Realistic or Modern Dead or Alive: A Tale of the Old West (Closed)

[WanderingScribe]

Current Cast
James Van Horn Moseley: ForgotToUseIncognito

Samuel Edward Matthews: FictionalSummer

PM if you want to apply

 

[WanderingScribe]

James sat at the bar of the saloon sipping on a cheap beer as the various patrons mingled around him. Here he wasn't wanted, thank god, but a few states over, every bounty hunter and lawman was after his head. Dead or Alive. Wanted for kidnapping, murder, armed assault, armed robbery, all sorts of fun stuff. He probably killed and robbed a path halfway through New Mexico. But he needed money bad. Between paying off crooked lawmen and bounty hunters he was running low on cash. But rumor had it a stage coach full of very wealthy European businessmen was gonna arrive in a few days time. But he needed a new gang. Or at least one other man. Hence the fences he talked too around town. Using a few spare dollars he got some of the more seedy folks of New Bern to spread news about his recruiting. But for now he sipped cheap beer and waited for either a new recruit, or a dozen pinkertons to drag him into the gallows

 

[FictionalSummer]

“Bye, daddy! I love you! Come back, mmkay? You too, Lady Belle!”

The words rang deep within his heart, acting as if the main source as to why it kept beating. It had been a few days since he had parted from his sweet wife and daughter, but they knew of the life he had chosen.

That was part of what made them so wonderful. Even so, he couldn’t help but yearn for tiny arms to wrap themselves around him tight as he pulled her up into the air. For the comforting scent of lavender to swoop in and collide for a group hug as he soon became showered in kisses. Well, perhaps it wasn’t to that extent but it meant the world to him nonetheless.

Being away had its heartache, but as he rode along Miss. Lady Belle, or Belle for short, he knew that it was for the best. Those he cared for most in this world needed food and a roof over their head, neither of which came cheap. That was why the two of them slipped into a rundown little town whose name had been swept up with the tumbleweeds. He preferred a low setup like this, it meant for less people to even try and piece together the puzzle pieces of his face. Granted, he hadn’t shaved for a good minute beyond the occasional trim since the incident but still. One couldn’t be too careful around a perceptive eye.

“Alright, Lady Belle,” he cooed to the horse who had been painted a beautiful variation of chestnut and mother’s milk by God himself, “time to take a break and see what I can find.” With a bit of a grunt and a rough landing, he managed to tie up ol’ Belle to a hitching post where he offered an apple for her services thus far. As she ate from the palm of his hand, a drifting hazel gaze searched for the best place to try and smoothtalk.

Hm. The Spitball Saloon. Perfect.

He gave his loving beast a few pats before breaking off to make way toward his new destination. In a town where so little happened, strangers often caused a bit more of a scene than usual. Due to his rather unkept appearance, however, he managed to keep that down to a minimum.

Gods did he hate saloons. Well, perhaps that wasn’t the kindest of words. More like ones without any music to drown out the dull choir of idiotic and drunken nonsense. He shoved his hands inside of his pocket and prepared himself before fighting through the crowd. The bar seemed to be one of the more rowdy areas, but it also gave a vantage point to the rest of the building. One could catch a wandering eye that might be in search of some fool willing to do their dirty work.

Samuel caught one as he neared closer, but the gaze was all wrong. No, this gentleman appeared to be in search of a partnership based on the way he held himself and sipped away at his beer once or twice before casting another gaze ‘round the room. A heavy moan broke through the mindless rabble as the old gentleman had a seat. “Looking for a lass? Or something a bit more interesting?” He gave a quick flick of the wrist toward the bartender, requesting silently to be brought a beer.

Let the games begin.

 

[WanderingScribe]

James looked up at the man and chuckled softly. He was older, a bit too old for the business James was into. But if he could shoot and brawl with the best of 'em, then he didn't see why not. James shook his head at the barkeep. "No partner, two shots of your hardest whiskey for me and my associate." James turned to the man and answered his question, "No that I am not, sir. A whore would be nice, but I'm here for business not pleasure." He rolled his neck and got a better look at the man. He had to be at least a decade older than himself, maybe more. He was built like a twig, James was positive he could easily snap him in half if it needed to come down to it. But this wasn't the middle ages, no they were on the verge of an industrial age. Sure he looked like a stickbug, but could he shoot? Well if he was making business with a desperado, James sure hoped so. James passed the older man the shot glass and quickly downed his own.

"Put it on a tab." James said to the barkeep as he poured another round. The devious look in his eye showed that he had no intention of ever paying it off. James shot a few glances at a group of local harlots, winking at them before turning to the older gentleman. "So partner, was brings a man of your...disposition to my little startup business?" he asked as he waved the barkeep off. James liked saloons. A man could talk in great detail how he was gonna murder his entire family and no one would say a word. Perfect for the discussion he was about to have.

 

[FictionalSummer]

What had Old Sam gotten himself into?

Before him sat a punk, some little kid whose interest lies in money and infamy rather than trying to settle down or make a life for himself beyond crime. He had seen the look in the kid’s eye many times in his previous life and it was clear that Sam wasn’t exactly what this ‘partner’ was in search of either.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” he opened up with a wise crack as he reached into his pocket to pull out enough coin to handle their shots, “you might be surprised by its contents.” The gentle clack of coin against wood was practically drowned out in the crowd, but their bartender was mighty perceptive. In mere seconds, it was swiped up and two shots took its place.

Sam raised the tiny glass to the young lad before downing it in one gulp. He set it down gently as a hazel gaze tilted toward what could be considered a potential contract. “I suppose it depends on the business. What exactly are you in hopes of accomplishing?”

 

[WanderingScribe]

James downed the shot, and waved for another one, as he looked over at the man. He tilted up the brim of his old campaign hat, a memento from his time in the army. Sometimes he regretted leaving them, they gave him purpose and brotherhood. But he lost his brothers at Fallen Eagle, and for what? Too kill few savages who left drifted too far from the mountains? No, if he had to kill, it would be on his own terms. Thats why he was gunslinger. He could steal, murder and kidnap all he wanted but at his and his brothers-in-arms own benefit not for others.

"Fair point partner." he said, his voice drowning in with the rabble of the saloon. This is who was going to help him rob a heavily armed stage coach? James had a death wish, but he doubted this man did. He shook his head and turned back to the man. "You know what junkers are? Big Prussian businessmen, in tight with the Kaiser. Well quite a few junkers are coming to this fine corner of America to meet with some oil barons from further out west." It would be dangerous. Lots of men, probably a few freikorps. But the money was worth it. That stage coach had to be carrying thousands worth in german gold. He could barely contain himself, the thought of it made him smile.

"Anyway like I was saying, these noblemen are carrying lots of gold with them to pay off said oil barons, and well like any good german, I plan on meeting them, to pay my respects to the kaiser, of course. I was hoping you would like to join me in this pilgrimage." James drummed his fingers along the wooden bartop, humming as he did so. "And I'm sure the junkers would be ever so kind to pay us for our good manners. Its what the Kaiser would want, after all."