Cattle Town - (See OOC)

[Light Ice]

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It was time to throw out the cards. The thin wax coating had all but entirely worn off and they'd stained in places. The backs of the cards had once been a checkered red pattern, the kind you'd find on the carpet in some higher-class hotels, and now each one had their own unique discoloration. Twice in the last three days they'd caught a Rustler cheating, memorizing those stains to read the cards out of another player's hand. Twice they'd sent the boys out with their hands cradling their guts from the stomping they took. Curtis had promised he'd never shoot a man over something as foolish as cards. He wasn't particularly Christian but he believed, truly, that there was something out there bigger than the ugliness he saw in the world and that guns over pettiness was undoubtably the kind of mark he didn't care to have on his record. That being said he was tired of the cheats. A few at his table of regulars were tired of the cheats. They were tired because they weren't sharp enough to memorize the marks and get cheated. Curtis was tired because he was just plain tired. And, to be perfectly honest with himself, he had to admit the cards was just a part of it.

The Old Paris, or The Paris as he called it, had become his home by default. His table, the regulars table, was nestled in the eastern corner where the bar squared around. It was the regular's table because it had a nice view of the entire floor, the stage and was in shouting distance of the bar's wooden counter. It was the regular's table because Curtis had set up shop there years ago, when his mother was still working the Paris' floor, and never taken to leaving. They'd arrived and she'd made her arrangements for their rooms, her own he'd always called 'the office', and he'd taken up this very table as his office. Curtis was always damned good at cards. It was one of those natural skills people tend to find along the journey of life. Cards, an otherwise useless one, was a skill most men discarded. Curtis, however, hadn't the luxury of a man's profession waiting for him. He'd the luxury, and subsequent curse, of too much time left to spent in old hotels and theaters. Cards had proved its meddle by helping him pass it in spades. Most the time with Curtis he passed it productively.

The cards were just plain worn out. His table was just plain worn out. Curtis was just plain worn out.

He was ready to go. He felt the urge knotted up in his belly like a cramp that he just couldn't shake. And it wasn't The Paris exactly. He liked the joint. It had a class a lot of the other places didn't and Abernathy was a big enough town that the shows on the stage were hands better than they'd been in Arizona or that god-awful quasi-mexican rustler's paradise called Texas. The Paris had been built out of darkly-stained timber. Sam liked to tell Curtis it was mahogany, but Curtis knew it wasn't. The wood lacked the rigidly straight grain lines that mahogany had. No, it was more likely pine. But it was stained damned well and the carpentry was the best Curtis had seen in one of these hotel theaters. The dark wood softened the light from the lamps, accented the felts and Oriental rugs and the brass trimmings to the bar and sconces. It was a welcoming and relaxing place when it wasn't packed full of drovers getting their fix.

Which was seldom when it came to the nights.

When it came to boasting Sam was the biggest Chicken in the Pen and in this case he had good reason. Sometimes, when he really got into it, Curtis pictured a Rooster strutting by with its feathers all puffed out. Sam was an older man, near fifty now, whose hair had migrated away from the top of his head all at once to form a horseshoe set just above his ears. He had a wide face with big cheeks, a small pointed nose, and beady eyes. His nose was so small that his glasses always had a habit of slipping off. Sometimes, when Sam was boasting, Curtis would count the times his hands came up to fix his glasses. The record was thirteen. If he wasn't so genuinely and tirelessly excited for himself Sam would have been intolerable. But as it was Curtis liked him a great deal. The man was genuine and kind and terribly kinetic. He was always moving here and there when the night was full, serving or helping the girls somehow. He loved his work. That was perhaps the most attractive thing about a friend to Curtis. Curtis loved people who did what they loved to do.

Mostly because he wasn't doing what he loved to do.

That alone was enough to make him want to leave Abernathy. His mother's death had been a two-fold curse on the man from Georgia. When she'd gone she'd taken from him the last semblance of family with her. The hard realities of the West seemed all the colder and harder now. But she'd also released him from his tie to her and forced him to admit for the first time what he wanted for himself. This was a curse that'd begun to consume him.

The girls had noticed. They'd been the first to notice. They fancied themselves sisters to him in a way. Curtis imagined they all, he included, needed that feeling of family to get by. Their concern, palpable at times, was a secret to everyone except for the girls and Curtis. Had he not resented them for it he'd admired them instead. Women, contrary to what every man he'd met had seemed to think, were a far more capable, calculated, and dangerous sort of creature than any man could be. Most of them at the Paris were whores of some kind. The Brothel that operated out of the Paris was greater than any other in town. Sam reckoned in the state. And, just this once, Curtis was inclined to agree.

The girls fancied themselves his sister of sorts. He could understand the misunderstanding perfectly well. When a man got rough they called him. When a man didn't pay they called him. But the reality was that it'd been his mother that loved them and embraced them as family. Curtis had simply made his mother proud and happy. But the truth was he had needs like any other and he'd always resented them from being close to his mother, for getting in her heart. The women who served drinks, danced, or whored at the Paris were the finest in Kansas. Most of them were educated girls, sharp as tacks and darlings to be around. More than a few had made him laugh in earnest, and the rest all had genuine sweetness to them.

But they were women he couldn't touch. Even now he couldn't turn around and change the arrangement. His urges had been spent on the lesser whores down the street. A few there were pretty enough. It wasn't even sex that he'd had in those cramped rooms. He rutted, like the steers in the ranches, until his balls had tightened and the ache was soothe by the hard rush of his climax. He'd have maybe six hours before the desire started tugging at him, maybe a month before he couldn't bare it anymore and went off to rut one of the girls again.

The girls at the Paris were sweet, but they'd never offered him their beds or services. Curtis imagined they knew how terrible for him it would be. A man's greatest foil to his moral code, however twisted it may be, was his desire for a woman. And they were beautiful. Almost all of them knew it. They'd left out those sensual comforts because they knew, or suspected, that the only thing worse for Curtis than settling for the girls down the street would be to suffer the conflict of want versus principle. It was a mercy they had offered him along with their silence to his troubles, and before it'd have made him happy. Happiness, an old friend had told him, was a man's decision to acclimate to his life as it was laid out for him. Curtis had acclimated for the last few years.

Those days were gone.

It was hard to keep the restlessness from spilling out of him. The urge to simply break from his routines and run off was a ferociously powerful thing. Curtis had summoned every ounce of his self-control to swallow it smiling, keeping his calm exterior fully buried in the predictability of his life. The girls were wise to it, of course. Even the dancers and drink servers knew him well enough to feel the tension in him. But they didn't show it and that's what mattered. The men who played cards with him so often were not alert to it or the consequent dip in his play the last few weeks. They hadn't noticed how little of his focus had been spent on the game.

"Drinks?" Came a soft voice.

They were perceptive. Frighteningly so. He'd not even heard Brandy draw up to them, consumed in his thoughts. Curtis looked to her and smiled faintly. How many times had he wanted a drink as badly as now? The caustic bitterness of the taste a fine thing to suffer for the warmth and distractions that were to follow. But to indulge, right here, would betray too much. Instead, swallowing those desires with greater difficulty than he would any hard drink, Curtis answered.

"Water for me, Brandy. Thanks." And his eyes lifted towards her own. The crowd would come soon and with them the potential for trouble. Brandy, more than some, tended to end up in the hardest of spots with the very worst kind of men. Curtis didn't know much about her, but what he knew endeared her to him. She was young, and even younger at heart. He'd been upstairs to help her out of a few of those hard spots. She was one that he had been apt to keep an eye on.

[Mephistophelily]

"Sure thing, Curtis." Brandy smiled sweetly to the man who seemed another part of the building, that chair seeming so out of place without him in it. She simply glanced to the other men at his table, not bothering to repeat herself before receiving either a wave of a hand or a mumbled order from between frustrated lips. Must've been turning into a rough game to be getting that type of response. She simply ran a hand over Curtis' shoulder, another soft smile being given before starting back to the bar.

He was a good guy, something she didn't manage to say about most of the guys who wandered in here. Curtis had been here longer than her, a sort of "extra bag" from his Mama from what the other older girls told her. Brandy herself had ended up here after her Uncle deemed her too old to be staying at his home, offering two choices to her; marry off to one of his friends, or go find a job at The Paris.

The man had planned to leave.
The Old Paris never moved.

Brandy's decision was easily made, coming to talk to Sam as soon as she was old enough to be of interest to his establishment. She was hired on to be simply help at the bar, entertainment once in awhile... but there was also the unspoken rule that she was available for any man that may ask for her. She didn't much care for that, but agreed to it anyway. It was better than being in Texas...

"Three me's and a water for Curtis," She called to the bartender, turning around to watch the doors of the old building as she let out a light sigh. She felt so tired today, one of those days were she would have preferred to hole up in her room and hide under her blanket. Even the sun outside seemed to mock her, so warm and inviting as its rays danced on the wood outside the door, teasing her to come out and enjoy it.

No time for that. Things to do, people to tend to. The soft clinks of the glasses being settled beside her caught Brandy's attention, smiling yet again as she plucked them up. "Thank you."

Returning to the table, she placed the drinks by their respective owners, another quick smile being given to Curtis with his water before leaving the last glass of brandy before the older fellow next to him. Starting back around the table, she let out a light yelp as a man from the table behind that suddenly reached out, a firm swat of his heated hand ending up on her bottom. A quick glare was shot at him, Brandy lifting her tray over her head as if to smack him with it- cut short by a loud clearing of a throat back at the bar. The bartender shook his head firmly as Brandy glanced up, causing her to scowl and drop the tray back to her side. "Did you need somethin'?," She asked flatly, still frowning.

The man simply snickered, returning to his card game. Brandy frowned once more, letting out a light huff before returning to the bar. Now she was not only tired, but her rump was stinging as well. With her luck, the evening wasn't going to be much more of a help with that, either.

[AngelofDeath]

Nicole strolled into the Paris, her duster flapping behind her and her hat low on her head. The Paris was one of the few places she could go and knew that no one smart enough was going to give her grief. Of course it helped matters that Sam had no intention of loosing his best customer and steak supplier. Sam and Jacques had had a standing agreement for the longest time, Same got his meat at half price and Jacques got all the booze and women he wanted. The women part of the deal came in after Bride Tiernan had past. There was plenty the fiery Irish woman had put up with, but making time with the local whores was not one of them. And it wasn't as if her step-father had ever had a wish to betray his loving wife. Once she had taken over, Nicole had never felt the need to change the agreement, Sam still got his meat cheap and Nicole had all the alcohol she could handle.

Everyone in Abernathy that had been there long enough, knew than Nicole wasn't Jacques or 'Jack' to just about everyone else, wasn't his daughter, but only fools and those wishing to meet their maker earlier than planned ever made mention of it. Nicole's real father and her mother's first husband had been a Comanche. Bride had never really gone into all the details of White Horse's death, but she knew it was part of the reason why her mother never came into town much and preferred the company of her second husband, daughter and ranch hands.

"Evening Sam, slow night?" She had seen Brandy ready to show some old man what happens to those who touch without asking.

"Same as always Nicole. Whiskey?" He was already opening the bottle and pouring her drink.

"Of course." She took the glass and took a slow sip after giving Curtis a nod. The two had played cards here and there but never really socialized much. It made sense that a pair of the resident black sheep were on friendly terms. Even at the distance she could see he was going to need a new deck of cards soon. Old and worn was only so good before people started reading them and using them to their advantage. Hell they probably had already. Setting the class down Sam obliged her with a refill and then set the bottle down.

"You going to be eating here tonight?"

"Yep. Cookie is busy with the hands and I am not feeling my womanly side tonight to warrant cooking for myself." She picked up the glass and the bottle and started for her usual table. Once she sat down Nicole kicked one leg up onto the table while Sam headed back into the kitchen to put a steak on.

[Light Ice]

Back at Curtis' table things were going poorly. Not only was he losing, but he was losing more than he'd first noticed. Eight dollars was a lot of money, about a week's worth of winnings and more than a week's worth of work for most the Ranch Hands. The four at his table were grinning like mules when Curt finally seemed to rouse himself to it, his pale eyes narrowing some at the shrinking pile of nickels infront of his seat. He'd lost eight dollars in just a couple hours because his head wasn't on straight.

Ordinarily, Curtis would never have lost this much. Gambling, like anything, was as much about getting out before you got yourself in trouble as it was getting out while you were ahead. But with his thoughts drifting to his plans, shifting far from here, he'd left himself open to even suspect bluffs and bleed out the better part of his remaining cash. He excused himself, rising from the table. The devil was in the details, of course. He had to get his shit together in a hurry if he was going to pull this off. Losing himself in the fantasy of the future was a good way to foul up the one shot he'd have.

On his way up he caught the tail-end of Brandy's ordeal, looking at once to the tension etching its way in the otherwise soft, smooth angles of her face. Women that pretty had a tendency of looking more so when someone had their ire, but not today. She looked worn down more than anything. It wasn't written on her face the way it would have been with some, but he saw it. It was in the contrasts of her softly featured face and the harder edge of her eyes, there, in the corners were the faint wrinkles of fatigue. Curtis was a student of contrast. It paid its worth in the hard tumbles of whorehouses like the ones his mother had worked and even more in the games of cards he'd frequented.

"Going to be a busy night tonight, Brandy." He was probing her gently, pale eyes seeking Sam briefly as he saddled up to the bar beside her. Sam refilled his water in reply.

Curtis knew better than to look at her, to search her pretty little eyes with his own. No matter how much the man in him wanted to it would have been a give away, and it would have been dangerous. Her touch was already lingering at his shoulder, seemed to have shot right into his belly and knotted it up. Beautiful women had a tendency of doing that and Curtis knew right now, more than most times, he was vulnerable to it. So, instead, he remained his stoic self at her side. His back to the few patrons who'd come in early, body hunched some over the bar's brass-lined counter.

[Mephistophelily]

"S'alright," Brandy replied softly, hugging her fading wooden tray against her chest as she leaned back against one of the stools. "Busy just means not holdin' still too much. You keep busy, you never notice how you're feelin'. Not feelin'... much like feelin' today."

Her gaze fell to the small glass resting on the counter beside her, watching Curtis' fingers as they held to it and the water that quickly rose to the brim from Sam's pitcher. A faint smile came to her lips, Brandy giggling softly. "You'd be better off a fish," she noted, looking back to take in the men at his abandoned table. "A fish wouldn't be worried 'bout money... or cheaters..."

She pulled herself off the stool, leaning closer to him as she reached around to pluck up another tiny shotglass. "Mister Silver-Whiskers has been watchin' the marks again. Thinkin' I might get you a new deck for Christmas, Curtis. Sam doesn't seem to be too eager on buying new ones anytime soon." Another light pat of her hand was placed on his shoulder, Brandy quickly moving off to bring the drink to it respective owner.

Oh, how wonderful. It was for Grabby-Hands.
The man began waving his arm out franticly as he spotted her with the glass, pounding his fist on the table as she approached. "Gimme that," He sneered, snatching it quickly from her fingers and gulping it down, only to shove it back up at her. "And do it again."

She frowned, taking it delicately before backing away. He already reeked of whiskey... Most likely a few drinks of his own on the way in. No wonder he had grabbed out like that; he was probably trying to keep his balance in the chair. She had seen enough men kiss the floor in the last few years, whether by their own inability to hold liquor or from the angry hand of another patron.

Either way, it usually left Brandy smirking in the corner.

[AngelofDeath]

Nicole just shook her head as one of the other girls brought her steak out. Drunks always got on her last nerve. Of course none of them were her men and it really wasn't her business if they harassed the girls, but that wouldn't stop her from getting involved if they kept at it. She set her hat on the table, foregoing most of the manners her mother taught her as she picked up her knife ad fork and tore into her dinner. The steak was cooked just the way she liked it, medium rare and still juicy. After a few bites she finally started to work on the potato on her plate. She gave Brandy a soft smile as the girl went back to the bar while the drunk older ranch hand went back to his cards and his equally stinkin' drunk pals.

They shot a few looks their way and Nicole just raised an eyebrow at them in challenge. Whiskey made cowards into brave fools and smart men into idiots who would kiss a rattler if you dared them. If they were smart they would keep to their table, but one was bound to get it in his head that they had something that she wanted or needed. Nicole would be polite and they would press their luck and if they crossed the line Sam would be having blood to clean up. Pouring herself another drink, Nicole polished it off fairly quickly, putting the glass down with a loud clink. At the rate they were going she was going to lose her temper, something the new sheriff wouldn't be too happy about. Nicole had a hot temper and an even shorter fuse to that temper. She had no problem throwing fists. Growing up as an only girl child around a bunch of rough ranch hands had led to a very confident woman who had no problem defending herself.

When she was done with her steak, Nicole put both feet up and looked around.

[Soru]

The door to the car slid open as people began to filter out. Two shiny leather dress shoes tapped down onto the creaking wood of the platform. The huge dirt and rust encrusted black train bellowed loudly, signaling it's approaching departure time. Another tip tap upon the old wooden floor boards as those "too clean for the ground" dress shoes made their way across the platform and into the dirtiest train station Oswald had ever seen. No, it wasn't the grime. It was the dust... the dustiest train station he had ever seen. Everything in the West seemed to have an orange hue to it, like looking through colored lenses. He smirked at the irony of the thought. His own classes were ruby-tinted, a mark of irony in itself.

The white haired man's lips pressed together and he began to whistle to himself as he made his way through the busy train station, bumping into people left and right. His hands fished their pockets, finding change and wallets galore. The busy stations were the best for that sort of thing. It was lowly thievery, but it was still fun. He loved the thrill of it. Into his bag the wallets went and as he passed a beggar outside, he dropped what change he collected into his mostly empty tin. The sound of the coins hitting the metal echoed in his ears as voices raised from within the station. Someone realized their wallet was missing it seemed. They sounded none to happy. Shame that.

A grin tugged at his lips during a pause in his whistling. He glanced down the left side of the dirt road and then down the right side. The first, and likely the only, hotel he could see was down the left side. He walked down the road, keeping note of people and places as he went about. As he came upon the place Oswald read the sign hanging just above and to the side of the door.

"Old Paris... interesting."

He had been to France, to Paris more specifically. Oswald wondered what the name implied and if it had anything to do with the European city. As he was lost in thought, the doors to the place swung open as two ranch hands hobbled out clung to each other for support. Oswald smirked. He liked drunken fools. They were easier to cheat. So he wandered in through the swinging doors, bag still in hand.

For the town and what he had already seen of it, the Hotel was incredibly well furnished and obviously meticulously maintained.

"Fancy."

He heard the word escape his lips in a whisper only meant for him. It was his own brand of sarcasm, but he had to admit he was impressed. If anything he was happy he wouldn't have to stay in some horrible little hole again. He had to buy a whole new wardrobe after the last one. He visibly cringed thinking about it.

There were already a few customers and he noticed the girls dressed suspiciously as to insight provocation. He smirked again. So it was that kind of establishment. Interesting indeed. Now he understood the naming reference. If possible, his smirk pulled wider, revealing his shiny too white teeth. Dental hygiene was overly important to Oswald, especially in such places.

After more mental notes, he finally made his way over to the bar. At his feet he sat his large bag as he glanced over to the table in the square corner of the place. They were playing poker. His brow arched and he fought the temptation to join them. No, he needed a room first and at least a day to test the waters before he made waves. Such was the smart thing to do.

"Excuse me sir. A room with a view please, preferably of the bovine variety. Such beautiful creatures."

He kept a straight face as he asked the barkeep about accommodations. His toothy grin retreated into an innocent smile as he awaited a response from the bartender. He wondered if the man would catch on or take him at his word. A lot could be said of a man and how he takes a joke, tasteful or not.

[Lady Reiha]

She heard the hustle and bustle outside the dusty red curtain, her face curving into a beautiful smile. She loved it when the establishment was full, the feeling of moving one's heart, one's soul through song. Hands skillfully fluffed her hair, thick pencils moving over her dark green eyelids, suddenly moving towards her pouty lips. She was set. Ready to astound the crowd on the other side of the musty-smelling curtain.

With one deep breath, she heard a familiar voice make a weekly announcement; one she knew off by heart:

" And now ladies and gents, the moment y'all be waitin' for. The woman who can break your heart and stitch it back in place.. the lovely Dr. Aoshi!"

"Here goes." Nana exhaled, hearing the half-hearted claps in front of her, the squeaky wheels pulling up the thick curtain to reveal the busty doctor turning beet-red at the hoots and hollers from sound of the rowdy folk in the corner. Nana smirked, speaking into the dusty mic. " Hello everybody.. thank-you for coming here tonight. I have a special song that I just made up today when fixing up ol' Jon boy's busted kneecap." She paused; her dark eyes secretly wishing that she could see the faces on the folks before her. Yet; something made her feel uneasy. There was someone there she couldn't quite sense. A newcomer?

" Anyway, I hope y'all like this song. It's called "Don't bother none". Clearing her husky voice, she heard the blue's guitar pick up, the slide picking up tempo while the throaty harmonica welcoming her cue. The beautiful doctor sang her blues, her free hand clenched into a fist, walking towards the guitarist; her slender back up against in a smooth composition. The hoots and hollers continued, smiling happily at what she considered a compliment. This is what she wanted, all she ever wanted. The happiness and smiles of townsfolk. But was it really?

Before she could think anymore of her own questionings, Nana cooed the last lyric, her blind eyes falling directly at the mysterious man at the bar. Why was there something that drew her to that presence? Did she know this person? Snapping out of her trance, she bowed on cue as the announcer said his usual piece. Perhaps tonight she would mingle with the others, grab a drink or two. Grasping her wooden walking stick, she made her way down the creaky stairs and out onto the floor. " Great song tonight Nana!" echoed through her ears, a flashing smile illuminating from her ruby-red lips. Reaching out, she felt the smooth polish of the bar counter, tapping a nearby bar stool with her stick before moving her decorative dress to sit comfortably.

" I'll have a shot of rum please, Sam." She spoke softly, her slender hands finding way back on her lap. It would take a while, as usual. Humming slightly to herself, she felt the chilly presence next to her. What was with her tonight? Why was she so on-edge? Moving her hands to her overflowing chest; Nana adjusted herself, hearing the sleek sliding of a rum-on-the-rocks slide towards her. " Thanks Sam!" Placing a few coins on the wet counter before her. " Maybe one drink is good enough tonight. I shouldn't get to impaired when there's so many people in here tonight.. just in case." She thought, a finger gently touching the top of her glass, enjoying the quite "ring" it produced, listening to the singer on the stage sing beautifully with a western drawl. Perhaps tonight, she could be inspired, a new song to think about for next week perhaps?

Taking out a leather-bound journal from her medicine bag, she grabbed a pencil; waiting for inspiration to set in.

[Light Ice]

From the streets the crowd poured in, lapping at the heels of the well-dressed man at the bar beside him. Curtis looked at Brandy, watching quietly. His pale eyes cutting briefly over the soft shape of her features before Sam's movements distracted him. They had perhaps a moment, no more, before the crowd filled the room entirely and what moments of discreet dialogue they could share were swallowed up in the din of the Paris at evening. He reached, his strong fingers encircling the saloon girl's slender wrist, attempting to place her hand in the crook of his rugged arm.

"You're on break for a bit."

He sensed an opportunity. Time was short and he needed to be certain he was ready when there wasn't any left. Pressing from the bar he made to gently draw her from the darkwood counter through the shifting crowd. Drovers, men of the town, they all filed in. The great diversity of faces stretching to their attire, their smells. Conversations struck up all around and the girls upstairs began to filter down, dressed for a proper evening. Sam's hands were already busy pouring beers, lining up glass mugs with frothy tops that sloshed onto the counter.

He wouldn't mean to keep her long. Curtis looked to her, his pale eyes attempting to hold her own briefly in subtle assurance. The brim of his hat bounced faintly up and down, shading his features. For the first time in a long time Curtis suddenly felt the desire to share with someone the thoughts that had piled themselves into his head. His mother, even in the last few years, had ceased to be an outlet.

[Mephistophelily]

A thin smile came to Brandy's face as she watched the start of the night crowd come in, though managed to let it truly pull through as Nana took the stage. Her songs always seemed to do that; bring Brandy back to the regular state of happiness most found her in. She was thankful to the woman for that. "Great song, Doc!," She called out, her hand pressed against the side of her mouth as she laughed.

She jumped slightly as a hand snuck about her other wrist, glancing back to find Curtis quite close to her. A confused look came to her eyes, but she still let the smile continue through. Her own hand moved to touch his arm, nodding softly as he deemed it time for her to take a break. "I- Ah... sure thing, Curtis."

The smell of her namesake was already starting to waft around her, mixed in with the smell of the beers and other beverages Sam was hurrying to keep flowing. She opened her mouth to call to him, but her words were lost in the music and voices around her.

Her attention turned to Curtis, wondering what was on his mind. He seemed rather set on whatever it was, leading her through the incoming traffic like all these men did with cattle in the plains. Finally, her fingers tightened a bit into the man's arm, looking up at him with a slight frown. "Somethin' wrong? I don't think I've ever seen you leave a game that quick..." She glanced back at the stage, watching as the band began to filter off. Time for something else to occupy these short attention spans.

[Soru]

Perked atop a barstool, Oswald was turned towards the stage as everyone else seemed to be. The beautiful woman up there was dressed just enough to keep her creme colored flesh from simply pouring out. Oswald found himself licking his lips as he tipped his rose colored lenses to get a better view. Suddenly, the newcomer had a fond appreciation of the Orient.

He had found a room earlier with some help from a... more than luscious lady. The auburn haired temptress led him up the stairs to his new accommodations. He caught himself glancing at her hips as she ascended the stairs. More than once. Had it been that long for him... or was this bordello some kind of special?

Back at the bar and away from thoughts that would, no doubt, get him into trouble, Oswald watched the Asian beauty do her thing. She had an addictive voice. The way she curled her words was almost like tasting the seduction - as if it were a tangible drink one could lose themselves in. More than once he let his eyes close as the guitar melded seamlessly with the sound of her voice.

All too soon though, the song faded as the last string was plucked on that old guitar. Some part of him felt empty at that, like he finally found something but it slipped through his fingers. It confused him. Feelings like these never troubled him before. He'd best keep himself in check he thought.

That was, until the siren herself approached the bar just a stool or two away from him. By this time he had already turned back to the counter and was sipping from his short whiskey glass. He dropped a finger to idly play with the moisture that had built up around the base of the glass. With every trace of his finger upon the damp wooden counter he would steal a glance over to the songstress. Was he... nervous? Surely this couldn't be... not him.

Oswald cleared his throat and turned towards her, noticing the small notebook. He raised a brow as he looked to her blind eyes and then to the walking cane. She would be blind, wouldn't she? Irony usually was. With a bit of a grin at that, he spoke up.

"You are very talented my dear... however I have to ask... how can you tell what you're writing?"

He started to motion to her eyes but stopped once he realized how foolish it was considering that she couldn't see it.

[AngelofDeath]

After the good doctor's wonderful performance as always, the crowd still thick settled down to watch the other entertainment and as start sucking down every available bit of booze they could get their hands on. Out of the corner of her eye she watch Curtis and Brandy walk off. Well that is different, she thought to herself. Curtis was far from ugly, but having pretty much grown up around most of the girls, they saw him as their brother and protector. Such bonds usually got right in the way of intimacy. Well if the man managed to find some relief, all the better for him. Nicole had pretty much given up on sex. Anyone who did want to sleep with her wasn't worth her time or was out to gain something and the rest that she might have found attractive, were too much like family and thus out of the question.

Knocking back another glass of whiskey Nicole let out a soft groan as some drunk hand from the Tumbling B came walking her way, a slight stagger to his movements. Great just what she needed...not.

"Well ain't you a sight for sore eyes, gal. How's about you and I get to know each other." Nicole's nose curled at the foul stench of his breath.

"How about we don't and say we did?" She shifted in her seat, turning her back to him.

"Now why you have to go and be rude, darling. Sure you'd look better in a skirt or nothing at all, but you wear those jeans well. Besides who else is going to want to spend sometime between the legs of a half breed? Unlike my pals over there I ain't so picky." His eyes ran over her body as he waited for her to take his offer.

Nicole clenched her jaw as she let the idiot babble on. He wasn't saying anything worth slugging him for. She had heard it from the day she started getting breasts and coming into town to help her step-father with the store. Instead with a white knuckle grip she poured another drink and took a sip, "Listen pal, I am not in the mood to spend time with a drunk who can't even walk straight, let alone pull his head out of his hindparts long enough to be charming rather than stupidly insulting." She took another sip on a hiss and the liquor burned its way down to her guts. "So take yourself back to your pals and go get to now your hand or find some saloon gal to take pity on your drunken self."

Nicole glared at him, "And take a bath, its the least you can do if you expect some woman to spread her thighs and let you rut at her like some fat and flighty pig." Even though she hadn't meant for it to happen, her viced had raised up enough to draw the eyes of a few patrons. At that last bit a few laughed and the angry flush that had been at his dirt and sweat covered neck had spread to his equally filthy face.

"Listen you stupid injun bitch!" He was dragging her out of her chair, but he never got to finish his thought because as she came up, Nicole jammed her colt to his gut.

"Listen to what? Listen to some drunk who's close to pissin himself right now? Get it through your whiskey soaked brain; I...want...to...be...left...alone." On the last word she pulled the hammer back.

"Y..you ain't gonna shoot me. My boys will," he groaned as she shoved the barrel harder against him.

"Your boys aren't going to do anything. While I don't expect anyone in here at random to stick up for me or even Sam for that matter. There are at least 4 of my ranch hands in here right now with their guns pointed in your pals direction. so unless you want your guts and balls on the floor I suggest you get your hands off of me and get the hell out of my sight" Nicole was deadly serious. There were some things she took, but putting your hands on her was a good way to get shot.

They stood there, staring each other down, until first one and then the other eye began to twitch and he let go of her shirt sleeve. Looking away from her, he scooted back and then made a hasty retreat from her. Letting the hammer go, Nicole brushed her shirt off and sat back down. As one of the girls grabbed her plate she said, "Get me another one, will ya Rose?" Rose gave her a nod and a smile.

"Of course Nicole. And thanks for shutting that man up. He's been a pest to everyone lately." She picked up the plate and headed off to the kitchen. Nicole sat back and started to roll herself a cigarette.

[Lady Reiha]

"You are very talented my dear... however I have to ask... how can you tell what you're writing?"

The words seemed to echo her very soul, a simple ruby-red smile playfully scrawled across her powdered face. " A sharp man you are." She spoke softly, her voice gentle as a kitten's first purr. She pointed to her pen; her milky-brown eyes slanting upwards, the creases smiling back towards the man a few stool's down. " I am simply just too intelligent I suppose." She whispered slowly, moving the blank notebook towards the man; A notebook with tiny indents scrawled across the yellowing pages.

Nana laughed lightly, wishing at that moment to see the face of the man before her, the look that mirrored back at her in slight confusion and embarrassment. Her smile became casual, bringing a hand up to the damp counter only to find a hand already resting there. " Oh.. sorry.." She purred; lifting her hand away slightly, her fingers a simple gaze away from the mysterious man. " Have you not heard of Braille?" Nana asked, her lovely head cocking to the side in slight shock. She knew the man was not like any other in the bar. He had an stuffy class to him, and smelled much too clean compared to the others in the bar. Surely he was pulling her leg. He just simply had to be.

"Anyway.. I use Braille for my song writing. It's a hobby that keeps my mind occupied. But besides my mysterious ways of writing lyrics, what about you? What brings you to our sleepy town?" She asked, batting her long eyelashes in interest and humor. It had been a while since someone possibly capable of understanding her intellect came rolling into the quiet town. It was refreshing.

Perhaps she misunderstood his aura after all.

She had so many questions to ask the outsider, how the world was revolving outside of little ol' Kansas. Nana's pouty lips began to form a word when suddenly she heard it. A curse followed by the unmistakable sound of a dragging chair and a cocked gun. Nicole was at it again. This time, with some old, drunken bastard.

Sighing softly, Nana stood up; grabbing her walking stick and bag, as the Emerald green dress she adorned continued to quietly slip off the worn out stool. Walking slowly with diligent grace, she walked towards the good-smelling stranger, not realizing just how close she now was to him. " I don't mean to be a nuisance, but; can you tell me if either of the fighting party is injured? Oh.. and if so; could you please turn me to the right direction?" Nana asked shyly, her eyes lowering slightly to the floor; her pale cheeks now a sudden blush of pink. What was with her all of a sudden? Why was she so giddy? Perhaps she was excited to show the mystery man that she had talents beyond singing, or maybe the sudden fact that helping the injured made her feel good?

" Nana! Snap out of it!" Her mind replied, snapping back into reality, her senses honing in on the soft shuffle of departing feet in the area. The tension was cleared, no signs of a possible on-coming brawl. " Oh well." She whispered to herself, jumping slightly at the touch of herself rubbing unintentionally against the man- now next to her.

" Forgive me!" She bowed; her original pink blush- a sudden rose.

[Light Ice]

Though she moved with him, Curtis could tell that Brandy was alarmed. There was every reason to understand why. A man, claiming her so abruptly, in any state would have done it for most. But in this instance it'd been him, and he'd always kept a line between them. To draw her up and away so quickly had been undoubtably the farthest thing she'd expect. He forgave her the questions as they moved past the line of rooms, brass numbers hanging on the center of the doors towards the one he kept. Of all the rooms it was the smallest. He closed the door behind them and released her in the process.

There was no elegant way to ask her this.

"Brandy." He made an unconscious move further into the room, kept her path to the door clear. His mother had said once the only time she was nervous at work was when a man put himself between her and the door. It'd stuck with him always. Even now, with naught but a conversation between them, he'd been sure not to be that guy.

"Can you keep this between us?"

[Mephistophelily]

Well, his mind wasn't on the most obvious reasons that a guy ever clung to her like that; that made clear to her as he passed her own room to instead take to his own... And though the idea had momentarily passed through her mind, Brandy was fairly certain that it wasn't the main reason he had pulled her away from her duties. Things like that were technically part of her job description, but not to the extent of some of the other girls-

Her attention returned to the moment as he closed his room door, her steps taking her back a few motions as she looked at both the rough wood on the frame and the man before her. He moved as well, as if to offer her a means of escape if she felt enclosed. So far, no... She wasn't terribly nervous around him. Still, the odd behavior did pull a few hairs up on her neck.

"Keep this- Yeah, I'm good at secrets, Curtis...," She responded slowly, watching him. "Is somethin' wrong?," She asked once again, now a bit more nervous a tone in her voice. "You in trouble or somethin'? I'd be glad to help ya, but- Curtis, I'm no good in that type'a situations... I can barely keep myself out of it, I dunno how much help I can be when- I mean, I've needed you to save my ass more times than I can even count anymore..."

She stopped abruptly, frowning as she looked at her hands. "Nevermind. I- Just... Yeah. Secret. I can keep a secret. Heaven knows I've got my share of 'em in there anymore."

Maybe... Maybe this WAS what she had originally thought. That he was... simply more comfortable in his own room...? She looked back up at him, her brown eyes wide with curiosity.

[Light Ice]

She'd do, she'd do better than fine. For the first time since they arrived he smiled some, lifting his hat from his head to consider her in the room's dim light. She was beautiful, more than he'd allowed himself to notice. Had he been anyone else, anyone at all, the room would have found a more seductive use than this. As it was, though, her beauty meant more to the others than it would to him. It'd distract them. They'd never see her coming.

"Listen, B. I've no sense for this place anymore. And I'm not much enough on cards to make a real go of it." He paused, smiling faintly. "Lost eight dollars today."

It was such an obscene amount of money to lose at cards. He lifted his hat some and laid it on his knee, watching her as she stood there. The bed's edge was a fine enough seat for him, and in truth it wouldn't have allowed for much else. It was a tiny thing, little more than a cot.

"I'm going to get in a scrap today and I don't have the twenty dollars to pay the fine. The Sheriff will put me in the tank for the night. I want you to wait until first thing tomorrow morning, real early, and pay my fine. Do that for me and you won't have to worry about the twenty dollars."

[Mephistophelily]

Eight dollars. The actual amount made her stiffen slightly, staring at him. "Oh, Curtis...," She breathed, shaking her head. "I thought you were havin' a rough time, but I didn't realize-"

Wait.
What did he have in mind?

"That's a terrible idea!," She hissed, moving quickly to him and grabbing the hand that rested atop his hat. "Gettin' into a fight just- Just to get yourself arrested?! I know I'm not the smartest in the town, but.. somethin' about that just don't sound that grand a plan to me, y'know?"

She frowned, releasing his hand.
She had promised.

Looking him over, trying to understand the best she could, she finally just let out a hard sigh and nodded. "Alright. I'll get your money, get you outta there. Just- don't get into such a fight you get yourself all busted up, okay?"

Her hand raised once again, this time its target not his own fingers- but his cheek instead. She smiled warmly, her fingers trailing down his cheek to rest her index upon his chin. "I don't get to see a smile on you very much, and I'd rather the next one wasn't missin' any teeth."

[Light Ice]

Her touch was electric, innocent as it may have been. Brandy was the kind of girl who always ended up in trouble, stumbled gracefully from one calamity to another. But a finer damsel in distress there couldn't have been, and Curtis felt the spark of her fingers surge through him straight to his belly. They knotted there, his muscles tightening ferociously, and his hard length twitching firmly against the in-seam of his slacks.

Just how badly did he want to turn his head into her fingers, kiss that soft place on the inside of her wrist and pull her down to him. Bad enough that he was about to go give or take a pretty coarse beating so he could do it with a clear conscience. He could see her eyes, so soft, holding his.

Curtis did not look away.

"Alright," he said. His hand lifting to gently take her own in the larger stretch of his fingers and releasing them a moment after.

"My family had a horse ranch once." Had he ever told this story before? Likely not. The words started coming and didn't stop, even as he hunched faintly towards her from his seat. Close enough now that if he wanted he could lift his face and press his lips to the front of her dress, just above where her navel would be. His needs were getting more pressing and she was tempting him. He doubted she knew how badly.

"Before the war. Appaloosa, Quarter-Horse, a few others. Good rising horses, working horses. I tell you, Brandy, I'm going to have a ranch again. And when I do you'll get your pick of the bunch."

And he meant it. Things were in motion. Briefly he wondered if Brandy would stumble into the arms of those jerks if she'd some solid ground under her feet. They weren't so different in a way. She'd lost her father, he'd lost his. Nothing had been right for either of them since. It was the way of things. But Curtis was going to change his fortunes. And it'd start with this sleek-figured girl bailing him out of jail.

[Mephistophelily]

She smiled again. At least he promised to try and be safe about all this. The last thing she wanted was to see him getting himself hurt. It would break her heart to walk into that jail with the money to get him out, only to find him bleeding and bruised. He was one of the few guys that actually meant something to her without a fake emotion coming from them... She could tell there was an honesty from him when he spoke to her, just like Sam. They actually cared, and she cared back.

The sudden words that left him took her by surprise, looking down at him as he talked- the conversation seemingly directed more to the belt line of her dress, but words just the same. Her hand that had been placed against his chin now slipped to rest oh his shoulder, Brandy listening to all he had to tell her. "...Horses...," She repeated softly, nodding. "I bet they were beautiful...."

A light titter of a laugh left her as he promised her one of his horses later on, shaking her head as she smiled down at him. "What'm I gonna do with a horse, Curtis? I don't plan to be going anywhere. The Paris is the only home I have..." She trailed off, still smiling. "But I'd still love to see 'em. Maybe... Maybe I will take you up on that offer, too. Leave it with you. That way I can go run with my thoughts, with that horse... I don't know anything else 'cept here... I'd rather the horse didn't end up in the same place."

She stooped down, placing a soft kiss atop his head. "And I'm glad you want to find your place away from here. You don't belong here like this. You should be as free as those horses, all of you runnin' around and bein' happy. I can see you're not happy here. Not since-" She hesitated, frowning for a moment. "You need your happy place, Curtis."

[Light Ice]

He laughed, couldn't help himself. For all the long tired moments of the saloon life there were few moments of genuine sweetness, and here it was right infront of him. Shaking his head, Curtis began to rise, nearly brushing the rugged length of his body against her own as he did. As it was he had to stretch his hands to her softly-rounded hips, offer her the most faint of touches to press her back from him. It felt strange, foreign somehow, to push a woman like this away from him. She'd feel the hesitation, sure as anything, and the way his fingers curled when he pulled them back.

"I don't know about me running much at all, too lazy for that." His humor was softened by the conflict that surged up inside him.

"But you get yourself a horse, and if I have to teach you to ride it I will. She can stay on the ranch, she can have a good time of it, and you can ride her whenever you like. Hell, if this works out the way I figure it will, who knows." He didn't finish the rest, there was no need.

Instead he reached out and broke his own rule, her kiss still warming the small place on his forehead where she'd offered it. His fingers brushed her cheek, smoothed over her chin and gently cradled it. He pressed his lips to her cheek, firmly, tasting the sweetness of her skin an feeling the hard rush surging through him. Paying it no mind, he lingered, let her feel for a moment the great appreciation of her that was thick in his heart, before he released her.

"Come on, B. I'm about to go make a damned fool of myself."

[Mephistophelily]

If it had been any other man, Brandy would have been hurt by the motions he made against her waist; pushing her away with gentle hands as he got to his feet. Instead, she simply smiled, looking up at him with a sort of adoration. He was so different from the men who usually joined her in the hidden rooms of the saloon... He actually made her feel- appreciated. Sure, she could hear the words of affection from the other guys, but that was simply pillow talk.... Croons and coos of momentarily loving words that were forgotten the instant they had finished what they came for.

They all touched when she didn't want it.
He wouldn't touch when she wanted it.

A faint smile came to her lips as he mentioned the running horses being alone on that part. "I'd like to learn," She agreed, the idea of a horse all her own sounding more and more appealing. The added bit to his sentence left her confused, but she simply gave a quick smirk and left it at that.

He touched her.

She had men fondling her daily, all trying to get a rise out of her, yet the simple run of his hand along her cheek sent a sudden chill down her spine. The unexpected kiss that followed actually managed to bring butterflies to her stomach. She smiled broadly as he kept his one hand on one side, his lips against the other, finally releasing to confirm the start of his plan.

Her smile dropped, frowning as he moved his hand. "You're sure...?," She started, trailing off as she looked up at him. Of course he was. His whole train of thought seemed directed by that horse ranch. How exactly gettin' himself arrested was going to get him any closer to it was beyond her, but he was pretty well set on that being the key to starting his plans.

"Just don't get yourself killed, okay? Pretty sure that'd ruin everything, you go and do that..."

[Light Ice]

In that moment he wasn't a mere gambler, and she wasn't just a saloon girl. For the briefest of moments they'd transcended those limits and embraced the fantasy together, he and her. He'd felt it. When she spoke his eyes held her own, looked into them, and admired openly for the first time how beautiful she was. Curtis realized suddenly that he'd gladly take a whooping and a jailing to see her again away from the rest of the Paris' crowd.

"Remember, let me sit the night in there. Alright?" The night in jail. He'd done a few before when things had gone bad in the Paris. Sam had bailed him out on those nights, spent the twenty-five dollars necessary when Curtis had thumped a man who got a little too rough with the girls beyond what the Sheriff found tolerable. He'd thumped more than a few for Brandy. She was sweeter than the other girls, younger too. Trouble seemed to find her even when she wasn't interested in taking a man upstairs. Men just didn't lay off.

He heard her agree, and moved past her. Aware that before he slipped out the door his hand had sought her own, felt her soft fingers against his, and squeezed them. It was a significant affection, a sudden warmth offered before he left her there. He was unsure if she'd come down to see it. Part of him didn't want to. This was ugliness. Pure and simple. A necessary evil.

Curtis didn't wait when he got down the stairs, he simply moved. All at once he cut across the bar, passed "7" and the newcomer. He passed Nicole and her table, aware that he was probably saving her a solid scrap. The drunkard who'd been after Brandy had nearly gotten Nicole instead, and while she was a petite and pretty thing herself, Nicole was a barrel full of trouble.

Curtis hauled him out of his seat by the collar and hit him, his entire hand flaring up with pain as it plowed into the man's nose and smooshed it. Blood jetted out, covering his chin. Curtis hit him again before the man's friends were up. The beating would have been brutal, but Nicole's ranchhands seemed to know that she'd want them in it. And so all at once the Paris was brawling, and Curtis was in the thick of it.

[Mephistophelily]

Another nod in response to his reminder. Brandy watched as he moved toward the door, her fingers taking one last tug at his with a quick, reassuring grasp from his own hand.

"Crazy man he is...," She mumbled as his footsteps sounded on the stairway, shaking her head as she looked around his room. She wasn't sure what to do now... Go back to work? She was fully aware of what was going to happen down there. She didn't want to see it, not at all... But if she stayed up here-

Hesitantly, she started to the stairs herself, her faltering back in the small room having given Curtis time enough to find his target; the man she had almost smacked with her tray earlier. She could see him from the top of the stairs, the drunkard hauled into the air for a moment by Curtis' hands, the man vanishing once again with the resounding thumpk of fist to flesh. She cringed, immediately darting back behind the side wall. She hated to hear things like that.

Breaking glass, shouts of swear words... This plan of his certainly was going to get the Sheriff's attention. She'd have until morning to make sure that she had enough money on hand to get him out.

That thought suddenly had her worried. What if she DIDN'T have enough?! Hurriedly returning to her own room, she threw open the little drawer beside her bed, pawing through the various little boxes and books that she had stored inside.

There was only ten to be found.
"Aw, no."

[AngelofDeath]

Nicole had never seen Curtis so fired up in a good long while so when he came barreling down the stairs she knew it was going to be bad. She didn't move to stop him as he hauled the drunk out of his chair and gave him what for. When it was clear his pals were going to jump in Nicole gave her boys the nod. If they wanted to take this from a fair fight to a brawl she was more than happy to provide Curtis with the backup. She had been all set to call it a night and round her hands up and then head back to the ranch. Instead she'd be bailing her men out of jail. Not that Nicole actually minded. They needed to blow some steam off and better they beat the pulp out of a bunch of drunks who deserved it than each other. Of course it quickly spiraled from a 10 man fight into an all out brawl. Women were yelling and getting out of the way.

"Hey Nana, you are going to be busy tonight! Sam I owe you a window." She was getting up and smashing the nearly empty bottle over the head of the man heading towards her before she grabbed him by the shirt collar and his pants and sent him flying through the window behind her. Finishing her drink before her table was smashed Nicole did what she always did, when things got thick at the Paris; kept the girls out of the way and anyone and everyone away from them until their new sheriff showed up to put things back in order. Of course along the way to a group of girls huddled in the corner Nicole got into a couple scuffles, lost her hat and got split lip in the process. Spitting blood on the floor she balled her fists and did her best to keep the flying bodies away from the girls.

[The_Cowboy]

He'd just arrived. It'd been moments, nothing more, that Grady had entered the Paris for his nightly vigil at the Faro table when he saw Curtis lift a drunk out of his seat and nearly knock his head clean off. A few seconds later and it was all madness, bodies and fists flying. The town had barely known him when he'd been elected. It'd been his gun they'd respected, not his methods. He knew nothing of those. But he was a faster draw than damn near anyone and rather than make his hand at it he chose the law. It was profitable. It was also busy.

They were about to get their first lesson on his brand of law.

His pistols were massive, heavy things. Even in his large hands they looked huge, with weighted wood grips and iron plates on the bottom to keep them balanced in his fingers. Out in the street they'd been loud. The two shots he fired in the Paris were a deafening roar, blasting into ceiling and scenting the air thick with cordite. It'd taken both before the brawl had slowed and then stopped, men still gripping each other by the collar when they turned their battered faces towards him.

"Curtis?" He said.

He didn't see him right yet, didn't see him in the sea of angry faces. The pistols were a familiar weight in his calloused hands. The girls were staring at him. It was a damned shame this night had started all wrong. He'd had his eyes on a few, if only for a night. Damsels, mostly, real dames. Not his kind of woman at all. But a man had needs and the Paris was the place a man went to have them filled. A woman with true grit, the kind that was capable, would be the only kind he could see himself with. Now, though, there was only the damned gambler. Curtis was a good sort, a damned good sort who was as reasonable as any and tougher than he let on. But a man's mom dying did strange things to him. It was the only explanation for the brawl that Grady could come up with.

"You." He said to Nicole, not knowing her name. He knew she had a ranch, of course, but he was still fresh in town. She was standing with her fists up, looking ready to drive half the men from the joint like they were a steer's horns. She was a pretty thing, too. "Why'd he go off like that?"