[IC] Blood and Sand (BethHarrisonxBlazeGamma)

[Beth Harrison]

Emma Sullivan smoothed down the front of her gathered skirts, causing a cloud of dust to unsurprisingly puff up from the fabric. Dust seemed to cover everything here in the Arizona Territory desert, settling into even the most well protected crevices and folds. Scrubbing a hand over her face to rub the sand from here it blew into her eyes, she attempted to maintain a sense of ladylike decorum, she adjusted the black felt equestrian hat that sat nestled atop her mass of auburn curls. Next to her, the large roan-coloured mare stomped her hooves, kicking up cloud of the ever present sand. Covering her mouth from a cough, Emma cast an admonishing gaze to the animal, who, is she didn't know better, Emma would have sworn looked apologetic. If she had been in a less somber mood, she might have found it in herself to laugh, as it was she simply hoisted herself back into the saddle and clicked the horse's flanks with her boots, spurning the beast forward.

The U.S. Marshall's who had ridden through earlier had left a wide trail of hoof prints in their wake, obscured only slightly by the winds that swept through and turned the dust over. Luckily, Emma had some skill in tracking earned from being raised in the Montana wilderness before her parents had drug her out to Arizona Territory along with her two younger sisters. It had been for change and progress, the railroad had presented an undeniable opportunity to find wealth, though all her father had ended up finding was an early grave. And now Emma was more or less alone, save for one younger sister who had disappeared sometime in the early hours of the morning nearly a week ago. Oh, of course the Marshall's had given her the usual excuses, excuses every family got fed anytime anyone went missing. Except that Emma wasn't likely to buy it, and when the Marshall's had procrastinated their job, she had taken matters into her own hands and set out into the Arizona wild to seek out her sister and the abductors.

The trail had gone cold at some point about ten miles outside of Santa Fe, but Emma wasn't the sort to be dissuaded so easily. As soon as her mare lurched forward, Emma coaxed her into a run, rushing a trail out behind them a mile wide. Come hell or high water, she would find Polly.

[Blaze Gamma]

It wasn't as if the man now laying in the dirt outside of the saloon were a bad person. By anyone's definition, he could be called a layabout, a moocher, or just plain unsavory, but certainly not a bad person. The best word that could be used to describe him was a drunk. The reason he found himself lying in the dirt was because he was penniless, and was not able to pay the bar tab he'd accrued the night before. He wasn't even sure how long he'd been there. All he knew was that the sun was scorching, and that he had a hangover that could slay even the mightiest of outlaws. This combination was the reason he continued to lie in the dirt, rather than to get up and do anything.

Mind, a man such as him should not have had a reason to be penniless. His now red soil caked clothes were those of a person who was well off. His vest, worn over, what was hours ago, a pristine white gentleman's blouse, was tailored to his form, in fact, all his clothing was that of aristocracy. All of it was made from expensive materials, and put together in the Queen's own country. Even the silver watch in his vest pocket was a sign of a well to do man. It was a gift from his uncle, a higher up within the Western Pacific Railroad Company, and it bore an engraving of the driving of the Last Spike, for which his uncle had been present.

This did not matter much, though, as the uncle had disowned the young man all too recently for his uselessness and his drinking habits. He groaned a little. The heat was starting to become unbearable, and he needed to get out of it. He also needed to find some quick cash, which would be very difficult for a young man with no discernible skills. Ever so slowly, he sat up and got himself off the ground, brushing off the red clay soil.

"Well, Miles..." He mumbled to himself, looking around for someone who looked well off enough that he could attach himself to for the time being. "You've really got yourself into a mess now..." He groaned, rubbing his temples. It was going to be a long day.

[Beth Harrison]

The mare's hooves beat on the ground, kicking up a billowing cloud of dust that stretched out as far as the wind would allow. Not that there was much in the way of wind, there never really way out in the desert. Santa Fe lie behind Emma, and she was driving on for Tucson. There would be an outpost of Marshall's in the slightly larger town, and perhaps she could pay someone to come into the desert and help her search.

As Tucson loomed ahead, Emma pulled up the reigns around her horses's neck. The mare whinnied, stamping her feet into the ground at the abrupt change of pace. Old shoes clopped and clicked on the stone streets. Compared to what Santa Fe was becoming, Tucson was a dilapidated ruin. Emma rode past simple brick buildings and a few of the native adobe huts that served as houses. There was a. Livery, and a Marshall station situated not too far from a large brick building that served as a saloon. The wooden doors swung outward and Emma did not miss the man who fell backwards out of them. She imagined that if she got close enough, he would have reeked of booze and probably tobacco. Casting her eyes down as she rode past, Emma pulled her mare to a stop just outside of the law office. Dismounting gracefully, she smoothed out her skirts and adjusted her hat on her head. With a small bit of coin in her pocket, Emma strode in to the building, fully expecting to get what she was seeking.

Not to her surprise, the man wearing the US Marshall badge was nothing more than a geriatric drunk well past his prime. It seemed that no one of worth wanted to have anything to do with this God forsaken part of the country. Coughing, the man sat up and adjusted the badge that was perched on his vest. Leaning forward, cloudy eyes peered over scratched spectacles almost disapprovingly. "Is there something I can help you with! young last?" His voice was parched like someone who was well past dehydration, just another fact of life in the dusty West.

Settling a couple of silver coins on the desk, Emma narrowed her dark eyes warningly "I need a man, someone who knows the desert. I don't care if it's a native or the village drunk. I'll pay handsomely for someone who isn't a Marshall, seeing as how none of those in your noble branch of government have kept even a single promise they had made to me," The insult was far from subtle, as she waited for the man to comply.