In reply to Adrian Vega (msg #22):

"No, no...I think we need to acknowledge this." Arhtur says. "Ma'am, with all due respect, you're the one who's loco here. Ya'll're talkin' 'bout big ol' evil snakes controllin' everythin'. I mean, what is this, I don't even...you're crazy! Crazy! I thought maybe I could talk sense with you, formulate a plan...thought this all might be some kind o' misunderstandin' we could clear up. But it ain't. You're nuts. An' worse than that, you're nuts and you got a badge, so you think it's right to force other people to act on your crazy notions!"

He raises his shotgun again, aimed right at Wildcat's face. There is genuine terror in his eyes.

"Senator Sideburns, don't you see? We gotta do somethin' bout her!"

It didn't take but a flick of his wrist to bring his weapon back up and aimed squarely at the other man. "Crazy or not, you better put that down, Captain Mustache, or this here truce we got ain't gonna last too much longer," he said, his voice cold as the grave.

"Peace, Dep'ty Vega."  Wildcat raises her hand and stares past the bore of the scattergun.  "Ah normally would never mention such things Mr. Milburn, but 'round here there ain't no point, yer all in on it already.  It sounds a might far fetched, but mister ya just don't understan'... ah don't know how ta make ya understan', you ain't see what ah seen, it has been hidden from yer eyes.  It works in th' dark 'n hides its hand.  The fact it sounds plumb crazy is how it hides itself.

"Ah cannot convince ya'll every word I done said is true, but what is it gonn' take ta convince ya'll I ain't lost my noggin kibble?"

Alistair keeps his gun trained. "Well, for one thing, claimin' that somethin' is crazy is hidin' itself by bein' crazy don't exactly make a whole lot o' sense. You're gonna have to give me more than just your word on it."

"I'd humbly advise you to quit talkin' 'bout snakes and speak up plain, Ranger," he said, not lowering his gun unless the other man did.

"Cause to be honest, I think neither of us has a clue what you're talkin' 'bout. Now, don't much matter to me long as we deal with this Comanche problem, but I think all that crazy talk's got Mr. Mustache 'bout to wet his pants. Tell you what, Mustache, you put that thing down I won't tell no one."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:13, Tue 13 Dec 2011.

In reply to Jake 'Rattler' Cuthings (msg #24):

"Did he?" The old lady says. "Well, bless him for that." She looks over the letter. "hmm...his house? I think that was up where the Lodge of the Enlightened Society of the Weeping Moon is now. I know they tore down some old houses to build it...a lot of the deeds belonging to miners killed in the cave-in went missing after the Wendell folk pulled out. Could've tore down the house, could've not, I dunno for sure. As for the box, well, the bank was in the old mining offices. The marshal," and at this she points to the dapper gentleman dripping elixir on the wounded, "well, he's using that place as a jail, on account of the actual jail gettin' blowed up the other day. You'll need to talk to him about it."

Wildcat thinks carefully.  The part of her that cares about protocol whimpers and dies inside, thwomped into brutal submission by the resurgence of Katrina Hawkins, who cares more about people than those rules.

"Ah am talking plainly Dep'ty.  That there's th' problem because what's plain sounds plumb nutty... look, ah got me an ideer.  Mebbe if'n ah can convince ya'll part of what ya'll think is crazy is th' truth, is that gon' help ya wrap yer brainpan round it?"

Alistair glares at Adrian. "How about I shove it up your..."

Then Wildcat starts talking. Alistair frowns, but he lowers his gun. "Alrighty. I'll give you one shot to convince me."

Pleased that his comments had gotten a rise out of the man, he kept his eyes on him, but spoke to Wildcat. Once bitten twice shy though, and he kept his gun upright. "Go 'head Ranger, say yer piece."

Jake will aproach the marshal and try to get his attention

"Well, blessed are they who have not seen and yet believe, but even th' Lord had to prove his point at one time or another in diff'rent ways... maybe that time's done come again..."

She ponders, and a realization comes over her.

"Ah cain't show ya'll th' evil or th' Snake.  But ah can show that somethin' here ain't regular, that the Lord hisself is here opposin' it.  Mebbe if ya can reckon that somethin' good that ain't like what yer used ta seein' is at work here, ya can reckon there might be somethin' evil at work here.  It's all I got fellers.  Either ya will reckon I'm off my crock or ya won't, mighty hard to argue it better 'n this."

Wildcat closed her eyes and bowed her head, removing her hat to cover her face.

"And he said, Behold, I make a covenant: before all thy people I will do marvels, such as have not been done in all the earth, nor in any nation: and all the people among which thou shall see the work of the LORD: for it is a terrible thing that I will do with thee.  And it came to pass, when Moses came down from mount Sinai with the two tables of testimony in Moses' hand, when he came down from the mount, that Moses wist not that the skin of his face shone while he talked with him.  And when Aaron and all the children of Israel saw Moses, behold, the skin of his face shone; and they were afraid to come nigh him.

13:22, Today: Wildcat Hawkins rolled 11,2 using 1d6,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of (6+5)11,2. Call Down the Thunder!

The Ranger removed the cover from her countenance and looked back at the two men.  Her face glowed.  No, that's not to flatter her features, it literally well and truly glowed in a radiant light that defied explanation as well as darkness.  Her face was like a beacon, bright but soft, gentle but undeniable, and above all far too bright and far too lacking in normal explanation.

Light Miracle.

"If I have told you earthly things, and ye believe not, how shall ye believe, if I tell you of heavenly things?"
This message was lightly edited by the player at 19:34, Tue 13 Dec 2011.

Carl shrugs, indicating town hall, badge, church, flinging something, then looks back towards the church. "..." Internally his heart is singing, probably just from the sheer excitement of being able to breathe without pain. Carl's firm grip on pragmatisim remains unshaken, especially in the serious situation, but the Dust Adders might notice a certain energy to him, as though he's hosted a hog-killing or been wed. In truth he wants to eat hot food and/or find a whore and do her hard against the nearest conveinient surface, but he tells his hindbrain to shut up about that and gestures widely out of town, town hall to ranch, and takes a quick look at who's there. "..."

"Angel," Alouette corrects, before the man wanders off, then stands and ticks, trying to work out priorities in its rather haphazard way.

[[Jake want to talk to it/Evans want to fix it a bit?]]

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #35):

Alistair just stares at her.

"Y...you...you're tryin' to convince me there's a giant devil snake tryin' to eat the town, and your proof is sticking a lantern down your bust to make you look all sparkly?" he mutters at last.

((OOC: Ah, Doubting Thomas...such a fun hindrance in a Deadlands game...))

Wildcat pokes herself in the bosom to show what's there is, well, squishy and fleshy.  "Mister Milburn while ah 'ppreciate th' compliment, ah ain't that well endowed."

In reply to Jake 'Rattler' Cuthings (msg #34):

The man looks up at Jake's approach. With his slicked-back black hair, curled mustache and goatee, and black suit complete with top hat and tails, he looks as if he'd stepped out of a dime novel...or perhaps off of the Joker from a pack of playing cards.

He sighs, clearly in anticipatory dread. "Yes? What is it? What's happened this time?"

((OOC: Is it just me, or is Evans beginning to resemble Rincewind?))

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #39):

"So it's some kind o' phospherous, then. I'm still not seeing the connection to giant devil snakes."

"An' in what personal portion o' m'self a gentl'man ought rightly ne'er speak of would ya reckon ah keep that in... Ne'er mind I don't wanna know.  Anyway nothin' come off me.

Wildcat wipes her finger on her skin and shows him it's clean.

Wildcat shrugs.  "Ah give up Mister, ya don't believe me that there's somethin' strange goin' on here, fine.  All ah plan ta do is go out there 'n get whacked with a tom'hawk anyway, what does it matter if ah am teched."

"Well, I believe you, Ranger, for whatever that's worth. Mustache here though, he still ain't buyin' it. I don't see how it matters no how right now though. We got us some Comanches to worry 'bout," he said.

"So what's it gonna be, cowboy? You gonna be a problem, or cooperate? I'm fine with the latter, but most importantly...I gotta job to do. I ain't gonna 'pologize to you about doin' it, but if you get in the way, you ain't much different than a Comanche to me."

"Doin' what?" Gus says, face screwed in confusion. "Damn. I knew that Ranger was trouble. Didn't figger she made no deal with the devil, though."

Along with Gus are "Mad Irish" Murphy, Elliot, two of the Johns, Dishonest Abe, Ned, Frank, Tom, Max, Slim, and Little Tom.

Gus nods. "Yeah, Felix, Black Jeb and That Spanish Prick are already on the move. We're gonna need all the guns we can get if we're gonna go after the bastards. Mayor's already on his way there...passed his carriage on the way in." He shakes his head. "Whadda ya mean, defend? We're gonna take the fight to them redskins. We're gonna slaughter 'em all where they've camped!"

At this pronouncement, the Dust Adders cheer...

"In your hat, obviously." Al mutters, then looks at Adrian. "I'm fine with cooperatin', but I ain't gonna work with a planner what wants to put contingencies in place because she thinks a devil snake is comin' to kill her personally. I'd rather have a plan that has some basis in reality..."

And just as he's talking, a cheer can be heard from outside...

"Ah hell, somethin' tells me that cain't be good."

The last time Wildcat had heard such adulation, they nearly hung a man.

Carl snorts, picks up a rock and makes ten marks on the flat stone of the church doorway. Gestures to Gus, the Dust Adders, and adds another forty-odd. Pauses, then another fifty. Makes a halving gesture on his diagram, three times, and adds another ten. He takes his rock, indicates Gus, and holds it up in the middle of all those, raising an eyebrow at the men. "?"

He makes a vague gesture that's mostly at the horses, then one at the church. "..." Then out from the town hall in a certain direction. "?"

Gus shakes his head. "No, it was an even dozen. I counted. Might have had a couple on watch. We injured over half o' them that came at us, and I know I killed one...I think Ward killed one, as well. That's two down. Killed two of 'em today that came at me an' Mike. That's four down total, as well as four more injured. if we're assuming fifty, sixty warriors...hmm."

Gus crouches next to the scratches. "Yeah, I see what you mean. Can't have all o' us goin' in, which is why we come to get some support. We got thirty-three, thirty-four hands among the Dust Adders, not countin' those we lost in the past few days. But we also got Tex, who won't go down easy."

He grins nastily. "And I reckon we can dragoon the Yankee and his band o' bullies into this shin-dig, push 'em out in front. Maybe you won't even need to shot the Ranger yourself."

He makes some scratch marks of his own. "Add to that some o' the other locals, like Old Crazy Pete any any sonovabitch who wants to pick up a gun...hell, maybe even some o' the women folk what are feelin' inclined."

He looks down at his scratchings. "I reckon the forces would be just about even either way. They ain't gonna send no dozen braves if they're gonna do a big raid...they'll probably try to swarm us. And I don't know yet if they're goin' for the Ranch or for the Town first...it's even odds, and if we choose the wrong place to reinforce we'll be cornholed."

"That's why I want to get them now. Maybe just a good bushwhackin', get 'em riled enough to lead 'em into an ambush."

He scratches his head at the question. "Hell, I dunno. Didn't see her in the carriage, but the windows were down, so that don't prove nothin'. It's the Spanish Prick's job to check on her, anyhow."

Carl meets Gus' gaze with an icy stare. "The Ranger's mine," he growls, then looks back to their estimate of Comanches. "Ain't gonna give no white woman to them Comanches, anyhow."

He continues before Gus has even got over his surprise at Carl's voice, feeling wired and just a little bit crazy. "Their camp'll be in arms - all of them, an' if we lose horses, we lose mobility." His gesture echoes how screwed they'd be. "Streets here." He draws a very rough map, sets toothed lines across it in a few places, smaller lines in others, shows Gus how to make a grid plan and a handful of men grind attacking cavalry to power. "..."

"Hold it easy." His hand flicks to the Dust Adders, then ranchward. "... Was goin' to escort Evans out there - claimed he wanted t'play peaceable. Might. I'd leave the Yank an' get their horses to stay put."
He gives a sort of grim grin. "..."