"Ah. polishing. Of course." Evans says. "It's...well, remember that humans are not made of metal. We can take baths without extinguishing our inner boilers, as it were. And skin doesn't polish well. So it's only inappropriate because you don't polish humans." he looks at Alouette. "Oh dear...I see some wires are bent out of shape. Do you want me to look at that?"

The visions blur through Jake's mind. The dealing with those in the hunting grounds are always a gamble but this seemed to be information overload. In a matter of moments he's managed to live through hours if not days of events. "Tonight... hundred or so Indians... its going to be a slaughter."

Jake puts the cards away in a hurry and starts to walks back to the other room but he stops. "Doesn't tell me diddly about why they're here or how to stop 'em..." He looks at the cards in hand and shakes his head, "Damned if I do, dead if I don't..." In the end he pulls another series of cards from the deck and sees what he can see.

OOC: Lots happened in those threads
Going to play my Revelation card now
This message was last edited by the player at 18:59, Thu 15 Dec 2011.

"Ambrose may always look at self," Alouette chirps. Then after a few ticks: "Should fish be polished?"

"Now, I dont reckon fish should be polished, but what about you being polished? Hygiene is important, 'specialy for something that has gears

The clank looks over at Very Tall Man. "What is 'hygene'?"

"Keepin clean and such, washin' your hands and such"

In reply to Gus Shaw (msg #73):

Carl watches the Ranger a few seconds, then beckons her to his roughout of the town on the church step. He adds a W to the map. "Most like they'll come out of the sunset. They know us boys at the Ranch expect 'em, so they'll want to raise some hell back here what they think's unprotected, draw us 'way from the stock." There's a brief gesture to Gus, indicating the base of one finger then the map.

"This." Carl points out the spiked line apparently across Main. "Metal. Sharps." he indicates cavalry sweeping into such hidden agony and changes the sweep to a tipping gesture at the line, lets Wildcat imagine the horse screams and men broken between falling beasts and mere scrap metal. Has she ever seen battle? Carl watches the Ranger's face a moment. She'd killed Jesse like it was nothing so she must've killed men before, or at least shot down dogs for sport, but that was not the same. God, Charlie, I need you here. Maybe the former'd help out. "Slows 'em. Shoot from here, bring in horse behind. Sent a man to find Roland, he'll git folks together."

He indicates certain alleys. "Block as many streets as possible 'fore they hit, even stuff as won't hold but jes' look solid in the gloom. We get 'em goin' where we want them-" Carl pauses, the effort of talking causing a kind of panic to war with the buzz of returning to life. He clears his throat a bit. "-can let 'em run a gauntlet down Main, run some wires 'cross up this way where they'll speed up. Dynamite'd be good. We let 'em "escape" here n' here, they won't realise streets git narrow 'til too late. A kid could hold 'em. Round here kin use Grand Bull's hob, big pans, roof easy - ain't no need for boilin' oil, water works. They play silly an' come in another way, blocks'll hold 'em 'til horse can get behind 'em an' push 'em through." There's a setting-aside gesture to Gus over part of the map. "..."

John was tending the wounded as best he could, he wasn't a doctor, or even a medic but he could assist here and there. Anyone in particularly severe condition would get his attention and he'd try his best to use his chi while looking like he was only applying bandages or a compress. Though it seemed the worst of the injuries were dealt with. Eventually he'd rise, he was a better fighter than a healer and he intended to see the folk of this town protected, he wanted to see Zhang protected as well but his master had given him orders. So made his way through the church toward Ambrose.

He'd pause as he noticed the mans weary tear stricken face and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You... you're doing good things here Evans." he said and smiled at the tin Angel,  "Alouette, you think you can handle that med'sin man again if'n he shows up?" he asked. "Or... the mayor?" he added though in a more hushed tone. Last thing he wanted was to spread panic and claiming the mayor was a witch was not something he wanted to say loudly, town was worked up as it was.

The clank looks at its hands, the flexion of the fingers lifelike enough to make any mechanist gasp, then at Very Tall Man. "Why is hygene of hands important? Self has internal static dust condension-combustion system: gears remain shiny, like God."

"Self will tell Owl Comanche to shoo if he comes," the self-declared angel tells John with confidence. "-but the other angel told self to stay here, and be special, and Deputy Chicken to stay here and be in reserve, and Owl Comanche is very heathen so he might not come to church. Self can also handle witches," it asserts.

"Did you give positive energies to Danny Albatross?" it asks, looking round for its huddle of pet wendigo. "It would be plus plus bad if he got worse or died again now."

Wildcat nods and listens so far.  Really this idea wasn't too far from her thinking for what to do with the town, in fact a great deal of it was the same.  She'd hoped that it wouldn't come to this, that the Comanche wouldn't actually get to Blackthorn proper, but it had to be prepared.  They would have to do this with Not Enough Men.

OOC:  An embarrasingly bad sketch of where Ranch, Town and Comanche are would help a lot actually.  Here's the thing: if the Comanche "base" has two viable targets, and that's assuming a lot but it's a reasonable assumption, it's like one point of a triangle.

Wildcat's thinking there needs to be a flanking force on the side of the triangle.  Very basic and simple strategy, Comanche ride up, Comanche get flanked.  That may not be viable due to terrain, distance etc however.

Jake looks up at the marshal
"Anything I can, uh do to help 'round here?

Carl looks over at the silent Ranger. "You got that dynamite you kin comandeer a barrel o' flour off Sam down at the store - May an' Angela Bennett'll see to food, they've done this before." There's a querying look thrown to Gus. "?"

Then he looks to Wildcat and gestures around at the general rained-on destruction. "Everyone's got a different story on this mess - do we got witches we can use?" There's a slight twitch of the hand that Gus'll understand meanwhile.



[[The camp's East of Ward's, which is Southeast of the town. I believe it's easiest for them to circle North if they do mean to make use of the setting sun to their advantage. Carl isn't interested in meeting them fairly on the field of battle and doesn't believe there's time or place to set up an effective ambush, but letting them basically bottle themselves and riding in behind from the cover of the town to mop them up is basically the same thing at less risk to the defenders - and more importantly, the defenders' horses.

Carl is very confident the place can be held with a handful of folk, but he isn't allowing for much magic outside the risk of zombies. I think he will be taken by surprise if Pale Moon shows and/or the Comanche just get annoyed when you shoot them, since Gus/John/Alouette haven't mentioned that detail about the outriders they encountered yet.

On the other hand, if he manages to reach the Comanche with Evans and nobble their mobility, the raid might not happen even if the Fear level rachets dangerously high. Possibly the only advantage of a PC from an NPC background with no deliberate building for fights/magic/tech - the folk magic he uses really is all sleight of hand and instinct manipulation and as such cannot be dis-spelled by magical means.]]

In reply to Carl Allans (msg #88):

"Ah don't like that word... but we done got us some folks ain't exactly garden variety if'n that's whatcha mean.  This here place is a rat's nest of weird... it's even... somethin's happened ta me.  Wherever ah go, ah know th' will o' God happens, an' not in th' reg'lar way, like an Ol' Test'ment or life a th' Savior kinda way.  Ah need talk to th' preacher mebbe.. but most o' that kinda talent is prob'ly in Evans' stable.  Gotta get him on board.

"Ah can think of a couple more examples... but they ain't contr'll'ble.  Jus' as likely ta burn us as the Com'nche.  We only need heads we can steer."

Adrian looked at the mustached man, Milburn she had called him. Had the man given him his name? Things seemed murky in his mind. "Alright, Sergeant Stache," he said.

He took his time about it though, as if afraid to go out there. He was afraid, but not of anyone or anything else. Afraid of myself. Afraid of what I might do he thought. Well, if that wasn't foolish, he didn't know what was. He lowered his gun slightly and worked his way to the door, though he didn't exit it completely. He kept his pistol in hand, but it was behind the side of the door frame. He didn't want to be the cause for trouble, but he intended to be ready for some. The way his new acquaintances were regarded around these parts, he was pretty sure that any amount of yelling could just end up starting a shit storm. He had accepted the badge of a lawman in this town, and he intended to do his duty.

"If they're like to burn us, they go out." The ex-militiaman's eyes are hard. "Likewise, anyone falls behind defenses I want corpses headshot, b'headed or otherwise made so's if they try to walk, they cain't git no-one."

To the rest, he adds: "Rumour is Jesse's walkin', but th'Yank claimed he'd come back right...never heard of that save for Jesus, but if y'all can spare him a few seconds," his hands emphasise the 'can' where his voice doesn't, "-see if't's true, I'd 'preciate it. Undertaker's vanished: down a medic here, priest's..." he stumbles on thoughts and words somewhat "...pretty good, though." He looks questioningly to Wildcat, who previously told him of some ability to skin and sew.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:34, Fri 16 Dec 2011.

Wildcat looks right across at Carl with a cool blue eye.

"Know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own?

"We ain't all heathens snake, we don't cut ourselves fer 'r desecrate th' dead."  She glances over at Gus Shaw's grisly trophies.

"Well, some of us might, but ah made a life opposin' murd'rers fond of collectin' them ears an' fingers an' sech, a doin' things ta cadavers ain't speak'ble, cain't do that route mah'self, or what's the diff'rence?  Ah ain't manglin' th' Lord's temple, even if it is a heath'n redskin who don't b'lieve in th' Lord no how.  But ah will give th' Savior a new winder ta look outah if'n ah has to.  Clean shots if it has ta be done in th' field, otherwise we bind 'em, gather 'em, an figger out how ta do it clean after."

Here's Hoping The Stray Would Allow a use of Consecrate to keep the dead from rising... of course that takes a week of praying, so... yeah.

"As fer a sawbones... me?  Not sa much."

Silently, he agreed with Carl and disagreed with the Ranger. He wasn't sure how a member of the vaunted Texas Rangers could be innocent with respect to the matter of the strangeness that had been occurring with corpses in recent years. Whatever her thoughts on the sacrilege of desecrating a corpse, surely it was the lesser of the two evils, the greater evil being the abomination of dead rising.

He'd have to have a word with her later on the matter, but he thought perhaps it would be best to remain silent for now. There was no reason to side with those that might try to shoot the law dog at the slightest provocation. But he did give Carl a slight nod from the doorway. Let the man take that for what he would.

The blue meets unblinking grey. A stillness spreads down Carl's body as he stares.
"Y'know, Deputy McCoy happened to mention someone in town wantin' to cre-mate bodies. In a pit."

His gaze flicks briefly to Adrian at the movement, then resumes holding Wildcat's. "Deadders got out of th' cemetery fence before, rope ain't gonna hold 'em."


[[ >_<  Catholics! ]]

"If'n we gotta do somethin' after, we gotta do somethin' after, we work it out then.  As fer the rest, a rope ain't a fence. Ya need a lesson in tyin' knots?  Ah'll oblige."

Wildcat smiled bitterly.  She had no delusions that she could control it, she could only control herself and speak her piece.  But maybe she could leverage this into what she actually wanted.

"Ah ain't doin' it 'til it needs doin'.  Ah have volunteered ta do what needs to be done after th' fact, might be easier for me, they ain't my kin dir'ctly 'cept in Jesus.  Ah have spoken th' words writ down.  Ya got nothin' ta say to me.  So it might be best then if'n I meet 'em Com'nches head on so ah don't see what's goin' on 'hind me.  Reckon?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:28, Fri 16 Dec 2011.

Carl rises from the map and looks at the Ranger a moment. There's no warning, no flicker in his face or twitch of the fingers. Just stillness. Within a heartbeat he's reached up and pushed her hard against the church wall, moving in close to make shooting/kneeing him harder, hand braced hard enough against her sternum to make headbutting him difficult. "Listen."

[[*le sigh* Stray, d'you want me to roll grapple on that? (for Wildcat to oppose and decide how much injury she metes out post-talkiness etc.) It's more a trapping of Intimidate than any kind of actual grab, but I don't want to roll that against a PC, especially in a scene where RP's this important for character arcs...]]

"'Less Gus or I say different, you are not the decendin' hand of God. Need you alive, need you here," the faint trace of a growl behind the measured words implies that if this wasn't true, she wouldn't be either of these things. "Not kilt warnin' th'Injuns the town's a-ready for them or fucked by a half-dozen bronc Comanche by way of workin' themselves up."

There is ice in that grey stare, though if Wildcat's not blinded with indignation she might note he seems to be trying to tell her more than the words, remember her own observation on what the dynamic between them must be in front of the gang. "I need a horse soldier," he tells her. "You put our kith an' kin in danger acause some corpse would just not be so pretty without a head, so help me I will have you stripped and put in petticoats." By the feral tension in him and the intensity of his stare, that's not an idle threat.
He lets her free with caution.

I'm not really interested in striking Carl either, I'm fine with free forming things a little bit.

Carl sees something from the Ranger that's... well it's new.  She smiles.  But it's not that damnable smirk, it's a smile, a sad one motivated by something finer than smugness or even righteousness.

"Then ah will fight in petticoats, Snake.  Ah done fought half nekkid, it'd be an improvement.  Ah feel sorry for ya, ya been through a lot ah don't understand cuz it didn't happen ta me.  But ya know I'm right, cuz yer only recourse is this, threatenin' me.  Ya only say this cuz yer tryin' ta save what ya care 'bout, ah'm right ain't ah.  Ya do this cuz this is all ya think ya know ta do, that there ain't no other way.

"Ah said my piece, ah am right, and ah will nev'r back down from it.  But we's gettin' two things straight.  One, quit puttin' yer words in mah damn mouth an' ask what dumbass thing ah'm thinkin' 'fore you decide what that dumbass thing is.  That ain't what ah said ah were gon' do."

Carl feels something very hard against his hip, next to his femoral artery.  It's not a knife, or a gun, or anything resembling conventional weaponry.  It couldn't have come from her waist or from over her shoulder, he's got that pinned down...

It is, in fact, a very sharp chair leg carved to a fine point.  It seems carrying a bizarre variety of weaponry all about your person in strange places pays off some days, like a low duster pocket where one normally doesnt' find furniture pieces.  Shoving it through and rupturing that critical vessel would have been tricky, but viable, as Carl can't hold leverage over her everywhere at once.  Of course it's worthless now, he's seen it and can just step inside it or grab it with his other hand.  The Ranger knows this and simply drops it, her point made.

"Two, when ya got th' advantage o' force over someone, never back them into a position where they got ta fight ta escape, cuz they's gonn' hafta fight wit' what'ver terrible thing they got in 'em.  That's wh't th' Com'nches done to ya'll, an' yer gonna murder 'em fer it.  It's why th' Union lost the war, they gave no quarter.

"Ah want to be at the door of this funhouse, not doin' ungodly things ah refuse ta do in th' back, nothin' more or less.  Yer better'n this ol' bull shit, Carl!"  Wildcat yells at the others over his shoulder.  "Ya'll all are!"

"Yes. Things like this." He waves halfheartedly at the room full of injured people. "I've been spectacular at getting deputies killed and the townsfolk pushed to the point of rioting. And for what? What do I have to show for all this mayhem, eh? Is the town better for it? Have we made any great strides getting to the bottom of all the madness? Can you honestly say this place is better for me hiring you all on?"



"I have not." Evans mutters, even though the question was directed at John. "I've been too busy treating the people he injured in this great flaming idiotic cock-up."



Evans sighs again. "I don't know if I'm really the best judge of that, anymore. I mean, what could you do? What do you have any background in? where do your talents lie?" He pauses, then asks, "And are you wanted anywhere? I'd rather not ask for your help and then find out later someone's after you, because I really don't think I could take that right now."

Jake recoils
"My uncle left me something when he died."
He shows again the letter of inheritance
"I came here lookkin' to claim whatever he left me. As fer bein' wanted.... maybe in an Ol' glas heart back in Floriddy."

"Danny Albatross is not a flaming cock, Ambrose," Alouette corrects mildly, "His spirit bird friend is pointy and feels like storms."

Carl frowns a bit, confused by this behaviour and the denial that wanting to meet the Comanches head on means going and meeting them, well, head-on. "?"

He doesn't react much to the sudden bizzarre weapon, apparently trusting that if Wildcat had a real desire to kill him this instant she wouldn't hesitate any more than he would. He wonders if she understands that. "..."

His shoulders tense as she tells him about the war, but it's short-lived. Everyone knows everything at twenty-four. Katrina remembering his name, though, that surprised him. If only she made some damn sense.