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Unforgivable (Western/Steampunk)

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Re: Unforgivable (Western/Steampunk)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Smokescreen on Tue Dec 18, 2007 1:17 am

Shaw marveled at the woman’s domestic prowess. Say what you will about small town women they do know how to tend a person. The food looked almost like a vision of heaven. It had been days since he had eaten and months since a proper meal. Tin rations had been a staple for long duty assignments and this plate of mess in front of him made his stomach gurgle like a strangled hooker. King mumbled a thanks and started to eat. He took a swig of beer and almost spat it out when she told him he needed another gem to retain her services. This woman was not a small-town cretin, swayed by rope tricks and legerdemain. She had that intelligence one found in the lower classes, the most dangerous kind.

He had trinkets that he could sell, jewelry mostly that he scalped off the dead and some coin but Shaw wanted to take that to a real town, where they did not take bartered crap for meager meals and gritty beer. Captain Shaw wiped his mouth and exhaled. After a brief interjection with the two dueling angry men, the woman went to sit with another female probably part of the local sewing circle that gossips on about farms and who wore red to the box social. Women were catty anywhere but in small towns they were professionals. Shaw left his food and beer and went over to the seated women.

The man clicked his heels and bowed to the patroness, then the younger woman. “Captain King Shaw, thirty third cavalry. Quite sorry for the interruption, miss I’ll be done talking with your sister in just a moment.” He turned to the older woman and smiled. “Madam, I am sure I might be able to rustle up another gem for you, maybe even silver plates for some information in regards to exiting this town westbound and something to occupy me in the meantime. Mind you this is a civil free exchange, I would hate to be in the mess that dark-hued fellow is in. The sheriff is your kin I take it?”
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Re: Unforgivable (Western/Steampunk)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Angel_Melfina on Tue Dec 18, 2007 11:16 am

I can't breath, I can't breath...she thought. With every breath she took, she felt as if her insides were going to crumble. Microscopic flecs of sand and dirt found their way into her mouth, her nose, her throat. She felt as if it was all slowly eating away at her insides. She hadn't had water in two days since she had jumped from the coach. That horrible coach...those horrible people...

For the past year, she had been living with an old man...a wretched old man. On her 14th birthday, the man had arrived at her home, dressed in an expensive black suit, top hat and everything. He conned her mother into letting him in to congratulate her on her birthday. Her mother knew who he was, and she still let him in. She still let him...

Tolsen fell to her knees sobbing, unable to move anymore. Dirt stuck to her damp cheeks and crumbled away as she put her hands to her face. She could barely hold her eyes open. Right now, they just served as another orafice to let sand in, eating away at her further. Her hands might give her temporary relief, but she'd have to get up again. There had to be a town somewhere around here...Where the hell is it?? She had heard stories, and knew the coach was passing it, but she couldn't find it.

The wind began to blow harder, the sand acting like tiny little shards of glass against her pale skin. Tols covered her mouth and took a deep breath, trying not to inhale anymore sand. She forced herself to her feet and took a few more steps before seeing something in the distance. With this new sight, she gained enough energy to push the pain coursing through her body to the back of her mind. Maybe she had finally found it....
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Re: Unforgivable (Western/Steampunk)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Zhelir Darkfall on Wed Dec 19, 2007 5:58 am

The Dark Man smirked, slowly reholstering his revolver. He smirked one last time at the lawman before taking his beer from the wench. He rose to his feet, using his free hand to shake his coat back into place -- one last fleeting show of contempt for the pair -- before turning back to the bar. He once more slid into his barstool, tilting back the bottle and emptying its contents in one rapid go.

Setting the bottle down on the bartop, he shook his head, thinking back once more to the trek through the desert. God, how nice a beer would've been through those two long, hellish days. Something, anything, that would have taken his mind off the heat and the hunger and the thirst and the weariness. Now, however, it wasn't doing much for him, or at least not the one in itself. It was really harming him more than anything; it was the one reason he was still here, still tolerating this ignorant, moronic people.

"I'll take another beer, and hold your puppy's leash this time."

If there was one invariable rule he'd learned in his wanderings, it was this: When it can't get any worse, get drunk.
STAVE: Commala-come-ki,
There's a time to live and one to die.
With your back against the final wall
Ya gotta let the bullets fly.

RESPONSE: Commala-come-ki!
Let the bullets fly!
Don't 'ee mourn for me, my lads
When it comes my day to die.

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Re: Unforgivable (Western/Steampunk)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby quidhala on Wed Dec 19, 2007 2:58 pm

Walking down the shallow gully in the dark from his home to the End of the Road tavern he stumbled over a rough patch of ground twisting his ankle painfully. Rig’s linen wrap and red tinted goggles shielded him from the small projectiles of sand and dust, but the wind was so powerful it had almost knocked him over when he’d miss stepped. This had always been one of the problems of his deformity and he cursed his clumsy large feet.

“Come ‘ere you junker!”

He ordered Gyre to stand near so that he could steady himself. Rig could hear the arrhythmic chink of small particles as they struck its metal carapace. His gloved hand reached out for the long metal arm and held firm as they continued walking. They cut quite a comical figure, a shrouded toddler escorted by a giant metallic robot. Gimble was being left at home, as a sort of punishment, though it could not comprehend punishment.

The wind was stronger out in the open away from the rises and brush and Rig leaned into it sideways as he was led by his electronic servant. He could see Mrs. Becker’s roadhouse through a veil of flying debris. The goggles illuminated the entire area, making it clearer than day and gauged the building at 113.154 meters away. It was a rough slow walk until he reached the lea side of the building and could once again walk unassisted. He released Gyre’s arm and rounded the building approaching the front steps when he heard Gyre beep a proximity alert, followed by an alert for assistance behind him.

“Leave it BE! Gyre, come here!” Rig said grouchily as he turned his head, but the infernal machine just kept beeping redundantly and refused to move to his side. He turned fully and stepped next to the tall automaton as it extended one arm pointing into the distance. Following the vector of the arm Rig stared into the distance. He raised his hand to the small buttons on the side of the goggles and they zoomed in x2 magnification. He could discern nothing, so he adjusted to x5 and he could just make out the shape of a person kneeling on the ground through some grass and brush. 238.012 meters the goggles read. He stepped to the side to get a better view and could see clearly it was a young girl he had never seen in town before. She looked up and stared then began slowly to struggle to her feet. Though he was always guarded around strangers, she looked to be in a dreadful state and could not possibly pose a threat to him. The wretched sight of her plucked his withered heart string, which was as unused as a whore’s panties.

In a rare departure from his usual self consciousness about his stature he softly ordered Gyre, “Pick me up and carry me to her!”

Gyre advanced quickly and scooped up Rig into a sitting position on it’s powerful fore arm. Rig let out a grunt of complaint as the hard steel whacked his hindquarters and latched securely onto the arm. “Not so ROUGH you great LUMMOX!” he blurted shakily as he was jolted by Gyres quick footsteps. Gyres feet dug deep into the sand with each step making a heavy noise. “CHOONK. CHOONK. CHOONK.”

As the giant steel robot and the tiny robed man charged towards the girl at high speed Rig called to her in as pleasant a voice as he was capable of, “DON’T BE ALARMED! WE ARE COMING TO HELP YOU!”

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Re: Unforgivable (Western/Steampunk)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby LordSaladin on Wed Dec 19, 2007 5:29 pm

Ah, food. No better food than from the kitchen of Margaret Becker; Charles was well aware of this, and as he placed his gun back inside the holster, he refrained from spitting on the floor of his wife's business place, knowing full well the repercussions of such an action. Charles did, however, grunt some expletive about "Varmit in me town, I won' allow i'".

He sat down at the table, looking at the water with slight disdain. A whiskey would have been better right now, but then that was why it was said that women were the better half of the species: They kept the males in order. For the sheriff to be seen, on duty, swigging any sort of liquor would be entirely unsuitable, regardless of how much he needed it. But, a fruit juice would have been nice.

Opening and closing his fist slowly, Charles winced, damn that had hurt and he was still none the wiser as to what he had actually punched. He was sure it was an arm, but never had Charles felt an arm that solid. Metallic, that wound was? It was perplexing.

"I'll take another beer, and hold your puppy's leash this time."

That damned stranger, he was going to get the blunt end of Charles' anger now.

Standing up with rage upon his face, Charles knocked the chair backwards, making an almost deafening clatter in the near silence created by the diplomacy of Margaret. For Charles, a man who was well known to have foul temper and powerful punch, never a good combination, it was always amazing how his wife could calm near any situation with a smile and sweet word. in his own mind, a swift right to the jaw solved things in an easier fashion. But then, most of the time, that was because any man Charles punched would a moment late be laid upon his back, unconscious.

Reaching down to his waist, to grab the gun in the holster, Charles suddenly stopped.

A deep, loud "CHOONK, CHOONK, CHOONK" could be heard, even above the sounds of the wind and sand hitting the building, suddenly, almost instantly in Charles' awareness, a loud voice bellowed.

“DON’T BE ALARMED! WE ARE COMING TO HELP YOU!”

Looking over at Margaret swiftly, Charles then rushed towards the door, not quite a run, but more of a swift walk, adeptly weaving between the chairs and tables.

"Wha' in tar-damn-nation?!"

His outburst would have filled the large lower room of the place, exclaimed as he moved quickly.

The day had started out a good one, save for the sandstorm, which wasn't something too irregular in this town, so was nothing of real import. And, with intentions of pending some time with his beautiful wife, Charles' day had been getting progressively worse. Silently, confined within the deepest echelons of his mind, Charles was screaming many an expletive. Some he doubted even Margaret knew. Damn that woman could curse when he got on the wrong side of her. Not a pretty site.

What the hell was that outside?
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Please tell me now what life is, Please tell me now what love is... Again, tell me what life is.

Tiko says: Saladin: Damn it, leave my hole alone.

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Re: Unforgivable (Western/Steampunk)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Angel_Melfina on Wed Dec 19, 2007 9:33 pm

The wind blew relentlessly, never ceasing in what seemed to be its goal of causing pain, discomfort and general agony. Tols took only baby steps in progressing towards what she thought might be a building. She was only able to supress a fraction of the pain coursing through her body. Her legs were not serving her well in these conditions, wobbling with every movement, threatening to throw her to the ground without warning once again.

She stopped suddenly when the small mounds of sand around and under her began to shake. Tols regretting stopping. Her legs took it upon themselves with this new opportunity to give out under her, throwing her knees to the sand once more. She winced in pain, letting out a rather loud whimper. The sound didn't even echo; it was swallowed up by the never ending storm around her. She closed her eyes while she was down; there was no use in trying to use them when she couldn't move. Her dress flapped about, seemingly with a mind of it's own. She grabbed a handful of it and pinned it to the sand, trying to hear what was causing the ground to quake beneath her.

Slowly opening her eyes to only a slit, she saw something moving to the right of the shape of the building. It seemed to be growing in size; it was coming towards her. She heard a muffled voice trying to fight it's way through the wind and sand, but it could not make the trek and still be deciphered. As the figure approached, it occured to Tols that it didn't even look human. She tilted her body forward and continued to squint her eyes, trying to get a solid figure out of what she was seeing. She wasn't sure how to react, but she knew that whatever it was, threatening or not, she had no where else to run, nor the ability to at the moment.

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Re: Unforgivable (Western/Steampunk)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby aeleon on Wed Dec 19, 2007 11:27 pm

Ursula was rather relieved to see Miss Margaret take control of the situation, and watched her intently, a small smile on her face developing as she admired the woman's attitude. She respectfully put her feet down flat on the floor, intertwining her slender, tanned fingers across the ornament her lap and waited with swollen lungs for the Margaret to sit by her. When she finally did, Ursula spoke as quickly and as purposefully as she could, without meaning to:

"Oh-Miss-Margaret-m'-sorry-I-didn'-finish-is-soonah-but-I-want'd-tuh-make-it-right-nice-for-yuh," she said, holding it across the table to the woman. "Thank-yuh-so-much-for-the---" She caught her breath when the stranger interrupted her, and looked up at him - strangely, without any anger, without any annoyance, simply with curiosity. Her sister? Ignorantly she reminded herself that Miss Margaret was, in fact, not her sister at all. But she didn't pipe up, she didn't like talking to strangers like these.
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Re: Unforgivable (Western/Steampunk)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby quidhala on Thu Dec 20, 2007 11:04 am

“CHOONK. CHOONK. CHOONK.”

Rig was jostled about and clinging for dear life as he rode the arm of the idiotic robot. “SLOW DOWN! You’ll lose me!” he growled, the words tumbling from his mouth like marbles. He was unable to focus his eyes on anything with the goggles zoomed in and he was getting nauseous.

Gyre relaxed its pace from a full run to a hasty walk, its torso gliding along smoothly while the legs churned below. Rig could now adjust himself and returned the goggles to zero magnification. He could finally look around and saw the girl was down again. She seemed incapable of getting up again as her limbs shook with exertion and then failed entirely. Her dress was whipping about her, a flag signaling rescue in the dark night weakly illuminated by a half moon, veiled by dust and sand. They were closer and he hoped the girl could hear him over the din of the gale. “DON’T BE ALARMED!” he repeated. “WE ARE COMING TO HELP!”

How had a child survived out here? She must have been lost in the wastes for days from the look of her. Where would she have come from? This town was isolated, no other settlements for well over a thousand kilometers. Nothing but an ocean of sand filled with ravenous horrors, savage tribes of marauders, and not forgetting what the wind and sand could do to a person out in the open. She was lucky. This was a balmy breeze compared to what the desert was capable of. What if she had made it this far, only to die here, too far gone to be saved? He couldn’t let that happen. They were very close now. “We’re coming to help!”

“Stop! Put me down!” he softly asked, disturbed by the inner workings of his mind. Gyre came as close to a dead stop as his inertia would allow without falling forward. Rig barely held on as they halted and was then lowered abruptly to the ground where he was placed on his feet. He stifled the urge to curse at the contraption, for the sake of the wretched girl lying on the ground. He did not want to upset her. Besides, it failed to offend Gyre and only served to fill his empty stomach with bile. He quickly stepped forward towards her. “We are here to help you.”

The closer he got the worse she looked. The girl was covered with dirt as if it were a second skin, muddy trails beneath her eyes where her tears drained the last precious moisture from her body. He saw several small cuts in her pale skin where the sand had torn into her. He didn’t know if she saw him as he stood above her. Her eyes were squinted to block out the sand.

The little shrouded shadow stood over her and unfastened his linen wrappings while the moon shined off of the metal giant standing motionless behind him. The wind caught the cloth and whipped it from his body. “Relax now.” he sighed as he lowered the cloth to try and cover her body. “I got'cha.”

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Re: Unforgivable (Western/Steampunk)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Angel_Melfina on Mon Dec 24, 2007 10:32 am

Tols heard voices again as she peered through her narrowly-squinted eyes at the figure approaching her. She could almost hear words this time. She turned her right ear towards the figure, wincing slightly at the sand that was now pelting at it from the new angle. She halted her breathing for just a moment to try and make something out, hearing faintly, "armed....help..." She didn't understand completely what it meant, but was unable to force herself up again. She just had no more energy left; all the energy she could muster up was used last time she stood up, and even that wasn't enough to take her more than a few steps.

The quickly growing figure was dark mostly, with an outline of light on it's left side, perhaps from the moon. It definately did not look human, but the faint voice sounded like it.

She closed her eyes for just a moment to let them rest. When she opened them, there was a dark figure in front of her. It was not reflecting light like the figure behind it. But how...my eyes were only closed for a moment...right? Tols lowered her head as the figure wrapped cloth around her, her dreary eyes closing. She could barely hold her head up any longer; it felt like a battle to do anything. Once she felt the cloth shielding her from the rough winds beating at her delicate body, she collapsed, her body totally drained of everything.

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Re: Unforgivable (Western/Steampunk)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby quidhala on Thu Dec 27, 2007 3:57 am

The sideways rain of sand struck against Rig’s back and ricocheted with tinny clinks off of Gyre’s steel body. Without his wrap the sand struck the back of his neck and head like tiny ant stings. He shrugged up the collar of his tweed coat to fend off the tiny missiles while he worked quickly. He lifted the blonde head of the unconscious child and wrapped the linen around her exposed head, arms and upper body.

He stepped one side of the girl and raised his voice over the gale, “Gyre, come over here and scoop her up! Try to be gentle.”

Gyre kneeled down on the other side of the girl and dug its triple digit pincers into the sand under her body. The harsh grating sound of the sand on smooth steel as Rig pushed her limp form up onto the robot’s arms. The tatters of her billowing dress and her long blonde hair hung and were tussled by the wind as Gyre smoothly stood up.

Rig raised his jacket up and tried to cover as much of his face as he could without exposing too much of his torso which felt the wicked stings of the sand. “Take her to the Inn! There should be a bed there we can use.” came his muffled voice from the breast of his coat. “I’ll be right behind you. Just get her inside!”

The robot turned and walked back towards The End of the Road tavern. Rig followed close behind using Gyre as a partial buffer to the fierce gusts. The soft sand bogged him down and poured into his shoes. He was slowly outpaced by the steady tread of the machine. Halfway back to the warmly glowing shelter of the tavern Rig was left behind to struggled head long into the naked power of the storm. His feet pushed against the sand as he slowly advanced. His gloved hands clutched his jacket tightly over his head, but the center of his brow was abraded. It was slow and exhausting. His thighs burned, painfully filling with lactic acid. Several times he was almost thrown backwards. Only 83.852 meters to the building and he fell to his knees and tried to crawl on just his knees while his arms attempted to protect his head. He saw Gyre had made it to the front door of the Inn and brushed past a silhouetted figure in the doorway. Finally, more frustrated by the slowness of his progress that he was pained by the onslaught of sand, he dug in with all fours, striding forward like a badger.



Gyre stepped along the uneven surface of the desert sand. Its stabilizing gyroscopes continuously informed it legs where next to step. It shifted its arms under the human’s awkward limp bulk as the dress slipped on the smooth metal. Through biometric feedback it understood that the human female was on the verge of termination. It processed the full 360 degrees of visual input from the three sensors in its head that detected a broad swath of the electromagnetic spectrum. The most usable data was found in the infrared band and it filtered out the noise of the flying particles in the air. It saw its tiny master struggling further and further behind, but its primary task was to get the human in its arms inside the building designated The End of the Road. It identified the human standing in the radiant light of the doorway as Sheriff Charles Broudier, a non-aggressor. Reaching the steps that lead up to the veranda, this ran the length of the tavern front, and into the building. It beeped a formal greeting followed by an apology at the law enforcement official as it attempted to maneuver its burden around the man. It apologized once again to the Sheriff as it stepped into the room, its heavy feet sounding with hollow thumps on the wooden planks of the floor.

Gyre stood there inside the building with the wrapped, seemingly lifeless girl’s body hanging in its arms. A cascade of monotonous high pitched beeps came wildly as it attempted to communicate the need for assistance.

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Re: Unforgivable (Western/Steampunk)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Zhelir Darkfall on Sat Jan 19, 2008 1:14 am

With a growl, he butted his cigarette violently, his temper reaching its limit. He was usually much calmer, more collected -- honestly, he was -- but the last two days in the desert had set him slightly on edge, and he sure as shit wasn't in the mood to put up with this. He pulled yet another cigarette from within the heavy, dirt-covered duster sitting on his shoulders and lit it. Two deep breathes later, his blood was starting to calm, until the giant metal monstrosity made its way noisily into the bar. He pulled his hat off, running his free hand through his long, dirty, unkempt black hair before replacing it.

That's when the beeping started, and that's when he snapped. Reason and logic had disappeared, now there was only blood and fury.

He spun off his stool, the sheer momentum of it sending it clattering noisily to the floor, making his way to the door. He kicked a chair from his path, sending it smashing against the wall, before he reached the machine, oblivious to the girl in its arms. He reached up, slamming his hand down onto the behemoth's shoulder and jerking forward. It felt like he was trying to drag a truck, but the power in his fake left arm was sufficient to move it forward a couple inches, enough to achieve effect. He took a deep breath, but it was not for calming purposes.

"Listen you overgrown tin can," he began, color burning into his wind-chapped cheeks, "I've spent two fucking days in that fucking desert without food, without water, without a safe place to lay a fucking brick!" He pulled himself in closer, ignoring the fact that it probably had little to no intimidation effect on the monster, "All I ask is a quiet place to eat and drink, and I've already had the Tin Shit Sheriff and the goddamn bartender up my ass, so will you PLEASE." His voice lifted to a dull roar, "STOP." He punctuated every syllable with a jerk, "THAT. FUCKING. BEEPING!"

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Re: Unforgivable (Western/Steampunk)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Angel_Melfina on Tue Jan 22, 2008 11:20 am

Tols felt nothing when the large metal contraption lifted her limp body from the sand. Her mind swirled into a black vortex, trying to defend itself from the painful memories of the past year. She fought a battle inside her head and lost miserably. Scenes from the 15 years of her life flooded her mind relentlessly. She saw pleasant things at first, like scenes with her family. Those images soon turned to hatred when she remembered how her mother had sold her. The first 14 years of gleeful images vanished and were replaced with the lonely, disgusting ones of the past year. She'd lived in that dank attic for a whole year, and the old son of a bitch had the only key. He had told her his name once, but she refused to call him by it. He didn't deserve to be addressed in a formal manner. He was slime, a pervert, worthless, and stupid fu-...

THUMP THUMP

All memories vanished from her mind as she opened her eyes, barely noticeably, at the sound of metal on wood. Her eyes adjusted very slowly to the change in lighting and environment; she could barely make out anything around her. The seemingly permanent sound of howling wind and moving sand finally began to dissipate and was replaced with muffled voices. She could not make out a single word until one of the voices began to rise above the others. It was deep and rough, intense with anger and riddled with impatience. Footsteps. Someone was stomping towards her and her metal captor.

Suddenly, the warm metal was shaking against her skin. Unable to brace herself due to lack of energy, Tols was reduced to a flopping doll. She winced in pain as she slammed against the one holding her. Her muffled hearing cleared up just in time to catch the last few words of the roaring voice that towered over her.

"PLEASE. STOP. THAT. FUCKING. BEEPING!"

Tols opened her mouth to address the man, but all that she managed to get out was a single, soft yet pain-filled groan.

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Re: Unforgivable (Western/Steampunk)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby aeleon on Wed Jan 23, 2008 6:45 pm

Ursula's lost moment staring at the stranger addressing Miss Margaret was interrupted by the rather loud, rather mechanized approach of the saloon's newest inhabitants. As the machine made its entrance, she turned to face it with excitement and glee, nearly giggling as it beeped, squinting as she tried to decipher it. Was it a type of morse code language, or --

It was the chair the stranger kicked, as it smashed against one of the bar's sturdy wooden columns, that distracted her enough to take her eyes off the robot and assess what it was carrying. Ursula's eyebrows arched in alarm as she gasped an "Oh!" and hopped up, quickly scurrying over to the robot from around the argumentative stranger's back and tapping on its metal arm. "This way! Come here!" she said, motioning towards her seat as she moved as inoffensively as possible around the stranger, back to the table she had shared with Margaret.
Last edited by aeleon on Thu Jan 31, 2008 10:02 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Re: Unforgivable (Western/Steampunk)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ralana on Thu Jan 31, 2008 4:48 am

OOC: Ok! Its Ready! I didn't really change anything. Thanks Dani btw!

IC:

The desert was calm that day, the sun was high up in the sky while its heated rays beat down upon the sands below. No travelers were in this part, no one crazy enough to come up to this part of the desert since there was no path and one never knew what creatures crawled about in the rocky buffs that were around. But, suddenly a loud blood curdling scream echoed through the desert sands followed by loud whimpers of pain then various curses. Apparently though, there were some daring to be here.

Behind a circle of tall rocks two horses were tied up in the shade, they stumbled to the side nervously from the man’s scream. Yes, it came from a man. He was lying in the center, staked to large wagon wheel, or what was left of it. Though it was fairly old it was strong enough to hold the stakes that kept the man in place. And now that she had just broken all of the man’s limbs the woman was sure he wouldn’t move.

A light laugh emitted from the woman’s throat as a brown paper cigarette hung from her dark lips. Slowly she stood up pulling the butt of the rifle out of the man’s left arm. Her blue eyes stared down at the man watching him twist and turn in pain. “Aw, James you’re making it worse.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you…you…you bitch!” James screamed at her while trying to move his body or hell does something effective. He had to find a way out, but it was getting hopeless now. His body was broken, his skin was sun brunt and chapped, he was bleeding, and he was unable to reason with this crazy woman.

“Sticks and stones James...” The woman smirked going to walk away from him carrying the rifle in her left hand while pulling out the cig with her right. The ashes fell off the burning red tip and down her leather gloved hand before trailing down her bare arm, even though she didn’t bother to wince. Tilting her head to the side, she circled the man as curly locks of burgundy hair feel across her tan skin. She watched the man intently moving around him like a loin would its prey. Setting the rifle down against a rock she continued her line of thought. “Really, you can drop it. You can curse, threaten me, try to reason with me, and hell you can even beg.” She turned away from him and looked over at a grave in the circle kicking at the rocks. “You’re still going to die.”

She stopped hearing sobs from the man, which was incredibly pathetic. Unable to help it the woman grinned taking another puff from her cig. “You know…you’re making more of a fuss than your sister did.” Grinning she kicked at the dirt in the grave she turned around just in time to hear him scream for help. She let out another sigh, “Now James…no one can hear you out here. Believe me.” She paused. “And if anyone does… well I’ll kill them.” Smirking again she went to pull out a leather handled, hunting knife listening to his painful whimpers. “Before you go meet your sister in hell, along with your other friends that I’ll killed of course.” The woman let out a soft smile going to bring the blade of her knife to the man’s bear chest gently tracing the tip down the center. “How about a little anatomy lesson….”


**************************************************************************************************************************************

Two Weeks Later….Many Miles away in this town...

Her ice blue eyes flashed opened instantly as a hand moved to her hip pulling out her pistol. She had grown to be a very light sleeper which had saved her neck many times during her life. Turning her head the woman looked over at the door to her room, listening intently. No one was in there, she was sure of it since she would have heard the door. No, noise from down below in the tavern, shouting, that’s what woke her up. “Shit.” The woman muttered to herself while going to sit up with the gun still in hand.

Her long burgundy curls floated down over the woman’s left eye as she sat there for a moment waking up. She had gotten there earlier that morning, and rented a room for at least the night. Though she had told the woman at the desk she may be there longer. She had rented the room under the name Kane, Miss Kane. Good enough name. Anyways, now would be as good a time as any to get some food, and besides she should check out what was going downstairs.

After cleaning up a bit, which wasn’t usually for people these days, the woman headed out the door of her hotel room going to lock it behind her. Dark brown leather boots clopped against the wooden floor as she moved towards the stairs. She wasn’t wearing the typical clothes of a woman simply because she didn’t want to. Kaki pants, pistol holster on each thigh carrying said weapon, dark brown, leather corset top, brown fingerless gloves, a dark brown, leather cowboy hat in one hand, and a folded up pair of sunglasses stuck in the front of her corset between her cleavage. A paper cigarette hung loosely from her lips.

Casually she walked down the stars into the tavern just in time to hear some man cussing out a robot carrying a girl. The woman raised a brow as she continued to descend down the stairs. She also saw what appeared to be a military man, the woman who owned the place, a man with a law badge, another girl now moving up to the robot thing, and another man at the bar. This was interesting indeed. Not bothering to get involved with the commotion the woman just smirked lightly and headed off towards the bar. Hopefully it wouldn’t take long for her to get a drink and some food. Though for now she wasn’t going to get involved with what was going on, she kept an eye on those there.
STAR WARS


Motti: Don't try to frighten us with your sorcerous ways, Lord Vader. Your sad devotion to that ancient religion has not helped you conjure up the stolen data tapes, or given you clairvoyance enough to find the rebels' hidden fortress...

[Vader makes a pinching motion and Motti starts choking]

Vader: I find your lack of faith disturbing
American Physco


Patrick: I don't think we should see each other.

Evelyn: But your friends are my friends and my friends are your friends. I don't think it would work. You have a little something...

Patrick: I know that your friends are my friends and, uh... I thought about that. You can have'em.

Patrick: There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman; some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me: only an entity, something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable... I simply am not there.

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Ralana
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