Gracey's Gundogs

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Asmodeus, Dec 28, 2009.

  1. CHAPTER ONE:
    PUNCH-UP AT THE SWITCHBLADE SALOON

    [​IMG]

    "Ooph!"

    "Ow!"

    "Son of a..."

    "Uuurgh!"

    "Aaagh!"

    "Oooph!"


    Bill Gracey crashed down the stairs and rolled across the floor of the saloon. The blackjack players glanced at him and the pianist continued playing.

    Lying there for a minute, the black-coated swindler picked himself up and stood with his arm on the bar. "Mornin', Sam." A tequila bottle flew from the stairway and past his head.

    Sam, the old dark-skinned barman, continued polishing a glass. "The Scowler Boys're lookin' for ya, Bill."

    "Me?" Bill said, trying not to sound troubled. He ducked as a vase of flowers flew from the stairway and shattered on the bar. "Now what do them Scowler Boys be wantin' with a decent upstanding fella like me?" A high-heeled shoe bounced down the stairway and struck him in the face. "OW!"

    Sam continued polishing the glass, slowly. "They's saying the horse you sold 'em is blind."

    Bill tried to smile, rubbing the heel print on his cheek. "Now that just ain't fair. Horse sees plenty well... it just none too good with colours."

    "Way I heard it, Bill - that horse is none too good with ANY colours."

    Before he could answer, another vase of flowers flew from the stairway, followed by a furious-looking woman with red hair and makeup. Her dress was torn and she had strange marks on her face... like strap-imprints.

    "YOU'RE A NO-GOOD DIRTY ROTTEN PIECE O' PIGSHIT, BILL GRACEY!!" the whore yelled, nailing him with another of her shoes. As Bill fell over she started hitting him with a tequila bottle.

    The beating lasted a few minutes, then stopped as another customer arrived with a handful of money. The whore smiled and took the man's arm, going back upstairs.

    Bill pulled himself up into one of the chairs around the blackjack table. Grinning with a mouthful of blood, he tipped his hat. "Morning, fellas. What're we playin'?"
     
  2. Lana Thomas stepped in through the doors, a frown across the face. Anyone out on the street could hear that hooker yellin' at Bill Gracey, and that didn't bode well. Lana had stashed in her back pocket a little note with that man's name on it. When you're out looker for "job" names tend to pass around here and there. Recently, there's been a whole lotta talk about Gracey needing guns. Now, Lana wasn't a gunslinger, but for other things? She could make herself useful. If the rumors were true, it'd be worth her weight in gold.

    Striding across the saloon, Lana only gave a side glance at the man she figured was Gracey. He was picking himself off the floor and sliding in to a chair with some card players. She figured if she were gonna think about workin' for the man, she better observe him in his natural environment. Looked like a damned fool.

    Lana had a seat at the bar, ordering a bit of whiskey for herself. It payed to be cautious.
     
  3. The saloon reeked of unwashed bodies, booze and other things that were better kept in private.

    A pair of dark eyes watched the inverted reflection in the whiskey bottle in front of him as another man paid for a painted up disease. He shrugged a shoulder. It was their money. . .what they spent it on was their choice. He had some ideas of where it would come in handy though. . .

    The redskin had wandered into the saloon some time earlier. His filthy, mud-covered horse was tied up outside. No need to worry about anyone stealing it. No one wanted a dirty animal.

    The man shifted uneasily. To him, the stench was nearly unbearable. The thought of sitting in a chair one of the filthy cowboys had been in made him twitch. He didn't know how they could live so close together. . .

    One consolation though was that his wide hat was wide enough and pulled down low enough to shield his face from prying eyes and uncovered sneezes. He made sure to sit far away from the spitoon. It didn't look (or smell) like anyone in here had good aim. Of any kind.

    He reached out and scooped up the half-empty glass in front of him, his true intentions concealed as his hand moved up to his face, the back of it pressing against his nose as a fat man's ass nearby made a sound like a rutting bull. The rim of the glass barely brushed his lips, none of the harsh drink touching his mouth.

    Another consolation was that the glass was cracked, a faint trickle of liquid soaking into the worn oilcloth on the table and into the already mildewed wood. This allowed him to refill it from time to time. He had already paid for the bottle, there was no reason to bother him about it. . .

    Well, like that ever meant anything anyway. His lips curled into a look of contempt.

    ". . ."
     
  4. "I can take you to him. But I promise you won't be able to talk to him."
     
  5. Well, Genesis should be a good source of IC Murder stuff.
     
  6. "Let's go meet some nice people." Astorath said as he walked her into the hallway.
     
  7. Alright everybody I got bad news, I am about to be in the middle of an ice storm here in like less than 24 hours. Normally I wouldn't bother to say anything but it is looking like a power outage is possible, now the last time power went out due to ice here in Missouri it took them five days to fix it so if I disappear for the next few days for no reason it is because of the power outage.
     
  8. Hiyas, I'm new to the site and hoping to find some good rps and friends here. My top fav anime/manga so far are, in no perticulare order: My Hero Academia, One Punch Man, Yu Yu Hakusho, Noragami, Tokyo Ghoul, and Servamp. If anyone has any other recommendations I'd love to hear them.

    My favorite kind of rps are school based, horror, yaoi, supernatural, and anything to do with animals.

    Hopefully I can figure out how to use the site and set up some of my rp ideas soon.
     
  9. "She can be an asset."
     
  10. Anya bite down gently, "Mmm..."