cold mysterious look. Walking to the pianist on his way out, setting a few bills on the wooden top, he whispered a name of an old song. It was well known, as well one of his personal favorites. Glad that the pianist didn't see anything wrong with it. Will left the saloon, the tune of his song filling the air.


Now what to do about the ol' Tuck. Chuckling to himself about the man as he walked, what the hell he was old too, as he spotted the shadow of the man heading the the church. Quicken his step, Will easily caught up to the man, as he grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. Shoving him against the church wall, and swiftly removing his knife, he set the blade gently against the old man's face. "Now for a real conversation between two old dogs. If I so much here any talk about Pariah from any folk, i'll make sure to make you my example. Sound fair? If not i'll be glad to end your miserable life, let you escape from your tormented mind."








@Lua


@Horse


(the song requested ^)

 

[FTR]

Olivia
​

​

Olivia had been settled a darkened corner of the saloon, having given temporary charge to the fire-chief's boy. She hadn't woken up in proper state to be conducting business and instead took to Emmylou's place early in the day in search of some hair of the dog. 
From the table at the edge of the bar where she sat, she watched the patrons. Always being a colorful group and varied as they were ugly. However, today's batch seemed a bit more peculiar than that of other's. A few faces stood out to her in particular, one more so than others. Said one, being weathered, leathery and cloaked in shadow much like hers in the dim light of the saloon. She instinctively clenched the empty holster at her hip, grating the leather with one of her nails. He made her nervous....which was a feat in it's one right. Every now and then her silent tracing of the older man was broken by the ramblings of the smith boy who stuck out like sore thumb among the rest. She recognized the hopeful look in his eyes, the blissful way he carried himself and the almost annoyingly bright outlook her let loose from his lips every so often. She sent scornful looks in his direction any chance she got. 
Olivia broke her fix on the man and looked down at her emptied glass. 
"Em,..", She beckoned quietly in her gravelly voice, gesturing for another drink. Before she could thank Emmylou for her service, something caught her full attention, making her ears twitch and brows furrow. 
"Pariah?", she whispered to herself. Everyone had heard the stories surrounding Pariah, some more far fetched than others. Most looking for the town still had some spring in their step and hints of mysticism on their persons. What business did this old man have with a ghost town? Nothing was there to be found that the looters hadn't gotten by now. What was his motive trying to keep folks from it? 
She gave a basic nod to Emmylou and leaned on the table she was at, full attention to the man in black's probing for information. He almost seemed familiar.


She trailed him, habitually tapping the leather of her holster as he made his way to the saloon pianist, requested a song and left, fast as he arrived.


"What's this about "snitchin'" yer old man was goin' on about?", Olivia directed toward Emmylou after the stranger took his leave. 
 


@ReverseWells


@Lua

 

[Horse]

Aidan Smith
​

 
​

Aidan felt his shoulders tighten and his back straighten. He was no stranger to a threat, and he felt a rising urge that he clamped shut as hard as he was holding his body.


"Well sir, if you're asking if I spread rumors I would have to assure you that I don't ," he said calmly, his strong brown eyes meeting the stranger's icy ones. He didn't like a bully, and he could smell one from a mile off. "You have a nice day sir," he said coolly, as the man walked away.


Once the man was out of sight he rubbed his temples, downed the rest of his drink, and nodded a quick goodbye to the bartender. Feeling another pair of eyes, he glanced about until he saw the general store keeper, a woman with sorrow etched in her face. 'Everyone carries it somewhere different I suppose,' he thought. With as warm a smile as he could muster towards her, and while she was staring at him hard, he stood. He had already over stayed his own time limit and as he walked out the doors, he noted the position of the sun in the sky. He grimaced and shoved his hands in his pockets, walking back to his forge. He heard a slight thud and glanced to his left, where he saw the same strange man with Mr. Tucker by the throat. Anger flashed in him quickly for a moment, and he breathed to master it. He stepped out of the doorway of his forge and called in a loud clear voice across the street.


"Why hello again sir! Let me know if I can help you find the door to the church," He called loudly, as peoples' heads turned, " You seem to be having a hard time!"


Aidan had gotten what he wanted, which was attention, as multiple people who had been walking stopped and began to look around to see whom he was shouting to. He stood to his full height, which although not exceedingly tall, could be imposing. His eyes lost all of the warmth that they normally held and he looked like a completely different person. He loathed fighting, but he wouldn't stand by and let some stranger threaten Miss Em's father in broad daylight.

 

[SidTheSkid]

Spoiler

[Dan “Campbell” Gristle][Location: Brandywine][Black Market Dealer/Leader of the Buzzard's Gang.]
​

Soft melodious tunes traversed through the dusty winds, complicated by the several beats of the stomping hooves caused by Gristle’s boys and none other than him leading his vicious pack to none other than the seemingly quiet town of Brandywine who was not exactly expecting someone like him to return once more which sure as hell was going to leave a sour tasting substance in the mouths of those who had a previous run-in with him. Dan’s legends alone were enough for lonesome travelers to tell stories about, his iron-fisted authority over his men and the black market, mainly consisting of your usual campfire long-tales except these so-called ‘fictitious’ rumors were all too real. Nobody understood what went on inside of that immoral man’s head but everybody knew that it couldn’t be nothing too pleasant, wandering townsfolk began heading inside once they saw the hazy outline of Mr.Gristle and his posse stampeding towards the town at an alarming rate. Lawmen and women alike were standing at the entrance dreading the future outcome of “The Buzzards” gang arriving at their cozy little town, not knowing whether to just open fire and risk taking all of them on in some sort of guns blazin’ shootout or let them do their own thing and just ignore them, tension as thick as blood could be felt swimming through the atmosphere just from the thought of seeing that small army of his closing in its distance.

Hordes of crowds were gathering themselves onto the polished railing of the train-station while they watched the whole thing unfold, giving the impression that they were awaiting their next meal as wherever Dan goes he’s always leaving a trail of death in the wake of his travels. Trepid heartbeats gradually became louder with each thump once Gristle’s slate-colored horse with none other than the man himself atop of its leather saddle, puffing on a hefty cigar before disrespectfully blowing the cloud of ashy smoke into them before discarding the unhealthy treat with a flick of his middle finger and eventually leaping off his horse and approaching one of the lawmen with a look of amusement written on his face. Droplets of sweat profusely descended from the officer’s brow as he helplessly gazed at Dan who snapped his fingers without hesitation in the direction of his crew to get them to stop with their god-awful whistling. “My-my, oh my. Just look at you.” He shot his formidable glare back at the man who was nervously ‘eyeballing’ him, stepping sluggishly forward with each step of his foot until he was only a couple of feet away from him. Gristle brought his head a few inches backward to meticulously sniff the air around him, pushing out a haughty laughter out from his lungs afterwards once he examined the lawman closely. “If I didn’t know any better, i’d say you’ve just shit yourself friend. Ha, i’m only joking but there’s no need to be nervous around me and my brothers and sisters back here, we’re all like you. We live, we breathe, and we bleed all the same.” He said in his light-hearted voice, raising up his rough hands and placing them gently onto the person’s shoulder before casting him a toothy grin which was more intimidating than in good-nature. Dan turned to look at his gang who shuttered a bit in response to his sudden movements, smile growing even wider he released his sturdy grasp on the man to make his way back to the side of his horse only to brush his dirtied fingers through the thick coat of the horse’s charcoal tinted mane.

“You know girl? I think everyone is a bit nervous here today. Maybe we should get our boys a drink huh? That’ll cheer up their spirits...Wait what’s that?” He paused, abruptly pressing the side of his ear against the horse’s lips while nodding slowly, acting as if he could actually hear what the creature was saying. “They’re saying we can’t come in here? Because of our guns? Well aint that damn shame! But you’re saying that they should let us in anyway? Because we’ll make them bleed like stuffed pigs and burn their families alive if they don’t? Oh but I don’t think that’s necessary. Make a deal? That’s a great idea! How about they let us in for an hour or so? Get our whistles wet and we'll leave as quiet as mouse!” He shouted emphatically while stepping back up to the man in uniform. Hands were close and ready to draw after issuing that heavy threat but seeing twenty to thirty of his boys all armed to teeth with armaments would be able to put sense back into any man. Either way they were sure as shit six-feet deep in the mud-hole this time as they had two options, first one being that they let them through and pray to the stars and heavens above that they don’t cause any raucous or the second one which would result in obvious retribution. He had no choice but to let them through so he did what any sane man would do and chose the passive route and decided to step out of his way, shifting his face in the other way out of shame and regret. “Why, thank ya kindly! See? There isn’t any reason why we all can’t get along! Rope your horses and enjoy yourselves! You’ve earned yourselves all a helping glass of ale.” Outlaws, bandidos, and other scoundrels of the Earth that consisted of his gang brought themselves off their horses after leading them to the fenced-in stables, gathering themselves around their leader once he made his way near the saloon.
​

(Open for interaction)(Dang that took long, kinda half-assed it at the end there :/ )
​

(Song that his crew was whistlin')
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​