bythestars Jun 14th, 2019 66 Never
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- Levi Boone The lead slashed across the rough paper a few more times to finish off the ruffled feathering of the crow in front of him. Stranger, his faithful palamino, bent his head down to chew on some dried grass as Mr. Boone looked on ahead. The bird fluttered it's wings and cackled as it flew above him and whomever followed. He ripped the drawing out of his notebook and shoves into the right pocket of his all black thin dress coat. "Alright, boys. Any objections before we descend on this stain upon humanity?" New towns always brought new law. If no one objected, he'd nudge his horse and give those reigns a tug. "Let's go, boy."
- Jack Dawkins it was awfully hot out, and the sky was utterly clear of clouds that would indicate a downpour was in the immediate future. Which on one hand was a blessing, as Jack hated being wet and miserable, then forced to ride for any length of time. But on the other hand? He'd appreciate just a bit of relief from the sun's rays. On multiple occasions lips parted to form inquiry, only to be silenced with a sharp jab in the ribs from disturbing Boone by his associate Bernard. Frowning and rubbing at the offense, wishing he'd find at least a different spot to impress upon. In the end, their boss finished his sketch and they were able to get a move on. Tugging at his own reins to lead Lucky after Boone.
- Levi Boone It wasn't long until they reached the very edge of town. The trail became more defined with steady horse tracks going either way. Wagon wheels left a deep indent in the dirk and dried grass. The town was barely a town, with it being more tents than buildings at this point. The plan was always the same. "You all earned a night of... rest and relaxation, fellas." He peered down the future streets, trying to see if there was some sort of reputable establishment he could wet his whistle at. Damn the rest of them today. "Tomorrow, one of you better find us some work here." He wasn't above taking a bit of honest work in order to check the town's nooks and crannies, but a steady wagon route to stalk would be more welcome.
- Estella Porter leaned against the post outside The Scratching Post, fanning herself as emerald eyes scanned the street.
- Bernard Hughes Hughe's form could be seen coming along the horrizon, trotting with his (naturally black) stallion. It took him a bit to catch up to Jack and Levi but he'd eventually find his way. Shades on and hat tilted low, the outlaw pulled up on the two men and gave them each a respectable nod. "Sorry 'm late." he said with a gruff. "Had a talkin' with some boys that took longer than I figured." Naturally, by talking, he meant a brawl. Potentially at a bar. With multiple white men that had something nasty to say about the shade of melanin he was blessed with. One of them managed to get a good lick at his chin. A new bruise to add to the list. But it was nothing new to see from the likes of his crew. Giving a quick once over at the town they arrived in, he'd scrunch his nose some. This place seemed to have potential.
- Jack Dawkins it seemed an age before they made it into town, the sign out front hailing it was Gritwood on a gnarled board that seemed like a well placed kick could knock it over. A despairing whistle was given, not mightily impressed but trusting in Boone's instincts. Head favoring the direction of Hughes as he joined them, squinting against the god forsaken sun. "Boss wants us to rustle up some work," behaving like a good errand boy, until Levi had grunted and rode off to scribble more birds on a paper. "I say we check out the local entertainment, get out of this heat.." hand slapping Bernard's shoulder to direct his attention towards the angel that was fanning herself. "..I am feeling mighty thirsty," lips splitting open to reveal ivories in a grin.
- Lovely Morbidity Nothing about the journey into the harsh Colorado wilderness had been easy. Harder yet were those last few miles into the nearest town, which - let's face it - was not exactly the ideal place to be. Sure, for some, Gritwood was a dream come true. There was no presiding sheriff, at least for the time being. That meant that it was about as close to being perfectly lawless as any one place could be. That also meant it was a horrible place for a young woman - particularly one travelling alone. She'd already seen her share of trouble on the way in, and it was written all over her features (half hidden behind the russet hair obscuring brown eyes). Her lips were pale and cracked, and thirsty. Her skin was more than pale - it was the kind of sallow pallor that suggested a kind of sickliness. Then again, sadly, this wasn't an entirely uncommon look among young women. Emily Prichard lept off the cart she'd ridden in on, uttering salutations of gratitude to the driver before offering the appropriation of final payment. She adjusted the brown scarf she'd worn around her neck, drawing it up over her lips to keep out the dust - and caught sight immediately of the little saloon that resided near the edge of town. The Sweetwater Saloon was, like so many saloons, a brothel and popular gambling/drinking hall. Again, not the right place for a young woman. But when did that ever stop her? Of slight height, she made her way inside.
- Bernard Hughes As Jack slapped his hand against his shoulder, Hughe's stoic form seemed almost bothered by the fact that Jack was touching him right then and there. It wasn't that he hated Jack by any means. It was just whenever Jack did... anything... it usually followed up with some hair brained shenanigans Hughe's would get dragged into. Looking through his circular dark shades, Bernard would take note of the fine looking lady Jack was thirsting for. Mmm. There it goes. The second omen to spark the impending shenanigans. "Damn it, Jack..." he'd half mumble, glancing about once more before looking towards the woman again. Boss man basically said the scout the place for work. Guess they had to start somewhere, right? "Make me a promise. For once. That you won't do something stupid to impress a pretty face. You know they always get your ass in 4 different shades of trouble." Cue the second pretty face that would be walking into the saloon. Bernard didn't recognize her a lick, so didn't pay her much attention. But perhaps Jack would feel differently.
- Lovely Morbidity As for Miss Emily, she was somewhat less intent on her surroundings. Rule number one when entering a grimy saloon in an unfamiliar town: avoid eye contact. And did she ever. The stale waft of cigar smoke was something to immediately choke on when she pushed her way inside. There were men off playing poker in one corner, a pianist plucking away at the old piano in another. Several men lined the bar, some of them already way beyond the point of being reasonably drunk. The only women she saw, at the onset, were obvious prostitutes. Certainly, it was a saloon. She made her way toward the bar, hoping the bar keep was of the decent sort who wouldn't be too spiteful if she asked for water. That said, she rethought that idea right away. Asking for water in a saloon was another surefire way to draw the wrong kind of ire. Rule number two: always order a proper drink. And so, she did. Emily ordered herself a glass of whiskey, her voice hoarse and muffled under her scarf.
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