Description

Jacob Walter Dalton

Alias: Jake Dalton, Walt Dalton, Mr. Dalton, J. Walter Dalton, J.W. Dalton, Dalton
Age: 30
Birth date: 22 October
Current Residence: Presently homeless; his former residence was in a studio apartment in the Ma-Ri-Ct (Massachusetts/Rhode Island/Connecticut) Consolidated Republic but he sold it to build enough money to come west.
Birth Place: Maddell Downs, Shankill District, Massachusetts-Rhode Island-Connecticut Consolidated Republic
Allegiance: Whoever signs his paychecks - at the moment, the Shaded Valley Transit Company.
Belief/Religion: Mishmash. Believes in karma and spirits, doesn't necessarily believe in a god.
Titles/Honorifics: "Money Magician"
Profession: Auditor, Trader Benefits Division, Shaded Valley Transit Co.
Hobby: He frequents blackjack tables and plays mandolin.
Gender: Male
Race: Human, Caucasian - Central European descent (French/Belgian)
Strengths: Good head for numbers, honest, works for the people
Weaknesses: Naive, impressionable, honest, bit of a coward
Height: 5'11"
Weight: Looks to be about 145 lbs.
Build: Lanky, average, not really remarkable in any way, but well-fed
Hair: Black, shoulder-length, held with pomade
Eyes: Brown
Skin: Pale white, although bound to change eventually
Handedness: Ambidextrous; left hand used more often than right
Scars: Small white burn-mark on the back of his right hand (accident involving lye in his childhood)
Tattoos: None
Basic Description: Jake is a tall, gangly, pale man. Slight of frame and perpetually nervous looking, every inch a Yankee accountant way out of his element.
Disabilities: None
Most Prized Possession (Material Value): Silver letter-opener, gift from his former employer, in his suitcase
Most Prized Possession (Emotional Value): Love letter from his fiancee, always kept in his right breast pocket
Likes: Scotch and a book by candlelight, sunsets, quiet and solitude, keeping numbers, nature
Dislikes: Rude people, drunk people, being held at gunpoint, lowballing/dirty dealing, dishonesty in general
Goals: Just getting to his job at this point. He hopes to eventually establish a foothold out in the boondocks, perhaps start a business of his own, and move his future wife out with him.
Fears: Death, blood (mostly his own), spiders, gunfire, basically a list long as his arms - perhaps even his own shadow.
Mannerisms: Awkward and nebbish, like that nerd you pushed around in high school, but in a somewhat endearing way. Has a tendency to wring his hands, and always seems like a deer caught in the headlights.
Psychological Condition: Stable, no forthcoming mental conditions or disabilities.
Aptitudes: Accountancy and financial issues, some skill in the culinary department, something of a counselor
Superstitions: Always throws salt over his shoulder. Respects people and animals. Tries to lead a good life for fear of being reanimated as a dung beetle or something else repulsive.
Morals: Characteristically naive and childish, sees the good in most if not all people. Doesn't drink heavily or smoke, rarely curses, doesn't really fight. Alignment: True Good.
Positive Characteristics: Intrinsically good, honest, reliable in most situations, won't give up on his friends easily.
Negative Characteristics: Rather naive, displays remarkable cowardice and fear when involved in violent situations, rubbish in a fight, intrinsically good, won't give up on his friends easily.
Relationships:
- Sarah MacFeargus: (27, F, Alive) His fiancee. Loves her dearly even though they're opposites in almost every respect. For some unfathomable reason she loves him back.
Relatives:
- Marley Dalton-Greenbush: (68, F, Alive) His mother. Sometimes dotes over her and worries about her more than he should, but genuinely cares about her despite her sometimes derisive personality and treatment of him.
- Jacob Dalton, Sr.: (63, M, Alive) His father. A gruff and sometimes harsh man, Jacob Jr. nonetheless respects his dad and gets along with him well despite their differences.
- Mindy Dalton: (24, F, Alive) His younger sister. A homebody like him, Jacob Jr. ribs his younger sister, although sometimes develops a "papa bear" personality in regards to what happens around her. Although they get on each-other's nerves they have a close relationship and stay family.
- Jeannie Dalton: (16, F, Alive) His younger sister. Wild and adventurous, Jacob worries endlessly about his baby sister and frequently retrieves her from the messes she has caused. This behavior has earned some resentment from Jeannie, but they still get on well enough and Jeannie does genuinely care about his well-being.
Rivals: None.
Pressures/Problems: As the only gainfully employed member of his house, he's the family breadwinner - this naturally causes some pressure.
Weapon Name: Gun (Dalton is not a creative individual)
Type: Kimber M1911 sidearm, .45 Colt
Function: Goes bang, shoots a bullet, may or may not hit what it's aimed at.
Description: A gift from his father, a nickel-plated semi automatic with oak grips and an extended 12-round magazine.
Item Value: Uncommon find, rather expensive - between $400 and $600.

Current Story: Having spent his life in a library or in an office block on the east coast, accountant Dalton is ill-suited to life in the west. Nonetheless, a lucrative job opportunity at the end of the Western Line, a four digit salary and the potential for promotion, and a life far away from the bustle from the city - Dalton would have been an idiot to refuse. It happens, however, that he is an idiot to accept - for he happens to be on a train carrying very precious cargo, a train ride that - provided he survives - could possibly change his life forever...

So begins...

Jacob Dalton's Story

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#2012-04-29 02:55:10, as written by Cypher

The tracks had been rolling by for quite some time now. At least a day, perhaps longer. Who knew? With the gaps in the tracks, the roving bandit parties, the wild animals and the harsh weather sometimes causing the train to halt for minutes, for hours - and at least one time double back and return to the previous station - it had been moving for a while.

Jacob Walter Dalton, Junior, had been on it for what he assumed to be a thousand years. The last transfer between stations had been when there was still ocean visible. He had ridden out with other young men and women, some of them dressed in the fatigues of the MARCR's armed forces. They had dismounted at the last stop when he had. That was the wonderful metropolis of Grey, population a bustling 204 ("And rising every day!" the sign over the station awning had declared proudly). He had waited on the next line for at least a day, spending the night in a cheap hotel while, all through the night, horses, boots and the occasional truck rumbled past outside - Grey was a military town, if the great big flags, the great big tents and the great big men with short hair and shiny boots was any indication, one of those boom towns that had sprung up on that initial dash west and was now all but abandoned except as a hub for people to get on and off the train. Perhaps when the military went away again, or when a larger town opened up further down the line, Grey would fade out of existence again, nothing but a dot on the map and a few clustered, ramshackle buildings. Who knew? With the rate that borders changed nowadays, Grey could just as quickly become a booming metropolis again.

When he left, it was still 204 people and two full companies of MARCR grunts, waiting to march out into the wastes, to claim a plot in the name of "Civilized Society".

Jacob sat on his bench, reading a penny-dreadful he had taken from a lazy susan on the station platform, paying a man in a threadbare coat a whole two dollars for it.

That had been at least a day and a half ago.

Now the train, half-empty, rolled across an open wasteland stretching as far as the eye could see, an orange sun hanging in the azure sky, the cracked earth quivering with dry, stagnant heat. Off in the distance, a blasted house stood alone, a single windmill - its blades destroyed, some of them even missing - slowly turning in the distance. Jacob marveled at its simplicity before dragging a hand across his brow to clear the sweat from it. It was hot in the unconditioned rail car, and not even the added ventilation of the open window helped with that much. Dalton felt drowsy, numb with the heat, and he seemed to slip in and out of reality, time passing in quick, sudden bursts.

Who knew how long it had been before he felt the train buck suddenly, pulling out of the station. Jacob sat bolt upright in the seat, his eyes searching. Had they been stopped? Was there a posse outside, searching the train? No, they would be stopped if that was it. After a few moments, he suddenly realized that he was staring at a rather pretty young lady next to him in the seat. Somewhat spooked, he gave a slight jump. The girl turned her blue orbs to face him.

"New t' the area?" She intoned dully, giving him a slight smile. Dalton gawped at her for a few moments, confused. She let out a slight laugh. "Thought so."

"Er." Dalton raised a finger inquisitively. "I, uh. Er. I mean, I..."

He sighed. "What is the next station, madam?"

The girl shook her head. "Hell, you really are new. Fort Travis Junction, mister."

"And how far... Uh... How far is that from the end of the line?"

"'Bout a half-day by train."

"Oh, um, thank you, madam."

Dalton shrank into his seat.

It was going to be a long ride.

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Earth

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Character Portrait: Lucien "The Luck" Lachance

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#2012-05-05 03:17:34, as written by Cypher

♪♫♪

"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.

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#2012-05-05 17:37:59, as written by NotSoHeartless

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.

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#2012-05-09 07:40:46, as written by Cypher

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...

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#2012-05-09 22:20:31, as written by NotSoHeartless

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.

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Jacob Dalton

0 · 211 views · located in Earth

a character in “Weird West”, as played by Cypher

Description

So begins...

Jacob Dalton's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Setting

Characters Present

Setting

Characters Present

Setting

Characters Present

Setting

Characters Present