Tybalt Capulet

Retribution [The Legend of Colt Clementine]

Agreed! It was wonky for a while. I'm working on my post, though, so no fear! I also got back to work on the second book of my series!

Retribution [The Legend of Colt Clementine]

Wow! That's quite a post! I love her introspection and doubtfulness, it really builds up her image as a careful character, and her morality and age keep being called into question. Really, really well done!

Retribution [The Legend of Colt Clementine]

No worries! Whenever is convenient for ya!

Retribution [The Legend of Colt Clementine]

For all that the handshake may have meant to Kate, to Reuben, it was far less. That wasn't to say that he didn't appreciate it; it signified the start of a partnership, and the hand itself was also surprisingly smooth, wrapped up in his own. That concerned him, frankly. If this girl, fearsome though she was, had such soft hands, it hinted at the potential for softness elsewhere. Reuben had agreed to help her in her quest for vengeance, but he'd be damned if he was going to drag a prim little girl through the roughs. The West was known for its wildness, but on the trail, living in the elements... they could test even the toughest. From fending off coyotes to roving bandits, it was a wilderness that allowed for the worst of mankind to flourish.

No need to rush? He could deal with that. He'd paid good money for that whore. It wouldn't do to waste the time he'd bought. The extra time would give him a chance to get his things together, too. He'd stayed in enough rooms here that it could take a good long while.

Something rubbed him wrong as he withdrew his hand. He had trouble nailing it down, until Kate repeated herself. Her voice was shaking a bit... either she was ready for vengeance, and couldn't wait for it, or she really was a normal person, with emotions and all that shit. He looked her up and down again, this time with less restrained lust, and more curiosity. How old was the girl? She talked like a full-blown deputy, but she was soft and small, like a youth. If he had to guess, he'd peg her at fifteen or so. Certainly too young for him to be looking at her the way he had been. He chided himself, but didn't worry about it too much. He was drunk, he could be excused some indiscretions.

As the girl welcomed him "back to life," he realized something startling. If he really went through with this, Luckshot was indeed back. Somehow, though he'd fought for so long to leave that reputation behind, he didn't mind too terribly to be stepping back into those boots. It'd been too long, he now realized. Perhaps he was getting older, but Luckshot was a part of him, sure as his Comanche heritage and knack for being in the wrong place at the right time.

"Yeah... thanks for that." He didn't know what else to say. This girl kept surprising him, kept being more than she seemed, even as he adjusted his opinions accordingly. "Dawn is agreeable to me. If you aren't ready by then, though, forget it. If I'm Luckshot now, my time is worth plenty." He pushed the chair to one side, looking away suddenly as the girl smiled, smiled with such intensity that he was forced once more to redirect his thoughts. You're a dirty old man, Reuben. She's half your age, probably even less. Keep it in your pants.

The door closed more quietly than seemed fitting, and he realized he'd left his bottle behind. That was all right by him. He'd had enough in the last few days, and it might do the girl some good to have a couple swallows in her. Might loosen her up a bit, make her smile like that again. Damn, she had quite a smile.

Reuben was met with a contrast to the youthful, vibrant personality of Kate as he opened his door once more. In comparison to Kate, the whore he'd hired, whose name escaped him completely, just seemed... sad. Her breasts sagged like pendulums, her skin was just a bit too loose, and the makeup was far from enough to cover the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. The scent of stale booze didn't help either.

He had to give her credit for her willingness, as she dropped to her knees before him, pawing at his belt as though wishing to skip any middleman and take his gold as quickly as possible. Normally he would have given in, taken his money's worth, but the contrast was too much. He pushed the woman away, sending her from his room with but a few terse words. He didn't want to explain his emotions, and he would be better able to prepare for the journey without the old bag filling up the space. She left with a grumble, but left all the same, and in the quiet room, Reuben became Luckshot Caerwynn.

First, he trimmed his beard to a neat, short stubble. He washed his face and hair, then went about dressing once more. The clothes he'd been in were all but ruined, stained nearly beyond repair. Fortunately, he had a clean shirt in a drawer, and after pulling it and a patched, but serviceable pair of trousers on, he tucked his derringer into his breast pocket holster. Next was a thick leather belt, tooled with weaving lines, like a snake's trail on the sand. From that hung a holster and a sheath; the first for his pistol, the last for his bowie knife. The shotgun hung from a leather strap, to be slung over one shoulder once he was actually ready to go.

One final check in the mirror, and he was satisfied. He pulled on the heavy buckskin overcoat, his shield against knives and inclimate weather alike, and finally topped it all off with his turquoise-beaded hat. That'd have to do.

Dressed this way, his shotgun leaned against the bed, he lay back, hat tipped over his face, and caught a few hours of sleep, before his internal clock forced him awake.

The sun hadn't yet begun to rise when Reuben crept quietly down the stairs to the stable. He had his shotgun slung over his shoulder, and was pleased to see that his horse, a paint-patterned mare he'd picked up a couple of years back.

"Hey, girl..." He murmured the words softly, rubbing the horse's neck, his voice totally devoid of its usual gruffness. "Sorry I haven't made it down here in a while. Been right busy drinkin' myself to death. You know how it is. But it looks like we'll have some work now, so you'll be gettin' some exercise. 'Bout time, too." He fed the creature a handful of oats, then gave it one more pat on the neck for good measure. He looked up at the horizon, determined to head out whether or not the girl showed up. If she did, he had a job. If not... well, he'd been in this town too long anyway. It'd do him good to have a trip, even a brief one.

Retribution [The Legend of Colt Clementine]

Thank you! I really put some effort into that one, trying to make use of the space. I'm excited for them to head out on their adventure!

Retribution [The Legend of Colt Clementine]

The young woman-- Kate, as she introduced herself-- kept getting more intriguing. She was forthright, open, and yet simultaneously beguiling. Every action felt intentional, directed to create a different image of herself in his lowly-sobering eyes. The way she held the bottle, for example, rocking it slowly but actively against the meeting of her crotch was nothing if not suggestive. It drew his eyes, against his will. He chided himself for his improper focusing, but then changed his mind, letting his eyes wander over her appearance freely.

She was really quite an attractive little thing. She had clearly been through quite a bit, but instead of crumbling like stone, she had hardened like iron tempered in a forge. Her face wasn't old enough to be terribly wrinkled, but it did have some of the hardness that might be expected in an older woman. Somehow, as he examined her, the enormous pistol she had rested against her thigh seemed to fit her more and more. No wonder people called her by the gun's name, it seemed like an extension of her personality: menacing yet beautiful, cold yet observant. She carried the weapon as openly as she did her past, revealing it without hesitation when the moment demanded it. In every way possible, she was a far cry from the demure little housewives and tired, uninterested whores he had experience with. In a life filled with death, this girl was filled with vibrant life.

Somehow, through an enormous exertion of willpower, Reuben tore his eyes from the enticing figure before him. The bottle kept moving suggestively against her, but he dragged his unwilling eyes to her face, as she spoke once more, interrupted only momentarily by the sound of gunfire below them.

"Manning... Yeah, I've heard of the bastard. He's a particularly nasty fellow, from what I've been told." He was startled by the girl's wink more than the sound of the gunshot. Somehow it seemed more immediately threatening to him. He went quiet as Kate began recounting the horrific circumstances that had led to her search for vengeance.

He didn't have a response to the harrowing tale brought before him. He let out his breath slowly as she finished, her cheeks remarkably free of tears after the recounting. Her eyes seemed hard, at odds with the levity with which she spoke. This tale was clearly one on which she had dwelled significantly. He couldn't place by her age exactly how long ago it would have happened, but she had certainly suffered the effects for long enough that it had reshaped her entire worldview into something grim and humorless. It was remarkable that she was able to maintain such a strong front with something like that shadowing her. He shivered internally. He'd hate to be the man that did this one wrong. She seemed more than capable of fulfilling the threats she spat with vengeance and acidity.

Leaning forward somewhat in his seat, Reuben regarded the young woman carefully, scratching his chin contemplatively as he spoke. "I see. You were done wrong by these men, terribly wrong, and you want to be the one who exacts your revenge on them. A bit of vigilante justice, eh?" He smiled despite himself. Yes... this he could get behind. No good showing his hand so early, but the idea had a remarkable appeal.

As Kate finished off a sip of the drink, he adjusted his seating once more, though the reason was different. There was something enticing about seeing her drink from a bottle that had been so tightly nestled in the crook between her legs. He chided himself for thinking such, but made no effort to look away from the sight, accepting the bottle and downing a hearty swallow himself before setting it aside once more.

"Well. I'm not sure how t' take your callin' out of my heritage. I know plenty of men with indian blood who can't track worth shit. I'm not one of those men, luckily for you. I couldn't tell you if it's my Comanche grandmother or just a talent for it, but I imagine I would be mighty useful to someone like you." He smiled, though it didn't meet his eyes. "I wouldn't dare lie to you and say that your quest doesn't sound as worthy as any I've heard of. Retribution... yes, I admit, I like the sound of that." He slowly, carefully rose from the chair, tugging his trousers up a bit as he did. Fortunately, the pistol was still on the bed, rather than in the fearsome young woman's capable hand.

"I have some things to fetch from the stable first, and there is, of course, the matter of payment for my participation, but dammit..." He trailed off, a light coming into his eyes that gave him the look of someone years younger. "Yes, god damn it, I'll do it." He extended one callused hand before him to shake that of the girl's. "Kate Clementine, let's see about gettin' you some fuckin' retribution."

Original Story: Three Bullets Of One's Love { Tybalt & Angel }

Whatever expectations Owen had held about the sharpshooting legend were banished almost immediately. Annie Oakley seemed humble, down-to-earth, and even a bit casual about her notoriety. It was a pleasant surprise, to say the very least, and at the offer of an answer to whatever question he might have, he found himself considering carefully, not wanting to waste such a valuable chance to speak with the legend.

"Oh, well, if you're taking questions, then I suppose I'm a bit curious as to what you're doing in town. I mean, there hasn't been a circus or show like that in a good while, from what I've been told, at least." He tapped his fingers on the bar nervously as he added "To be honest, my sister and I actually just rode in today ourselves. We haven't much idea of the tone of the place; for all we know they have circuses every day."

Fawn shook her head helplessly at her brother's fumbling. "I'll take it from here." She patted him on the shoulder, tugging at the hem of her vest to adjust the fit slightly. "Owen here just wants to know what brought a lovely young thing like you to a ramshackle town like this one." She failed to mention the fact that she was no older than the young woman. "We're just taking advantage of the town's local facilities before moving on. We're drifters, more than anything else. Most towns don't take kindly to that, 'specially when one of the drifters is half-Cherokee, but we take what we can get. We'll more likely than not be staying here, maybe a couple of days, then back to the trail. Such is life, right? How about you? You here for long?" She downed her drink, slamming the glass back on the bar with no regard for the survival of the item or even the bar itself.

Retribution [The Legend of Colt Clementine]

You set the tone in this post so well! Every action that your character takes seems like it has a purpose, and it builds beautifully. I must have read it three times before I started writing on mine.

Retribution [The Legend of Colt Clementine]

Though initially his tipsiness and well-founded self-confidence prevented Reuben from feeling any fear at the gun held by the small young woman, the feel of the cold steel barrel against his nether regions quickly snapped him back to reality. Petite or not, young or not, this young woman had a gun at his tool, and the odds weren't bad that she was willing to use it, at that. He realized in that moment that he had been taking this with far less seriousness than he should have been. Apparently she was right: alcohol had numbed his sense of self-preservation.

Holding his hands out before himself protectively, he stepped back half a pace, then did as he was told. It didn't sit right with him, being ordered around, but a gun is a gun. Best to play along... for the moment, at least.

With a hand on the chair's back to steady himself, he eased down into the seat carefully, trying not to make any sudden moves. "You're a right firebrand, so you are. Take care you don't burn yourself." As he sat, he added "No need for any of this unpleasantness. I'm certain that a couple of rational, reasonable people like you and I could come to some sorta non-violent-type agreement, now wouldn't you agree?"

"You... wanted my name, correct?" He was hesitant to give it out so easily. He was a bit protective of his identity, though, of course, he was a good bit more protective of the region threatened by the Colt. "My name is Reuben Caerwynn, called Luckshot by some, though not so much anymore." He chuckled to himself, with a dark, self-loathing humor. "Back in the day I was quite the character. They wrote dime novels about me, did you know that? It wasn't even more than a couple years ago that my name made blackhats shake in their damn boots." He spoke without a hint of pride, as though he were resigned to the fact that he would be easily recognized, but had tried to put such things behind him.

"And you? I heard a bit o' what you were splutterin' downstairs, but I can't say I caught your name. Only seems fair, since I told you mine and shared my drink. Hell, all you've done for me is kept me from a damn unpleasant whore and pointed a gun at my nethers. Now, either let me get back to my business, or see about explainin' yourself."

Original Story: Three Bullets Of One's Love { Tybalt & Angel }

As was often the case, Fawn was the first to notice a newcomer. Even so, she didn't pay much mind to the girl, at least at first. Not until, that is, Owen also caught a glance of her over the rim of his glass of gin.

Nudging his sister and whispering sharply, he hissed "Fawn! That's Annie Oakley! The sharpshooter, the one from the circuses and all that!" He shot another quick glance at the gunslinger, somewhat in awe. He'd heard tales of her, some probably true, some which couldn't possibly be. Sure, she could probably kill a cricket at forty yards, on a good day. Everyone had their talents. But the idea that she had out-ridden Yellow Horse, or that she could hold her hand above flames without feeling the pain of their tongues... well, some things just couldn't be so.

Fawn was less in awe. Turning immediately, she stood and moved a couple stools down, next to the famed sharpshooter. She motioned for Owen to do the same, and with a moment of hesitation, she did. Extending a hand roughened somewhat by a life of hunting and tracking, she introduced herself.

"Fawn Farrow. And you're Miss Oakley, if I'm not mistaken, isn't that right? It's a pleasure." She motioned behind her. "The fellow over there trying to look all suave is Owen, my brother." She looked carefully at Annie for a moment, reading her expression as well as she could, while taking a swig from her glass. People usually assumed they weren't related, and the questions of that nature had begun to wear on her after years of it.

Owen looked rather unsure of himself, his hand still near the split of his vest, ready to go for his Derringer at a moment's notice. He felt jumpy, despite the relaxed atmosphere of the saloon. He'd been out in the wild for too long, perhaps. Even so, he nodded his agreement with Fawn's words, waving his hand casually to the legend seated a few stools away.