The Marshal isn't sure which of the milling group of people waiting in line Sam is referring to, but one of them, a stocky fellow with a ragged beard and a black hat, catches his eye. He's sure he's seen that man before...




Sam, in the middle of trying to slip away into the crowd while the Marshal's attention was elsewhere, stops short. "A job, you say? Stopping impending doom? Well, to tell the truth, my last job didn't pan out so well." He gives the Profrssor a wink. "As you well know. So I suppose I say...what does it pay?"

"Ain't you heard o' Professor Burns?" one of the crowd members says in response to Wilder's question (even though it wasn't directed at him in any way). "He's a scientist. One o' them mad ones. He does these shows to found some funky device supposed to put out Satan's Garden. He's offered a share o' the proceeds to them as can donate to fund his work if'n he succeeds, but after a few years o' boasts with nothin' to show for it, not many folk are investin' these days. So he added science displays and magic tricks to his act to gin up more interest. Most of us here want to see somethin' blow up."

"Or just see his daughter." his companion interjects. "She's right purdy, she is."

The Professor turned toward Jackie and asked, "What's the going rate for a hired gunslinger now a days?"

Jackie frowns. "We ain't in the business of hiring killers, so I wouldn't know." She says.

"I'm sorry. I thought you were looking for dependable people good with a weapon that could be depended on in a fight. That, I am." He frowns. "I never killed anyone except in self-defense."

"You killed three Rangers in Texas!" Jackie shouts back, exasperated.

"Yes, in defense of my life and my freedom." Bass retorts. "I didn't start that shoot-out--they ambushed me. I'm not Billy the Kid or Bill Hickok. I don't shoot down those who get me cross. And I certainly don't threaten to withhold medical treatment from a man's sickly father in to coerce him into double-crossing friends, which is what your precious Rangers did to convince Jim Murphy to turn on me. Sister, how can you think of saying 'let me help you pluck that speck in your eye' when you can't see past the log in your own?"

Jackie gapes at him. "You do not get to quote the Bible at me, you thieving son of a bitch!"

There's a sudden silence in the area around the Professor, Jackie Wells, and Sam Bass...

At the sudden silence the Marshal grinned, and watched the exchange with eager intensity. His eye twitched involuntarily.

"Alright then," The Professor chimed in, trying to break the tension. "Glad to see everyone is on speaking terms.  Might I just point out that we can settle all this later, but right now, we have more important things to worry about." He gave Jackie a knowing look.

"Fine." Sam says, not looking at the Professor. He continues glaring at Jackie. "In that case, to business. The going rate to hire this gunslinger, if I am to spend any time at all in the company of this harridan, is fifty dollars--"

"WHAT!?" Jackie explodes, aghast.

"--plus an official pardon for any and all crimes I may be accused of here in the Sioux Nations." Sam finishes calmly.

"That's outrageous!" Jackie sputters. "ain't no way in Hell--"

"That's my price." Sam says. "If I'm going to put life and limb on the line for the town of Deadwood, I'd like to be secure in the knowledge that I won't wind up stuck in a cell awaiting the gallows as a thank you."

The Professor turned to Jackie, arching an eyebrow at her, but remaining silent. His stare said it all. We need to put this to rest and focus on Smythe

Jackie sighs. "Fine. I'll see what I can do about the pardon. But The Professor here will have to deal with the payment...I ain't got near enough on me to cover it."

In reply to Random Bystander (msg # 35):

James shook his head, "Nothing like a little ghost rock hoodoo and a pretty lady to draw folks in." His gaze shifted about the crowd as it often did when such a motley group was gathered.

The Marshal took a step in at that moment, reaching into his back pocket.

"Oh professor, a man of science like yourself surely has better things to spend your money on. Allow me," he said, pulling several bills out of his pocket, "As a lawman, I've little to spend mine on."

[OOC: I'll pay the 50.]

"Well, that's rather kind of you Marshall. In any event, I'm glad we have that all sorted out."  He pulls a handful of theater tickets from the inside pocket of his waistcoat. "It just so happens that I have purchased box seat tickets to accommodate all of us. Marshall, this one shall be on me." He smiled waving his hands to the ticket collector to indicate that Sam, Jackie and Matthew were part of his group for the evening.

Sam looks at the wad of bills in the Marshal's hand as if he'd just been presented with a bouquet of live rattlesnakes for a moment, then shrugs and takes it. He pockets the cash, then takes the offered ticket with much better grace. Jackie bristles, but says nothing as the quartet get waved inside.

Leopold and Wilder finally make it to the ticket booth, make their purchases, and funnel inside the lobby. The Langrishe Theater doesn't seem to have much in the way of a concessions area, so the two make their way to their seats. The toughs from the DMA filter into the room.



((OOC: Tickets are 5 cents. There's a floor level and a balcony level...where are all of you heading?))

"Let us go up to the balcony, James, yes?"

While they are walking upstairs, Leopold presents the handle of his peacemaker.
"It is a beautiful, piece. I am afraid I cannot draw it here, of course... what happened to your gun?"

Apparently, von Steinhof has just noticed the sorry excuse for a gun James is currently armed with.

Even as Von Steinhof laments not being able to draw his pistol, his eye catches a pockmark in the ceiling. Then another, and another...there's actually quite a few holes in the ceiling, and they look distressingly like bullet holes. Apparently, the crowds here can be quite rowdy when having a good time...and who knows how many holes are in the stage from the bad acts, hidden by the curtains?

Oh, what an uncivilized country this is...
He scans the crowd. Apparently, pretty much everybody had brought a gun.

Well... then at least I shall fit right in.

In reply to Freiherr von Steinhof (msg # 47):

James shook his head and looked down, "Not sure ..." his eyes shifted back to the austian, "Think the natives might have left it to rust. Hopin' to get a permit from the mining folk and go lookin' for it in the mornin'."

Von Steinhof looks at his friend with sympathy, then says in a somber tone: "Rest assured, my friend, you will have the full extent of the resources available to me to help you recover what you lost."
He shrugs. "Which, right now, means me. But I will go and help you find your father's gun."
He gestures at James' gun with a look of disdain on his face.
"But this... thing... is not for a man like you. So either you will allow me to buy you a better gun tomorrow morning or will accept the loan of my personal gun. I will not take no for an answer."

James smiled at his friend's concern, he knew Von Steinhof had a thing for fire arms but never realized it was this important. "I have the funds for a new pistol but would rather have my own... as for this less than stellar piece of hardware, it'll get me till I find my pistol or get a new one."

The Professor, the marshal, the deputy, and the outlaw make their way up the balcony to the box seats that had been reserved. It seems they aren't alone, though...a woman in a a maroon dress looks up from the notebook she's marking in to scrutinize the newcomers. The Professor and Marshal Broaddale get the distinct impression she's disceting them with her eyes. Then, with detached disinterest, she returns to her notebook, scribbling something down.

Before taking his seat, The Professor bows lightly to the woman giving her a quiet, "Good Evening" as he escorts Jackie to their seats in the front of the box.

The woman gives the Professor a cursory nod, then returns to her notes. She doesn't seem particularly interested in any of the newcomers.

Sam reclines behind The Professor and looks out to the stage. "So what's this fella supposed to have done, anyhow?"

Though the question was directed at the Professor, the woman with the note book speaks up. "Dr. Hyram Burns. Claims to have been a professor at Harvard, though no records of him exist there. Claims to have a Doctorate in Applied Physics and Aetheric Theory, though, again, his credentials are suspect." she flips through her notebook. "Arrived in Deadwood in February of March of 1877, rented out this theater for the first of his demonstrations. He has been seeking funds for the construction of a device that he refers to as either an Aetheric Vortex Generator or a Phlogiston Extraction Engine...I am unsure if this refers to a single device or a pair of them. He makes the claim that this device can put out the coal fire burning at the Chance Venture Mine, referred to locally as Satan's Garden. Given the loose salvage and property rights as defined by the Sioux, if he is able to put out the fire, he is free to file a claim to operate the mine. He has been promising investors a share of the profits from the operation of the mine, should his device prove successful. I don't know how he can claim that, since the Sioux will not let corporations own mines, only individuals, so his investment pitch is most likely a scam. But he's spent three years promoting this venture. The technology has potential if it does work...there are at least a dozen coal fires in the Black Hills That this could be applied to, and many more in California."

"So you're investigating this guy, too?" Sam says.

The woman shrugs. "My employer has an interest in the proposed technology, yes."

Sam looks at the Professor. "He don't sound all that dangerous. Don't know what you need a gunslinger backing your play for."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:14, Mon 08 July 2013.

The Professor cocked an eye at the young woman as she rattled off Smythe/Burns' recent history. "I'm afraid I have failed to introduce myself and my friends. I am The Professor, this lovely woman to my left is Deputy Jackie Wells. The gentleman behind me is Mr. Sam Bass, and to my right is Marshal Broaddale."

He indicates each in turn as he introduces them. "Might I inquire as to who your employer may be?"

Turning to Sam Bass he comments, "All is not what it seems. I assure you, there is more to this Dr. Burns than meets the eye."

"Professor of what?" The lady says, raising an eyebrow.

"Just The Professor." Jackie says with a shrug.

"Ah. A self-claimed title." She says. She pays only a passing interest to the outlaw and the marshal. At the Professor's question, she shrugs. "You are entirely free to inquire. But I am afraid that my employer values their privacy, and so I am not at liberty to divulge that information." She pauses. "Though if you have prior history with this gentleman, I would of course be willing to learn it, and would consider a trade of information."

"You done parsed that very well." Jackie says. "Would you actually be providing any information, or just your consideration of the offer of trading?"

The woman smirks. "Yes."

"I see. You done some trainin' as a lawyer, then."

"I have learned some skills that may be adapted to such a profession."

"Uh-huh."

"Yes, well I do indeed have a history with this Doctor," The Professor interjected, "And I am quite familiar with his modus operandi as well as his true identity. If you are truly interested in a trade of information, I would certainly be willing.  Let me start off with something to show that I know of what I speak, free of charge of course."

He reached inside his ubiquitous satchel, pulling out his 'sonic spanner' then tossing it back inside and rummaging around again.  This time he produced a vial of the red, viscous liquid that powered his Essence Gun. He showed it to the woman. "Here you go, Miss. A vial of what Dr. Burns and the ancient Greeks would call Phlogiston. I prefer to call it exactly what it is, the distilled, solidified, essence of the combination of energies knows as fire in material form." He unscrews the cap and pours a tiny drop onto the wooden floor, which instantly ignites in a match sized burst of flame.  The Professor stamps out the flame as he reseals the vial.

"It is one of my inventions which Dr. Burns has stolen and now passes off as his own."