The Gunslinger: Ye Old Saloon

Ye Old Saloon
Participants: The Heart Breaker, The Gunslinger, The Reaper, and Ranakia Lorain.

The saloon was bustling with thieves, pimps, hunters, and druggies, but it was the hunters that occupied about every table in the joint for there had been a rumor that a certain gunslinger was hiding there. Waitresses were waiting carefully on the roughneck guests, tensing at every moment their hands would move anywhere but the table and keeping their cheeks tight in case a hard slap was to ever meet their bottom. The entertainer was keeping the place alive with hasty tunes on the piano, and the bartender was keeping the crowd tranquil with whiskey. I don’t know how much more these kegs are going to take the bartender mused. He stood before the three kegs with a cloth in a glass. His white undershirt was tucked inside black trousers, and a gray vest was buttoned at his abdomen. “That damn gunslinger trying to make me lose my business,” the bartender grumbled. His gray, fuzzy brows furrowed over his dark eyes before they were sealed behind his eyelids. He turned to face the crowd, and opened his eyes to see a group of young women waving for some service. He was okay with sending his best maid to serve some women for it was the men he was wary of. Cassie had been a fine waitress before she was abducted. It had been so many years since he had last seen her that he was certain he would never see her again. “Ms. Malice, you got yourself some customers on the far end,” the bartender called.

At the far table sat three young women. One of the women was wearing a tight denim top with the sleeves torn off. Her eyes were veiled behind dark shades and her pink and glossy lips were full and pouty as she leaned against the table. Her arms were crossed beneath her ample bosom that hung like weights over her forearms. Her short jeans were firm and low upon her hour-glass hips, revealing the red, stringy thong that was snug within her crevices. She crossed her brown-sugar thighs beneath the table, her copper boots studded with rhinestones that glittered in what light peeked under. “Well ladies, looks like we aren’t the only ones looking this time,” spoke the vixen. The magnificent woman could only be the Lady herself.

The blonde across from her pouted and her brows turned upward in worry. “I had no idea his guns were this wanted. I think I’m feeling trendy.” Her name was Sugar, and with her trademark, sky-blue attire, she was known to be the sweetest gunslinger—if it all wasn't a false façade; but her twin sister Ginger, made up for it. The story goes that their personalities were split the moment they left the womb. One was born naughty, and the other nice as nature often intended.

Ginger smiled deviously before she rested her chin in her hand. “We’ll just have to be first,” she said before she thrust out her pierced tongue to wiggle it at the gunmen that were eying Lady’s bottom. They seemed to be the candy of the bunch. She glanced around the bar. All the gunslinger celebrities were there. Everyone that is, but the infamous Velvet Revolver. It made her wonder what that pretty man had planned, or if he would show up at all.

The notes sounded almost hollow while each nervous finger struck the ivory colored keys, sending out a slightly off tuned falsely-cheerful theme. Each sound intermixed in the air with thick cigarette smoke and the smell of cheap whiskey, almost overpowering to the senses.

Its tables almost completely filled, the saloon had become a barracks before some great battle, a rather sad situation, as if all of humanity was not above this simple moment of greed.

“The Fool,” a soft voice, feminine and slightly high pitched in its own curious fashion, declared as the card’s number showed to be the third of aces.

The owner of the voice had a face that, for at least the moment, mimicked closely the sad smile of the card before her, “The Fool.” A jester clad in red and black who seemed to be smiling at some distant memory long gone, never to return again. Tears were intermixed with the white face, making the card disturbing in its own right.

Those same sad smiling lips of a tanned pinkish color were pursed slightly now, as if winning was only a secondary thing. In her beautiful green, mirror-like eyes, one would see the reflection of “The Fool” and the coins upon the table, which several of them were pushed forward in some kind of peace offering, buying her fellows at the table a drink with a depressed feeling about her.

The creaking saloon chair seemed to be covered by some long, dark red and black, coat hanging over it, almost completely hiding its occupant in with its weather torn body, dusting the floor with its “Legs”.

However, upon closer inspection, a head of weathered hair of crimson would be resting, looking down at the table as if sleeping. Cat-like ears of black seemed to droop some, like a pet who had been scolded often, and lived with shame, and a ribbon was around one of them, like some cute bow that the youngest of a family would have put in their hair.

The figure in the chair stood now, stretching the lithe powerful arms revealed from this oddly feline-like movement, each bit of the movement showing ease, like it was some kind of graceful dance practiced every waking moment. Her chest sunk slightly as she sighed with movement, her blackened outfit showing off the lovely womanly curves combined with a well toned build. Yet none reached out to touch her, as one could see the fairly large weapon at her side, a three barreled monster that moved ever so slightly as she did.

Traveling up her bust one could see the face in full detail, lightly tanned and cat-like, with a kind face as a whole, not of some deadly gunslinger or hunter. She seemed so out of place here, like some traveler who had taken the scenic route and ended up in another country.


Her emerald eyes searched the room, and she found herself staring. Three beautiful figures, twins and a woman of rather provocative appearance were together in this instance, one particularly stood out as she wiggled her tongue at a group of men who were staring very intently at the woman, the light glittering off one of the twin’s studded tongue and the provocative woman boots.

For a mere instance, it looked as if she desired to walk over, but as a forth began moving over there, a barmaid who was stunning in her own unique way with her black and green corset, she sat back down, with a sad look and the others at the table teased her slightly. “Scaredy cat.”

The feline-like eyes locked with the one who had spoken, who looked away shortly after. It was clear that he was dealing with someone who had pride, a very dangerous thing to insult in a tavern brawl. If it was hot headed anger, he probably would have laughed it away... but there is something about the feline that challenged anyone to make fun of her.

“Sorry Ranakia, didn’ mean nothin’ by it.” He said, shuffling the deck of cards and breathing a sigh of relief when the woman began to shuffle her own, a good natured smile on her lips that said, “Its ok.” Without even uttering a word.