Cain Cassidy's Story

Cain

The man marched his way through town, his keen, hazel-green eyes peering from beneath a well-worn hat. He was bored and unimpressed. Stories of Fort Travis Junction made their way far into the deserted wasteland, but from what he gathered in his short time here, it was a town like any other. He arrived early this morning, when the sun was still rising, and already traveled nearly the circumference of the fort. The faces he met along the way told him everything he needed to know about the place and regardless of the large barrier he assumed the town would die out as any other. Shame, he thought dragging his eyes about the rugged buildings, It has potential.

Honestly, all the town really needed were a few more good working machines, which brought him back to the reason why he was here in the first place. He stopped on the side of the street and studied the shadows, getting the time the good old fashioned way. He was running late, but it didn't really matter. He wasn't the Agency's poster-boy and regardless of how urgent the task was, he was fine with having a bit of fun on the side. He walked farther on taking in the 'sites' until his thirst made him pause. He was supposed to meet the other Agent at the town bar, a perfect place to blend in and conduct business, as all sorts of people passed through these parts. He pulled his wind-blown poncho back in place and licked his chapped lips. Yes, drink was a good idea. It was about time to get to business.

He back-tracked through town and pushed the bar doors open. He nodded politely at the the few who turned their attention to him and continued his way inside. It didn't take long to find the man he was to meet, he stood out like a sore thumb. He mentally groaned taking in the curious character. He hoped the Agency knew what it was doing. Operations such as theses were handled best covertly. Making yourself disappear into the background was the best and easiest way to get the job done. Hiding in plain sight came as easily as breathing to him. This man though..just the vibe he gave made people weary and that was something that could put a damper on his plans. Rather than walking up to the man, he found a seat at the bar and ordered a drink. Either the man would figure him out and make his way towards him or remain brooding in the corner, like a disciplined child. Regardless, he wanted to see how the man behaved. If he was to be working with the bloke, he wanted to know what he was getting in to.

Cain

He watched the dark clothed man out from the corner of his eye, taking a long drag from his drink. It wasn't alcohol, he wasn't stupid. Only idiots impaired their senses. He set the old glass down with a thud and grinned to himself as the man made his presence known. He was unsure of how he picked him out so quickly, considering they've never met, but it lifted his worries somewhat and even more so when he presented himself as a friendly drinker. At least he's not an imbecile. He turned to meet the stranger and leaned against the bar, looking him blatantly up and down. Besides the manic smile, the man seemed fairly normal, but that was the beauty of 'normal'. What kind of person is quick to judge an average Joe? Humans were a very superstitious and judgmental species. It was always better to fit in and pretend rather than cause suspicion. It also was amusing as hell and he gladly went at it.

His eyes seemed to brighten and a broad smile spread across his face. He slapped the stranger on the shoulder and gave him a friendly shake, "My God!" he spoke as if he'd just seen a long lost friend, "Is that really you, you old goat? It's been ages! Yes, yes, let us drink. We have much to discuss." With that, he took his glass and walked briskly towards the depressing corner. Though his outward appearance revealed mirth and energy, mentally he mocked the situation. What is it with the dark cliche? Dark clothes, dark corner..God, I hope this man isn't one of those overly emotional types. He took a seat at the table and cast a smug smile in the stranger's direction. He wondered what thoughts laid behind those cold grey eyes as he made himself comfortable. "Tell me, friend," he spoke coolly, taking another drag from his drink, "What's your business here?" At least now they could speak openly, they were old pals afterall.

Cain

Though he kept his body directed entirely at the stranger his eyes were ever watchful of the people within the bar. Lost Tech was a fragile subject. The people figured it to be a rumour and he would dam well keep it that way. His eyebrows rose somewhat upon listening to the man's monologue. Cuts right down to business. It amused him somewhat, the quick explanation of his attire and actions. Cain supposed that since he was 'The Boss' of the operation, the man most likely felt he needed to explain himself. He snickered inwardly and leaned back in his chair. "The name's Lucien, right? First off, we appreciate the help," Though, the Agency wasn't known for handing out flowers and rescuing those in need, Cain wasn't against showing some respect, "As you already know, my name's Cassidy. You did me a favour and cut straight to the point, so I'll do the same," He pulled himself further in, resting his hands around his glass on the table and looked the man in the eye. Though every part about him seemed fairly laxed, his tone iced over in warning, "You are not a part of The Agency. You are a tool. If you endanger my orders in any way, I won't hesitate to cut you down. You do your part and watch my back and I will watch yours."

The man knew what he was doing, else the Agency wouldn't have bothered hiring him. He would have plenty of time to judge Lucien later on and see if he could hold his own. For now, Cain would keep things simple. Friendships didn't last. As soon as this was over, regardless if the man was alive at the end or not, Cain would continue on. That was his job. Nothing would come between him and fulfilling it. Cain leaned back in his seat once again and sighed, "As for the package.. The thing hasn't been operable for over a millennia. I think it's safe to say that any possibility of it be activated is extremely slim."

For all he knew this was just another piece of broken equipment. Despite working for the Agency, he didn't quite follow their beliefs. The world was a shit-hole. All technologies were destroyed in the war eons ago. Whatever tech people had now was it. No amount of junk was going to change anything, but if the Agency wanted to keep on this little treasure hunt, it was fine by him.

The Posse wanted something on the mid-day train when it arrived at Fort Travis, which meant that they would need someone in the town, watching for anything suspicious that might be going on there, any unusual characters who might want to fill the outlaws with lead. The problem was, of course, that the group of men were all outlaws, in one way or another, and should any of them be recognized they'd be shot, or worse, thrown in jail and questioned. However, this was not the case with one of the newest members of the group, Doc Silver.

William had been sent on ahead of the train a few days earlier. He hadn't killed anyone yet, no one of any importance who would be missed anyway, and they had yet to put his picture on any wanted posters. He had kept a low profile, which was part of his plan. Keep a low profile, stay around with the outlaws only as long as you need to, find the man who ruined your life, and end his. A simple enough plan, but it was more complicated than that. For instance, now he sat in a saloon in the walled off town of Fort Travis, keeping an eye out for anyone who might but a damper on the Posse's plans, which meant look for anyone with a badge or a gun. It seemed like most people here carried a gun, which was a common sight anywhere, and to him, they all looked suspicious. Even the lady who sat at the bar now, drinking whiskey, waiting or something. She had come in some time earlier and watched a game of cards before she had set to drinking. Watching her down the alcohol hit a nerve with William, made his throat dry, but he knew that fire water was the last thing he needed, especially today.

But then, a man he marked as very dangerous entered the saloon. He was an odd one, wearing black robes in this head, and a hood to hide his face. The man took a seat in a dark corner, and seemed to not longer exist to the others after a few moments, which William figured to be his plan. Sit in the dark, blend into the shadows, draw as little suspicion as possible, then wait. The question was, what was he waiting on?

A short time after this, William got his answer. A rather normal looking man, with a layer of dust on his clothes from walking the streets of Fort Travis, came into the saloon and took a seat at the bar before ordering a drink. The dark figure approached him, and the two set off for the darkness to talk. After watching them talk for a bit, unable to hear anything the man in black said, William stands, finishes his drink, and lays his money on the table before walking out and back into the sunshine.

It took only a few long minutes for William to make his way over to the train station, where the train was just pulling in to stop for a time. by the time he got to the ancient platform people were moving in and out of the machine, making the doctor think of some monstrous blood transfusion. The old blood being the people, some of them flooding out of the train as if from a wound, the new blood moving into the vain that was the train through but one or two entrances. Looking around, he could see a few other people he felt should have notes taken about them. There was a man atop a horse near the tracks, who looked as though he might be the law around this town, and as he makes his way over to a bench to sit and wait, his knee starting to pain him, noticed a woman on the railing, looking as if she crawled out from the gutters, watching everything about the train and the people closely. Obviously, she was looking for something in particular, not that William was worried. Instead, he takes out his silver pocket watch and checks the time as he waits.

"Fort Travis Junction!"

The shout carried down the center of Dalton's car, and roused him from his slumber. The heat of the desert they had been crossing for the last several hours had carried him off into the ether, granting him a brief reprieve from the uncomfortably hazy, bone-dry air. Jacob realized that his mouth was incredibly dry, and his suit - even made of the lightest material he could afford - was uncomfortably warm. He exhaled a dry breath and realized, suddenly, that he was not only hot and sleepy, but incredibly hungry and thirsty. His seat-mate had already up and left, and even now people were departing the train. Porters were moving towards the freight cars towards the rear; although Dalton did not notice the mercenaries standing guard nearby. He was too busy standing, as if in a trance, and slumping down the center aisle, heading towards the steps and the town of Fort Travis Junction.

Slumping onto the platform, Jacob realized that it may actually have been cooler outside than in - perhaps it was his mind, or perhaps it was the fact that the train was more efficient at baking things than a godforsaken oven - but either way he was grateful for the reprieve. He moved silently off the platform and cast his eyes about for the bar, eventually settling on a building that looked altogether like a saloon straight out of another dime novel; batwing doors and player piano and everything. Jacob smiled a bit, and adjusted his hat, working to keep the sun from his eyes. He quickly strode down the main street and into the bar.

He immediately regretted his decision. The room didn't turn and stare at him like in so many cliche western movies - rather, the air carried tension, foreboding. A man passed him on the way in, checking a silver watch. Jacob quickly stepped out of his way, his overly large steamer trunk bumping into a chair nearby. The loud noise didn't interrupt any of the conversations around him, but Jacob felt no less at ease.

He'd taken no more than three steps when he came across a disheartening sight - two men, one of them completely unremarkable, sat in a corner. As mentioned, one of them was dressed in the same dusty clothes he'd seen everyone outside wearing, but the other - well, as his father would have said, 'He was an object.' He was dressed in all black from head to toe and the very air around him seemed to shimmer with some sort of malicious aura.

Jacob suddenly didn't feel so thirsty. He hastily backed up and batted the batwing doors aside, and made his way back into the street. Along the way he passed a vendor selling some cheap food and drink, and passed a couple dollars along to him for some food and a bottle of water. His face looked ashen as he made his way to a bench nearby and sat down. He took no note of the woman standing on an upper balcony across the street from him.

Cain

"Spoken like a true businessman," Cain smirked when Lucien bit back. The man knew his place, but was confident enough to let even Cain know he took his orders seriously. Perhaps business with Lucien wouldn't be so terrible afterall. He dug into his pocket and pulled out what looked like an oddly shaped button. "No offence, friend, but I want to be as far from you as possible. This here," he spoke, sliding the equipment across the table, "Is a communicator. One of the fancier doo-dads the Agency lets us play with. All you do is push it and I'll hear you," he stretched some and moved a bit in his chair. He never was one for staying put in one place for long. "You keep that on you and we'll keep in touch. The package is at the station, if the train hasn't be delayed. Keep some distance and keep an eye out for any suspicious characters," he looked the man up and down and grinned, "I trust you know all about that. Once I receive the package you I'll give you a call and we'll rondevu elsewhere. I'm not the kind to take someone out and never call back." He winked, amusing himself.

During their talk Cain's eyes remained darting around the bar. Though one fellow seemed to take interest in their conversation he left rather early on. It wasn't until an other, definitely an out-of-towner, seemed to bust into the saloon on accident that he felt he was dragging out his time. All it took was one look at them and he seemed to quickly change his mind. Though, the lack of confidence in the man nearly had him laughing, the man's reaction clicked. He scared him away- they scared him away. If all it took was one glance to make a full grown man uneasy he wasn't exactly blending in. He watched the bloke turn tail and jet, his suit burning a picture in his mind. "Yankees," he scoffed to himself. Taking the man's entrance as his cue to leave, Cain stands and stretches one more time. He pats Lucien on his shoulder as he moves out, "Keep in touch."

Exiting the bar his eyes take a while to adjust to the light. "Damn dark corners," he mumbles to himself, pulling his hat lower to shade his eyes. There was a reason folks didn't take much to shadows. The darker it is, the light just seems that much brighter. After gaining back his sight, he sees that the town is filling up, indicating the train's arrival. He'd give it some time before he retrieved the package. He wouldn't get caught up in reuniting friends and families and passengers fighting to obtain cargo. He'd wait a minute or so then head down and watch the circus of people. Passing by he noticed the man who ran off and tipped his hat. Everything about him was awkward, from the way he held himself, to the suit and the ghostly-paleness of his skin. Had he ever been outside? "A bit out of you're element ain't you, stranger?" He chuckled. Some small talk would do him good during the wait and after his talk with 'Mr. Dark Lucien 'The Luck' he could use some entertainment.

Dalton suddenly found himself addressed by a man with a dusty, dry accent. He turned and found that it was a man in a likewise dusty and dry coat, with a dusty, dry face. He faintly recognized him from somewhere, but couldn't quite place it. So many folks like him around here wore the same style of coat, they all got jumbled up in his head. This man could literally be anyone. He looked down at his waist and saw the gun holstered there, then quickly darted his eyes up. He seemed overly stiff and seized up at this point, almost comically like a soldier at attention. He stepped away from the food stand (and the rapidly generating line) before addressing the man.

"Ah... Yes, I suppose you could say I am quite out of my element here..." He raised one hand for a handshake, the other one clutching his massive steamer trunk. "Jacob Dalton, accountant. I'm from the, uh, the East Coast. Um... Massachusetts-Rhode Island-Connecticut Consolidated Republic, to be precise. I was offered a job out this way." Reaching his free hand into his jacket, he produced a letter and almost handed it to the man. It was practically in his hand when he read the postmark in the delicate handwriting of his fiancee.

"Oh, er, wrong letter, sir, I'll just..." He quickly snatched the letter back and stuffed it into his breast pocket, then withdrew another letter, printed on heavier stock. "Here."

It was in a simple font, small letters spelling out the terms of a job position with the Shaded Valley Transit Company. "They offered me a job at a post at the end of the line... Um, I'm an accountant, see, and the job was simply too good to refuse, so I pulled up stakes, and now -- here I am!" He raised his arms about himself and laughed nervously. "Here I am," he said, lower, less enthusiastically.

"What about you, sir? What are you doing here?" Jacob smiled, rocking on his heels. The train was sure taking a long time to offload...

Cain

A dry smile graced his lips as he watched the man fumble about himself. He took the offered hand and shook it firmly. Not many folks had the decency to introduce themselves out in these parts, what with the constant come and go. It was refreshing to see at least one man who held on to his manners. "Pleasure to meet ya, Dalton." He retracted his hand quickly, dropping it to his side, as he watched the man rummage in his jacket. He didn't stay alive without keeping alert. In his line of work anyone, Yankee or otherwise, was capable of pulling a trigger and conditioning was a hard thing to combat. Gathering what the man was doing, his hand left his side and casually took the gifted letter, only having enough time to catch the womanly font before it was taken from him. The fact that he had a woman's letter shocked him somewhat. What kind of girl would take to a man like him? He smirked shamefully to himself. Damn, I'm an analytical bastard.

He couldn't help but chuckle at the poor man's attempts and took the other letter in good humour. "Accountant, eh? Heh. I take it back Dalton, you're not just out of your element, you're in a whole other world." He handed him back the parchment and patted the man on the shoulder. "Don't fret, Kid. This town's as good as any. Fort Travis Junction's been here a while, so you can make yourself comfortable." He wasn't sure why he was being nice, maybe he felt bad for the bloke. He shrugged inwardly, maybe he just felt better knowing he gave the man some sort of pleasantry before he ventured out. He didn't picture Dalton surviving long out here.

"Me?" He questioned, answering the man, "I've got business here." Not wanting to drag the conversation on and possibly risk the Yankee clinging to him, he began walking towards the station. "Good luck, Dalton," he said, keeping his back to the accountant, "This ain't the East Coast, but keep your wits about you and you'll do fine." He figured enough time had passed. He didn't want to become lazy and have the possibility of something, regardless how slight, occurring without him being at the station.