- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- No Preferences
- Genres
- Steampunk, Romance, Scifi, Horror, Modern, and Fantasy, although I'm always jazzed to try something new.
Sam nodded his new companion on the way, and ordered himself a plate of whatever was hot and good. He unlimbered his rifle, and leaned it against the chair he chose to sit in. The table he'd picked was along one of the far walls from the entertainment, and thus empty. He very politely didn't kick his booted feet up on the table. Jamus had earned that much, at least.
It wasn't long before the food came, and the Turley Boys weren't far behind. A crowd of six boisterous men shuffled in out of the cool autumn air, each wearing a grin. They set eyes on Sam after a moment's search, flagging down one of the serving girls to order a round of drinks before they all joined the hunter at his table.
"Sam," Said the first man to sit. He had a ginger mustache that nearly hid his mouth, and close-cropped hair of the same shade. "We'd have been here sooner, but we had some celebratin' to do."
"Join us," Sam said, gesturing to the rest of the chairs. The other five men sat without hesitation.
"We've got some trouble, Tommen." He said, addressing the mustachioed one again. "Big trouble. Let me finish this meal. It'll give the drinks time to arrive, and you're going to want them when I'm done."
_____________________________________________________________________
At some point, Ulen stopped by the inn to join the crowd of gathered hunters, and the men all listened to the story as Samuel explained the situation. By the end, they were all somber. Unwilling to leave the night on a dampened note, Samuel began telling stories of his foibles and misadventures. Soon enough, there was back-slapping, spilled drinks, and merriment all around. By the time the shadows began to stretch long, Sammuel pushed himself up from his seat, excusing himself to the baths.
He washed himself quickly, resisting the urge to luxuriate in the hot water, and cut a line to the rooms he'd gotten. He knocked thrice briefly, waited a moment, and stepped on in.
His hair was damp from the bath, and hung free from it's braids. It looked freshly brushed. He set his rifle down just inside the door, pausing for a moment to pull the bayonette free from it's muzzle. Wiping the silvered blade clean of muck and gore with a rag hanging from his belt, he tucked it into a sheathe at his waist. The weapons belt came off next, and he moved to claim whichever bed was unoccupied. His boots came off next, and they found a place beneath his bed. His belt got hung on a bedpost, and his eyes flicked to Edison, to see if the fellow had fallen asleep yet.
It wasn't long before the food came, and the Turley Boys weren't far behind. A crowd of six boisterous men shuffled in out of the cool autumn air, each wearing a grin. They set eyes on Sam after a moment's search, flagging down one of the serving girls to order a round of drinks before they all joined the hunter at his table.
"Sam," Said the first man to sit. He had a ginger mustache that nearly hid his mouth, and close-cropped hair of the same shade. "We'd have been here sooner, but we had some celebratin' to do."
"Join us," Sam said, gesturing to the rest of the chairs. The other five men sat without hesitation.
"We've got some trouble, Tommen." He said, addressing the mustachioed one again. "Big trouble. Let me finish this meal. It'll give the drinks time to arrive, and you're going to want them when I'm done."
_____________________________________________________________________
At some point, Ulen stopped by the inn to join the crowd of gathered hunters, and the men all listened to the story as Samuel explained the situation. By the end, they were all somber. Unwilling to leave the night on a dampened note, Samuel began telling stories of his foibles and misadventures. Soon enough, there was back-slapping, spilled drinks, and merriment all around. By the time the shadows began to stretch long, Sammuel pushed himself up from his seat, excusing himself to the baths.
He washed himself quickly, resisting the urge to luxuriate in the hot water, and cut a line to the rooms he'd gotten. He knocked thrice briefly, waited a moment, and stepped on in.
His hair was damp from the bath, and hung free from it's braids. It looked freshly brushed. He set his rifle down just inside the door, pausing for a moment to pull the bayonette free from it's muzzle. Wiping the silvered blade clean of muck and gore with a rag hanging from his belt, he tucked it into a sheathe at his waist. The weapons belt came off next, and he moved to claim whichever bed was unoccupied. His boots came off next, and they found a place beneath his bed. His belt got hung on a bedpost, and his eyes flicked to Edison, to see if the fellow had fallen asleep yet.