Grand Theft Horse - (Old West Comedy / Dead / IC)

[Voxija]

Jones was one of many swarming the local river, the flies to a carcass, or sharks to blood, or East Zilchers and foreigners alike to rumors of gold in the river of unpronounceable name. Well, not actually unpronounceable, Jones somehow gets it right every time. Perhaps its divine magic. Who knows? Regardless, he walked towards his destiantion, clad in his usual wear, and armed with nothing but a bucket and his Jonesian Bible.

"Outta my way, you perfidious commoners!" exclaimed Jones as he pushed and shoved through other prospective panners. "I, John Joseph Jones alone deserve the riches of these waters! No matter what that damned Mayor may parrot.." As it turns out, Jones had attempted to 'negotiate' with the mayor a more lucrative position in the 'burgeoning panning business', to little avail. Leave to the imagination what transpired between the two. That aside, Jones continued his march to the riverbank, still armed with nothing but a bucket and the Bible.

When at last he arrived, Jones stood steadfast on the bank, attempting to do one of those 'cool prophet poses' or whatever it seemed. Both hands outstretched, feet close to one another you know the one. Would look a lot better atop a mountain probably. The bucket merely stood by his side, sunk a fair bit into the wet soil, while he held the Jonesian Bible in one of his outstretched hands. It was the bad one, and it still stung a considerable bit as he clasped the book's leather over the water. Posed like a prophet, Jones prepared his throat.

"Greetings, subjects of mine! You must all depart the vicinity, for I am about to enact a great miracle! For all of one day, far too long, you have parttaken in what is not yours. Recede from the banks of the river, and I shall taketh mine share." No one listened to his commands, and instead continued to mine and pan. He didn't seem to care. "Just as Jesus before me, and Moses before him, shall I, John Joseph Jones, [bunch of self-congratulating epithets] shall do.. magic! With the waters ahead of my figure. BEHOLD, watch as I part the gold from the river, and deposit it twentyfold into this bucket! BEHOLD!!"

What few people cared enough spared momentary attention to the prophet, and watched as he broke pose and began waving his hands around, attempting to 'part the gold from the water' or whatever. Of course, nothing happened. Jones grew impatient, his movements becoming increasingly frantic. When the arm-flailing failed, Jones took a few steps back, and flipped through the pages of his Jonesian Bible, belting out passage after passage from his sacred scripture in an effort to acquire some shiny yellow rocks people like to collect, that in this day and age can be swapped for green snippets of paper. "As God said to me that one time in Louisiana, Jones, you are fantastic!" What little antention he garnered rapidly disappeared, as this potentially problematic 'prophet' performed 'holy miracles' over the river.

As time marched on, leaving Jones and his miracles behind, the Jonesian leader at last had an epiphany! Was it a sudden realization that there was indeed, no miracle being performed? Was it an even bigger realization about how he in fact, was not a god, or anything close to it, and was just making a fool of himself? Well, Jones twirled to face the dry ground, as well as what few onlookers were still onlooking at his nonsense, and spoke.

"It is with a heavy heart that I, John Joseph Jones [a shorter list of epithets], must say that I have not drawn any precious gold from the riverwater. Indeed I say," said Jones as he picked up the bucket from the soil and spun around to show its empty bottom to all, "not a single fleck has been retrieved. Now I understand that some of you may be questioning of my divine abilities. But doubt not in the powers of your prophet, for one of my gifts is that of arithmetic! Recall, o subjects, that I pledged to part the gold from the water, and deposit it twentyfold? And as God has told me, any number multiplied by zero, must equal zero! Therefore, as there is no gold in this bucket, there must be zero gold in the waters of the [lots of syllables] river! Since I am a generous lord, I will let you all divide that amount between yourselves, for such a quantity is beneath my godly notice."

Jones turned tail and ran, retreating inland from the riverbank, before stopping. He put down his bucket, and holstered his Bible on his side. Jones' inner voice then spoke with great distaste towards the higher powers. What in tarnation was that, Lord? Abandonin' me in front of a crowd like that? And I even 'ad to resort to some trickery involvin' that so-called arithmetic that the devil's marms put into your brain. So, I beseech you, oh God-most-divne-and-perfect-but-also-about-as-divine-and-perfect-as-I-am, please, let me work miracles over the river's edge.

Doc Festy heard a commotion over near where all the people are. He went over to see what was going on. Doc hadn't gotten any gold yet, but the quack figured that was because he was daydreaming and not focusing on work.

It was—of course it was. That crazy man Jones was preaching to the choir about all the gold that was in the [OH GOD WHY] River. He was t-posing and talkin' 'bout how he can part the river and multiply all the gold in his bucket or somethin'. He was even crazier than Doc Festy.

But then Jones's Jonesian preaching took an odd turn. The preacher hadn't gotten anything in his bucket, 'cause G-d would never help a kook like that. But then Jones Jones or whatever his full name was began deducifying, like an insane troll, and eventually came to the conclusion that there wasn't any gold in the [OY VEY] River.

Well, Jones was crazy, but he did seem to be right there... Doc had FALLEN for a scam! The same sort of scam he was pullin' on others! That wasn't right! He'd been tricked, like everyone else. Of course, the kook might be tellin' lies but Doc had a feeling that the cult leader had told the truth on accident. That had happened sometimes to Doc.

Well, if Doc Festy wasn't gonna get rich, he could at least take a look around. He would people-watch, maybe identify potential marks. He happened to take a look at the river, where—HOT DAMN! There was this pretty, no, beautiful girl there. But she was talkin' to some random Cajun man. Feh. He'd be no threat. Doc Festy was more handsome and a better conversationalist than that guy.

Doc Festy spat on his hand, slicked back his hair, wiped it on his pants, and strode confidently towards the two Louisianans. "Well, hello, pretty lady! What are you two talking about?" In his haste to talk to the cowgirl, he'd reverted to the Boston accent he was born with.

[Louisianan]

Jones was one of many swarming the local river, the flies to a carcass, or sharks to blood, or East Zilchers and foreigners alike to rumors of gold in the river of unpronounceable name. Well, not actually unpronounceable, Jones somehow gets it right every time. Perhaps its divine magic. Who knows? Regardless, he walked towards his destiantion, clad in his usual wear, and armed with nothing but a bucket and his Jonesian Bible.

"Outta my way, you perfidious commoners!" exclaimed Jones as he pushed and shoved through other prospective panners. "I, John Joseph Jones alone deserve the riches of these waters! No matter what that damned Mayor may parrot.." As it turns out, Jones had attempted to 'negotiate' with the mayor a more lucrative position in the 'burgeoning panning business', to little avail. Leave to the imagination what transpired between the two. That aside, Jones continued his march to the riverbank, still armed with nothing but a bucket and the Bible.

When at last he arrived, Jones stood steadfast on the bank, attempting to do one of those 'cool prophet poses' or whatever it seemed. Both hands outstretched, feet close to one another you know the one. Would look a lot better atop a mountain probably. The bucket merely stood by his side, sunk a fair bit into the wet soil, while he held the Jonesian Bible in one of his outstretched hands. It was the bad one, and it still stung a considerable bit as he clasped the book's leather over the water. Posed like a prophet, Jones prepared his throat.

"Greetings, subjects of mine! You must all depart the vicinity, for I am about to enact a great miracle! For all of one day, far too long, you have parttaken in what is not yours. Recede from the banks of the river, and I shall taketh mine share." No one listened to his commands, and instead continued to mine and pan. He didn't seem to care. "Just as Jesus before me, and Moses before him, shall I, John Joseph Jones, [bunch of self-congratulating epithets] shall do.. magic! With the waters ahead of my figure. BEHOLD, watch as I part the gold from the river, and deposit it twentyfold into this bucket! BEHOLD!!"

What few people cared enough spared momentary attention to the prophet, and watched as he broke pose and began waving his hands around, attempting to 'part the gold from the water' or whatever. Of course, nothing happened. Jones grew impatient, his movements becoming increasingly frantic. When the arm-flailing failed, Jones took a few steps back, and flipped through the pages of his Jonesian Bible, belting out passage after passage from his sacred scripture in an effort to acquire some shiny yellow rocks people like to collect, that in this day and age can be swapped for green snippets of paper. "As God said to me that one time in Louisiana, Jones, you are fantastic!" What little antention he garnered rapidly disappeared, as this potentially problematic 'prophet' performed 'holy miracles' over the river.

As time marched on, leaving Jones and his miracles behind, the Jonesian leader at last had an epiphany! Was it a sudden realization that there was indeed, no miracle being performed? Was it an even bigger realization about how he in fact, was not a god, or anything close to it, and was just making a fool of himself? Well, Jones twirled to face the dry ground, as well as what few onlookers were still onlooking at his nonsense, and spoke.

"It is with a heavy heart that I, John Joseph Jones [a shorter list of epithets], must say that I have not drawn any precious gold from the riverwater. Indeed I say," said Jones as he picked up the bucket from the soil and spun around to show its empty bottom to all, "not a single fleck has been retrieved. Now I understand that some of you may be questioning of my divine abilities. But doubt not in the powers of your prophet, for one of my gifts is that of arithmetic! Recall, o subjects, that I pledged to part the gold from the water, and deposit it twentyfold? And as God has told me, any number multiplied by zero, must equal zero! Therefore, as there is no gold in this bucket, there must be zero gold in the waters of the [lots of syllables] river! Since I am a generous lord, I will let you all divide that amount between yourselves, for such a quantity is beneath my godly notice."

Jones turned tail and ran, retreating inland from the riverbank, before stopping. He put down his bucket, and holstered his Bible on his side. Jones' inner voice then spoke with great distaste towards the higher powers. What in tarnation was that, Lord? Abandonin' me in front of a crowd like that? And I even 'ad to resort to some trickery involvin' that so-called arithmetic that the devil's marms put into your brain. So, I beseech you, oh God-most-divne-and-perfect-but-also-about-as-divine-and-perfect-as-I-am, please, let me work miracles over the river's edge.

Doc Festy heard a commotion over near where all the people are. He went over to see what was going on. Doc hadn't gotten any gold yet, but the quack figured that was because he was daydreaming and not focusing on work.

It was—of course it was. That crazy man Jones was preaching to the choir about all the gold that was in the [OH GOD WHY] River. He was t-posing and talkin' 'bout how he can part the river and multiply all the gold in his bucket or somethin'. He was even crazier than Doc Festy.

But then Jones's Jonesian preaching took an odd turn. The preacher hadn't gotten anything in his bucket, 'cause G-d would never help a kook like that. But then Jones Jones or whatever his full name was began deducifying, like an insane troll, and eventually came to the conclusion that there wasn't any gold in the [OY VEY] River.

Well, Jones was crazy, but he did seem to be right there... Doc had FALLEN for a scam! The same sort of scam he was pullin' on others! That wasn't right! He'd been tricked, like everyone else. Of course, the kook might be tellin' lies but Doc had a feeling that the cult leader had told the truth on accident. That had happened sometimes to Doc.

Well, if Doc Festy wasn't gonna get rich, he could at least take a look around. He would people-watch, maybe identify potential marks. He happened to take a look at the river, where—HOT DAMN! There was this pretty, no, beautiful girl there. But she was talkin' to some random Cajun man. Feh. He'd be no threat. Doc Festy was more handsome and a better conversationalist than that guy.

Doc Festy spat on his hand, slicked back his hair, wiped it on his pants, and strode confidently towards the two Louisianans. "Well, hello, pretty lady! What are you two talking about?" In his haste to talk to the cowgirl, he'd reverted to the Boston accent he was born with.

Ozane turned to the Doctor, "Nuttin much, a lil bit of dis and a lil bit of dat. You know, same ole same ole," Ozane looked at the top of the man's head and laughed, he went close and whispered, "You gotta big ole glob of spit still in you hair."

[Voxija]

[quote="Voxija";p="38196069]
Doc Festy heard a commotion over near where all the people are. He went over to see what was going on. Doc hadn't gotten any gold yet, but the quack figured that was because he was daydreaming and not focusing on work.

It was—of course it was. That crazy man Jones was preaching to the choir about all the gold that was in the [OH GOD WHY] River. He was t-posing and talkin' 'bout how he can part the river and multiply all the gold in his bucket or somethin'. He was even crazier than Doc Festy.

But then Jones's Jonesian preaching took an odd turn. The preacher hadn't gotten anything in his bucket, 'cause G-d would never help a kook like that. But then Jones Jones or whatever his full name was began deducifying, like an insane troll, and eventually came to the conclusion that there wasn't any gold in the [OY VEY] River.

Well, Jones was crazy, but he did seem to be right there... Doc had FALLEN for a scam! The same sort of scam he was pullin' on others! That wasn't right! He'd been tricked, like everyone else. Of course, the kook might be tellin' lies but Doc had a feeling that the cult leader had told the truth on accident. That had happened sometimes to Doc.

Well, if Doc Festy wasn't gonna get rich, he could at least take a look around. He would people-watch, maybe identify potential marks. He happened to take a look at the river, where—HOT DAMN! There was this pretty, no, beautiful girl there. But she was talkin' to some random Cajun man. Feh. He'd be no threat. Doc Festy was more handsome and a better conversationalist than that guy.

Doc Festy spat on his hand, slicked back his hair, wiped it on his pants, and strode confidently towards the two Louisianans. "Well, hello, pretty lady! What are you two talking about?" In his haste to talk to the cowgirl, he'd reverted to the Boston accent he was born with.[/quote]
Ozane turned to the Doctor, "Nuttin much, a lil bit of dis and a lil bit of dat. You know, same ole same ole," Ozane looked at the top of the man's head and laughed, he went close and whispered, "You gotta big ole glob of spit still in you hair."[/quote][/quote]

Doc Festy's hands shot up to his head. "Dang it!" Doc knew he shouldn't have gotten flirting advice from minstrel shows and schlocky Shakespeare rip-offs. Festy's hair had probably looked better before he slicked it back. And he could've used one of his elixirs, rather than some loogie. Maybe he should diversify into fields and recipes other than quack medicine.

But worse—the lady hadn't responded. The man did. The Cajun man probably was onto Doc, probably wanted the cowgirl for himself. Muttering to himself, Doc Festy retreated to his wagon, cooking up some love potions which were actually fake. They'd make Ozane smelly, or make his hair fall out. And if someone else bought them, why, Doc didn't care.

Doc drew up a sign with some spare chalk and a piece of wood he had in the back of his wagon. The sign said "Love Potions! Dirt cheap!" Doc dragggged his wagon back toward where Jones was preachin' and waited.

[Talchyon]

The river (whose name will thankfully be left in a footnote in some geography book somewhere)
Mayor Jeremiah Slick

The crowd was buying it! The little shaved flecks of gold that the two Italian associates of his had carved off of the stolen Fells Cargo gold had really sold the scam! The people were believing this river actually had gold! And most importantly, the newspapermen were nodding vigorously and writing their observations down. Mayor Slick nodded appreciatingly at the clockmaker, Daniel, as a sign of political courtesy he didn't actually feel.

That is, almost all were buying it. The same mentally disturbed heretical religious cult leader had started off enthusiastic, but now was making some sort of commotion that the mayor's keen ears picked up. He couldn't make all of it out, but it had something to do with the fact that the river didn't have any gold in it at all. The rest, Mayor Slick wasn't sure he could really understand it even if he had heard the nutcase clearly. Something to do with Egypt or whatever.

Regardless, the mayor knew that this lunatic man had to be silenced. And the best way was to ignore him. You give credit to whack jobs like that, and then people start paying attention. Instead, the mayor motioned one of the Italians nearby him, and whispered something to him. The large, stupid man nodded. A little later, he went back to the river with the pan he had "found" some flecks in. And, panning again, the Italian stood up a little later with a cheer! The mayor was quick to draw attention to that. "See? The river's full of gold! If'n you just look for it, you'll find it!"

Meanwhile, the reporter from Boston felt weirded out at the man who looked like a clockmaker, eyeing him up and down like he had eye issues and needed to see a doctor. The reporter politely coughed and said to the man, "Is there something I can help you with?"

---

Saloon
Sheriff Law Norder

The Fells Cargo men had left the sheriff's office. They were hoppin' mad, having lost almost half of the gold bars they were supposed to take to Fort Knox. And they had charged the local sheriff and sometimes church-choir-tenor to seek out the bad guys and bring them to justice.

Not knowing where else to look, Sheriff Norder moseyed his way to the saloon. He was hoping to go to the best source for knowledge in the town - the saloon owner. Sheriff Norder knew what he was going to say, too. He had memorized the speech on the way over just to make sure he said it correctly. So, entering the saloon doors, the sheriff made his way to the bar. Tipping his hat, he said, "Ma'am. I'm looking for some thieves. You seen any today?" Looking around at the mostly empty saloon, it was pretty clear the news of the gold rush had taken a higher priority on people's minds then sitting around drinking Sarah's concoctions.

Not only were the people gone from the deserted saloon. But the proprietor was also gone. Sheriff Norder had given his speech to no one. His face flushed red in embarrassment. "At least no'buddy saw me do that. I'll call it a practice run."

But hearing a noise outside, the sheriff moseyed his way on out, and down the street a little ways, unto the place where the commotion was. And there, lo and behold, was the woman he was looking for! With, who was that guy? And that other guy with him? The one wearing what looked like medieval armor? The sheriff was trying to piece together where he had seen them, and was having no luck. So, shrugging, the sheriff asked Sarah, "Ma'am. I was looking for you. Not, looking looking in that way. I mean, I'm looking at you now, and you're looking mighty nice, and... no... What I was meaning was, can you... no... have you, um, have you seen, what was it, um... yeah."

[Voxija]

Sarah Stein

But hearing a noise outside, the sheriff moseyed his way on out, and down the street a little ways, unto the place where the commotion was. And there, lo and behold, was the woman he was looking for! With, who was that guy? And that other guy with him? The one wearing what looked like medieval armor? The sheriff was trying to piece together where he had seen them, and was having no luck. So, shrugging, the sheriff asked Sarah, "Ma'am. I was looking for you. Not, looking looking in that way. I mean, I'm looking at you now, and you're looking mighty nice, and... no... What I was meaning was, can you... no... have you, um, have you seen, what was it, um... yeah."

The sheriff came over and talked to Sarah Stein. The only law Sarah had broken was making alcohol without a lisence back in South Carolina, and she wasn't afraid of no sheriff. She'd gladly answer any questions the sheriff had. The thing was, the sheriff seemed to be muddled. Probably from being around Sarah's [BLEEP]ing [BLEEP]. Sarah didn't care. She'd tell the sheriff everything weird that happened.

"The only criminal thing I saw today was the Spanish Inquisition over there. I think they escaped from prison. Yesterday, I saw two men who I heard were protecting the Fells Cargo wagons but they were probably imposters, and did look pretty sus. You should go down to the [СУКА БЛЯТЬ] River. Probably a lot of gold thieves there. A lot of fraud in general near that river."

Stein walked back to the saloon and sat behind the counter. No one was there, which made sense, because they were probably all out panning for gold which wasn't really there. She would wait, and spend that time making more drinks. One of them could even help the sheriff's suspects to confess.

[Greater Kopmakia]

Florence Hampstead

She nods and places her hands on her hips, "Yeah, I heard about the gold craze crud spreading like a bad case of the flu. I was thinking I might go pan myself, but I haven't the supplies or the motivation, seeing as I took some of the family fortune with me on the train here," She'd chuckle.

"So I heard you're from Louisiana; beautiful place. Which part? I come from New Orleans."

"OH! You from Nawlins! Never met nobody from that far east in Louisiana. Now let me see, I was born over near Iberia. We lived in Avoyelles, and then when I left, I went back down south to Vermillionville. My wife died, she fell in a well. I had two kids, I left them with her maw, and I been all over the south. Mississippi, Alabama, The Carolina's and now Texas. I never went back to Louisiana, the law's looking for me there."

Ozane laughed, "I wish I got left a fortune, me. Aw sha, I'd be a rich man, I'd live in a three bedroom shack, nuthin fancy for me."

Florence Hampstead

She nodded. "Well, what exactly would you do with the rest of the profits?" She sat herself along the river bank. "If it were me I'd move myself to California. The Golden State, they call it. I'd buy myself a big ranch-size property and settle on in." She nodded to herself, fantasies of her future drifting through her head.
SHe shook her head out of her daydreams and looked back at Ozane, "Anyways, what would you do with the rest of that fortune?"

[Louisianan]

"OH! You from Nawlins! Never met nobody from that far east in Louisiana. Now let me see, I was born over near Iberia. We lived in Avoyelles, and then when I left, I went back down south to Vermillionville. My wife died, she fell in a well. I had two kids, I left them with her maw, and I been all over the south. Mississippi, Alabama, The Carolina's and now Texas. I never went back to Louisiana, the law's looking for me there."

Ozane laughed, "I wish I got left a fortune, me. Aw sha, I'd be a rich man, I'd live in a three bedroom shack, nuthin fancy for me."

Florence Hampstead

She nodded. "Well, what exactly would you do with the rest of the profits?" She sat herself along the river bank. "If it were me I'd move myself to California. The Golden State, they call it. I'd buy myself a big ranch-size property and settle on in." She nodded to herself, fantasies of her future drifting through her head.
SHe shook her head out of her daydreams and looked back at Ozane, "Anyways, what would you do with the rest of that fortune?"

Ozane's eyes grew wide, "I know! I'd get me one of dem mail order brides! I'd get me a good-lookin honey! Straight from France so we can understand each other! O Yie! I don't mean to cut this talk short, but dat man ova dere with the doctor cart is selling some Love Potions, Imma go get me one and prepare for my mail order bride!" said Hypolite as he ran to the cart, forgetting that he, in fact, does NOT have a fortune.

"Doctor Man, Doctor Man! Gimme gimme! I need one, I need one!" Ozane yelled at the doctor.

[Voxija]

Florence Hampstead

She nodded. "Well, what exactly would you do with the rest of the profits?" She sat herself along the river bank. "If it were me I'd move myself to California. The Golden State, they call it. I'd buy myself a big ranch-size property and settle on in." She nodded to herself, fantasies of her future drifting through her head.
SHe shook her head out of her daydreams and looked back at Ozane, "Anyways, what would you do with the rest of that fortune?"

Ozane's eyes grew wide, "I know! I'd get me one of dem mail order brides! I'd get me a good-lookin honey! Straight from France so we can understand each other! O Yie! I don't mean to cut this talk short, but dat man ova dere with the doctor cart is selling some Love Potions, Imma go get me one and prepare for my mail order bride!" said Hypolite as he ran to the cart, forgetting that he, in fact, does NOT have a fortune.

"Doctor Man, Doctor Man! Gimme gimme! I need one, I need one!" Ozane yelled at the doctor.

Well, well, well. Doc Festy got his first customer really quickly. Maybe he should switch to the love potion business. And it was that Cajun man, too. It seemed like he wanted it for another girl than that cowgirl lady, but Doc was in a vindictive mood.

Doc searched all his "love potions" for the worst best one. It was the one he made most recently. It would make the ingester lethargic, and not want to do anything. Doc considered that the worst thing you could do to a man who wanted to get a girl.

"Here you go," Festy said, laying down a violently pink potion. "That'll be two cents or a bag of gold dust, whichever one you find cheapest. For best results, take a dose right before you talk to your girl. It'll make you irresistible."

[Louisianan]

Ozane's eyes grew wide, "I know! I'd get me one of dem mail order brides! I'd get me a good-lookin honey! Straight from France so we can understand each other! O Yie! I don't mean to cut this talk short, but dat man ova dere with the doctor cart is selling some Love Potions, Imma go get me one and prepare for my mail order bride!" said Hypolite as he ran to the cart, forgetting that he, in fact, does NOT have a fortune.

"Doctor Man, Doctor Man! Gimme gimme! I need one, I need one!" Ozane yelled at the doctor.

Well, well, well. Doc Festy got his first customer really quickly. Maybe he should switch to the love potion business. And it was that Cajun man, too. It seemed like he wanted it for another girl than that cowgirl lady, but Doc was in a vindictive mood.

Doc searched all his "love potions" for the worst best one. It was the one he made most recently. It would make the ingester lethargic, and not want to do anything. Doc considered that the worst thing you could do to a man who wanted to get a girl.

"Here you go," Festy said, laying down a violently pink potion. "That'll be two cents or a bag of gold dust, whichever one you find cheapest. For best results, take a dose right before you talk to your girl. It'll make you irresistible."

"Holy {Redacted}!" Ozane had yelled, TWO CENTS? That's cheap for a Love Potion, but expensive for Ozane! It'd been a long while since he spent that much money, specifically a few days, last time was in the saloon. Could this potion be trusted?

"I'll tell you what sha, I'll buy 15 of them! You drink one, and attract that NOLA lady over dere, and then I'll buy 14 more if it works! Not too big of a deal is it? I'll be paying you'd be proving this theory! If it works, meh, I'd actually like da whole stock, I can ship 'em to Voodoo Lady Tartule in the Bayou! Oh hot dog, she'd be excited!" said Ozane jumping up and down, "Man! My mail order bride will be so happy to see me if this works! Go ahead, take a sip Doc!"

[Voxija]

Well, well, well. Doc Festy got his first customer really quickly. Maybe he should switch to the love potion business. And it was that Cajun man, too. It seemed like he wanted it for another girl than that cowgirl lady, but Doc was in a vindictive mood.

Doc searched all his "love potions" for the worst best one. It was the one he made most recently. It would make the ingester lethargic, and not want to do anything. Doc considered that the worst thing you could do to a man who wanted to get a girl.

"Here you go," Festy said, laying down a violently pink potion. "That'll be two cents or a bag of gold dust, whichever one you find cheapest. For best results, take a dose right before you talk to your girl. It'll make you irresistible."

"Holy {Redacted}!" Ozane had yelled, TWO CENTS? That's cheap for a Love Potion, but expensive for Ozane! It'd been a long while since he spent that much money, specifically a few days, last time was in the saloon. Could this potion be trusted?

"I'll tell you what sha, I'll buy 15 of them! You drink one, and attract that NOLA lady over dere, and then I'll buy 14 more if it works! Not too big of a deal is it? I'll be paying you'd be proving this theory! If it works, meh, I'd actually like da whole stock, I can ship 'em to Voodoo Lady Tartule in the Bayou! Oh hot dog, she'd be excited!" said Ozane jumping up and down, "Man! My mail order bride will be so happy to see me if this works! Go ahead, take a sip Doc!"

Oh dear. Doc didn't have 15 of the same love potion, so he'd have to give Ozane two-thirds of his stock. But maybe this was a blessing in disguise. After all, he'd have to take one of 'em, and if he took the tiredness potion, he'd be doomed.

Doc didn't know what a NOLA lady was, but he assumed it was the cowgirl from earlier. Doc took out a love potion that looked very similar to the one he'd pitched to Gaspard, but merely caused mild belly pain. Doc drank it all. He could stand some mild belly pain. Doc knew he'd succeed in this dare, not because of any "love potion", but because of his natural charisma.

Festy walked over to Florence. "You seem like a tough, hard-drinking kind of woman. I'm Irish; I like those kinds of women. My name's Henry Festy. What's yours?"