A Sin of No Name

Eczar

THE INN

NPCS |PERRY THE DRUNK


Truly, what was a man like Perry’s purpose in a town so dedicated to utilitarianism?

Perry sloped against his seat like a thrown overcoat. Indeed, the feeble wooden frame was the only thing keeping him upright, his head lolling against his chest in an awkward position. It did raise somewhat at Jorge’s speedy retreat, and a crooked, toothy smile graced his features at the two women’s dismissal of him. Henrietta in particular earned a sharp bark of laughter.

“Ha! Dunno wha she’s jawin’ bout. Not ol’ Perry…center of attenshun. Ain’t that a hoot an’ a half.”

And yet the look of his foolish face was attentive. Grinning, Perry removed his hat with a flourish and set it down before him, and the shadows obscuring his features lifted some.

His eyes were clear as water.

“Quite the show. Quite. The. Show. Folks use ta clear out soon as the mayor’s boys come. Now they can’t. The gold, youse oughta know.” Perry waved his finger at them, tutting his tongue. “The gold makes em stay. They want em. Highland got em. You fine folk want em…so youse stay. Ya been staying. Understand?”

Underneath the dirt and grime, humanity was etching itself into the man’s face. He looked saddened, something resembling pity lingering in his eyes. He looked askance.

“The good Lord says ‘love covers all things.’ Makes peoples forget the bads…Here we ain’t got love,” He went on, chuckling darkly. “Our love is gold. Gold covers all things…”

In the background, the sizzling of grease hissed from between the kitchen door slats, the smell of bacon wafting through the batwing doors. A hum petered; high and fair, like that of a woman or a child. Perry, either accidentally or intentionally ignorant of such, leaned forward, glancing at each of his listener’s in turn.

“Gimme the gold,” He whispered. “Perry’ll keep it for ya. And youse can leave Highland and go on yonder outta here.”

He looked at Na finally, his eyes somber,

“No use in fetching Miss Eliza. It’s too late.”

 
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EL BANDITO GUAPO​

"You keep the gold, pendjo?" Jorge's eyes were narrow, his jaw set. His carotid artery pulsed aggressively. "The gold still in the mountains? The gold still behind locked mine doors?

"The gold promised us?"

His demeanor had become markedly different. Perry's suggestion had, true, come from seemingly nowhere, mirroring Jorge's own desire a bit too well. This gold was freedom, freedom to break free of his criminal past, freedom to begin anew, to have drink and whores aplenty, to live the rest of his days in the hedonistic pleasure he knew he'd always deserved.

To buy freedom from the gnawing of guilt in his head. To buy freedom from the longing of a father's love that he'd never receive.

"'Keep it for us'? Pah!" He spat, fearless of repercussions from the absent lawmen. "You Americanos are all the same: you always look for a way to cheat the idiot Mexicano. Or the idiot senoras.

"Piss off, cabrón, and take your stink with you."

After giving the drunkard a withering glare, he turned away, refusing to acknowledge the seed of jealousy in his heart that such a fool as Perry had manufactured such a good plan as this, even if the execution was a bit on the nose.
 
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Na Zhao
Chinese Herbalist and Fortuneteller


Perry's words, the longer they went on, produced a barely hidden eye roll from the fortuneteller. Ah - another bit of chicanery, that he "hold on" to their hard-earned toil, to keep it safe. That people stay for the gold, that that was all they had here. Never mind there was a bank in town, nor that Perry seemed unfit to hold a mug of water, much less their gold. But she knew what they looked to him - easy marks, perhaps, easiest as could come by in a town far off as this.

But his next words were what immediately drew her sudden ire. Her gaze sharpened, immediate and direct. Her skin grew hot, palms prickling. There was a buzzing in the back of her brain -- that though she did not remember the events of the night prior, she did remember the emotions they had evoked, and she walked towards the drunkard's chair.

She loomed.

"Why do you say that?" Na asked, her voice placid but her carriage almost bellicose.

Her eyes went to Jorge, then to Henrietta.

"Eliza and I had planned to leave together," Na stated, candidly. "I do not imagine she left without a word."
 
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"This isn't truly civilization. People do strange things out here in the west, dear."

Henrietta wasn't so much looking at Na so much as she was looking straight through her. Something in the drunk's words had caught her mind. The lure of gold trapping people where they shouldn't be was a familiar concept to her. How many people had she known through the years who had ended up bleeding into the dirt or hanging by their neck because they hadn't been able to resist gold's lure?

If her idiot, good for nothing rat of a husband had known one thing, it was that you played your luck but never pushed it. It was always that one last job or one last con that got you caught or worse. Roll into town, make some money and move on before the world made you regret it.

Now perhaps Perry was just trying to scare them. To, as Jorge put, cheat the idiot Mexican and idiot senoritas. At the same time though, Henrietta couldn't shake the feeling that the man's offer was built of more than just greed. With every passing moment the red-head felt more certain there was something troubling about this strange little town. She was certain the Chinese girl felt it too. The lure of gold seemed to have no hold on them. Even more worrying was that a resident of this place wanted to leave so urgently that a vagrant from the road whom they had known but a couple of days apparently was a good enough traveling companion.

"Did something happen last night Perry?"

Putting down her spoon, the red-head fixed a kindly but unrelenting stare upon the drunkard.

"I must have been very tired and fallen asleep early, but you mentioned a show and something to do with the Mayor's men."​
 
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Eczar

THE INN

NPCS |PERRY THE DRUNK



A drunkard held no plans towards the future save procuring their next source of drink. With alcohol, they wanted for nothing, not food, drink, friends, bath, nor idle conversation. Perry’s willing presence subverted expectations; another man like him in his shoes would have bolted at the first sign of trouble, but curiously, the former miner lingered like glue on tack.

Perry grinned up at Na. Evidently he was pleased, almost giddy, at the sudden confrontation. He was a man attracted to conversation – no matter how angrily it was delivered.

And delivery on his part was not his strong suit.

“Ladies, mi mujer,” He replied, the Spanish directed towards Jorge as wrong as it was mispronounced, “‘fraid you’re all out of sorts about this, and Perry don’t know why. Why-”

His eyes flickered between each of their faces, each look searching.

“Was all there, we was. Youse, me, Eliza girl, clevinger’s boy, all the folks from townie…’ceptin the mayor. What happened? Youse folks nurse the bottle some? Eliza was crying something fierce o’er the body – ‘course, we all come clean out to take a look-see but the sheriff and his goon come ‘fore long and chase us away.”

He paused, his shaggy brows lifting as something behind Na caught his eyes. There was a timid step on the floorboards, then another; a figure appeared in the threshold of the kitchen, her slight arms bearing a tray laden with bowls of oatmeal, biscuits, and bacon. There was a cheerful smile on her ruddy face.

Eliza.

“Good morning. Welcome to Highland, strangers!” The teenager proceeded forward, busily occupying herself with placing food before each of the members there. Perry’s face had sobered, his eyes hard. “Here’s a few things to get you started. Hope y’all don’t mind the delay.”

“You see?” Perry muttered low, looking at Na.

Indeed, as Eliza’s eyes went to meet Na’s, there was an unsettling blankness about them. No recognition or familiarity was evident in her gaze; they were empty, void of any emotion, like a doll.

But they could be forgiven for not noticing, for something else happened immediately upon seeing the girl. Abruptly, in one massive wave, fractals of last night's events crashed into Jorge, Henrietta, and Na's minds: the girl bowed over the abnormal creature in the night, the circle of villagers standing in silent vigil, the ominous approach of the sheriff and his deputy. Bits and pieces of what was said were made clear. But the image of the beast in its entirety was unshakable. Perry stared at them with surprising focus before rising unsteadily to his feet, muttering something about "getting gone."

“Heard the mayor’s back in his office. Might have jobs for you,” Eliza went on, blithely unaware.

 
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EL BANDITO GUAPO​

It was an unnatural strength, the girl's. He was no strongman like Mr. Wicks, but neither was the horsethief a weakling. Yet, Eliza, all of four or five stone soaking wet, had broken her arm free of his grasp like it was a child's. His eyes, concerned, shifted focus from her and beheld what she had been weeping over. They widened, both in surprise and shock. Neither Wicks lifting him to his feet nor the sudden heavy presence of the lawmen could break his gaze.

"Mierda," he whispered.

The girl was certainly the same one now as she was last night. But she did not look to remember the events of the night. Indeed, she didn't look to recall the entire day, greeting them as she did as 'strangers'. Jorge took a hard look at her, never minding the appetizers she had provided, before turning his gaze to Perry, ignoring Eliza's inquiry.

"And what do you know, borracho?"
 
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Na Zhao
Chinese Herbalist and Fortuneteller


Na turned at the sound of someone coming into the room, and her heart swelled with relief as she saw that Eliza was whole, and well, and present -- at least, she did, until she looked into the girl's eyes, and it was as if an entire night's worth of memory shunted into her mind at once. They all seemed to be snatches, blinks, of scenes, of monsters and crying girls and the deadened, hopeless eyes of the people at the momentary memorial outside of the inn. Her chest seemed to stiffen tight, her breath catching in her lungs as she tried to make sense of the sudden ingress.

What happened the night before? Even knowing the events, it still made little sense, to a sane mind.

"Eliza, I had wanted to ask you for help with my luggage," Na said, her voice soft but firm. It was evident what she meant, at least between the two of them and their prior conversation. "Could you meet me outside?"

Her eyes searched the girl's, but they seemed like a doll's. They could see, but they could not recognize.
 
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“His office… Thank…you dear.”

The knuckles of the hand that held a fork were white as fresh winter snow, the utensil quivering in the air. The words that fell from the red-heads lips were empty, vacant. A reflex born from years of habit. Her thoughts, her mind were elsewhere, lost in the twisted terrible revelations. The screaming rang in her ears, the smell of blood filled her nose and that horrid twisted monster dying on the floor clouded her vision.

The cheap tin of the fork bounced off of scrubbed floorboards and wood scraped over wood as Henrietta suddenly stood up. Already naturally pale of complexion, her face looked suddenly gray and drained of life as she leaned over the table, both her hands supporting her weight as she took shuddering breaths.

“What… what was that… thing?”

Without waiting for an answer, the red-head began to pace about the room, her hands rubbing and pulling at her face as she tried to clear her memory. With every passing moment she could feel nausea rising in her stomach.

“There was that creature… and you were there…”

A finger was cast at Eliza.

“You were crying over it and-”

Henrietta came to an almost juddering stop. The fragmented memories were falling into place. Their message clarifying in her mind.

“Excuse me.”

Where Henrietta had all but floated into the room earlier, now her movements was sharp and hurried as she almost fled out of it.
 
Eczar

THE INN

NPCS |PERRY THE DRUNK



A bullet couldn’t have wiped that smile from Eliza’s face. It was uncanny in its fixation, not a quiver nor a crack appearing to break its image, the cream shine of exposed teeth baring from between rosy lips. She blinked once, twice, unfazed as Henrietta threw a revelation of sorts her ways. The girl that stood before them was a far cry from the sobbing wreck of last night’s drama. And yet unmistakably, it was her. Her eyes trailed the redhead’s escape before returning to Na’s own gaze.

A perfect mirror. Naught but the Chinese woman’s face was reflected.

“The lady seems frightfully upset. I hope she settles some.” Unnaturally, her smile stretched even further. “Miss, I can help you with your luggage after your meal. I’ll bring it up to your room soon as I’m done serving breakfast!”

The comment drew Perry the Drunk’s immediate attention – as well as Jorge’s sudden focus. He halted his slow creeping from the room, pausing along the wall much like a bug’s nightly scuttling abruptly caught in a beam of light. His beard bristled, his mind working and his mouth smacking. The man was thinking.

“Perry knows lots of things. Perry knows now it’s too late for youse to leave town, yes, it’s clear to me now…they’ve got ways of fixin’ things so folks don’t leave. Folks don’t git, they get misplaced. Ya understand? Ask Clevinger, ask…”

His eyes darkened.

“The Indian.”

“The mayor has jobs for you,” Eliza’s voice sounded from behind, chipper. She was there now at Jorge’s elbow, clearing away Henrietta’s untouched meal. She still smiled as she mashed sausages upon grits, and eggs upon flapjacks. “Heard the mine’s open again. Might have some gold to get–”

“I wouldn’t touch that damn gold if’n it was glued to my ass!” Perry spat out with sudden vehemence, and for a scant moment, Eliza faltered, blinking.

She recovered quickly. With a happy hum, she returned to cleaning up, her dishes piling higher and higher.

—-----------

Silence greeted her. As Henrietta fled the crowded dining room, the emptiness of the inn enveloped her neatly, her footsteps a damning betrayal of her escape. The aged rugs hugging the wooden floors passed in a sickening swirl beneath her feet. There the stairway to the rooms above leered from the end of the hall, though it hung deceptively out of reach, the lobby approaching first with alarming speed–

“Whoa, hey!”

A pair of rough hands ended her charge. Her arms in his grasp, Mr. Taylor stared down at her, his eyes wide with concern.

“You alright? You half scared me to death, running out like that. I–”

Suddenly aware that he was still holding her, the cowboy released her promptly, though his stare lingered. “Sorry. I, uh, stopped by t’ see if y’all were faring well this morning, I reckon.”

There was the sheepish tilt of his hat.

"'Fraid I've got some news, too. It ain't good."

 
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Na Zhao
Herbalist, Fortuneteller, Hostage

It had become all too apparent to the woman that something was horribly, terribly wrong. The doll walked about the room, reminding her of a marionette as she picked up plates, did the busywork. Her mouth ran dry, her skin flushing red as she fought to contain a sudden and animal terror.

What happened to her? Why?

”My thanks,” Na stated, before she brushed past Jorge out the door. She caught only the tail end of the conversation, her mind reeling. She needed out of this damned inn.

But rather than find egress from this cursed place, she saw Henrietta accosted by one of the men of the town men, who unhanded her swiftly before Na could manage a shouted warning.

”What do you mean? We are meant to be seeing the mayor today for business,” Na said quietly, looking to Henrietta.

For better or worse they were partners in this strange and implied hostage situation.
 
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El Bandito Guapo​

Clevinger? Indian? Ay, Dios mio. This was getting to be too much.

"I know about the Mayor, nina; we have heard nothing except about the Mayor."

A strange mix of anger and confusion whirled within Jorge's head. This child, Eliza, was not right; his memory of the night before was clearing, and he was certain that something had happened betwixt now and then. Something to ... reset? Was reset the right word? reset the town. Even the bandit, at his slow pace, had figured that out. The whole town, maybe, except for-

"You asked to take it earlier," Jorge said quietly, as he shuffled up beside Perry. He cast a look to Eliza, but she seemed to be otherwise occupied with her work. Momentarily, his memory flashed before his eyes, and he saw the despair in hers, felt her small arm beneath his tired grip. "The gold, I mean. Yet now, you say loudly that you would not take it."

Through the open doorway, he was the women in tight conference. He stared, uncertain. There was no love lost between them, that was certain, and he'd wager they would be as happy to be rid of him as he would be of them. And yet, strength in numbers. Best, they were fodder for the predators of Highland, should the need arise to make use of them.

But for now, information was the best thing to have near the vest.

"What is so important about it? The gold. Why does the Mayor want it? Why shouldn't we?"
 
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The surprise of initial contact with what in the moment felt like a slab of granite was marked by a sharp, shrill shriek, the roiling mess of emotions contained with the petite body of the red-head spilling out all at once and bouncing off the windows. Even once Henrietta had had a moment to compose herself, such was the volume of the terrible thoughts playing through her mind it took her a moment to recognise the charming features of Ange’s faces.

“Oh you needn't apologize Mr Taylor.”

The hint of charm in her voice was an almost unconscious response for the former member of the Summer's gang. It was a self defense mechanism. The mask could never slip…

But slipping it was. The bottle green portals to Henietta’s soul betrayed the mess of emotions hidden beneath the surface as they dashed around the room. Did this handsome charming man in front of her know what was going on in this town? How much did he know?

“We’re all fine and dandy over here. You must forgive my preoccupation. I had a troublesome dream last night that has my head all in a spin. It is quite silly really.”

A smile that it’s owner knew for a fact melted the heart of most men was flashed briefly towards Angel. At her side, Henrietta’s fingers twitched back and forth.

“Now what is all this about bad news, Mr Taylor?”​
 
Eczar

THE INN

NPCS |PERRY THE DRUNK



Oh, be still, his rugged heart! If Henrietta’s smile was one of Cupid’s arrows, it had hit with alarming accuracy the poor man’s already besotted heart. It made his news all the more difficult to tell. Mr. Angel Taylor, rough, prairie-raised cowboy that he was, positively squirmed under the two women’s attention. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He looked back and forth between Henrietta and Na, visibly conflicted.

“Miss, I–” He adjusted his hat again; a nervous tic. “I came here to tell you folks up front that I…’round 4, bout 5 this morning I came to the stables to go on and check on them horses and I– Miss, I ain’t see no horses there. I took my own horse and went a mile each way. Couldn’t find them.”

He threw his hands up, clearly distressed.

“I’m sorry, I am, I just– I don’t know how anyone could have snuck through the stables and let ‘em loose. I stay just right there. I would have heard something. It don’t make no sense! I think I was…I think…”

Outside, the unnaturally raucous noise of the bell resonated throughout Highland, even puncturing the moment between the cowboy and the newcomers.

Something else stopped Angel. Physically and mentally, the cowboy froze, his gesticulations stiff in the air, his face going slack. It lasted naught but a beat, but it was noticed, all the while. He came back to himself in a few slow blinks, glancing down at Na and Henrietta blearily.

“Pardon me, Miss Na. Miss Henrietta.”

Slowly, he turned on his heel, moving with great reluctance towards the lobby. As he left, something tickled at Henrietta’s mind. An inclination came, with growing pressure and desire, from a foreign source but not entirely out of line with what she herself may have wanted:

The mines. She should go to the mines and get more gold.

—-------------------

The thousand year stare. Perry held it with a solemness unbefitting of a man with his stupor. Within it, too, was a swirling, pent-up rage. Finally, the small voice in his head cried.

Finally.

“That gold. Is. Tainted,” The ex-miner hissed, his finger jabbing. “Cursed by evil. Everybody’s who’s touched that damn mine has been warped in some way. We done used up all the minin’ folks we got for it! We all been cursed! And those fixin’ to leave get dealt with.

“That’s why girlie back there’s dumber than a box of bricks!” He suddenly yelled, pointing back towards where Eliza mindlessly cleaned the dishes. "Ol' Perry knows! They tried to shut Perry up, but oh no, we's gots our own ways of dealing with that. Took to the bottle, yes sir. Anything to stay away from the gold. Wese the only ones left that ain’t monst–”

The clock tolled, loud and brash, blaring the turning hour across his fevered pitch. Fear flashed across his weathered face.

“No…no, it’s too early,” He whispered. “The circus…”

He dragged a hand over his dirtied beard, mumbling to himself under his breath. Behind them, Eliza had changed entirely in behavior; having stopped her activity at the bell’s tolls, she then moved forward wordlessly in the following silence, headed through the dining room and out of the kitchen back door to go outside into the blazing sunlight.

Perry didn’t walk. He ran.

Shoving past Jorge, he stumbled after Eliza and, after a moment of reorienting himself to the sudden brightness, took off in the opposite direction from her.

It came to Jorge, like a needle in one’s skin. A slow, building thought and impulse not of his own creation but in line with his deepest desire:

The mines. He should go to the mines and get more gold.

—-------------------------

There was a flurry of footsteps on the stairwell.

In single file line, the other residents of the Inn descended down before Na and Henrietta. Helene, David, Moses, and Frank, all fellow newcomers, were equally silent and impassive as they passed before the two women into the lobby, a vacant focus to their eyes that did not waver no matter the external stimuli. They followed after Mr. Taylor, though where he came to stand somewhat disoriented on the Inn porch, they passed, continuing onwards in a single line down the dirt-filled streets to the west part of town.

The mine’s entrance loomed from atop the hill.
 
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EL BANDITO GUAPO​
Sin of No Name - Jorge.jpg
Jorge Esteban Villacruz del Rios could be called many things, and indeed had been over the course of his storied life: among the kinder, more gracious were things like Drunkard or Sumbich, with the occasional Cabron in the mix. The occasional flatterer might call him handsome (ruggedly, through five fingers of whiskey), or strong (when compared to the consumption-afflicted), or perhaps even persuasive (usually at the wrong end of a gun).

No one across the course of his entire existence had ever once accused Jorge of being smart.

The bell brough the itch. It started in his head, a worm forcing its way into his brain. Once there, it bolted down his arms, surfacing in his palms. It also traveled to his legs, and they moved, and not entirely against his will.

Perry had called the gold ‘cursed’. Hah! Gilipollas. What curse was there to be found on gold? No, there was only riches to be had. Ah, and see: the idiot was running in the opposite direction. Fool; there would be more for Jorge.

He exited the Inn, giving Na and Henrietta a nudge as he did.

“Time to get rich, eh?”

A laugh escaped his throat, and it was laced with mania. And with a small amount of despair.
 
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The way they all walked reminded her of a funeral procession. There was a certain blank quality to their faces, as people began to file out into the street, Eliza included. It was an eerie cadence to their step, a resolution that seemed inhumanly borne. Na felt a shiver pass over her as she tried to grapple with the reality before her.

She needed her horses. She needed to get out of here! But Eliza, deaf and dumb, was refusing to go, and she felt the inner conflict well as she considered leaving the girl here to her fate.

Jorge nudged her, commenting on their possible newfound acquisitions, and Na’s eyebrows drew together. She grabbed the bandito by the shirt, stopping him with a confidence springing from horror.

“You have not been listening, then. I do not think the Mayor wishes we shall be rich. Something else is happening. I do not like the thought of going to the mine,” Na hissed. “Monsters out of men - the general store, empty - the mayor too eager for us to dig up gold. Something is wrong. I plan to know what, so I can leave.”

Na, nevertheless, followed the group out the door to see where they were headed, following them though not with the same glazed look. She would know who was trying to use her for their own ends.

@Red Thunder
 
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Alfa
Eczar
Waiting for the Sunrise

HIGH NOON

U55Diwf.jpg

Even the sun could not brighten Highland's rapidly deteriorating visage. The bell's tolls, soured by the effect it had had on its denizens, rang bitterly into the howling wind. The empty desolation continued to nip at their heels; even with the silent procession of the men and women to the mines, the loneliness of Highland continued to press at them, the isolated town threatening to consume them. This town was no longer an oasis in the Utah wilderness. It was a prison.

Na's gumption shook off whatever spell had been cast over Jorge's mind. His sanity, however tarnished, returned to him. The hypnotic pull likewise dampened in Henrietta's own head. As both came to themselves, Mr. Taylor, who stood still on the Inn's porch, turned to look at them slowly, a vacant look in his eyes. His hand went to the pistol holstered at his sides.

The pop of gunfire was unmistakable, the whistle of a bullet past one's ears even more so. It had just missed Jorge's head. Helene and her associates' heads turned in tandem towards the source, pinpointing it with unnatural accuracy; there, high up on the roof of the stables, the nose of a rifle leered over the edge, and a figure lay flat behind it, squinting as he aimed.

Mr. Wicks.

Another bullet cracked through, finding refuge in Frank's chest. There was an explosion of red across his white shirt, and he stumbled back, falling to the ground as Helene, David, and Moses stared silently. Their bodies -- there was something strange about the sudden tremor rolling through their muscles. Helene's head cocked, a low whine escaping her throat as the convulsions grew more violent.

"Angel, stop!"

The grim expression on Mr. Taylor's face was alien to him. He had aimed his pistol at Henrietta now; before he could pull the trigger, he was forced to duck behind cover as Wicks took aim at him, missing his hands by a hair. Across from them, the door to the general goods store slammed open; Mr. Samuel's frantic face emerged from the shadows.

"Get inside, all of you!"

The whining from Helene had turned into snarls.


 
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Sin of No Name - Jorge.jpg

"¡Que carajo!"

Jorge had fallen to the ground, the sudden shock of awareness mixed with immediate near-death more weight than his mind could handle. His eyes, hitherto gleaming with the gold-lust, now shone with a different kind of light: the brilliance of panic and fear. He looked about, a startled stallion suddenly free of its blinders. Only a natural, subconscious terror rooted him down; he would have otherwise gone speeding down the dusty highway, knees to his chest and boots to his posterior.

The crack of gunfire filled the air, and curses once more fell from Jorge's gaping mouth. He shuffled sideways as best he might in his compromised position, all the while doing his best to check himself for injuries. His ear, or more precisely, the edge of it, bled slowly; Mr. Wicks had missed his target by an inch. That, or he was a supernatural shot.

"¡Negrito hijo de puta! ¡Si tuviera mis armas, te daría un nuevo agujero para mear! ¡Tu padre pensaría que tiene una hija! ¡Respirarías por tu cuello!"

So much for bravado. The threats were screamed out with a quivering voice. The bandit had already felt the unfriendly end of Mr. Wick's fist, and he risked now a similar ending to a similar encounter. Perhaps his foolhardiness might have gotten the better of him, in spite of everything else, had Mr. Samuel not yelled for them to run for cover.

First to save his skin, the coward needed no other prompting. Jorge scrambled for traction, trying his best to regain his dignity and run as God intended him to, before he finally sacrificed his pride in favor of his preservation. Practically on all fours, he crossed the General Goods Store threshold and slammed into the counter within.

"A la mierda tu pueblo, gringo," he said, gasping. "I want to leave."
 
If the Mexican was the first to run for the promised refuge of the general store, it was only by a mere fraction of a second. Henrietta’s heart all but beat itself free of chest as she sprinted across, boots and the hem of her skirt spraying dirt behind her. Pure primal instinct held it firmly in her grasp and pushed through the store door, past Jorge and into the secluded shelter behind the counter. It was only there, with her back pressed against the solid wood that the urge for survival loosened its grip on Henrietta one iota.

“I wa… wa… wa… was just t… t… t… t… talking with him.”

Shaking hands started to pull at the folds of Henrietta’s dress.

She had been talking to Angel about something, horses maybe.

The revolver shook like a dried out drunk as it was loosed from its holster.

Then everything had gone hazy. It had been like waking from a heavy sleep too early.


The ammunition gate swung open and delicate fingers traced along the newly exposed face.

Gold had been all she had been able to think about. Henrietta was certain of that.

The cylinder rotated with a mechanical clicking.

Then there had been deafening noise and a sudden warmth on her face.

Fingers moved slowly from the gun to the red-heads face.

And then there had been a barrel pointing at her, her thoughts suddenly clear as day.

The fingers that had touched her cheeks, fell under Hnerietta’s gaze. Deep crimson streaks coated them all. In her other hand, the hammer of the gun clicked back.

Henrietta stood up, turned on the spot and slowly raised the almost violently shaking sidearm towards Mr Samuel and the rest of the room occupants in general.

“What the h… hell is going on in this town?”
 
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Na, likewise, ducked when shots began to ring out, seeing Mr. Taylor reach for a pistol, too late to pull Henrietta away from him. There were more cracks, and she sharply remembered in the recesses of her mind the pop of gunfire in the night as rough men fought over their little grievances so fleeting upon this Earth, to trade for a permanent and hasty death.

She shook inside the inn, cursing to herself In Mandarin. Curse her for ever having left her father. Curse her greed, curse her passivity, curse all of it. All of it! All of it!

Outside she heard Samuel yell to flee to his sanctuary. The rage built into inspiration. She dumped out her purse quickly on the floor, picking up rolling bullets and putting them in her volcanic pistol. No. If she was to die, she would not die letting them kill her.

Peeking from a window, she saw Mr. Wicks firing on the snarling inhabitants of the town, and taking several deep, heavy, fast breaths, she coached herself. Run. Shoot when it counts most. Do not let them put hands on you.

Finally, she darted from the inn at breakneck speed, practically throwing herself out the door towards the General Store where earlier she had heard Samuel yell. The townspeople were convulsing, some already lying dead by Wicks’ sharp eye and quick hand. She spared them little thought as she burst into the General Store to see Henrietta already pointing her gun in hysterics at the occupants.

She kept her own pistol on the door behind her as she kicked it closed.

”Answer her! What have you desecrated? You have defiled something,” Na spat. “In your lust for gold. Didn’t you?”

She spared a withering, wild-eyed look at Samuel, his wife, other survivors in attendance.
 
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"Aye!"

Jorge's chest rose and fell as the panic slowly shrank to a small quiver. His ear went ignored. Instead, he stood up with a groan, looking about at the others in the room. Fingers grasped on air as he reached for his pistol or even his knife; his weapons were still in the Law's custody. His heart thumping at the sudden awareness of complete vulnerability, Jorge gave his best glare.

"This town is cursed, yes? And your pendejo of a mayor would have brought the curse on us as well, innocent travelers!"

Carefully, he leaned to glance out the window. Eyes narrowed as his brain gave its best effort to make sense of what was happening to the townsfolk. The pieces, slow to occur to him, began to tumble into place. His expression changed from pensive to perturbed as he looked back to his companions.

"Do- is this- do they become like... that Thing last night?" Jorge cast a nervous glance at the raised weapons but strode forward anyway, grasping Samuel by his lapels and pulling him close. "Should we expect the same?"