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

[Talchyon]

This is the IC page, ya hear? Where all the fightin', stealin', card playin', lady chasin', law-abidin', rompin', stompin,' hompin' and everything else takes place!

For the OOC page, you can find it here.

---

Scene: It is the beginning of another beautiful day in the Texas countryside. Dawn breaks. Two cowhands, Buckaroo Bunjin and Tater Frye, noticing that dawn has broken, ride over to try to fix it. Unfortunately, they're not able to do anything to put it back together, and so dawn remains broken. Sunlight passes over the open prairie. A nearby farm's green crop shines in the sun. One of the cowhands begins to sing...

Buckaroo: "Oh, what a beautiful mornin', oh, what a beautiful day. I got a beautiful feelin', everything's..."

Tater: "Hey. Stop it. Stop singin'. First of all, the sun ain't that high yet. It just started risin'. But second, and more important, that song's under copyright. Ya don't git to sing that here! Respect the law, man!"

Buckaroo: Oh. Sorry. Tell you what, let me try another... (coughs, ahems, spits out a loogie) Now I'm ready. "OH, WHAT BEAUTIFUL CORN! What beautiful, beautiful CORN! The wind whispers secrets, the field is all ears, Oh what beautiful CORN! Farmin' the land is the life for me, it calls me, I can't say no..."

Tater: Stop. Stop. Just stop. First off, ya ain't a farmer, yer a cowhand. Second, I'm pretty sure that song's under copyright, too. Ya don't git to sing that one either. Have some respect! We're tryin' to build a society here, to build the West in a way that builds the West so that people later will see the West as a tribute to those who built the West in the way that the West was built, which is how it's gonna be built. And we can't have this, breakin' of copyright law, to do it. We're honest men, Buck. And that means, we're gonna do things the right way.

Buckaroo: The right way?

Tater: The right way.

Suddenly, a song plays in the background, that is, if you could call it music...

Buckaroo and Tater look at each other with weird expressions on their faces, and then shake their heads and say, "Nah."

Then they ride off into the sunrise, heading into town, East Zilch, to see what the morning might bring.

---

Meanwhile, in town...

A man covered from head to toe in all kinds of leather, fringe, and hides was entering the town on foot. Looking like he hadn't set foot in an established community in some time, the man rubbed the sleep out of his eyes while he yawned.

"Oui. Zees ees ze place. Ahy will find ze man wid ze pehpers heere. N'cest pas?"

Stumbling up through the sleepy town, the French fur trapper came across a local, sitting against the fence post of a building, who was watching him the whole time. The expression on his face was a mixture of curiosity, boredom, and constipation. The man called out to the odd sight he was seeing.

"Hey!"

The French man, a little annoyed to be stopped in the middle of the street by this lazy person, answered back, "What ees eet?"

The man responded, "You got a name, stranger?"

The French man hesitated, and then decided telling who he was wouldn't matter to this yokel. "Mah nayme ees, Beaux Lagged."

The man laughed. "Yer name is 'bow-legged?"

The French trapper grew red in the face and politely said back, "Non, not bow-legged, but Beaux Lagged."

The man laughed again. "Yer mama named ya "BOW-LEGGED?!"

The French trapper grew even more upset and his voice rose to the level of almost shouting. "Non, I tell you! Non non non! Non, zat ees not so! N'cest pas? I sayd, Beaux Lagged, not 'bow-legged.' It has ze stress on ze last syllehble!"

But the taunting man couldn't hear because he was laughing at the French trapper so loud there wasn't any explanation getting through. The French trapper grew even more irate as he turned up his snobbish nose at the man and continued on his way. "Imbecil!" the trapper thought to himself. "He weel leeve to regret zees!" And he continued up the main street of the town, East Zilch for those who cared about trival things such as 'names of places'.

Meanwhile, he had a job to do. To find the man with the important papers!

---

Sometimes, the universe lines up just right. The stars, moon, people, critters, and even world events are all in the right place at the right time for momentous things to take place. Things that would not take place otherwise. Things so unusual they came around once every couple hundred blue moons... As it so happens, this was one of those times. This was a time carved out of destiny, and a time few would forget.

The only thing out of the proper cosmic alignment needed to pull this special event off was a few gophers who had taken a wrong turn underground somewhere and a wandering tumbleweed which had rolled right into the barbershop in town. And that could have caused a different scenario, a conundrum. But fortunately, the conundrum sheriffs were all busy doin' other things. So when everything else was exactly in place, the time was right to bring about the greatest opportunity known to bandits, thieves, robbers, rustlers, varmints, fakers, loons, goons, buffoons, con men, recon men, conned men and condiment men too.

For that day in the small town of East Zilch, Texas, it just so happened that a great fortune was gonna roll down Main Street in a caravan of Fells Cargo wagons, in the form of 50 solid gold bars on their way back east to Fort Knox...

[Danubian Peoples]

For dramatic effect, read the lines below in that stereotypical Texan Western accent.

It is dark. The sky is painted dark shades of moonlight blue, occasionally interrupted by messy clouds and twinkling stars. The ground is similarly colored, its red and orange hues having vanished with the sun as it dipped below the horizon. It is a nondescript location, that would not be very significant, were it not for the events about to transpire..

"Stop right there!" yells a man. He is clad in the wear of a crooked criminal, two guns holstered on a belt 'round his hip. A felt hat, lined with notches signifying kills, decorates his head, while insidious stubble lines his face from one cheek to the other. He is lit in dazzling yellows and oranges, his body colored by the blaze of a campfire at his feet. Next to him are two other ill-meaning folk, one is a similarly-dressed bandit, while the other is an Indian, clad in skins and knife in holster.

"Surrender. All of your belongings. Put 'em all on the ground."

I, being a rational and reasonable person comply with the stranger's demand, I put down my belongings, including my trusty weapon, leavin' me unarmed and open to attack.

"And 'yer head, we wants you dead," says the man again. The Indian pulls out a long knife, and all three ready themselves to attack. At this sight I'm terrified, my shoes clutch the rocky dirt as I clench for battle. The atmosphere is tense. All four of us, we stand ready to fight, 'round the fire for a couple 'o seconds.

"Now, now, attack!" yells the man. At last, the enemies strike. The Indian lunges at me, swinging his knife, while the other two unholster their guns and prepare to fire. And with that, I.... pull out a rifle from thin air! A rifle, that shoots lightning! It goes bang! Bang! Banggigna bang! And then, I pull out a terrifying snake from 'muh pockets, and it grows great wings and throws fire at muh foes! And then, I call down my power of God, and smite them with the Lord's divine might! And with all that, I yell a triumphant cry. "At last, I stand vic-"

---

*Baaah*

"Oh, shut up Jimmy! That story is one hundred 'n one percent true and factual! 'Yer sounding a lot like those stupid folk who say that I've gone off the deep end! There's no deep end in Texas, idiots! IT'S ALL FLAT, ROCKY SONORA FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!"

Jimmy hops from this man's lap and walks to the other side of his porch, before let out a nonspecific bleat, presumably directed at the East Zilch streets below. The porch of one Billy, a very old man wearing a greying Shenandoah. "Oh Jimmy, whaddya want me to look at there?" says Billy. "It's 'bout time I get off this chair anyway. Billy rouses himself from his seat, making the floorboards of his porch creak as he walks towards Jimmy. When he arrives, the juvenile goat bleats again, this time towards Main Street, before the goat runs towards the road, with Billy giving chase.

Eventually, the two find themselves smack-dab at the heart of Main Street, and move towards the edge of the town. Billy hoists Jimmy onto his shoulder, parading the kid around as if it were a weapon.. and find themselves staring wide into the desert. Billy spies wagons in the distance, and while he couldn't make out the gold stacked upon their surfaces, he could see them, moving towards East Zilch at a sluggish pace. "Elephants, those are elephants, Jimmy," says Billy, in amazement. Amazement that quickly evaporates, as he reconsiders his terminology. "No no, those can't be elephants. Bears are the ones with wheels. Yes, bears. Those, they're a parade of bears Jimmy! And they're headed straight towards our little town!"

Billy takes several steps forward, moving further and further into the desert. A faint sparkle hits his eyes, light shining from the gold atop the 'bears.' With this, the old man rubs his hands in anticipation, and begins to wear a scheming smirk, widening as the seconds pass by. He turns to his caprine companion, the spark of a 'bright idea' visible in his eyes.

"Now, I don't know about 'ya Jimmy, but bear meat sounds mighty delicious this time of year! Looks like it is time for another criminal act, of ol' Billy, Billy With the Kid!" The townsfolk within earshot of the two let out a collective sigh as Billy With the Kid yells out his intent to commit crime in jubiliation, before returning to usual business. The two dash back to his residence, and inside, Billy begins to draw up plans...

*pop*

"Ah geez... Dang you devil! Quit twistin' my back as I work on my schemes!"

[Democratic Republic of Eiria]

Matthieu De Travaux sat on the flimsy wooden steps of his home/clinic, an open bottle of red wine in his hands. Even though his time in East Zilch had been short, he missed home dearly. Missed Maman and Papa, missed the hustle and bustle of New York, where Maman's Manor is situated on the outskirts of the city. He took another long swig of the wine, holding it in his mouth for a moment and swallowing. The bottle had around a third left, much to Matthieu's dismay. That's another thing he would miss: Good wine.

He heard distant yelling, heavily accented with an accent he knew well. A Frenchman. Here? What are the odds? He stood, carrying the wine with him as he turned onto main street, only to see a fuming man decked out in leather and furs stomping down main street. Good God. Do I want to know why he's dressed like a..... Nevermind. He cleared his throat and hesitantly approached the man. "Excuse me? Can I help you?" He asked, and noting the man's expression, quickly repeated himself in French. "I heard you yelling, and I was wondering if I could be of help. I am a newcomer, but, you know, a beginner's better than nothing." He prayed he had said the right thing to the leather-clad traveler, really wanting to not die here.

[Voxija]

It was in the morn, or thereabouts. Sarah Stein had been up since before sunup, making some of her best sarsaparilla, or maybe something else, in the shed behind her saloon. It was a long hard haul to becoming the most respected, scratch that, only saloon keeper in East Zilch. You would have thought this one-horse town would be a quiet place, where a bartender could serve her patrons alcohol in peace. But no.

It seemed that almost every day, there was some kind of trouble. Shootouts, bandits, vengeful cowboys, all disturbing East Zilch and the niche Sarah had carved for herself here. Sarah may have expected adventure and all the trappings of the Old West, but she had grown up. Sarah just wanted to make a livin' now, even by fomenting drunkenness and harboring painted Jezebels.

Sarah Stein got behind the counter, getting ready to serve up some drinks. There were already some patrons in the saloon, though it was the very early morn. That was how Sarah liked it. Sarah tipped an eye toward the painted Jezebels in the corner. Although they were prostitutes, Sarah knew they probably made more money than any of these down-on-their-luck men.

The men in the saloon knew Sarah, most of them. Those that didn't had it quickly explained to them that although a woman was runnin' the saloon, she was not to be messed with. They all gave her a howdy.

"Howdy!"

"Howdy, y'all!"

"Howdy, Miss Stein!"

Sarah Stein could not get used to the term "howdy". She was from South Carolina, and you did not say howdy in South Carolina. But she said "Howdy!" back and waited for her business.

A nondescript cowboy walked up to the counter and rapped his fist. "I'd like to have me some sarsaparilla."

Sarsaparilla. Sarah sighed inwardly. All the various spirits Sarah could make, Devil's Ale, Black Brood, the [BLEEP]ing [BLEEP]er, and all the patrons of the saloon wanted sarsaparilla. Well, maybe some cowboys realized they could do the job better sober, but secretly, there was nothing Sarah liked better than seeing the whole saloon passed-out drunk. It was better than dead.

But Sarah Stein was damn good at making a mean sarsaparilla, and make some she did. Sarah handed the cowboy some of her best sarsaparilla, the batch she was making at the beginning of this post.

The next customer was a sad cowboy with a brown face. "Mah girl left me!" he said. The sad cowboy broke down sobbing.

Sarah felt a bit sorry for the poor man. She could see that what he needed was a drink that could get him drunk quickly. And Stein had just the thing.

"My poor dear," Sarah said, laying on her South Carolina accent, which was actually almost gone, thick, "What you need is a sweet taste of my special beer, Beer Stein."

The cowboy wasn't all the bad spirits. "Beer? Ho, ho. I want to get drunk fast, ma'am."

"Well, you haven't tasted my Beer Stein, sir."

Sarah brought out her special Beer Stein. It was served in, well, a beer stein like in the Old Country. Like a cowboy, he downed the Beer Stein in one gulp. Unlike a cowboy, he got drunk. Within a couple of minutes, he was babbling about "gonna get mah girl back. Take 'er for good. Take her straight from her bed and make 'er love me."

Sarah Stein smiled. That job was successful. Let's hope there were no shootouts or bandits at this podunk Texas town. But it was not to be.

[Pax Nerdvana]

John Westwood
John Westwood tied his old mule, Jake, up in front Sarah Stein's saloon. When he wasn't out wandering, he was here. It was always a good place to sit and relax. He liked East Zilch, being that it was nice and small. He liked the solitude of the area. He wandered over to the bar, and pulled up a stool (not that kind of stool; don't be disgusting). In his somewhat gruff Virginia accent, he said to no one in particular,"Have I ever told y'all about the desert lights that I seen, way out in Arizona?" Crickets chirped. A tumbleweed rolled across the street outside. People pretended not to hear him. He turned towards Sarah, and said,"I'd like a sasparilla, please."

[Western Fardelshufflestein]

The Best Damn Porridge in These Here Parts

Karen von Stoot was accustomed to waking up early. After all, someone had to get a start on the early morning chores, what with her husband checking to see if any mail had magically appeared overnight and the children needing to be presentable enough for school. The two little ones were not old enough to partake in any meaningful housework, though Dinny sometimes followed Deck and Dame around for the sake of wanting to be like his big brother and sister. Little Dory had only just started walking and talking over the past year. Besides, no one could concoct as great a porridge as Karen von Stoot--or, more accurately, Karen von Stoot had yet to try the porridges of everyone else in town to confirm whose was the best, so she upheld that the greatest porridge in East Zilch was her own.

Karen wasn't from East Zilch, and she wasn't even from Texas, but most of the folks round here weren't. But she was easily a respectable authority in this here town. No one could get away with even the smallest infraction if Karen von Stoot was around; she was like the sheriff's deputy, if the sheriff didn't have a deputy or the deputy was busy looking out for actual crimes. To say that nobody expected the Karen Inquisition was a downright lie, for everybody expected the Karen Inquisition.

Right on schedule, the four little tater tots (though Deck and Dame could hardly be considered "tots") filed into the kitchen for their porridge. Deck was a mite sweaty from his early morning job, but he would cool down and change into his schoolclothes shortly enough, and then he would be the most presentable sixth grader in Texas.

Karen served them their food, then sat down to eat some chow herself, scrutinizing her precious younguns as though they were more disheveled than was acceptable. But she gave up after a while because they were, in fact, her precious younguns. Having to be the mayor's eyes and ears was exhausting, and she couldn't waste her energy on judging the children while eating their breakfast, now could she?

The door that led to their quarters above the post office opened, and Jimmy John von Stoot himself walked in, his pants too tight and his shirt buttoned into the wrong holes. He was tired, real tired, Karen observed, more tired than a postmaster in a good-for-nothing hamlet should be.

"What were you up to last night?" she demanded, pointin' the spoon she was using at Jimmy John. "You better not have been at that devil bar. Did you not hear what the preacher in Tennessee said that one time? You must remember that preacher in Tennessee."

"Of course I remember the preacher in Tennessee," Jimmy John huffed, looking more worn down than a saddle that had been stretched all the way to Pennsylvania and back. "I also remember the preacher in Massachusetts. Do you remember the preacher from Massachusetts?"

"I remember the preacher from Massachusetts. Now eat your porridge before it gits cold and listen up. I have an idea, Jimmy John."

"If it involves spying on the neighbors, Karen, I don't wanna hear it. You remember how startled that poor cowhand's cowhand was."

"Yes, well he deserved every bit of reprimanding he got. But that is not my idea this morning." No siree, her idea did not involve spying, for that was what she already did on a daily basis. There was nothing novel in that.

"Jimmy John, I want to host a porridge contest."

"A...porridge contest?" Jimmy John's face scrunched up like a dried raisin. He thought all porridge tasted the same, unless it was really, really bad.

"A porridge contest. All households of East Zilch must participate, for we are gonna figure out who has the best porridge once and for all."

"Wouldn't that be a waste of porridge?" piped up Deck, who was known for injecting uninvited common sense into grown-up conversations.

"No. We would instruct everyone to turn in their morning porridge, so we could hold the competition while having breakfast. And you wouldn't think of wasting any of my porridge, now would you?"

"No ma'am." Deck dejectedly returned to silently eating his breakfast.

"You know what I am going to do? Right after out morning chores, little Dory and I are going to visit the mayor's office. I must speak to the mayor on this very important matter so I can prove who does indeed have the best porridge. You following me, Jimmy John?"

"Karen, the mayor is probably already very busy--"

"With what?" The porridge spoon pointed menacingly at Jimmy John's chest.

"With, you know, important matters. Like running the town."

"I am the wife of a government employee, a federal employee no less. I have no trouble speaking to the mayor."

"Karen, we run a post office. Nobody notices it unless they get a letter from their Aunt Mable for Christmas."

"And those letters usually come in July, so what's your point?"

"My point is that you should find something better to do before you go speak to the mayor. Hang down by the saloon. That is where you will see the real trouble."

Jimmy John was right, but Karen heard none of it. She had an official plan to show that she had the best porridge in East Zilch. "We never should have left the East. Everybody knew I had the best porridge when we were in the East."

"You could have stayed back."

"In the East!? Where that Fillmore man was from? I am very angry at him for lowering the price of the postage stamp, and I will have you know that not even that Taylor guy did that, and I never got to speak to him."

"He...died in office, Karen. And you've never spoken to a president before."

"Well, I will speak to a president before my time here on this earth is up, I tell you, especially if the mayor refuses to let me run a porridge competition!" Standing up dramatically, she shoved her empty porridge bowl into Jimmy John's hands. "Now if you excuse me, I am going to speak to the mayor."

[Voxija]

John Westwood
John Westwood tied his old mule, Jake, up in front Sarah Stein's saloon. When he wasn't out wandering, he was here. It was always a good place to sit and relax. He liked East Zilch, being that it was nice and small. He liked the solitude of the area. He wandered over to the bar, and pulled up a stool (not that kind of stool; don't be disgusting). In his somewhat gruff Virginia accent, he said to no one in particular,"Have I ever told y'all about the desert lights that I seen, way out in Arizona?" Crickets chirped. A tumbleweed rolled across the street outside. People pretended not to hear him. He turned towards Sarah, and said,"I'd like a sasparilla, please."

Sarsaparilla. Sasparilla. However you said it, Sarah Stein was sick of it. It was like Westwood didn't even read the last post. But Sarah didn't want to displease her customers, and she liked John Westwood, or at least making him talk. He was nuts, but sometimes crazy people's rambling made good entertainment.

"One sars—sasparilla coming right up!" Sarah Stein reached behind the counter and pulled out some of the last batch of sarsaparilla she made. She always made a lot of drinks every batch. East Zilch had almost no inhabitants, but visitors sometimes came passing along.

While she was handing John her sarsaparilla, she asked the old coot, "So what about your seein' lights in Arizona? Tell me all about it." Sarah could hear an audible groan from the bar patrons. She didn't care.

[Talchyon]

East Zilch main street
Beaux Lagged

Still irritated by the imbecil who had laughed at his name, Beaux wandered down the street, wondering where the man with the important papers were. When suddenly, he was approached by a stranger. But a welcome stranger who knew how to speak like a real Frenchman!

Matthieu De Travaux sat on the flimsy wooden steps of his home/clinic, an open bottle of red wine in his hands. Even though his time in East Zilch had been short, he missed home dearly. Missed Maman and Papa, missed the hustle and bustle of New York, where Maman's Manor is situated on the outskirts of the city. He took another long swig of the wine, holding it in his mouth for a moment and swallowing. The bottle had around a third left, much to Matthieu's dismay. That's another thing he would miss: Good wine.

He heard distant yelling, heavily accented with an accent he knew well. A Frenchman. Here? What are the odds? He stood, carrying the wine with him as he turned onto main street, only to see a fuming man decked out in leather and furs stomping down main street. Good God. Do I want to know why he's dressed like a..... Nevermind. He cleared his throat and hesitantly approached the man. "Excuse me? Can I help you?" He asked, and noting the man's expression, quickly repeated himself in French. "I heard you yelling, and I was wondering if I could be of help. I am a newcomer, but, you know, a beginner's better than nothing." He prayed he had said the right thing to the leather-clad traveler, really wanting to not die here.

Beaux smiled the largest smile he had in a long time, exposing yellowing teeth and bad breath behind them. "Eet ees unbeLIEvable, zat you speek to me in the proper tongue of FRENCH!" Then, switching to said proper tongue, Beaux considered what the man said. "You are French too, non? And new to zeze parts? Weylcahm WEHLCAHM! Ahy... am named Beaux Lagged, a modest trappehr. I am looking for ze man wid ze pehpers! Do you know where ze man wid ze pehpers ees? And, who are you again?"

[Democratic Republic of Eiria]

East Zilch main street
Beaux Lagged

Still irritated by the imbecil who had laughed at his name, Beaux wandered down the street, wondering where the man with the important papers were. When suddenly, he was approached by a stranger. But a welcome stranger who knew how to speak like a real Frenchman!

Matthieu De Travaux sat on the flimsy wooden steps of his home/clinic, an open bottle of red wine in his hands. Even though his time in East Zilch had been short, he missed home dearly. Missed Maman and Papa, missed the hustle and bustle of New York, where Maman's Manor is situated on the outskirts of the city. He took another long swig of the wine, holding it in his mouth for a moment and swallowing. The bottle had around a third left, much to Matthieu's dismay. That's another thing he would miss: Good wine.

He heard distant yelling, heavily accented with an accent he knew well. A Frenchman. Here? What are the odds? He stood, carrying the wine with him as he turned onto main street, only to see a fuming man decked out in leather and furs stomping down main street. Good God. Do I want to know why he's dressed like a..... Nevermind. He cleared his throat and hesitantly approached the man. "Excuse me? Can I help you?" He asked, and noting the man's expression, quickly repeated himself in French. "I heard you yelling, and I was wondering if I could be of help. I am a newcomer, but, you know, a beginner's better than nothing." He prayed he had said the right thing to the leather-clad traveler, really wanting to not die here.

Beaux smiled the largest smile he had in a long time, exposing yellowing teeth and bad breath behind them. "Eet ees unbeLIEvable, zat you speek to me in the proper tongue of FRENCH!" Then, switching to said proper tongue, Beaux considered what the man said. "You are French too, non? And new to zeze parts? Weylcahm WEHLCAHM! Ahy... am named Beaux Lagged, a modest trappehr. I am looking for ze man wid ze pehpers! Do you know where ze man wid ze pehpers ees? And, who are you again?"

Matthieu extended his hand, politely ignoring the man's lack of dental hygiene. Oh, Désolée! My name is Matthieu De Travaux, I am the new town doctor. You say you search for.... l'homme aux papiers?" Matthieu's accent was lighter than the born Frenchman, having grown up speaking English around others and French with his father. "That could be any number of people. The Mayor, the Postmaster, or if it's a women, maybe even the postmaster's....... Strong-willed wife."

Now, Matthieu held nothing against women, and considered himself much more progressive than his colleagues back home. However, the postmaster's wife held very little standing with him. "I recommend seeking one of them. Now..." He gestured at his empty wine bottle. "I need to find a place to get something stronger than wine. If you have any other questions, my Clinique is over there." He gestured to a side street. "Au Revoir, Monsieur Lagged!"

Doctor Travaux strolled down main street, ducking into the local saloon, finding it crowded. He went to sit on one of the flimsy barstools, but unfortunately the bottle of wine was starting to kick in, causing him to miss his stool in a very undignified manner. "Connard!" He exclaimed, his French cursing alerting the whole saloon. He dusted himself off and sat down properly, waving apologetically. "Sorry, carry on!". He nodded to Miss Stein, deep in conversation with some cowboy, evidently much to the dismay of the other bar patrons. He sighed. There's still so much to get used to in this town.

[Danubian Peoples]

NOTE: WILL REDACT OR EDIT POST IF NECESSARY.
Billy With the Kid
Billy's Place, East Zilch

Billy gripped the side of his head with both hands, as he sat on a stool, mulling over the hardwood of a table. Sporadic calls and bleats from Jimmy emanated from the back, which, along with Billy's conetemplatively shaking legs, was the only nice in the otherwise quiet interior of his house.

Now, what would I need to bring down a bear? Despite all my feats I've got no experience in ursine wrangling... Euraka! There might be someone in town who does. "Jimmy!" calls the old man. "Be a good goat and come over to my side for a minute or two."

Jimmy, ostensibly Billy's pet goat trodded towards their owner, eveuntually laying down by the side of his no longer shaking legs. The kid lets out a quiet noise, alerting Billy to its presence. "I've got it, Jimmy. Eureka, Jimmy! I have formulated a master plan!"

Billy tenderly grabs the goat and holds Jimmy up with both arms, himself standing up from the stool. "If I recall correctly. There's a Frenchman-Belgian-German-watchamacallit 'round these parts. Flew Eggs I think? And to my knowledge, he's a natural at killin' wild furry things, which I assume a bear is. Now, I've got zilch in the way of his language, but Jimmy, you told me once you served under Napoleon Bonaparte! And that you know some of that 'Romance tongue' as a result! What do you say, to, actin' as a, translator for my thoughts to him?"

Jimmy was silent, his caprine jaws shut and immobile, save for momentary motions in the cheeks. "Jimmy c'mon, don't give me that look, it's an easy task. All I need you to do, is go out there and tell Mister Eggs that I need 'im to bring down some bears. On second thought this don't seem as illegal as I thought it would be.. oh well.What do you say?"

A momentary silence, until the goat's throat seems to buckle. Billy takes this as nervousness. "Y'know what, I'll be coming with, since it appears you ain't feelin' so confident 'bout going out there on your own," he says.

And so, the two depart Billy's residence, with a slimy half of a dollar bill hanging from one of Billy's pants pockets.

---

Main Street, East Zilch

At last, Billy and Jimmy have arrived at their destination. The center of Main Street. It was a rather busy place, one of the few corners of town where every one of the few hundred or so folks living here went through at least once a week. Mostly because several important establishments lay on its sides, it ain't called Main Street for nothing after all. And on this street there stood two Frenchmen, one of which was exactly who Billy was looking for. Unfortunately, he did not which of them.

"My, it appears they're, conversin' in their Frenchie language! Jimmy, you gettin' any of this? Use those multilingual skills of yours to decipher what they're chatting 'bout over there," says Billy as he peered his head for a building corner. "Look, one of them's leavin' for the saloon. It's the funny lookin' one with the herbs and leeches. Pretty sure bears eat leeches, right?"

Billy turns to his caprine companion, and speaks with intent. "If so, that must be our guy, because he's probably a hunter, probably carryin' bear bait. Not a fan of Missy Stein's establishment idiots there still think there are holes in the Sonora.. but I'd do anythin' for my bear meats!"

A response from Jimmy is heard, this time a somewhat negative-sounding bleat. "Don't give me that," replies Billy. Another bleat in response. "Wait, you don't think that's our guy? And we should instead be talkin' to the furry dude? What d'ya mean? He looks like he has pledged allegiance to the bears, judging by his integumint, and I ain't sure about goin' up to him and asking for help in serving up his masters. Also, I'm pretty sure he's lookin' for the postmaster, and I ain't sure if you're welcome within twelve feet of 'im after you made a mess out of the dinner at the ol' post office..."

Another bleat, this time interpreted by Jimmy as more cooperative. "I see what you're getting at now. Come on then, we'll reveal ourselves to the furry French-Belgian-German-whatever, in 5, 4, potato, wooden floorboard, thingamajig.."

"Apple pie!" Billy makes a dash for his target, the fur-clad Frenchman in his sights, with Jimmy's hooves running close behind. The two wind up with 25 feet of the Frenchmen, and slow to a walking pace. As they move, billy calls out to the stranger. "Are 'ya Mister Flew Eggs? We're looking for a Mister Eggs? Good with animals, 'specially bears? Do you even understand what I am sayin'? We needs 'ya to do a thing or two. In exchange, I'll tell 'bout the man with the papers!"

Billy momentarily turns to Jimmy. "C'mon, now's you're time to shine, when we get to 'im, you should bust out your French and tell 'im 'bout my plans; though, considering we're in public, I think we should retreat somewhere more private to discuss this matter with him first." A valid concern for a quote unquote criminal, albeit a moot one considering he had just yelled this intention into Main Street, and every one of the townsfolk walking immediately heard of it as a result.

[Ameriganastan]

Main Street, East Zilch

"Try and stay out of trouble this time. And next time someone dares you to tomahawk a bottle off their head, make sure at least one of you is sober. You crazy Irish halfwit."

Down the ways a tad, the sheriff shoved a skinny Irishman out the door of the local jail. A skinny Irishman with a hoof-shaped indention in his forehead, a tomahawk on his belt and a sporting a headband with a feather sticking out of it.

"Like I said, he moved. You damn palefaces are so squirmy when you're drunk. You can't hold your liquor like we can. We, the proud and original-"

The door slammed before he could get going on his rant.

"Land grabber! We shall have our day, mark my words!"

[Pax Nerdvana]

John Westwood
John Westwood tied his old mule, Jake, up in front Sarah Stein's saloon. When he wasn't out wandering, he was here. It was always a good place to sit and relax. He liked East Zilch, being that it was nice and small. He liked the solitude of the area. He wandered over to the bar, and pulled up a stool (not that kind of stool; don't be disgusting). In his somewhat gruff Virginia accent, he said to no one in particular,"Have I ever told y'all about the desert lights that I seen, way out in Arizona?" Crickets chirped. A tumbleweed rolled across the street outside. People pretended not to hear him. He turned towards Sarah, and said,"I'd like a sasparilla, please."

Sarsaparilla. Sasparilla. However you said it, Sarah Stein was sick of it. It was like Westwood didn't even read the last post. But Sarah didn't want to displease her customers, and she liked John Westwood, or at least making him talk. He was nuts, but sometimes crazy people's rambling made good entertainment.

"One sars—sasparilla coming right up!" Sarah Stein reached behind the counter and pulled out some of the last batch of sarsaparilla she made. She always made a lot of drinks every batch. East Zilch had almost no inhabitants, but visitors sometimes came passing along.

While she was handing John her sarsaparilla, she asked the old coot, "So what about your seein' lights in Arizona? Tell me all about it." Sarah could hear an audible groan from the bar patrons. She didn't care.

John Westwood
He took a sip from his sasparilla, and said,"When I was out in Arizona, 'round seven, eight years ago, I spent a lotta time out prospectin' in the desert." He shifted on his stool, and continued, "I had nothin' more then my mule Jake for company. Anyhow, at night, I would look up at the vast and starry skies, an' I would see glowing shapes. Depending on the night, some might be round, and some might be triangular. Sometimes they were even square. They would flit about, dashing and hoverin' all over the place. Some were green, some were red, and others were an unearthly shade of purple. I ain't seen nothin' like 'em during the day." He finished his sasparilla, and said,"Sarah, I'd like a shot of whiskey, if you have any." About then, the good doctor tried to sit on his stool and missed, filling the saloon with cursing.

[Talchyon]

Main Street, East Zilch
Beaux Lagged

The new doctor seemed a decent person, and even had nice shahny teeth. Beaux appreciated that. Not that he had much use for a dentist. After hearing that he might be looking for either the mayor, the postmaster, or the postmaster's wife, Beaux said, "Merci," as the doctor then proceeded to head on into the town saloon.

As the French fur trapper was considering his next move, he was shouted at and approached by an old man carrying a goat.

Billy With the Kid
Main Street, East Zilch

...Another bleat, this time interpreted by Jimmy as more cooperative. "I see what you're getting at now. Come on then, we'll reveal ourselves to the furry French-Belgian-German-whatever, in 5, 4, potato, wooden floorboard, thingamajig.."

"Apple pie!" Billy makes a dash for his target, the fur-clad Frenchman in his sights, with Jimmy's hooves running close behind. The two wind up with 25 feet of the Frenchmen, and slow to a walking pace. As they move, billy calls out to the stranger. "Are 'ya Mister Flew Eggs? We're looking for a Mister Eggs? Good with animals, 'specially bears? Do you even understand what I am sayin'? We needs 'ya to do a thing or two. In exchange, I'll tell 'bout the man with the papers!"

Beaux stared at the man. Whoever this person was, he was either so drunk he didn't know what he was talking about, or had the worst case of confusion he had ever encountered. Not that he tended to encounter many people, mind you. But this was clearly not a guy Beaux was interested in talking to.

"Non. Pardon, Ahy am noht Monsieur 'Flew Eggs.' And Ahy do not train bears. Pardon, Ahy already know about ze man wid ze pehpers."

And walking away as quickly as he could, Beaux went to try to find the postmaster. Or his wife. Either could work.

---

Buckaroo Bunjin and Tater Frye

Riding their horses into town, Buck and Tater had plans to begin their day with a nice coffee. The coffee in town was always better than cowboy coffee, with all the grinds that you ended up drinkin'. Their early early morning chores had been done already, and while they still had a few more to do later, nothing would make the day better than a nice coffee and maybe some socializin'.

The two friends had some nice horses. Sorrels, both of 'em. Buck had a horse named 'Sue.' A horse named 'Sue,' and she knew just what to do. Tater, on the other hand, had not yet given a name to his horse. Maybe it was because he wasn't always that creative. It all went back to the time when he first got that horse from the seller in that desert. Tater bought the horse, and then went for a ride on that horse with no name, and it felt good to get out of the rain. Now in the desert, you can remember your name, for there ain't no one for to give you no pain. But the problem is, in the desert, you also can't come up with a good name for a horse. You can remember your name just fine. Jus', not the horse's. So he didn't name the creature. And from then on, Tater simply called his nameless horse, "Horse" or "Hey you".

As they rode down Main Street, they politely nodded and touched the brim of the hats they were wearing to any and all of the people they passed. Slowly trottin' up, the cowhands were passin' by the sheriffs when all of a sudden, a man was being let out of jail. After a brief exchange with the sheriff, the door slammed and the unique individual who had come out began speakin' all angry-like. The man was an injun! Only, not an injun! The whitest of white men with reddish fiery hair, wearing the get-up of an injun. Buck and Tater looked at each other with puzzled expressions, and then Buck said to the man while still on his horse named 'Sue', "Howdy, stranger. And what are you lookin' for today?"

[Barapam]

Yang Guo walked out the General Store carrying bags of groceries in his hands and perplexion in his face. The old woman behind the counter had acted as if she knew him, and she had been very friendly, even though they had never met before. She had called him "buckaroo bunjin", bonsai cowboy, which he assumed was her nickname for all Asian cowboys. Although it was a surprise to him that people had bonsai trees as far away as here...

Still, Yang didn't complain. She'd given him a discount and some free candy, and she'd also insisted on giving him a slice of apple pie, which she claimed to have saved specifically for him... Well, if everyone in this city were as friendly as her towards strangers, then he might actually stay here. At least for some time. He smiled.

Then he didn't smile no more. He squinted and stared into a pair of eyes. His own eyes! Yang hadn't noticed the wanted poster when he walked into the store, but indeed there it was. Was that how the old lady had recognized him? Had she only been friendly out of fear?

It was bad enough that word of him had already gotten to this godforsaken town, but what made it worse was that as per usual, they'd gotten his name wrong. Secondly, he was innocent of the accusations, sort of. He'd only killed in self defense (although with massively disproportionate retribution) and the cattle rustling was something he had been tricked into (never mind that he had continued with it once he found out, and that he enjoyed it very much...). And lastly, the reward for catching him was way too low, in his opinion. He was certainly worth more. This all infuriated Yang. Something had to be done about that terribly inaccurate poster.

He hurried to put his bags down, but he wasn't careful enough, and the items rolled out. Coffee, bacon, whisky, beans, tobacco, etc. ... Cursing in his native tongue, Yang assembled the groceries again, and made sure they stood steady this time. A quick look towards the street revealed that no one was paying him much attention, as there was enough calamity elsewhere going on for those few who were outside at the moment. Good. That meant no one would disturb him. Yang reached to the inner pocket of his jacket to dig out a short pencil, only to realize that there wasn't anyone there!

"Oh yeah, that's right... I'm usually not the pencil-carrying kind of guy... Well, only one thing to do..."

The outlaw hitched up his groceries, and went back into the store. "Howdy, ma'am... again. Could I perhaps borrow a pencil from you real quick? It would be most helpful indeed, I assure you", he said in his best English. Hopefully she would still be generous, so that he wouldn't have to rob her at gunpoint for it. Because that felt so very unnecessary on so many levels.

The old lady just shook her head and smiled. "Oh, Buckaroo... What happened to the last one I gave you?" Yang didn't understand what she meant by that, so he didn't say anything back.

Nevertheless, she gave him one, a short but sharp pencil, which she said he could keep, but that he should be careful not to loose it. Yang took it, thanked her, and walked back out to the poster. It was time for some artistic creativity.

First, he crossed out the misspelled name with a sigh. Couldn't the authorities do anything right? He replaced "Django" with 楊郭. There. Now it should be clear for everyone. Next Yang crossed out the crimes, because he wasn't really guilty of them anyway, at least not the way he saw it. And of course the "dead or", because he very much preferred to be alive. Last but not least, he added a zero to the reward. Now it looked much better!

Satisfied with his solution, Yang Guo (and not Django, which not even the poster said anymore) began to whistle and headed back towards the hotel he was staying in. But he didn't get far before he stared into his own eyes again, for the second time that day! Well, third if you can't that he looked himself in the mirror while shaving before breakfast... But no matter how you counted, it appeared Yang saw his own reflection again. And not in a mirror or a wanted poster, but on a horse! And on that horse sat a cowboy that looked just like him! Like Yang, that is. Not like the horse. The man and the horse looked nothing alike, but Yang and the man... man, they looked alike. The strange rode with a partner next to him, and addressed an Irish drunk which for some reason had dressed himself out as an indian and gotten thrown out from the sheriff.

"What the..?" Yang muttered.

[Voxija]

He took a sip from his sasparilla, and said,"When I was out in Arizona, 'round seven, eight years ago, I spent a lotta time out prospectin' in the desert." He shifted on his stool, and continued, "I had nothin' more then my mule Jake for company. Anyhow, at night, I would look up at the vast and starry skies, an' I would see glowing shapes. Depending on the night, some might be round, and some might be triangular. Sometimes they were even square. They would flit about, dashing and hoverin' all over the place. Some were green, some were red, and others were an unearthly shade of purple. I ain't seen nothin' like 'em during the day." He finished his sasparilla, and said,"Sarah, I'd like a shot of whiskey, if you have any." About then, the good doctor tried to sit on his stool and missed, filling the saloon with cursing.

Sarah Stein chuckled. John Westwood's stories were always good for laughs. "Maybe them lights were angels in heaven watchin' over you, or crazy Injun monsters out to get you." Sarah liked leading the old coot on. It was funny.

"Finally, someone out here wants a real stiff drink!" Sarah climbed a tall rickety ladder to reach the top shelf of the wall of drinks behind her. She got the feeling people were looking up her skirt, but this customer's need of a good drink came first. Sarah descended the ladder with a pure-black bottle in her hand.

Sarah gently placed the bottle on the counter. "This here is called Devil's Blood. The finest whisky—" a Scotsman taught Sarah how to make whisky, thus she spelt it like that "—this side of the Rio Grande."

At that moment, a stool broke. Sarah Stein heard the sound of it and immediately parkoured over the counter, again not caring if anyone tried to look up her skirt.

"You know I ain't paying for that damn stool outta my own money!" yelled Sarah Stein in the general direction of the breaking sound she heard. "It'd be four bits, and I sure hope you got the dinero." Sarah was probably going to have to paying for it out of her own pocket. No matter how many times furniture got broken, and that happened a lot in Stein Saloon, the damager never would up payin' for it. But the destroyer seemed like a newcomer, so maybe he'd cough up some dough.

[Western Fardelshufflestein]

The Post Office is Obviously on Main Street

Just as Karen finally got out of the post office and began to make her way to the Mayor's office, she was cut off by a fur-wearin', shotgun-totin' stranger who was carryin' round more hides than were on your average herd of cattle. But these weren't cowhides, oh no, they were hides of animals from up in the north, where you could do things like shoot otters and bears. Here, you shot rogue horses or bandits, who usually shot the sheriff, but nobody ever shot the deputy. Oh no.

"Excuse me, but what do you think you are doing with all those furs in the middle of Texas? Do you know how hot it is here? That getup is entirely inappropriate for East Zilch, and I will have you know that you are hardly the first man to waltz in here in your insulting getup and behave as if you owned the place." She put her hands on her hips, which most folks took as a gesture of indignance, but it actually gave her easy access to her twin revolvers, Nil and Nuthin'.

"The mayor of this town will be very displeased that someone with the likes of you has wandered over here to look for trouble. I suggest you take your Oregon Trail hides back to the settlements they came from as soon as the Mayor as through with you."

Before she could continue her tirade, somethin' strange caught her eye: a man who looked exactly like Buckaroo Bunjin. He was clearly not Buckaroo, for Buckaroo was just over there with Tater Frye and their horses, which meant he was obviously here to stir up some trouble.

"You are coming with me down to the mayor's office, sir, and he will have a word with you for this. I trust that you understand why this is absolutely necessary."

[Democratic Republic of Eiria]

He took a sip from his sasparilla, and said,"When I was out in Arizona, 'round seven, eight years ago, I spent a lotta time out prospectin' in the desert." He shifted on his stool, and continued, "I had nothin' more then my mule Jake for company. Anyhow, at night, I would look up at the vast and starry skies, an' I would see glowing shapes. Depending on the night, some might be round, and some might be triangular. Sometimes they were even square. They would flit about, dashing and hoverin' all over the place. Some were green, some were red, and others were an unearthly shade of purple. I ain't seen nothin' like 'em during the day." He finished his sasparilla, and said,"Sarah, I'd like a shot of whiskey, if you have any." About then, the good doctor tried to sit on his stool and missed, filling the saloon with cursing.

Sarah Stein chuckled. John Westwood's stories were always good for laughs. "Maybe them lights were angels in heaven watchin' over you, or crazy Injun monsters out to get you." Sarah liked leading the old coot on. It was funny.

"Finally, someone out here wants a real stiff drink!" Sarah climbed a tall rickety ladder to reach the top shelf of the wall of drinks behind her. She got the feeling people were looking up her skirt, but this customer's need of a good drink came first. Sarah descended the ladder with a pure-black bottle in her hand.

Sarah gently placed the bottle on the counter. "This here is called Devil's Blood. The finest whisky—" a Scotsman taught Sarah how to make whisky, thus she spelt it like that "—this side of the Rio Grande."

At that moment, a stool broke. Sarah Stein heard the sound of it and immediately parkoured over the counter, again not caring if anyone tried to look up her skirt.

"You know I ain't paying for that damn stool outta my own money!" yelled Sarah Stein in the general direction of the breaking sound she heard. "It'd be four bits, and I sure hope you got the dinero." Sarah was probably going to have to paying for it out of her own pocket. No matter how many times furniture got broken, and that happened a lot in Stein Saloon, the damager never would up payin' for it. But the destroyer seemed like a newcomer, so maybe he'd cough up some dough.

Matthieu sighed and placed a few coins on the table. "My apologies. Madame Stein, oui?". He donned his cordial, aristocratic tone in conjunction with his innocent smile, which had been known to get him out of trouble back home. "Matthieu De Travaux, enchanté!". He leaned on the bar. "I'm the new town doctor here. From New York?".

He put effort into a mild, flirty tone, attempting to diffuse the situation. "Anyway, I came out here recently to start my own practice and bring modern medicine out to where it's desperately needed. I see you certainly have a lot of Buisness here, meaning you must be very skilled. Do you have something that tastes good and gets me drunk fast?"

[Voxija]

Matthieu sighed and placed a few coins on the table. "My apologies. Madame Stein, oui?". He donned his cordial, aristocratic tone in conjunction with his innocent smile, which had been known to get him out of trouble back home. "Matthieu De Travaux, enchanté!". He leaned on the bar. "I'm the new town doctor here. From New York?".

He put effort into a mild, flirty tone, attempting to diffuse the situation. "Anyway, I came out here recently to start my own practice and bring modern medicine out to where it's desperately needed. I see you certainly have a lot of Buisness here, meaning you must be very skilled. Do you have something that tastes good and gets me drunk fast?"

Sarah Stein smiled. At least this Frenchman was smart enough to look at the sign in front of the saloon and figure out who owned the place. And a doctor. East Zilch needed a real doctor, rather than the charlatans who came by every once in a while to sell snake oil or "cure-all" tonics made of sugar. But he was French. Although Sarah Stein didn't care much about the Old Country, her opa had often ranted about "frogs", as he called Frenchmen. Napoleon's invasion was hard to forget.

But at least the French doctor paid up for the stool. Sarah took the money with swiftness. "Merci." Although her opa rejected it harshly and her father had wanted her to learn Hebrew instead, Sarah's mother, the Stein matriarch, a formidable woman and one of Sarah's inspirations, had insisted that her rambunctious daughter become a proper Southern Belle, and that meant learning French. Like most of Sarah's lessons, she only recalled a little of the French.

"I'm glad you paid up, Matt—may I call you Matt? I'm afraid I can't pronounce your first name. Furniture breaks all the time here, but no one pays for it." Sarah quickly moved behind the counter, forcing Matthieu to follow and place himself in front.

"I'm glad there's gonna be a real doctor here. Just crazy snake oil salesmen and wacko Injun remedies."

Sarah looked closely at the New York dude. Flattery got some men with her in the past, but some gambits wouldn't work now. "Thanks. I certainly have such the drink for you. Actually, many. If you were... anyone else, I'd offer you my patented Beer Stein, straight from the Old Country. But—"

Sarah ran over a far ways to her right and brought out a large bottle. "This here's my Devil's Blood. Tastes just like the fine wines in the big city." Sarah ended there, but there were a lot of things she didn't mention about Devil's Blood. Such as how it was made, when Sarah made it, and what it was made of. The men of East Zilch knew not to trust Devil's Blood. Sure, it tasted like fine wine, but not before the side effects took hold.

[Talchyon]

Post office
Beaux Lagged

Having almost made it to the post office, the French fur trapper was preparing what he should say. Obviously, this was an important business matter, and he needed to put his best foot forward (which for him, was probably his left. Probably wasn't the cloven hoof on one of his hides). Those papers were all that stood in the way of him setting up shop in the town of East Zilch - that, and having a store he could use, and money to buy that store, and more hides to sell, and a nice sign outside the store probably wouldn't hurt either.

But first things first. And that was, the papers! The papers that would license him, recognize him as a legitimate businessman, set up tax agreements. The boring stuff.

And he was almost there, ready to talk to one of the three people who could help... and sacré bleu! Here came one of them right up to him, as if she knew what he was there for!

The Post Office is Obviously on Main Street

Just as Karen finally got out of the post office and began to make her way to the Mayor's office, she was cut off by a fur-wearin', shotgun-totin' stranger who was carryin' round more hides than were on your average herd of cattle. But these weren't cowhides, oh no, they were hides of animals from up in the north, where you could do things like shoot otters and bears. Here, you shot rogue horses or bandits, who usually shot the sheriff, but nobody ever shot the deputy. Oh no.

"Excuse me, but what do you think you are doing with all those furs in the middle of Texas? Do you know how hot it is here? That getup is entirely inappropriate for East Zilch, and I will have you know that you are hardly the first man to waltz in here in your insulting getup and behave as if you owned the place." She put her hands on her hips, which most folks took as a gesture of indignance, but it actually gave her easy access to her twin revolvers, Nil and Nuthin'.

"The mayor of this town will be very displeased that someone with the likes of you has wandered over here to look for trouble. I suggest you take your Oregon Trail hides back to the settlements they came from as soon as the Mayor as through with you."

..."You are coming with me down to the mayor's office, sir, and he will have a word with you for this. I trust that you understand why this is absolutely necessary."

Beaux Lagged got a little prissy himself when the lady indignantly put her hands on her hips. Two could play at that game! So he did the same thing, putting his hands on his hips in a mock posture like hers. "Eezer way, ze mayor or yieu, someone has ze pehpers! Ahy need zem to start my beeznees heeyeer. So! Let us zen go to ze mayor's. Yieu and Ahy both. An' when he hears of mahy beeznees propoZEEtion, Ahy will get 'mahy start selling my wayres in thees town!"

Little did Beaux know that the mayor had other things in mind...

[Democratic Republic of Eiria]

Doctor Travaux scratched his chin, thinking. "Le sang du Diable, eh? I'll take a glass, why not."I feel Adventurous today, this isn't likely going to end well, but screw responsibilities, right? "I guess my arrival is opportune then, if you guys have no doctor. Spent a week getting my new clinic built, but I think it should be up and running in no time. Plus I've studied much modern medicine, and even medicine that's.... How do you say it.... Theoretical? There's a French Scientist named Louis Pasteur who has done several experiments, trying to pinpoint the source of illness. It's fascinating."

He then went silent, realizing he had gone off on a tangent and that Miss Stein may not necessarily be interested in this subject, or that her new doctor is a fan of theoretical medicine. "Anyway, I'm glad to finally have my own practice, and to help anyone out here who needs it. Plus, I get to do my own research on medicine for a change." He cleared his throat, getting ready to try the drink Sarah was pouring. "I just needed a change, you know?".

[Kallidrus]

---

Charlotte walked down a dusty, worn out Main Street. It was Saturday, so there was no school, of course. Instead, she had decided she would take Dawn for a ride out by Lake Zilch, where the town of West Zilch used to be. Nobody ever talks about West Zilch, because West Zilch doesn't exist. Well, it does. But it doesn't. It may sounds nonsensical to you, but that's because your stupid. Nobody in town is stupid, and that's why the area by Lake Zilch used to be West Zilch even though West Zilch doesn't exist. As she was closing in on the livery, a particularly burly man covered in furs walked past, seemingly accompanied by Mrs. von Stoot. Hmmm, gossip for the ladies in the knitting club. she thought. She walked up to Dawn, stroking her muzzle. She left a note for Joe, the liveryman that she had took Dawn out for a ride. She then saddled her up, and boosted herself onto the horse. The long waving locks of her mane bounced in the wind as she trotted out of town. Once out of East Zilch, Charlotte untied her bonnet and neatly folded it, putting it in the bag attached to Dawn's saddle. She undid her hairpins, letting her blond hair flow down her back. Or, wave around in the wind and cover her eyes, rather. She motioned for Dawn to come to a stop. She let herself down onto the hard, red ground. Had she had her bonnet on, it would've blended in nearly perfectly with the ground. She grabbed her revolver out of her saddlebag, and loaded it with some bullets. She led Dawn over a few yards to Lake Zilch to drink. Tying Dawn to a nearby tree, one of the few around East Zilch, she sat down under it and began watching the clouds.

After sitting for a while, maybe an hour. Maybe half an hour, who knows. Anyway, STICK TO THE SCRIPT! She heard foots- no, hoofsteps, behind her. She clutched her Colt in her hand, hiding it behind her skirt. A man pulled up in the horse, an old Arabian, and got off. "What's a beautiful woman like you doin' 'round these parts?" he said, coming closer. "Back off" Charlotte warned. "Why do I need to back off, when you're ripe for the taking?" he said, leaning in to kiss her. "You shouldn't be out here alo-" He never finished his sentence, because a bullet lodged into his wide open mouth. "Good God, do people around here not know how to fucking treat a woman?" Charlotte said to herself. She shot again at his chest just to ensure he was walking through the flamin' gates of hell. She found a nice sized rock nearby, and used the man's horse's reins to tie it around his neck. She then dragged his body toward the lake shore. She took off her dress, leaving herself just in her undergarments. This wasn't to pleasure the dead man, but to go in the water to drown him in the middle of the lake, and she didn't want to get her dress wet. "You wanted a kiss, I'll give you a kiss" she said, kissing his cheek. "Have fun!" she said, giggling. She swam under the surface, dropping him down at the point of the lake where she couldn't stand being underwater anymore. She then waded out onto the shore, and lay on the rocks to dry. Once dry, she put her Colt back in her saddlebag and put her clothes back on. She mounted herself onto the man's Arabian, clutching Dawn's reins at the same time. She made her way back into town, and informed the liveryman that she found the Arabian alone in the desert and felt bad for it. He took it and put it in an empty stall. She lead Dawn back to her stall, and fed her some carrot. "Goodbye, sweetheart." she said, and then walked back to her room. Knitting club was at 4 O'Clock, so she must get ready.

[Voxija]

Doctor Travaux scratched his chin, thinking. "Le sang du Diable, eh? I'll take a glass, why not."I feel Adventurous today, this isn't likely going to end well, but screw responsibilities, right? "I guess my arrival is opportune then, if you guys have no doctor. Spent a week getting my new clinic built, but I think it should be up and running in no time. Plus I've studied much modern medicine, and even medicine that's.... How do you say it.... Theoretical? There's a French Scientist named Louis Pasteur who has done several experiments, trying to pinpoint the source of illness. It's fascinating."

He then went silent, realizing he had gone off on a tangent and that Miss Stein may not necessarily be interested in this subject, or that her new doctor is a fan of theoretical medicine. "Anyway, I'm glad to finally have my own practice, and to help anyone out here who needs it. Plus, I get to do my own research on medicine for a change." He cleared his throat, getting ready to try the drink Sarah was pouring. "I just needed a change, you know?".

Matt talked a bit about boring medicine. It made sense that he was delaying his try of the Devil's Blood, so Sarah poured the drink as slowly as possible. She was usually known as the fastest pour in the West, though.

Sarah Stein did catch the last bit of Matt's monologue. She related to that. "I feel you," Miss Stein said. Sarah did not tell Matt how she came to the west, though. You told the bartender your troubles, never vice versa.

Sarah finished pouring the Devil's Blood. The effects were different for every person, but they were always hilarious. "Here you go, Monsieur." Here's the doom to your reputation. Sarah remembered when she had first tried her own drink. She had acted like a total rodeo clown. Sarah braced herself for what was to come. Dark music flashed in her brain. She steepled her hands, although Sarah'd never been in church. It was here.

[Kallidrus]

Doctor Travaux scratched his chin, thinking. "Le sang du Diable, eh? I'll take a glass, why not."I feel Adventurous today, this isn't likely going to end well, but screw responsibilities, right? "I guess my arrival is opportune then, if you guys have no doctor. Spent a week getting my new clinic built, but I think it should be up and running in no time. Plus I've studied much modern medicine, and even medicine that's.... How do you say it.... Theoretical? There's a French Scientist named Louis Pasteur who has done several experiments, trying to pinpoint the source of illness. It's fascinating."

He then went silent, realizing he had gone off on a tangent and that Miss Stein may not necessarily be interested in this subject, or that her new doctor is a fan of theoretical medicine. "Anyway, I'm glad to finally have my own practice, and to help anyone out here who needs it. Plus, I get to do my own research on medicine for a change." He cleared his throat, getting ready to try the drink Sarah was pouring. "I just needed a change, you know?".

Matt talked a bit about boring medicine. It made sense that he was delaying his try of the Devil's Blood, so Sarah poured the drink as slowly as possible. She was usually known as the fastest pour in the West, though.

Sarah Stein did catch the last bit of Matt's monologue. She related to that. "I feel you," Miss Stein said. Sarah did not tell Matt how she came to the west, though. You told the bartender your troubles, never vice versa.

Sarah finished pouring the Devil's Blood. The effects were different for every person, but they were always hilarious. "Here you go, Monsieur." Here's the doom to your reputation. Sarah remembered when she had first tried her own drink. She had acted like a total rodeo clown. Sarah braced herself for what was to come. Dark music flashed in her brain. She steepled her hands, although Sarah'd never been in church. It was here.

---

Charlotte walked down Main Street after her morning ride, breaking her usual rule of thumb of quickly waling past the saloon. Peering inside, she sneered as she saw the grumpy, disgusting men inside drinking their witch concoctions made by Miss Stein. Charlotte did not hold the saloonkeeper in high esteem, and for a good reason too. Perhaps, if she wasn't hanging around the saloon as often as she was, they might've been friends. However, destiny did not go that route. She arrived at the General Store, and walked in. She bought some flour, figuring she'd bake something to take to the ladies in the Knitting Group. One day she hoped to replace the old oven that sat in the corner of her apartment, but that was out of the budget at the moment. She trudged up the stairs, opening the door and putting the flour in the pantry, if you could call it that. After all, it was only two crates stacked together with the hinges put on the sides for a door. Her kitchen, albeit small, was nice. It had a small table by the window, garnished with some wildflowers. A cookstove, a few cabinets, and a sink was all there was other than that and the pantry. Her bathroom contained a sink, a small tub for bathing, and the chamber pot. Her bed, a big one for a single person, took up a majority of the area opposite the kitchen. Some armchairs stood along with an end table by the window, that overlooked Main Street. On the wall by the entrance was her dresser, where she kept most of her belongings.

[Barapam]

The Post Office is Obviously on Main Street

Just as Karen finally got out of the post office and began to make her way to the Mayor's office, she was cut off by a fur-wearin', shotgun-totin' stranger who was carryin' round more hides than were on your average herd of cattle. But these weren't cowhides, oh no, they were hides of animals from up in the north, where you could do things like shoot otters and bears. Here, you shot rogue horses or bandits, who usually shot the sheriff, but nobody ever shot the deputy. Oh no.

"Excuse me, but what do you think you are doing with all those furs in the middle of Texas? Do you know how hot it is here? That getup is entirely inappropriate for East Zilch, and I will have you know that you are hardly the first man to waltz in here in your insulting getup and behave as if you owned the place." She put her hands on her hips, which most folks took as a gesture of indignance, but it actually gave her easy access to her twin revolvers, Nil and Nuthin'.

"The mayor of this town will be very displeased that someone with the likes of you has wandered over here to look for trouble. I suggest you take your Oregon Trail hides back to the settlements they came from as soon as the Mayor as through with you."

Before she could continue her tirade, somethin' strange caught her eye: a man who looked exactly like Buckaroo Bunjin. He was clearly not Buckaroo, for Buckaroo was just over there with Tater Frye and their horses, which meant he was obviously here to stir up some trouble.

"You are coming with me down to the mayor's office, sir, and he will have a word with you for this. I trust that you understand why this is absolutely necessary."

Yang's ogling of his doppelgänger was interrupted by an unknown woman who wanted his attention, and also asked, no demanded, that he came with her to the mayor. He raised an eyebrow, lowered it, and scoffed. His first reaction was to not even dignify that silly request with a response, especially since it seemed Bo Leng, or whatever the fur-clad foreigner said his name was, was going to go accompany her instead. However, he changed his mind and took this opportunity to practice his English, but only after shifting all the grocery bags to his left arm, so that he could his right one on his hip, close to one of his revolvers and the bowie knife, which he for some reason had named "David".

He squinted, smirked, laughed, and spat on the ground.

"Miss, I've never been in any quarrel with the U.S. army. I don't see why this major of yours suddenly would have a problem with me having been to the store..."

[Kallidrus]

The Post Office is Obviously on Main Street

Just as Karen finally got out of the post office and began to make her way to the Mayor's office, she was cut off by a fur-wearin', shotgun-totin' stranger who was carryin' round more hides than were on your average herd of cattle. But these weren't cowhides, oh no, they were hides of animals from up in the north, where you could do things like shoot otters and bears. Here, you shot rogue horses or bandits, who usually shot the sheriff, but nobody ever shot the deputy. Oh no.

"Excuse me, but what do you think you are doing with all those furs in the middle of Texas? Do you know how hot it is here? That getup is entirely inappropriate for East Zilch, and I will have you know that you are hardly the first man to waltz in here in your insulting getup and behave as if you owned the place." She put her hands on her hips, which most folks took as a gesture of indignance, but it actually gave her easy access to her twin revolvers, Nil and Nuthin'.

"The mayor of this town will be very displeased that someone with the likes of you has wandered over here to look for trouble. I suggest you take your Oregon Trail hides back to the settlements they came from as soon as the Mayor as through with you."

Before she could continue her tirade, somethin' strange caught her eye: a man who looked exactly like Buckaroo Bunjin. He was clearly not Buckaroo, for Buckaroo was just over there with Tater Frye and their horses, which meant he was obviously here to stir up some trouble.

"You are coming with me down to the mayor's office, sir, and he will have a word with you for this. I trust that you understand why this is absolutely necessary."

Yang's ogling of his doppelgänger was interrupted by an unknown woman who wanted his attention, and also asked, no demanded, that he came with her to the mayor. He raised an eyebrow, lowered it, and scoffed. His first reaction was to not even dignify that silly request with a response, especially since it seemed Bo Leng, or whatever the fur-clad foreigner said his name was, was going to go accompany her instead. However, he changed his mind and took this opportunity to practice his English, but only after shifting all the grocery bags to his left arm, so that he could his right one on his hip, close to one of his revolvers and the bowie knife, which he for some reason had named "David".

He squinted, smirked, laughed, and spat on the ground.

"Miss, I've never been in any quarrel with the U.S. army. I don't see why this major of yours suddenly would have a problem with me having been to the store..."

---

Charlotte, who was walking towards her apartment, stared at the strange man for a moment. She could tell he was either Chinese or...Korean? She didn't quite know, but nor did she want to find out. Having just stalked the men at the saloon, she walked up to the man. "Excuse me, but could you please step aside, I must get upstairs to my apartment, and I don't take too kindly to snarky bastard men from China standing in my way!" she said, clutching the Colt 45 that was tucked into her corset.