Snippet #2763439

Frey was coming in. People were coming out. The crowds dispersed haphazardly as they funneled out of the gate, bodies shouldering past one another into the open dunes to see what all the commotion was. Not that it mattered to her. She needed something to eat, something to drink, and somewhere to rest. Pulling her baggage up into the wall, she sat down under the shade for a moment of rest. It was a wooden box, a bit longer than it was tall. An airtight box, no less - a strip of metal was fastened around the length of the lid with no visible way to remove it. This was no accident. This was only something that she, or another Naraat phoenix - could pry open. Though, wood is wood. It wouldn't take much to just break the damn thing.

But right now, the more pressing concern was money; she was flat broke. It might be possible to make something back if she pawned off some of her junk, but survival wasn't just food and water - a single knife can be all that stands between you and death out in the wild. Stealing and banditry were always on the table, but the problem was. . .

Frey scowled as she looked down at her box. She couldn't just let this thing sit around unattended or some dumbass is gonna make off with it. Where the hell am I gonna put this thing? Leaning out from behind the wall, she squinted for a cursory look around the streets. The answer came sooner than expected, in the form of stacked hay.

The stable it is.

***

"I'm the sheriff, I'm the sheriff, I'm the sheriff," sang a man who was definitely not the sheriff. With spurred boots propped up on the desk he sat in the sheriff's chair, with the sheriff's hat, spinning the sheriff's gun. Closing one eye, he cocked the hammer back and pointed it at the empty doorway.

"Ooh-oh-oh, I'm the sheriff-"

"SHERIFF!" cried a familiar voice as a man burst through the doors.

"Oh, fuck-!" Deputy Bayte's finger slipped and the gun went POP as he flailed chaotically out of his chair and crashed into the hardwood floor. There was a moment of silence as his hand slowly reached up, trembling, before gripping the edge of the desk and pulling himself halfway up to meet face to face with his ol' partner, Tackel. "What in the goddamn. . ."

Taking a moment to fix his skewed ten gallon hat, his head quickly swiveled around to make sure no one else was witness to his tomfoolery. Thankfully, there was only a hole in the door, instead of his buddy.

"T-man! What's the big idea? The sheriff's out right now, he's in the can!" Bayte said as he hurriedly lifted the chair back to its original position and put both the gun and hat back. "I was just, uh, watching his post in the meantime," he continued, attempting to stealthily grab some of the marijuana he left on the counter and stuffing it messily into his pocket.