For a big guy, all he owned was some dingy, run down horse feed shop. You'd think he'd be a bad ass salon master or gunslinger of some sort. They all thought Big Paul killed someone which may or may not have explained the stench that reeked of dirt, blood, and regret coming off of him. Someone in the town said he told him that he had a 'falling out' with a travel truck driver from the 'no-man's-land' known as the East. We get a lot of those people here. You know they're coming when you see dust clouds and smell the rotting fragrance of fish or some other decaying sea animal. I wouldn't be half surprised if Big Paul told that man in town the truth. A falling out among one of those Flounders is as common a piss contest on a Thursday morning. I don't think he killed the truck driving Flounder, though, but that man in town was spooked for some reason or another. He couldn't even chew his tobacco right after he explained to me that he saw the death in Big Paul's eyes. I've never seen the man's eyes up close and if I did, how in the hell am I supposed to know what death looks like in another man's eyes? I think the guy is harmless. He own's a horse feed shop, for the sake of it all. I go there all the time to feed Derby, possibly once every week or so, depending on the weather. If it's hot, I might go on a late Monday night. If it's hotter, i'll go in during mid-day. If it's really hot, I'll force myself to go regardless. I have choices. Big Paul's shop isn't big. It has a back ranch with nothing but rolling streams of some high plants or something, I don't know. I'm not a damned botanist. I know one thing, though: Big Paul is serious about that grass stuff. I do remember a day where I was listlessly strolling into the the shop after scraping Derby's shit off my boot once I got off of his back. It was a 'hotter' day, so noon had come and gone and the biscuits and disgustingly stale maple syrup partying around in my lower intestine softened over. I remember walking into the shop to hear him say, "Yer money ain' even worth cow shit in here. 'Least I can grow flowers with that." The guy with the money was a business Flounder, all the way from his top hat to his polished shoes. There wasn't a speck of sand on his black slacks and not even the slightest aroma of outside. He smelled like cologne and fish. He had a blonde beard that may or may not have been the funniest thing I've seen in my 34 years of ensuing death. It was the brightest thing in that store besides the sunlight that poured through a stained window. I decided to call him Sunshine in my head. Sunshine smugly twitched his golden mustache which pulled a string of hard giggles from my throat that remained unheard. It was like a mouse on one of those cartoons with nothing but cheesy music and cued sound effects whenever something funny happened. I heard the twint!twint!twint! sound when Sunshine twitched his mustache that hang above his smug grin. "Currency is currency, my good man." His voice was a river of silk and the finest milk. There was not one drop of twang, slang, or broken words, which I guess is rare if you're in Big Paul's horse shop. My accent isn't the most authentic, but I pick up on things when people come and go around these parts. Besides, I'm not from here. No. I'm just a tumbleweed with a cigar in hand. Big Paul rose to his full hight and a cloud of dust followed suit, puffing off of his tightened vest and chiseled arms like he was an antique that hadn't been moved in a long while. Could have been. I've never seen him outside of the store. "An' shit is shit, but ya' don' see me smellin' it, do ya? Get out. Feed yer' mares some wine n' dine meal with that Flounder money, 'cuz I don' wan' it." I remembered the boom in his voice and how Sunshine didn't even move a muscle. For a small store with run down planks and a distinct smell of horse piss, Big Paul knew how to make his words echo. Sunshine chuckled and if I looked hard enough, I might have seen him trying to twirl the end of his brush-mop mustache in contemplation. That guy must have crapped gold bricks. "You turn down $300 for that tiny slab of land there? Has the sun made you mad?" His voice didn't echo like Big Paul's did, but the damage was done when his beard reflected the pink of frustration in his cheeks. Now, I don't remember the rest, but it had something to do with a monologue of swear words and a rotatory spin of a revolver. I got pushed out of the way by Sunshine who flew passed me and outside the wooden revolving door with the distinct aroma of fear. Good ole Flounders. Now that was, what?, 5 days ago since I seen that. Yeah, until the point I heard that man in town string me that tall tale of Big Paul killing someone which is why he won't let anyone set a big toe on his land beyond the point of his horse feed. Me? I just thought it was horse feed. We all did. Well, most of us. The Flounders didn't. They knew exactly what was back there and they were willing to pay big for it. I don't know why I hadn't thought of it before, but Big Paul did get mighty defensive when Sunshine didn't take well to being denied over his 'Flounder money' when he offered it. I'm a financially good looking man, but 300 bones denied over some horse feed? Papa never raised no fool. Just cautious fool. That's where I am now. Cautiously watching as flames billow up around Big Paul's Hore Feed (the 'S' withered away). I'm not alone, though. About half of Dricker Town is standing around watching the man's shop cough and choke under smog, flames, and burning horse feed. It's one of those hot days, too, but now I guess it's a really hot one. I heard the same question come up over and over again. "Where's Big Paul?" "Did he do this?" "Where did he go?" I look just as confused as everyone else, but I see something they don't see. A man, huddling away from the fire and next to a knocked over barrel of Dark Ale, the sandy dirt caked with the stuff. A luxury lost, truly. After bravely pulling myself away from gypsy's tale the fire told, I managed to drag my ole' lead feet over to the sniffling mess. It was the same guy as before and he was sobbing like a little baby. "Lose somethin'?" I asked, not really caring one way or another. I'm not gonna help the kid. Finicially good looking is a trait earned, not a silver spoon given out of a baby's mouth. The kid hiccuped or threw up in his mouth, I'm not sure. I just heard the strange gargle sound and made a face. "Th-they...took Big Paul...a-and the maps...all 3 of the ma-ma-maps to where it...where it...where it wh-where it where...it is." He drowned himself in a couple more of his pathetic wallowing while I did the 'A as in Apple' process. 'They' as in the Flounders. 'Took' as in kidnapped. 'Maps' as in potential money. My math seemed to work because, without even opening my mouth to ask, the kid broke his head out and snapped. "Paul knew the first one was in Dricker behind his place! They found the first one in the back! And they'll find it all! They'll find it all and we won't get any! We won't even get Big Paul back!" I don't have any ties to that kid or Paul, but money stolen out of Dricker Town by a couple of walking fish don't fly with me. Or swim, I assume. I looked back at the crowd of people wondering more about what happened than what was taken. Fair enough. The less to travel with me to the East, the best. I turned back towards the shaggy, brown headed kid and noticed something for the first time since I walked up to him. He pissed himself. Plot And Stuff Big Paul was a sneaky, sneaky man! 4 very crude maps where handed down to him since he first nestled his big burly arms into Dricker Town after finding out that it was the location of the first riches. He guarded it by building his house in front of it, forever keeping it well away from the Eastern men, or 'Flounders'. However, they've taken Big Paul and the last 3 maps after stealing the riches behind his shop, burning everything to the ground. You are either a spectator of the event or just a random person! Bottom line, you follow me, Jaxin Marshal, to the good old east, the 'City' of The States in order to find Big Paul and the maps! >:3 Rules And Stuff Respect the ideas, plot development, and actions of the GM, which is me. >:] Respect your other players! There may be some New Members that join that may not be as fluid as others. Don't chide them with remarks of writing better or being their teacher. They come to play, not to sit during Writing Better 101. Do NOT spam this rp with OOC comments. If you have any questions as of now, PM me and I will answer them to the best of my abilities. A post from you should be a post, not ((Omg im havin soooo much funnnn! XD)) >:[ If you make more than one character, make sure we know exactly who you are playing as by either changing color or adding a picture. No more than 2, guys. Don't over work yourself! XD If you have a SUPER AWESOMESAUCE idea about the plot, don't hesistate to PM me about it! I'm always open for suggestions! Lastly, have fun! Enjoy yourself and your partners!