H
Hell Hound Woof
Guest
"Well mornin' to you too," Lincoln said gruffly, "Maybe you didnt get the memo it aint polite to smoke indoors and threaten strangers with good money."
He stared at Lincoln coldly. The man had said something interesting regarding Lincoln's type coming through town often looking for trouble. To the gunslinger it could have been a direct reference to his own prey. Mephis T. O'Fellis. A gunslinger not unlike Lincoln in someways yet starkly contrastable in others. Analyzing the figure of the man led the gunslinger to assess no easy victory would be one from a physical confrontation. Underneath the man's poncho Lincoln could hardly tell the shoulder width of the man or size of his arms. Though the man was clearly looking for someone to bust his jaw Lincoln himself had no interest in a brawl. He could barely manage to stand the voice of the man much less a rumble. Certainly not this early in the morning anyway. The man began walking to Lincoln and then with the gaul of a green-hand drew his weapon on a man no less than five feet from him without any provocation. As the man's hand raised the pistol to his head he could spot a silver star on the mans chest. Though certainly Lincoln had allowed it to happen, here yet again a random citizen greets a freshly opened door with a gun. 'If only the priest were here', He thought to himself, 'Or maybe the secretary will come save me now.' Without malice but visibly annoyed the gunslinger let his saddlebags slide off his shoulder to crumble on the floor with a loud thud. Now unencumbered he straightened his posture then cocked his shoulders in. His hands didnt shoot to the pistols at his side or to the knife on his belt but rather sat idle at his sides. For a moment he seemed to be weighing his options. Lincoln's eyes shifted to the old man in the back before they darted back to the lawman. His next move was slow and deliberate without a cautious thought. He raised his right hand to the assailing man's pistol then wrapped his fingers around the barrel and spoke again with a passion.
"Aint nobody running from jack, Jack..." Lincoln growled through a forced smile, "I've had three people draw their guns in the short scope of about two hours in this town. By rights I had cause to gun down th'first one but then the next drew on me for saving her life and that of others. But now I got some uppity deputy telling me what I ought to be doing with his gun on my head? Telling me I aint up to no good? Boy, you lookin' like the devil himself with that sober countenance, but you calling me trouble? Corrupted lawman with a gun, pshaw. T'ain't what I was raised to tolerate, son."
Lincoln shuffled forward an inch or two as he emphasized the word Uppity. No more than that few inches. Just enough however to achieve his desired goal. The slight movement pressed the barrel of the gun deeper into Lincoln's head. The southerner bared his wide frame against the other man's intent on intimidating or at least mimicking the other man's posture. Upon secondary inspection of the man's figure Lincoln could see now that he probably weighed more than the man. If not by sheer mass then certainly Lincoln's well fed physique stood to challenge Garrett's. When Lincoln looked past the gun he found the man's eyes hiding behind the smoke of the cigaret. Their eyes locked across the barrel of the gun cocked slightly upwards. The skin of the southerner's forehead was displaced by the cool metal. The ring of the inner barrel nuzzled his forehead skin tensely and almost painfully but not quite. In his mind he focused clearly on that. That simple soothing thing that was the cool of a gun before it took a life or some time after. He could only think of such a feeling as being near divine something like that of the maker himself glancing down. He felt familiarity in it. A comfort. His eyes had lost focus as he slipped slightly into a day dream of his first months away from home back when he was a boy. The things he had seen and done in those years to follow. Though the green eyes lost focus their luster held as they blankly stared into Garrett. A moment passed silently. The next second faded to see the sharp calculating stare of the gunslinger return with ferocity renewed. With animalistic intent the green orbs darted quickly around analyzing Garrett's face. It was clear now Lincoln could jump to make his move but the odds were slight. Though the deputy had a gun to his head Lincoln knew any intent to kill couldnt be given provocation. Slight to say the least if not downright unfavorable. Deciding rather to stay planted firmly on the ground where he stood he endeavored to show off his muscular frame as he eyeballed his enemy. With his finger's still clasping the barrel firmly he pressed the man's yet uncocked pistol affixed to his forehead. Though his eyes betrayed the inner turmoil Lincoln's tongue set to work with words that came clearer this time through guise of a smile.
"If you got cause to shoot you coulda done so already..." Lincoln said with his smile held and a friendly manor, "I reckon that old man there could use whatever income I can provide but thanks to you I reckon I wont be wasting my money. So thank you kindly... Guess I'll go back and get guns pointed at me down at the Mayors office too. Speaking of such, you might wanna warn some of the town folk about a bunch of guns waiving around. One of them is likely to go off sooner or later. All kinds of mayhem running 'round here and aint much smart about threatening somebody. I mean hell most sensible people'd gun somebody down for just that. Not a deputized lawmand of course but a man who just came into town with a pair of twins on his hips... reckon maybe it's something in the water."
As he spoke his hand moved to put the flat surface of his fingers against the barrel. He gingerly pushed the barrel away from his forehead while leaning to his left. The physicality of the gunman could be felt through his gun as Lincoln's own hand was almost stopped. Lincoln exerted himself further and angled the gun to his side keeping it away from his torso. As he finished his last sentence he interrupted himself with a sharp inward breath after the word hips. He delivered the word water by tapping a curved finger to the left side of his forehead. With the implication of mental illness in the air and the Garrett's gun no longer aimed at his head Lincoln relinquished his argument. No the lawman seemed intent on one thing. The look in Lincoln's eyes did not fade as he watched the man for any sudden movements. His left boot snuck under the lip of his saddle bag before snaking itself into the middle of the strap. Lincoln raised the tip of his boot with his heel remaining on the ground as he eyeballed the lawman. In a quick motion he leaned down to scoop the saddle bags in his right hand then straightened his back to reaffix his attention on the man. Successful so far Lincoln looked at the man in front of him wearily then behind him to the inn's keeper. He threw a gratuitous eye roll to the old man with a nod to the gunman ahead of him. With a cursory glance to the man who had been threatening to paint the storefront of the in with his brains Lincoln turned around. His saddlebags were shifted on his right shoulder as he stood with the man slightly behind the same shoulder. The minute that followed was tense due to the clearly engineered nature of it. Lincoln sat there a moment staring out the window to his right feeling somewhat proud of himself for his unhinged demeanor. His intent was to tempt Garrett to move against him so Lincoln could then throw his saddlebags at the man and assail him. Even being a member of the law Lincoln knew his rights, or lack thereof. Unprovoked violence from a deputized man was a crime in the cities of home but here it wasnt anything to anybody not involved. He knew that. The murder of a lawman was however a hangable offense. Even still in light of that Lincoln could hardly stop himself. As if on autopilot he taunted the man however slightly. If only to prove to himself that this man was in fact one of O'Fellis hired help intent on moving Lincoln to some end. Or even removing Lincoln from the equation entirely. Though only a step from each other Lincoln grew weary of the gap he gave the man. Whoever killed the other first could easily coerce the old man into a story one way or the other. The odds grew steeper against him with each second passed. From the view in the window he could see the edge of the general goods store where he noticed people had been on his walk to the inn. Knowing the score could be settled later it seemed sensible to put himself around witnesses. Lincoln looked back to the man once again trying in kind to match the man's lack of emotion. Both men plain faced for different reasons. Without any acknowledgment of the inn keeper Lincoln tipped his hat to his newest rival then walked to the door. A moment later he was outside. The next moment after that he was strutting out of the stables with saddlebags no longer in tow. Trotter could be heard braying from inside the barn but his owner paid no mind as he moved down the street with a fresh white shirt on under his still dirty black cap. In the window of the inn he spotted Garret staring intently with his gun in hand. Annoyed Lincoln turned his shoulder on the man and began walking down the line of storefronts on the northern side of town.On his left he passed two buildings that seemed to be no longer occupied before he crossed in front of the towns only general store. Without much thought for those inside Lincoln peered in through the first window as he slowed his pace to crossed in front of it. Inside he spotted an older man operating a cash register behind the counter. In the center of the store stood what Lincoln assumed was a couple but what he saw next truly astounded him. Here in the store he saw the first western native he had ever laid eyes on. In the woods and swamps where he called home there were native peoples but mixed with the culture and times of the south. The west stood yet untamed by the government with many tribes holding onto their land, or so the southerner heard. Despite his predilections here stood a woman still in her ceremonial dress. Though he was impressed he could hardly remain so when he saw her face held sadness. He knew a semblance of that look. A sadness of years of suppressed emotion perhaps or even servitude. Lincoln's gaze darted to the man behind the counter assessing him briefly before restraining the obvious thought from his mind. These problems were not his own and with this town being so jumpy he refused try a first impression for a third time. He turned away from the window with his head low and made his way past the shopfront. As he passed the second window he was affronted by the reeking scent of decay. Immediately a grimace crossed his face then with his hand over his mouth he almost wretched. Looking in front of him he saw a dead horse. He recoiled away from the shopfront to lean against the building the horse sat in front of. Immediately a thought struck him. He wondered if this could be the Mexican's horse then chastised himself. Decay was not so quick to set nor was the Mexican man speaking of a carriage. Piecing together the scene ahead of him Lincoln realized this had been the post office he'd passed by earlier. How he had managed to neglect a dead horse escaped him but now standing so close he could hardly miss it.
"What in the hell is going on," Lincoln remarked as he approached the dead thing with his hand over his mouth still.
He nudged the decaying mass with his foot then thought to himself what of the accidental kindness he did his horse in sparing him the sight. Truly it was a disgusting site and smell but without a way to remove it Lincoln simply took it in. What could possess the denizens of such a place to leave it here for so long alongside a defunct carriage? Would anyone have slain the beast or natural causes? His hands moved to tightly cover his mouth as he nudged the beasts head with his boot. No visible wound around the skull. He looked over his shoulder towards the inn to see the Garrett standing there watching him. Many many questions but no answers to be found here with this carcass. Perhaps the disturbed individual from the inn was right that the Mayor's office was where he should find himself. Even moreso the analyzation that Lincoln was the sort who oozed trouble from their pores. Surely he must know who Lincoln is to aptly judge him so. He considered perhaps that the man was disturbed but rather touched by something else. 'Damn Physicians,' The gunslinger thought to himself recalling a rumor he once heard about mind readers. Leaning back away from the deceased creature he removed his boot from under it then cleared the air in front of his face with a wave. Turning to the street he began to strut across it whistling Dixie as he went. With the stench no longer filling his nostrils the gunslinger's hands had dropped into his pants pockets. Next his eyes again looked to confirm Garrett standing there. Then turned to the saloon as the scent of the dead horse was left behind him. Thinking of a drink his head bobbed along as he brought the whistle up and down, clicking his heels together then slide stepping a in tune with the longer whistles. Again he chastised himself knowing that if he got started he would likely wind up with another morning like this one. With new potential rivals in this town he certainly could afford that. With a bland twirl he finished his first set of the Dixielander's delight before beginning a second. As he repositioned his feet he spotted the barber shop on his left. Remarking to himself again how depressing it looked he seemed fixated on something as he dully continued his whistle. Soon his whistle faded as his eyes widened while a satisfied smile crept across his face. Placing a hand on his stomach and doubling over he laughed hysterically for a moment. The first spot of light in his so far very grim morning was a foolish joke he concocted in his head. He leaned backwards still laughing uproariously as he neared the steps of the mayor's office. He hoped the waiting room would be less crowded than before but knew better than to hope.
"No sense in kicking a dead horse," Lincoln chuckled to himself, "Maybe that fired up frijolito has cooled off by now... Sure that priest is probably still in there too."
@PoetLore @Red Thunder @Hamlowe @Adrian
He stared at Lincoln coldly. The man had said something interesting regarding Lincoln's type coming through town often looking for trouble. To the gunslinger it could have been a direct reference to his own prey. Mephis T. O'Fellis. A gunslinger not unlike Lincoln in someways yet starkly contrastable in others. Analyzing the figure of the man led the gunslinger to assess no easy victory would be one from a physical confrontation. Underneath the man's poncho Lincoln could hardly tell the shoulder width of the man or size of his arms. Though the man was clearly looking for someone to bust his jaw Lincoln himself had no interest in a brawl. He could barely manage to stand the voice of the man much less a rumble. Certainly not this early in the morning anyway. The man began walking to Lincoln and then with the gaul of a green-hand drew his weapon on a man no less than five feet from him without any provocation. As the man's hand raised the pistol to his head he could spot a silver star on the mans chest. Though certainly Lincoln had allowed it to happen, here yet again a random citizen greets a freshly opened door with a gun. 'If only the priest were here', He thought to himself, 'Or maybe the secretary will come save me now.' Without malice but visibly annoyed the gunslinger let his saddlebags slide off his shoulder to crumble on the floor with a loud thud. Now unencumbered he straightened his posture then cocked his shoulders in. His hands didnt shoot to the pistols at his side or to the knife on his belt but rather sat idle at his sides. For a moment he seemed to be weighing his options. Lincoln's eyes shifted to the old man in the back before they darted back to the lawman. His next move was slow and deliberate without a cautious thought. He raised his right hand to the assailing man's pistol then wrapped his fingers around the barrel and spoke again with a passion.
"Aint nobody running from jack, Jack..." Lincoln growled through a forced smile, "I've had three people draw their guns in the short scope of about two hours in this town. By rights I had cause to gun down th'first one but then the next drew on me for saving her life and that of others. But now I got some uppity deputy telling me what I ought to be doing with his gun on my head? Telling me I aint up to no good? Boy, you lookin' like the devil himself with that sober countenance, but you calling me trouble? Corrupted lawman with a gun, pshaw. T'ain't what I was raised to tolerate, son."
Lincoln shuffled forward an inch or two as he emphasized the word Uppity. No more than that few inches. Just enough however to achieve his desired goal. The slight movement pressed the barrel of the gun deeper into Lincoln's head. The southerner bared his wide frame against the other man's intent on intimidating or at least mimicking the other man's posture. Upon secondary inspection of the man's figure Lincoln could see now that he probably weighed more than the man. If not by sheer mass then certainly Lincoln's well fed physique stood to challenge Garrett's. When Lincoln looked past the gun he found the man's eyes hiding behind the smoke of the cigaret. Their eyes locked across the barrel of the gun cocked slightly upwards. The skin of the southerner's forehead was displaced by the cool metal. The ring of the inner barrel nuzzled his forehead skin tensely and almost painfully but not quite. In his mind he focused clearly on that. That simple soothing thing that was the cool of a gun before it took a life or some time after. He could only think of such a feeling as being near divine something like that of the maker himself glancing down. He felt familiarity in it. A comfort. His eyes had lost focus as he slipped slightly into a day dream of his first months away from home back when he was a boy. The things he had seen and done in those years to follow. Though the green eyes lost focus their luster held as they blankly stared into Garrett. A moment passed silently. The next second faded to see the sharp calculating stare of the gunslinger return with ferocity renewed. With animalistic intent the green orbs darted quickly around analyzing Garrett's face. It was clear now Lincoln could jump to make his move but the odds were slight. Though the deputy had a gun to his head Lincoln knew any intent to kill couldnt be given provocation. Slight to say the least if not downright unfavorable. Deciding rather to stay planted firmly on the ground where he stood he endeavored to show off his muscular frame as he eyeballed his enemy. With his finger's still clasping the barrel firmly he pressed the man's yet uncocked pistol affixed to his forehead. Though his eyes betrayed the inner turmoil Lincoln's tongue set to work with words that came clearer this time through guise of a smile.
"If you got cause to shoot you coulda done so already..." Lincoln said with his smile held and a friendly manor, "I reckon that old man there could use whatever income I can provide but thanks to you I reckon I wont be wasting my money. So thank you kindly... Guess I'll go back and get guns pointed at me down at the Mayors office too. Speaking of such, you might wanna warn some of the town folk about a bunch of guns waiving around. One of them is likely to go off sooner or later. All kinds of mayhem running 'round here and aint much smart about threatening somebody. I mean hell most sensible people'd gun somebody down for just that. Not a deputized lawmand of course but a man who just came into town with a pair of twins on his hips... reckon maybe it's something in the water."
As he spoke his hand moved to put the flat surface of his fingers against the barrel. He gingerly pushed the barrel away from his forehead while leaning to his left. The physicality of the gunman could be felt through his gun as Lincoln's own hand was almost stopped. Lincoln exerted himself further and angled the gun to his side keeping it away from his torso. As he finished his last sentence he interrupted himself with a sharp inward breath after the word hips. He delivered the word water by tapping a curved finger to the left side of his forehead. With the implication of mental illness in the air and the Garrett's gun no longer aimed at his head Lincoln relinquished his argument. No the lawman seemed intent on one thing. The look in Lincoln's eyes did not fade as he watched the man for any sudden movements. His left boot snuck under the lip of his saddle bag before snaking itself into the middle of the strap. Lincoln raised the tip of his boot with his heel remaining on the ground as he eyeballed the lawman. In a quick motion he leaned down to scoop the saddle bags in his right hand then straightened his back to reaffix his attention on the man. Successful so far Lincoln looked at the man in front of him wearily then behind him to the inn's keeper. He threw a gratuitous eye roll to the old man with a nod to the gunman ahead of him. With a cursory glance to the man who had been threatening to paint the storefront of the in with his brains Lincoln turned around. His saddlebags were shifted on his right shoulder as he stood with the man slightly behind the same shoulder. The minute that followed was tense due to the clearly engineered nature of it. Lincoln sat there a moment staring out the window to his right feeling somewhat proud of himself for his unhinged demeanor. His intent was to tempt Garrett to move against him so Lincoln could then throw his saddlebags at the man and assail him. Even being a member of the law Lincoln knew his rights, or lack thereof. Unprovoked violence from a deputized man was a crime in the cities of home but here it wasnt anything to anybody not involved. He knew that. The murder of a lawman was however a hangable offense. Even still in light of that Lincoln could hardly stop himself. As if on autopilot he taunted the man however slightly. If only to prove to himself that this man was in fact one of O'Fellis hired help intent on moving Lincoln to some end. Or even removing Lincoln from the equation entirely. Though only a step from each other Lincoln grew weary of the gap he gave the man. Whoever killed the other first could easily coerce the old man into a story one way or the other. The odds grew steeper against him with each second passed. From the view in the window he could see the edge of the general goods store where he noticed people had been on his walk to the inn. Knowing the score could be settled later it seemed sensible to put himself around witnesses. Lincoln looked back to the man once again trying in kind to match the man's lack of emotion. Both men plain faced for different reasons. Without any acknowledgment of the inn keeper Lincoln tipped his hat to his newest rival then walked to the door. A moment later he was outside. The next moment after that he was strutting out of the stables with saddlebags no longer in tow. Trotter could be heard braying from inside the barn but his owner paid no mind as he moved down the street with a fresh white shirt on under his still dirty black cap. In the window of the inn he spotted Garret staring intently with his gun in hand. Annoyed Lincoln turned his shoulder on the man and began walking down the line of storefronts on the northern side of town.On his left he passed two buildings that seemed to be no longer occupied before he crossed in front of the towns only general store. Without much thought for those inside Lincoln peered in through the first window as he slowed his pace to crossed in front of it. Inside he spotted an older man operating a cash register behind the counter. In the center of the store stood what Lincoln assumed was a couple but what he saw next truly astounded him. Here in the store he saw the first western native he had ever laid eyes on. In the woods and swamps where he called home there were native peoples but mixed with the culture and times of the south. The west stood yet untamed by the government with many tribes holding onto their land, or so the southerner heard. Despite his predilections here stood a woman still in her ceremonial dress. Though he was impressed he could hardly remain so when he saw her face held sadness. He knew a semblance of that look. A sadness of years of suppressed emotion perhaps or even servitude. Lincoln's gaze darted to the man behind the counter assessing him briefly before restraining the obvious thought from his mind. These problems were not his own and with this town being so jumpy he refused try a first impression for a third time. He turned away from the window with his head low and made his way past the shopfront. As he passed the second window he was affronted by the reeking scent of decay. Immediately a grimace crossed his face then with his hand over his mouth he almost wretched. Looking in front of him he saw a dead horse. He recoiled away from the shopfront to lean against the building the horse sat in front of. Immediately a thought struck him. He wondered if this could be the Mexican's horse then chastised himself. Decay was not so quick to set nor was the Mexican man speaking of a carriage. Piecing together the scene ahead of him Lincoln realized this had been the post office he'd passed by earlier. How he had managed to neglect a dead horse escaped him but now standing so close he could hardly miss it.
"What in the hell is going on," Lincoln remarked as he approached the dead thing with his hand over his mouth still.
He nudged the decaying mass with his foot then thought to himself what of the accidental kindness he did his horse in sparing him the sight. Truly it was a disgusting site and smell but without a way to remove it Lincoln simply took it in. What could possess the denizens of such a place to leave it here for so long alongside a defunct carriage? Would anyone have slain the beast or natural causes? His hands moved to tightly cover his mouth as he nudged the beasts head with his boot. No visible wound around the skull. He looked over his shoulder towards the inn to see the Garrett standing there watching him. Many many questions but no answers to be found here with this carcass. Perhaps the disturbed individual from the inn was right that the Mayor's office was where he should find himself. Even moreso the analyzation that Lincoln was the sort who oozed trouble from their pores. Surely he must know who Lincoln is to aptly judge him so. He considered perhaps that the man was disturbed but rather touched by something else. 'Damn Physicians,' The gunslinger thought to himself recalling a rumor he once heard about mind readers. Leaning back away from the deceased creature he removed his boot from under it then cleared the air in front of his face with a wave. Turning to the street he began to strut across it whistling Dixie as he went. With the stench no longer filling his nostrils the gunslinger's hands had dropped into his pants pockets. Next his eyes again looked to confirm Garrett standing there. Then turned to the saloon as the scent of the dead horse was left behind him. Thinking of a drink his head bobbed along as he brought the whistle up and down, clicking his heels together then slide stepping a in tune with the longer whistles. Again he chastised himself knowing that if he got started he would likely wind up with another morning like this one. With new potential rivals in this town he certainly could afford that. With a bland twirl he finished his first set of the Dixielander's delight before beginning a second. As he repositioned his feet he spotted the barber shop on his left. Remarking to himself again how depressing it looked he seemed fixated on something as he dully continued his whistle. Soon his whistle faded as his eyes widened while a satisfied smile crept across his face. Placing a hand on his stomach and doubling over he laughed hysterically for a moment. The first spot of light in his so far very grim morning was a foolish joke he concocted in his head. He leaned backwards still laughing uproariously as he neared the steps of the mayor's office. He hoped the waiting room would be less crowded than before but knew better than to hope.
"No sense in kicking a dead horse," Lincoln chuckled to himself, "Maybe that fired up frijolito has cooled off by now... Sure that priest is probably still in there too."
@PoetLore @Red Thunder @Hamlowe @Adrian
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