Mid Afternoon, April 10th, 1879. Blackthorn, Texas

---

Elijah Fuller:

Some Mood Music

The stage rolls through the quiet town. The place appears to be mostly deserted--not a soul seems to be out in the godawful weather. Several houses and businesses along the main street have been boarded up, and only a few windows have a flicker of candlelight to suggest anyone dwelling within. Though it's only just past three in the afternoon, the sky is as dark as twilight, as if the sun had just given up on the place and gone elsewhere.

The driver mutters something the occupants of the coach can't make out as they pull up alongside a building with a sign proclaiming it the "Grand Bull Saloon," a texa longhorn skull hung between the words "grand" and "bull" to emphasize the point. One of the windows is boarded up, but there's a cheery light from the unbroken one, and the slow, sweet melody of a piano sings out from within.

"Well...here we are. Grand Bull Saloon and Inn. Feel free to step inside and have a meal." The driver says, opening the coach's door.

---

Carl:

Some Mood Music

Frank says nothing at Carl's admonishment, just sinks deeper into his whiskey.

Percy frowns. "I-I guess...I mean, sure, I think I might be able to pick her out of a crowd if I saw her again. But You know, she'd just seen her escort get his face scrambled by a load of rock salt. I wouldn't fault her any for taking shots at us. maybe she just got...lucky." He falls quiet.

At the request, Mike shakes his head. "I'll do it, Carl. Don't place that kind of thing on the boy's shoulders."

"No, it's alright." Percy says. "I'll go see the Landers. I owe it to Tim, at the very least."

"Really oughta be Dave..." Frank mutters, then looks out the window. "Hey...looks like the 3:10 from Victoria is here."

---

Charging Bear:

The man, obviously not quite used to shaking hands with an Indian, nevertheless returns the friendly gesture.

"Of course, sir, of course! I do not carry any, er, tribal accouterments, but my selection of goods and clothes is otherwise the best you'll find in the county! Feel free to browse around, and if you have any questions for me, feel free with those as well!"

He points out the racks of clothing along the wall. He also has some hats on a rack. The selection leaves something to be desired--if this is the "best in the county," then the county isn't very prosperous--but there should be something serviceable here that isn't just a gussied up cheap knock-off.

The stacks of canned goods is more robust, with tins of fruits, beans, pickled vegetables, and even tins of something called "SPAM," which claims to be a meat product of some kind.

---

Robert Micklethwait, Katy Devon, Wildcat Hawkins:

Wildcat reaches the Oriental just as Robert and Katy reach the rear door. The trio stop and look at each other.

Evans does not seem to have made it here yet.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:24, Sat 06 Nov 2010.

Carl frowns and holds up one finger, watching Percy seriously. "..." Then he gives a grim half-smile. "..."

He listens to Mike, gives a slight headshake, indicating Percy. He nods once at Frank's comment, but then makes a scrambling, mixing gesture to explain his dubious look.

Carl turns his chair a little, the better to see anyone heading in, mildly curious.

Wildcat may be stitched up now, but she still looks like a blood encrusted horror show.  Her blouse is a dried dull red with a tear at the shoulder, exposing just a little skin, but of course that's covered up by a bandage.  There's a little spatter on her jeans.  The hat and the duster aren't bloody but they are covered in road dust, and there's a prominent hole in the hat's brim, the hallmark of a barely missed head shot.

As she walks down the street she is for some strange reason holding her Bowie knife in a saber grip in her left hand, feinting, slashing and back cutting at imaginary foes in the air.  They don't know she's just trying to get all the feeling and circulation back in it of course, but the movements are visible.

When she sees other people are looking at her though, she stops that, realizing how silly it probably looks, and lowers the knife.

"Mr. Mickle-fwate, Miss Katy, am I supposed to take over or are you two takin' French leave?"

Katy was a bit wide eyed after leaving the Orential Theater, and as soon Robert left with her, she held to his arm and they entered the boggy weather and heading up the street. She wasnted to go to the Grand Bull Sallon and get some hot tae and perhaps even take a moment off her feet for a spell. Yet then comes the vision of wildkat, looking much like a frightful living dead girl with aoles in her clothes from hat to jeans, and blood everywhere.

" It's spreading! " She said quietly and hugged Robert's Arm tightly, her feet becoming a bit of lead and wanting to go in a different way. The Vampire Fever must have gotten to them! The slight girl shuffled a little step behind Robert, tensed to run, though Robert would hear a soft click behind him. Katy's big brown eyes watched the knife zinging through the air, nearly convinced Wildkat had gone mad with that diabolic plague! Or least that's what she thought til it stopped and spoke in a friendly manner..

" Miss Hawkins.. What happen to you?.. Are you.. Still you? I mean.. Your not thinkin of harmin no poor souls, right, Miss Hawkins?..."

Wildcat is, naturally, oblivious to what Katy is actually talking about and looks down at the knife, a little embarrassed.

"Heh, playing with it like a tinhorn getting his first sharp... no ma'am, nothing of the sort."

A sobering thought comes to Wildcat quickly however, as she snaps out of her self absorbed state upon putting the blade back in its sheath.

"Wait, if'n you two are leavin', that sick woman, is she...?"

Her sentence just trails off.

Letting the other passengers disembark first, Eli steps carefully down from the coach.  He stumbles a bit, having put too much weight on his bad leg.  With an embarrassed wince, he plants his cane and takes the weight off again.  He'll turn around to make sure his bags make it down /carefully/ from the stage.  A bit of attention wil be spared to see where Cantrell and the uptight Easterner head...

[ooc: did try to wait for Robert to post. Oh well.]

There was a little relief and she slightly let go of  Robert's arm, but she still seemed a little high strung despite the disarming smile that blossomed. Hawkins then inquired about the sick girl and her flourish smile wilts a bit with a grave personal sorrow at killing another.. But this was a monster, they said.. It just looked like a person. Right?

" The pointy end went in.." She murmured and she seemed to shake like a leaf. "  That was so scary. Bullets didn't work at all, didn't even slow her down. What are we going to do if more get out? We're going to tell people, right?.." She waved a little in her step and would have tipped over had she not held onto the Deputy Micklethwait.

" Oh boy.. " She murmured glumly from a little dizzy spell that went away as soon as it came. " Mm.. Where has the Marshal gone?"

In reply to Elijah Fuller (msg #6):

Both the bounty hunter and the dandy make for the Saloon after collecting their bags. Apparently, food and shelter are the top priority in the miserable weather.

In reply to Carl (msg #2):

"As long as you don't plan on hurting her. I won't be a party to that, Carl. Not for you or Dave or anyone." Percy replies with conviction. "And don't you go badmouthing the dead like that. We were only trying to scare him into leaving town. That's why Dave was loading rock salt instead of buckshot. No one was supposed to get killed."

The doors of the saloon swing open as a flash of lighting crackles outside.

Into the Grand Bull strides a great mountain of a black man in a black duster over an old Confederate army jacket, his stetson hat dripping water onto the floor. He surveys the room, taking in every face. He bulls through the crowded room, heading for a notice board at one end where many local handbills are posted (and which is currently strangely empty). He reaches into his back, and withdraws a hammer, some nails, and three hand bills, which he proceeds to nail to the board.

While he's doing this, a second, less conspicuous gentlemen in a gray suit, with dark, slicked back hair and a trim mustache, enters the Grand Bull. He pauses, sniffs the air, and curls his lip a bit before taking a seat at the only empty table in the room.

The large man, apparently satisfied, returns the hammer to his bag and heads toward the bar, leaving three posters with hand-drawn sketches behind. Each of them bear the legend:

In reply to Katy Devon (msg #7):

Wildcat at first isn't sure what Katy is referring to, but it soon becomes clear.

Damned Dust Adders! Lacking anything to throw, strike, or otherwise demolish Wildcat kicks the dust and catches her punch in her own hand, which hurts.  But she doesn't care, if those pukes hadn't delayed her...

No.  That was the anger talking.  The woman was surely doomed from the onset.  It had been a fool's errand.  Katrina had made a bad judgment call.

"I'm sorry Miss Katy, that... it should have been me who had to do that.  But no, we're going to tell nobody.  Do you understand?  The panic would be far worse than just a few cases here and there.

"Anyway, Marshal Evans said I was supposed to meet him here after I got through sending the telegraph.  He didn't say he was going anywhere else in the mean time either."

Kat turns around and looks toward the general direction of Underhill's parlor.

"This town ain't that big, folks."

Carl gives Percy an utterly bemused look, more surprised at the direction the lack of faith's come from than offended. Then he jerks his head at the boarded up window, nods back towards the kitchen and gives him a hard look. "..."

The silent man settles back, running a hand over his scalp, and points in a direction. An eyebrow gets slightly raised at the very large man, meeting his gaze coldly as he looks about. Carl leans to see if the wanted posters concern any of the gang.

Percy mumbles something like "...sorry. I realize how stupid that sounds." He takes a sip of his drink. "Though he only threw the dynamite at the Marshal's place...it was Luke who tossed the rest in here."

he does look a bit relieved that Carl seemed more interested in humiliation than violence, though.

The faces on the posters are of a woman, an Indian, and some tinhorn. However, they look familiar...and Carl realizes that he's seen both the Tinhorn and the Indian before. Just this very day, in fact. At Ward's place. With the posse.

Percy also notices, and sucks in his breath. "Carl...that woman on the poster. It's her!"

Several of the other Dust Adders are looking at the posters, too. Some are looking at Carl in puzzlement...the rest are looking at Dave.

Carl gives Percy a raised eyebrow, then nods and rises. He takes the picture of Charging Bear down almost at random and squints at it a bit before stepping over and putting it in front of Percy to read the details to him, feeling a bit selfconscious.

It was a harder decision than it might have been. Carl respected the uniform. The redskin seemed a fair man (if batshit insane when it came a scrap, but you couldn't expect a savage to keep his head around violence). The man was Ward's guest, and not the only one at the ranch with convictions. The girl was theirs to deal with, and who knows what Pompasmasher here meant to do with her. A tough decision indeed.

His glance to the Dust Adders - Dave included - is a reassurance that no, it's not one of theirs, and a request for trust and alertness.

Percy is silent at the admonishment...it was, after all, Nate's idea to bomb the Grand Bull, even if he wasn't the one throwing the dynamite sticks.

The boy looks over the handbill. "Oh, geez...it's him, isn't it?" he says to Carl. He swallows, and reads it allowed. "Wanted. Charging Bear. For the crimes of murder, assault, and rape of a woman of the white race. Reward paid for information leading to arrest or death. Direct inquiries to Lt. Jericho Cantrell."

The large black man is watching them out of the corner of his eye, but his view is somewhat blocked by the ring of other Dust Adders who have gathered around by now.

"I knew it." Dave growls. "I fuckin' knew that Redskin was up to no good..."

After making sure his baggage made it down safely and under the protective awning of the porch, Eli shakes off his hat and coat as best he can.  He tries to get himself looking as respectable as he can manage in the circumstances; smoothing, brushing, etc.  Finally, he just gives up and stumps his way into the saloon.  His cane, whether he wants it to or not, the wooden cane makes a distinctive heavy tapping as he makes his way across the saloon towards the bar.

The room and its current inhabitants are given a good once over.  His fellow new arrivals stand out easily enough.  As does the small gang of heavily armed, angry looking cowboys.  A group like that can always be counted on to start trouble.  And where there's trouble, there's a story.  A faint smile comes over him at the idea.  This town might just work out.  Upon reaching said bar, he'll await the keep's attention and once having it will inquire about a room..."And I would be very thankful for a hot meal as well."

The portly man at the bar seems to be rather at his wit's end, in the process of trying to juggle three drinks at once.

It takes him a couple minutes to actually notice Eli, and he bounces his way over to the man.

"Hi der! Welcome to de Gran' Bull!" He says in a Cajun accent so thick Eli could practically smell the bayou (or it may be the man's lack of hygiene doing that...who knew?). "I can't do much 'bout rooms right naow...ask Rolan' when he get back. But food, naow, dat I can hep wit! Tonight we got several prime cut steak from de Circle W on de grill, and I's got a gumbo so spicy it'll cure the hide of a gator, I gaur-on-tee! What can I mark you dawn foar?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:59, Mon 08 Nov 2010.

Carl is looking very grim. He looks up and catches Dave's eye, taps where a badge would be once, then jerks his head back at the black man and shakes his head.

"..."

Then he takes the poster back, holds it up to the room at large - poker players, local whore, other locals, and gives it over to Dave.

In reply to The Stray (msg #1):

The General Store
Looking over the man's wears, Charging Bear selected a simple blue work shirt, rough jeans that didn't look like they'd fall apart as quickly as the others, a pair of quality boots-who's existence in the store had surprised Charging Bear, and old gun belt which looked to have been sitting on the rack a little too long. He also pulls a few odds and ends to clean the pistol Evans had given him, a few rags, a bit of gun oil, and a ramrod. "I'll give you twelve bucks for this lot. I'll make it fifteen if you've got a box of bullets for this pistol. And do you have somewhere I could change?

OOC: What sort of pistol did I get anyways? I'm guessing a single action Colt Army or Dragoon. Assuming we come to a reasonable price for the items, I'll move on.
A few rolls if needed
09:27, Today: Charging Bear rolled -1,-2 using 1d4-4,1d6-4, rerolling max with rolls of 3,2. Persuasion (untrained, outsider).
09:27, Today: Charging Bear rolled -3,1 using 1d4-4,1d6-4, rerolling max with rolls of 1,5. Persuasion (untrained, outsider) WC.
09:32, Today: Charging Bear rolled 1,1 using 1d6,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1,1. Common Knowledge (Gun cleaning).
09:32, Today: Charging Bear rolled 4,4 using 1d6,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4,4. Common Knowledge (Gun cleaning) Red.

---

With clean clothing and a place for the random pistol, Charging Bear steps out into the streets of Blackthorn again. The rain still pounding down, he sees the stage coach has come. He moved down the street towards the Oriental theater as he told Evans he would, pulling his confederate jacket close as the rain is making the native son grow cold.

OOC: Does CB hear anything from the Grand Bull...
09:33, Today: Charging Bear rolled 3,3 using 1d6,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,3. Notice.
Guess not.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:01, Mon 08 Nov 2010.