[m] Over Rainbows and Rainier

POSTED: Wed Jan 02, 2019 11:25 pm

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

Keep that gun locked away, locked away boy
Well you know you're an angry young man

There was a place in Freetown where the rough-necks went. A dark and dirty place with a musty bar, where gamblers cast lots at a table by a roaring hearth. The ale was of poor quality and the company even worse, but it was the closest place to get a drink in this lonesome stretch of hell -- nor did Boone wish to ride back to Biff's after his last embarrassing encounter with a particularly androgynous dark haired boy.

"A'ight kid, wa's yer wager?" A wolf with a lazy eye droned, the smell of strong whisky was heavy on his breath. Boone thumbed around his pack of small, stolen trinkets in search of something with implicit value. Perhaps it was his own inebriation, but Boone found himself growing tired of betting cigarettes. A pittance.

It was time to make things interesting. A pretty palomino was hitched outside beside his own. The wolf had boasted about how he'd rustled her from a pair of breeders down south to anyone who would listen. Boone sat the pack aside and smirked. "My horse," he answered. "Iffen you put up yours." The cartel could always use more horses.

"The horse ain't for wager," replied the wolf, sneering.

"I mean, if you're scared--"

"Wha'd you jus' say boy?" The wolf was irate. Boone saw fire in his one good eye. A challenge had been uttered and this weren't the man to back down to no challenge. "You callin' me a coward?" A cold silence fell over the bar. Other patrons turned to watch.

Boone raised his hands and leaned back against his chair. "I ain't callin' you a coward, s'long as you cast them lots." Boone met the wolf's eye and stared him down. Neither would give an inch.

The wolf grabbed his wooden cup. Three hand carved, ivory dice clicked and clacked inside. The wolf hmphed before sarcastically chiding, "cast them lots," as if the whole idea had been incredulous at best. He held it for moment, looking as if he were about to roll before tossing the cup aside, ivory dice spilling on to the floor. Boone hardly saw him reach for the underside of the table, and with both hands, the wolf flipped it in a rage.

Shit.

OOC text here.
Last edited by Boone Winthrop on Tue Mar 12, 2019 6:07 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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POSTED: Sun Jan 13, 2019 2:36 am

Freetown.

It wasn't as far enough as to have to really locate Searsport a second time, but it was well enough a ways away to get a breath of distance between he and those that had found him that wintry morn. He still wasn't sure of them, then again, he wasn't sure of much these days.

Hinges groaned in protest as he entered the bar quietly. The rusted rifle strapped to his back diagonally loomed aside head, the handle of the leather sheathed dagger peeking from the small of his back, and a handy blade in the curl of his right chap were confidence enough to walk into the place, despite the prying eyes that stopped their lips just long enough to stare.

Eyes that matched the blue of the morning stood out in the dark of night, but he didn't lift his hat to greet any of them. The pinched gambler was tugged down, his mouth closed and his eyes keen to keep away from the contact of others. Despite having settled in a place for longer than any others, it didn't mean he wasn't a wanted man despite. They just didn't know him here, and it was best to keep it as such.

A handful of gatherings he'd scavenged along the way was enough to fill the tenders hand and replace his empty palm with a wooden mug full of something local. He didn't care what it was, as long as it was strong. A quick toss of the watery fire hit his stomach and burned at the edges of his throat was enough for him. That heat was liquid memory loss comin' up fast, and he'd take four full rounds before his ears caught up with the small world within the tavern's cold, apathetic embrace.

Dark ears rolled back. Someone was calling someone out. Blue eyes narrowed. It seemed a Mexican standoff just shy of one more idiot.

Don't be an Idiot, Waynescott.

Turning on his bar stool, his eyes along with a few others landed on the dice that rattled against the ground, and time stood still. A mug darted off to one side and the table lifted from the ground, curling over with the force of a brawny wolf and his gall. It was always Wayne's most difficult decision, but he had to do it. Taking sides wasn't easy, but he wasn't about to leave it be completely.

CRACK

A piece of the old table had shot off it's end. The edge of the furniture had struck the ground just right. The splintered edge of a wooden board had shot right into Wayne's brow. With the sound of the bar's folk scrambling about, readying to watch two drunken fools beat the ever living tar out of each other over a ill thought wager, Wayne's hand reached up to his lowered brow. The tip of filthy, once white digits tenderly washed over the warmth of blood and the nick that seeped it. Bringing his hand down, his first two fingers were stained a cardinal hue, and he breathed deeply with pique,” Waynescott Wyatt, you damn idiot...” He muttered with venom and hollered as he cursed.

One foot on the ground, he took his weight up on the bar. A solid donkey kick sent the stool rearing back into the fray and he spun around. The stretch of his chest brought his arm up and over his shoulder, gripping the rifle with one hand and swinging it free of it's timid place on his back.

“You wanna start a fight?” Wayne shouted as his feet ate at the distance between him, the slighter fool and the unintentionally assailing wolf, dragging the butt of the gun against the floor,” I sure as hell do,” Whether it was at the grace of savior for the coyote who'd made the poor wager, or the great dismay of wolf, he didn't much care. His spiced belly was doin' the talking, the walking, and he brought the stock end of that rifled to crack right across lobo's jaw with all the weight and inertia he had to offer," Take that, y'got damned fool!" He stumbled a bit with a drunken swagger and heavily righted the rifle with a solid thunk against his shoulder. He was just sober enough to stand upright, but far too gone to make any good decisions.

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POSTED: Sat Feb 09, 2019 10:01 pm

Keep that gun locked away, locked away boy
Well you know you're an angry young man

The table broke with a loud crack. Loose dice clattered along the floor and drinks spilled. Boone skittered back, crawling as the wolf approached in a fit of rage -- this was a bad plan. All the ragrets. He briefly thought to reach for a knife he kept sheathed on his belt for protection, yet a shout from the bar caught the drunk wolf's attention. A stranger caught in the crossfire. Boone used the opportunity to right himself. He stood up and grabbed a nearby barstool and hoisted it up like some great and heavy club.

The smack of the rifle against the wolf's jaw echoed through the bar. The sharp crack of bone. The wolf fell, neck twisting unnaturally, and the bar went deathly still. Boone breathed a sigh of relief and set the stool aside. Crisis averted. His would-be savior staggered about in a struggle to keep upright.

And then, a voice from across the bar. "Holy shit, ye' killed him!" A dog, who watched the altercation after his card game was unceremoniously cut short, shouted from a nearby table. The wolf laid still, glassy, lifeless eyes staring into nothing. Crisis not averted. Three men stood and armed themselves with whatever was available.

"Shit."

Boone reached for the stool and looked to the stranger. He nodded. There was no way they were leaving without a fight.

OOC text here.
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POSTED: Tue Feb 12, 2019 12:50 am

At the sudden resounding call after the sudden hush of the bar, Wayne's eyes widened. It'd be a lie to say he hadn't become suddenly more sober at the realization of what he'd done. Narrowing his eyes, he looked into the face of the felled wolf. Large pupils. No breath in his chest. Sure as shit, he'd gone a little overboard. By the looks of it, there were a trio of friends to that cadaver that were about to do the same.

Shit,” He echoed, his eyes meeting the steely green of the man he'd found himself suddenly teamed up with by little more than a nod. The other grabbed a stool, and Wayne took note, a little more slowly than he, but pulled that rifle from his shoulder and slipped the dagger from the waist of his pants.

Lingering in place, he waited for the first sign of movement in order to brace himself. It didn't take long to come with one man wielding a broken bottle as the chaos unfolded. The shattered edge swung wildly at him, and Wayne stumbled back over his own feet to dodge it until the bar itself stopped his backward evasion. With nowhere left to go, the butt of the rifle whistled in the space between them, and after it was followed shortly by the blade in his opposite hand. It was enough to keep him from being cornered, but not enough for him to gain the upper hand.

An eye shot to his nameless comrade as he spun the rifle around again, they're outnumbered disadvantage something that Wayne was more used to in an open environment with a little less liquor in his blood. Taking the stool as a note, Wayne found another disregarded chair and kicked at it. The man would have to dodge it rather than keep an eye on the coydog in front of him, and that would be the perfect moment for him to slip in and land a hit on him.

The chair sailed true, but rather than take the guy off his feet, the bottle wielding enemy had caught it right out of the air. Wayne grimaced, but took the opportunity, anyways. The rifle swung from the top right, and sailed down unto the chair, it's legs being used as a shield. From there, Wayne ditched the rusted, wooden stocked club and spun from the recoil, letting his dagger sink into anything it could catch,” Don't think I did ya much good, compadre,” He grunted in his southern twang to his stool wielding teammate before sinking the dagger deep into the arm of his assailant.

Rather than figure out if it had been enough to take him down, Wayne stumbled back and bent to his knee. He took the opportunity to take a glance at who was going to come at them next and offer the other something for his trouble," Th'next round is on me," He mused to the stranger, before a knuckled fist clocked up and sent him sprawling back onto the bar floor.

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