Multiple Settings D E A D † W E S T - MAIN

[Hell0NHighWater]

† CHAPTER ONE †

D E A D † W E S T ​

NO MAN'S LAND​

Current year: 1879​

​

❝Lonely hucksters and hickory-swinging preachers screaming fire and brimstone. Brilliant madmen and deadly gunslingers who don’t have enough sense to stay dead. There are secrets in the Dead West. And the truth is not for the faint of heart. . .❞

═ OBJECTIVES═
Rescue mission: Coot Jenkins (Quest Given by Juliet)
>That crazy old prospector might not be as crazy as he seems. Unfortunately, no one has seen him in a couple of days.

No one steals from One-Eye Jeff (optional)
>Convinced that the Marshal has pawned off his weapons when he wasn't looking, One-Eye Jeff wants revenge.

A Black River Welcome (optional)
>An agent of the Black River rail company is offering a job to anyone willing to...get their hands a little dirty.

. . . more content to come . . .

 

[Hell0NHighWater]

xxxx

Location: Marshal Larry Deger’s office :: Dodge City

Interactions: fuil | Vudukudu | Aravini | Epiphany | TenshuZninja | Rumble Fish | idiot | zippy

Music to set the Mood

JULIET † MCCRAE

═DISCLAIMER: THIS IS A VERY LONG POST═​

A pair of worn boots thudded against crooked wooden floorboards, spurs clanking with each step, moving with unhurried purpose. The Marshal's office was positioned strategically to be the first building any traveler would have to go through in order to enter the city whether one came by train or horseback. Large signs had dotted the route toward the city proclaiming that Dodge was 'Guns-Free' and that all firearms had to be checked in for the duration of a visitation. It seemed, at least to Juliet, to be a rather ridiculous rule. She had told Houdini as much as she tied him to a post; his huff in response only made her determination to get around the rules even stronger. She wasn't foolish nor naive enough to believe that some witless imbecile wouldn't have the means to shoot her in the back when she wasn't looking—even in a town with 'gun laws'.

Her honey twinged irises languidly roamed across the interior of the building, lingering on the row of cells lining the back wall. She noted that there were a couple people sitting in holding, but she didn't pay them too much mind. Her attention drifted to the impressive display of rifles that stood just outside of a closed door. If she were to venture a guess, she would say that was probably where all of the 'checked-in' weapons were being held. Juliet continued to cast her gaze lazily about the room, fighting down the itch to come back later and see if she could pick the lock on that door.

Her attention finally landed on the long, sturdy oak desk centered in the room. Behind the desk was a man as gray-haired and shaggy-faced as an unshorn sheep, but she doubted that he was as meek given the cords of muscle knotting his neck and straining the shoulder seams of his shirt, tenuously buttoned across a bulging chest. He sat in a bulky wooden chair with wide armrests, his feet were kicked up on the corner of his desk and he was analyzing a piece of paper in his hands.

As she drew closer he didn't even look up, apparently too absorbed in his reading material, “Your to leave yer firearms—"

"Seems there must be a mistake, Marshal. I ain't leavin' shit."

At the sound of her voice, his gaze snapped up to pin her with a haughty stare, "Miss, you ain't in the position to argue—"

"You're right; You ain't in a position to argue." Juliet strolled right up to the desk, eyeing his muddy boots with a frown, "Now, unless you think Dodge is in need of a new Marshal I would suggest you let me on through 'fore I loose my patience." Her sharp hazel gaze narrowed ominously, placing a hand on his desk she leaned into him, fluidly pulling her duster away to reveal the pistol on her hip. The corner of her mouth quirked into a soft goading smile.

He gawked at her impertinence, too stunned for a beat to even react. Recovering with a huff, the Marshal yanked his feet off his desk as he leaned forward, voice dropping into a growl, "You're in Dodge now, little lady, and we ain't allow no firearms within city limits."

The sound of metal being slammed against hard wood jarred the Marshal enough to cause him to flinch, incredulously eyeing the badge she had slapped in front of him. His ruddy brown gaze flickered between the young woman and the silver star. Baffled he asked, "Now what's a fine young lady like yerself doin' with somethin' like this?"

Juliet suppressed the overwhelming desire to shoot the bastard and as her hazel irises darkened with irritation, she fixed him with an apathetic glower. "What's an ugly old man like yerself doin' with something like that?" She fired back, gesturing to the badge that the Marshal had pinned to his shirt. He followed her finger as if not knowing what she was referring to before he saw the glint of his own badge. His face flushed in anger. The marshal shot to his feet and slammed a hand down on his desk, "Watch your mouth! I have half a mind to bend you over my knee an' teach you some damn manners."

Her left brow arched, swiping her badge back off the desk and depositing it in the inside pocket of her duster. "Really, Marshal?" She purred, "If you'd have had half a mind, you'd know that my manners are stellar. It's yours that need re-education." She tossed him a snarky half smile, moving on toward the exit that lead into Dodge City.

"Ranger's ain't got no jurisdiction—" The Marshal started, moving suddenly to try and keep pace with her.
"An astute statement." She paused, beaming at him with sarcastic glee, "Or it would've been if Dodge didn't fall right in the disputed territories," Juliet continued moving towards the exit, aware now that there was a line starting to Que behind her. "I 'ave as much authority as a blue-blood 'round here. Which means," She paused long enough to open the door and turn to face the Marshal with a sneer, "I'm keepin' my fuckin' weapons." She slammed the door in his face.

Pulling her hat off her head, Juliet brushed tow-colored locks out of her face with an exasperated sigh. Squaring her shoulders, Juliet moved to where she had left Houdini. The stallion's ears twitched, head lifting at her arrival, and he gave an eager step away from where he had been hitched. Her hand rose up to brush against his long neck, "I told ya I wasn't goin' to be gone that long." She mused softly, gathering his reigns before turning to lead him past the check point and into the city itself.

═WELCOME TO DODGE CITY═​

With Houdini's hooves squishing rhythmically into the mud behind her, Juliet took a moment to immerse herself in the shit-hole that was Dodge City. People milled about on the streets, going about their daily business, some on horse back and some in iron carriages. Like any city in the West, it was alight with activity. A train whistle blew. Men drunkenly bickered. Prostitutes called out favors. Fanatics raved about the end of days. And a sign creaked in time with a dry gust of wind, drawing her attention to the building it labeled as: The Dust Bowl.

Her brow arched at a stumbling figure who emerged from the building's depths, watching as he fell face first into the muddy streets. She snorted a little to herself, letting her gaze drift back to the entrance. The tavern looked welcoming enough she supposed, and after three days of travel she owed herself at least one glass of whiskey. But that sign, that creaking, half-hinged little sign, made a feeling akin to uneasiness roll in her stomach.

Well, at least it wasn't Tombstone. Her mouth quirked at the thought.
Deciding that one drink wouldn't kill her and that the barkeep might know something about the man she was looking for, Juliet hitched Houdini to a post with an extra tight knot. Caramel and verdant irises narrowed on the animal, her hands resting on her hips, "Stay here. I won't be gone long and if you're good I'll getcha two apples."
She started walking toward the tavern before she stopped, turning her head to level the horse with a glare, "Stay right there. I mean it."
Satisfied that her horse wouldn't decide to pull another escape attempt, Juliet bounded up the creaking steps and entered the tavern.

The smoke twisted in its artistic way, forming curls in the gloom, illuminated only by the age-speckled oil lamps. Along the far wall, behind the bar, was every hue of amber liquid in their inverted bottles; every vice that Juliet told herself she would try to avoid. The other half of the room was occupied by tables, some filled with gamblers and others by people just trying to enjoy an afternoon drink. A couple servers in low cut dresses fluttered about, bringing drinks and making conversation with patrons.

Deciding that she should probably move away from the door, she made a b-line for the bar. Sliding onto a stood, she lifted two fingers to flag the barkeep, and ordered with a smile, "Whiskey, please."

While she waited for the man to pour her a drink, she pulled a small journal from her coat pocket and scribbled something in it with a pencil—a graphite rod inserted into a hand-carved wooden holder. She found them preferable to ink and were extremely convenient. If she hadn't stolen it a while back, Juliet might have paid a fortune just to have it.

Nodding her thanks to the barkeep, she took a sip of whiskey.

 

[idiot]

xxxx

Location: Marshal Larry Deger’s office, Dodge City.

Interactions: N/A.

Evie † Ellsworth

The horses whined, dragging the wagon as hooves plodded steadily along the downtrodden, dirt path. Situated in the storage bed of the wagon, Evie's knuckles were white from holding the side as though she would be launched into orbit by the slightest crater. The sun won the war against the thin cloth cover over the wagon, shining brightly against Evie's pale skin. The wagon was loaded to the brim with supplies, bits and pieces of furniture and a nosy child.

"Why ya' wearin' one of those ace-high dresses, lady?" The freckle-faced kid looked permanently flushed, courtesy of the sun, Evie presumed. Shaggy, blonde hair framed his small face, eyes examining her dress. Evie raised a manicured eyebrow at the kid before he continued, "I heard ya' talkin' to Pa before. He is givin' ya' free ride! The last one had to pay!" He seemed surprised as Evie wondered how many different people have sat in this very spot. Had they run away too? She pondered before the wagon came to an abrupt stop, sending Evie rolling forward. The kid started howling as Evie sat back up with a groan, rubbing her exposed arm which met the chair's leg on her tumble. Tucking loose strands of glossy hair behind her ear, gathering herself.

"End of the line, lady." The gruff voice came from behind the wagon. His calloused hand took hold of Evie's supple, small hand, helping her from the wagon's bed. Despite his tough and frankly dirty appearance, the man was generous enough to take her this far after finding her alone on the outskirts of Atchison. Loose rocks crunched under her boots on landing. The man's kind eyes met Evie's, "Safe travels, lady. I hope ya' find what ya' lookin' for."

"Thanks again, sir. I greatly appreciate your generosity." Offering a small smile, Evie couldn't help but curtsy, old habits die hard. The man snorted before he made his way back to the wagon's front. Dust bloomed in front of Evie as the wagon continued on its journey, the kid waving in the distance. She hoped safe travels for both of them. Spinning on her heels, Evie's mouth dropped at the scene in front of her. Dodge City, according to the worn-down sign in front of her.

This is not a city, this is a dump, a heaving dump, Evie thought.

***
​

"Next! You're to leave you— " The droning from a grey-haired, bulky man started before his beady eyes set on Evie. Suddenly straightening up in his armchair, his tree-trunk legs leaving the desk and meeting the old floorboards with a groan. "My, my, what is a young, pretty thing like you doing here in my city? We don't get much like you here." Evie avoided scoffing at the man's forwardness, his eyes sized her up gruellingly, from head to toe. Luckily it seemed as though he had no idea who she was, to be fair she was a long way from home now. An awkward pause fell upon the room before he continued, "Well, I doubt a sweet, little thing like yourself has any weapons, but I'm obliged to ask. We got a no firearm policy in Dodge City." His eyes didn't leave her figure for one second while Evie quickly examined the situation.

"Oh, you must be the sheriff of this grand city. You definitely have the aura of the man in charge." Lying through a painted-on smile, she sold the deal with a fake, schoolgirl giggle. "Don't make me blush, sheriff." The sheriff slicked back his grey mop, laughing nervously, obviously surprised by her response; all that mattered was he was eating up every word. Her charm seemingly made him not see her as a threat, not even bothering to continue with enforcing his 'no firearm rule'.

"I, uh, will be swapping with my deputy soon...if you'd like a personal tour of my grand city." The sheriff chuckled, his bulging stomach thumping along.

"I'd be honoured, sheriff, but first a proper lady must doll herself up before accepting company." Evie strode past the sheriff, knowing his eyes were glued to her backside as it swayed underneath the red dress, her father's revolver tucked safely into the garter. Physically shivering at the thought of the sheriff up against her, Evie officially entered the 'city'. A hand tugged at the torn end of Evie's dress causing her to scream. On the end of the hand was a man slumped against the rails of the sheriff office, an empty bottle in hand. Tearing herself away, she hurried towards the closest shack. Pushing through the swinging doors, Evie's eyes widened at the pitiful excuse for what she believed was a saloon. Gathering herself once more, Evie strolled deeper into the pit, sticking out like a sore thumb.

 

[Aravini]

xxxx

Location: Marshal Larry Deger’s office, Dodge City.

Interactions: N/A

Francis †

As the tracks of the train creaked and the sound of its horn rang like a siren, Francis grabbed his cane and exited the metallic snake. He checked his pocket watch, noticing that they had arrived at the place a few minutes late. He looked over the city, the first important destination within America, the start of his journey to make his last mark on the world. Dodge City, and by god what a mess. The place reminded him of his home town back in Britain, only it was smaller, dirtier and lacked class.

He haven't really heard much about the city, only aware of its existence from passing conversations in the train so he went around and asked questions to gather more information. People were able to immediately notice his...ecstacity, especially since Francis was wearing an overly white suit with a matching hat. His questioning sends him walking towards the Sherrif's office, it will be a good start on his quest to gather information about the city from the person who runs it.

He reached the place, seeing there to be a line of city dwellers outside. Francis decided to wait it out by whipping out his notebook and start writing his report.

Today is a wonderful day, he wrote, as today, I have arrived at the infamous Dodge City. The place was no different than any cities within Britain, as long you ignore the amount of sand of the place and the overwhelming Grimey feel of it.

The city was no paradise, nowhere near as sophisticated as the places back home, but I must admit there was an odd allure to it. The city gives off an aura of lawlessness and uncivilised, which is way more interesting than any boring old town in Britain. You feel that any moment, someone would come up to you and shoot you in the face, ending your life with a swift blow...oh such a wonderful feeling.

I truly hope that the rest of the country will be like this, especially since I haven't even been to the more interesting places yet. I have barely done any investigation and already I could finish off my report here and now just by making the city the subject alone, but I'm not ending my career with a piece about this sad city. I am here for the great experience of the west, and this will be a good place to start.

Francis looked up and realised he was next in the line. He went inside the office, which looked more like a jail. Guns were put up for display and rows of cells were placed in the back wall.

The rough-looking man behind the counter seemed surprised, putting down his paper to take a good look at Francis.

"Can I help you, sir?" The Sheriff said, face full of confusion.

"Hello, good sir," Francis said. "It is nice to see you, I am Francis Alexander, but you might know me as..." He made a dramatic pose towards the sheriff. "The White Crow."

"Who?"

"...The White Crow." Francis quaked, seeming confused by the thought of someone not knowing him. "You know, the best journalist in Britain? The one who made great pieces like 'The deep enigma of the cowman slaughter' and 'The inner workings of the Salt gang' have you not heard those stories around here?"

"No sir...I don't, I'm guessing you're a foreigner?"

"Indeed."

"Okay, now I understand. Look, I don't care who you say you are Mr Alex and I have never read either of these stores. I have no time to read news from Britain when I have an entire city to govern. Just drop your weapon here and get your ass out of here okay?"

Francis was shocked, he stories had never reached this barren land? This could only mean one thing...their life is an everyday adventure and no outrageous stories from Britain could even compare. This was a really good place to be.

He had no intentions of leaving his cane-sword here, especially since that was a gift and the sheriff probably has no idea about it anyway.

"Well can you at least answer some questions." Francis whipped out his notebook. "So do-"

"No." The Sheriff announced firmly. "Get the hell out, I have no time. I'm very busy today."

"But it just a few questions-"

"Are you deaf? Fuck off!"

Francis gave him an upset look. He put away his notepad and headed for the door but before he exited, he pulled down his pants, displaying his bare baby bottom towards the rude Sheriff. The Sheriff stood up furious, prompting Francis to quickly run away, slamming against a few bystanders with his pants down.

He didn't run long, his ageing was really catching up to him. He breathed heavily as he put up his pants. The rude and potty-mouthed Sherrif was no help, he needed to find someone else to be his guide, or at least someone to give him a hook for this city. A mission to find missing people, a serial killer on the loose, anything that would truly make this place worth it. Who knows, maybe it would even turn this city into an attraction once his piece was published all across Europe. He looked up and found himself in front of a building named 'The Dust Bowl'. Both curious and tired, he went inside and found a few brute looking men and women drinking or gambling. Desire to quench his thirst, he headed for the barkeep. Some gave him look, his white suit catching their attention.

A woman caught her attention, however. A beautiful blonde with a pretty red dress, making her different from a sea of thug. Finally, someone with class around this place. She had a similar look to his perky granddaughter, they would play the piano together, sing with uncle Murry as a trio and play golf. Just looking at the woman was reminding him of home, almost making him homesick.

Francis reached the barkeep and sat down, then called for the bartender. "I'll have anything you recommend for an old sinner like me. Green tea would be preferred."

 

[Vudukudu]

xxxx

Location: Dodge City, The Dust Bowl

Interactions:

Music to set the Mood

Ryan † Lonnady

Ryan had been in Dodge City for awhile now, having long since left Salt Lake for greener pastures. A city with limited tolerance for firearms seemed like a good place to lay low - lesser odds of catching a bullet, and there was a lot more he could do about a disgruntled opponent drawing a knife than there was about someone deciding to put a hole in him. Now, neither of those things would be much of a concern if living didn't require money, and Ryan ain't good for much besides manual labor and swinging fists. He'd managed to work a few short-term labor jobs chopping wood, laying brick, and that sort of thing, but sometimes he needed to cover the tab for his hotel room and such or just build up his cash reserves. That usually meant cracking skulls, which is what had him in the basement of the Dust Bowl today.

Speaking of, being in the moment was probably more productive than mulling over how he got here. Laying his last few spending coins on the betting table, Ryan peeled his coat and shirt off to abide by the proper rules of this particular establishment, then cracked his knuckles. His opponent was wiry, a mean-looking fellow who was apparently a champion of sorts round these parts. Probably a fast little sucker, prides himself on being quicker and smarter than the big lads. Ryan'd dealt with lads like him before, and he wasn't too worried about how this'd go. 'Specially because his opponent seemed a little put off at the rippling musculature of Ryan's just about sculptured torso. Body shots weren't gonna do the trick here.

The fight starts with the ring of a little bronze bell and ends when someone's bell gets rung. Ryan wasn't here to put on a show and dance around exchanging jabs, he was here to leave with a few more coins in his pocket. When the little bastard dove in to throw an opener, Ryan lurched to the side with distressing speed and pinned his opponent's other arm behind his back, grabbed a fistful of his hair with his free hand, and then rather unceremoniously put the man's head into the nearest wall to stun him before releasing his arm and taking a hold of his belt. With a grip on his hair and his belt, Ryan hurls his far smaller foe at the nearest table. Judging by the blood, the wall impact had broken his nose and odds are he'd have bruised ribs for awhile.

Ryan used to get applause for fighting, and now he mostly got gasps or disappointed sighs from people who assumed he was some clumsy farmhand looking to make it big only to find out he was something like a force of nature. That was fine by him - he weren't doing it for the fame any more. Sweeping his modest winnings into a coat pocket, he pulled his clothes back on and trudged back up the stairs, counting the coinage in his pocket with a finger as his heavy steps took him back to the first floor.

 

[fuil]

xxxx

Location: Doge City

Interactions:N/A

Music to set the Mood

Robert

Robert awoke to the familiar smell of smoke and soot. As he sat up he was greeted by his now smoldering and very much destroyed work table. " Thats just great now where am I supposed to work. This is the 23d failure this week." He said with a grunt as he got up off the muddy floor of his shack and looked around. It seemed his table wasn't the only thing damaged in the blast as his small lumpy sbed was now a small lumpy pile of wood, cloth and straw. He sighed as he tried in vain to wipe the soot off yet he only managed to smear it a bit."I need to get out of here before I get thrown in jail again." He grabbed a patched bag and started to pack as he was sure that after that blast his neighbors that had only just tolerated his squating were bound to notify the sheriff. "Come my prickly fellow to the Dust Bowl, I need a drink and to figure out where to move next." He said as he grabbed a potted cactus and left his shack, which promptly fell in on it's self. "Well at least nothing worse can happen.........Why do I feel like I've just said something terrible?.

As he made his way towards the Dust Bowl he tried his best to stay in back alleys and only crossing open streets when he had to and doing so very quickly as he had learned young that people didn't take kindly to vagrents like himself. As he finally got to the tavern he broke out into a smile. The people here knew him as a regular and even though the other customers would glare and avoid him they other wise left him alone. As he entered he and walked past a few customers they seemed to blanche at the smell of chemicals, mud, and herbs that followed in his wake. He quickly took a seat at the bar and cleared his throat to get the bartenders attention. "I'd like a bottle of whatever you think would make a shit week better." He said as he sat his potted plant down on the counter. "And a glass of water for my plant if you would."

 

[Rumble Fish]

https://www.onlygfx.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/7-noise-texture-overlays-1.png');[/URL] background-position: center center; background-size: cover, auto; background-blend-mode: screen;]xxxx

Location: Dodge City

Interactions: Hell0NHighWater idiot Aravini

Music

Carrie † “Painted Doe”

A gloved hand wiped the rim of her lips for what felt like the hundredth time as Carrie peered through her lowered cap towards the population behemoth that was Dodge City. The marbled woman sighed deep in her chest as she looked upon it, smoke slithering from the lit end of her cigarette with the burning embers blown away in the wind. Below her she felt the gentle rocking of Jim-Boy's walk, his ears flicked from side to side and he chuffed from the dust in the road. His blue head bobbed in front of her and the only other company the duo had was the clinking of his lantern matching his strides. Knowing the skittishness the stallion could display, Carrie knew to try and keep her own nerves intact for his sake. Despite what she displayed to the horse, anxiety pulsed through her veins.

Carrie was no stranger to cities, nor the darker underbelly of the beast. Every venture into a city was either to be sold like a workhorse at auction or pulled around like a dog on a leash at the mercy of its owner to be mocked. This would be one of the first times she had gone to one as a freed woman. Her ventures would usually end at the brink of smaller towns to trade the furs of hunted prey for a few green notes. Small town folks were less offended by her presence, helped by her giving them goods. Her reason for coming here was like any other; looking to have a hot meal in her belly and a bed that did not involve the stars for a blanket or her saddle for a pillow. And she was sure Jim-Boy would prefer a bed of hay than sleeping on his feet, even for one night. With a sigh, she clicked Jim-Boy into a gentle lope. As he cantered, she dropped her reins over his slim neck and reached into her navy trench pocket, pulling out a little mirror.

Her white patches were no more. Her skin was now a dark copper brown through and through. The only possible link to her past was the small 'r' branded on her left cheek, which, to someone further away would seem like nothing but a birthmark. She knew what to expect once she entered the city's limits. She was no fool. If she went in there with her bare skin, it would be the same as riding in with a target on her chest and back. Some idiot would take no hesitation in testing that fashion choice. Her skin was just the same. All she knew was that she would have to watch herself while in this city's borders. With a huff, she clicked Jim-Boy into a faster gait. The stallion grunted but did as she asked. His running gallop matched the rapid beating of her own heart...

---​

Now in the line, Carrie remained silent as she stood. She watched the three go before. A blonde with a hot temper and refusal to give her weapons, which caused an internal eye-roll within the woman. She had the gumption that Carrie appreciated and admired in people, but knew she would be not granted the same privileges through sheer defiance. The next was a younger woman. Prim, proper and like a fawn learning to walk; inexperienced. And then an older and silver gentleman of a foreign nature, who seemed less lucky with the officials but still maintained an air of decorum. That was until he exposed his bare rear to the marshal. Carrie suppressed a snort of a laugh at this. Maybe not so much decorum, but still guts.

Finally it was her turn. With a sigh, she walked forward dreading her talk with the Marshal who, from what Carrie had seen, had very little going on in his dense head. She cleared her throat, but before she could even speak, the Marshal turned to face one of his men.

"Archibald what the fuck is this," he looked to Carrie with the corner of his bloodshot eye like glaring at a decaying rat in the corner of a basement, "Redskin- or (N-word) or whatever the fuck she is, doin' in my line?!" Only the corner of the woman's maw twitched a little at those words. Her face stayed as stony as when she first walked in. The large man, built like a great oak with red hair and a horseshoe moustache enough to envy a clydesdale opened her mouth to answer the man, only to be interrupted by a soft cough from the aforementioned reason for their petty grief.

"...You need to ask anything about my business you ask me. And I'll be happy to tell you "what the fuck" I am doing here." The woman growled before Archibald could speak. Both men shared a glance, alarmed at her words before Archibald grumbled and turned his hard gaze to Carrie.

"You." He glared hard like a silver-back looking to intimidate, "State yer business." He growled, almost stroking his pistol.

Up until now, Carrie had been willing to surrender her firearm. She would still have her bow, arrows and the hunting knife hidden in her wolf-hide necked boot. Now? They had triggered a nerve. Inhaling deeply, her face did not change.

"The same as everyone else, Marshal. To enter." She answered bluntly, hazel eyes boring into the probably-hungover pair of Archibald Gray standing before her. "Now. I believe I am to-" she began, only to be stopped again by the voice of the Marshal as he finally rose from his seat, spit flying from his tobacco stained teeth.

"I don' give a fuck what yer thinkin' waltzin' in 'ere like ya own the place but if ya think I'm gonna let ya just walk in-!"

There was a quick motion and before the Marshal knew, there was a brown, rusting knife pointed towards him. Despite the indifference on her face, Carrie's inner thoughts were begging her to accept defeat and turn away. Their manner was too familiar. But if she were to do so now, she would never venture into a city again. And that could mean worse than death. Both men froze.

"Now... I have a problem." Carrie straightened up with a long sigh through the nostrils, calming her vaulting nerves, "Your sign says "no firearms." And yet," she gestured to the bow on her back with its quiver, "I have none."

"You gotta hand over yer weapons, Injun." It seemed he had made up his mind on what he perceived her to be, a smug smirk creasing his beard. Carrie simply tilted her head to the right, akin to a sparrow. Did he not read his own sign?

"Your sign says 'firearm', sir. As in guns? Guns that fire bullets? Now," she twisted the tip of her knife into the end of her index finger, "That's my problem. As far as the definition goes, a bow and a knife are not firearms. So... by your own words, Mr. Marshal, there's no reason I cannot enter." Carrie lied through her teeth. She indeed had a firearm... safely rolled up in the depths of Jim-Boy's saddle bag, who waited patiently outside for permission to enter.

"But yer wea-!"

"Not weapons. Mr. Marshal. Firearms. From what I read, firearms were forbidden. Now, I'd hate to believe a man of your caliber would... backtrack on his own word like that. I'm simply following your laws. A fine, educated man such as yourself would not go back on your own words, would you?" Carrie stopped herself from continuing knowing that the more she spoke, the incentive to devolve into insults would strengthen.

The Marshal and Gray looked to each other, and without another argument, the Marshal sighed and pointed out. "Get the fuck out! I don' wanna see yer ugly face in 'ere any longer." Carrie's face did not change as she tipped her charcoal hat to the man.

"Marshal. Mr. Gray." she grumbled before stalking out to retrieve Jim-Boy and finally leave that place, "Couple of idiot Yankees..." she grumbled as she mounted the Nokota. Jim-Boy chuffed and shook out his roan neck as Carrie gently nudged him through the muddy streets. His dainty hooves struggled in the deep muck and she could feel him anxiously chewing on his bottom lip, his ears erect and rigid. The young stallion was on edge, not that she could blame him. He had never experienced somewhere so busy having been born in the quiet wild. Thankfully, his journey was not long as they reached The Dust Bowl. Carrie did not quite feel like conversing with more people, but the only thing stopping from hearing the rumble in her stomach was the bustle of the city.

Jim-Boy chuffed anxiously as Carrie gently dismounted and tied him to the post. He snorted and pinned his ears at another horse already there, but after a moment, his stomach won as he tucked into the hay supplied at the post. Carrie, relieved that she did not need to reassure the stallion any further, stroked his soft neck a few times before leaving the blue-roan to his own devices.

Entering the tavern, the woman stared ahead as her boots clumped against the wooden planks. She felt eyes but did not dignify them with a returning glance. Her cheeks puffed in an effort to not cough from the suffocating smoke as she reached the bar. The man behind said nothing but looked to her up and down, like he was expecting something.
"Hm." She took a moment, "A plate of beef and potatoes please. And a scotch." While she was not a drinker, she needed the kick after dealing the idiocy they call authority. As she ordered, her gaze wandered down the bar, spotting the blonde she had seen in the office, now drinking whisky. Then, the man behind the bar cleared his throat, looking for payment. With a huff, Carrie dug into her pocket, dropping it into his hand, for it to be snatched away.

"Sit in the corner. It'll be out in a second." He growled before giving her the scotch she asked for. Carrie, despite her frustrations, simply raised the small glass to him, glaring under her hat before leaving the bar and settling into the aforementioned chair in the corner, next to the window. She did not mind this. She could watch Jim-Boy. Since that horse had been her companion, despite his cowardice and tendency to flee rather than consider facing his fears, he was better than most men.

 

[zippy]

xxxx

Location: The Dust Bowl

Interactions: None

Gabriel † Clarke

The soothing rocking of the carriage underneath him had lulled Gabriel into a deep slumber. So much so, that the sudden lack of movement did nothing to stir him. It wasn't until the driver's rough hands jostled his shoulder that the priest jumped awake, fingers clenching the rosary that lay safely in his pocket. His initial reaction was to be on guard, apprehensive of whoever he was to open his eyes to view. The past few months had not been kind to Gabriel, and though his family had warned him that there would be dissenters and troubles along the way, he hadn't expected it on this level. Naively, Gabriel had begun his journey in his priest attire, broadcasting his religion to the world. While there were those who saw Gabriel as a way to reconnect to the church, there were many many more who despised Catholicism. The man before him now had rescued him from just one of these instances, and now Gabriel had a handy jacket that he wore to conceal the robes underneath.

"Ah, yes sir. I suppose I have burdened you enough. Your generosity certainly does not go unnoticed. May God bless the remainder of your travels."

Gabriel lowered himself from the carriage, dust kicking up at his feet. He was situated before a building that seemed to be shuddering beneath the weight of its own frame. It made him wonder just how long that building stood there, and what kind of man lay within to allow it to get to this state. 'Dodge City Marshal's Office' the sign read, and then in smaller print 'Check your firearms here'. He assumed firearms was a broader term meant to refer to all weapons, and his mind instantly went to the blade tucked snuggly against his thigh. Not that he'd ever used it or had any intentions of doing so, but a weapon is a weapon.

"They say yer God is generous too," came the voice behind him, just as gruff to match the hand that shook him awake. Blue eyes raked over the face of the man, searching for a hint of what this sudden proclamation could mean. Of course, he'd have done better to just take a look at the outstretched hand curling selfishly back towards himself. Gabriel fumbled in his pockets, producing a bundle of money equal to around $20. He pushed it into the man's hands, mumbling a quiet 'of course, of course' as he did so. Securing the strap of his satchel over his shoulder, Gabriel nodded at the man before watching him head off into the distance. It wasn't until the carriage was but a speck that he turned and entered the Marshal's office.

No sooner after he stepped foot into the creaking building, the marshal barked his commands. "Leave yer weapons and don't you even think about startin' no funny business. I've had enough of you roughnecks here to last me a damn lifetime and I ain't keen on bein' disrespected in my own damn city." Gabriel listened politely as the man went on his tirade, only moving to flinch twice at each utterance of the word "damn". That was another thing that had surprised him, the vulgarity of the outside world. It wasn't something that he felt he would ever get used to. By the time the marshal had finished he had puckered himself out, face red and shoulders heaving in anger.

"Please understand, I mean no disrespect nor trickery which is why I reveal this to you now." Gabriel produced his dagger, balancing the weapon carefully in his hands. "Now," he began again quickly to prevent the marshal from exploding, "know that I am a man of God. I am not a violent being, for I am not capable of being violent. I know in your head, you are asking the question: why does a Holy Man carry a dagger? For what purpose-"

"I'm asking why the hell this man is sat here babblin' on when the rule is clear as day."

Gabriel tilted his head awkwardly, confused at the abrasiveness of the marshal. Nonetheless, he continued. "Yes, yes. I will say it simply then. This is not a weapon, but an heirloom. Bestowed upon me by my father, him by his father, and so on." Gabriel paused a moment, but when the Marshall didn't interrupt he continued. "John 14:6. Jesus answered, 'I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.' It is embedded here on this dagger, as it is embedded here on my heart. I know the whims of the Lord, and Spirit of the Lord speaks through me." He resecured the knife against his hip and nodded at the marshal, his blue eyes boring into the bewildered ones staring back at him. "And you marshal, are they embedded on yours?"

The marshal sputtered, waving his hands in the air quite wildly. "You got a funny way of talkin'. But go on, keep yer heirloom. I best not hear nothin' bout a so-called Holy Man, stabbin' folks."

With these words, Gabriel left the office and officially stepped into Dodge City. The city, busy but not bustling, felt alive in an odd sense. People milled about in the streets, all being drawn into one center of activity. The tavern. Gabriel followed the pull into the cramped building. The Dust Bowl, as it was so aptly named, seemed home to many odd characters. Though the taverns Gabriel had entered along the way always seemed to be. Home for the weary. Churches without the sermon. He rested his hands on the bar, asking for just a glass of water when the bartender asked.

 

[Hell0NHighWater]

xxxx

Location: Dodge City :: The Dust Bowl

Mentions & Interactions: fuil | Aravini | zippy | idiot | Rumble Fish | Vudukudu |

JULIET † MCCRAE

"I'm lookin' for a man by the name of Coot Jenkins," She started, eyeing the barkeep as he toweled off a freshly clean glass, "do you know where I can find him?"

The bartender furrowed his brows, looking a bit pensive. He glanced up at the blonde, prepared to answer her question when an older gentleman sat down a couple stools away and requested a drink, "I'll have anything you recommend for an old sinner like me. Green tea would be preferred."

Her brow arched, mutely observing the rather well-dressed older gentleman. If the accent wasn't enough of a giveaway, it was painfully obvious by the way he carried himself that he wasn't from around here. The West hardened the folk who lived out in these parts, made them more severe and ragged, less likely to trust. Yet oddly enough it still had a way of making folks loyal to their own. There was a flicker of red from the corner of her eye and she turned her head just enough to take note of the woman who strolled into the tavern looking like a lost lamb.

"Aye, Sir, I can get you some regular black tea. 'Fraid we ain't got anything as fancy as Green tea," With that he darted down the length of the bar to prepare the beverage.

She let her gaze roam around the room, impressed with how popular this place seemed to be. Was it the food? Certainly wasn't the whiskey, she thought absently of her neglected glass and the scorching taste it had left in her mouth.

Juliet cast her slightly miffed expression back to the bartender as he answered her question, "No Ma'am, ain't no one seen Ol' Coot in a couple days."
Her lips curved into a frown, tapping her pencil against the parchment impatiently, "Why not?"
"Bah! Coot's pro'ly dead by now. Tha' old rat done bit off more than 'e could chew—" Honey irises darted towards a man seated at the very end of the bar, half-way off his stool and slurring his words obnoxiously. She arched a brow curiously, about to interject before the bartender cut her off, "Don't pay any mind to Lou, the man's foxed from morn' til dusk."

The corner of her mouth twitched, "Sounds exhausting," she uttered dryly, reaching for her glass of whiskey.
"Aye, be that as it may I would suggest checkin' with—"
"I'd like a bottle of whatever you think would make a shit week better." The bartender nodded at the request, automatically moving to get the man a drink without finishing the rest of his sentence. "And a glass of water for my plant if you would."

Juliet eyed the second interruption with a bit more irritation than the first. When the stranger actually set a plant on the bar top, she had to place a hand over her mouth to smother a note of laughter. Her gaze lingered passively on the stranger for a second before she turned back to her glass. She forced herself to swallow the whiskey, reminding herself that she had paid for it no matter how bad it tasted. Nose scrunching in disgust, she coughed softly into her fist.

Another man sat down on the other side of her, resting his hands on the counter as he waited patiently for the bartender to notice his existence. Juliet narrowed her eyes at him. Something about his presence made her uneasy—the same kind of uneasy a child had right after swearing in front of their parents for the first time—and she didn't particularly like it. Drawing a breath, she turned back to the bartender with the full intention of getting the information she needed and leaving, "Listen, I'm in a bit of a hurry, if you could just tell me who to talk to—"

"Where is he?" The sound of spurs clattering with the force of heavy steps punctuated each word.
"Where is who?"
"Don't play dumb with me! You know who we came in 'ere for."
"Not sure I do—"
"Coot Jenkins! Where is he!?"
With slow curiosity, Juliet turned in her seat. Leaning her back against the bar top, she cast the full weight of her attention towards the group of men who had just barged in.

"I told you the same thing, three days ago, I don't know. I reckon you can ask—"
"We askin' you, Mr. Davenport. Someone said they saw 'em come in 'ere last night!"
"Well, that is false!" The bartender squeaked as a firearm was suddenly brandished in his face.

A couple things happened at the same time: a man at one of the gambling tables shot up out of his seat and accused a fellow player of cheating, a server screamed as she dropped a tray of food, and Juliet shot the armed thug before he could do anything else.

There was a heartbeat of drawn out silence before the thug's body dropped to the floor like a sack of flour.
The Dust Bowl erupted into chaos.

Juliet turned her attention to the other goons, but she wasn't as fast for the second man; the bullet sliced a path through the flesh of her upper right arm. Crimson soaked into Juliet's sleeve, radiating outward. She clenched her jaw against the pain, kicking her stool at the second man. While he was distracted by the stool she raised her gun, prepared to shoot only for someone to crash into her.

Juliet's head bounced as she hit the floor.

 

[idiot]

xxxx

Location: The Dust Bowl, Dodge City.

Mentions & Interactions: fuil | Aravini | zippy | Hell0NHighWater |@Rumble Fish| Vudukudu |

Evie † Ellsworth

The rancid smell of alcohol and sweat burned her nostrils, almost causing her to gag; the Ellsworth heiress was not used to the unrefined life of the wild west. Evie felt the old, rotting floorboards groan under her light footsteps with several pairs of eyes glued on her figure. Admittingly, Evie was no stranger to attention, fully aware of her youthful beauty from being constantly reminded by family, friends and strangers. It became tiring, meticulously obsessing over her appearance to appease those around her. Without beauty, what was Evie Ellsworth? Caught in her own thoughts, Evie physically shook her head, long tendrils of brown hair framing her face. Now is not the time, she insisted, but not to herself, but to the voices.

Voices plural, there were multiple voices that haunted Evie. These voices were deadly, influencing her when they whispered their poison into her ears. They were the ones that made her do the unspeakable, the reason why she had to flee in the middle of the night. "Their blood is on your hands, killer." The voices began, laughing to each other. Evie gasped audibly, the voices had been quiet since that night, she believed they had left her alone. What a fool she was. Alarmed, Evie forced herself to move, her hands shaking, jaw trembling. Please, please, please leave me alone, Evie begged.

The group of ruffians that approached the bar, demanding answers, were within her peripheral but her attention was focused solely on the voices. The rest of the world went quiet. That was until the gunshots ringed in her ears and a blonde-braided woman ( Hell0NHighWater ) fell at her feet near the bar. Evie screamed loudly, now aware the entire saloon had erupted in chaos; guns firing, people screaming and shouting, people grappling and blood soaking through the old floorboards. Shuffling back quickly, Evie was ready to run towards the exit but the heel of her boot caught on a loose floorboard, sending her hurtling to the ground. Scooting on her backside, Evie's eyes searched frantically for another exit from the commotion. To her immediate right were stairs that led presumably to a basement, but a hulking man stood in her way, only a few feet away from her ( Vudukudu ).

 

[Aravini]

xxxx

Location:The Dust Bowl, Dodge City.

Interactions: N/A

Francis †

"Aye, Sir, I can get you some regular black tea. 'Fraid we ain't got anything as fancy as Green tea," The bartender said.

"That is would be enough for me lad," Francis said.

The bartender went away and returned with his drink, Francis giving him $5 for a tip. He took a sip and surprisingly enough it wasn't half-bad, well for an American beverage at least. Nothing could beat British tea, but the Americans seemed to be coming to a close second.

A group of troublemakers went inside the tavern, asking questions and being overly aggressive. There seemed to be an accusation of cheating on the gambling table. Before he knew it, the bar abrupted into a massive bar fight. The pretty lady in red screaming and trying to run away. A blonde close to him was knocked out. Francis could not believe he was seeing, all of it was so different to him. A few actions could not have enabled chaos like this?

Francis whipped out his notebook and pencil.

As I am writing this I am in the middle of the fabled American bar fight, he wrote, It is unlike anything I have ever seen, such raw violent energy and chaos erupting in front of me in such a short amount of time. I desire to join into the madness to experience is first hand but I first I should perhaps report on my findings so far.

There was a sound cracking bone, followed by a scream. The sheriff I was about to talk to was aggressive and rude, not allowing me to ask him simple questions. So I gave him what he deserved, a sight of my beautiful bottom. After that, I went inside the same tavern where the bar fight was initiated, roughens everywhere of both sexes. There was a coloured woman sitting by herself after the bartender gave her a drink and told her to sit somewhere at the back. It seems the Americans were less tolerable of the coloured folks. I suggest any coloured folks who wish to visit this country to be cautious. There was a woman in a red dress who reminded me of my granddaughter, she's trying to run away at the moment. She doesn't seem to be able to fend for herself, way different to anyone women I had met so far in this trip. Hopefully, someone helps the poor woman.

A beer bottle went for his head, Francis tilted down, letting he bottle hit the wall behind. Francis repositioned and continued writing.

There was also this entertaining figure who desired to feed his plant within the bar. I haven't seen where he had gone during this commotion but he seemed to be an interesting figure, perhaps an interview with the lad with would be beneficial. One last thing, there was this pretty boy figure who went to sit next to the blonde woman who was currently on the floor. He seemed to be a more frail figure compared to the thugs of the place, perhaps he's a traveller? All I could say was that he seemed to be a muppet.

A man fell down to the bar table next to Francis. Francis put away his notepad and pencil and headed to the nearest battling group. He coughed at them, few looking at his direction.

"Gentlemen, may I join you on this occasion?" He said before jumping into the chaos.

 

[Rumble Fish]

xxxx

Location: Dodge City

Interactions: idiot

Carrie † “Painted Doe”

Not long after Carrie had started chewing on the tough beef, things rapidly began to fall apart. People screaming, bodies flying and glasses soaring under the lumber ceiling and into windows. As Carrie stood up, a skinny man was surplussed into the very table she had been sitting at, with a more burly man wailing on him as he lied there groaning. There were plenty of other, bigger men he could have taken on. But no, he went for the one smaller than him. A typical coward, nothing that Carrie did not expect from these people. The crowd she had seen at the check in also got involved. The blonde seemed to be knocked down and the small and prim lady was being knocked about from the moshpit of bodies. Seeing someone younger and clearly inexperienced with an environment such as this was what had finally caused Carrie to act.

With a crack of the neck she jumped from her seat, the thud of her boots muffled from the chaos. But before she could reach the girl, there was a harsh tug on her hair. Carrie yelped as she felt her weight thrown back and her wrist grabbed by a dirty hand. Why this maniac decided to grab her, Carrie did not know but regardless, she slipped her hand free, but as she pulled it back, she felt the protective layer of her glove slip away, leaving it in the hands of her attacker; revealing her marbled hand with the white dominating her black skin. The almost toothless man froze in his lunge at the sight of it. Carrie's eyes darted anxiously. Surely the law would soon arrive to deal with the chaos and she would be recognised. What should she do?! Knowing there was little else she could do, the woman decided to use one of these idiot's greatest failings; their ignorance to her advantage.

Opening her mouth, Carrie feigned shock and horror, releasing a great scream from the depths of her lungs, expelling all the possible air before her chest heaved and she shrieked again, staring at her hand as if it had sprouted five more fingers. The man jumped back slightly and a few others turned their heads. Carrie had seen these expressions before. When paraded around by her many masters, this was one of the many negative reactions people would have. Spitting, cursing and threats would usually follow. But now there was spitting, cursing and threats flying free alongside the violence. It was all equal.

"OH IT'S BACK!" She howled, head thrown back dramatically, "Oh Laaaaaawdy! It! Is! Back! GAWD ABOVE WHY?!" The man's eyes grew wide and he backed away as if she had spat acid. No doubt believing her to either have leprosy or be cursed. Carrie continued to scream bloody murder, flailing her arms, creating a kind of clear field around her. As she feigned panic, she flicked her head to the younger woman, hoping she would see the slim path to the front door and take it. The man finally seemed to recover from his initial shock and growled as he approached the hysterical woman.

"The fuck ya doin' ya crazy ni-?!" The man's sentence was interrupted by a crunch within his nose when Carrie's fist connected with it. Violence was something the woman hated to consider, but this was getting dangerous. All she could do was stay close to the door. All she had wanted was something to eat but it seemed that in America, nothing could ever go smoothly.

 

[fuil]

xxxx

Location: Dust Bowl

Interactions:

Music to set the Mood

Robert

Robert was enjoying his drink when a group of guys came in arguing about something but he paid it no mind as people where always arguing in this city. He instead kept enjoying his drink, up to the point all hell broke loose that is. Now this wasn't Robert's first bar fight and as soon as the first punch was thrown he reached for his cactus only to be grabbed before he could reach it and get thrown into a table. He hit the edge of the table hard and fell to the ground clutching his side. "Owww." He groaned as he staggered back to his feet and turned to see who'd grabbed him was a large brute of a man with a bald head and a messy beard, and a face covered in blisters."Um..didn't I sell you a tonic a few days ago to help with indigestion." The big man rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. "Yeah and the day after my face looked like the ass of a leper. Now I've been looking for you soo I can return the favor." He quickly tried to doge but the big brut was faster than he looked and soon he saw stars as he felt what it was to be a rail road spike as blow after heavy blow hammered into him. Robert was then grabbed yet again and thrown back into the bar, luckly right next to his cactus which he quickly dumped out of it's pot and grabbed what looked to be a handle growing out of the base of the cactus. He then threw the pot towards the giant of a man who was currently lumbering towards him with his free hand, to bad his aim was off and so it sailed past his target's head and into the crowd behind him. "What's that supposed to be, a weapon?" The oger of a man laughed as he approached Robert and was pulling back for a massive punch, only to be hit in the back of the head with a stoll. The man wobbled for a moment and then fell forward with a loud thump. Robert didn't get to see who saved his as just as it happened he was pulled into yet another brawl. He lashed out with his weapon atthe man that grabbed him and was rewarded with a shout of pain as the barbs of his plant dug into soft flesh. "Yes finally go-." Was all he got to say before he felt someone hit him and he was gretted with darkness.

 

[Vudukudu]

xxxx

Location: Dodge City, The Dust Bowl

Interactions: idiot

Music to set the Mood

Ryan † Lonnady

Ryan's ears prick up at the sound of a gunshot and the brawl that begins upstairs. Hurrying upwards, he finds himself face to face with a young woman who certainly doesn't look like she belongs here. Taking a firm grasp of her forearm, he turns her aside and puts his body in front of hers while he examines the situation. "Keep your head down, miss." He says quickly, pulling the door to the basement shut behind him and taking another look at the chaos. Ryan wasn't much for bar fights - too many people, too much confusion, too easy to get clocked in the back of the head from behind by some fool. And his breastplate and gauntlets were hanging on a nail back at the hotel room, which wasn't exactly ideal. Now'd be a good time to be able to turn away knives or bottles, but he'd have to make do.

Someone had taken a woman to the floor at the bar and put her head into the wood, and there was a gun there. Taking the gun out of play was as good a place as any to start, and he surges forward to grapple the man standing over the unconscious lady. Wrapping his arms around his waist at the end of his bull rush, Ryan carries him forward into a support beam and crashes him into it, cracking his head against it before heaving him at the nearest table (AR of 16 vs Foe's 14 DR) . Retrieving the gun, Ryan fires from the hip twice with the dropped pistol, blowing one hole in the bat-wing doors and one through the skull of the other gunman in the room (AR of 18 vs Foe's 14 DR). Seeing another gun get leveled at him, he barely manages to step aside as a bullet whizzes over his shoulder and obliterates a bottle on the back shelf (Attack roll of 14 vs Ryan's 15 DR.) Ryan returns fire, putting a round into his shoulder and dropping him like a sack of bricks. With the guns in the room dealt with, he tosses the half empty gun aside and goes to settle the last few fights with the prodigious use of fists.

Having fought in far more unhelpful environments, Ryan proves able to maneuver among the overturned furniture and injured bodies, settling brawls with a mixture of knock-out punches and two arm-breaker grapple maneuvers to put down two of the more rambunctious fighters while the combat continues.

 

[TenshuZninja]

xxxx

Location: Dodge City

Interactions:

Music to set the Mood

Kiwidinok † Old Coyote

Kiwidinok didn’t bother to hold her glare in check as the marshal opened the gate to her cell finally since she had arrived at this shit hole of a town a little over a week ago. Since she arrived a while back she had been expecting to be hanged until they told her she would be getting released today a few hours ago. The breath she’d been holding in had been let go, she supposed they didn’t have her wanted poster from that little town in Wyoming.

She immediately moved her fur lined booted feet to leave the dingy and smelly box that had been her home for the last 8 nights of her stay in dodge city but the wizened, shaggy face of the Marshal blocked her from her quick getaway. The sudden elation of being free instantly soured. The muscles on the man’s neck bulged when he spoke.
“If it were up to me I’d’ve strung you up by yer hex beads an let the vultures hav yer body. And though I am the law” he let that hang in the air a moment before continuing. “I am also a man of my debts...no matter if they are to some Indian .“ He spit the word at me instantly reigniting my fury. “So you are free to go. Get the hell out of my station.” And then he stepped aside to allow me to leave.

I sneered back at him. “White man uses my medicine and owes me a favor but still cannot be humbled of his own pride. You call my medicine hex magic but do not refuse to acknowledge that it is what has helped you recover your strength. Since white man thinks it is hex magic why don’t I give you what you want?” Kiwidinok could see the slight strain on his face as he tried to understand her words through the thick native accent. Her first language wasn’t English after all. But when he finally understood what she was saying his white face paled to an even crisper shade of white. Kiwi gave him a wolfs grin.

“Ksikk Nínaa Ayoohtsiwa Niisó nohkáti ómahkapi'si Ainima Ksikk Nínaa Ki'sómma Ko'komíki'somma Asaksiwa. When this white man hears the call of Coyote his sun and moon shall leave him.” The marshals face paled even further at the sound of her unfamiliar and rough words. As soon as she was finished she spat in the floor before his feet, gave him another, wider wolfs grin (Baring her teeth) and said in English. “My people are not Indians. I am Piegan.” Then stormed her way out of the station quickly before the Marshal could get over his fear.

She hadn’t really cursed him but she had wanted to teach him a lesson that he would never forget. Perhaps it would even turn out the way she said it would and something irreplaceable in his life truly did get destroyed; but if it turned out to be so it would be because of himself and he would always attribute it to her “hex”. As she headed away from the station with that thought in mind she smiled almost merrily.

The excitement of vengeance still ran her blood hot. She figured some spring water would be the best to wet her mouth from the heat she had just unleashed upon the marshal and a good smoke from her tobacco pipe would help her think through her next moves. Unfortunately they didn’t have spring water but somewhat clean water was still sold at the saloon and she had left her bag in the room she rented above the saloon so that was where she headed.

The steps were creaky even under her light weight but she could barely hear it over the mess of noise coming from inside the bar. She knew it sounded a bit up and above what was normal but didn’t stop her tread as she pushed open the doors and stepped in. She had resolved to simply stay out of as much trouble as she could for the remainder of her stay in dodge city but it seemed The Great Spirit had other plans for her.
The moment she stepped inside the saloon Chaos took the reigns and steered a tall and lanky white man and a average and muscled white man directly into her path. She jumped to the side while simultaneously pushing them away and into a table in the corner of the room. With wide eyes her head swiveled and in that instance her instincts had pinpointed areas of danger she shouldn't head in less she become like the blonde haired woman who was peacefully sleeping on the floor as a large bruise grew on her face. The center area where the black woman was taking on the big white man was a no go. So was the corner where the blonde was laying, another white man had come from a door and immediately began to dispatch gunmen left and right unlike she'd ever seen before. The sound of wind passed by her ears and she caught the blurred image of that tall lanky fellow being hurled across the room to the bar.

She noticed with curiosity that the man had tried to throw the pot of a decorative cactus at the man who had thrown him, unfortunately it sailed directly by him and squarely hit the wall and table they had last been occupied at. He still held the cactus in his hand as if it were a weapon and Kiwi had to admit she would have hesitated to be stuck by it but the man didn't seem to care as he pulled his fist back. At the moment he was ready to hit the lanky fellow a stool from ...out of nowhere? or perhaps the air, collided with him. Kiwi shut her eyes in a cringe as she herself felt that impact simply the loud smack that resounded. When she opened her eyes she was surprised to see the lanky man falling unconscious as well. Kiwi had to admit of all the towns she'd traveled and all the bar fights she'd both witnessed and been part of, this one might take the cake of just how ridiculously chaotic it was. A lazy smirk unwillingly wedged itself onto her lips as she thought of the spirit of her tribe.

Coyote has most definitely visited this town while I've been locked away.

 

[zippy]

xxxx

Location: The Dust Bowl

Interactions: Juliet Hell0NHighWater

Gabriel † Clarke

Gabriel had never been one for eavesdropping. The chatter in the bar was just a warm buzz in his ears. Listening in only pulled one into more trouble. Though perhaps today, it'd have done him a little good to pay attention. It wasn't until the silvery glint of a firearm appeared in the corner of his vision. He whirled around on his teetering stool, in time to see the official-looking woman pull out a weapon of her own and shoot the thug. Gabriel paled, his hand flitting to his pocket as he offered up a silent prayer. As if on cue, when his prayer ended the bar swayed, chaos and confusion all around.

A second shot sounded and with a mighty sway Gabriel was shoved into the woman who'd shot the first shot. She fell to the ground but he couldn't lean down to check on her. It turned out, brawls didn't have rules or specific targets. A man had locked his sights on Gabriel and was now striding towards him with a certain swagger in his step. He attempted to turn but was met with the unyielding wood of the bar. With nowhere to run, Gabriel gulped as the distance between the two grew smaller and smaller.

"Father, forgive me for what I am about to do."

He squared his hips and pulled back his right arm, swinging wildly at the bull-like man. The punch connected, and Gabriel howled at the pain that radiated from his fist down his arm. The hit had caused more pain to the young priest than his aggressor. In fact, it didn't seem to have any effect on him. A nasty laugh bubbled up from his gut, and in the next moment Gabriel was on the ground sputtering. Choking on his own blood as it slipped down his throat from his probably broken nose. He curled into a ball next to the knocked over bar stools, willing calm to return to the bar.

 

[Hell0NHighWater]

xxxx

Location: Dodge City :: The Dust Bowl

Interactions: fuil | Aravini | zippy | Rumble Fish | Vudukudu | idiot


Music to set the mood

JULIET † MCCRAE

The palm of her right hand pressed harshly into the floorboards, white hot trails of pain bloomed across her same shoulder, and she grunted softly, slowly trying to get up. She was quick to realize how futile the effort was when she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Another knife-like stab of pain speared itself through her head and colorful spots flashed before her eyes, the world came back into focus spinning, and she found herself staring up at the barrel of a gun.

Her heart beat in her chest, pounding, banging, trying to get out. The whole world seemed to grind to a halt—the clattering of a riled crowd faded against the hammer of a gun being drawn back. Juliet watched, paralyzed, as the man who was about to kill her spoke, but she couldn't hear the words. She was disconnected from everything but the ever present sound of her drumming heart and the ringing in her head. Of all the ways she had thought she was going to die, this definitely hadn't been one of them.

It almost felt a bit disappointing.

From under unkempt and dirty blonde hair peeked a defiant set of hazel and honey eyes. Juliet clenched her jaw, willing herself not to look away. If this was where she would meet her death, then she would meet it head on—she owed August that much at least. She watched as his finger began to curl around the trigger—

The gun vanished and the man along with it, hurtled into a nearby support beam.

A wave of tension rolled off of her, allowing her to exhale the breath that she had been holding. Back against the bar, her gaze flickered over to the stranger who had—unwittingly or not—saved her life. Where there two of them or four? She grimaced, shutting her eyes briefly in an attempt to cut out some of the throbbing in her skull.

Her head tilted a little bit to the side as she watched a man get slapped with a cactus. It happened too quickly for her to laugh and the cactus-wielding man was out for the count just as quickly. The preacher-type was also down, presumably playing dead until the fighting stopped.
Unless he was dead.
He made a choking sound that confirmed her previous suspicion and she tried to lean forward in order to see better, but the movement only served to aggravate her already painful headache.

Having been unable to process or keep track of the ensuing chaos, Juliet pressed a hand to her temple trying to figure out just how hard she had gotten hit. Using the bar to pull herself up, Juliet wobbled on her feet, trying to shake the ringing out of her head. Her stomach rolled in response and for one horrifying second she thought she might spill her guts all over the bar top.

About a foot away from her, a bottle on the back shelf burst into a shower of glass and whiskey. Juliet flinched, cursing as she dragged her sluggish attention to the only man she saw left with a gun.
"Heyy! Watch where yer aimin' that!" Juliet shouted, unaware of the drag to her words. Staggering against the bar, she took note of the polished wooden handle with a dazed huff. The man was shooting at bottles with her own damn gun.

"That's my gun," she whined.

To her horror he then tossed the half empty gun—her gun—aside.

Completely out of it, Juliet's frown deepened until it was all but imprinted onto her face, "That's my gun you—you brute!"
She regretted her outburst the moment it left her mouth, pain pounding iron nails into her brain, "Oh fuck, too loud." Juliet mumbled, wincing as she staggered behind the bar itself. Grabbing a bottle of rum off the shelf, she lowered herself to the ground and out of view. With the wound in her shoulder, the ringing in her head, and the off-balance way she felt there was no way she was going to be useful in a fight. And knowing this, she popped open the cork on the rum bottle and decided that it was best for her to wait until things had calmed down.

When the dust had eventually settled, a hush fell across the entire tavern. Several bodies laid across broken furniture, dead or similarly incapacitated. Several others stood around the carnage having survived the brawl. Juliet poked her head up over the bar, warily looking around before pulling herself to her feet. Moving around the bar as she flashed a pained grin, raising the bottle still clutched in her hand, and saying to no one in particular, "Well that was fun!"

The sarcastic comment barely left her mouth before she was falling over, the bottle slipping from her hands as she was barely able to catch herself against a stool. Juliet watched the amber liquor pool across the floor, "Oh God...I think I liked it better when the earth wasn't swirlin' so much."

 

[Vudukudu]

xxxx

Location: Dodge City, The Dust Bowl

Interactions: idiot Hell0NHighWater

Music to set the Mood

Ryan † Lonnady

Ryan is seeing red at the end of it, both metaphorically and literally given the blood spattering his face and fists are wet with. Looking down at his battered meat-hammers most would call hands, he sucks in a deep breath. Lord forgive me.

Fortunately, the fighting comes to a stand still after a few more moments, and he frantically whirls about one more time to evaluate remaining threats only to find the room quiet. Well, quiet except for the ringing in his ears. Several gunshots indoors had probably left everyone a little worse for the wear on the hearing front, especially if they'd received any head injuries. He had emerged mostly unscathed - knuckles were split and bleeding, but that was normal after a brawl. Nothing had gotten dislocated or broken, and besides a few body hits he'd taken that would likely bruise he was okay. He begins curling and straightening his fingers in a vain attempt to keep them from stiffening up and getting sore while he turns to face the rather cavalier woman at the bar. Right, he'd kept her from chewing on a bullet. Fun? Maybe he'd have agreed in a past life, but she hadn't even been awake for most of this bar room blitz.

"You alright, ma'am?" He asks, his brown eyes locking with hers briefly before he looks around the room for the girl he'd bumped into at the top of the stairs. He'd lost track of her, and hoped she was alright. She didn't belong in a place like this, and it'd be a shame if she'd gotten hurt in the ruckus.

 

[idiot]

xxxx

Location: The Dust Bowl, Dodge City.

Mentions & Interactions: fuil | Aravini | zippy | Hell0NHighWater |@Rumble Fish| Vudukudu |

Evie † Ellsworth

Leaning up against the basement door, Evie perched herself on the top stair; hands covering her ears as the chaos ensued upstairs. It was difficult to think over the sound of screams, shouting and gunfire but it did stop her mind from running; especially the voices. A rather burly, tough-looking cowboy had whisked her behind him for safety. Always a damsel-in-distress it seems. The courageous and brave part of Evie wanted to leap out the door; her father's revolver in hand and shoot whoever was in her way. Yet, that was nothing but fantasy considering the threat of her heart leaping out of her chest.

Evie uncovered her ears, hearing nothing but the pure bliss of silence. A womanly voice perked up, muffled from the door. Shakily standing up on her heeled boots, Evie reached for the door handle. Slowly but surely she gained the courage to open it, being met by a looming figure. The urge to scream bubbled in her throat, unsure what she expected to see. Fighting the urge, Evie let out a short sigh of relief to see the tall cowboy from before. Smiling sweetly, she finally had a proper look at her saviour. Pale blue eyes studied the man, realising he was bigger than she originally thought; wide shoulders that would rival a bull and despite his rugged appearance, those brown eyes let Evie feel oddly at ease.

"I must say, thank you for that, sir. I was, how you say..." Evie's mind boggled for a second, processing the idea that she was nothing more than scared and cowardly at that moment. "Incapacitated, I guess one might say. Either way, you have my thanks and gratitude, sir." As though on queue, Evie gripped at her red gown which had seen better days, dipping slightly in an all-to-familiar curtsy. Evie pondered if that was even something the less...educated partake in for thanking or addressing someone? Not that Evie had any idea, this unfamiliar world she was forcibly dropped into was fresh and frankly, scary.

 

[Epiphany]

xxxx

Location: Dodge City, the Dust Bowl

Interactions: Everyone!

Music to set the Mood

MARISOL

"Well, if this isn't a fine mess."

The words came from a Mexican woman standing at the door to the Dust Bowl tavern. She wore a plain cotton blouse tucked into an equally functional skirt, with a fairly large sack slung over one shoulder. Her irritation with the scene is as palpable as the lingering gun smoke still hanging in the air from the discharged firearms. With a firm shake of her head, she advanced into the tavern proper before fixing the barkeep with a look.

"Now look ma'am-" he began.

"Oh, I know. A raised voice, men being men, and suddenly they can't help but fall all over each other black and blue. All these tables and broken chairs, just an accident, yes?" A sarcastic smirk crossed her lips. "If the Sheriff stops in, what will you say? A little dancing got out of hand?"

"I reckon he won't much care, except for the firearms." Looking exasperated, the bartender shook his head slightly and said, "Ma'am, these ain't children-"

"Oh, my mistake."

"-And you're not their mother."

"In Dodge City, I'm everyone's mother." Clapping her hands together and rubbing them, she gave a critical eye to the damage done and sighed. "Let's see the worst of it then."

Vudukudu zippy Aravini fuil
With a glance at the menfolk, she waved a finger in the direction of Ryan, Gabriel and Francis as among the only men left standing. "You." That finger swept through the air, encompassing the room and the battered, groaning and unconscious men laid out across it. "Look the lot of them over, see who isn't going to just hobble their way home without help so I can see to them." With a raised eyebrow, she added, "I'm what passes for a doctor in these parts, when the local physician can't be bothered to get out of bed for another bar fight. Can't say as I blame him."

Hell0NHighWater Rumble Fish idiot TenshuZninja
"Meanwhile, I'll see to the womanfolk first."

The Mexican woman looked over the four women present and her stern gaze lightened appreciably at the sight of the Indian woman. "Kiwidinok, I didn't know you were still in town. Good timing for them, if bad timing for you. Would you look after the-" Marisol's gaze took in the pale blonde cosseying up to the biggest man in the room before sighing. "Well, make sure she didn't have a bad fall or something. I'm going to see to this one here."

"I'm Marisol," she said, finally introducing herself as she bent over the clearly staggered Juliet. "And you've caught the worst of it so far, haven't you. Come on, let's take care of that gunshot and then we'll see about your head."

And the Mexican nurse or doctor or whatever she was reached into the large sack and produced an old-fashioned black physician's bag before she got to work.

 

[Aravini]

xxxx

Location:The Dust Bowl, Dodge City.

Interactions: Epiphany zippy

Francis †

Once the chaos within the bar had settled down, Francis sat on a lone chair panting deeply. His first Ameican bar fight was an interesting experience to say the least. Sweaty and aggregated man and women exchanging blows with one another, like it was life or death. Well, it was life or death, especially with a few people pulling out guns and knives.

Francis barely made it out unscathed through the chaotic battle. If the fight lasted any longer he would have surely injured himself or even gotten himself killed. Perhaps avoiding deadly situations like these would be best, especially since he still had much more of America to explore.

Interestingly, a woman with tanned skinned walked into the bar. Was she Spanish perhaps? Francis had never seen a Spanish before so it was difficult to tell. As soon as she spoke, there was a sense of urgency and leadership from the woman, like a general of a war. She explained herself to be some sort of doctor in these parts so he wasn't too far from the truth. She ordered him and the other guys to help the groaning chaps laying down.

"Yes madam," Francis said as he saluted the woman, feeling compulsory to pay respect to her.

Francis limped towards a man with a piece of glass on his eye.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"What do you think jackass." the man groaned. "I'm in great fucking pain. I don't think I'm going to make it."

"Oh, don't be such a baby. I'll fix you up, I have experience in the medical field. They say I'm a miracle"

"...really?"

"Yes, I flunked medical school. They told me that it was a miracle I screwed up as badly as I did. That gotta be count for something right?" Francis said as he yanked the glass piece out of his eye. The man screamed in pain like a banshee let loose. Francis panicked and quickly jabbed the man's throat, stopping his screaming but putting him in more pain. The amount of blood he was losing from his wound was way too much. He really wasn't going to make, especially since Francis took out the object that was preventing the blood flow.

Francis got away from the man and headed to another person in need of assistance.

As he moved, he found the muppet from earlier curled into a ball next to the knocked over bar stools. Francis smiled at him, seeing such a pathetic person hiding like a child about to be belted by his father. He wimpy mannerism stood out to Francis, especially in comparison to all the macho men and even women he had seen.

"Looks like you're not from around here either," he said as he held out a hand for the man. "Need a hand? We going to need help with the bodies I think. American culture sure is barbaric."

 

[Rumble Fish]

xxxx

Location: Dodge City

Interactions: idiot

Carrie † “Painted Doe”

Within the depths of her memories, Carrie vaguely remembered the stories Amadahy would tell her of the Wendigo. A huge and malevolent beast that lusted after chaos and human flesh. She would carry a young Carrie on her back to the edge of the river and pointing into the forest, warning her that within the labyrinth of trees, hills and many pits and cliffs the Wendigo lurked, ever famished for a chance to pounce upon an unsuspecting traveller, but never satisfied. Always hunting. They themselves were lured by greed, aggression and corruption. Amadahy would assure the young Carrie that if she remained unfaltered by temptation and not travel alone, she may remain safe from the beast's wrath. Still, some nights she could almost see the hulking shoulders and antlers of the beast through the trees, hunting for its next meal to unfortunately stumble into its path.

Even the perpetually gluttonous and desperate Wendigo would have found the current climate within this saloon too much and venture for a buffet elsewhere. After the first punch, everything had become a blur. All Carrie could think of was simply staying alive. It was only when the gunshot rang and the fighting finally subsided that Carrie could finally stop. Exhausted, she could only now pay attention to everyone that was here. The young blonde was still okay, accompanied by the burly and broad man. Amid the madness, she spotted two faces. A tanned lady with a Spanish accent, Carrie assumed. Having spent so long around Southerners and fellow slaves prior to her escape, she had very little exposure to other cultures. She had an air of authority and got right to business. Accompanying her was another lady, if her tattoos meant anything, she was a Native American. For a moment, Carrie felt as though her feet were nailed to the bloody boards.

Seeing another one of her people, after almost nineteen years sent a wave of bitter-sweetness through the woman. She wanted to approach her. To speak to her; while it had still been a tense time from the scrutiny of the elders, her first ten years with her mother and tribe had been the most peaceful in her life. Until the white patches began to show. The start of the near two decades of grief. Maybe she really was cursed like they said she was.

Liquid running from her hair down her cheek brought Carrie back into the present, the taste of copper slipped into the corner of her mouth. Frowning, she pressed a hand against her head and the palm was covered in blood. Not only that, but the makeup was beginning to fade from the sweat. Carrie did not care for that anymore. Suddenly a rush of pain surged through Carrie's head, causing her to wince. The Mexican lady, she now knew as Marisol as she had introduced herself to the downed Ranger who she had prioritised first. Carrie was still unwilling to approach the blonde. With a huff through the nostrils, Carrie sat near them at a miraculously undisturbed table without saying anything, lazily swiping a hand across it to clean it before resting her head in her palm and waiting patiently. She knew when her words would not be welcomed. Her eyes travelled towards the others still standing, including the older gentleman she had seen at the border. An urge to compliment his spotless rear died a quick death as he went over to speak to the young man who seemed rattled from the whole ordeal.

"Hm." Carrie laughed through her nostrils, speaking to nobody in particular, "If this is what some would call a quiet time, I dread to see a busy one."

 

[fuil]

xxxx

Location: Dust Bowl

Interactions: Hell0NHighWater Epiphany Aravini

Music to set the Mood

Robert

Robert opened his eyes and was greeted with a pounding headache and a face that hurt almost as much as his pride. He slowly sat up, cactus still clutched in his right hand, and looked around to see the rest of the bar fights victims and victors either stumbling out the door or being tended to. Now the later part of the situation confused him as most people in this town would more likely to rob an injured man rather than help him. He stood up, fell, then tried again only this time keeping a hand on a nearby table to steady himself. "I'm gonna admit that was not one of my best moments." He mummbled to himself as he pulled up a nearby overturned chair and sat down. He watched as a Mexican woman tended to a young blonds wound and then at the rest of the people in different states of pain on the floor. One in particular caught his attention as he seemed to have a large shard of glass in his eye, well had as an older man walked up and said something about failing med school and yanked it out. The man of course screamed and the older gentleman jabbed him in the throat stoping his hollering short as he bleed from his eye and grasped his throat. Robert quickly ran over and pulled a rag from his coat and pressed it against his eye. "Now this may be a bad time to tell you but I'm not sure whats one this rag as I use the to clean my work area after experiments so heres to hoping it ain't toxic." He said to the man, to his clear dismay as he tried to stem the blood flow. "Well I mean it could be helpful...maybe....there's a possibility......?" He said but before he could try to reassure him more the man started yelling again before going limp. Robert quickly checked his pulse and found he was still alive. "Oh good I didn't kill him."

[/DIVV]

[/DIV]

 

[zippy]

xxxx

Location: The Dust Bowl

Interactions: Juliet Hell0NHighWater | Francis Aravini

Mentions: Ryan Vudukudu | Evie idiot | Marisol Epiphany

Gabriel † Clarke

Finally, and much to Gabriel's relief, the bar returned to its calm state. Albeit much more hushed than before. Slowly, he uncurled himself from his cowardly position on the floor, flattening his hair down to his head. The woman he'd sent sprawling climbed to her feet now and Gabriel was relieved that she could talk in a straight manner. However, he flinched and reached upwards as she teetered. In his current compromising position, it was highly doubtful he'd have actually caught her so the stool was a saving grace for both of them.

"Perhaps you'd be better if you returned to the floor," he offered sheepishly, his concern echoed by a great, burly man covered in an obscene amount of blood. Something about him told Gabriel that most of the blood was not his own.

A small, polite seeming girl emerged from the basement and surprise reflected in his eyes that she of all people was still standing. She reminded Gabriel of a young girl from his commune, someone who certainly would've been eaten alive by the harsh, real world. He only grew more bewildered when the girl curtsied at the hulking man mentioned earlier. She came across as the innocent type, especially considering that most of the women Gabriel had come across thus far had been rather abrasive.

As if his mind had been read, a feminine voice sounded from the entryway. The Mexican woman standing there appeared quite disappointed in the lot of them, and though Gabriel had no part in orchestrating the disaster he felt a certain amount of shame towards his actions. Perhaps that's why she proclaimed herself the mother of Dodge City, her peculiar skill to make grown men feel like scolded children again. He was grateful for her presence, though a sheepish squeak escaped him when she demanded he (along with two other men) check on the unconscious lot sprawled out across the barroom. Of course, the Lord often compelled him to do his best for those injured or sick no matter their sins, but that didn't mean Gabriel was suddenly free from his fear of them.

The as of yet un-introduced big fellow turned a wary eye towards Dodge City’s self-proclaimed mother. “Pardon me, señora, but I don’t think many of these folk would like me getting any closer on account of me bein’ the one what mangled ‘em and ‘specially those two with the broken arms.” He said, his tone incongruously polite and soft given his appearance and words.

A scream broke the calm, and Gabriel pressed himself against the bar as the man who had caused it seemed to be heading in his direction. He relaxed, however, when the man simply reached down a hand and offered to help him. Gabriel allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, his face apologetic as he accidentally transferred some of his blood to the other man's. A funny look overtook his features when American culture was referred to as "barbaric", especially considering the violent act that had been committed by him mere minutes ago. But he didn't say anything to the contrary, not sure the temperament of the queer man. Instead, he moved towards the nearest body, snapped his fingers in front of the loosely closed eyes, and shrugged sheepishly.

"Well then, we should start with him. Looks out cold to me."

 

[TenshuZninja]

xxxx

Location: Dodge City

Interactions: Epiphany Rumble Fish fuil

Music to set the Mood

Kiwidinok † Old Coyote

Kiwidinok stood beside the entrance of the saloon as she watched the Barroom quiet itself down with the deaths of the gunmen made by the impressively big man. She watched the formerly unconscious blonde wake up near the end and with impressive will make it to the back of the bar before a commanding and not altogether unexpected voice rose behind her. Marisol, a small quirk of her lips at the sight of the short but strong woman as she smart talked the Bar Keep before shaking her head at the straight mess. Someone had apparently escaped to grab her for the after fight care. Or maybe others heard the commotion and unlike herself decided to not enter straight into danger. Kiwi watched Marisol take the same comprehensive sweep over the destroyed bar and immediately began issuing orders. She was somewhat surprised when an order came directed towards herself.

"Kiwidinok, I didn't know you were still in town. Good timing for them, if bad timing for you. Would you look after the-" Kiwidinok's gaze followed Marisols as she took in the pale blonde...civilian, it was the closest non insulting word she knew in english, beside the hulking man that had done the most damage in the bar. "Well, make sure she didn't have a bad fall or something. I'm going to see to this one here." Kiwi didn't nod in confirmation but did a subtle shift in her body and mind as playtime was over. She was an experienced medicinewoman and authority figure in the tribes of the plains and recognized Marisol as a competent healer as well who had gained her respect during the brief time she had known her. Which was one reason why instead of frowning at the authoritative tone and orders she had given out, which she would no doubt give to anyone who hadn't earned her respect, she instead lost the quirk of her lips and adopted a calm and clinical aura. As she headed to the...civilian, had to keep pausing for the word to formulate in her mind, she noticed the dark skinned woman from earlier pull blood from her head and paused momentarily before changing directions and heading towards the woman who was hurt more physically.

At this point she had already made her way to a seat not too far from Marisol and her patient. Kiwidinok stepped lightly in front of the dark skinned woman and glanced over her face noting how exhausted she looked and...something interesting sprung up in Kiwi's mind as she looked at the woman's face and features besides the sudden lighter patches of her skin. She gave the woman before her a small secretive smile before opening her mouth to speak. "Marisol, I've found one in need of more urgent care, I'll tend to the..." for a moment she hesitated again as the word formed in her mind. "Civilian woman afterwards." Her accent was thick but Marisol had tended to still be able to understand her more often than not. Probably because there were indians living near the borders of mexico. Between healers working in the same area it was important to communicate to each other to avoid checking over the same patients and wasting time as well as other things which was why she had told her what she was doing, why she had changed patients and whom she planned to check on after. If Marisol finished with the possibly head trauma patient with blonde hair she might check on the ..civilian herself.

Turning back to the dark skinned woman she tilted the womans head to take a better look at the wound. "I think you are very lucky the fight ended before anything else could hit your head otherwise I'd be looking t a corpse instead of another patient." She said after giving a sharp whistle at the sight of the amount of blood coming from the spot on her head.