Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » The West Gets Weird (Open)

The government man looks intrigued by Frank’s, er, very frank explanation of his willingness to join up. It is something that, on some level, the younger man can relate to.

“Alright... I’ll consider your offer to be a second gun,” he humors Frank seriously. “Just...try not to bring the good Lord into this, unless it’s warding off undead,” he remarks in jest.

“Amen,” one if their playing partners mutters under his breath.

It had been many days and nights since Sydney Richards had last spent the night in a decent bed. This was something he was looking forward to. He had been on the road for what felt like ages tracking a criminal who had broken out of the jail a few towns away from Tombstone, Arizona. The Marshall, from the town, was slain during the initial pursuit of the criminal. A call went out for the location and return of the criminal to stand charged for the new crimes he committed, which Sydney took upon himself to locate. Sydney had been tracking the horse, from a local ranch, the criminal stole to this small speck of town, he would soon learn was called Saltypeak. His clothes were coated in dust from the desert and worn from his travels.

The hoofbeats from his horse were slow and somewhat staggered. Sydney had gotten off from his horse a few miles outside of the town to walk beside his mount. The horse was run ragged and tired from the hard travels. She was a beautiful Clydesdale mare he acquired from his father when he moved away from his home in Silverton, Colorado. Sydney would make sure to get her tended to while he was resting in the town and learning more about the criminal he was hunting. Instead of parking her outside of the local establishments, Sydney took the extra few moments to head to the stables. He would briefly talk with the stablehands and secure a stall for his horse.

It was already getting later in the day as people milled about the town. Sydney would need to stop by the blacksmiths shop in the morning to commission some new horseshoes be made for his horse. His boots were also in need of some repair which he would need to tend to before leaving the town of Saltypeak. His battered and tired feet carried him towards the saloon to relax for the evening with some good drink and hopefully some card games. Sydney wore a dusty white shirt with some blue jeans. He wore a black vest over the white shirt. His boots were tanned leather but solidly made. To top of his outfit he wore a dark leather coat with a dark leather hat. Attached to the center of the hat was the star of the Marshal's office. On his back was strapped a rifle and another small gun was located at his hip.

Sydney walked through the doorway to the saloon. Several pairs of eyes were drawn in his direction as he looked around the place. It seemed like he was not the only one who was new to the area. He pushed a strand of his dirty blond hair away from his eyes. He took a few steps towards the bar and the bartender. As he stepped closer people resumed their tasks.

"Barkeep, can I get a whiskey?"

"That ain't worked out so well for me before," Frank commented idly to Faulkner, looking over his cards as he decides if he's going to fold or keep on, deciding to stay in.

As another figure enters, Frank's eyes flick toward the doorway almost out of habit. The man wasn't his bounty, he noted quickly... he seemed to have all 10 fingers. But the star upon the Marshal's hat caught his attention in the next moment. "Marshal," Frank greeted respectfully as Sydney passed by their table, giving him a small tip of his hat. He tended to get on well with most law men, even if some of them saw bounty hunters as barely a step above the criminals that they sought.

"Agents and Marshals... my oh my. Monsters are gonna be lightin' a shuck for California tween you and him," he said to Faulkner. But the very fact that both of them had shown up on the same day seemed to point to something going on in Saltypeak. Maybe it was coincidence, maybe not. It sure cast some doubt in Frank's mind that Faulkner's presence here was purely "routine rounds", as he'd put it.

"I'll call," he said, laying down his cards.

Faulkner eyes his hand and glances up and around the table.

“I’ll call,” he decides simply.

His attention gets pulled away temporarily as the marshal enters. Faulkner’s neutral poker face falls away into a brow-raised, sincere surprise.

“Well, isn’t that a right treat,” the government agent quietly muses to the table.


Meanwhile the barkeep, suspicious as to why two big shots are in his saloon, dryly humors the drink order. “Whiskey it is, Marshal. You ‘n’ the agent over there got somethin’ important goin’ on?” He nods his head at the card game’s participants.

The marshal gave a nod towards the table as he headed towards the counter. He took the glass of whiskey in his hands as his attention shifted back towards the table indicated. The words that were spoken were not lost him. It sounded like something was brewing in this town. Perhaps the criminal he was hunting was tied into what the other men were speaking about. Sydney walked over towards the table and sat down at an adjacent table. His eyes were on the game they were playing.

Out of the corner of his eye he looked over the members of the table. The agent stood out at the table. He was sharply dressed and held an air of importance about him. Sydney had not met too many agents during his time hunting down the baddies. The other man was an older gentleman and Sydney could not quite place who he was but suspected that would be revealed in time.

"Can I join, next game?" Sydney asked.

Sydney watched as the game unfolded. All of the players seemed to be doing rather decently. It may be a close game and came down to which one had the better cards. Poker was one of his favorite card games. He thought to enjoy a game with the men before getting down to business with them. While he was curious about the troubles that plagued the town there was no rush to learn all the details.

((Well... now I gotta check if Dan or Bill beats out Faulkner or Frank. Apparently, we've got some mighty fine (or lucky) poker players! ))

Edit:

Frank was a mediocre poker player at best, but this time he got lucky and laid down his 4 Nines. "Bout ding time I won some of that back!" he exclaimed happily, taking the little pile of coins and tobacco. "Almost makes up for what Bill won off me 'fore you joined in Agent. You must be good luck to have 'round!"

The barkeep's words to the marshal echoed his own thoughts a bit. And when Sydney asked to join in, Frank nodded agreeably and moved his chair over slightly to make room for 5 at the table. "Pull your chair over, marshal. Now I've got some money to lose, I'm good for another couple hands," he said with an easy smile. This time, he tossed his cards over to Faulkner, who would be next in line to deal, then extended a hand to Sydney. "Frank Efferson," he introduces himself.

"You just travel in?" he asked.

Faulkner lays out his cards. Three 5’s! He grins at Frank’s ‘must be lucky’ remark nods.

“You would be surprised, sir,” the agent comments. He lets that statement trail off as the marshal joins them, and a friendly head bob welcomes Sydney to the fold.

He takes back the cards to reshuffle the deck as Frank passes. Nimble finger-work forms bridges with each fluid shuffle. Faulkner doesn’t introduce himself just yet, since he’s a but busy, but he is keenly following the conversation beside him!

Sydney watched as the cards hit the table. Each man was showing off their hands to determine the winner. He remained silent as the money given to the winner. Two of the gentlemen had good hands when it came to their cards. It seemed like luck was on their side but how long would that last. Once the cards were picked up and handed over, to the well dressed agent, he pulled over his chair. He placed the chair in between the fancy dressed agent and the man introducing himself as Frank Efferson. Sydney reached over and gave a firm shake of the hand.

"Sydney Richards," he said.

Sydney waited as the cards were dealt. His mind was focused on the cards being handed out. He kept a straight face while he looked over the cards in his hands. Sydney had his own way of organizing his cards in his hand. The same could be said of how he answered questions and handled matters. The question lingered in the back of his mind while the pub maintained it's normal routine. With a brief nod of his head he was ready to answer Frank's question.

"Been tracking a strange criminal cross the border. Heard he may passed this way. Seen any strangers aside from me?"

Frank looked suitably impressed with Agent Faulkner's card handling ability. "Watch out for this one, boys. Looks like a regular card sharp."

His attention returned to Sydney.

"Wouldn't be Tim Droxel, by chance, would it, Marshal?" Frank asked, referencing the outlaw better known as "Four-Fingered Tim". He placed his ante on the table and picked up his cards to glance at them, but was more worried about the losing his bounty to the marshal than he was about losing a hand of poker and a dollar.

"Been aimin' for the bounty on that one myself. Ain't seen him. Least not yet. Don't know if he skedaddled outta Saltypeak soon as he got here. Or if he twernt ever here at all."

’Seen any strangers aside from me?’

“Just myself,” Faulkner quips sharply, finishing his comment with a wry grin.

The agent deals out new hands to the other four men and ups the ante by a dollar. No big bets—he’ll need money for supplies later.

“Agent Ulysses Faulkner, by the way,” he properly introduces himself to Sydney, before letting Frank carry on with his line of questioning.

Sydney place his own bet on the table. His eyes watched the cards being shuffled. It showed some level of skill or enjoyment. This game was shaping up to be quite the treat after his long hard ride. He was listening as Frank asked him a few more questions. The marshal went over the information he was given before embarking on this quest. He was searching for a man but he was not sure if it was the same person that Frank was searching for.

"Agent," Sydney said returning the greeting. "Is he a squirrly feller? This Tim feller?"

The man Sydney was hunting had a nervous disposition about him. Looked like he would shoot an eye out at a moment's notice. Kind of jumpy and twitchy at times. Had no purpose in stealing the horse other than to get away. He was mainly tracking down the prize horse that was stolen. The owner gave Sydney free reign to handle the criminal how he wanted as long as the horse was returned unarmed.

"I'll call," Sydney said looking over his cards. "What brings you here agent?"

"Maybe a might squirrely," Frank said with a small chuckle and shake of his head. "Hard to tell sometimes since none of the ones with bounties seem too relaxed by the time I catch up with 'em. But he's missin' his right pinkie finger. Heard he got it shot it off, but that could just be scuttlebutt."

Farm injuries to fingers weren't terribly uncommon. Frank had broken two of his own fingers back when he was working with young horses a lot. Not quite as glamorous a story as losing one in a shoot out.

"He's missin' a front tooth too... think he might be one and the same?"

Frank looked at his cards, apparently not liking his hand this time around and laid them face down on the table. "Out this time..."

The agent quietly listens along as he considers his hand.

“I’ll call,” Bill chimes in, with confidence.

“Fold,” Dan groans, disappointed.

Faulkner re-evaluates his hand...
“I’ll call.” He takes a swig of his drink and leans back in his chair. The bounty hunter and the marshal get to carry on with their conversation, but after a moment the agent pipes up again: “Neither of your men are magely gunslingers, are they? Heard the magic types are a bit more prevalent up this way.”

Only three of them were staying in this hand for the poker game. His odds were fairly decent but it all came down to what the other two men had for cards. His eyes looked over the other two men still in the game. Neither of them really seem to be indicating what kind of cards they had. Sydney looked back towards his cards again.

"Might be. I only say him from his left side. Could be missing a finger," Sydney said.

Sydney was not certain if the man they were talking about could also use magic or not. The marshal had limited experience when it came to the supernatural. However, he could see that Agent Faulkner would need some extra hands. Dealing with the supernatural was dangerous from what he knew. They were harder to kill or capture. Normal means did not affect them in the same way as a normal human being.

"How do you know if one has magic?"

Sydney's last question was directed at Agent Faulkner. He wanted to know a little more before making a final decision. With a few more hands they could make light work of their hunts.

"Heard one rumor he might have some kinda connection with a cult," Frank said, giving a small shake of his head at the idea of Four-Fingered Tim being some kind of mage. "Can't say I gave it much weight as the feller that said it was a mighty odd stick hisself."

Could that be why the trail had gone cold? Some kind of hocus-pocus bull$#!%?

The thought coincided with the marshal's question about how to spot a magic user and his eyes slid over to Faulkner to ensure he paid close attention to the answer.

((Like I said in PM’s, I’m still fine with it. ))

“A fireball to the face is usually a good indication,” the agent cracks with a wry grin. He momentarily forgets the game (but keeps his hand, he’s not out yet!) in favor of elaborating.

“Magic is just...intrinsic. If you have a lot of ‘pure bloodline’ arrangements, you start seeing weird eye colors or sparks every time they clap. Know a fellow back east with one of those high-brow English families—golden eyes run deep in their family tree.”