Avatar of BingTheWing
  • Last Seen: 12 mos ago
  • Joined: 10 yrs ago
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    1. BingTheWing 10 yrs ago
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6 yrs ago
Sometimes I don’t feel like writing but then I look at the rest of these forums and realize they’re dead af so I can’t be dead af either
2 likes
7 yrs ago
I am tired and very stressed - I will probably not be able to push out any replies for some time.
7 yrs ago
Will be away for three days - near to absolutely no internet. I'm afraid.
1 like
7 yrs ago
I swear to God all the icons on the page turned into emojis for a moment...
7 yrs ago
I think I’m starting to be known on the guild as the guy who expresses interest in RPs but never joins
1 like

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Most Recent Posts

"Hey mister! Stick 'em up!"

For most of the trip, Taylor had kept his silence. Barnabus Johnson. Bounty hunter. That was all anyone else in the party was to know of him. After a while he had gotten to know the names of the others: Billy, Finney, Big Knife/Mistycow/Mistheekou/whatever (he was never very good at Indian names and never bothered to get better), and Sergio. He was going on a train ride with a bunch of strangers, leaving the gold behind at Sweetwater, to escort some big-ass mining contraption for a couple of dollars. All he had on him was his repeater, Buck and Belle, and a bag full of rations and some spare traveling things. All that time away from the gang had really fried his brains. Oh, well. He knew the drill. Keep quiet. Stay alert. And be ready to shoot your way out of this fools' errand if you had to.

Oh, if only that applied to small children.

"Git off me, kid." He crudely slapped the toy gun from the boy's hand. "Scram, before I eat ya!"
I'm fine with skipping ahead to morning, though I'll see what everyone else thinks.
For the last few minutes, Taylor had been silently composing himself in the back of the room, taking a long sip of the whiskey he had been given and smoking a cigar from a box he had found on the floor. Shit, shit, shit, shit. However hard he tried to leave the outlaw life, even for a night, it somehow always found a way to come back to him.

He now had enough time to observe the other people in the "party". The huge black man definitely had combat experience, and would probably not be afraid to use it on him if he revealed his own history. He wasn't entirely sure what the Boston kid was doing here. The Indian said words that he wasn't familiar with - was he even from the United States at all? He remembered an Indian from Canada that sounded just like him. There was also another person, Sergio, that seemed to be of the same "kind" of person that he was.

He had hoped the job would have paid somewhat more, but hey, money was money. He had only one thing to say:

"Alright, but-" He pointed to Finney. "What's the kid doing here? Are you gonna pay him too? Feller looks like he needs to avoid stiff breezes."
interested.
@Eviledd1984 That would be quite helpful for me, yeah, I'll wait on everyone else though

Hey, also uh... I don't know what Taylor should be doing 😅 he'd probably just take the drink and follow everyone else without a word, y'all can continue without him for now
@Kelewen@BigPapaBelial Was that reply too late? I wanted to give everyone a chance to post first, though it seems that I should have sorted out Taylor's combat situation earlier... basically, he slashed a thug's eye, he got manhandled by another one, then Mistikhoman tomahawked said one-eyed guy in the back, allowing the manhandling thug to let Taylor break free out of shock. Huh, overall he wasn't very useful in this fight ://

@Landain You may have to edit your recent post? I'm not sure about who you think is grabbing Mistikhoman.
The one-eyed thug yelped in abject pain as the tomahawk gave a resounding thump as it pierced his fleshy back. The man grappling Taylor in place let go for a split second, allowing Taylor to break free and dive for the tomahawk. As he whirled around to prepare to give his attacker a face full of axe, he suddenly noticed him and all of the thugs with him fleeing the bar. A few seconds later, another thug shoves Mistikhoman into him, evidently buying time in making his escape. Then he finally understood why: the pale-faced Boston dandy he was gaming with earlier had somehow managed to knock out Logan with a bottle. Truly, Taylor pondered, the most unassuming of people often end up doing the things most unexpected of them. He attempted to hand the tomahawk back to the Native with the smallest of grins.

"Man, your kind can really fight, can't you? Let's string up this bastard while we're at it."
As the thug tipped over Taylor’s chair, he instinctively rolled back into an upwards stance, slashing his attacker’s eye in the process and eliciting a howl of pain from the six foot three brick wall of a man.

Taylor whirled around to take stock of his surroundings, but another thug was faster and tackled him to the ground, causing him to lose his knife. For several seconds they both grappled and crushed each other on the floor in a sort of primitive, manic dash of adrenaline, while the now one-eyed thug nursed his wounds in the corner of the room. Suddenly, the thug he was in combat with headbutted his forehead, causing him to momentarily black out. In a fit of disorientation, the thug was able to get him in an arm lock, putting him into position for his angry and now one-eyed friend to beat up.

Taylor looked across the room, and marveled in silent horror at the Indian whirling his tomahawk and shouting what he assumed were slurs in his native language at Logan. Christ, the bastard and his kind could fight.

“Uh... hey! Hey, redskin!” Taylor squirmed in his captor’s arms as the hulking cyclops crept closer towards him. “Could use a little help here!”
Hi I'm really sorry for posting late!
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