Shelly has been traveling for days through the dry deserts, on foot of course since he lost his rented horse in a not-very-profitable raid. He cursed his employer for skipping information concerning the would be raided party, in his head of course. The job was done, he got his fair share of reward and he was headed for Sand Flats to rest for eternity. Well a couple of days. His body screamed for eternal peace however.

Thirst was growing like cancer in his mind, his throat wasn't all that dried up as the cursed flat ground he trudged. The suffocating skull mask was keeping off dust, but the sweat inside was keeping his rage constantly and ever exponentially increasing. The crisscrossed leather holsters were starting to slice through his ass, he needed to really rest in the most literal of sense of the word.

Sand Flats. Hell is not so far away from here. The sign read the first, he assumed the latter to be scribbled on the sign just outside the dead looking town. There were a couple horses outside what looked like a cheerful Saloon, he needed the comfort of a bed or two. A moan and a flesh perhaps. He needed a sour drink to quench his abnormal thirst first, maybe even get intoxicated beyond what his self conscious persona allowed to keep up his ill-seen baddassery.

Shelly the Interloper, regular hat, scary Indian fashioned skull mask, huge unnecessarily flamboyant scarlet scarf, and black bloodied boots waltzed into the Saloon. Subtle music was playing, something classic he thought.

He walked slowly to a table by the piano, he saw some ruckus going on by the bar which he chose to ignore. He hated, he utterly despised cards, magicians and men who looked at his possible bedmates. He pulled a chair and sat, not forgetting to untie the pistols holster and placing them on the table with a resounding thud.

"What's a poor chap gotsa be doin' to earn a drink 'round here?" He yelled in a politely rude tone, staring lustfully at one of the chubby whores by the window.

His eyes were locked on the line of evenly spaced tacks, holding the velvet interior tight and crisp against the dark wood of the casket. Archie took another tack from his mouth and gently tapped it into place with a small headed hammer; he looked at the line again and cracked a grin, 'finished.' He rose from his crouched position and spat the remaining tacks into an empty tin can that sat on a nearby table.

Archie took a moment to admire his handy work, it was a casket for a small teenage girl, daughter of some cattle baron or something along those lines. It was a beauty, blackwood body with brass inlays and white velvet upholstery. He closed the lid and clicked the latches at the bottom of the trestle table and pushed it to the far end of his workshop where a large pair of double doors stood open to the rose desert sunset. Outside awaited a carriage surrounded by the baron's men, without a word they lifted the slate bottomed box and loaded it into the back of their carriage. A man approached, beefy and tall but with downcast eyes.

"Thank'ya Mr, it's a perdy coffin you dun made for my sister." that compliment would do and Archibald was ready to accept his payment, "but about the money.." He grimaced, another person who couldn't pay and thought that they could appeal to Archie's charitable nature, Archie was about to speak when the beefy man spoke again, "I can only pay half right now, I reckn' that the rest can be here by next week at the latest." He slipped a hand into his coat and pulled out a thick wad of dollars. Archibald's eyes lit up.

"This will do for the meantime my good man," he said, taking the money and slipping it into his waist coat, "and my condolences." Without hesitation Archie turned around and shut the large back doors, leaving the beefy man with words at the tip of his tongue that would never be said. Arch knew just where to spend his money, he slipped on his coat and smiled.



"Madam Rose!" he cried out as he burst through the swinging doors of the saloon, "I have come with money and a thirst for your fine beverages!" He shunked himself into a seat beside the sheriff , "Madam Charlotte! Always a pleasure!"

Charlotte watched with reserved curiosity the man who had, until then, been playing with his deck of cards by himself. However, he soon offered to play a round with the others around him; Charlotte had to assume the invitation wasn't extended to her. What did women know about poker? Well, this woman certainly knew how to gamble, but she had come to the Sandy Rose to partake in only sin at a time: drinking. She grabbed the drink that had been placed in front of her and took a slow sip from it, enjoying the soft sting it produced while going down her throat.

I forgot how good the Devil's nectar tastes, Charlotte thought as she gazed at her glass with an amused smile.

It looked like more and more men were entering the saloon, most of them entering loudly and demanding a drink. One came by and introduced himself to the group, asking to watch. Charlotte nodded to him but kept quiet. Then, another man plopped himself down next to her and greeted her. Charlotte turned her head and saw it was the town's mortician, one of the less... er, salty folk living in Sand Flats.

"Well, a good evening to you, Mr. Hersker," Charlotte replied politely. "I didn't know so many of the townsfolk and so many strangers frequented this place. It's..." She stopped and looked around her. "Quaint." Lady Rose certainly did have a lot of customers and the saloon itself looked to be kept in good shape, but as sheriff, Charlotte wondered how comfortable Lady Rose was with having all these brusque-looking strange men wandering around. But she supposed business was business, and Lady Rose didn't seem to mind it at all.

"Quaint," Rose repeated, eyes narrowing. Quaint? Quaint? Quaint was a word applied to this town, not her beloved saloon. Lady Rey may be Sheriff, but she was also new in town. Clearly.

"Anyway," Rose muttered, sliding a few steps to the side. She leaned over, picking up the ace of hearts from the bartop. Flipping it between her fingers a few times, she tilted her head to the side, tapping it against her painted lips with a smile. "Marjorie," she called over her shoulder to her girl by the window, never taking her eyes off the group at the bar. "Do serve our...bony friend over in the corner, will you? I've got Mr. Hesker here." She didn't give the ace back just yet; she flipped it a few more times, tapping it against the table with one hand as she pulled out another glass for Hesker. "What'll it be, Archie? I think we're about to start up a friendly game of...something."

Archie leaned close to the sheriff and spoke, "I don't think quaint is the right word to describe this place.." He let his eyes roam around. A drunk man was being pulled by the wrist up a flight of stairs, entranced by the bottom of a fair employee and in the corner of the saloon it appeared as if two groups were wagering on a rat fight, "I think I'd say it's lively."

As he finished his sentence, the patron of the saloon swaggered over to him and he gave her an over exaggerated slowly drag over her, before stopping at her face and giving her a cheeky smile. "Rum, my darling." he said, patting the thick wad of money that bulged in the front of his coat, "with Ice." He knew there was some, there always was some but most people were hesitant to hand over there precious frozen water but with the amount in his pocket, he knew he could afford to cool down for once.

"Please tell me you're playing 'Go Fish' I do adore a spot of go fish," he turned his head to the man with the cards and gave him a nod, "so is it 'Go Fish?'" he asked.

Another flank of men entered the saloon, people were slowly populating the tavern like nocturnal owls. Bats, Shelly thought, bats looking for all ways to disgrace the lord's blessings with the most devious of sins.
He gasped when an acceptably amicable and pretty service girl approached him.

"Evenin' luv," he curled his lips into a wicked grin behind his mask, "lookin' extra juicy tonight."

"Would love to serve you a drink, evening, before even entertaining the thought of bedding you." She had a rusty voice, one that is affected by the desperate paces of Sand Flats, he thought.

"'Tilbe the finest red wine you folks got 'round this sorry Saloon. No spits, no moonshine, I can tell." He looked at his pistols, making sure she noticed him glaring his scarlet eyes with a threatening tone.

The service girl was gone, he looked over his shoulders. He appreciated her frame, lovely he thought for a secondary amusement. He was however more into her boss. She had a better figure he could mingle with, he entertained the thought while her eyes were busy with her suspiciously calm and merry patrons.

Shelly turned his head back to his table and was amused to find a chubby whore, goes by the name of Marlett, sitting in front of him and squeezing her breasts with her shoulders.

"I like." Shelly simply stated, his voice hollow and old. Marlett smiled and reached her arm to touch Shelly's skull mask. He allowed it, she sensed its intricate carvings. He had a sort of high so he kept allowing her to run her fingers over his eyesockets and brushing his teeth.

"Looks real sweety," she said.
"It is."
She giggled while she was sneakily looking at his groin.
"You like?"
"Mmhaa" She retreated to her seat.
"One drink babe. And we up for a sweet sweet night."

Johnny was drunk in a bad way. An endless supply of most likely watered down drink had him slouched face first on the bar, humming all ranch songs or burping up some gibberish.

He sat up for a moment, his eyes red as he looked around the saloon. The place was packed now, with folks from around town or just roaming in. One fell had no face, only showing his bare skull. It creeped out Johnny for a second until he remembered how he killed Old Man Jenkins back at the Lucky Duck. He's done and seen far worse.

Johnny looked over to Rose, the only person who'd given him the time of day since his brother's passing and sighed. She would understand, right?

"Miss Rose, *hicup*, can I ask you a short question?," Johnny asked with the mental state of a town drunk.

"Rum'n'ice," Rose pronounced, sliding the glass over to Archibald with a flourish. To be fair, there was...exactly one ice cube in that glass, but dammit, it was expensive to get it hauled in, alright? Archie was a faithful customer, so he didn't get the same haughty look and haggling anyone else who asked for ice did, but she had standards, alright?

Standards that didn't usually include skull-faced men eyeing her finely busselled backside. Rose hopped up onto a stool, crossing her legs at the knee and leaning back on her elbows, raising her eyebrows in rebuke at the ever-masked man sitting in the corner. She kicked her foot idly, a smile curving her lips as she watched the town filter in, and blinked when poor drunk Johnny spoke up. She looked down at him, bemused but amused.

"Just a short one, darlin'?" she asked, a laugh hidden in her voice. "Awright, shoot."

"Well Miss, my question may be short but it comes with a, what was that word James used, 'ethical' deepeness I suppose," Johnny began, keeping his slurry drunken voice low. "Do you, Miss Rose, think that a man who had killed can be good man?"

In his less then proficiently state, Johnny say the need to ease Rose into the situation. Screaming, "HEY EVERYBODY, I'M A FUCKING WANTED FELONY AND MURDERER!", was probably not his best bet. A sheriff, a deputy, and enough rough looking strangers to make Billy the Kid piss his panties would probably make short work of a drunken nobody.

Johnny felt guilty for what he'd done, over an amount of time too like and vile to recount. James always said he was proud of his little brother, but then again James also threaten to kill him on more then one occasion. In reality Johnny was in a bad state of mind with booze or not, a mixed bag of bloodlust and regret.

Rose blinked. Ethical questions were...not her cup of tea. Ethics in general, really. But she was familiar with poor, drunken sods pouring their hearts onto her bartop. She crossed her legs a little higher and fixed him with a charming, if empty, smile.

"Sugar, I think anyone can be a good man," she said easily. "Even one who's...experienced in such matters." Killing was a hard line to cross, but...meh. "My favorite phrase, darlin'," she added, quirking a brow. "'Needs must.'"

"Miss Rose," Johnny replied, "do you know anything about the O'Hennessey Brothers? 'Snake' and 'Rat' O'Hennessey ring any bells? People say they killed forty men blazing a damned trail from the East all the way to Oklahoma."

He got up, holding an empty glass as if it was the last thing he could grab before falling into an empty abyss. He needed to get up, get on his feet for a moment. A small intelligent part of his brain told him to shut his trap and run, but he honesty had to come clean to someone.

"It was actually sixty, Mis Rose. I killed fifty-three of them. I am 'Rat' O'Hennessey, and I don't know what to do."

Rampinella's eyes widened minutely, but the rest of her face barely twitched. The only other sign of her shock was the sudden tension in her shoulders and the clenching of her hands on the edge of the bar. Muscle by muscle, she forced herself to relax.

"You are, hm?" she said carefully, looking him over quickly for concealed weapons. Dammit, Marjorie was supposed to be at the door, taking the gun belts off of these drifters— "What'd you like me to do about it, sugar? Get you a girl who can help you forget? Keep pouring drink into you until you do it on your own?" She didn't dare pat his hand, but she kicked her leg out a bit more. "I'm no preacher, darlin'. Can't do much myself."

"I don't know what I need to be honest Miss," Johnny replied back, noticing her small panicked changes. He sighed, hoping for maybe something simpler. "I have a loaded Colt Dragoon under my jacket in two brass knuckles tucked in my shirt pocket. I absolutely do no plan on using them tonight, you hear?"

Johnny returned to his seat, slouching back with a sulking thud. He didn't want a thankless whore to keep him company or more drink to repress how he really felt. He wasn't a religious man, but all he wanted to do was repent his sins. Get the poisonous truth out of his system before it killed him.

"Miss Rose, you've shown me kindness few have shown me before. I don't want nothing from you but time. I am a a man worth his wait in sin and I just need to get some of it out, I suppose. If you wish to decline, I mighty understand. No harm, no foul."

Kindness. Lord, the man was so drunk he couldn't see a pair of greedy hands if they reached up and slapped him—she was still holding on to his money, for God's sake. But few people ever called her kind—it was, at least, a change of pace.

"Talk all you like, darlin'," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Can't guarantee I'll talk back, but I've got two ears and they both work just fine." She tilted her head, a curl falling across her shoulders as she gave him a warning look. "You're sittin' a few stools down from the Sheriff and her deputy, mind. Might want to keep a bounty on your head in mind, hm?"

Charlotte looked at Lady Rose as she merely repeated her adjective of choice, then at Mr. Hersker who claimed he'd label the saloon as lively. The sheriff only shrugged, her silent way of saying 'to each his own.' Charlotte continued to sip on her beverage and observed Lady Rose serving Archie his rum and ice as he began to inquire the other man about the card game. Meanwhile, another man approached the patroness and spoke to her in a low voice.

Charlotte sighed, though mostly with relief. She was a natural loner. Well, perhaps not a natural one, but she sure as well was more used to being on her own than being social. For a brief second, she considered getting up and talking to Pete for a bit, but this momentary lapse in the conversation was much too rare for Charlotte not to savor. With another sip from her glass, she already began to feel an old though not unfamiliar sensation in the back of her mind.

Sweet Jesus, she thought with a frown as she placed her glass back on the bar. It's hittin' me already? It really has been a while. Take your time, Char. Need to keep your wits about you.

As Wu stood their waiting for the men to start their card game, Another man entered the saloon with pride, and a bit of cockiness along side with it. Wu read him briefly, he noticed how his hand seemed harsh, dry. "A blacksmith?" He wondered. "A man's hand never lie" he thought as he sipped from his drink. "His hands obviously states a work field involving hammers and such tools". The newcomer sat beside the sheriff, as he greeted both Rose the bartender and the sheriff. He wasn't a stranger to town Wu noticed. He sipped again from his drink,sore it was,rumbling in his stomach but Wu was a heavy drinker, it wasn't anything new to him.

"his hands say Blacksmith but his cloths and overall look say otherwise, yes a carpenter of sorts." Wu confirmed himself. Wu shifted his gaze to one corner of the saloon, a masked man sitting with a chubby whore with him on the table. He allowed her to touch his mask, Wu gave a gross look "Disgusting" he thought as he looked away. He had no appetite to finish his drink after that horrid view. He approached the bar to order another drink. Rose was sitting on a stool by his left but he gave her no attention, he called for the young girl to bring him a fresh glass and Rum.

As he drank his freshly poured drink, he couldn't help but hear the conversation between Rose and a familiar looking stranger. Wu never spies on others, always keeping to himself, he gave their conversation no attention, Wu tilted his head looking around the saloon, nothing interesting happening at the moment except for a couple of men brawling. When suddenly the stranger mentioned the O'Hennessey Brothers, it grabbed Wu's attention but Wu gave them no signs that he was listening, when the man suddenly stood and bragged about how he killed fifty three men, introducing himself as "Rat" O'Hennessey. The name rang a bell in Wu's head, "It's him! One of the O'Hennessey brothers!" Wu remembered, "Rat" is wanted by the U.S government. Wu swallowed hard, his heart pumped, he was tense. He knew that this man wasn't to be messed with nor to be taken slightly. He is "wanted", there is a ten thousand dollar reward, a bounty, "Dead or alive". Wu's hands were sweating as he reached for his short Chinese sword and grabbed firmly to the handle, he was ready to chop his head if he tried to pull anything stupid.

Rat sat, so did Wu's heart. He slowly removed his hand away from the short sword and sighed in relief. Grabbing his glass as he waved for the bartender to pour him another drink.

At the mention of an outlaw being present in the room, Archie decided to not touch his drink yet, he'd need to be as sober as he could be to estimate a coffin size. He smiled, that man was as good as dead and he couldn't wait to get to work on another coffin, the state would pay handsomely for this bastard but slowly his smile drooped into a frown, the bounty was dead or alive. He'd make nothing if that man walked out alive.

At that moment his mind was a flurry of thoughts and planning and scheming and finally it settled on a number, 'This man is wanted for 10,000 dollars...' Archie had come to a conclusion, this man was to be his. Unfortunately had had not brought his gun with him. He looked around then down at his drink, turing to the sheriff he asked her a question, "Miss? Would you mind watching my drink? If I come back and it's here, I'll get you one just like it." he didn't wait for an answer, he knew the sheriff would save it, or at least hoped.

He got off his seat and called over to Rose, "I'll be right back, just forgot my money." he lied but didn't know anything else he could say to excuse him. He stepped out into the early desert evening and began running to his workshop.

If nothing else, Rose had sharp eyes, and after more than a decade of owning a saloon she knew a man reaching for his weapon when she saw one. Or, in this case, more than one. Lord, the last thing she needed was another shootup in here—those bandits Sheriff Charlotte had taken care of not two weeks ago had done enough damage, thank you. She was still trying to pry a bullet out of her banister.

"Duty calls—just a minute, darlin'," Rose said quickly, nodding to Johnny—or Rat, as he was apparently called—and moving down the bar to the customer who'd just reached into his pocket. She filled up his drink again, but as the man reached for it, she let her hand linger until he glanced up, and gave him a warning look. Not in my house, kid.

Archie was out the door before Rose could respond, looking oddly excited for a man who'd forgotten his wallet, and a feeling of foreboding started to gather in her gut. Face carefully blank, she sashayed back to Rat, staying behind the bar this time and making sure the shotgun strapped under the bartop was still ready and loaded.

Shelly was still waiting for the service girl to come back with the red wine, he wondered where she'd gone to. Grass he thought, loads of grass. He reached his hands down his shirt and scratched his scarred stomach as his other hand was feeling Marlett's baby face.

"Will be back here in a bit babe, daddy gotsa see his red wine business." He walked towards the bar, an air of tension and held back rage was fuming about it. "Evenin' fellas, anybody see a fine babe, five four, cute in a ridiculous saloon outfit. Oh she has this rust voice too. She was supposed ta deliver me my red wine."

He made a quick glance back at his table, Marlett was touching his guns, his leather holsters. He looked back at the busy bar, at none in particular but at an empty 1740 Williams Root Drink. "Got anya that? Or it is up there for braggery and vanity?" He was speaking to Rose.

Rose smiled at the man in the bone mask, settling her elbows on the bartop and her chin on her hands. "Sure do, hon," she replied, raising her eyebrows and banishing her worry for the moment. "Depends on how much you're willin' to pay for it. I'll give you a discount on account of Marjorie's...inattentiveness, but the bottle's still gonna run you a few bucks."