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Morgan "Doc" Crowe

A cool-headed, tough-as-nails guy who really wishes he didn't give a damn

0 · 236 views · located in Splitcreek, Arizona

a character in “Way Out West”, as played by Luv-is-a-Bug

Personality

Given Name: Morgan Crowe

Nickname: Doc Crowe

Gender: Male

Age: 34

Good guy or bad guy? Explain: Good guy. I mean, he isn’t about to go risking his life on principle or anything, but he’ll stand up for the people he cares about. He’s never done anything to cause trouble. Really, he just sort of wants to be left alone.

Position: Town doctor, rancher, and a Civil War veteran.

Personality:
Morgan is a pretty pensive, thoughtful fellow, and he’s seen a lot in his 32 years. He's a smart guy, no question, and he's got a strong moral compass, though he'd like to deny it. The hardships he's suffered in life have made him something of a hermit, and he's not much of a talker, but when he does speak it's a careful, well-thought out response that clearly reflects his very strong opinions. For a largely antisocial person, Morgan spends a lot of his time around people. When not working on patients in his office or making house calls, he's often sitting at the bar in his favorite saloon, the Silver Spur, making small talk with the barkeep.
He’d like to pretend he doesn’t give a damn, but he really does. He’s always got his eyes peeled and a hand on the trigger, should things really take a turn for the worse in Splitcreek. Oh yes, Morgan cares a great deal about the goings on in town, but he won’t admit it. He’d rather play it cool and bite his tongue, even though the crimes in Splitcreek are starting to drive him mad.
His cardinal sin? He smokes. Frequently, and with relish. Not that that was uncommon in the late 1800's, but he's a doctor for crying out loud. Ah well.

Skills: He thinks before he acts. That may not sound like much a skill, but in a town with more than its fair share of trigger-happy bozos, his reason and cool demeanour have served him well. He’s a pretty good shot, thanks to his brief but demanding army service, and he knows a few tricks with his gun. And, of course, being a doctor and all, he’s pretty good with the medicine stuff.

History:
Morgan grew up in the Northeast, the only son of Virgil and Abigail Crowe. Growing up, Morgan had a taste for adventure, and always dreamed of travelling to new and exciting places. Home was never all that great- his father had a serious drinking problem and his mother was an opium addict. He had just turned 19 at the start of the Civil War, and was eager to fight for the North and achieve the great glory he had come to associate with war. Fighting for the Union proved to be a sobering experience, and he turned his back on his old life for a chance to move out West and start anew. Morgan left many things behind at home- a family, his first love, the comfort and safety of civilization. He's always been a wanderer, never really tied to one place, and the horror of war was all that was needed to drive him from his home town into the unknown dangers of the Wild West.
He was one of the first to settle in Splitcreek, and set up shop as a doctor. He’s watched Splitcreek grow into a thriving town, and he’s growing uneasy with the lack of law and order. But he won’t get involved. No Sir, he’s paid his dues. He’s already got one foot out the door, and might be leaving town any day. But something keeps him here. Some part of him wants to be a hero, wants to bring justice to a town struggling to find its way. He might, just might, be convinced to play for the good guys, but he’s had too much experience playing Devil’s Advocate is unlikely to pick a side at all.

Courting anyone? Being courted?: Morgan's never really taken an interest in love.

Married?: Does the above statement answer your question?

Appearance:
Morgan is your typical rugged rancher type. Tan skin, rough hands, a good strong jaw. His cool grey eyes, shaded by a heavy brow, appear to be in a constant squint, as if he were intently searching for something. For a man who makes most of his money associating with people (albeit injured/dying people), Morgan doesn’t smile very often, and when he does it tends to look rather unnatural- a very forced, tight-lipped gesture.
He’s a very stoic, statuesque man, and being 6’3”, he can cut a pretty imposing figure. He has a scar on his left cheek that he doesn’t like to talk about; it’s rumoured to be a battle wound.
He’s not big on flashy clothing, and prefers the simplicity and comfort of work shirts and his wide brim tan hat. He’s had the same boots for 12 years, and doesn’t plan on replacing them any time soon. Really, he could care less what you think of his lack lustre ensemble.

So begins...

Morgan "Doc" Crowe's Story

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It was a blazing hot afternoon in Splitcreek. Seemed to Morgan that every afternoon in Splitcreek was blazing hot, but it didn't bother him much. He still wore his favorite denim work shirt, recently laundered, and the buckskin coat he'd traded for way back...God, who knows when?, and the sturdy boots that had carried him many a mile in the twelve years he'd owned them.

Currently, Morgan was doing what he did best (after medicine, anyway), which was to sit at his favorite spot in the Silver Spur Saloon, order quite a few drinks, and smoke. Oh yes, Morgan did this very well. It wasn't that he was lazy, he just appreciated the luxury of being able to sit in a town that was, for once, relatively quiet, and listen to the buffoon at the piano play the same tripping melody over and over and over. Were there more exciting things he could've been doing? Sure. But Morgan wasn't much in the mood for excitement today, or any day, really. If he had his way, he'd be settled on some quiet little ranch with a sweet little lady and a couple of kids. But that was not to be. Some of us are destined to be mothers and fathers, and some are destined to be brooding war veterans who pass their time stitching up the cracked skulls of drunken fools.

So here he was in the town of Splitcreek, which he'd liked quite a lot until about four months ago when the outlaws started coming in. Rats and snakes and liars and cheats pouring in by the dozen, causing trouble and making a mess of a nice little mining town. Morgan snarled in disgust at the thought of it, taking a long pull on his beer. Yes, somebody needed to do something about those cowboys. Somebody, but not him. No Sir. Since the war, he'd made his way as a respectable doctor. He was a thoughtful, quiet man who minded his own business and did well for himself. He didn't need to be anybody's hero. In fact, he wasn't sure he'd make a good hero even if that was a position he fancied. He'd already given heroics a shot when he went off to fight in the war, but it turned that war wasn't nearly as noble or clear cut as he'd originally thought it to be. In fact, there were times it was impossible to tell which side was in the right and which was in the wrong. Sure he was morally opposed to slavery, but did that really give him the right to slaughter another man? Some of them hadn't even been men. They'd been boys like himself, foolish young boys seeking glory and adventure. And he'd killed them, in the name of what? Freedom? Goodness? These days he couldn't even remember. The war had been over for years now, but it still haunted his conscious. He'd hoped to leave his ghosts behind when he came West, but they'd followed along after him, relentless as ever. Now he did his best to do what little good he could and to keep out of trouble.

Still, something had to be done. Maybe he'd talk to the town marshal about it. Yeah, that's what he'd do. ...Right after he finished his drink. Taking another generous drink from his beer, Morgan looked around the saloon, noting its inhabitants. It was relatively empty today, just a few people playing cards and some sad, sorry soul in the corner weeping into his whiskey about a lost love named Delilah. He grunted, nodding his approval, then turned back to his beer. This was the way it was supposed to be. No reckless outlaws barging in, whooping and hollering and firing their damn pistols, just a quiet afternoon in the Silver Spur before business picked up tonight.

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Jenny Clyde
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The sound of doors slamming shut and people covering their windows made Jenny smile. She looked pretty intimidating with two silver revolvers on her waist and a big black rifle on her back. Her boots crunched on the dirt, and she slowly made her way towards the Silver Spur. A male wearing a duster coat and a low hat smirked at her and waved his hand slightly. "Howdy, Jenny." He smiled, "Y'know the town was bustlin' 'till you came here." He laughed, obviously hinting at her weapons. She laughed slightly, and continued walking towards the Saloon. "What? It's not my fault I know how to accessorize, Mister."

She pushed the swinging doors open, and walked in. It seemed quiet enough, with the usuals sitting around. She pulled up a seat next to Morgan, and was almost instantly handed a glass of whiskey by the barkeep. She handed over some money, and drank her Whiskey. "Howdy Mr. Crowe. Anything interestin' happening here today?" Jenny asked, her smile becoming slightly bigger when she spoke to Morgan.

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Jenny Clyde
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Occupied with his third beer and a cigarette, Morgan didn't notice Jenny until she was right beside him. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the whiskey. Damn, must be a pretty rough day for her if she was taking shots at noon. Or maybe she just liked her liquor. Lots of people did, himself included.

She was, as usual, armed to the teeth, which he didn't blame her for. There was no law against being armed in town, and since trouble started brewing in Splitcreek there were plenty of people who went around with a pistol in their belt, just in case. "Howdy, Jenny," he replied, tipping the brim of his hat. He didn't smile, but Morgan didn't smile very often. It wasn't that he was unhappy, just that he didn't much see the point in big silly grins and unnecessary pleasantries. If he was conceived as rude, so be it. "Not so far as I can tell. Town's pretty quiet, for once. Sure would be nice if it would stay that way," he said, mostly to himself.

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Morgan shook his head as he heard the sound of hoofbeats pounding hard and fast on the compact dirt. Great. He'd had such a nice afternoon, drinking and smoking, and here was some bastard from the desert here to muck it up. He turned to look out the window, just making out the shape of Alex in the shade of a building and some hunched over figure on a fast-approaching horse. There was a gunshot, which he took to be from Alex, and he grunted his approval, hoping the warning shot was enough to stop the rider.

Jenny was already on her feet, pistols drawn, but Morgan had no interest in offering his assistance. That's what town marshal's were for, right? It sure as hell wasn't his job to jump in and set that crazy rider straight. He watched Jenny go, looking out the window to see what he could of the confrontation. It promised to be an entertaining show.

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Character Portrait: Wildcat Kate Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Jenny Clyde Character Portrait: Alex "The Sentinel" Johnstone
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Gunshots rang through the air, causing Jan to both jolt awake and knock over a half empty bottle of whisky from last nights events. carefully he raised from the bed trying to both shake off and remember last nights events. A quick survey of his surrounding proved that he was in one of the upstairs guestrooms in the silver spurs and the disturbance seemed to have came from outside the bar.

Stealing a quick look out the window revealed that the so called "marshal" was recklessly shooting of his gun at someone riding off into the distance on a shrouded horse. Everyone that didn't have a ball to spare rushed inside their houses and shops faster than the now distant figure could fire bullets. Jenny quickly rushed to his side armed to the teeth, both guns drawn and slowly approaching the the line of fire babbling something about wildcatkate and hows she's a dangerous one.

"What the hell is that Arschloch doing?"He muttered to himself as he reached for the nearest article of clothing. Quickly he dressed himself(not to say orderly), and rushed down the small set of stairs faster than his stubby legs could carry him. There were very few people in the bar, being as it was a slow day and all. His eyes scanned the room, finding the nearest person to be a scruffy gold miner.

"You!"He barked, pointing a chubby finger at the vagabond."Tell me, what is the täuschen doing?"

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Jan Hass
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Morgan was still nursing his drink at the bar, quiet as you please. The man on the horse (he was fairly certain it was man), had taken off, though he (she? It was possible) seemed to have run into trouble down the street. He looked up at the ceiling as he heard a clatter and crash from upstairs. So far as he could remember, and he had a pretty decent memory, despite all he'd had to drink, he didn't recall there being any guests in the Silver Spur last night, which meant it must be the owner, Jan Hass.

And lord, how Morgan hated Jan Hass. Not that that was uncommon. Hass was a pretty hated man in Splitcreek. Greediest penny pincher you ever did meet, and mean to bet. Morgan shook his head as the short, pudgy man came rushing down the stairs, his beady eyes scanning the room. Dee-lightful. Hass was currently interrogating a clueless (and very, very drunk miner), who, rather than answer Hass, had decided to talk about how his wife left him and now all he had was his banjo. Really, the whole thing was very funny, but Morgan could tell Hass was getting fed up, and there was nothing worse than a fed-up Hass.

"I'll tell you what's going on," Morgan barked from his seat at the bar. "Some good-for-nothin' outlaw's passing through, that's all. So why don't you get back to bed, you drunken buffoon." Downing the last of his fourth and final beer, Morgan stood up from the bar, tipping his hat to the man. "Oh, and thanks for the beer."

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Damian "Nomad" Kovacs
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The Nomad came to town from the east side, riding on his horse at a slow steady walk, as his horse was tired from taking the trails that only a madman would take. His green eyes darted from place to place, trying to figure out where's where in the town of Splitcreek.

Ahead he thought he saw a gunfight, his lips licked and a slow chilling smile started to come across his face, he almost felt tempted to leap into the fray, his gun blazing to get the person on the bounty, he started to chuckle to himself that was slowly starting to turn into an almost berserking laughter, at that moment his horse whinnied, snapping him out of his reverie. he looked at his horse and made towards a drinking trough in front of a particular tavern that a dusty sign read Silver Spur. Looking at the tavern he cocked his head to the side in a odd sense of thinking.

"Maybe a job's open there, unless the town Marshall or someone nabs me to be their deputy or bodyguard." Damian muttered to himself as he dismounted off his horse and let him start drinking before he started to walk in, hearing someone thanking the bartender for a beer as he wandered to an empty table and down, he gave the Man and the bartender a friendly nod before setting his eyes on the table to concentrate on other matters in his head.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Wildcat Kate Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Richard Jones Bell Character Portrait: Alex "The Sentinel" Johnstone Character Portrait: Damian "Nomad" Kovacs
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Morgan watched the stranger enter the bar, nodding in response to the strange soul who'd drifted in. He looked beraggled, scruffy at best, but a trip through the desert'll do that to you. He wandered over to a table, as if blown by an invisible wind, and sat down, immediately fixing his eyes on the table. A very pensive fellow, indeed.

He could've stayed to chat, but Morgan had already wasted the better part of the day in the Silver Spur, and it was high time he got back to his tidy little office and had himself a nap. He didn't hear any more gun shots, but that didn't mean it was over. More likely, Alex was just being careful with his bullets. Fingering the gun holstered in his belt, Morgan pushed his way through the double door of the saloon and stepped out onto the porch.

Alex's horse was gone, which meant he'd given chase. "Better you than me," he muttered, shaking his head. He himself had walked to the Silver Spur, as his office was only a few storefronts away on Splitcreek's main street, and he headed that way now. His office was in the opposite direction from the chase, which was good; he wouldn't have to listen to the racket of a showdown. Hopefully whatever low-life outlaw had ridden into town hadn't brought friends.

Headed for his office, Morgan caught sight of a new wanted poster that'd recently been put up. It was a woman this time. Uncommon, but not at all unheard of. "Wildcat Kate". He snorted, shaking his head. Well damn, she had herself a proper nickname and everything. For amusement, he looked over the other wanted posters, noting a certain "Richard The Bell-Ringer", among many other outlaws. Seemed there were new posters appearing everyday. He whistled through his teeth as he saw what "Mister Bell" was wanted for, scanning the long list of charges. A very grisly fellow, certainly not someone you'd want to run into on a dark night.

Reaching his office, Morgan headed up the two steps to the porch of the sagging wooden building and sat himself down in a rocker, his hand on his gun as he drifted off to sleep.

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Jenny Clyde Character Portrait: Jan Hass Character Portrait: Damian "Nomad" Kovacs
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"Sprich nicht mit mir, du verrückter Mann!" Jan growled in response to the foolish hermit. If it was any other day he would have thrown a flurry of insults at the kleine Scheißer, but he did not have the time or the patince today. What he had was a pulse pounding headache that shook his body with every heartbeat from last nights events, and a mountain of work to contend with. So long story short, he was not in the mood to argue or fight with any of these yokels today. That would have to wait till tonight at the card table.

Morgan thanked the bartender, stood up, and wandered out of the cool aired bar into the scorching hot desert only to be replaced by another lone wandering customer. It dawned on Jan for the first time that he should do the same, as he had work to do.

Sauntering out from the shaded bar filled with the melody of some slag trying to work the piano, Jan ventured out into the sunburnt and arid desert. The gunfight had long left this part of the small mining and goldpaning town an eerie tone of quiet, though you could still hear yelling and the thuds of hoofs beating the bone dry sand in the distance. The cowgirl stood slack jawed in the middle of the substitute road, forlorn by the yearning to be involved in such excitement.

Unhitching one of his privately owned horses and hopping on (after much climbing and effort) he speed off toward Stanleys point.

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Richard Jones Bell
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Riding on his grey stallion ''The Colonel'' Bell headed for the town of Splitcreek. His duster was in the saddlebags together with his rifle and another revolver. The town wasn't hard to spot in this godforsaken desert and when the buildings started to appear by the horizon Bell couldn't help but to smile and put The Colonel into gallop.

He slowed down just outside of town and let his mount walk in with a steady pace. He dismounted and tied the horse to a pole outside of something called The Silver Spur Saloon. Bell could smell the smoke of tobacco and the laughter of the people who had spent most of the day in there, but the drinks would have to wait. Bell had business to attend to for once and it didn't involve shooting, stabbing or robbing. He exuces himself as he almost bumped into an older man in a hurry to the Saloon. As he turned something caught his eyes, a wanted poster with his many names on it.

The Bell-Ringer.. My my ain't I the famous one He thought to himself as he casually grabbed the edge and tore the poster down. He looked it over as he walked down the main street looking for the doctor's office. The wanted poster wasn't that flattering and the drawing off him wouldn't be much for a bounty hunter to go for. The only thing showing under the wide brim hat was is eyes, the rest of his face covered by a handkerchief. He ust be doing something right if that was their best take on him.

His fingers wandered over to his six-shooter as he passed someone who looked like one of them lawdogs that always chased him around the wilderness. But he knew better then to have a shoot out at noon in a town by himself and his hand moved back to hanging by his side quickly. He touched the brim of his hat with his other hand as he passed the men, they gave the same salute back but their eyes didn't leave the scarred stranger. He clenched his fists and looked up in time to see the sign to the doctor's office and stepped up on the porch and eyed the fella sitting infront of it.

''Howdy. I reckon you're the doctor of this town?'' He asked and once again touched the brim of his hat as he leaned against the rail, placing both hands on his belt.

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Richard Jones Bell
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Morgan woke with a start, the rocking chair lurching forward as he straightened up. He lifted the brim of his Stetson, regarding the stranger daring to disturb his afternoon nap with steely grey eyes, and shifted in his seat, though he didn't bother to get up. He'd barely been asleep five minutes; this'd better be one hell of an important call.

"That's right," he said, his eyes travelling over the man. He didn't look too different from anyone else who'd spent their days under a hot Arizona sun- rough, tan skin, sandy blonde hair, squinting blue eyes. The scars were a point of concern, but Morgan himself had a sizable scar on his left cheek. Still, there was something crooked about the man. It was a gut feeling, and Morgan always went with his gut. But you didn't go around Splitcreek shouting your opinions and suspicions at the top of your lungs, especially when the subject of your suspicion had his hands resting on a belt that looked to concealing some wicked weaponry.

Begrudgingly, Morgan got to his feet and stuck out his hand in the most gentlemanly manner he could muster. Even after many years as a doctor, Morgan never could bring himself to go along wholeheartedly with business or social formalities. "Morgan Crowe. What can I do for you?"

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Richard Jones Bell
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Bell removed his hat and held it in his left hand as he grabbed the doctor's hand and gave him a firm handshake. He seized up the man as he shook his hand and gave him a freindly smile.

'' Y'all got yourself a fine town here Dr. Crowe. I'm Roland Jones, bounty hunter.'' He said as he put his hat back on his head and placed his hands on his belt again. The scar on the doctor's cheek caught his eye but he made sure to only give it a quick look before turning his gaze back to the doctor. After all he wasn't here to make friends and by the look of the man infront of him he wasn't the friendliest kind either.

'' If you'd be so kind could you take a look at this cut here.'' He said and unbuttoned his red shirt, revealing a poorly bloodsoaked bandage covering a cut on his chest. That Bullhorn saloon gal could handle a knife and she'd used that knife on Bell when he'd become too drunk and too close. He skipped town shorty after before they started to look into who he really were and he couldn't trust no one in the gang to patch him up, not after their ''doctor'' Gordon the Stitcher was filled with lead by the law four months ago.

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Richard Jones Bell
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The man had a firm handshake, Morgan had to give him that. And he had pretty good manners for a bounty hunter, or else he knew how to put up a convincing front. Morgan saw the man's eyes flit to the scar on his cheek, but the man's mama must've raised him right, for he soon turned his gaze back to Morgan. He watched the man move his hands from his belt and unbutton his shirt, the sharp smell of an open wound immediately assaulting Morgan's nostrils.

Morgan whistled through his teeth as Bell revealed the cut, laying a surprisingly light hand on poorly bandaged gash. "You have yourself a disagreement with the missus, Mr. Jones?" he joked, leaning in for a closer inspection. "Why don't you step inside and I'll get you cleaned up an' have myself a closer look. Can't see nothing with all that gauze and blood in my way."

Morgan opened the door and stepped in, ushering Bell inside. It was small, one-room office, about 13'x13'. It was neat and tidy, save for Morgan's desk in the corner, which was an absolute disaster, and had the feel of a comfortable, well-used space. There was a sturdy wooden table in the center of the room, a couple of chairs, a bench stocked with various tools, and about a half dozen shelves mounted on the wall that held all of Morgan's books and medicines.

"Sit right up here, and I'll set to work on that gash of yours," he said, patting the table. Medicine was something Morgan did very well, and despite his laid-back demeanor, he was a very efficient man. He promptly scrubbed his hands in the wash basin the corner, then wet a fresh cloth to clean out the gash. He gathered the needed mix of salves and ointments from a shelf, picked up a roll of gauze, and headed back to the table, setting his supplies on the weathered wood.

"Now then, let's have ourselves a look. Shirt off, please, Mr. Jones."

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Richard Jones Bell
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Bell smiled at the mention of a missus, not being the one to stay in one place long enough without getting bored or beating her sorry behind to the next week. Those that he actually liked didn't fancy his way of making a living and often left him before he could leave them.

'' The gals out here sure got some more bite then the ones back home I'll tell you that Doc'' He said and laughed as he walked into the office, sitting down and watching the doctor wash up and pick through his supply. The place itself wasn't all that fancy but it beat having one of his boys spittin' on the wound or try witchcraft on him. Bell took off his hat again and placed next to him, a habit he picked up as a boy watching all the clients remove their hats as soon as they came into the bordello. Hell, Bell saw himself as quite the well raised boy except for all the shooting, stabbing and hanging from bell towers.

'' You are too kind Doc, ain't seen a friendly soul for days wanderin' 'round the desert, no sir.'' He chuckled and watched the doctor finishing up and approaching him. He quickly took off his shirt as instructed and grunted as the wound made itself known again. He would never make the mistake again to be fooled be a wench's innocent attitude.

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Richard Jones Bell
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Bell was a talkative fellow, it seemed, happy to chat as Morgan gathered his needed supplies. Morgan wasn't a particularly chatty fellow himself, but he didn't mind small talk, and as human interaction was part of the job, he was content to listen to Bell rattle on about feisty women and how kind he was. Actually, it seemed to him "Mr. Jones" was laying on the charm a little too thick, but hey, better a friendly fellow with a gash than some drunken idiot who'd shot himself in the foot.

Morgan removed his hat and tossed it onto his messy desk before turning back to Bell, his eyes roving the man's bare chest, which bore marks from several other scuffles. But back to the task at hand. He quickly found the tie on the bandage and undid the knot, carefully unwinding the dirty, blood-soaked rag from around the outlaw's torso and laying it aside. The wound looked pretty nasty, red and inflamed. Bell said he'd been out in the desert for days, so who knew how long the wound had been festering under the dirty bandage.

"My, that's quite a gash you got there," he murmured, laying a gentle hand on the skin just to the right of the wound. It was surrounded by dried blood and oozing fresh blood now that the bandage was off, prohibiting Morgan from inspecting the severity of the cut. "Now I'm an honest man, Mr. Jones, and I'm gonna warn you that what I'm about to do is gonna hurt like hell. If you'd found a doctor a little sooner it might not have been so bad, but that cut's infected from the looks of it."

Morgan shook his head, picking up the wet rag and gently pressing it to the wound. He quickly cleaned away the dried, crusted blood and dirt and was able to stop the bleeding by applying light pressure. The wound finally clean, he was able to take a closer look at the gash. "Deeper than I thought. I'm afraid that's going to need stitches."

The doctor opened a bottle and poured a bit of the foul smelling liquid onto the wet rag, then pressed it back to the wound. "Stings like hell, but it'll help the healing." Laying the rag aside, he fetched his sewing tools and threaded a needle. "All I've got for the pain is whiskey and a bullet to bite. Not much else I can do, but it'll be over soon enough. Shouldn't take more than three or four stitches."

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Richard Jones Bell
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Bell clenched his jaw and murmured a swear as the doctor pressed his hands against the wound, which looked worse then he thought it would and infected nonetheless. What a pethetic end that would be to this outlaw: Death by saloon girl. That'd be some news. Bell had survived a bad childhood, a war and a life in the desert and what brought him down was that little Miss Daisy. He was janked out of his thoughts as he felt a stinging pain when the doctor put his hands to the wound.

'' You are man of your words Doc that did hurt like hell. I think I'll need a stiff drink and a cheeky gal after this'' He grunted and closed his eyes as the man kept inspected and poking at the deep cut. If the pain of having a wound crossing his chest wasn't enough now Crowe had to pour his salves into the mix, it felt like the devil himself was pissing in the gash and Bell once again clenched his jaw.

'' I'll take that whiskey if you wouldn't mind Doc, else you wanna' see me cry like a lil' baby.'' He said and took a deep breath as he tried to relax. Bell was used to pain, living a life of crime on the road he had hurt himself in more ways then people could imagine. But that being said it didn't make this cut hurt any less.

He slowly opened his eyes and looked down at the doctor's hands at work. He were skilled. Well it was hard for Bell to judge seeing as the closest thing his gang used to have as a doctor was Gordon the Stitcher who had been promoted do doctor after making good work on repairing chaps and shirts. The only good thing about good ol' Gordon had been his service with the Confederate Army back when and that he shared the same opinions about slaves as Bell, something told him the good doctor working on his cut was a Union boy, probably a veteran too. He promised himself not to ask, wasn't good to bring up political views with someone preparing to sew his chest shut.

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Richard Jones Bell
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Morgan nodded solemnly as Bell requested the whiskey, laying aside his tools momentarily to fetch the alcohol. He walked over to his desk, piled with papers and just about every odd and end you can think of. The desk was in chaos, but it was an organized chaos, at least in Morgan's eyes, and he knew exactly where the whiskey was. "Lucky you," said Morgan, producing a half-full bottle from the top desk drawer, "I just stocked up last week, so I'll give you what's left of this bottle."

He returned to the table and handed Bell the bottle, checking the needle again before ordering him to lie back. Taking a breath, Morgan started in on the wound, puncturing the skin and pushing the needle through. He worked quickly and with great skill, making neat little stitches across the gash. It would heal up quite nicely, he was sure of that, and as he tied off the thread he took a moment to admire his handiwork.

"Right then, all that's left is the ointment and the bandage, and I swear neither of those'll hurt a bit." He snipped off the extra thread and opened a small jar of ointment, spreading the clear mush in a thin layer across the cut. The bandage was next; a pad of cotton pressed over the wound followed by a length of cloth wrapped tight around Bell's chest.

"The stiches'll need to stay at least a couple weeks, but after that you'll be good as new. You'll have to be careful not to rip those stiches, though- they hurt twice as much going as out as they do going in. I hope any work you'll be doing won't be too...rough," he looked Bell right in the eye, a not-so-subtle hint that he was more than a little suspicious of the man.

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Richard Jones Bell
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Bell thanked him for the bottle with a grunt as he took it from the doctor's hand. He quickly took a deep sip before laying down. The strong drink made him ease up as the needle penetrated the skin and the thread pulled on it. Bell grunted and clenched his free hand as more and more of the wound was pulled together and stiched together. Bell didn't know if it was the booze, the pain or a mix of both but it only felt like he had time to blink untill the doctor was done and he sat up.

'' You are handy Doc an' I don' mind free firewater either '' He chuckled and took another swig at the bottle. He considered to save some for the boys out in the desert but decided not to. It wasn't enough to satisfy them all and he didn't need to lose more gunslingers thanks to their short temper. But he had promised them enough spirits to drown their sorrows and celebrate their success when they reached their destination, that would have to wait untill he was done with his errands.

He felt on the fresh bandage and smirked, looked a lot better then a dirty bloody rag covering his chest. Although deep in his own thoughts he didn't miss the remark about work and met the man's eyes with a cold gaze. He laughed and raised the bottle in an attempt to lighten up the mood. The bottle was placed on the table again and his now free hand wandered over to his shirt, he opened the right chest pocket and pulled out a neat bundle of bills and looked back to the man.

''What do I owe you Doc?'' He asked in a cheerful tone and finished with a bright smile. Even though the doctor seemed suspicous about him he couldn't help to like the man. He did his job and he did it well, something Bell valued in a man.

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Richard Jones Bell
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Morgan gave a terse nod in response to the compliment, tidying up his supplies and returning them to their proper places. He had a bad feeling about this one, but you didn't go around Splitcreek acting on hunches and bad feelings. And even if this Mr. Jones character was crooked, it wasn't his job to go around throwing people in jail. There were plenty of people to do that job- hell, there were even people who liked that job, but Morgan wasn't one of them. Or was he?

Not today he wasn't. He'd lived five years now as a respectable man, and he didn't need to muddy his hands with the scum of the west. No, he'd done just fine as a doctor, and a doctor he intended to stay. And the money wasn't too bad either, as he was now reminded. He watched Bell produce the fat wad of bills from his shirt pocket, surprised (and a little unnerved) by the large amount of cash. What kind of man did a bounty hunter have to catch to make that kind of money? Unless you were the one being hunted, in which case it was fairly easy to round up a gang of crooks and terrorize the growing towns, looting and robbing and gambling the days away.

But again, it wasn't his place to judge. Business was business...right? "Four dollars. I won't charge you for the whiskey," he said, giving a tight-lipped smile. Appearing perfectly friendly and affable, Morgan was only too eager to rid himself of the man. Something wasn't right, and he didn't want to get mixed up in it. "How long you planning to be in Splitcreek, Mr. Jones?" he asked casually, putting away the last of his things.

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Richard Jones Bell
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Bell nodded and handed over the four dollars and then proceeded to put the cash back in the pocket, he then put the shirt back on and buttoned it up. He stood up and stretch his back. It felt good to finally have that wound fixed up. Bell's hand moved to his hat and he placed it on his head while his eyes were fixed at the doctor. He remained like that for a moment before he went for the door, turning back to the doctor as he pushed it open.

'' You don't worry about me doc I ain't here looking for trouble. Thanks for the whiskey, I'll buy you a drink down at the saloon later if you fancy it. '' He smiled before walking out, his eyes adjusting to the sunlight after being inside the office for so long. For a moment he just stood there and looked at the town, the busy people hurrying down the street. People who unlike him did the same old thing every day. Same job, same home, same sleep. That life would be too dull for Bell.

He stopped outside of the old general store and once again saw a wanted poster dedicated to himself on the wall next to the door. He didn't pay much mind to it as he walked in and looked around. He needed rope, good rope. The cashier asked if he needed any help as Bell weighed a hammer in his hand. The cashier gave him a suspicious look and spit in a cup next to him. Hell you get a couple of scars and no one trusts you.

'' I'm just lookin' to buy some rope and a couple of cigars. '' Bell said and approach the counter. He gave the cashier a charming smile but he could tell the old man didn't like Bell's sort a bit. But the lust to make money was stronger then his morals as he began taking out the rope while Bell exhamined the different brands of cigars.

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe
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Morgan watched Bell go, slipping the money into his pocket. Wasn't here looking for trouble, he said. Only time would tell if that was true; wasn't anything to be done about it now.

With Bell gone, Morgan had the office to himself, and he considered returning to the porch and resuming his nap, but he wasn't much in the mood to rest now. Something had put him ill at ease, and he paced the narrow space, attempting to walk out his troubles. A drink and smoke, that was what he needed. $4 would buy a man a lot of drinks, but Morgan had already wasted the better part of the day in the saloon, working his way through a significant amount of booze and quite a few cigarettes.

He caught himself wondering what the status on the outlaw was; he wondered if the marshal had chased him down and thrown him in a cell yet. Last he'd heard were a few gun shots coming from the far side of town. Maybe he oughtta go and check, just to see if things were alright. But no, that wasn't his place, and he didn't want to make it his place, either. Things had a way of working themselves out without nosy do-gooders prowling the town, shooting anything that breathed on the grounds that they might be one of the numerous outlaws they'd seen posted around town.

Still...wouldn't hurt to poke his head out the door, make sure there wasn't some sad and sorry soul bleeding all over his front porch. Picking up his Stetson from his desk, Morgan set the hat atop his head and headed outside, his eyes smarting as the bright sunlight found its way under shade of his Stetson. He scanned the street, surveying the activity through narrowed grey eyes.

Bell had disappeared from the main street, presumably into a store or saloon. There was the man he'd seen in the bar, standing a few storefronts down outside the Silver Spur. Annie was just heading into work, and Miss Bonnie was headed down the street, probably on her way to get a bite to eat. And there was Jenny, dusting her hands off and heading for Blackburn's store. Uh oh, what had she done now?

He squinted, making out the form of a man lying in the dirt. His eyes widened and he quickly snatched up his medical bag before hurrying across the street to the form of the lifeless man. "Oh hell," he murmured as he knelt beside the man, eyeing the copious amount of blood soaking his shirt. He felt for the man's pulse, but the heart had long stopped beating, and he shook his head, plucking off the man's hat and laying it over his face.

Dead bodies lying in the street- didn't that make for a nice welcome to Splitcreek!

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Jenny Clyde Character Portrait: Jan Hass Character Portrait: Jethro "Black" Blackburn
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#, as written by Twisty
Jethro was about halfway through his book when he heard a drunken mumbling followed by Jenny's voice: "My Ma' used to tell me I should never give the first punch... But I sure as hell will give the last punch, you damn fool." When he looked up the first thing he saw was Jenny punching the drunk so hard that Jethro almost expected the mans head to come of. The drunk reached for his gun but was dead before he reached it, Jethro was so chocked by how quickly that one insult had escalated that he didn't even notice that Jenny was now walking towards him and taking a seat next to him.
"I find it funny how you just watched me get attacked, and you just sit here drinkin?" She chuckled. He put down the book and stared at her. "Now what the hell was that for!" he exclaimed, pointing at the, now dead, drunk. "Attacked! Is that what you call being insulted?! I mean, i know you got an itch to use all that hardware your carrying around but you don´t have to go shoot the first drunken lowlife that throws a insult at you! He took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

He looked back at the street and noticed that Morgan was running towards the dead drunk, probably hoping that he was still alive and not beyond rescue.
"I´m reporting you to the Marshal, seeing as the Sheriff is nowhere to be found" he said looking back at Jenny, now a bit calmer. He stood up, looking around for the Marshal, not seeing him anywhere he turned to Morgan. "Hey Doc! Have you seen the Sentinel? I am pretty sure that he´d want to know bout this."
Jethro turned back to the table and finished his drink. "Damn, what next? Someone´s gonna rob the Silver spur in broad daylight?" He said to himself, but then realized that that wouldn't be too surprising, he sighed.

Not long after a large group of miners lead by Jan Hass came riding down the street, stopping outside his shop. Hass was furious and was speeding towards him, looking like he could kill a man. Which is probably why he was there, Jethro thought, to get weapons so he could kill someone.
"Blackburn... I need guns, and lots of them!" He said, exhausted from the ride.
"Well your not getting any, and before you start yellin´ at me I´m gonna tell you why. First of all i don´t have enough to arm all of those boys you got there, and secondly I got a gut fellin´that your not going hunting game with twenty men on horseback, unless you hunt men for sport which i hardly think is legal, Mr. Hass."
He stared Hass in the eyes and made it clear that he wouldn't budge.

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Jethro "Black" Blackburn
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Morgan remained squatting in the dust, looking at the dead man. This was exactly what Splitcreek didn't need- loose cannons, shootings in the street...who knew what was was next? Heaving a sigh, Morgan got to his feet and dusted off his hands, his eyes on the useless medical bag lying in the dirt. Used to be all he did was treat the cut and bloodied hands of hard-working miners, or visit some poor lunger suffering from tuberculosis. These days he was digging the bullets out of men's backs!

Now he had to hunt down this fool's family and make sure someone gave the man a proper funeral over in Splitcreek Graveyard. In fact, he'd better get the corpse off the street fast, or some thieving bandit would steal the money right out of the man's pockets. He knelt again to get a hold of the body, his head snapping up as he heard Bell calling from across the street. He seemed awful pleased with himself, not the least bit concerned to see a bloody body lying in road, and Morgan watched him go with a grunt of disgust. The sooner that snake left town, the better.

The voice of Blackburn was next to reach his ears, and he turned towards the gunsmith, giving a helpless shrug. "Saw him about a half hour ago, chasing after some bloody outlaw. You can try the sheriff's office- matter of fact I'm headed there myself. Need to see if anybody knows who this here fella is...well, was."

He shot Jenny a look, but she was too busy pleading her case to Jethro, who had his hands full with a rowdy group of miners who'd ridden in the course of Morgan's failed rescue attempt. He looked around him, taking in the aggravated yells of Hass's miners and the general chaos of a town in trouble. Come to think of it, he might be heading back to the Silver Spur after all.

But first...he turned his attention back to the corpse, grabbing under the man's arms and hauling him across the road. The body was deadweight, and dragging him was an effort, but it was only just across the road, and Morgan got him into the office easily enough. With no place else to put him, he lifted him onto the table he'd used to treat Bell not fifteen minutes before. He sure hoped somebody could come get the corpse soon, because in this heat the body'd be rotting in no time, and the stench of decay was definitely bad for business.

Heading back out into town, Morgan headed down the road to the sheriff's office, hoping he wouldn't encounter any more trouble along the way.

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Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Alex "The Sentinel" Johnstone Character Portrait: Damian "Nomad" Kovacs Character Portrait: Bonnie Bohannon
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Bonnie smiled warmly as the man swiftly removed his hat in greeted, it was good to see chivalry was not a lost cause, she listened as he spoke, from his accent she could tell that he too was a fellow southerner and so that was a comforting fact to know. "Well there's a boarding house just down the road next to the saloon, it's no ritz but it's the best we have I'm afraid" she laughed lightly.

Upon the stranger mentioning food, she took in his thin appearance looks like the poor fellow could do with a good hearty meal "the saloon has a good cook" she smiled before laughing along with the man accusing his horse at laughing at him, reaching out she affectionately stroked the horses long nose "and the livery is just at the end of town where this one can get some rest" she continued.  

"oh forgive me, I'm Bonnie Bohannon and you are?" The blonde asked, out stretching her hand for him too shake. 

Looking behind the stranger Bonnie caught sight of a large group of men riding into the town, frowning she shook her head upon seeing Jan Hass leading them, this did not look good, biting her lip slightly she watched as Jan dismounted and went inside Jethros place "excuse me I need to get the marshal" she spoke quickly before rushing across the road towards the sheriffs office to find the Marshal, failing to see Morgan who was also hurrying down the boardwalk.

Hurrying inside she called his name "Alex?"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Wildcat Kate Character Portrait: Morgan "Doc" Crowe Character Portrait: Jenny Clyde Character Portrait: Jan Hass Character Portrait: Alex "The Sentinel" Johnstone Character Portrait: Jethro "Black" Blackburn
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#, as written by Flexar
Alex smashed into Kate like a cannonball, knocking her from her newly stolen horse's saddle into the dirt path. She tried to grab her distant revolver, but did so in vain. Alex kicked it away to make it even harder for her to grab it and shoot him. He kneed her in the stomach, hopefully winding her so she couldn't thrash about any more. While she was pinned down, Alex pulled a coil of rope from his duster coat with which he bound Kate's hands and feet.
"Not so tough now, are you?" Alex chuckled before lighting yet another cigarette and proceeding to smoke it, "You're coming with me back to Splitcreek, I hope you don't mind spending a few years in the cells."
With that, Alex hoisted her up onto the back of Gale, mounted him, then slowly rode back to Splitcreek, making sure not to let Kate fall off Gale's rump.

Upon arriving back at Splitcreek, an appalling scene presented itself to Alex. Doc was dragging a dead man into his office, Jenny was looking like she had just seen a ghost and was pleading with Jethro and Hass was present and backed by a group of miners. Alex dismounted Gale, spat his cigarette into the dirt, ground it up and then walked over to the scene. These were truly dark days for Splitcreek.
"Alright then, what's happened?" Alex sighed, "I want to know exactly what happened, if any of you lie I'll make sure you're given a harsh punishment."