Fandom Wild West (Supernatural) [3-4] [Closed]

[Heavysleep]

RP | OOC | Interest Check

The Road so Far..
☆ [(1852, February 16th) St. Louis, Missouri] - From all around the frontier come people a'plenty, all wishing to lay their claim on the largest pot in the history of gambling; and what better place than the newly-bustling city of St. Louis, Missouri to hold it! Outlaws, ranchers, even lawmen gather around cigar-smoked tables, full attention turned away from the men who are plucked away in the night...



-

Yanking the reigns of his peppered-steed, the priest-garbed man slowed the canter to a complete halt- blue eyes settled tight on the church that stood ahead. He was grateful his journey to the bustling city was over, winter holding a harsh grip on the land outside. Had it not been for the many boots and warm bodies seeking fortune, it was like that the town would have been holed up in their homes for better warmth.

But decadence was always funny like that. Weather wasn't about to deter any of these men from the events that would span throughout the month, the booze in their bellies would make sure the need wouldn't arise. And yet, that wasn't entirely what worried the preacher. Self-indulgence was just the way things were.

"Brother John." Allen called, black-leathered brogans thumping across the rickety wooden porch and dipping into the nave of the church. The sound of idle chatter inside, and then the greeting of his name brought a sigh of relief to lips as he pulled his hat free from his head.

There was much to talk about before his search for the two Hunters later that evening.


​

 

[ReverseTex]

Cantering under the decorated entrance into town, came a sleek black mare. Her coat glistening in the sun, as the rider atop her matched in suit. Doning an old black hat, with a black jacket and pants, grey tie and shirt, the old man rode in slowly into town. Carefully inspecting each detail with his gunmetal grey eyes, watching the folk of St. Louis prepare themselves for the evening to come...

Denver slowly got off his horse, a light groan escaped him as his old bones hit the dirt. Removing his black leather gloves, he stuck them in a pocket within his saddle, removing then a old leather travel bag. Once done, he began to make his way to the inn.

A plump woman was running the front desk inside when he entered, as she was preoccupied filling a glass of whiskey for a young man. "Ma'am i'll be needin a room, keep the change." Denver said quite blasé as he pulled out a hearty stack of bills. Her eyes widened in disbelief, before he spoke again. "For my protection, you won't tell a soul you saw a man dressed in black saunter up in here. As well the room imma hoping to be getting here soon." The woman nodded, sliding a key across the bar, with a cow tag branded the number 4 on it. Tipping his hat to the woman, before he began to walk up the stairs to find his room.​

 

[Neon Valkyrie]

The sky was fading from pink and gold to navy as the sun fell behind the mountains and out of the sky. Six inches of powdery white snow caked the landscape, with more swirling in every minute. Down the near-empty road came a tired looking brown mare, topped with a lanky shape wrapped in a fur blanket, and topped with a curly-brimmed brown stetson. Just a few metres ahead, St Louis glowed like an ember in a wintertime fire, streetlamps and lantern-lights flickering all around. Shedding her blanket, few people seemed to notice the strangely dressed savage as she directed Wind, her horse, into an open stable.

After paying the modest price for a few nights' stabling, and an extremely brief exchange with the young blonde boy keeping the stable, Sera strode back out into the street in search of food, and a place to lay her head. The tournament wasn't for a few days yet, and there was no way Denver would miss it ... that is, if the rumours of a masked man in black were true. Eying those around her as she moved through the relatively crowded dirt streets, she was almost impressed at the variety of people out mingling; dirt-caked miners, well dressed business-people and property owners, and all those in-between. Sera pulled her long, worn, brown leather longcoat tight around her shoulders, and tipped the front of her hat down over her face. The last thing she needed was a confrontation with a drunk local about some historical battle she had no hand in.

Moving quickly down the street, Sera soon found an inn standing two stories tall, lively voices ringing out inside. Straightening out her white linen shirt, and black dungarees, she stepped inside and peered about. The small front room held a check-in counter, but the larger main room was where the proprietor could be found. A rather robust woman currently handing out whiskey with reckless abandon. Approaching the bar, there was a full glass set before her before she could speak. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she took a long swig before the glass left her bronzed lips.

"Room?"

The woman behind the bar seemed disappointed with the subdued native woman, but answered none-the-less, still pouring drinks, eventually even topping up Sera's.

"One left, five a night ... take it or leave it."

The price was probably steep for a dive like this, but with the tournament just days away, she wasn't likely to find another room. She sorted a few bills out of her fold and set them onto the counter in exchange for the key. Moving upstairs to deposit her bags, and returned moments later with her glass in hand. From the back she could smell something cooking. The presence of food set her mouth watering as she shouldered her way to the bar again. Setting another few dollars on the table, she made eye contact with the large woman.

"Food ..."

A few minutes later she'd found herself a nice, empty, but by no means quiet seat in the corner, slowly devouring a plate of corned beef and beans.

 

[Drakonsheart]

Cold but dry and definitely a beautiful place to visit. The man sat atop of a mare the same color of snow that if you were to walk up from the distance it'd look like he was floating. He was just above on a cliff looking down at the city of St Louis. He had followed a rumor to the city that would hopefully lead him to the man he was hoping to put down for good. He had been chasing down the man in black also known as Denver Harvey. The man has fled the law for thirty years and the bounty on his head is quite heavy. If he were to catch him then he'd be able to donate the money to the children's school he promised to help in the last town he visited. He sighed his warm breath steam in the air and rode into town.

About twenty minutes later he was riding slowly into the town where he had a small house ready for him to stay in. He had many houses around the country for him to stay in so he didn't have to go to the inns. As he passed the main in with some horses hitched in the front. He slowed and jumped off his horse landing quietly and taking it around to the back alley walking five minutes before reaching a house that was by itself. He hitched his horse around the back of the house and walked in taking off the brown over coat and hanging it looking in the mirror and almost smiling at the sight of all the snow on his hat. He dusted it off and placed it next to the fireplace. In minutes he unrolled his pack that was full of ammunitions and his two revolvers along with throwing knives a lasso and a long blade. He took out his signature black mask and outfit and lays it out sighing. He sat down and poured himself some wine and began going through a files of Denver's past.

 

[ReverseTex]

The room was of decent size, a single bed, desk, and a chair in the far corner. Setting his bag on the bed, he unzipped it to reveal neatly folded clothes. Picking them up, underneath was an assortment of gear, ranging from ammo to a few viles of poison he'd used in the past. Grabbing both a vile and a box of ammo, he stuffed them in his coat along with his pack of cards. Once finished he placed his clothes back atop, then placed the case beside the dresser.

Denver saw immediately a bottle of whiskey, and a pair of glasses upon the dresser. Slowly pouring himself a little over a finger, he took a drawn out swig, feeling the achohal tingle as it slid down his throat. Walking over to the chair with his whiskey, he placed his hat on the bed before sitting. Taking another sip as he crossed his legs, he ran a hand over his balding head. Years ago he had glorious blonde hair, now the silver that wasn't hidden beneath his hat blended with the black.

He pulled his pocketwatch from his vest, once glancing at the time snapping it shut. The tournament would start soon, the only danger being the amount of bounty hunters that'd be for his head. With a light chuckle at the thought, Denver removed a old piece of paper, and carefully unfolded it to reveal his wanted poster. His face didn't have the leathery texture it did now. instead his lip scar was quite visible, as well as his half-missing ear. He also had more hair, since he wasn't aloud to wear a hat, his hair at the time he knew was graying. Looking down at the day as he took a sip of his drink, almost choking on it as he read the date. 1832! These damned bounty hunters were gonna have some major trouble with that. Satisfied with the picture he tucked away, and stood from his chair. Downing what was left of his whiskey, setting the glass on the dresser as he left the room.

Denver found a cozy spot by the fire, and held a cup of coffee from the innkeeper. He didn't need to get drunk like the rest of the participants in the tournament, cheating required focus. Glancing from his chair, he watched out the windows as the snow began to fall on ol' St. Louis.​