Realistic or Modern Wild Wild Wyoming—Season 1

[idalie]

Evelyn J. Bonney​

Evelyn pleasantly waved off McCarthy with his thanks, caught between Vivian and calling to Bill for Nettle and his piano skills that she almost missed their resident tailor, Mr Gulfman. "Oh, well ain't our very own master of needle an' thread." Eve glanced down at the feline Atto had gestured toward and gave a laugh, "Some strange company you keep these days but come on in boys." Beckoning both further into the saloon she skipped back behind the bar and landed her hands on the counter. "What is it you'll be havin' then? I've got a fresh batch of pasties straight outta the oven or I could fry up some bacon n' eggs, even got some pie left from last night." She flashed a smile, tucking back frazzled strands of brown hair that was typical of Bonney running to and fro between the kitchen and keeping an eye on her patrons. American hospitality meant hospitality and she wasn't the sort to skimp on smiles or pointing the muzzle of a gun at someone's face.

"And for your little fella here, I'm sure I can scrounge somethin' up. Won't cost a dime." For a small woman, she certainly packed volumes of energy which never quite fit with her frame. Evie was the same person to attempt lifting and heavy work without the muscles for it and getting into accidents before stubbornly refusing to rest. Many a joke made by veterans in town remarked she'd of won over New Orleans in a day from the British by mere effort alone. Bonney was Bonney and that was a force to be reckoned with.

With that, Eve turned to Billy at the bar and jerked her thumb. "Go find Nettle whilst I sort out Mr Attoph, I got enough on my hands to be chasin' down that damned man. It ain't as if he's got a hard job, and I damn well pay him enough to turn up on time." William, the bar boy, sighed a response of "Yeah, sure." only to throw down a cleaning rag and vanish around the back and up the stairs through the staff quarters if any lived in town. The only people who slept on the property being Nettle and Evie. Even the stablehand went home and shared the shifts with another.

Mentioned: Nebaros
Interactions: rebirth

 

[rebirth]

1:11 P.M.
Tuesday, January 18.​

"Eggs and bacon sounds good about now, Miss Bonney. I can pay for whatever you make for her; I'm sure she'll eat it too," Atto said, petting my silky black fur. "By the way, you need some new clothes made? New dress maybe? We just got a new shipment of cloth out back. It's real cheap, but it feels like it's high-quality. Don't know how they do it, those boys..."

He rambled on for a few moments before realizing what had happened. "Sorry, I didn't come here to get you to buy something, I came for lunch," he apologized, a tinge of a smile forming.

Atto admired the scenery inside the saloon. It wasn't often that he went out for any meal, but when he did, it wasn't usually there. The longer he looked, though, the more he saw that he liked the place; the men with brimmed hats, the vests, how they could look out for themselves. He waited, but his mind started to drift. The train, which he had completely forgot about up until this point, would be rolling in at an estimated 10:00 in the morning tomorrow. He wondered what kind of people would arrive.

There were a few seconds of peace and quiet before what I like to call the Storm. In my eyes at least, because it all went downhill from this point.

The sound of hooves clomped against the dirt outside, and then a few seconds later, the doors bursted open, crashing against the walls of the inside. Atto quickly glanced over to the man in black and orange, who immediately thought he owned the room. Atto froze, his smile fell into a face of pure terror, his heart sank, and his body started to fill with the unspeakable feeling of dread.

They're here. They're here and they're here for me, and everyone in here is dead, rang through Atto's mind. He did not recognize Tacitus.

*******************
Tuesday, January 18
11:30 A.M-1:10 P.M.​

Tacitus returned to his camp, which was about 15-20 minutes away from the river, and gathered a handful of his men, forming a posse that he thought would be adequate enough to go to the end of town, where the train station and lumber yard were located, and grab the body before anyone noticed, while Tacitus went to somewhere popular and social to catch up on the latest gossip and rumors. Hopefully, he thought as he rode out of camp, it wouldn't be too late. Hopefully his men would find Martin's body, and hopefully no one would suspect a thing about the murder. The one this morning, that was.

When all six of them reached Walburn, Tacitus gestured to an area to his right down a path that looked dark and bleak, and the five other men rode down it on their horses. Tacitus continued straight, which lead into town. The first road consisted of a "Welcome to Walburn" sign, a couple of stores, a lumber shop or two, nothing out of the ordinary. He kept riding until he came to the street a little while away from the middle of town. To his right, he saw a large flat wooden building with a single small door leading into the street. He saw a few uninteresting shops, and then, there was a man on the side of the road selling something. Tacitus's black coat and orange vest stood out from a lot of people in this town, but that man may have stood out more than him. Tacitus also saw a saloon, or as he liked to call it, a "bar," which removed his attention from the hunter.

He pushed open the doors a bit too forcefully, as they crashed against the walls on the inside. He entered, receiving a few stares, especially from a man in a white and blue-striped suit with a weird looking black cat. The man looked horrified, the cat-thing licking its paws while sitting upright on a stool. The man looked familiar.

"Hello there," Tacitus smiled grimly.

Interactions: Nebaros , idalie

 

[supertoastgirl]

Wesley D. Vernon & Eloise M. Scott
7:46am - Wednesday, January 19th, 1846​

The sun was well aware of the area now, highlighting the glistening dew on the fields and shimmering against the window panes of the train. Eloise repositioned herself as she closed the curtains. The sun was growing too intense for their small box. Wesley entered from a stroll around. The faint smile that was on Eloise's face shrank as Wesley held up a dark blue dress. It looked well made and had in fact been tailored to fit her curves perfectly. However, it lacked the dainty ornaments of her usual attire. There were no silken designs, fluttering taffeta, or bows. They had dawdled on the subject of her appearance during their brief residence in New York City. Wesley had no problem with Eloise's fashions in the city, but worried about what whispers might spread if she maintained her wealthy facade in the West. He had heard the most wicked rumors about scoundrels out there, and his wife's safety was of the utmost importance.

"Wesley, darling, what is the worl-"

"You ought to get dressed soon," Wesley asserted. Eloise let out a sharp sigh, then she looked down at the simple hem of the gown and slowly made her eyes to meet with Wesley's. "But darling, I'm already dressed," Eloise pointed out. Indeed, she was. There wasn't enough privacy on these American trains to sleep in nightclothes, so she had been dressed their entire journey. It seemed to Wesley that her tone of voice pointed this out. Wesley's jaw stiffened. "We need to be unassuming," he said with a certain command. Though Wesley maintained his dominance over Eloise in most instances, he was easily swayed by her finesse and charm. This was not one of those moments. In fact, her resistance was rather annoying.

"Dear God, Wesley, it's not as if someone is going to ravage me the moment we arrive," Eloise said, crossing her arms in front of her. "No, of course not," Wesley retorted. Normally these kinds of remarks would be met with equal sarcasm or even laughter. Eloise had quite the tongue on her, and Wesley absolutely admired her for it. Most of the time. "I'm not going to wear that simpleton dress just to fit in," Eloise said, shifting to her feet. Now she was genuinely upset about the idea. Wesley let out a long aggravated sigh.

"I'm not asking to change your character, Eloise," Wesley said with a certain annoyance in his tone. "Oh, is that so? You're forcing me to put on a dress that my Lady's maid would wear to church." Eloise whipped back at him. Wesley clenched his jaw then let out another sigh. "I'm just asking you to let go of being Lady Eloise of Eldon and embrace being Mrs. Vernon." Eloise could not tell if his words were drenched with irritation or a beggers plea. She said nothing in return. "Now turn around," Wesley said. Eloise obeyed. Wesley pulled shut the drapes to the door of their quarters before locking it.

Eloise had already pulled her blonde hair to one side of her shoulders. It would need to be put up before their arrival of course, but for now, it looked lovely down. Wesley drew close to Eloise as he went to untighten the back of her dress. His fingers moved slowly but surely as he unlooped her bodice. Wesley had done this countless times before. Usually in the context of a frenzy of passion, snuck away in some corridor of her parents' home, but the sensation was the same. "Besides," Wesley said, breaking the silence, "blue is most becoming on you." Eloise rolled her shoulder forward in protest as Wesley tried to plant a kiss upon it. "I prefer lavender," she said shortly. Wesley rolled his eyes. Once the bodice was loose enough, Wesley peeled it from Eloise's corsetted body.

A moment passed between them. The typical protocol was that a dress would be brought down for her to step into, hoisted up, and tightened. Eloise cocked her head, "Wesley," she said expectantly. When she turned around she found the dark-haired man standing with the blue dress behind his back, an improper smile on his lips. Eloise couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle at the sight. He was so often a serious man, and at this moment he looked like a playful boy. "Now," Eloise said cooly, "surely my state of undress would not be an appropriate impression to make on the people of Walburn." Her words feigned seriousness, but Wesley knew better.

"Inappropriate for them, perhaps. But for me..." Wesley trailed off with a shrug and a raised brow. "How uncouth of you to say, sir!" Eloise teased back at him in her most offended British fashion. "Uncouth!" Wesley replied through laughter, "oh, I'll show you uncouth." With that Wesley dropped the blue dress and heaved Eloise's body upward. A shriek of delight escaped the Lady's lips as she flew into the air, Wesley's laughter accompanied it. As she slid downward with gravity Eloise linked her legs around Wesley's waist and began to kiss him, suddenly filled with a lustful desire. Surely the sound of the train engine would muffle their coition.

 

[idalie]

Evelyn J. Bonney​

She listened to Atto's offer with interest, a new dress wouldn't go amiss around about then -- but it wasn't as if she had the money to spare. Especially with the profits going down, they weren't quite making the same as they had in their better years. Thank God for the Railroad, perhaps she'd get some new clothes after all. "Don't worry about nothin', call me interested. I might see about it after this whole railroad fiasco is settled, I know I should probably get a new dress with all them customers comin' from every corner of America an' all!" Bonney laughed again, "How 'bout I go get you that meal instead?" Evie disappeared into the back just as Nettle and Billy returned. Nettle being a taller man of African descent, dressed in a cap and threadbare tweed.

The calm didn't last long, just as she pulled down pans the doors were struck open with concerning force and like a mother who knows when her child is crying, Bonney made her own presence known to see what was going on. It didn't take long to see the faces and Atto's own fear which shaped his expression. But Evelyn Jemima Bonney wasn't the sort to let someone walk into her damn saloon and start making her patrons uncomfortable. Especially no brute like Tacitus Lockheart. The way they leered and intimidated made her sick. Outlaws had no place but on the roads to piss off rich travellers who had more than dimes to their name.

As Attoph became the main concern, Evelyn took the chance to pull a shotgun from under the bar. Snapping it straight and cocking the hammer with a distinct 'click' of metal. The small woman narrowed her eyes. "I ain't partial to folks walkin' into my establishment actin' like they own the place." Bonney glanced from Tacitus toward the wooden panelling at the back, where they had yet to repair what happened the last time someone tried making a point. "You wanna end up like the last poor fucker who thought they could come into MY damn saloon and start threatenin' MY damn customers? 'Cause as much as I remember, he don't come 'round here no more tryin' to look big n' bad."

Evie was practically snarling, "Now you got two options, I shoot off that Johnson of yours and make you a little more humble, or you walk outta here and you don't step back in without behavin' like proper gents. Get that? I sure as hell hope you do, 'cause I'm ITCHIN' to see if I'm still as good of a shot than I was when I blasted that poor fella's arm off." The saloon owner stood her ground without a shake to her arm or a wobble to her voice, after all, she'd had her dear old Irene to learn from and a multitude of years working with unruly men when it was required. "Walk 'round the block and come back if you want a drink, but you can fuck yourself if you think today is gonna be any easier."

The silence around the tavern became tense, the air was suffocating with it. Between a hard brown-eyed stare and that of a killer. Folks did always say she was the sort to get into more trouble than she could handle and she'd be lying if she said they were wrong.

Mentioned: Nebaros
Interactions: rebirth

 

[Nebaros]

Connor was growing weary in the afternoon, business had become more quiet after lunch as most people seemed to have their own things to do. He leaned against the wall of the inn, having stopped calling out his advertisements an hour ago, his thoughts drifting again to what his next move would be.

Until he knew more about this dangerous group he was hesitant to make a decision about building a cabin nearby, but then again perhaps he’d be wise to get set up before a flock of new arrivals took all of the decent spots and bought out all the supplies he’d need. He never liked being in a new town, he felt out of place and unaware of his surroundings.

Before he got too wrapped up in his thoughts, he was distracted by a man riding into town, seeming to survey each of the shops with cold curiosity. But it wasn’t the man’s demeanour that unsettled Connor, it was the bold orange vest that he wore beneath his black coat. As the man’s eyes floated over Connor’s stall he gritted his teeth but gave the man a short nod of greeting. Beneath the cover of the wagon, Connor rested his hand on the grip of his revolver as casually as he could.

The man dismounted by the saloon and walked through the doors, the sound audible from Connor’s stall. Once the man was out of sight the hunter shuffled through the contents of his cart, sliding his rifle onto the bench and loading it before setting it down again.

He paused a moment, keeping an eye on the street to see if there were any other men in orange approaching, but it seemed like this one was on his own. Connor thought it would be unlikely that the man would start anything without backup, but then again he didn’t know how bloodthirsty this group was. Either way, Connor moved to the corner of the building so that he could be nearby if anything happened but could also keep an eye on the street.

Inside he heard the quiet interrupted by Bonney’s voice changing to a tone that he hadn’t expected from her, he could hear her laying down the law and telling the man to take a hike, which brought an unexpected grin to his face. It seemed like Evelyn had it handled, but things could still go wrong so the mountain man took a few steps over and stood in the doorway, behind the man in black and orange to assist if things went south.

Mentioned: rebirth idalie

 

[rebirth]

Tacitus stopped dead in his tracks, and couldn’t step foot into the saloon, because nearly three seconds after he had slammed the doors open, there was an angry lady holding a shotgun, screaming at him. This, as he understood, was Evelyn Bonney, the owner of the bar. As he listened to the furious yelling, his eyes switched between three people: the cat, which Tacitus was sure at this point was a small bobcat, the man in the white suit, who Tacitus knew, but couldn’t land a name, and Evelyn herself, who held a shotgun in her hands.

Tacitus was blown away by the lady’s confidence on the inside; if you were a woman then you were basically screwed in this day and age. Tacitus kept an arrogant smirk on his face, hiding his emotions like a stone wall. Upon the mention of his own name, he knew that she knew what was going on, for the most part. She knew who he was, and what kind of a person he was. This posed as a problem, not only for Tacitus, but for his entire gang, and more importantly, his father, so he would have to remove it, eventually. This was his fault, and his fault only; if he hadn't been so foolish and so greedy, maybe, just maybe he could have remained anonymous. He didn't like needing to kill women.

When Bonney had finally finished her rant, Tacitus cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and let a smug smile surface. “I believe I got what I came here for.”

His eyes, without surprise, drifted back to the man. Tacitus swore he knew that man. He stared up at Tacitus, a face of pure terror. His mind escaped him, back to the good ol’ days, where he used to play with a kid older than him, smarter than him, more agile than him. This man… this man was him. Attoph Gulfman.

“You,” he said, his voice trailed off, “I know who you are, Gulfman. I’ll deal with you two later.” Without another word, Tacitus turned around and walked out of the saloon, purposefully bumping into the man outside the doors. He turned a corner to his right, into the shady alleyway between the saloon and a random shop.

************************
​

Atto turned to Evelyn, nearly in tears, and said, in the nicest tone possible, “You need to get out of this state, now, Miss Bonney. It’s not safe for you and your family now.” I was frightened a little, but I sat on the stool patiently. Atto started to look left and right frantically, and stood up. He was unsure of what to do.

 

[idalie]

Evelyn J. Bonney
​

She jerked the barrel of the gun toward the door after his remark, remaining silent for the rest of the duration that Tacitus stood, barely a stride into the saloon. Eyes on Gulfman now, with silence that got louder by the minute. When Tacitus did leave, Evie relented a little with the shotgun and instead handed it to Bill. "Look after it, I wanna know if those bastards come back." She instructed before facing Nettle and waving him off to the piano. "Go play somethin' to calm everyone down, it's like we're all gonna drop dead." Business took some time to resume as normal before Atto turned to her, tears in his eyes and in concern. Returning from around the counter, the saloon-owner grabbed Attoph by his hands. "Sweetheart, I ain't leavin' even for a biblical flood. This my life, this my home, and ain't no outlaw with a stick up his ass is gonna drive me out. But you, you gonna need to run real far, Mr Gulfman. 'Cause they ain't lookin' for me, I'm just a nuisance."

Bonney released him, "Leave through the back in an hour or so, don't go to your shop and just hitch the next ride outta here, everythin' will sort itself out in the end, hun. But you listen to me when I say I'll be fine, a Bonney always comes out on top. Nice men like you are hard to come by out here, whatever past they had and yours isn't the sort I wanna see dead." Evie gestured back to his seat. "Please, Mr Attoph, let's calm down and get you a drink for them nerves before you start gettin' loopy."

It wasn't as if she had much family left, save for Henry and he hardly acted like the brother she loved. Perhaps it was cruel of her to distance herself from the drunkard, knowing that if he was to ever die she'd be devastated. Then there was Lavinia, oh pretty Lavinia who caught the eyes of bankers and acted every part of a lady. Eve couldn't hate either of them, but Liv was the only one to escape and find some semblance of happiness by living in the lap of luxury. She'd probably never see her again. Evie was happy enough, but the thought of never slaving over hot stoves and tables, having her feet ache at the end of every evening -- well, it was enticing. Yet Bonney was too stubborn to ever admit it. She was a frontier woman, it ran in her blood and that -- she wouldn't give up for love nor money.

Mentioned: Nebaros supertoastgirl
Interactions: rebirth

 

[rebirth]

Tuesday, January 18, 1846​

1:43 P.M.​

Atto took Miss Evelyn up on her offer, and refreshed himself for a while. About thirty minutes later, he stood up, thanked her, slapped some money on the table, and walked out of the front door.

After he had safely crossed the street, he passed the piles of cloth at the back, and entered the office though the back door. He stared somberly out into the main area, out to his employees and friends who were working extremely hard carrying boxes and sewing the priests' and sisters' clothing. He opened the door.

"Hey everyone, I'm letting you off today, go home!" Atto almost shouted the unexpected announcement. Duck Bremly asked a question, slightly muffled by his large, white beard, but Atto brushed it off. "I said go home, I don't have to give you an explanation."

After a few minutes, all three of his employees, packed up and ready to go, left out of the front door, one of them flipping the sign in the window from "Open" to "Closed." Atto locked the doors and went upstairs to his room, where I was patiently waiting for him; I had left a while ago, after the commotion at the saloon. He quickly grabbed a pistol from the desk, a book from a bookshelf, and closed the window next to the desk. As pulled up a wooden chair to the desk and sat down it it, he loaded the short revolver with six bullets, and waited. Although he probably wouldn't hit whoever was about to come through that attic door, he would at least try.

He propped his feet on the rich brown desk in front of him, opened a book on the Civil War, and readied himself.

A few hours passed, and no one had arrived. It was three in the afternoon, and none of the Flames had come to attack him yet. Atto brought out some sewing tools from the chest at the bottom of his bed, and started a scarf.

A few more hours had passed, and nothing had happened. Five o' clock, and no one had come. Atto and I went down into the shop, and started working on the holy men and women's clothing. Well, he did, and I watched.

Before we knew it, it was 9:30, and Atto was exhausted. He stored the clothing that he had been working on in a wooden crate and put it in his office. After he had finished, he made sure the back door was locked, and we both went upstairs. Atto finally, after hours of being miserable, came to the conclusion that no one would be coming to get him, fell into bed, and passed out; he would wake up in the morning, pack his stuff, go to the ceremony in the morning, and board the train out of Wyoming.

When he fell asleep, I went downstairs and escaped the building from a loose board in the wall. I never went out with Atto, but I went outside with myself very frequently.

Tuesday, January 18, 1846
10:00 P.M.
Tacitus Lockheart​

Tacitus had rested at his own camp for quite a while now. As he witnessed the fields of orange, pink, and yellow across the sky, he finally decided it was time. Atto will be found dead the next morning, and they would determine it as a suicide due to stress. He mounted his horse and rode into Walburn.

By the time he got there it was ten in the evening, and it was already dark. Tacitus blended in well when it was dark; his horse, along with his clothing (the only exception being his dark orange vest underneath his black coat) were hard to make out when the sun went away.

Finally Tacitus reached the street with the saloon where he had... *embarassed* himself earlier that day. Where he hid in the alleyway and watched Atto cross the street. Where Tacitus saw him enter the shop, and not come out.

Not many people dwelled in the streets this late in the evening. Not because of the crime—there was practically no crime, until recently—but because there was nothing to do outside, and there were only around a hundred people who resided in Walburn.

Tacitus hopped off of his horse, hitched it beside the Tailor's, and went to the back door. Tacitus's eyes went to a pile of fabric on the side, and for some reason—Tacitus guessed that it was because there was not enough storage inside—the piles of cloth were just... sitting there, outside, waiting to be stolen. Tacitus marked it in his journal.

He turned to look at the door, and started to shimmy the knob; it was locked. Tacitus, chuckling to himself, slung the rifle on his back to his hands and used the stock to smash the doorknob off. He grabbed something metallic from his pocket, and used it to operate on the lock from where the knob one was. Soon, the door was unlocked, and Tacitus pushed it open. He heard, albeit faintly, what sounded like a cat yowl and hiss from a distance away.

As Tacitus went inside and carefully shut the door, he took his surroundings in: he had walked into an office of sorts; to his right was a window that projected a large, factory-like room, and in front of him was a small room with a short flight of stairs that lead into an unknown area. As Atto was not in the room to Tacitus's right, he tried the door to the stairs, and it was (surprisingly) unlocked. Tacitus pushed it open and traversed the stairs until he came to a light, steel attic door. He slowly pushed it open, creating the minimum amount of noise humanly possible.

Tacitus stepped into the small room, and quickly concluded that this was, in fact, where Atto dwelled. Tacitus saw him, asleep in his bed, as silent as a mouse. Tacitus slowly slimmed over to the side of his bed and grabbed a pillow, and slowly positioned it over Atto's face. Before he knew what was happening, a pen awful, sharp pain was pinpointed to the back of his neck, and Tacitus started screaming.

He started clawing at the area, and ripped off a black feline, threw it against the wall, it letting a hiss out a second later. The pain was not fading away, and there were a few large drops of blood on his hand from where he had felt his neck. Tacitus looked over to Atto, who was standing, aiming a gun at him. Tacitus stayed silent for a few seconds; nothing had ever went so poorly in his life.

Suddenly, a voice cleared the air. "Who... who are you? What do you want?" Atto's voice was trembling with fear, but it held a certain confidence that Tacitus had not witnessed in a long time. Not since Atto left him alone with Tacitus's father,

"Put the gun down, Atticus," he demanded, his hand carefully, slowly sliding to a sheathed knife at his waist. Tacitus, although the only thing lighting the room was a single streetlight from below, saw the absolute fear in his eyes.

"T-Tass... Tacitus?"

Atto remembered Tacitus as they played in the wild; Atto was usually a settler on the Oregon trail, and Tacitus played a Native American who attacked. He would normally refer to Atto as "Atticus," although it was not his name. Atto never understood why.

Slowly, Atto lowered his gun, and Tacitus lunged—his arms first, his body following after, and he impacted with Atto. Two gunshots went off, and echoed throughout the entirety of the town. Everyone heard. Both bullets hit the floor, and Tacitus disarmed Atto within two seconds.

As Atto backed up to the desk behind him, Tacitus threw down the gun; he would miss if he tried to use it. "Atticus, you need to die—"

The feline creature started clawing and biting at Tacitus's leg, hissing, but Tacitus wore black jeans, so it was a nuisance at this point. Tacitus kicked the creature away, and Atto screamed, ran at Tacitus, and threw a punch.

Tacitus jumped out of the way, and threw a knife at his left hand. It landed, and Atto whimpered. Red in the face and his blood boiling, Tacitus grabbed Atto, swung him to his right, and launched him out of the window to his left, the glass shattering. Tacitus caused enough noise in two minutes to wake the whole town up, and he more than likely did. Atto screamed on the way down, and a soft thump was heard by Tacitus. Atto landed on the piles of cloth below, unable to move with a handful of broken bones, and a knife in his hand, which was now also attached to his shoulder. He was still breathing.

The small bobcat-thing was gone, but when Tacitus swung around, he was met by a man with a long, white beard in a white wife beater, his blue jeans held up by a pair of brown leather suspenders that were positioned at the two points where the sleeveless shirt grasped onto his shoulders. His bald head shined, even in the dark. He was larger that Tacitus, and had a combination of both fat and muscles. The old man stared at Tacitus for a moment, then to the broken window, then to Tacitus again.

"You killed him."

 

[Nebaros]

Connor hadn’t slept a wink. After the ruckus in the saloon, he’d packed up his stall and stashed his important belongings in his room in the inn, then he’d gone to the stable to tell the stableboy to keep his horse saddled and ready; he may need to be mobile in a hurry. After that he’d gone back to the alley, trying to separate Tacitus’ footprints from the mess of others in the muddy ground, seeing one pair that seemed to turn around to face back towards town, then following one set of steps until the edge of town where he lost them. Not very helpful, but it was good to know which direction he may have gone.

Connor walked back to town, smoking another cigarette through gritted teeth. His instincts were to leave town immediately, even if there wasn’t much chance of him being targeted directly. But something kept him from doing that, he went back to the inn and sat in a chair by the fire for a few hours, his eyes locked on the door and his hand on his gun.

He thought that it may be wise to get the sheriff involved, but since he didn’t know at what level Attoph was involved he didn’t want to get the man into trouble. But, he was already in serious trouble with The Flames, it seemed. He continued to think on it until dinner time, which he ate quickly, not having much of an appetite.

Once he’d finished he stepped out the front to smoke, his nerves were on edge and he wanted to get another look around. It was getting dark already, but there were still a few people going about their business, none wearing any orange as far as he could see. He paced slightly along the wooden porch of the building, his bad knee was playing up so he went back inside.

He was fairly sure that the town would have some unpleasant visitors soon and he wanted to be in a good position when they got here. While it seemed to him that Miss Bonney had things under control in the inn, he still decided to stay on this side of the street. He remembered the window in his room gave him a good view of the street, so he bid Miss Bonney goodnight, saying, “if anything happens come and get me, I’ll be watching out the window to keep an eye on the tailor’s shop,” and with that he went upstairs to his room.

Once inside he dragged the chair over to the window, and picked up his rifle from the bed, sitting down to clean and load it. Although he used no candle and the light was fading fast, he was able to prepare his gun with his eyes closed so was soon ready. He slid his window open, the cold air rushing in at first before settling, Connor rested the barrel of his rifle on the window frame and commenced his watch.

Several hours later Connor had yet to fall asleep, but the monotony of the night was getting to him. This reminded him of his old days, sitting watch on the edge of camp, his rifle across his knee as the rest of the group slept. The only difference was, back in those days he was keeping watch for the law and was protecting the gang, now he was watching for a gang and trying to protect the lawful. How things changed…

For a moment Connor’s mind continued to drift, but then he realised that he’d just seen the door of the tailor open and close. He hadn’t seen anyone approach, but it was dark and he’d been lost in his thoughts. Had he imagined it? He watched carefully, waiting for any sign, when suddenly he heard the yowl of some creature. He quickly realised it was a human crying out in pain, so he immediately got up out of his chair and went out of the room, calling out for Evelyn, “Miss Bonney, I think trouble is here,” he called out, his rifle in one hand and his revolver in the other as he made was way downstairs to the front of the shop. He hadn’t made it to the door when he heard two gunshots, his heart thumping loudly in his ears as the adrenaline pumped through him.

As he got out the front doors he heard a smash and looked up to see a body falling from the second storey in a hail of glass. Connor scanned the street for gang members then ran across to see where they had fallen and who it was.

 

[idalie]

Evelyn J. Bonney
​

Attoph went home sooner or later after calming his nerves with a drink or two, much to Eve's dismay. The last thing left was money on the table. She tried her best to carry on in normalcy, the shotgun now resting on the bar itself with a watchful Bill, whilst Nettle filled the saloon with various jigs and musical numbers. Sooner or later, the spectacle Bonney had made was mostly forgotten in the eyes of her patrons but a stark reminder that the days of Walburn being a sleepy little town was about to change for good. First with the railroad, then with the fellas who had a nasty look about them. She was tempted to hire another man for her crew, after all, she had no husband and the only other male who hung around was Nettle. Not that Nettle was a bad worker, late on occasion, but he wasn't the sort who got into fights. He liked his music, his gals, and his piano -- she wasn't about to berate him for it. Safety more-so hovered at the front of her mind. In a way, she was thankful for McCarthy's lodging to ease her worries.

Connor bid goodnight as Evie turned in, giving the fur trapper a tired smile and returning the polite notion before pausing on the stairs when he mentioned 'anything happening'. "I'll be sure to." The saloon owner inclined her head. She wouldn't be able to sleep soundly that night either, her bed too warm or too cold, her mind too full of thoughts or too empty. By the time she managed to get some semblance of dozing off, Bonney flitted between waking and slumber.

McCarthy called out, shaking drowsiness from her head. He sounded not panicked but sincere, enough to have her run down the stairs in only a nightgown, shawl, and boots with no stockings. Her hair in plaits which fell over her shoulders like a schoolgirl. By the time she reached the downstairs spying Connor in the dark of the evening, two gunshots sounded. Then the terrible crescendo of shattered glass. McCarthy ran out the doors before she could, Evie picking up a lantern to help illuminate what was going on to follow in his footsteps.

Out across the street, it was cold from the downpour of the past few days and low evening temperature; the scent of petrichor clinging to anything it could. Taking almost no notice of her surroundings, Bonney reached Connor's side to see the victim. Gulfman. Of course, it had to have been Gulfman. "I ... oh God ..." Kneeling to him, Evelyn let her hand hover over her mouth to feel for breath. "He's still alive n' all, we should call the doc -- move him back to the saloon to keep warm ..." Her features froze for a second time, trying to comprehend the situation. There was plenty of blood where the knife was involved.

"Right?" Evelyn looked to Connor for some sort of affirmation that it was an acceptable idea. The worst her brother had was bumps, bruises and the occasional cut from lumber saws he caught his fingers on. The thought that his assailant, Tacitus, could've been or was still inside the tailors barely crossed her mind. Falling from such a height wasn't without its repercussions and Atto sure seemed like he was suffering them. "I ain't got a clue in Dixie -- but if you stay with him I'll be right back -- don't go leavin' him alone."

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[rebirth]

Tuesday, Jaunary 18, 1846
10:11 P.M.​

The two stared at each other for a few long seconds—well, Duck Bremly stood there, as Tacitus anticipated Duck's next actions.

Duck was unsure of what to do. He had been in many of these situations in the war, but none of them were when a friend or outlaw was involved. A chill ran down his spine.

He was afraid and angry at the same time, but he wasn't going to let his emotions get the better of him; he was going to stay calm and collected, no matter what happened. He watched Tacitus as Tacitus watched him, until one of them finally made the first move.

Tacitus's hand snapped to his hip, where a knife would be, if he hadn't used it on Atto. Cursing himself, he saw Duck charging at him, letting out a roar out of the corner of his eye, and Tacitus tried to jump out of the way. He was soon enveloped within Duck's large arms, and they felt the wall as they collided with it, a loud thump echoing throughout the room. Tacitus started kicking and squirming to get away, but Duck resisted, and was ultimately too strong for him. Duck reached his right arm to his side, then swiftly brought it onto Tacitus's face, then again with his left arm, and then his right.

Shortly after, blood on his face, Tacitus saw an opening and pushed his head forward in a quick motion, and it collided with Duck's nose. He stumbled back and held his face. A few seconds passed. Tacitus kicked Duck in the side of the knee, causing the 6 foot beast to fall over onto his other knee. The last thing he saw was Tacitus raise his arm and bring it down on Duck's bloodied face, using his stabbing technique. Duck fell over onto the floor, knocked out cold.

Tacitus, in a panic, grabbed Atto's gun, pillaged his desk of valuables, and quickly robbed the small room of about five dollars before becoming paranoid and running out the front door, leaving a distinct trail of blood that fell off of his injured face. He whistled for his horse. After a few short seconds, he realized that he had left his horse hitched on a post out back.

Tacitus walked swiftly through the shop, out the ruined back door to retrieve his horse, but something stopped him: it was the hunter from earlier, the disrespectful woman from the bar, and Atto, laying on a pile of cloth that had compressed to hold Atto's knocked-out body. Tacitus did not say a word.

 

[idalie]

Evelyn J. Bonney
​

Another fight was happening, upstairs this time. Who else was left? Evie backed up from the unconscious body of Atto, the shawl tightened around her shoulders and nightdress muddied. Then, there was him. Walking through the shop and out the back wherein clear view, he stood to see the scene. A consequence of his actions. Was there even remorse in his gaze? A tinge of respect, knowing that perhaps he'd killed someone, someone that he'd known? Evelyn gritted her teeth, in an odd limbo of anger and tears. "No, YOU DON'T GET TO RUN AWAY --" Bonney screamed, the hollow of her collarbone exposed and neck tensed. Trying to swallow the emotions that came in a flood of confusion and hatred.

Without much care, she chased after Tacitus and gripped his jacket, wrenching him back now with what upper body strength she could muster, the shawl fell to the street. "I know your types, I know what you do --" Evelyn's nails dug into what flesh she could find purchase on. "WHY? WHY THIS GOTTA HAPPEN, WHY'D YOU DO IT? WHY'D YOU DO IT TO GOOD FOLKS?" She yelled and thrashed, "Why?" Her eyes clashed with his, tears collecting toward the corners. "How many sons do you gotta kill? How many of our BOYS YOU GOTTA TAKE? 'Cause I saw the one you BASTARDS LEFT BEHIND. HE WAS BARELY A MAN -- AN' MR ATTOPH WAS NOTHIN' MORE THAN KIND."

Her face, angry and tired only gave him something between disgust and wrath. But there was something of pity, a small and valid ember. What drove men to kill? And what kind of man was driven to kill on the thought of revenge alone? She wanted to know and yet something was screaming at her to run. Yet she wouldn't leave without her answer and part of her hoped, more than hoped, that someone from all the racket would call upon the sheriff. "Ain't you scared? If no one can forgive you now, what do you think you've become?"

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[rebirth]

Tacitus listened impatiently, his eyes half-closed and nowhere near flinching as Evelyn cried and screamed at him. Although he did feel bad for Atto, he knew what he was getting into when he left, and his past had caught up with him. As Tacitus stared her in the eyes, he wondered how people lived like this, how they went through their lives, being faithful to the law. It must have been dreadful.

As Evelyn finished her last sentence, Tacitus ripped her from his jacket, spun her around to face the man, and pointed Atto's revolver, which still held four bullets at her head. He looked to the hunter with the scar on his face, and chuckled softly as he pulled the hammer.

"Move and she's dead. I just want my horse, partner; don't make this harder than it's gotta be." His voice didn't hold much remorse, but it was some, and that was an improvement from last time.

 

[Nebaros]

Connor knelt by Attoph’s unconscious form as Evelyn caught up, the sounds of a fight going on upstairs, making him indecisive. He wanted to protect the tailor, but it sounded like someone else was in trouble inside. “Alright, let’s move him,” he agreed, but as soon as he’d started grabbing Attoph by the shoulders, Tacitus strolled out the back of the stall, obviously having dealt with things inside.

Connor stood and his hand went to his gun but Evelyn was already in action, flying at him and grabbing him by the jacket, screaming at him. Connor had the revolver in his hand, but with Evelyn attacking him he couldn’t get a clear shot of the criminal. He gritted his teeth in frustration, he knew that a man like Tacitus had lost his morality a long time ago, or at least it had shifted, Connor would rather shoot the man down in the street rather than try to reason with him, but as he heard the gangster’s hammer click back into place he froze.

He still had his gun pointed in their direction, but he nodded to the man, “Just settle down there, I don’t much care what you do as long as you stop killing folks. This aint a big town, there aint no rich people here, head back East and pick on some rich folk, this place is a waste of your time.”

Connor spoke to the man quietly, reasonably, but his eyes were hard as he stared the man down. He was trying to speak in a way a gang would understand, that this town would be more trouble than it’s worth, there was no big payoff to be had here, at least not until the train arrived. The other reason he wanted to keep Tacitus talking was that he hoped that some of the other townsfolk had heard the shots and would be coming out.

“Aint nothing here for you but a fight.”

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[idalie]

Evelyn J. Bonney
​

Swiftly, she was torn from her grip on his vest and twirled about before the gun she hadn't previously seen, was stuck to her temple and the hammer cocked. It was a noise she knew far too well. Her figure went rigid, shoulders tensing as she stood, barely breathing. He could blow her brains out, any minute and he could pull that trigger and jump on that horse of his. Now she would call herself a strong woman, but she had little idea what to do. Nothing could've prepared her for this, no amount of dealing with men from behind a bar, no amount of healing cuts and bruises, or talking people down from stupors. She wanted her father. Desperately. He'd know what to do, he'd sit her down and tell her. Do what he did before he got sick, before ma died.

She wanted to bawl and cry and shout obscenities, choking up to no avail. Evie couldn't cry her way out of this like a child. "--this ain't no way to do somethin'." She hoarsely uttered, scared to say too much and forfeit her life. Her big mouth was what got her into the damn situation.

Bonney met Connor's eyes and clearly, she was terrified. The cold getting to her as Eve began shaking, repressing it to hold her stance. "We can sort this out, Mr Connor is right n' all, there ain't no rich folks down here. Just lumber n' furs--" Speaking up this time it was more of a plea, his chin the height of her head which was no help, making her feel even more helpless. If she had her shotgun, then that'd be fair. She'd blow his damn brains out -- justice for what he'd done. Justice for Walburn and that poor boy.

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[rebirth]

"Don't think because you're a woman, I'm gonna treat you like you ain't a prisoner to the Flames, honey," Tacitus said, slowly guiding her around the hunter, who held a gun in their area. "I've done this plenty 'a times, and if I had two guns I'd shoot both 'a ya and be done with it." Although he lied, he would have tried to wriggle his way out of the situation either way. "Now let's go, miss, before I change my mind an' kill ya here n' now."

Tacitus, with the gun still pointed at Evelyn's head, walked through the street with her, his eyes on Connor, and went behind his grey horse. "Get on 'for I shoot ya, woman."

He looked around and did not take his gun off of Evelyn. He saw a few people on the other side of the street staring at him, but they did not have any guns. One of them seemed to be Doctor Alfenheimer, the most liked doctor in town. He wore small round spectacles above his wrinkled eyes, and his face was as saggy as a sack of potatoes that the farmers brought into town every Wednesday. Doctor Alf was wearing a curious face, as if he were unsure what was going on, and rightly so; there was practically no light, and he was Nearsighted.

 

[idalie]

Evelyn J. Bonney
​

"You're makin' a mistake here," Evelyn remarked scowling at the thought of being referred to condescendingly as 'honey'. Moving forward as ordered, the saloon owner carefully climbed the horse. One foot in the stirrup, dragging herself up in a bid not to let her nightgown hitch. Perching side-saddle and glaring at Tacitus. She too spied the Doctor, Connor's silhouette, and the people standing around with no way to help but pray. Where was that damn sheriff? Did it take that long to wake him up?

The only thing she could be thankful for was the boots she'd grabbed before jumping out the door and into yet another situation. Even so, Bonney felt numb. Whether from the cold or some settling shock, it'd remain a mystery. The ribbons in her hair were loosening, pieces beginning to slip from the braids to make her appear more unkempt. She was tired, already exhausted with the bullheaded man and his bullshit. Even her eyes complained, sore now and rimmed red from spilt tears. Worth every drop.

"The railroad comes in tomorrow, please, Lockheart. This all can be forgotten," Her tone was soft, doing her damnedest to remember what her aunt had told her about men. The thought of trying to flirt her way out of the situation made her skin crawl, "You know as well as I do, I ain't that important, I'm jus' some town-girl, but please -- what 'bout my brother? He ain't right in the head, I gotta care for him!--"

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[rebirth]

Tacitus let out a quiet sigh, already fed up with the woman's nagging. "Je-sus Christ, lady, I've met a lot of women over the course of my career, but none of them have whined as much as you have in the past three minutes I've held a gun to your head. I don't like shootin' ladies, but I might have to soon." He hopped up and mounted the horse, sitting behind Evelyn. "At least you tried, mister," Tacitus said, looking to Connor. "I reckon I c'n respect that. Don't tryta follow me, or you both'll die for sure."

He held onto the reigns with one hand, and the gun with another, then whipped the horse gently, letting out a "Hyah" as the horse rode off.

The ride was long, and before Tacitus knew it, they were at Murkwood Forest, where he had stomped in dear old Martin's head and accidentally tossed him in the river. It had been half an hour. Tacitus slowled down to a pace that was not quite a trot, but not running either. It was far enough from Walburn that no one could catch up to him (if they hadn't followed him). At this rate, it would take another thirty to forty minutes to get to camp.

 

[Nebaros]

Connor glared up at the man as the man rode away with Miss Bonney on the back of his horse, he cursed and watched which direction they rode off in before he called out for someone to get the sheriff. He knelt down by Attoph, checking his pulse and finding that he was still alive, "and someone get the doctor!" he yelled out, cursing again as he stood up, grabbing his rifle from the ground and slinging it over his shoulder.

He wanted to stick around and wait for the sheriff, but there were other witnesses who could tell him what happened, and Connor needed to follow them despite Tacitus' warning. "Tell the sheriff I'm following them!" he called across the street as he ran to the stables, glad he'd asked the stableboy to have his horse ready. He charged after them, keeping his eyes on the soft muddy ground and watching for fresh hoofprints.

Soon he caught the trail and galloped in pursuit, cursing himself for not shooting Tacitus as soon as he'd come out of the shop. He had lost a few minutes before following and he didn't want to be seen, but he also didn't want to lose the trail, so he kept a decent pace, his eyes sweeping the countryside for signs of them.

An hour passed, Connor had lost the trail several times then found it again, slowing down as he reached the edge of a forest, the tracks becoming harder to find in firmer ground. He paused at the treeline, looking back in the direction of town. Perhaps he should turn back, to tell the sheriff which direction they had gone, but that would waste valuable time and the trail might go cold.

He jumped down from his horse, glancing back and forth between the path and the trees ahead of him. He didn't want to walk into a trap, so he pushed on slowly, leading the horse by the reigns and keeping his eyes peeled, rifle held in his free hand. He had no idea how many there were, so far he'd only seen the one, but he assumed they had quite a few members, given Tacitus' confidence. Either way, he followed slowly behind them deeper into the dark forest.

 

[idalie]

Evelyn J. Bonney
​

"Mr Connor n' the Sheriff'll come for me," She reminded Tacitus, "I ain't no farmers gal," Bonney muttered, quietening down with a half-hearted sniff. Her fingers frozen from the ride, aching as they curled into the horses' mane. The moment they hit the forest she dropped a ribbon from one of her plaits underhandedly and untied the other, wrapping the spare around her wrist. Left with hair curling around her shoulders, it was odd enough to see her without it in some sort of bun let alone with it loose. Much like with any woman who had a hand in keeping up with the times, Evie found it humiliating to be seen as she was. Talk about the gossip if she ever got home, unless Lockheart discarded her in the brush with a bullet to the head.

Bonney would've struggled more, but the thundering hooves and intimidating character made for less enthusiasm. As the horse began to slow down, her sour expression adopted a permanent pout. "You know you never answered me," The saloon owner arched her brow. "'Bout why you do stuff that hurts people. Ain't as if you're a military man." She stared at him, eerily so with those dark irises of hers. "'Cause some of them get broke in the head and you can't fix none of that. If you're gon' take me from the street at God knows what hours n' then you can at least act a gentleman about it. I dunno whether I'm gon' be in a ditch by the end of the night, do I? You won't get a good price from injuns either, they prefer blonde an' blue-eyed."

A little further on and she crossed both her arms across her chest in a bid for a little more warmth, "I'm cold." A pause lingered, "An' I'm thirsty." Silence again before she opened her mouth, "My legs hurt an' my nose is runnin'." Evelyn couldn't hold back the complaints, she wasn't the sort of woman who could retain fear and only grew more confident in the absence of any threats or violence. "What do outlaws even eat? You don't look like any sort of cook I know, an' I know a lot. 'Cause they're all women, 'cept for the baker. You got a wife then? You take your wives?"

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Interactions: rebirth

 

[rebirth]

Tacitus came to a full stop on his horse and dismounted him as he gestured for Evelyn to follow him. "I hurt people 'cause I have to, an' I hurt 'em 'cause I want to," he said, reaching into his bag. "If I'm bein' honest, I don't know if you're gonna be dead soon or not. It's all up to the big man."

Tacitus reached into a canvas bag and brought out a can of peas. He then handed it to Evelyn. "There's a stream 'a water down here if ya want a drink. Otherwise stop yappin'."

 

[idalie]

Evelyn J. Bonney
​

Evie huffed, "Ain't a good excuse if you ask me." Came her retort as she held down the nightgown's skirt to slip off the saddle. "And what's this? Jesus, why I gotta face down someone's paw, ain't like meetin' the in-laws. I don't get why you even have to, you got outta town, just leave me here and I'll walk back. I'll even tell 'em it was horrible n' all." Bonney put a hand on her hip before snatching the can of peas. "Well, it looks like someone developed a buncha manners outta the blue."

She could try and run, yet the stream led back to town. But it was dark, the current was strong. It would be perilous. However, it was either that or she'd be dragged back to the outlaws camp, perhaps executed -- or worse. She doubted they were the type to heed morals. If she kept to the banks, she could make it. She wouldn't call herself the strongest swimmer, but as of then, she wasn't about to make an informed decision. In fact, it would've left its marks. Gently treading down to the edge, Evie surreptitiously removed her boots under the guise of kneeling down to collect water. They'd only drag her down. One minute she was delicately holding the hem of her nightgown, the next a large splash sounded as she threw herself into the fast flowing water.

Almost immediately, Evie was sucked under after a few strokes of her arm. Fighting to keep afloat and drag herself back to the banks, meanwhilst her legs were smacked into boulders and arms used to protect her face between surfacing and sinking. It was cold. Colder than she anticipated and fear struck her. Oh -- she shouldn't have done it. What on earth was she thinking? As the water swirled and again sucked her down. Spluttering and hacking up more than she could handle, flailing and desperately raking her fingernails across the bank where she could reach. Latching on to an overhanging root, hands slipping and feet kicking.

She let out a piercing scream, bloody murder to be exact. Forcing what air she could from her lungs. Yet her palms were cramping, fingers numb and body aching. She didn't know how far she'd travelled, under the impression it couldn't have been far. In the end the root, slimy from algae slipped and she was again swept off her feet to smash into broken branches and stone. Attempting to find the side as she had prior, her fingers latched into something which was lodged into the plants. It floated easily whilst she pulled herself to the reeds and eventually saw its face. Except it didn't have a face, even by the light of the moon she could see that. This time her shriek was gut-wrenching, corpse continuing downstream from where she'd dragged it from the weeds. The boy's features had been caved in to the point Evie would've been covered in her own vomit if not the for situation that required her to have little else to focus on but keeping sane and keeping alive.

Mentioned: Nebaros
Interactions: rebirth

 

[rebirth]

Tuesday, January 18
1846
10:37
Tacitus Lockheart
​

Tacitus bolted down the stream after Evelyn as she flung herself carelessly into the raging river. "God -- God damn it! Why can nothing ever go accordin' ta plan? Always the same, over an' over again." It seemed that recently, nothing had really gone how he wanted or needed. As Evelyn traveled closer and closer to Walburn through the water, trying to stay above, Tacitus grew tired and more frustrated than he had been. Suddenly, he heard a scream that shook the Earth itself. Tacitus ran over to the origin of the noise, wondering just what it could be.

Eventually, after hopping onto his horse and investigating, he saw Evelyn as she held onto Martin. Poor old Martin, that's where he had floated off to. Tacitus hesitantly pointed a rope at Evelyn, but realized that he could end it here by not saving her. That would be inhuman, sure, but Tacitus had already committed multiple inhumane acts that day alone.

"Now missy, you can either grab this rope and come with me, or I can let you go and you can fuckin' drown fer all I care." Tacitus seemed rather annoyed at Evelyn's attempts to escape. This was her final warning, it seemed. "Not like the sheriff'll do anything; I got 'is poor lil son 'n camp," he said horribly, an evil smile spread across his face, "your choice, sweetheart.

***************
Tuesday, January 18
1846
10:15 P.M.
Doctor Alfenheimer
​

When the street had cleared after the altercation, Doctor Alfenheimer rushed across the street as fast as he could. He was an old man, nearly 70, but he tried to go at a speed that wouldn't literally kill anyone. A few civilians walked with him to investigate what had just happened, murmuring little tidbits of curiosity.

As soon as he arrived, Alfenheimer started to diagnose Attoph's injuries. Firstly, he discovered that there was not only a knife through his hand, but that he had fallen to where it was also lodged into his shoulder, as if Atto were about to start swearing an oath to the good Lord above.

Shortly after, the doctor determined that his right leg was broken; it was bent in a direction that a leg was not supposed to be bent. There were probably even more injuries, but Alfenheimer could only do so much in the dark.

"Some 'un go get the sher'ff!" he yelled, his voice showing age. "Tell 'em that that hunter gent's gone trackin' whoever done this." Two of the civilians, who both looked to be farmers, rushed off to the sheriff's office. "An' some 'un help me with th's strip'a cloth an' get it 'n him back ta my office."

Someone rushed to Alfenheimer's aid, and then another, and another. All three of them carefully picked up the long strip of cloth that Atto had fallen on and started carrying it to Doctor Alfenheimer's office, which was right next to the sheriff's, and Alfenheimer followed behind at a short distance away.

**************
​

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Mentioned: Nebaros

 

[idalie]

Evelyn J. Bonney
​

Of course, the first damn face she had to see in trying to seek comfort from her horror, was the smug and cruel expression that belonged to Tacitus. Her hair was dark, almost black, plastered to her scalp and face -- the pallor of which was whiter than a corpse. Rudely, the outlaw gave her a choice whilst the inn-keeper shook violently from cold, ache, and utter terror of the faceless being who she'd somewhat nudged further downstream from where it had been stuck. Evelyn reached out and grabbed the rope, seemingly the only way she'd make it through the night.

Dragging herself from the river, there was no hope for her nightgown to ever achieve its original shade of white again. Slick mud stuck to her bruised legs, cuts littering her feet now as she soakingly stood there. Something of a drowned cat. This wasn't what her Tuesday nights usually entailed. Being on the verge of some sort of breakdown, she was ready to collapse into a pile of herself and sob. Yet there was something notable, that being he mentioned the sheriff's son at camp. That boy had been missing for days! And clearly, this was the reason why. They'd of killed him if a manhunt was formed. Shouldn't have stopped them from trying something to save the kid. The strangest thing was, she hadn't heard it was a kidnapping in her neck of the woods.

"I touched it," Evie choked, in between everything hitting her from missing children to dead bodies, the numb pins and needles of her skin and the fact that no sheriff was coming after her. "I got it on my hands." Her gaze turned to him and she whispered, "I'm so tired, Lockheart. Why can't you jus' take me home? I'm so cold." And exactly on cue, the crying started. Real waterworks, like a toddler which hasn't had its nap, full of odd gasping and feminine whines which would alternate between whimpers.

Mentioned: Nebaros
Interactions: rebirth

 

[rebirth]

Tacitus removed his hat and brushed his hand through his rough hair, exhaling a deep breath. This had been one of the longest days he'd had in quite a while; he had to kill a member of his gang, he had to kill his long-lost friend, and now he had to deal with this awful woman who could not, literally for the life of her, hold her emotions in. He was about to pull Atto's revolver out and end both of them there and then.

"I seriously doubt thatcha've never touched a dead body before, the way you were pointing that shotgun at me an' hollerin' earlier," he said, emitting a sad chuckle. "Let's go, there's a fire back at camp you can dry yerself off with. Now shut yer hole or I'll hafta tie ya up." Tacitus grabbed the reigns of his horse and motioned for her to get on.