Sheriff Reilly spent more time than he cared to admit sleeping in his office. Though he had built a perfectly house on the edge of town, it was sometimes easier to just sleep in an empty cell or with his feet propped up on his desk. This morning was one of those. Josh broke up a fight outside of Roy's Saloon the night before and then spent the rest of the night filling out the paperwork for the mayor. Once he was finished, he poured himself a shot of fine whisky and tilted his hat forward.

He found his sleep interrupted by the sound of frantic knocking on his door. Rubbing the crust from his eyes, he got up and opened the door to his small office. It was Ross Cunningham, an old farmer and occasional drunkard.

"Sherriff! You gotta come to the cemetery!" Ross practically screamed. Josh noted that he smelled like a brewery, his breath much more so.

"Can you tell me why without spitting on me?" asked Josh. He could tell that it was going to be a long, fucking day.

Ross composed himself before continuing. "Somebody dug up a bunch of graves at Black Mountain! The corpses are all missing!"

That got Josh's attention. Black Mountain is more than two miles outside of town, so it was entirely feasible for someone to do some digging without being disturbed. The Sheriff made sure his gun belt was tied on before following Ross outside. With all the yelling Ross did, anyone who was awake would have heard them. He expected he would soon have a crowd.

Kira Blackthorne rode her steed in the dead of night, the once graceful creature that she was riding upon legs now wobbled unsteadily beneath the full weight of its rider as it walked with struggling trudge like steps, it was weary from the constant galloping and trotting. It's familiar rider guided it easily with it's reigns and did not have any mercy on the poor four hooved mammal who seemed to be laboring to cooperate. The lands it was traveling through was an unfeeling existence in harshness that was of a unbearable, inhabitable place. It was very brutal but complaining wouldn't help.

One was to either die or become lost without a trained and skilled territorial guide to safely show wandering souls proper way through such dangerous and treacherous lands. The presence of a kind, hardworking vampire had bright ocean blue eyes and short locks of neck lengthed spiky black hair hanging down her forehead. She had vanilla colored skin and a petite but strong body. Her vision was a strong weapon like the self made bows and sharp arrows her back carried. A tattoo like birthmark of a bright red rose with cruel thorns reaching out from a green stem was on the side of her throat, wrapping around the front of it and looked as if it was strangling her like the slow squeeze of a constricting snake.

She lowered herself from her heavily grunting and panting horse who responded with a sigh of relief, walking through a tavern that was of closeby.

Candles dangling above outside casted a honey like glow on surfaces of soiled, filth covered snow in dry, parched mud paths as night loomed over an island known as free of all danger and of no name as well. Princess Kira even made it that far. As far as they were they were concerned she could die a thousand deaths when the human guards came to destroy her. They didn't care if any vampire or human warriors had lived through ambush to be made example of in the slightest, they had did. All they wanted was for her to be dead, six feet deep. She kept on riding till she reached town. She stayed in the tavern for a bit so her horse could rest for a while and then when done recounted her horse and making her way to Long Water, letting the horse boy put it in the stall and she paid for a couple of nights.

His head was pounding and his body ached. Visions of a battle the night before danced in his head. There had been a portly beast, boar-like, whom he had encountered. He could recall wrestling the creature, its gruesome grunts and moans filling the night air as Jack tried to dominate the wild thing. And then his already hazy memory went completely dark.

Presently, he could feel the heat of the sun beating down on his flesh as its rays tried to penetrate his eyelids. His mind was slowly coming to life, but his body was just slightly behind. His eyes fluttered open to a harsh squint and the sight of a bright blue sky above, decorated with long, stretched out clouds. Jack smacked his lips a couple of times, attempting to wet his parched mouth as he pulled himself up into a slumped sitting position. He was in a field, he deduced, in a small patch of sand surrounded by untamed weeds.

He looked down upon his legs only to notice that they were bare. Off in the distance, he could see a small pile of his discarded clothing with his boots haphazardly tossed a little further down next to a boulder. The only thing covering Jack were his undershorts. He rubbed his face with his hand and forced his eyes to shut tightly as he tried to remember how he landed in this situation. Here he was outside in the dirt, practically naked, sore as hell, with a broken memory of some outlandish tussle with a boar of some sort.

"What the hell happened," he asked out loud, his voice groggy. In response, he could hear a familiar nasal huff just behind him. Jack quickly turned to greet the source. "Ay! Pepper!" he exclaimed warmly to his Appaloosa. That's good, at least, he thought to himself, thankful for the fact that he wasn't stranded out there. Even so, he was still left with the mystery of the fat swine who had attacked him the night before.

He recalled going in to town for a bit. He even remembered sitting in on a few poker games for a spell. Drinks were pouring, chips were being raked in, women were cheering him on, drunken fights were erupting outside. Then he left the saloon... Jack tried to concentrate on why. He left the saloon and started heading toward Pepper that night... But before he could even get there... THAT'S WHEN IT HAPPENED! It was as if lightening had struck his brain. That's when the beast attacked him! He remembered hitting the ground, rolling around, the animalistic noises it was making...

"RURRGH!" Jack's eyes suddenly went wide. That was the same, exact noise from the night before! The beast was back! Slowly, he cranked his head to take a look in the grunt's direction. His anticipatory look of horror, however, soon transformed into bewilderment before finally settling into disappointment. His brows had lowered so far that they could have formed a straight line upon his forehead. "Jack," it called out before rolling over. "You still here?"

"Yes," he said solemnly. "Yes I am, A- An- Angela, was it?" he asked the portly prostitute that had followed him out of the saloon and pounced upon him in a fit of drunken lust. He should have known.

"Angela? My name's Mary!" she cried out as he slowly pulled herself up off the ground.

"Of course it is, Mary, forgive me. When I saw you, all I could think about were angels," he lied in a lame attempt to flatter. "My apologies." The hefty woman rolled her eyes and made her way over to her discarded, overly worn dress. Meanwhile, Jack started putting himself together, throwing on his clothes and footwear, slinging his travel satchel over his shoulder, and topping it all off with his black hat.

"How did we get all the way out here?" she asked. The town center could be seen in the distance, but their romp ended quite a ways further from where it started.

"Your guess is as good as mine, doll," he said as he started readying Pepper. Soon after he heaved himself upon the Appaloosa and was just a moment away from giving the command to giddy up before he was interrupted.

"Hey! You're not leaving me out here, are you?" Mary cried out.

"I hate to do it, love, but you see I've just got the one horse."

"A horse can carry two people!" she retorted angrily.

"Sweetheart," he said, looking her up and down. "I think we both know we would not be burdening Pepper with the weight of just two people. But look at it this way: The town isn't far, the sun is shining bright, and a jaunty little walk might do you good!"

"You rat bastard!" She shouted. That was his cue. With a light kick, he commanded Pepper forth

"I love you, too, dear! Maybe I'll see you later?" he called back as Pepper hit her full stride. He could hear some sort of enraged response, no doubt populated by cruel and derogatory slanders, but the words couldn't make it past the rhythmic sounds of the horse's hooves as he rode on. Well, he thought to himself optimistically, at least I've already got the weirdest part of my day out of the way.

He was just getting into town, that morning. All he heard for the last few miles was the crunch of the soil under Gunpowder's massive hooves. He patted the Clydesdale's shoulder, "There, see? 'Twasn't so bad, now, was, it boyo?" The packed up animal gave a snort in reply.

He kept his eyes on the town, and as they were getting closer, he noticed something like a commotion building. Some people were gathered, and someone else, likely an authority figure, mounted their horse and rode off in another direction. Colm frowned, and muttered to his horse, "I don't suppose they were expectin' us?" He gave a shrug, "Well, whatever the hullabaloo, I reckon we're liable to figure it out, soon enough."

Gunpowder picked up his pace unprompted, "Haha, I agree, boyo; let's get some rest, and we'll sort ourselves out another time!"

He took a nip from his flask as they entered the town limits, and had a look around, to try and get his bearings. He muttered, either to himself or his horse, it wasn't clear. "Hm. Town Hall... Armory? 'll have to ask what that's about... Saloon... Church... Well, we've toime to explore, don't we?" He patted Gunpowders' shoulder with one hand as the other pulled back on the reigns, "At ease, soldier- there's a good lad." He dismounted, and tied the animal to the rail as it happily dipped it's snout in the water trough. "Haha, I agree, boyo; all this travellin' makes a man thirsty, don't it?" He adjusted his cap, the red clover on top popping against the navy blue fabric. He slung his rifle (sans bayonet) on his shoulder, next to his backpack, and slung his saddle bags over his other shoulder.

He moved, carrying the load with greater strength than one would have assumed, having aged as poorly as he had. He pushed himself bodily through the swingdoors of the saloon, and stood at the door for a moment. After a look around the room, getting an idea of his surroundings and company, he spoke up, projecting his voice toward the bar, "Alright, then, who's a man to speak to about room and board?"

Kira sighed softly to no one but herself, the scent of rich spices pierced the air as it was being prepared by one of the cooks. She walked over to and sat down on a chair that was at the saloon but a step close to Colm Mcpherson, nervously not saying a single word to him until ready. "Good evening to ya .." then turning to the barteder, "I want ale please." She took a moment to sideways glance at the male now sitting beside her, not really interested but looking for some true sort of friendly companionship to fill the void that was within her dark, hollow, depthless soul.

She needed a bounty hunter or atleast someone who could keep up work for her since she could not do such herself with a broken arm. The such broken arm came from being almost trampled to death by the same massive bull like beast she was hunting a few hours ago. It was either that or risk bleeding to death from a skull injury so an arm to spare was enough. Life was about striving and surviving through complications.

An arm was in a sling and nestled gently in newly changed bandages, lightly swaying with each step that she took. "So .. what's your name .. mine is Kira .. Kira Blackthorne, it's nice to meet ya." She said, expressing a wide, warm smile that could capture many a man's heart. Or woman's if they were lucky. Life and death seemed to be the same burden out here in these lands, the residents of this such place did not seem to care nor did they want to about other lives, out here it was either survive or lose it all or simply starve. Death sometimes seemed like the logical idea to go by but not for Kira, Kira was a fighter. Always have been and always would be. She would take that promise to the grave.

She yawned happily, stretching blissfully while the bartender filled her glass.

His quarry was out there somewhere. After several years and hundreds of miles later, Achille felt no closer since he had departed New York. Such time however was irrelevant to a vampire. In his long travels, Achille had immersed himself properly in the wild western frontier. From the odd encounters with strange beings and several notable side hunts, Achille had taken a liking to this uncivilized part of the world. Such a curious thing time was... how time could erode strength from the mightiest of man and beast, a weakness he could not fathom nor share. Unfortunately the prey was not human. The target was very much like him with the gift of a head start. The trails led all over, the hunted knew who pursued him and was wise not to leave details on his various places of stay. Still even as Achille contemplated his hunt, surely his quarry would fold sooner or late... to be hunted across a country must have been an uneasy feeling.

It was a feeling however that Achille was now experiencing. In his journey through Kansas, Achille paused at the smell of blood. Blood spilled was a regular thing for him to notice but it was that of a human and from his location, he wasn't near a particular place where people resided... what was a human doing out here this late at night? Against his better judgement, Achille rode through the high grass towards the corpse.

Arriving quickly, Achille found the body mangled as if some sort of wild animal had ripped the body apart. Yet the wounds inflicted were too brutal to be done by an animal such as a wolf... it had to have been done by something larger and more ferocious. It was here in this moment of inattentiveness that Achille suddenly felt the presence of several pairs of eyes on him. Brutus, the vampire's horse also detected the foreign presences and began to aggressively snort and trot in place, ready to run or kick. It was only through it's loyalty to it's rider did the horse not run off. Instinctively Achille reached for one of his revolvers, his body poised to spring into action but a strong voice called out to him.

"We know who you are and what you are. You are not welcome here." The voice was deep but the accent was recognizable... one of the country's natives. He heard these people speak before. Surely he was not on a reservation? Either way it did not matter, not now.

"I'm passing through, you have my word." The vampire replied. The tall grass made it difficult to properly access the situation through sight and the smell of the dead human body distracted his other super natural smell. If these were mere mortals, Achille wouldn't have been opposed to fighting his way out but the realization that he was caught in a trap by the natives was an uneasy feeling.

"You will ride far from here. You will not rest even in daylight. This is your only warning." And just like that the voice faded. Again Achille tried to guess the proper number through sound but they moved quietly and disguised their movements well... they were true hunters in their element. Forced to concede this situation, Achille mounted his horse and continued west...

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It was now daylight and the sun was bearing down on him. Achille rarely travelled during the day, it was when he was weakest to be exposed like this. Despite his strong frame, Achille felt tired and weak but took care not to show it in case he was still being pursued by those he had encountered earlier.

Riding into the town of Longwater, Achille would have been quite a peculiar sight. Dressed in all black, ornate weapons visible, his face hidden by a bandana, it would have been easy to tell what type of activities he dabbled in. Yet it seemed the attention was elsewhere as a crowd was gathering right by the sheriff's office. In need of a place to stay as he calculated his ongoing hunt, Achille rode towards the crowd to listen in on the conversation. If he was going to be here for awhile might as well introduce himself and get a proper feel for the town's folk.

Thankfully, Black Mountain cemetery was only two miles outside of town, and a fit man could make the jog quickly without tiring himself. Josh found himself being followed by most of the town, with every either asking him questions or speculating to each other. The Sheriff wondered any of them really had nothing better to do than to get in the way of his job, but he would have to deal with them when the time came.

Lead on by Ross, Joshua and the rest of the onlookers arrived at the cemetery. The rusted iron gates were flung open, which wasn't surprising. They had been that way since Joshua came to town.

What was surprising, however, was that nearly every grave in the cemetery had been dug up. A few had bits of wood sticking out of the ground, but the majority were simply empty holes.

The crowd gasped and more than a few crossed themselves. Joshua fought the urge to do the same, as he needed to be strong for these people. He turned to face them, hands raised.

"Everyone, return to your homes. This doesn't concern you." he said, motioning for them to leave. Most took the hint, but a few curious onlookers stayed to watch. Before crossing the ruined gate into the cemetery proper, Joshua whistled for his dog. Deputy had a strong nose, and the sheriff would need all the help he could get.
--------

"Sinners! Degenerates!" yelled a voice from outside the Lone Heart Saloon. Father Stone had just come back from seeing the cemetery, and he knew the drunks and whores of the saloon were responsible.

"Repent before the eyes of god! The Devil walks among us, and his work is plain for all to see!"

Longwater, Kansas. It seemed like a place that could satisfy most of the Needs and only some of the Wants. Jack let Pepper go at her own pace while they made their way back into town. Truth be told, this was not Jack's endgame destination. This was supposed to be a pitstop toward higher society and bigger games. Larger pots and more intimidating bets. Poker is a game comprised of two very specific things: Luck and skill.

Those who are good at it like to pretend that any success was a direct result of their masterful craft, while any defeat could be attributed to supernatural predestined misfortune. The truth lies somewhere in the middle and, unfortunately, Jack's poker prowess was no match for Lady Luck's imposed destiny and he made the wrong bet on the wrong hand, losing nearly every dollar he had the night before. The more he sobered up, the more he pieced together the events of the previous night and they all led to one summation: This pitstop had just turned into a temporary home.

As such, Jack began studying the faces and movements of the people around him. Who exactly had he just gotten stuck with? As Pepper continued down the road, Jack's eyes caught the commotion of a few gathered townsfolk outside the law office. Most of these people were the epitome of plain. Their clothes with their muted colors, their demeanor as they perfectly fit their small minded stereotypes. These seemed like simple folk with simple goals and simple problems. Jack refused to relate. He wanted to be big, to be vibrant. He hoped that their plainness was not contagious.

But then a figure caught his eye. Masked, and adorned in a strikingly dark wardrobe, riding in toward the gathered few. Could be a problem, he thought to himself. Masked men riding into town has seldom gone well in Jack's experience. He did, however, take comfort in the fact that, whatever it was, it wasn't his problem. At least he hoped not.

With a gentle, but commanding tug of the reins, Jack guided Pepper toward the hitching post just outside of the ol' saloon, redirecting his attention.

After getting his four legged comrade settled, he moseyed on in, taking in the view as he entered the threshold. The great thing about a town like this is, while there will always be some portion of familiar faces, there also exists an ever-flowing current of new faces to combat the boredom. The moments you could spend with them were finite before they moved on toward wherever they were going in the great beyond. Jack was to be one of those fleeting faces. Alas, you've got to play the hand you were dealt.

It seemed much too early in the day for a party, but never too early for a drink. Several patrons were already dipping their toes in the water. Many of the voices were forgettable, but there was something about a hard accent that perked Jack's ear. He briefly eyed the older gentleman who sounded like his dream image of a drinking mate. The gaze soon drifted toward the pale olive vision sitting beside the man, before finally taking in the rest of the folk who had started their good day early.

As he stood there just inside the entrance, he considered his current financial predicament and weighed all the options. There was always robbing the place and everyone in it. Not great odds, though; he was heavily outnumbered. Plus, Jack was a terrible shot. Maybe he could get a job as a bartender. Except they already had a bartender. Maybe if he killed the barte- wait, wait, wait. No. Not killing anyone! He could wager what he's got left on another poker game, on the perfect hand... The clothes on his back wouldn't go for much, but Pepper...

Jack instantly felt disgusted as his face contorted into the result of a sour disaster. How could he even entertain the thought. Pepper was family. Very valuable family that could cover a very lucrative wager...

"I can't think straight," Jack finally admitted out loud, to no one in particular. "BARKEEP!" he shouted from afar. "One whisky and keep the bottle near!" Whether the keep heard him or not, he made his way to the bar with a theatrical sense of confidence as he took residence on the stool beside the pale, intriguing stranger-of-the-day. As he had gotten closer, the sight of her blemished neck began coming into focus and throwing up flags as red as her wardrobe's accents. No one could argue against the fact that this woman obviously belonged to the Vibrant And Interesting Club of which Jack desperately wanted to join.

In the same moment that he sat, he dramatically cleared his throat and gave her a sideways glance. "Assumptions are fickle, aren't they?" he led, musingly. "They could be dead wrong or they could be on the money, based on context clues. We're in a saloon, there are 'friends' for hire, so to speak, and there are those 'tomorrow' folk with new, crazy ideas about fashion and industry and anything else, but retain the same basic urges as the rest us. You're obviously a sight, with unique dressings and a permanent testament to a colorful history that anyone can see if they're looking for it," he expressed with a guiding nod toward her exposed neck. "I've just got to ask, and understand that I mean no offense, but... how much for a man down on his luck?"

"Indeed .. they are. And 200 for the night." Kira said, licking her upper lip and the tip of one of her fangs as it slithered between, out and past the two of the. She wondered as to why the man was being so near even though she barely knew him and under such inspection she realized that he had the strong, bitter stench of whiskey on his breath.

She declared to herself that she order another drink and decided to do such that she had did. She turned around, arising to her heels and then smirked playfully. She circled him as if a cat cornering a helpless mouse.

"My name's Kira, what is yours?" She said blissfully, cheerily, tipping her. She was drunk by the time the last time the so she was in the same boat that she was on. She was eager to be heading North soon to discover more that life had to truly offer her, wondering as to if her children would someday. She was indeed a vampire and its bloodline was in her two identical bubblegum lungs.

Even though the sun was just rising above the horizon, Christina had already been up for some time, getting ready to sneak out. The last thing she wanted was to start the day with yet another fight with her father. She packed her bag with medical tools and supplies, put it over her shoulder, grabbed her hat from the nail on the wall, and quietly opened the door to her room. Holding her boots in her hand, she snuck through the hallway, trying not to make any noise. When outside, she quickly sprinted to the stables and started to saddle her mare up. Just as she was finally ready to leave, she heard her father walking out the front door. “Christina?”

Crap. Christina jumped up on Betsie’s back and left the stable. “I’m going to check on Mary.”

“Hmm, fine,” Carl grumbled. “But be home before dinner, Boyde is coming to visit and he is bringing Billy with him. In fact, you are the woman in this house now, you should make that dinner.”

“You know I can’t promise you that, dad. If Mary goes into labor, I might not come back for a few days. And you know I’m a horrible cook.” Her father was furious that after her mother died, she refused to stay at home, cook, clean up after him and her brother, and wash their dirty socks. They argued for days, but after Christina threatened to run away and join a brothel, he caved in and agreed to hire an old Hispanic lady to do those chores.

“You need to start taking life seriously, Chrissie,” he sighed. “I will tell Billy you said hi.”

Christina snorted. “Please don’t. See ya.” Short wave and she rode off. Finally, some freedom. She nudged Betsie to go faster and enjoyed the wind in her hair. Billy Boyde. Ugh. Yes, he was handsome and a decent blacksmith and he would inherit his father’s shop in town. But that was the end of the short list of positives that boy had. Billy Boyde was a dick - he was arrogant and about as bright as the hammer he kept swinging. He would often spend the evening in the Lone Heart Saloon, get wasted, and then pick fights with other men. That was the man her father wanted her to marry? She would rather hang herself.



“Well, it doesn’t look like you will be in labor any time soon.” Christina was washing her hands after examining her friend. “But you know that can change fast. You should really take it easy,” she added, seeing Mary grab a bucket full of water and dragging it to the kitchen.

“You know that is much easier said than done,” Mary replied, straightening her back for a few moments and wiping sweat off her forehead. “Ah. This one’s a kicker.” She placed her hand on her huge belly.

“You think it's another boy?” Christina smiled at her.

“God, I hope not,” Mary laughed. This was her fourth pregnancy. Two healthy boys were running outside. A girl died of fever when she was just four months old.

“Well, you never know.” Christina wished there was more she could do. She and Mary were the same age and had been friends for as long as she could remember. Christina loved Mary, but she couldn’t imagine living a life like that. “Hey Mary, can I pick some of the anemones from the backyard?”

“Sure, pick away,” Mary smiled and waved at her, knowing what Christina wanted the flowers for.




Carefully holding a colorful bouquet of various flowers, Christina was heading towards the Black Mountain cemetery to visit her mother’s grave. Even though it had already been almost two months since she died, Christina kept coming there almost every day. She liked to just sit there and talk to her mom, hoping that somehow somewhere, Marija was listening.

As she was coming closer to the cemetery, she noticed a large commotion of people there. Weird. She didn’t remember there was supposed to be a funeral today. By the size of the crowd, someone really important must have died. But to hold a funeral that fast? It was all too strange.

Christina got to the cemetery gate and tied Betsie to the fence. The people were already leaving, most looking fearful and crossing themselves, some seemed angry. Christina ignored them because she could already see why they gathered here. She stood still, staring at the empty graves in horror, unable to understand what was happening. Suddenly, she realized why she came here and her eyes scanned the place. “NO!” she yelled out and sprinted towards her mother’s grave. “NO, no, no!” It was empty too. She knelt at the side of the empty hole, desperate, the flowers she brought slowly descended into the dirt. She could see a piece of the cross her father carefully carved with his own hands. It was broken, pieces of it scattered around.

She noticed Sheriff Reilly standing nearby and headed towards him. “Sheriff?” Her voice was trembling. She ran her hand over her face, trying to wipe off the tears that wouldn’t stop appearing in her eyes. “What happened here? Why would anyone do this?” What kind of evil has arrived in their town?

The town was lively with commotion. Judging from what he could hear from conversations in the distance, something had occurred at the nearby cemetery. The matter was irrelevant, for now at least... perhaps he would do his own investigation when the situation was more relaxed but there were more important matters to attend to. Dismounting his horse, Achille led the well built black breton horse towards a hitching post by the saloon. Upon stepping on solid ground, Achille looked just as menacing off his horse. The man was tall, around 6'5 with a strong frame that seemed even larger due to his thick, dark duster coat. Every part of him was covered, save for the brief space between the top of his bandana to the tip of his hat. And while Achille's most visible part was his eyes, there was something peculiar about them... like the eyes of a hawk constantly shifting from one thing to the next.

Having dismounted, Achille began to properly secure the riffle and double barreled shotgun that was kept in hoisters in the saddle of his horse. He even took extra attention to conceal the longsword on the side with a blanket... to many he would have been a walking odd sight but the last thing he needed was strangers coming up to him with questions. The people of the town would speak their rumors should they care for his presence but it would take someone rather bold to approach him directly. With one last brief look around him, Achille made sure to make direct eye contact with any watching... a stern warning not to try anything stupid around him.

Rotating his shoulders forward and backward along with minor stretches of the neck, Achille prepared to enter the saloon as it was typical for men of interest and stories to be found there...it was through the town's saloon that he could find the strangest but sometimes the most honest of men in regards to current circumstances. Almost on que a priest approached the saloon shouting nonsense about sinners and devils. Achille found the statement amusing but none the less, this was the type of person he wanted to speak too. Placing his hands on his gun-belt Achille walked towards Father Stone like a living shadow.

"Preach your sermon Father." Achille said aloud, attempting to earn the priest's attention. "Tell me of these sinners and devils you speak off?"

Colm hesitated to respond to the young woman that addressed him. He was trying to make arrangements for temporary lodging, and was of a mind to reprimand her for interrupting a conversation between men. Her attention quickly came to focus on a rather green looking young man, though, so, he had a glass of whiskey and let it go.

Seemed to be a rather young crowd, so far. He smiled to himself as he wondered how many of them even knew how to play cards, let alone what to do with a saloon girl.

He muttered to himself, "Ní raibh mé ag iarraidh labhairt leat, ar aon nós."

After he finished settling his bill for the five shots he had, and opened a tab for his room, he put his belongings into his room, and locked the door. Colm raised his eyebrows, and grinned as he heard what had to be the local clergy outside. "Well, now, that's a man o' the cloth, if e'er oi heard one!" He walked out the door, rifle still slung on his shoulder, "Come on, now, Father! Oi don't think you're bein' entoirly fair! After all, everyone knows The Lord invented whiskey to stop the oirish from conquerin' the world!" He took a step down to stand level with the man, "The way oi see it, than, oim not engagin' in degeneracy, good sir; oim keepin' the peace, an' doin' The Lord's will!" He smiled wide as he held out his hand to shake.

He was intrigued by the talk of devilry, but he was also building a good buzz as the whiskey settled, so he was more inclined to mischief than investigation at the moment.

Father stone appraised the drunk Irishman who stood before him. The man smelled awful and appeared to be uneasy on his feet as the man offered the preacher a shaky hand.

"My son," Stone began, even though the other man was clearly much older than him. "Drinking to excess is a sin, and much more so in broad daylight." The preacher turned to the tall man in a duster with a smile. Finally, he found someone who cared for their own soul.

"The cemetery is defiled. The bodies of our flock have gone missing." he said. "The sheriff is investigating, but what can a man do against the devil?"
-------
Josh kneeled at one of the graves, examining the freshly dug hole. The grave maker was still intact, indicating that this grave had belonged to Bill Hatfield. Bill had been dead for about six years now, having been hung by the previous sheriff for murder and larceny.

When the voice of young Christina Emerson sounded from behind him, Deputy had already sauntered over to her. The perceptive dog could tell she was upset, and tried to nuzzle her hand and whine for attention.

Josh didn't know Christina that well, only having done some business with her competitor, Doctor Baum. But she deserved to know what was going on.

"I don't know, kid. None of this makes sense. Some of these bodies are decades old. Why on earth would someone go through the trouble of digging up some old bones? And how could they have done it without anyone noticing?"

Kira remained in the saloon, sighing softly as she drank shot after shot until she consumed enough to put her down for a while. She devoured alcohol like her life depended on it, soon her voice and the words she spoke were slurred. She gazed into the man's eyes that she was speaking to. She wanted to be numb of any and all emotions, not wanting to feel anything but truly emotionless. She was highly upset earlier in the day because of hearing news of her loverr's untimely passing, he sadly suffered because of a severe illness and was not able to recover, perishing days later but atleast he was not in suffering anymore. He was put to rest a day ago and she attended his funeral but right now all she wanted to do was unwind and become less intense. She stayed where she was sitting, soon feeling beyond the gates of what was human feelings.

She sighed blissfully, feeling as if she was in her own slice of heaven. She waited for the man to speak of his testimony of what his name was. She was unaware that outside the walls of the saloon the presence of her beloved's remains were disturbed from their eternal rest. She would have probably freaked out if that happened so it was probably best that she was not in the cemetary anyway. She ordered a single sandwich and some soup and began to nibble upon it and sipped the soup, not exactly knowing why but she was hungering for it to fill her empty insides. What she was not aware of was that she may have been with child and she would soon learn that she she was. It would be something she would hold close to her heart as the only thing left of her human lover.

She soon was finished with it, picking up a napkin and gently tapping her lips with it as to not smudge her ruby red lipstick with it. She sighed once more in delight, feeling as if she could conquer the world now that she was buzzed and filled with a plentiful meal of meat and vegetables that were nestled between the the pieces of soft wheat bread. Life was so much like sipping a fine bottle of wine and right now she wanted to remain numb like this without a single care in the world.

She silently prayed in her mind that she would be able to see her father one day, but not anytime soon. She closed her eyes, sending the mental prayer to a god who would probably not receive her. She may have been a vampire but she still believed in God and found herself praying to him in times of doubt and uncertainty. She was not a monster like many thought of her bloodline and species were like. She may have fed on humans but that was just to survive. She still had a heart and she still had feelings and emotions like humans had.

"Kira, huh?" Jack turned direction and leaned his back leisurely upon the bar, using his elbows to casually prop himself up. He took in the scenery and watched the patrons, picking up little observations here and there. With his gaze distant, he continued, "Well you must be really proud for $200." Despite some effort, he couldn't hide his smirk from forming before he finally gave Kira his full attention once more. "Jack," he stated simply, finally answering the woman's question. He touched the front rim of his black hat with the tip of his index finger before giving it a tug in tandem with a shallow nod, an informal 'how do ya do'.

The words of the frantic priest outside broke through the static of the bar sounds around him. Jack's eyebrow raised at the talk of The Devil walking among them. A vision of him sitting opposite a red, horned and bearded individual, both with cards in their hands and a mountain of chips stacked up between them, had briefly entered his mind. Curiosity and excitement sent impulses to the roots of Jack's arm hairs, causing a chill. Wouldn't that be the game of a lifetime, he thought.

"If only it were so," he finally said aloud to his new female associate. "The Devil among us..." He gave a cheesy grin before turning back toward the bar itself. With a silent gesture, he called the keep over for another round before slamming it down. The alcohol was doing its job; a welcome buzz fell over Jack's body. It was the state of mind that he called home, where he was his happiest. "Well, I find myself divided, Miss Kira. Half of me wants to see what sort of entertainment that barker outside could provide. The other half wants to get to work on rebuilding my bankroll." His eyes squinted as his crooked smile grew. "Though, I suppose the true suckers don't come out until nightfall," he stated, nodding toward an underpopulated card table.

Achille shook his head in a mix of slight amusement and disappointment towards the drunk Irishman. Despite his status back at home, Achille never found much joy in alcohol despite it's popularity even in the big cities. Ironically his experience with alcohol normally involved him having to 'take care of' certain individuals whose drunken words tended to wrong those he was affiliated with. Turning back towards the preacher, Achille debated Father Stone's words. In all of his travels this would be a first... an entire cemetery plus the local flock having been tampered with? Surely the one responsible possessed extraordinary abilities... and the sheriff would likely be looking for help. How fitting that upon his arrival, he would stumble into another delay in his hunt for the renegade. No matter.

"Sometimes Father, the Lord sends those capable of dealing justice." Achille stated, his voice strong with conviction as he drew the revolver on his right hip. In a quick display, Achille twirled the orate weapon skillfully around his trigger fury before returning the weapon back to it's decorated hoister. It was a brief display, an irrelevant gun trick to many but if it could convince the preacher of his skill, it was worth the little show. "If you know anything else, I'm open ears. I'm willing to assist the sheriff in any way I can when he returns." Achille looked back towards the drunk, even in his guarded appearance you can still feel the weight of his eyes.

"After all. Someone has too. Not all of are in the right of state of mind."

He raised his eyebrows at the mention of mass grave robbing. "Jaysus, Mary 'n Joseph..." He crossed himself, even if only out of habit. Perhaps, also, the Father's criticism stung a bit...

He stroked his chin as he listened to them speak (and resisted the urge to snap at the stranger's looks of disapproval), leaning on a pole as they went on. When he'd finished, though, he'd had quite enough of the strangers scorn.

He straightened himself up, "Now listen 'ere, lad, oi don't wear this 'ere hat, and carry this 'ere roifle as a fashion statement. If'n you're disencloined to loike me, foine than, an' do well to leave me alone." He went over, untied his horse, and mounted as he finished. "And as for what oim capable?" He gave a conspicuous look up and down this person, "Oi'd reckon oi've been about, doin' deeds before you were but a gleem in yer Da's oyes, and seen things that'd droive a man to his knees in prayer... You don' tell me of what a man is capable." He gave a nod to the clergyman, "Sunday, than? Good day, Father."

And with that, he urged Gunpowder to move in the direction of the sheriff's station. It wasn't his intention to go looking for trouble, but than again, he probably should have thought of that before running off to a town said to be home of spooky things going on. Perhaps it was divine providence, than, he came to a town such as this, when they might be in need of men who knew how to fight in an organized fashion?

"Yes." Kira said back, feeling as if she could conquer anything as long as the liquor was in her system. She stayed close to Jack, flashing her famous "sexy" smile that revealed two wide set of natural pearly whites. "Kira is the name, mind if I call you handsome instead." She smirked. She was eager to see just where this night would lead off to. She twirled a strand of long hair around her index finger in a playful way, gazing up into Jack's alluring eyes. She wanted more than anything to be brought to the brink of pure insanity with the presence of them.

Her body was something that any man would take one thing to die for, her eyes something for them to stare into and her hair for anyone to run their fingers through. She wanted to find a man to fill that void. She listened to the sharpness of sudden commotion outside, hearing it near the cemetary, it seemed as if it was just a small squabble, she thought to herself, 'It is nothing," she thought, 'It is just nothing, Kira, dont get involved.' The priest sounded nervous but she did not move from her spot, she was much too dizzy and drunk to do such a movement.

"Well then, do whatever makes your happest." She said with a smirk. "I am also eager to see what is available for work in this town as well." She wanted more than anything to be able to be with her beloved but she knew that he was in heaven. She wanted to be with him but he was not anything anymore, he was ashes to ashes and dust to dust. She wanted to do anything to be with him.

"Work." Jack repeated Kira's word with a bit of venom in his voice. 'Work' was a concept that he tried to avoid. He'd much rather make a living by having a good time. "Well good luck with that in this town," he offered with an uneasy smirk. Without much else, he took Kira's advice and did what would make him most entertained: he began a stride toward the outside of the saloon.

A covered porch wrapped around the establishment, offering mild shade and room to loiter. Jack leaned up on the railing and pulled out some paper and a healthy pinch of tobacco from his satchel before doing some quick magic with his fingers, turning to two ingredients into a finely rolled cigarette. Jack replaced the components back in his sack before retrieving and striking a match, letting the tip of his roll ignite. The body of the smoke filled his throat and lungs before diverging and exiting out his nostrils.

As he stood there imbibing, he picked up little bits and pieces of conversation. Something about graves and disturbances, sheriffs and justice...

"Good ol' grave robbing," he said out loud to no one in particular. "Never understood it, myself. That's a lot of digging for a small prize, and that's just if there's any worthwhile prize to be had at all."