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Kloffy · 04-29-2009

It wasn't much, but he didn't expect much from the price.
Adam Newell had just moved into the rambling town of Ciudad Tesoro, and so far he had completely loathed it. Preferably, he would be in San Genesius or El Jugadores, but there were no vacancies for middle class British immigrants in San Genesius and El Jugadores had a rather rough clientele.
At least it came with a hitching post. He looped his horse's reins to the post and pushed open to door to the hut.
He entered a small room with a desk. So he had a study. He peered through the doorway and saw a tiny bedroom and an even tinier kitchen. There must be an outhouse. Hopefully there was an outhouse.
On the study table there was a jar of black paint. He put his doctor's bag down and took the paint outside. On the awning he painted: "Dr Newell: Cures, Aids and Remedies." It wasn't much, but at least he could find some customers.
He hung an OPEN sign on the door. Now what? Maybe he could sit in the chair and doze until the bell rang. Already he could feel his eyelids drooping. It had been a long journey.

toastedted · 04-29-2009

Patrick O' Malley sat at a table in the corner of the saloon and hotel. He swigged down his whiskey and stood to head upstairs to his room. A husky man by the name of Jeffery Rollings was walking by when he bumped into Patrick. Patrick was taken aback by the wall sized man and said excuse me after all he was not looking for trouble. The man stopped and turned looking at Patrick
"An Irishmen huh?" he retorted.
Patrick turned and faced the man "Yes I am, is there a problem."
"I hate foreigners" he retorted, tobacco spit hitting Patrick in the face.
Patrick wiped it away and smiled "Well isn't that very unfortunate for you." and with that his whipped his pistol out and fired into the man's stomach. He quickly holstered the pistol and walked back upstairs. "Another bigot dead" he thought to himself.

RequiemX · 04-29-2009

James Rogan had always been a man of the wild. His parents had lived on the move through the vast plains of the west, and he himself had been born while they were traveling. Therefore, it was not much of a surprise to them when he became a bounty hunter.

He enjoyed work as a bounty hunter because it meant that he didn't have to stick around for too long in one place. He had already rid 5 small towns of bandit threats, and was working his way further to the west. He wanted more than anything to be able to catch a glimpse of the Pacific Ocean again.

As he rode through the town of Ciudad Tesoro upon his black stallion, Annabel, he found himself some of the action he was looking for. A man had just gotten shot out side of the saloon, and the man that had done it walked back into the inn.

Not looking at the body of the dead man, Rogan went into the inn, following the killer, and shouted for him in a slight Irsh accent.

"Hey, you, what's with the shooting?"

toastedted · 04-29-2009

Patrick turned around brushing the orange hair out of his eyes. "He started it, he has a gun you an check his wasteband. I feared for my life so I killed him. Also my good man I am a bounty hunter, deputized man." He said flashing his badge on the inside of his coat. "What Id like to know.." he said sitting down on the porch lighting up a cigar "Whats your story, your obviously a good ol' irishman like me. Whats ur name?"

Kloffy · 04-30-2009

The gunshot woke Adam from his sleep. Jumping from the chair, he grabbed his medical supplies and ran out of the hut, double-locking to be safe.
Jumping onto his horse, he rode to the town centre and spotted a crowd of people in the middle of the road. He dismounted and pushed his way through. "I'm a doctor, let me through!" he shouted.
On the ground was a large man, with a single bullet wound in his stomach. Point blank. He hadn't stood a chance, especially if the killer was a professional.
He looked into the saloon. All attention was fixed on two men, one sitting on the porch. He said: "What's your story, you're obviously a good ol' Irishman like me. What's your name?"
"Excuse me," spoke up Adam, "but did either of you two men see what happened out there?"

January · 04-30-2009

Half the pay for Warren's last job was sitting on the table in Ciudad Tesoro's saloon and the cards he was holding weren't going to win it back for him. Although he managed to keep his worry from showing on his face, inside, Warren was cursing himself. He was a terrible gambler, he'd known that for years. He had the skill, but he never seemed to have the luck, and there were only so many times he could win with a bluff. He should have stayed away from this game, but the money had been burning a hole in his pocket ever since he'd been paid and he just couldn't resist.

He stared around the table at the other gamblers and watched their faces. One crusty old miner's stoic expression was beginning to crack around the edges and Warren could see the eagerness in his eyes. He had a good hand, dammit. Just then a gunshot rang out from just outside. Every head in the building turned in that direction and Warren saw his chance. Slipping two of his worst cards back into the deck, he grabbed two more out of the deck. It was a risky move, since even if he didn't get caught he might not improve his hand in the least.

Attention slowly began to drift back to the game and Warren let out his breath, no one had seen him cheat. It wasn't until then that he risked looking back down at his hand. He had to stop himself from gaping. Somehow, he'd gotten a pair of kings right off the top of the deck, a pair that matched the other pair of kings he already had in his hand. His uncle had always said Warren had Coyote Luck, the luck of the Nez Perce's trickster god wasn't typically a good thing to have, but apparently tonight it was going to pay off. He shot a glance out the window and silently thanked whatever idiot had fired his gun off at the right moment.

MirrorBoy · 04-30-2009

Jet Was 16, Tall, Brown Hair with a Side Fringe. His Eyes a Light Arctic Blue.
He was english, obvious from his accent. He had stowed away in a small boat. but it didnt matter to him where he was. All he had was his backpack. In it, a Revolver, a small box containing bullets and a knife. He Had Obtained the two items from pickpocketing the crewmates on the boat which he stowed away on.

He looked at the doctor bending over the shot man. He looked to the bartender gaping at the site. Jet bolted at the bar, grabbing two bottles of brandy smashing one over the bartenders head knocking him over, Jet had studied the art of Bodybuilding while he was fourteen and had managed to get a large bit of muscle on him. He ran out with his bottle of brandy, sidestepping as he leaped out the saloon door into the alleyway. It Seemed no one had followed him. He Unscrewed the Lid and began to sip the brandy as he slid down the wall smiling.

04-29-2009	#1
Kloffy Senior Member Join Date: Sep 2008	Gunslingers of 1881: The Barren Railroad (IC) It wasn't much, but he didn't expect much from the price. Adam Newell had just moved into the rambling town of Ciudad Tesoro, and so far he had completely loathed it. Preferably, he would be in San Genesius or El Jugadores, but there were no vacancies for middle class British immigrants in San Genesius and El Jugadores had a rather rough clientele. At least it came with a hitching post. He looped his horse's reins to the post and pushed open to door to the hut. He entered a small room with a desk. So he had a study. He peered through the doorway and saw a tiny bedroom and an even tinier kitchen. There must be an outhouse. Hopefully there was an outhouse. On the study table there was a jar of black paint. He put his doctor's bag down and took the paint outside. On the awning he painted: "Dr Newell: Cures, Aids and Remedies." It wasn't much, but at least he could find some customers. He hung an OPEN sign on the door. Now what? Maybe he could sit in the chair and doze until the bell rang. Already he could feel his eyelids drooping. It had been a long journey.

04-29-2009	#2
toastedted Bored as hell Join Date: Jan 2008 Location: Orlando, Florida	Patrick O' Malley sat at a table in the corner of the saloon and hotel. He swigged down his whiskey and stood to head upstairs to his room. A husky man by the name of Jeffery Rollings was walking by when he bumped into Patrick. Patrick was taken aback by the wall sized man and said excuse me after all he was not looking for trouble. The man stopped and turned looking at Patrick "An Irishmen huh?" he retorted. Patrick turned and faced the man "Yes I am, is there a problem." "I hate foreigners" he retorted, tobacco spit hitting Patrick in the face. Patrick wiped it away and smiled "Well isn't that very unfortunate for you." and with that his whipped his pistol out and fired into the man's stomach. He quickly holstered the pistol and walked back upstairs. "Another bigot dead" he thought to himself.

04-29-2009	#3
RequiemX i went ↓→↑← thattaway... Join Date: Apr 2009 Location: In America!	James Rogan had always been a man of the wild. His parents had lived on the move through the vast plains of the west, and he himself had been born while they were traveling. Therefore, it was not much of a surprise to them when he became a bounty hunter. He enjoyed work as a bounty hunter because it meant that he didn't have to stick around for too long in one place. He had already rid 5 small towns of bandit threats, and was working his way further to the west. He wanted more than anything to be able to catch a glimpse of the Pacific Ocean again. As he rode through the town of Ciudad Tesoro upon his black stallion, Annabel, he found himself some of the action he was looking for. A man had just gotten shot out side of the saloon, and the man that had done it walked back into the inn. Not looking at the body of the dead man, Rogan went into the inn, following the killer, and shouted for him in a slight Irsh accent. "Hey, you, what's with the shooting?"

04-30-2009	#5
Kloffy Senior Member Join Date: Sep 2008	The gunshot woke Adam from his sleep. Jumping from the chair, he grabbed his medical supplies and ran out of the hut, double-locking to be safe. Jumping onto his horse, he rode to the town centre and spotted a crowd of people in the middle of the road. He dismounted and pushed his way through. "I'm a doctor, let me through!" he shouted. On the ground was a large man, with a single bullet wound in his stomach. Point blank. He hadn't stood a chance, especially if the killer was a professional. He looked into the saloon. All attention was fixed on two men, one sitting on the porch. He said: "What's your story, you're obviously a good ol' Irishman like me. What's your name?" "Excuse me," spoke up Adam, "but did either of you two men see what happened out there?"

04-30-2009	#6
January Nerd Girl Join Date: Aug 2008 Location: Universe 616	Half the pay for Warren's last job was sitting on the table in Ciudad Tesoro's saloon and the cards he was holding weren't going to win it back for him. Although he managed to keep his worry from showing on his face, inside, Warren was cursing himself. He was a terrible gambler, he'd known that for years. He had the skill, but he never seemed to have the luck, and there were only so many times he could win with a bluff. He should have stayed away from this game, but the money had been burning a hole in his pocket ever since he'd been paid and he just couldn't resist. He stared around the table at the other gamblers and watched their faces. One crusty old miner's stoic expression was beginning to crack around the edges and Warren could see the eagerness in his eyes. He had a good hand, dammit. Just then a gunshot rang out from just outside. Every head in the building turned in that direction and Warren saw his chance. Slipping two of his worst cards back into the deck, he grabbed two more out of the deck. It was a risky move, since even if he didn't get caught he might not improve his hand in the least. Attention slowly began to drift back to the game and Warren let out his breath, no one had seen him cheat. It wasn't until then that he risked looking back down at his hand. He had to stop himself from gaping. Somehow, he'd gotten a pair of kings right off the top of the deck, a pair that matched the other pair of kings he already had in his hand. His uncle had always said Warren had Coyote Luck, the luck of the Nez Perce's trickster god wasn't typically a good thing to have, but apparently tonight it was going to pay off. He shot a glance out the window and silently thanked whatever idiot had fired his gun off at the right moment.

04-30-2009	#7
MirrorBoy High On Peyote Join Date: Apr 2009 Location: Oxfordshire	Jet Was 16, Tall, Brown Hair with a Side Fringe. His Eyes a Light Arctic Blue. He was english, obvious from his accent. He had stowed away in a small boat. but it didnt matter to him where he was. All he had was his backpack. In it, a Revolver, a small box containing bullets and a knife. He Had Obtained the two items from pickpocketing the crewmates on the boat which he stowed away on. He looked at the doctor bending over the shot man. He looked to the bartender gaping at the site. Jet bolted at the bar, grabbing two bottles of brandy smashing one over the bartenders head knocking him over, Jet had studied the art of Bodybuilding while he was fourteen and had managed to get a large bit of muscle on him. He ran out with his bottle of brandy, sidestepping as he leaped out the saloon door into the alleyway. It Seemed no one had followed him. He Unscrewed the Lid and began to sip the brandy as he slid down the wall smiling.

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