Aurora Borealis

[Tonsillitis]

Tonsillitis Jones

The lights in the town of Carmack lit the way for Tonsillitis. The rain still fell in buckets and the mule was growing slower, but the bush (most importantly) lay far behind. Tonsillitis smiled, the thought of warmth was very appealing.

Heading to the stables to stash the mule for the night, Tonsillitis saw the fine horse tethered outside the Aurora. No other than one of the NWMP rode such a fine beast. A smile came to the face of the diminutive sourdough. The thought of a Mountie, the one whose gun lay beside Lars and a goodly stretch of rope was very warming to the soul.

With the mule stowed, Tonsillitis headed to the Aurora, a nice warm beverage, and the entertainment of a life time. Unless you happened to be Lars Lindquist, and at that thought Tonsillitis smiled and laughed in that very peculiar sounding voice.

 

[Miss Behavin']

Frenchie Silverheels

Frenchie moved quickly to diffuse the tension from the foofaraw. Sitting on this lap, nuzzling that neck, planting a kiss on the other's mouth... All the while making sure that glasses were full and the customers thought they were happy. Happy customers meant good business as Lou was quick to point out when she first came to work at the Aurora.

Of course she noticed the stranger as he headed for the poker table. Now that was the kind of man she was looking for. Couldn't blame a girl. She was only half-teasing when she walked over to him and draped her hand seductively over his oh-so-broad shoulder.

"You look très triste, chere. What's the matter? Someone give you the brush off? I'm available for the night and never say no -- if you can pay what I'm asking for. How about drowning your sorrows in me? I'm cheaper than getting drunk and more... satisfying." Frenchie giggled deliciously, sashaying away without waiting for an answer. She knew better than to disrupt a sober man when he was in a gamblin' mood.

The offer tendered, she sidled up to one of the regulars at the bar, taking in all the new faces. "Bonjour, Chere" she purred in her most sultry voice, leading him to a table. After all, a drink is a drink and a man is a man, be he a French duke offering a Paris apartment to a spoiled mistress or a prospector offering a drink and a bit of gold in exchange for a night's entertainment upstairs.

She brushed a long red fingernail along his cheek. "So tell me, chere. What can I do for you?"

 

[Mantra]

"Fold." Lucian said, tossing his five cards onto the small pile of coins, cards and bits and pieces in the center of the table, face-down. One of his three co-players chuckled a bit as he did so, while a fourth, only nodded silently, having tossed in his own cards earlier this hand.
Lucian took the moment to stuff his pipe again while the remaining three continued their contest to win the pot. His luck had definatly taken a bad turn tonight. Of course, he wasn't a stranger to loosing, such was the nature of gambling. But he still didn't like it and so far it had him 23 dollars and a jack knife in the hole.
He struck a match, and leaned back in his chair, puffing a bit faster than normal while he watched the others.

"Hah!" one of the three players exclamed finally, dropping his hand face up with a triumphant look. "My three kings beats your two pair!'

The other two groaned and scowled as their opponent reached out to scoop up the pile, still chuckling and beaming at the four sitting around him, but then Lucian noted something and leaned forward, dropping his chair back into position.

"Wait a moment," Lucian began, looking at the winning hand. The kings of diamonds, clubs and hearts, two of spades and seven of hearts. Then he reached out and quickly flipped over his own, aborted hand. Three of hearts, four of hearts, four of diamonds, ten of hearts and....the king of hearts.

The others around the table were just as quick to notice the discrepancy although they were not quite as restrained as Lucian.

"You cheatin bastard!" one of them yelled, jumping to his feet.

 

[Sorren]

Claire Black

Soon enough, a young woman came out of the kitchen with a plate of venison and a small bottle, and left them on a tray. The barkeep sent the plate sliding down the bar to Claire, blew a thick layer of dust off the bottle before wiping it with his rag and popping the top, and sent it following the meal.

Not much demand for soda pop in a mining town saloon, naturally.

Claire was about to dig into her meal when she saw someone walking towards her. Her mood soured slightly, because it was that kid who nearly shot his own foot off.

"Uh, ma'am, ah.." the kid began, shifting from foot to foot nervously, "I don't mean to be a bother or nothin, but, um, you seem to know your way around a gun and such, and, um, well.. I mean, I --"

"You just bought your gun, and you don't know what to do with it." Claire finished for him. "And you want some advice. I can do that." she said in response to his hopeful expression.

"Um, yeah, advice. That would be great." Clearly, he'd been hoping for more, but expected less. "Miss ...?"

"Black. Claire Black."

"Nice to meet ya, Miss Black. I'm Jim Bond." Jim held out his hand and Claire shook it.

"Alright Jim, I've got a few pieces of advice to share. First and foremost, never never play with your gun in its holster. That's not a toy." She said sternly. "Normally, the only times you should ever be touching your gun is when you're drawing it, firing it, or cleaning it. Not only is that basic gun safety, but also the image you project." Claire pointed casually with her fork at the hand the kid was leaning on his gun, and he immediately pulled his hand back, sheepishly. "Leaning on you gun like that, some drunk here might look up and think you're drawing on him. Good way to get shot. To more experienced people, you'd look like you're swaggering, trying to prove you're better than you are. Good way to annoy people."

"Second, only load five rounds."

"Five?" he questioned, "But it's --"

"A six-shooter, yes. But letting the hammer rest on a live cap or shell is just asking for trouble. Drop the gun or otherwise bump the hammer, and it'll go off. Only leave the hammer sitting on an empty or spent chamber. Down in the States, it's common to stash a rolled up $20 bill in the sixth chamber."

"Now then, handling your gun. If for some reason you do need to take it out of your holster in a public place, don't grab it by the grip, at least not in the way you would if you were drawing. Make sure it's obvious you're not going to shoot. A backwards grip works. Like this.." Claire pulled the kid's gun out, then immediately popped out and removed the cylinder. Placing the cylinder on the bar, she said, "Also, removing the cylinder proves your lack of hostile intent, since it's blatantly obvious the gun can't fire."

Claire peered down the barrel of Jim's gun. "Eww. Where did you get this wreck from?"

Jim looked concerned. "Uh, the Crawfords' general store, yesterday. They couldn't tell me anything about it though, not even what it is. I don't think they knew."

Claire replied, "It's a Model 1863 Remington .44 caliber, Union Army issue, one of the best revolvers used in the war. This one likely had been in the hands of a deserter, but a more recent owner had badly neglected it. Black powder residue is corrosive, so you need to clean your gun regularly. The last owner didn't, and the barrel is badly pitted. Don't expect any accuracy from this gun, unless you replace the barrel." Claire then examined the cylinder. "This isn't in as bad a shape, so it's not original. But it's not in good shape, either."

Claire put the gun back together, and put it back in Jim's holster. "All in all, a serviceable starter gun, but you'll want to replace it when you can."

There was something about Jim's attentiveness that raised Claire's suspicions. "So," she asked conversationally, "are you thinking of becoming a famous gunslinger?"

Jim practically beamed. "Yes. I --"

Claire cut in, sharply "Don't!", then continued firmly, "Or, if you feel you must make a living with a gun, go into law enforcement." Jim looked dumbfounded at this, but made no comment as Claire explained. "I've heard it all before, about the prestige, admiration, respect, glory. It's all bullshit."

"Let's start with the classic stereotype, the shootist. Shootists are just hired killers. Somebody pays them to kill somebody else. Who it is, you don't care. And whoever is hiring, isn't up to any good, you can be sure. Developing a reputation just means you command a higher price. Sure, people fear you, but that's really all you get, fear. And you never see an old shootist. Too many enemies; the law, bounty hunters, would-be heroes, and even other shootists. Rivalries are deadly. There's always somebody faster, or an ambush you didn't see."

"More common are the bandit gunfighters." Claire's voice started turning cold. "They finance themselves by robbery, so a reputation is strictly for ego." Her voice now becomes icy cold, full of hate. "They rape, torture, and murder strictly for kicks." Claire paused a moment, then continued, voice back to normal. "Same problem with enemies, bandits are universally hated, even by other bandits. Even when they band together, tensions run very high."

"So, what about the flip side of the coin, bounty hunters? If you think bounty hunters are treated as an extension of the law, you're wrong. We're widely thought of as scum, hardly any better than bandits. This is because a great many of us are indeed scum. Some are even former bandits themselves. And every criminal out there will want to kill you, whether they have a price on their heads yet or not, just on general principle. And your worst enemies, besides the mark you're tracking, are your fellow bounty hunters. As I said, most are scum, and would think nothing of killing you just to eliminate competition."

"Have you considered what it's like, living so hated?" Before Jim could respond, Claire continued, "Right now, you walk into a saloon, you see miners having a good time. Become a gunfighter, and what you see when you enter is every dark corner, every place an ambusher can hide. You never relax. You sleep wearing your guns. You bathe with your guns. Your chances of getting a girlfriend are nil, but if you did get one, guess what you'll be wearing during sex. A loaded gun getting in the way can really kill the mood." Jim turned beet red at this bluntness.

"That level of paranoia is a soul-sucking existence. And it only buys you a few extra years before you're killed, if you're lucky. It's a lifestyle only for the arrogantly foolish, or for the desperate." With that, Claire turned to her meal.

After a few moments, Jim asked quietly, "Which are you?" Claire considered this, then answered "A little of both, perhaps."

"Thank you, you've given me ... alot to think about." Jim said, then wandered off, deep in thought.

Claire was also lost in thought. It was very unlike her to speak of herself so openly, and with a complete stranger, no less. 'Ah well' she thought to herself, shaking her head, 'no harm done, and the kid needed a good dose of reality'.

 

[Mystical Avalon]

Eve lay on the bed and listened to the noise below in the saloon. She knew she would never sleep at this rate. She hoisted her tired body out of bed and threw on a nice enough dress. She straightened her hair in the makeshift mirror and saw to her shoes. She was never a drinking woman but tonight, she felt different. She thought that, under her prim exterior and proper nature, she could relax a little. Maybe she could even inquire as to the sherriff or local constable or even some work. She like the idea of being entertainment as Roland had been the only man she had ever been with. She would do whatever was necessary though, to find him. He was her only love.

Quickly stashing the key just inside her hem pocket, she closed the locked door and decesnded the stairs. The main room was a bustle with night life. Gamblers and hoodlums crowded the tables. She walked effortlessly up to the bar and addresses the bartender.

"Sir, you gave me the room, I do hate to bother you again, but I was wondering what a good shot of whiskey would cost me?" Her voice this time both clear and soft seemed to float out of her mouth. "Also, I would like to inquire about a local sherriff or constable as well as someone that may be in need of a school teacher or house maide" her words came quickly. At the end of each sentence she gave a smile that would melt anymans heart no matter how tough he was.

She only hoped this time it would serve her purpose.

 

[Mantra]

OOC: Posted with Maid's permission.

IC:

"You cheatin bastard!" one of them yelled, jumping to his feet.

A second player was even more direct in making his displeasure more apparent, grabbing the cheater's shoulder and turning him directly into a following punch to his mouth. Cheater staggared backwards, away from the table he was playing at, which was unfortunate as the third player, who had had the two pair, hurled his chair through the place where Cheater was standing, just seconds ago. Instead the chair cracked against the back of the man sitting just beyond, who, after being hit with the unexpected blow, pitched forward onto his own table, scattering cards, chips and winnings. This of course provoked yet another man to stand and throw himself bodilly into ChairThrower, and both careened into the crowd, spreading the anarchy farther.

All night, tensions were high as htey always were in Carmack, and alchahol had been flowing. Soon insults, drinks and fists were being thrown as the fighting erupted into an all out brawl within the common room.

 

[Sorren]

Claire Black

"You cheatin bastard!"


Claire sighed in annoyance as she turned from her meal. But seeing that it was mearly a brawl starting up, not a shootout, she simply watched the proceedings while drinking her sarsaparilla.

The brawlers could pummel each other into a coma for all she cared, she's seen it enough before that it's not even all that entertaining anymore. But she wanted to know when to duck, and to be alert in case anyone chose to use the chaos to cover trying to get away with something they shouldn't.

 

[Mystical Avalon]

Eve was quick to react to the commotion behind her. She had came from Tombstone and barroom brawls and shoot outs were a regular part of her day. She huddled closer to the bar waiting with baited breath. She couldnt run there was no place for her to go. All she could do was wait. It would have been terrible if she were the victim of a sensless shoot out her first night in town and in a bar no less. What would Roland think of her!

 

[raisedSkirt]

Too Much For Jenny

Entering the general store run by the Crawfords, Jenny’s face was still very flushed from the sight that she had witnessed, and was now a little breathless too from the brisk pace that she had set herself on leaving that passageway a few minutes earlier. The normally prim and proper, and very composed schoolmistress was far from that as she now stood just inside the doors to the store, flustered, breathing hard, and her face a bright red in color.

“Good gracious Jennifer! Whatever is the matter?” came from a concerned Mr. Crawford standing behind the long wooden counter that was a major feature of the store. “Is everything all right? You look as though you have just been chased by a band of Pute Indians.”

Jenny’s response was less dramatic. “No Mr. Crawford. It is ok. I think that I walked a little too rapidly in that cutting wind, and I may have a cold coming-on which is not helping. Really Mr. Crawford, I will be fine but thank you for being so concerned.” In an effort to change the subject, Jenny asked if the special order from Newman’s Book Emporium had arrived from the East yet. Her mind however was far from restored to its normal self as images from what she had just witnessed played through her mind.

The tantalizing, and somehow terribly erotic sight of Beth Johnson’s bare, rounded bottom reflecting the yellowish lights of the lanterns, and contrasting with the dark red welts that crisscrossed across that pale flesh. Her wild attempts to avoid the angry blows of her father’s leather belt causing the young girl to display her most secret places vividly to the small crowd that was assembled around her, enjoying the spectacle.

The thought of being almost naked in front of strangers, their sex completely displayed to onlookers, and having to endure such a public thrashing on their bare bottom and back would have been an unthinkable situation to most young ladies in any circumstances but to Jennifer Louise Craig, it opened her “Pandora box” so to speak. Allowing those dark secrets within Jenny to overwhelm her young mind, force her inhibitions to a distant storage vault inside her mind, and release images of unquestionable lust and depravity inside her.

She was the girl stretched over the barrel in that dark passageway, totally naked, her slim body turning and twisting from the blows of the leather belt but with her legs spread and restrained by ropes, every turn and squirm of her body only revealed her nude, almost bald sex (Jenny did not tell even her best friend that she shaved in that area) more to the audience. In her mind, Jenny instinctively knew that although such a sight would be as shameful as anything that she could imagine, a part of her relished that feeling of total abject shame,

Jenny’s further thoughts were interrupted now by the voice of Mr. Crawford as he came around from the long knurled wood counter with a bound package marked Newman’s of Boston on the front in beautifully scripted font that contained the various books that Jenny had requested.

“These are the most expensive books I have ever ordered Jennifer” a smiling Mr. Crawford languished as he handled the fairly large package. “Perhaps I should check these for you Jennifer to make sure that they are correct and have not been damaged on their long journey?”

“I am sure that they are expertly packed Mr. Crawford. They are from Newman’s although some of them are French dealing with the history of the aristocrats before the French Revolution” Jenny answered in her more composed voice now, softly yet firmly.

“From France Jennifer, well in that case we should definitely inspect for damage. At these prices, nothing should be left to chance”, and with that last comment before Jennifer could stop him, Mr. Crawford quickly snipped a part of the packaging with a pair of scissors, and pulled the firm parchment aside securing the books.

As he now handed the string of books to Jenny, there were at least eight or more, a slightly inebriated Mr. Crawford accidentally dropped two of the ornately bound books, one of which was entitled “L’Innocence de Justine” with the book that told a fictitious story of a young French girl falling into the hands of a cruel uncle at an early age, falling open at an illustrated page of the book.

The illustration showed Justine as a young lady, tied naked to a wooden post in the middle of a village square, and surrounded by an unruly mob of townspeople urging-on the despicable uncle who was assaulting her with a French “marionette”, a multi-stranded whip across the poor girl’s bare bottom.

At this point, Jenny fainted and fell to the floor before a startled, and very concerned Mr. Crawford who was now calling loudly for Mrs. Crawford to come-in from the back of the store immediately.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

The lady that's known as... Lou

Lou listened as the NWMP told her that after noon tomorrow there would be no guns allowed in any of the saloons in Carmack. "I understand your concern, Sergeant. Your plan is a good one. At least on the surface." She shrugged. "The players already turn their weapons in before sitting down to a game, so that's no problem. The others may not agree so readily."

Frankly, it was Top who first came to mind when McDonald had said his piece. Secondly, it was the safety of her regulars who would now be unarmed and how this man expected to enforce what he proposed. Perhaps a chat with the Superintendant would be... "

The sound of what promised to be an all-out brawl in the common room of the Aurora stifled anything Lou had meant to offer up in protest, despite the fact that no shots had been fired. The third in one night - brawls in the Aurora were not unusual though not a common occurrence -- especially with Seamus Macleary tending bar and keeping the peace in his own inimitable way.

Standing, she gestured magnanimously with a wry smile toward her closed office door and the fracas beyond. He'd sat silently through one and here was his chance to show what he was made of. "I suppose, Sergeant McDonald, you'll be wanting to introduce yourself to a few of my patrons?"

Already a step ahead of her, McDonald nodded. "Indeed."

 

[Snow-Guy]

Patrick

Patrick felt the hand on his shoulder and calmly looked at the woman who was accosting him. He smiled politely, she was certainly rather pleasant to look at, but they both realised their interests lay in different directions for now.

He smiled as he watched her leave "perhaps if I win" he muttered.

The game was fairly good - the businessman really didn't like losing, the miners were as drunk and bad as one would expect, and the cheat to Patrick's right wasn't a big threat. He was a clumsy bottom dealer, and palmed cards out of a "secret" pocket on the front of his leg. Nope the cheat was no threat to anyone except himself.

As the miners began to brawl with the cheat, Patrick began to gather what remained of his chips and looked across the table at the businessman

"Well sir, it appears that the game is done for the night. I shall have to return tomorrow to try and recover my money. Would you care for some whiskey?"

 

[Graybread]

Tad immediately grabbed a chair and sat down. “Yes Ma’am,” he said. “I mean Anna.”

He stood back up and leaned his rifle against the wall, within easy reach, just incase the scuffle should carry into the kitchen. He hung his hat over the barrel, and sat back down.

“Ma’am … Miss Anna, gol darn it!” Tad exclaimed, frustrated. “Ma’am, could I please call you Annie? I would sure be easier for me.”

“Si, Tad,” she said, glancing at him sideways and smiling. “Per favore, call me Annie.”

“Well….Annie, I don’t know if that means ok or not, but them sure are purdy words you use. I wished I could speak better words, but my Pa says I’m big as an ox and twice as dumb.” He started to laugh at his joke but stopped in mid laugh. “Ma’am, Annie,” he corrected himself. “Could you teach me to speak better words, ya know, rap me on the knuckle or something, like my Ma used to do, when I say something dumb like.”

Tad felt embarrassed asking Anna to teach him to speak correctly, but he did feel dumb when he misused words. Other people didn’t speak as he did, and he wanted to feel like he fit in around other people, not dumb. He liked Anna, he felt comfortable around her, even though they had just met, and he thought maybe they could become a friends. She was intelligent, and pretty, and most importantly, she could cook. He looked around the kitchen until he spied the washbasin; he rose from his chair and walked over to it. He poured some water into the bowl and rinsed his hands in it.

“There is soap beside the bowl,” Anna said, without looking up from her work.

Tad reached down and picked up the soap, ‘to wash his hands properly’. “Yes Ma’am,” he whispered to himself, smiling. When he had finished he walked back over to his chair and sat down.

“Annie,” he began. “If you’d like, I could help you fix them fiddles….food,” he corrected himself. “And I’d sure like it if you was to sit and eat with me. And I could sleep in that storeroom too; jus someplace out of the cold. I been sleepin’ on the ground for an awful long time.”

 

[Messalina]

Someone's in the kitchen with Anna...

There was something about Tad that made her want to ruffle her fingers through his hair like a little boy. Little. She laughed to herself. He was easily a foot taller than she was.

Anna -- Annie now -- busied herself while he talked. It angered her to hear him refer to himself as stupid. He might not be the most cultured man she'd ever met, but he was unpretentious and a hard worker, the calluses on his hands spoke volumes in that respect. He just needed a little encouragement. Yes, she'd teach him.

"There's soap beside the bowl," she said without turning as he got up to wash his hands. Annie grinned when she heard him murmur the Yes Ma'am under his breath, wondering what he'd have to say when she suggested a bath.

Almost finished when he asked to help prepare his meal, she shooed him back into his chair. "Basta! Siedasi giù. Umm... sit down." Anna knew that she couldn't be very much older than Tad, but there was an air of innocence about him that made her feel protective and motherly.

Sure that he'd had more than his fill of being treated like a child, Anna decided to make a conscious effort not to treat him that way. Domani. Today he needed feeding, washing and a place to sleep.

His eyes grew wide when she set the heaping plate on the table in front of him and she laughed with delight. It wasn't fancy food, but it was hot and filling. A mountain of fried potatoes and a steak that would easily feed two, but she knew somehow that he would make short work of it.

"Mangi. Eat. And if you eat it all, there is pie for dessert," she added with a wink, sitting down across from him with a steaming cup of coffee.

"I'll find you some clean clothes to wear and wash those for you while you bathe. Use the bath house in the back -- you have enough dirt on you to make a garden. Tomorrow will be soon enough for you to meet Miss Lou. And we will make you a place to sleep here in the kitchen until we find someplace better."

 

[Rufus the Mad]

Top saw the fight start, and bagan making his way toward the hatch as fast as his stub of a leg could carry him, knowing already that this wasn't going to be solved with a tossed knife or a bellowed command. He was going to have to slam a few heads together... again. The booming resonance of the mahogany lid slamming over onto the bar proper was all but lost in the din that this goat-ropers were making, and it was fair to making Mrs. Macleary's brightest boy good and pissed off.

The few regulars that caught sight of him as he thudded his way toward the mair body of the fight grew wide-eyed at the growing redness to his shiny dome of a head, and knew well enough to get out of his way, clearin themselves back to the walls and tossing knowing smiles back and forth to each other, a couple of the more daring prospectors even going so far as to make a small wager on how many the thick-armed barkeep would seriously hurt when he got ahold of em. All of them, however, knew they were in for a good show.

Seamus had never told anyone here, but he had been Battalion Champion in the Pugalist Finals for six years runnin, and had never, not once, met someone he couldn't beat eventually. Not that he had gone undefeated, he had taken his lumps, sure enough, but when he faced them again, or the next time, he had always found a way to beat them, and he had kept that belt until he had lost his leg. He kept both arms, however...

He had only just reached forward though, had only grabbed the first set of thick skulls in his meaty hands, when he caught sight of Miss Lou and the NWMP as they exited her office with what looked like a purpose, and knew even through his anger that something had been said of some import. Releasing the men he had grabbed, who took the opportunity to find their seats and try to mend their scrappin ways, and cracked his neck to ease some of the built-up tension as he stuffed his thumbs into his belt and waited to see what was goin on.

Normally, Lou didn't mind him bustin a few of the boys up when they got rowdy, and it did serve as a good reminder for the others as to how they were expected to behave, but somethin told him that the presence of Sgt. Squarejaw had brought somethin new to the game, and Seamus had played enough poker to know not to bet it all against a fresh player. So there he stood, his jaw clenched and the urge to just beat the tar out of the lot of 'em boilin away inside 'im, waiting for the boss to tell 'im what to do. Angry, hell yes. Impulsive, bet the house on it. Stupid... not hardly.

 

[Blue Dolphin]

She seemed a little wary of me, which was to be expected, I had been in this situation before. I maintained my silence, watching her, and listening to the building fracas in the bar.
She smiled wickedly, obviously I thought, deciding to test my resolve.

"I suppose, Sergeant McDonald, you'll be wanting to introduce yourself to a few of my patrons?"

"Indeed."

Without another word, I left her office, passing through the bar, and opened the front door. Drawing my gun, I fired two shots out into the night sky, before turning, to address the crowd, whose full attention I now had.

"THIS STOPS NOW, AND ANY PERSON WHO WISHES TO DISPUTE THAT, WILL BE WELCOME TO SPEND THE NIGHT IN MY JAIL.
McLeary! whoever started this, toss him through the door, and out into the street, the rest of you, settle down, and go about your business peacably."

 

[Mantra]

Lucian

Lucian kicked back in his chair, sliding away from the table at the prospectors went at each other. Discression being the better part of valor, he ducked his head and quickly made his way out fo the growing melee. The other man, who was somewhat better dressed than the 'locals' had also made a retreat towards the bar. Just in time it seemed, as Lucian made note of the dark scowl and determined look Top had as he thumped past and into the midst of the fight.

"Well sir, it appears that the game is done for the night. I shall have to return tomorrow to try and recover my money. Would you care for some whiskey?"
Lucian looked over at the newcommer.

"Give it a moment and another game will begin. Fights never last long nor do they ever seem to be settled in the place they start. Either way, I might be willing to join you ina drink, if you're buying the first round. After all, your luck was better than mine before the fight started." he said.

The fight was dying down, and endee abruptly with the sound of gunshots.
"THIS STOPS NOW, AND ANY PERSON WHO WISHES TO DISPUTE THAT, WILL BE WELCOME TO SPEND THE NIGHT IN MY JAIL.
McLeary! whoever started this, toss him through the door, and out into the street, the rest of you, settle down, and go about your business peacably."

Lucian sighed. He wasn't really aware that there even was a jail run by the NWMP in Carmack (or that there were any NWMP here either, before the arrival of this one in particular of course.) He supposed they might take over Constable Juno's place. Steven Juno was Carmack's token law person, although he was more of a hired security guard for the nicer areas of town, that and he provided a place for -some- of the wandering drunks to go and sleep off their nightly indulgences. Juno was largely powerless to stop the rampaging lawlessness in Carmack and seemed disinclined to really try.

He took a sip of the whiskey once it arrived and watched. This might be interesting after all.

"So the stranger," he said to his host. "You don't seem like a prospector, so what brings you to Carmack?"

 

[Sorren]

Claire Black

The brawl, as typical, had spread like brushfire, and nearly all of the men present were involved within moments. Fortunately, no one seemed inclined to draw a gun, and none of the spectators seemed inclined to indulge in theft or the like. Some of the prostitutes looked happy, undoubtedly expecting an increase in business salving bruised egos, but the rest of the onlookers appeared to just be waiting it out.

Just then, a man came towards Claire rapidly backpedaling, trying to regain balance after receiving a good punch. She neatly sidestepped out of the way, allowing the man to crash into the bar. The man, rather than jumping back into the fray right away, felt around the bar hoping to find something to throw at his assailant. When he grabbed Claire's half-eaten plate of food, she brought the bottom of her sarsaparilla bottle down hard on his wrist. As the man yelped and pulled his hand back, she told him "It's not polite to steal a lady's dinner."

If the man had something to say in reply, he never got the chance to say it. His original assailant grabbed him, spun him around away from the bar, and punched him again, sending him backpedaling back into the main fight.

Of course Claire noticed the Mountie who had entered from what she presumed was an office. It's not like NWMP uniforms are subtle...

Two shots fired from the front door, followed by
"THIS STOPS NOW, AND ANY PERSON WHO WISHES TO DISPUTE THAT, WILL BE WELCOME TO SPEND THE NIGHT IN MY JAIL.
McLeary! whoever started this, toss him through the door, and out into the street, the rest of you, settle down, and go about your business peaceably."
and the fight was over. Claire nodded in approval. Quick, direct, and right to the point, without overdoing it.

 

[Snow-Guy]

Patrick

Patrick smiled and raised his glass to the other man.

"Sure, in my way, I am a prospector. I know that where there's gold, there's profit."

He offered his hand to the local businessman and introduced himself "Patrick Storemont, Western Canadian representative for the Storemont Bank."

 

[Rufus the Mad]

Turning back to the one-time fighters with a grin that belonged more on the face of a ravening wolf than a bartender, the wooden-legged ex-sergeant dug his way through the lagging crowd and slammed his hands flat down on the backs of two men, the one that had thrown the first punch, and the cheater himself. The snapping echo as his skillet-sized paws met with their cotton-clad skin made several of the others nearby jerk reflexively, and brought howls of pain from the miscreants themselves, leaving them arching like scalded cats as Top picked them up off the floor like children, his peg making a slight screeching sound as he pivoted on it.

Stomping toward the door, the crowd clearing a path for him and the pair as he gave them an earful as well as making certain that everyone knew who they were. "You Mule-headed bastards know better than ta start trouble here! Chunly, you can play cards all ye want, but you haven't the brains god gave carrots when it comes ta cheatin. And as fer you LeFont, you know I take care of the problems in Lou's house! It not your place ya ignorant french bòcain! Now OUT! The BOTH OF YA!"

Tossing them into the splattering rain and slick mud of the road like so much flotsam, Seamus turned back towards the room and glared at the remaining members of the ruckus, making damned sure they knew what was comin if they tried anything else. Thumpin his way back to the bar, he passed by the Mountie and paused, saying "And just so's we're good and clear, that'd be Macleary, Officer McDonald, and I do believe it might just be a pleasure ta meet ya. Holding out a thick hamhock of a right hand, he added "Call me Top, most do."

 

[Blue Dolphin]

My first impressions of Macleary, as an uncouth insolent lout, had obviously been wrong, the man was impressive. Dealing with the two brawlers quickly, and very efficiently, he dispatched them out onto the muddy morass that lay outside, before returning, and approaching me.

"And just so's we're good and clear, that'd be Macleary, Officer McDonald, and I do believe it might just be a pleasure ta meet ya.[i/] Holding out a thick hamhock of a right hand, he added "Call me Top, most do."

Taking the proffered hand, I shook it, and finally smiled, before speaking.

"That was impressive Top, and it is a pleasure to meet you also, and I thank you, on behalf of Her Majesty, for your assistance.

Turning slightly away, I faced the watching, almost expectant crowd, and addressed them.

"As you just saw, brawling, and damage to private property is no longer acceptable in Carmack. We may be almost out in the wilderness, but nevertheless, the law will prevail here. The same rules about brawling will also apply to the wearing of guns in public places. It will not be tolerated.
As of noon tomorrow, all guns and other weapons will be checked in at Top`s bar upon entering the establishment. Refusal will mean immediate arrest, confiscation and destruction of your weapons, and a week in the town jail, which as I speak, is being fortified. The only legal weapon in here wil be Top`s, the shotgun behind the bar, which incidentally, he has my permission to use, should the situation demand it.
If you have any questions, then speak now."

 

[Sorren]

Claire Black

"As you just saw, brawling, and damage to private property is no longer acceptable in Carmack. We may be almost out in the wilderness, but nevertheless, the law will prevail here. The same rules about brawling will also apply to the wearing of guns in public places. It will not be tolerated.
As of noon tomorrow, all guns and other weapons will be checked in at Top's bar upon entering the establishment. Refusal will mean immediate arrest, confiscation and destruction of your weapons, and a week in the town jail, which as I speak, is being fortified. The only legal weapon in here will be Top's, the shotgun behind the bar, which incidentally, he has my permission to use, should the situation demand it.
If you have any questions, then speak now."

Claire frowned slightly at this proclamation.

She had no rational argument against it, as it is in principle one of the most reasonable restrictions she's seen for a saloon. Restricting patrons from being armed, while allowing the establishment to remain armed as a means of defense, was one of the most effective means for maintaining the peace.

It was damned inconvenient for her personally, though. Her guns have been a part of her life so long that she felt naked without them. Actually, she'd rather do a striptease dance for these drunken louts than be disarmed...

Oh well. She's had to hand over her weapons before, she can do so again. But she wanted a couple of clarifications first, so she spoke up.

"I presume an official announcement on this will be posted, for the benefit of people not here right now?" Claire then added wryly, "Or too drunk to remember?"

"Also, 'public places' sounds vague. Will there be a more detailed description of where this restriction applies, besides this saloon?"

 

[Mystical Avalon]

Eve Deschain

Eve watched as the man, Top righted the Officer.

Suddenly it clicked in her head. Officer, police!!

Without knowing, she walked suddenly to the officer.

She stood and in her loudest of voices she yelled

"EXCUSE ME OFFICER SIR" as she waved her hand hopefully she had gotten his attention.

He may have some knowledge of helping her with Roland. Even, she thought if he was dead at least she would not feel the nothingness that had crept within her.

 

[Blue Dolphin]

"I presume an official announcement on this will be posted, for the benefit of people not here right now? Or too drunk to remember? Also, 'public places' sounds vague. Will there be a more detailed description of where this restriction applies, besides this saloon?"

"Yes indeed Ma`am, public notices wil be posted in the morning, and "public places" refers to hotels, saloons, and the whorehouse. No doubt there are some in town who do not have the reading, I would ask that you people here spread the word."

Just as I finished talking, another lady spoke up.

"EXCUSE ME OFFICER SIR"

Yes Ma`am, you have a question for me I assume?"

 

[Blue Dolphin]

oops sorry

 

[bullshot]

Crazy George

Even in his drunken stupor George woke at the sound of the two shots going off as they were right below his window. He'd sobered a little and could hear shouting from the bar, he wasn't a gun fighter and had no mind to get involve in a rukus so he waited until the noise settled down again.

Turning over he tried to get back to sleep knowing that Top would tell him all about it in the morning. He lay there thinking unable to get to sleep immediately wondering if he should give up prospecting and find something to do in town.

Eventually he drifted back to sleep without deciding what he should do.