Five Simple Words (Closed for Mad Miss J)

The train gathered steam and the whistle cried out, “Woooo-oohhhh!” Thick black smoke billowed from the end of the exhaust that sat proudly near the front of the train. Tracks were being crossed by the black metaled beast with continuous thuds over the wooden tracks with steel girders.

Several passengers were seated on the metal beast. Among them was a woman in a maroon dress, her dress lacked any proper sleeves, she wore white gloves to signal that her status in society was a debutant or someone of high stature, possibly unwed, but not for a lack of suitors. Women like her often had suitors by the boatload. Sitting a few seats back from here was a young man dressed in greys, he was peering out of one of the wood frame windows. The red, orange and brown rocks of the mountains moved by with each moment as the train pushed near the destination. It was hard to say if he was paying attention to the outside world or had a lot on his mind. His matching hat was somehow unmoved on the metal arm rest it sat upon.

Behind him was a woman in off-white, or a very faded yellow. The fabric preserved her, covered her up and made her less tantalizing to others by design. People could have safely presumed she was taken by the gentleman that sat across from her. He had on a black derby hat that was clean, proper and was a stark contrast to his fiery orange-red beard that was bushy enough to compete with mountain men. His drab brown suit seemed to have the same lackluster appeal as the woman across from him.

An old man with a similar bushy beard sat one row behind the pair. He had joined in some of their conversation. Honestly, no one was sure if they were friends before the ride, or had only recently become acquainted due to happenstance. Either way each person was on the right side, settled upon the stiff, polished wooden seats that went up and down like a series of hills supported by sturdy black metal that matched the exterior of the train.

This group gossiped about the Indians pressing toward the mainline, the expansion of the town, how the sheriff was giving out a 500 dollar reward for an outlaw, dead or alive, and the other chatter that filled their lives. All of that talk washed away to the man that sat on the left side of the train and toward the back. Draped over him was a Wahmaker Frock coat in black, his dark grey slacks with white pinstripes were kept up by black suspenders that pressed against a white shirt with stripes of light grey, from some angles it looked like a very light cottonwood blue, a black scarf was tied against his neck and it hung and covered the collar of his shirt. He wore it in case the wind picked up. Desert sand in the wind was murder on the eyes, mouth and taste buds. Sand was not very appealing to anyone, no matter how hungry they were.

He was almost leaning out of his window. Some may have thought he was staring out into the vast and lush mountains, but his mind was elsewhere. The man was thinking of what happened to him before boarding the train. How five little words were supposed to somehow change him. Everyone that knew him said the change of scenery would have done him some good. The fresh air of the countryside, the small shacks and everything else his destination had to offer. Honestly, he thought everyone was full of it.

Still, his mind went back over those five simple words: “Welcome to Westworld, Mr. Callen.”

The blonde woman that spoke them, when he first arrived, had a tight dress that accented her features without making her look slutty. The dress ran up to her neck, contained a collar and held no sleeves. She ran him through room after room of coats, hats, shirts, pants, boots and even weapons. All of them were stored either behind glasses cases like a cross between a museum or store, or stashed away in drawers.

Callen picked something that he thought would conceal himself. Honestly, he didn’t want to get caught up in any of the “Quests” or “Storylines.” He didn’t want to be the sheriff hero, the man that discovered gold or whatever else was out there. The man wanted something, that wasn’t just visiting the whore house, the rates were too expensive just to spend a whole two weeks at the whore house. If something was out there, Callen would find it. However, he didn’t think it was out there to begin with.

Once he had a costume that made him look plain, ordinary, without look too dull, Callen found himself on one train before getting on board the mechanical marvel that was a nod to yesteryear and a credit to today. He lost track of how long this particular ride lasted. Only when the town started to come into view did he realize that not only was it over, but he forgot to grab a watch while picking out an outfit. All he could tell was that sun was high, the world was alive and that was it as far as tim went. The train groaned as it lurched to a stop.

Everyone got off, including Callen. The man pressed forward. Cries went toward him, “You, you son! How would you like to wear the tin!? Sherriff needs a deputy,” but Callen paid no nevermind. He handed the can dropped by the blond to the passenger in grey, without knowing said passenger was also a Host. The whore house was mostly ignored, one of the women were give a stare that was far from subtle. He just pushed forward going into the town in search of something that felt nonexistent.

((Outfit inspiration: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/bc/bb/83/bcbb8303fe948b9223210a0801b3ebd7.jpg but cleaner

Looks: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/46/b6/3f/46b63f6570fd427474dd679df8a639cf.jpg ))

She’d been at the table for half the night. With the same scraggly company that was sitting across from her now. It had been a late night and early morning fueled by whiskey, cards and cigars. The black-haired beauty was holding her stogy between her teeth, giving a smile when a few bank notes were tossed into the center, daring the two men who’d lasted to call. One of the men was sweating, his bald head being mopped by his handkerchief, back and forth as if he were polishing his scalp to a shine, he waffled while she watched, her keen pale blue eyes crinkling at the corners, goading him further into making a mistake.

He folded, tossing his cards down with annoyance and Hallelujah chuckled, only to move those baby blues toward another man, his bushy mustache twitched back and forth like the pendulum of a grandfather clock, in time to the music that the old piano player was barely getting out of the square upright.

“I’ll call.” The mustache stopped its motion when he tossed in several coins.

“You sure do, Sugar Cube.” The girl drawled, laying her hand of five cards out for all to see. “Ace, ace, ace, ace and a ten kicker.” The spectators and players alike, groaned out their disappointment at the slight woman puffing on her cigar and upending her hat to sweep the money from the center of the table, and her end of the table into her hat, reading the room and deciding that it was her time to skedaddle. She bowed to the men with her, and gave the moustached loser a wink, before she began to walk out of the saloon, painted nails picked out the shiny coins and dropping them in the bag that was looped through her belt as she took the stairs, walking slowly, still puffing away.

Hallelujah was folding her notes and going to tuck them into her very expensive silk embroidered shirt when she heard a voice behind her yelling out into the dusty street, she only sped up her walk, determined to get across the street to duck into an alley and make her way to one of the horse dealers and see about getting herself an upgrade from a nag when a shot rang out, once she placed the black cattleman back on her head the pale girl was at a run. Laughing of course.

Sure, she could get a bullet in her back, but she made the mistake of looking behind her, running straight into a wall. Or what might have been a wall of a man, landing on her ass in the middle of the dust, and scrambling up.

“Best move on, least you find something you can't handle.” She told him, abandoning her cigar and pushing at his shoulder before getting ready to dart down the small gap between the buildings. But two more shots rang out and the man was at a standstill, with a growl of exasperation, she reached out to grab his black scarf, and pull him toward her.

“Get down for God’s sake! You want to stare down trouble before you’ve had a chance to experience it?” Her fist was tight, just enough pressure to encourage his movement, but soon she let go to slink down the backway, looking left and right, before making her choice to go away from the center of town and not back into it.

“Bad losers.” She nodded behind them, before leaning against the back of the hat shop, loosening the ties of her shirt, and reaching inside to pull forth the dull colored notes, licking her thumb before starting to count out what she had in her hand. Her soft smile became a chuckle. “Sorry, sorry. I just hate fools who spend money they can’t afford to lose, ain’t no way to live.” Red lips quirked up further at the side.

“Hallelujah. Hallelujah Lewis.” Placing her notes in the same pocket as her coins, the slim girl held out her hand. “You probably saw my show the other night. Songbird of the Southwest. But you can call me Halle.”


Hallelujah
Close up

Callen was on his way when someone ran into him. He was going to say something, but two shots ran out. All of his muscles tightened and he froze still. It was easy to enter the Park on the outside. Every was able to talk a big game. "If I ever got in, I'd put on my black hat and just murder the town!" "I'd have a five-some! Just pay for all the girls I can find!" were two among countless boasts. The line between reality and a safe environment blurred when gunshots went out. All Callen could do was stand there.

Suddenly, a hand yanked him down thanks to his scarf. Callen followed the woman and wondered how the Park did it. Somehow, they dragged him into some adventure. Did they know he was just going to wonder the desert until something caught his eye. Was this their way of knowing what to give him? His mind just asked scenario after scenario. Before he realized it, Callen was ducking down and moving with the woman.

When they made it to the alley and she introduced herself, Callen kissed the back of it, "Callen. Afraid I missed your show. I'm sure it was good and worth the admission price. I just arrived. At least this place is showing me some of the prettiest things to look at, ma'am," he tipped his hat and tried to slip off thinking they were safe. However, he was easy to stop just by grabbing his shoulder or hand. He wasn't trying to hurry, but he didn't want to get shot.

“Oh, a flirt in the face of danger? I like that in a man.” Hallelujah gave him a toothy grin, long sweeping lashes fluttered upward to look at the bearded man, taking her hand from his and going to walked behind the buildings. “You didn’t catch my show? Well, looks like you may have missed your chance, gotta get moving on, going further out. Towns like this are nice, they put you up and everything. But there is a bit more freedom once you’re out of the big cities and you can make a fair amount too.” Hallelujah explained, still looking over her shoulder a time or two, before rushing toward a cross street and skipping through it as stealthily as possible, until she was coming up to the opening in the side of the building where horses were kept.

“Lost my nag in another game.” She explained though saying it didn’t seem to affect her much, she walked down the long line of horses stopping a time or two. “You looking for a piece of flesh? Or you trying to get outta town on your two legs?”

Callen kept going with the girl, "I was just being polite. Although, again, I do regret missing the show. Then the word came out there was probably going to be no show. For a brief moment Callen frowned. He kept up with her. They were nearing hoses before Callen realized what was about to happen. "Shouldn't we find another way? Can't we purchase some? Something?" While he didn't seem too distress, morality still existed in Westworld for those that cared to carry it.

Then those next few questions came out, and Callen slid off his hat for a second. His other hand ran over his face and through his hair. "I don't know. I don't know why I'm here...I don't know," Callen admitted. A moment later he breathed out, "I was making my way out of town, but damned if I know why. Next thing a pretty girl getting shot at came across my path and now I'm here."

Hallelujah turned to look over her shoulder, her dark brows inching together over pale skin, eyeing him until one perked up again with a question. “What do you think I’m doing here with bank notes, Cowboy? What do they pay for rides with, where you’re from?” She chuckled, and stopped in front of a stall where a black horse with a white diamond between it’s ears was, and made her smile, and the woman reached out tentatively, cooing at the beast. “Hey there, sweet thing. Look at you.” Venturing further, her hand rounded his jaw, so she could get a good look in it’s eyes.

“Yeah, this one’s a keeper. Look at ‘im. Big, beautiful brown eyes.”

But then Callen was having a bit of a crisis, and her own famed blue eyes were on him again, and she crossed her arms to listen. What she got from him was that he didn’t know what he was about, obviously not anticipating her question, or seemingly having a crisis of some sort.

"I was making my way out of town, but damned if I know why. Next thing a pretty girl getting shot at came across my path and now I'm here."

“Well then, go get yourself a horse and ride outta town with me. If you were leaving anyway, and don’t have a why. Make one.” Hallelujah wasn’t much for pussy-footing around, nor was she much of a believer in fate. She made her own way. With a gentle hand, she patted the man on the shoulder walking passed him and wandered up to where there was a man shoeing another horse and started to haggle over the price of the horse she was looking at, once they came down to a number that she liked, she reached into her pocket and produced several notes. Hopefully, he wouldn’t look too close at the fake ones mixed with real, until she was long out of town. Looking back at Callen Hallelujah gave him a grin.

“Are you going to hit the trail, Cowboy? Now or never.”

Callen looked over the horses when the challenge came. Customers at Westworld were given decent amounts of cash if they paid extra. Everyone had enough money in their pocket to enjoy food, drink, whores and the like. However, if they wanted to do things like buy a horse, rent a stage coach, become an investor, etc. they had to pay extra.

A little extra Callen had paid for. He stared to work with the proprietor of the horses and they came to an agreement. Unlike Hallelujah's payment, his was all cash and nothing counterfeit. Callen moved to a specimen that could have been called "Ash." The main and bottoms of the legs were black, the rest of him transition to a medium and light grey. "Ash" was picked because when he was younger, Callen used to ride. His horse looked the same and was called "Ashes."

However, the days of him and horses were years ago. Getting on the horse was easy enough, but it did not look pretty. Hallelujah may have seen worse, but it was clear this person hadn't been on a horse much, if at all. Once on the beast, Callen stroked the mane and then thought at the sudden ultimatum. There was no thoughts, Callen's horse started to pick up steam. He was trying to catch up to his friend that was speeding off. Well, iif he could have called her friend. Hallelujah was still a mystery to him. Was she a host? If so, what was her quest, story, whatever it was called. Was she a human? If so, he wondered why she was here, what was she before coming into this place? It obviously felt like the world had changed her or Hallelujah allowed herself to take on a roll that felt effortless. There were so many questions.

"Where are we going?" he called out after a good five minutes of riding together.

The dark-haired songstress and gambler smiled to herself as her equally dark mustang and she melded into one. Her knees were tight, her heels weren’t punishing. The thing took to Hallelujah’s hand in its mane like a duck to water. She didn’t want to punish the beast, who looked like she had a hard mouth on her. She could have chosen a softer horse, maybe. But something with a bit of spirit in them, that’s what she liked. Though there was no hiding the chuckle as the man who’d fumbled onto the back of his horseflesh was catching up to her.

Halle gave a little click out of the corner of her mouth, urging the animal to speed up a bit. It would be no use if he saw her grinning like a loon. But she knew he was there, and eventually, Callen caught up. When she glanced to the side, he seemed to be able to keep himself upright, that was good enough for now. And she kept her own council, merely looking to the side every so often to flash him a smile, or a wink of her bright blue eye.

"Where are we going?"

“Gotta fetch my things, Cowboy.” She drawled, “isn’t too far now. Just over that ridge, don’t like taking my whole pack with me. You know how exciting things get back there. I’ve been everywhere it seems, same stuff everywhere you go. Shooting, shagging and strangers. Like you.”

She turned her way off the beaten path, and into some grasses, where a grove of trees was hitting the water and the mountains that they were headed for were laid out across their view. It was a pleasant thing, but Hallelujah wasted no time hopping off the horse and merely leaving it there for a moment. It wouldn’t go anyplace, though her eyes narrowed on it for a moment wondering if it’s owner had taught it to go straight home if it was let loose. But it was just a bit of walking around the tree before she found a footing and began to climb it.

“Here, catch Cowboy!” She shouted down, tossing one soft bag and then another. Slinging another over her shoulder, and returning to the ground. Starting to unbutton her black silk shirt with the embellished flowers on it, pulling it from her hip hugging denims and tossing it over the back of her animal, opening her bag.

“So, you follow pretty girls from town to town?” Hallelujah asked. Her dark brow tipping upward quizzically. “Could get you into trouble.” She mused, reaching into the bag she held to riffle through it for another shirt, equally embellished and silky. With a jerk, she pulled it up her arm. “Unless you like that sort of thing.” She grinned. “Trouble I mean. You like looking for it? Or you runnin’ from it right now?”

Callen grabbed the bag and he was still on his horse. "No. I mean I wish I could say I got the attention of a pretty girl like you every place I go, but no. I came here to find myself, to figure out who I was. I've been here. Where I was from," Callen gave a shrug. "I wasn't happy. Figured fresh start and see. Barely got my foot on the ground and a pretty woman found me." Then he looked to see her shirt coming off, "And she's taking her shirt off, talking about shows and I've yet to see anything." Callen gave his own wink if she looked at him. Leaning back a little bit, he huffed out. Did he mind where he was? No. The man was just trying to figure out "Why?" This was so against him, but it didn't feel wrong. "I'd have more interesting stories to tell you if I did this everywhere I go," he was amused himself.

The dark-haired woman listened to the cowboy talk about being unhappy, about looking for himself as she pulled the dark blue shirt over her other shoulder, leaving the gap that caught against her pearly pink nipples as she stretched out her arm to pull up the sleeve slightly so she could attempt to button her cuff. She fumbled once, but pushed the thing home with her next try, then it was on to her next one as she looked up to find him giving her a wink, red lips smirked before looking back at her sleeves.

"And she's taking her shirt off, talking about shows and I've yet to see anything."

“Seems to me that you’re looking at more than most men get at my shows.” Hands rested on her hips, her pale blue eyes looking straight into his own. Let him get a look, what would it hurt? She’d found that most sad men could be cheered by a pair of new tits. So, she pulled at the edges of it, giving him a decent peek at the perky flesh and the slender dip of skin toward her belly-button, chuckling softly.

"I'd have more interesting stories to tell you if I did this everywhere I go,"

“Probably.” She smiled, now starting to button up her shirt finally, starting over her chest and working her way downward before tucking the thing in. “I’m headed to the next town over, there should be a few saloons, a few bordellos who want a little side entertainment. And I’m looking for a man by the name of James Howard. And I ain’t going to find him in the ranch lands.” She went to buckle her belt again, emblazoned with a large jeweled “H”, before walking toward the newcomer, holding out her hands for her bags.

“Doesn’t seem like it’ll hurt for you to tag along. You up to playing stage hand? My handsome assistant?” She took the things and went to strap them to her saddle. “Not afraid of desperados, are you? The further we go out the more likely it is we’ll meet up with a few of them.” Hallelujah swung up onto her horse. “How to do fancy camping, Cowboy?” Putting a hand to her brow she looked around, shading her eyes. "Might be a few nights on the range before we hit anywhere worth looking.”

A blush ran through Callen's face as Hallelujah talked about him getting more of an eyeful than the people she gave shows too. “Hey, I wasn't sure how riskque the shows get. There's stories about shoes out East that get a little ruckus.” He wasn't turning away his gaze though. Every moment that he was able to stare at her bare chest, he did.

“How do you know about the bordellos?” Callen asked with a raised brow. Both of his hands were filled with her things. From there, he handed Holiday her things. “Well, what are the benefits of being your handsome assistant and sexy stagehand? “She didn't say the sexy part, but if Holiday was calling him cute then he was more than willing to see if the stakes could be raised.

A nod came from Callen when desperadoes came up. He never shot a man before, but these weren't real men were there? Well, men and women, it was hard to say if the program didn't have some ladies with evil intent for the sake of not seeming to be too presumptuous. “I'll give it my best shot. Someone has to make sure your cute butt doesn't get lined with lead.”

“What happens if you see this man?” A lot of questions ran through his mind. “Was this a grudge? Was this a score that needed to be settled? Revenge?” All of these questions had the potential to see this man get shot. “What happens when we make it to town?” He wasn't sure how long Hallelujah was going to want to stay partnered up once they were in town. So, he was trying to ask for the basics.