Author Topic: Spinning Sightlines: A Bizarre Adventure  (Read 622 times)

0 Members and 0 Guests are viewing this topic.


  • **********
  • Posts: 2,312
  • Dapperness +15/-53
  • Location: i dunno man above ground
    • View Profile
Spinning Sightlines: A Bizarre Adventure
« on: August 06, 2019, 05:25:47 am »

To Summarize a Historical Background

   The ‘Automobile’ that was invented by Henry Ford in 1903 and were quickly purchased by the wealthy and even the government. Over 5,000 automobiles were purchased and in use within the next few years.

   Soon after the ‘American Civil War’ and ‘The Steel Ball Run’ and the mysterious death of the 23rd president of the United States ‘Funny Valentine’. There was a crackdown on american outlaws within the ‘American Frontier’.

   The ‘Pinkerton National Detective Agency’ became a national name even in the ‘American Frontier’. This hinted at the end of the american frontier, as they hired and gave work to thousands of american and foreign bounty hunters.

   There was a large influx of Neapolitan immigrants after the ‘Kingdom of Naples’ had a revolution in and the monarchy was ousted, being absorbed into the Republic of Italy. Any former members of the royal family came to America for work.

Puledro Clydesdale

   A middle aged bounty hunter read through a ‘contract’, a fountain pen in hand. He was dressed in a purple hardee hat with brightly colored feathers, a dark red paisley vest with two rows of golden buttons like an old civil war coat, dark red jeans, black cowboy boots with Damascus steel toes, and his gunbelt with various pre-loaded cylinders, his ‘Pietta Model 1851’, and a strange ‘Steel Ball’ behind his shooting iron.

   He skimmed through the contract, before looking up at the ‘Pinkerton Agent’ in front of him. The bounty hunter spoke up with a raspy voice, “So, if I’m gettin’ this right… I get five guaranteed bounties. But they may change if, say, I get a bounty for an entire gang rather than an individual?”

   The agent nodded, “Yess’m, that’s right, sir. An, if you’ll look at the fine print, you y’gatta take the ones we give ya’. No bein’ fussy.”

   The bounty hunter rubbed his temples at that, “Alright, fine… So I sign…” He trailed off as he signed the bottom of the contract.
“Puledro Clydesdale”

   The agent grimaced at Puledro’s handwriting, “‘Puledro’? Are yeh Italian?” He asked, raising a brow. Clydesdale answered simply with a, “Naw, my pa’s from Naples. Was his daddy’s name, ah think.”
   The Pinkerton gave a nod as he looked over the document, “Alrigh’, alrigh’... Everything looks good. Yer good t’go. You’ll have yer first bounty t’morrow, git plenty of rest.” He explained before Clydesdale got up to leave. As he stepped out of the appropriated sheriff’s office, heading back to the town of ‘Leprett’s’ Saloon and Hotel. A youngster, can’t be much older than 19 bumped into him. “Ah- Sorry Mister, didn’t see ya’ there. Say-”

   He pointed at the Damascus steel ball in it’s own holster behind his pistol. “What’s that steel ball on your belt?” The young man continued, going to touch it. Clydesdale simply set his hand on the young man’s, and he fell to his knees. Puledro pried open the youngster’s other hand, “What d’ya think you were doin’ with this?” He asked, holding up a ten dollar coin.

   The young man stuttered, “U-uhh…” Clydesdale simply shook his head, “Law man! C’mere! This lil’ shit’s a pickpocket!” He shouted, as a deputy came by to drag him away. The young man sputtered and wheezed, “Hah… Hah… Hah…”    

   “Come on…” The deputy grumbled, but he felt his pistol clear leather. The young man let out a shout, “You’re dead!” He exclaimed as the deputy pointed the pistol to the sky,

   “Dammit! He got my gun!” The deputy hollered as the young man cackled.

   “You’d be dead if I felt like it! You didn’t catch me when I took the ten dollars! I’m faster than you!” He ranted, trying to get a rise out of him.

   Puledro gave a grumble, stepping out into the street. “If you’re really done talkin’. Give him the gun back, lawman.” The deputy let out a little, “Eh?” and there was a long silence afterwards. “I’m not gonna press any charges, I’ll forget about it. Lettim go. An’ give ‘em the gun.”

   The deputy shrugged and tossed the gun to the young punk’s feet, as Clydesdale glared at him. “Pick it up.” The youngster stared at him, sweating. “But… If you do, that’ll be th’sign.”

   He spat into the dirt, “That you’re not gonna be any more than a pissant.” He antagonized. The thug glared at him as a small crowd formed, a ‘Blind Vagabond’ stepping through the crown. “What's all that noise?” he said, tapping ahead with his cane. “A duel?” He wondered, milky white eyes looking ahead towards the two.

   There was a long pause, as Clydesdale unbuckled the pistol from it’s holster, staring him down. The pickpocket spoke it, “I-it was just a joke… Y-your face is scaring me. I’m just a pick pocket…! H-have a good’n…” He stuttered, holding his hands up. The sheriff stepped up, “What in th’hell are you two doin’?” He asked, before the pickpocket picked up the pistol.


   Puledro cleared leather, sending a steel slug to the man’s shoulder. The flesh around the wound began to twist and the bones in the shoulder began to crack. The pickpocket began to let out a scream, “A-AAAAHH…!” The cracking intensified as the smaller steel ball dug its way into his flesh. “AAAAAAAAAAA!!!” He screeched, before Clydesdale held up a hand to send the small, albeit deformed steel slug back to his hand. “Yer jus’ a kid, put down the gun and go to the clinic. The flesh continued to twist around the wound, as he continued to let out little shouts of agony before it flared up again. “NOOOOOO!”

   Clydesdale let out a hmmph before walking away, “B’fore noon.” The young man shot a look of fury at him, “YOU BASTAAAARD!” He screamed, pointing the gun at him. The limb let out a loud snap as it turn grotesquely back towards him, just as he pulled the trigger.

   The pick pocket laid dead in the street, as the crowd began to let out a shout of horror. “Sheriff! We should-” The deputy said, pointing towards Puledro. “Naw, Jus’ a duel. No laws were technically broken. Jus’- Lettim’ go.”

   Two witnesses were discussing the duel, “What’d he do?”
“He shot ‘im in the arm, then it- Richocheted back to ‘im?” He answered, equally confused.
   The blind vagabond let out a ‘huh?’, as he walked towards Puledro, “Uh, sir! Can I- See your gun for a moment?” He asked, touching Clydesdale’s pistol. “Wait! Don’t touch them! They’re still spinning!”

   And then, just for a moment, the milky whiteness of the man’s eyes went away. “H-huh? I-... I can see?” He said, dumbfounded.

To Be Continued

« Last Edit: August 14, 2019, 01:59:04 pm by Wheel-Son »
I am no longer legitimately considering leaving this forum

Share on Facebook Share on Twitter


  • **********
  • Posts: 2,312
  • Dapperness +15/-53
  • Location: i dunno man above ground
    • View Profile
Re: Spinning Sightlines: A Bizarre Adventure
« Reply #1 on: August 08, 2019, 07:42:59 am »
Mashad Clearwater

   ‘This ‘story’ is how I began to see, not in the literal sense however. But in a spiritual sense, a sense I haven’t tried in a long time. My name is Mashad Clearwater, and after meeting that man, ‘Puledro Clydesdale’. Who was full of mysteries, beginning to end.’

   ‘When I look back, why was I in Leprett? This religious little ranch town. Did I just happen upon here randomly?’

   ‘Or was I drawn here? Was I destined to meet this gunslinger? This Bounty Hunter?’

   ‘It was rumored that this little town had the most beautiful church in the American Frontier. Not that I could see it very well, of course.’

   ‘I grew up as a pastor’s son, and I thought I was destined to follow in his footsteps. When I was four, I already could read the bible front to back. My father was beyond proud, he called me his ‘Little Parrot’.’

   ‘In my late teens I was diagnosed with ‘Glaucoma’. And my eyesight was going. It hasn’t completely left me yet, but it’s like looking through a straw.’

   ‘A few years back I told my father I was leaving, becoming a Missionary. That was a lie, but… I boarded a train in the black of night. Couldn’t see anything strange about it.’

   ‘But it ultimately caused me to lose most of my eyesight. But it gave me a ‘strange ability’, And a mark that reads, “Luna malum ortu.”’

   ‘“Bad moon rising”’

   And then, just for a moment, the milky whiteness of Mashad’s eyes went away. “H-huh? I-... I can see?” He said, dumbfounded. Clydesdale looked him in the eye as he walked away, and the milky-whiteness returned.

‘What just happened? It couldn’t… It’s not possible…’

‘But the disease… Did that really happen?’

‘I touched it… that man’s revolver… My eyes…’

   Mashad’s thoughts ran wild, “W… Wait! You! How did that- How could I see again?!” He shoved past the crowd, “Excuse me, let me through! Dammit move!” He hollered, one of the citizens gave the blind man a look. “What? What’s so-?” Mashad shoved past, “Not now- sorry! Dammit-- Wait!”

   Clydesdale rubbed his eyes, before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Christ, boy. What do you want?” he barked, as the blind man wheezed a bit. “What- How did that happen? You saw something. I could see again.” He sputtered, as the bounty hunter let out a silent curse. “Alright, listen. Lemme-” He checked through his wallet for a moment, “Dammit… I’ll treat you to a meal an’ explain it. C’mon.”

   The pair got settled with a stew that’s been cooked for far too long and a rough wood table in a corner of Leprett’s saloon. Clydesdale took out a leather bound journal, with a simple charcoal pencil. He drew a simple rectangle in the journal’s back pages.

   “So. There’s a shape called ‘The Golden Rectangle’. You prolly heard of it. It’s a rectangle that’s made to the ratio 9 to 18. It’s got several characteristics-- Let's say I make another rectangle…” 

   Clydesdale drew another rectangle, “This rectangle I just made is the same ratio, 9 by 18. Now, let’s add another line. See? Another rectangle. And then I make another, and another, and another. And so on and so forth.”

   Clydesdale continued to scribble on the journal, “When I connect the centers of all these shapes… I get a spiral that theoretically goes on infinitely.” Mashad gave him a look, as Puledro took the steel ball and set it on Mashad’s hand. He gave it a spin and the blind man’s eyes healed once again, if only for a moment. “It’s a disease, ain’t it? ‘The Spin’ can’t get rid of the disease, but…” Clydesdale looked Mashad in the eye, “Forget it.”

   Mashad gave a shocked look, “But--    Why did you explain this to me?!” He shouted, slamming his hands against the table as he stood back up. Clydesdale explained calmly, “Y’prolly could figure it out yerself, you seem smart enough.” He explained, standing up to leave the table. Mashad simply stood there, stunned as he watched him walk up the stairs to his room.

To Be Continued
I am no longer legitimately considering leaving this forum


  • **********
  • Posts: 2,312
  • Dapperness +15/-53
  • Location: i dunno man above ground
    • View Profile
Re: Spinning Sightlines: A Bizarre Adventure
« Reply #2 on: August 14, 2019, 02:08:25 pm »
Old News, printing date-- 1879:
An Explosion Rocks California!

   A shocking turn of events; There was a meteor strike off the coast of California, just off the border of mexico! Many have travelled there due to the strange happenings, beginning a small scale gold rush! Rumors are stemming that there's also fighting for the meteor between Mexico, The United States, and a currently unknown, foriegn Third Party.


'Kalvin Kornelious King'
For robberies and raids with "Bobby Pierce" and his gang.
Last seen at Leprett, asking about the original Leprett Church. Now called "Coot's Chapel". 35 miles southeast of town.


   Clydesdale gave the bounty a once-over, "Awfully close, ain't he? Why don't you take him in ya'selves?"

   The aging man behind the desk gave a sigh, "Well, we couldn't technically prove it was him. The piece'a shit paid off the local law and we're under a strict 'employer only' under the US guv'ment."

   Clydesdale let out an unamused snort, "Right. Anything I should know?"

   "From what 'ah hear is that he's the paranoid sort. Expect him t'have a few other bastards wit'm." The old man responded, just as Clydesdale got up to leave. The old man sighed, "Happy huntin'."

   Soon after, Clydesdale was leading a deep auburn horse out of town. It had purple reins and saddle, with a hound’s tooth pattern sheet underneath. Slipping a foot into the stirrup, Clydesdale mounted his horse. However, someone seemed to be tailing him.



   Kalvin King stomped around the cellar of the old church as there was a half dozen men with axes chopping up the floorboards, “Gat dammit, y’all ain’t worth what I paid for! C’mon! It’s gotta be in here somewhere! Them pinkerton sumbitches are on ON MY FUCKIN’ TAIL! SO HURRY IT THE FUCK UP!” He screeched. Kalvin was a finely dressed man, in a pastel blue velvet three-piece suit and a silver particularly puffy puffed tie. He had a finely cut goatee with long, greased back hair.

   A ragged, older man’s eyes widened, “M-mistuh King?! This whatchur lookin’ fer?” He barked, holding up an object wrapped in yellowed butcher’s paper. Kalvin snatched the package from the ragged man’s grip, opening it up. Inside was a crudely crafted crucifix, made up of what looks like wrought iron, a stag’s horn forming the cross. King gave a chuckle as he ran a thumb across the rough, porous metal. “Hwueeheeeehee! Fantastic, YOU! Big man! Get this man a beer! He’s earned it!” He cackled, making a snapping point towards the largest of his workers.  “Fuck it! Everyone gets a beer!” He declared, as everyone let out a loud cheer and Kalvin passed out cash, ten dollar bills per person.
   The half dozen workers filed out of the cellar, and out of the church grounds. Most mounting on their respective horses or mules. Kalvin King kept cackling as he inspected the cross, “Hwueeheeheeeheee, Mister Pierce is f’sure gonna be happy ‘bout this…” He mumbled to himself, as he stepped out of the cellar and into the church itself. As he stepped out, he caught the eyes of Clydesdale, ‘The Golden Gunslinger.’

   “Howdy.” Clydesdale said simply, “How hard d’ya want this t’be?” He growled, a hand settled on his pistol, and the other adjusting the hardee hat on his head. Kalvin held up his hands, “Not hard at all, bounty hunter…” He said calmly, as there was a whistling of wind and displacing air.

But then, there was a loud whooshing sound. Clydesdale cleared leather, worked the hammer, and fired as soon as it got near. Kalvin’s suit grew red in his calve, as he let out a loud yelp of pain. “A-AAGH! What?! You have a ‘sta-’” He snarled, as Clydesdale gave him an equally confused look. “What did I hit?” The bounty hunter wondered aloud, unintentionally interrupting his quarry.

A grin curled on Kalvin’s lips, “You can’t see it?” He asked simply, as he began to cackle. “Cut him in fucking half! ‘Bellbottoms’!” He screeched, as the displacement of air was heading towards Clydesdale. From Kalvin’s perspective, he saw a bird-like humanoid, with a golden wattle below it’s neck with a similar pattern to King’s tie. It had blades on it’s wrists, that extend to the side made up of a metallic bone-like material.

However, Kalvin heard a faint voice and another humanoid parried [Bellbottoms]’s blow, It was a skinny humanoid with a camera for a head with a small weathervane on top, with a skeletal body made up of wrought iron and with two blades extending from it’s elbows replacing its hands. Inscribed on the head of the camera is ‘Luna malum ortu’.

‘Bad Moon Rising’.

   Kalvin’s blood ran cold, “I thought-!” He stammered, before digging around in his coat for his own pistol. “Fuck! [Bellbottoms]-! Help me!” King yelled out, as his ‘Humanoid’ recalled back and towards it’s master. Clydesdale worked the hammer again, and fired.

   If I can get my [Bellbottoms] to cut this bullet. Then I can fight- no- Maybe I should run…! Kalvin’s thoughts ran wild as his ‘Humanoid’ deflected the ‘Steel Ball’ into Kalvin’s side. He let out another yelp of pain, as the spin went through his body. “N-! N-NOOO!” King hollered, as the flesh twisted around the gushing wound.

   I can still win…! I just need to cut this bastard’s throat! Kalvin went on the offensive as Clydesdale fanned the hammer, emptying the cylinder. Three missed but planted itself into his hip, “Oh-ho-hoh!” Clydesdale chuckled, as [Bad Moon Rising] blocked [Bellbottoms]’s strike once again.

   Clydesdale smirked at the bloodied and bleeding Kalvin, “Are y’done yet?” He drawled, as he holstered his pistol. “Cuz if y’are. I think I can make it back t’town b’fore you bleed out.” Kalvin King spat out some blood, before drawing his own pistol. An ornate schofield, before he felt something inside of him move. The two bullets inside him tore out through his back, before curving back under his ribs, then through his back once more, before one made it’s home inside Kalvin’s collar bone, and the other inside his throat.

Kalvin Kornelius King, user of [Bellbottoms]
Bounty: Claimed

   Clydesdale hauled the southern gentleman’s corpse to his horse, before he heard a familiar voice. “Excuse me, sir! Are you okay?!” Mashad hollered, as Clydesdale let out a groan. “God fucking- Boy what part of I cannot help you do you not understand?” He growled as he stomped over to him.

   Mashad simply stared up at him with his milky white eyes, “If I didn’t help you we wouldn’t be talking right now!” He hollered right back. Clydesdale scowled at that, “The hell do you mean by that?” He barked at him.

   Mashad glared right back, "That ‘thing’ you shot and what was making that ‘wind’. It’s a ‘spirit’ of sorts-"

   “A ‘Stand’. Some have called it, it’s hard to explain-- I don’t get it either…” He admitted, as Clydesdale rolled his eyes. “Don’t really care, t’be fair.” He said plainly, as he mounted his horse. “I’m headin’ out, come get me after I turn this sonuva bitch in. Y’earned a cut.” He continued, settling the wrapped cross into his saddlebags as he rode back to town.

To Be Continued
« Last Edit: September 05, 2019, 03:33:12 am by Wheel-Son »
I am no longer legitimately considering leaving this forum


  • **********
  • Posts: 2,312
  • Dapperness +15/-53
  • Location: i dunno man above ground
    • View Profile
Re: Spinning Sightlines: A Bizarre Adventure
« Reply #3 on: September 05, 2019, 03:30:19 am »
Stephan Cero-Meido

   A man found himself with a bag over his head and his hands bound, with a pair of men chattering amongst themselves and the sound of a grave being dug.

   “Look who’s waking up, what’re you waitin’ for?”
   “Maybe you don’t like to look a man in the face when you’re takin’ out loose ends. But I owe ‘em that at the very least. Take the bag off.”

   The burlap sack was torn from the man’s head, revealing a bald man with a thick, grey beard ending in a knot. The older man looked the thug in the eyes, “Kch, Coward. Couldn’t take me face to face, huh?” The man spat at his captor, “Pansy.” He mocked, as his captor wiped the spit from his face. “From where you’re kneeling- it must seem like it’s an 18-carat run of bad luck, right? It ain’t nothing personal, but--” He dug out a percussion cap revolver from his harlequin pattern suit jacket. It had two large golden rabbit brooches on each breast pocket.

   “Your lil’ trail here? It’s runnin’ cold.” He uttered coldly, as he put two in the older man’s chest. The aging man fell backwards into the shallow grave, then he blacked out.

   ‘Stephan Cero-Miedo’

   'Cero Miedo…'

   ‘“No fear”, 'eh?'

   A chuckle rang in Stephan's ears, it was a wheezy, unpleasantly sharp sounding voice.

   'You may be… Worthy. But will you accept being worthy?.'

   'Will you stand up after taking two lead slugs to the chest.'

   'Who you were before was old, aging.'


   'Who you will be now will be inconceivable'

   In the back of Stephan's mind he scoffed at the offer, "Y'damn spook, who in th'hell d'ya think y'are?" He grumbled, as the voice scoffed right back.

   'Moron, I am You.'

   'And you--'

   'Are Me.'

   'Payback is what we're owed.'

   'At the very least.'

   'I am the Hombre De Trapo y Hueso'

   'Or-- The [Rag 'n' Bone Man]'

   'Now get up.'

   'Spit out that blood--'

   'And go spill theirs.'

   Something dug itself from Stephan's 'grave' and let out a loud, piercing screech. It has a deer skull for a head, dark navy blue skin with 'Cero-Miedo' tattooed over and over down the length of its arms and legs and across it's back. It's hands had long, bony fingers ending with claws unlike sickles with limbs that nearly reached it's calves. It was nearly dusk already and the thugs' footprints were still fresh. The '[Rag 'n' Bone Man]' followed their tracks.

   Benji, the man that shot Stephan, holed up in an old desolate cabin for the night. One of his goons, a skinny, weaselly man. "Hey-- uh- Boss. Y'sure we should be stayin' so close t'where we buried--"

54   Benji brushed him off, "It's fine. No one knows what happened to him. He usually works alone anyways, yeah?"

   The droog gave a shrug, "I suppose, yeah…" He scrunched up his face, "Still can't shake th'feelin' like we got a 'bad omen' or somethin'."

   Benji rolled his eyes as the goon walked off to keep an eye out of the window. Unbeknownst to him and the rest of his goons.

   There was something on the prowl.

   Suddenly, a clawed hand snatched up one of the goons through the window with a crash. It dug it's curved, sickle-like claws into the man's skull as it left as suddenly as it appeared.

   Panicked shouts and sounds of cleared leather filled the cabin. The group of five drew their cheap blackpowder pistols. Dragoons, patersons. One kept a sawed down lever-shotgun.

   It was dead silent as the goons watched the windows, the doors, any way that beast could get in. Before they could get comfortable there was another crash, the snatchee's upper half was thrown through another window.

   The corpse's face was mangled, almost mush. One of the goons let loose his supper at the sight, another began to cuss and pray. Benji kept his cool, gesturing towards the back room and the man with the scattergun. "You! Make sure it won't go after the young'n!" He barked, before he noticed something in shattered window.

   A stag's skull, with a pair of dark brown eyes with a large, black iris in it's sockets. "CHRIST-- THE SPOOK!" Benji hollered, as he worked the hammer clumsily to fire at the beast. The woodwork was torn to shreds as the remaining four open fire. It was silent once again, the goons glanced around just as the beast reached deep into the cabin as one subconsciously backed up. Benji shouted at him, only to dodge too late and the sickle-like claws ripped a chunk of the man’s neck.

   He fell to the floor, clutching at the gushing neck wound as he gurgled. Slowly bleeding to death, he squeezed the wound in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. The [Rag ‘n’ Bone Man] climbed inside-- And Benji worked the hammer of his pistol, firing the last shot in the cylinder. The beast barely even flinched as it screeched, and everyone’s ears began to ring. The beast gripped a weathered end table, bashing open another goon’s skull. The piece of furniture broke into splinters as [Ran ‘n’ Bone Man] took another shot from a pistol, before the beast skewered the thug with a piece of the splintered end table. The monster took in a deep breath and let out another deafening screech, as it descended on Benji as he struggled to reload his pistol.

   The beast dug its claws into Benji’s chest, before ripping the man’s body into two seperate pieces. The creature huffed, and wheeze.

   And it began to calm down, somewhat. It’s eyes went from dark brown with a large iris to a more human-like green, with a smaller iris. The creature stumbled towards the back room, only to open the door. Inside was a young child, a little boy. The beast stared at it. It stared at it for a while.

   Before it simply stepped out of the way and pointed towards the front door.

   As soon as the little boy skittered out of the cabin, the beast blacked out. Soon, Stephan woke up to the slaughter. He got up, a couple of new pains ached from his excapade. He groggily looked around, it was already morning and he spotted a box of cigars.

   Grumbling at that, he picked up a fresh cigar from the box, snatching up the lever-shotgun. He walked outside, sat on the wet grass, and lit up the cigar. It was already morning and the stench inside the cabin was overwhelming.

   Someone walked up, someone dressed in a maroon gothic waistcoat, a dark blue puffed shirt and houndstooth pattern pants. He had bright blonde hair, and bright blue eyes.

   Stephan knew him as Edward Blutsauger, he worked with him often. He was a close friend.

   Edward let out a “Christ, old man. I thought you got yourself killed… You look like shit.”

   At that, Stephan let out a simple, “Feh. That bastard couldn’t kill me with my hands tied behind my back. Did’ja find the kid?”

   Edward nodded, “Yessir, brought’im back to the sheriff. Got a pretty penny for it.”

   Stephan let out an amused snort, “Good. Ah need t’get a new coat…” He grumbled, as he stood up with a groan, walking back to town with Edward.

To Be Continued
« Last Edit: September 05, 2019, 03:34:22 am by Wheel-Son »
I am no longer legitimately considering leaving this forum


  • **********
  • Posts: 2,312
  • Dapperness +15/-53
  • Location: i dunno man above ground
    • View Profile
Re: Spinning Sightlines: A Bizarre Adventure
« Reply #4 on: September 27, 2019, 12:50:02 pm »
Old News Excerpt-- Printing date: 1834

Japanese Immigrants flood into Flordia

    An unsurprising turn of events-- Japanese immigrants from upwards of 5,000 potential citizens come in after Japan, a monarch island state, opened itself up to the west in 1829.

The Coyote

    Clydesdale sat the odd, black stylus on the counter of the general trader. "What can I get f'this?" He inquired.

    The shopkeeper gave him a look and scoffed, "Ya'feckin' kiddin' me? Yeh'think this trash is worth any--" He interrupted himself as he gave it a closer look. "Hnmph. Well-- I can't really resell this. But. The jeweler a lil' ways outta town likes this kinda weird shite."

    Clydesdale squinted at him for a moment, before letting out a simple “Christ…” under his breath, walking out of the general store. He walked down the street, close to the edge of town was a rickety, old jeweler’s workshop. Inside, behind the counter was an old, short asian man. He let out a soft grunt, greeting Clydesdale with an “Irasshaimase. What do you need?”

    With another solid thunk, the bounty hunter sat the obsidian black stencil on the counter. “The fella’ over at the general store said you had an interest in these kinda’ trinkets.”

    The old man behind the counter let out an interested chuckle, “Oooh, hooohoohooo… I do… This is made of something very interesting. Not a whole lot of people get this metal. Very special. You’re the-- Ah.--”

    He snapped as he tried to remember the word, “Gansuringā. Shooter man. Shootist?”

    The jeweler snapped once more and pointed at Clydesdale, “Gunslinger!”

    Clydesdale stifled a little chuckle at the shorter man in front of him, “That’s- uh. That’s me.” He responded as the jeweler gave a nod.

    The old man dug out some tools, a larger crucible, a cast, a set of little hammers, a vice, and a little acetylene stove. “I can make you something very special, friend. Something that may assist with your ‘work’.”

    Clydesdale scrunched up his nose, “And how much would this be?”

    The old man let out a little laugh, “Good sir! It’ll only be 10 dollars for my handywork! Anywhere else would of scammed you with maybe two-- three dollars! Or if they’re a craftsman, charge you three-- four times more!”

    Puledro stared at him for a moment, before Clydesdale pulled out a wad of cash and handing over a few bills. “It’d prob’ly make a p’good ring…” He mumbled as the old man counted.

    The jeweler nodded, “Alright, good sir. It should be done in a couple of hours. Stay safe.” He praddled on, as Clydesdale tipped his hat and walked out. Having returned to the center of town, he frowned a bit. Passersby gave him side-glances and dirty looks, his duel from yesterday left a sour taste in many of the townspeople’s mouths.

    Puledro let out a huff, before stumbling into Mashad again. “Oh-- Uh. Sorry, Mr. Clydesdale."

    Clydesdale let out a little noise, “It’s fine, how’s the cut, kid? Two hundred good enough?”

    The young man nodded eagerly, “Y-yessir.”

    Clydesdale frowned a bit at that, “Naw kid, I ain’t your boss. No need to call me ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Clydesdale.’”

    "Just Clydesdale?" Mashad asked

    "Just Clydesdale." He confirmed.

    The two walked and talked down the road, down towards the saloon to get out of the sun and the dry heat. Inside the dusty bar was a man with a guitar, singing a little tune¹. They checked in with the bar man, got a pitcher of water, a couple of glasses, and a bottle of watered down whiskey. Clydesdale and Mashad picked out a small booth in a little nook up on the second floor. They celebrated a job well done, Clydesdale rose his whiskey, as Mashad clinked his glass of water with the bounty hunter’s.

    Clydesdale and Mashad talked, the bounty hunter learned about the younger vagabond’s past. However, it wasn’t long before the two heard a chilling, humorless, chuckle². “As I live an’ breathe-- The golden gunslinger! An’ he’s a bounty hunter now.”

    Clydesdale glared at him, “‘The fuck are you?” He grumbled.
    The man with a thick southern accent, “Ya’ got a lil’ pest with ya’. I heard y’were ‘round here, Leprett’s a nice town. Folks don’t talk much if y’pay ‘em well ‘nuff. An’ the guv’ment folks don’t do shit.”

    Clydesdale rose up in his chair, “Who. In the Hell. D’ya think, y’are?”

    The southern man let out an ‘ahhh’ before he answered him, “‘Bobby Pierce’, y’might know me as ‘The Coyote.’ Anyways-- My point, some ‘a my friends ‘round here said they saw a strange feller sign a contract with the local pinkertons an’ come back with a well dressed corpse on th’back of his horse. Not unusual fer an undertaker, ‘cept it was a gunslinger. So they figured it was someone who fancied himself t’be the next Wild Bill or maybe th’next Zeppeli with them steel balls on yer gun-belt. But neither of ‘em are alive so Ah Digress. I like ya’ Clydesdale, ah really do. Stories ah hear ‘bout’chu are straight outta a dime novel. Fun t’hear! Now if yew--”

    Clydesdale slammed his hands against the table, standing up and clearing leather. He shot Pierce square between the eyes³.

    Inside the dusty bar was a man with a guitar, singing a little tune. They checked in with the bar man, got a pitcher of water, a couple of glasses, and a bottle of watered down whiskey. Clydesdale stopped dead in his tracks, he felt clammy and looked pale. “...huh…?”

    Mashad blinked for a moment, as they sat at a booth, in a nook on the second floor. “You feel that deja vu too, right?” He asked, as Clydesdale nodded.

    “That-- happened. It must’ve--” Clydesdale stammered, as they heard a familiar, cold chuckle.

    “An’ it did, my friend. Ah see I must be slippin’ a lil’bit, cuz you sir. Are certainly fast enuff t’put John Wesley t’shame, friend. But I digress, I’m willin’ t’put Kalvin aside since honestly, th’man was a sonuvabitch. But if y’all come after me an’ what ahm doin’? I’ll make sure y’all’re six feet under, ya’hear? Now, arrivederci as them Italians say.” He said, with a little tip of his hat, leaving the saloon with the message.

    Clydesdale sat down, putting his face into his hands. “What-- Was that?”

    Mashad swallowed nervously, talking in a low voice, “He has a ‘Stand’, Clydesdale. I saw it--”

    “With what I could se-- My blood ran cold at the sight of it...“ He finished, pouring himself a drink from the pitcher. Clydesdale rubbed his eyes, pouring himself a drink from the whiskey bottle. Taking a swig from the glass and rubbing his eyes, Clydesdale let out a sigh.

    “At least the Pinkertons told me there’s more work over out in the boonies, an’ there’s a sighting of one of Bobby’s gang over in a town called ‘Whitetail’. Prolly will take th’next train over there, y’- uh.” Clydesdale paused, “You an’ me make a good team, suprisin’ly. Yer welcome t’come along if y’d’like.” He offered.

    Mashad responded with, “Are you… sure? I dunno if a mostly blind man would be much of use…”

    Clydesdale waved him off, “Naw kid, you can see them hoodoo stand whatsits. I donno if I’ll run into any more of them ‘stand users’ like with Kalvin, but ‘cides. Yer pleasant t’talk to.”

    “Hah- fair enough…” Mashad chuckled at that, raising his glass. Clydesdale raised his in response.

To Be Continued⁴

« Last Edit: September 27, 2019, 12:52:05 pm by Wheel-Son »
I am no longer legitimately considering leaving this forum