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

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.”

((This would be a good spot to jump in, Chessy. All they are doing is talking with each other and getting to know each other. It would be a simple and easy task to get your character involved.))

Sydney gave a small chuckle at the first simple explanation. A fireball would be a good sign that someone was magical. The other information was rather interesting. He never would have thought that strange eye colors would be an indicator. However, the more he thought about it the more it made sense. Sydney could not recall the eye color of any of the fellers he hunted down. Maybe he had more experience with magic than he realized.

Was it possible all three of them were searching for the same man. Sydney only had a few minor clues to go off from. The other two men had a clearer image in the mind of the person they were hunting. Sydney thought if the three of them worked together their odds were improve greatly. The idea was appealing more and more to him as he thought about it. He would have to bring up the idea after the hand was finished.

"I'll keep my eye open next time. What did these magic gunslinger fellers do?"

((Oki doki))

Cheshire or "Chessy" Hunter was new in town. Just arrived the night before actually. There seemed to be a lot of new people in town lately. What made Saltypeak so popular all of a sudden? Chessy didn´t know these other people. He wasn´t very familiar with anyone here in fact. He had arrived in the middle of the night, which - as a stranger - was no bad idea. Less eyes on ya that way. And less eyes on him. Didn´t have to worry about chit-chatter or feeling watched as he wandered to his room. He had gotten a bit of sleep, but eventually had to go out as he couldn´t stay in his room all day. That would be suspicious. Though Cheshire didn´t deal in suspicious or shady business he himself was odd and often attracted attention for it. Folks said he spoke weird. That he spoke in riddles and it was like a foreign language. He was weird. Cuckoo as they said. But for whatever reason Chessy wandered silently into the bar/saloon, where our other strangers were, their table fairly close to the door. Close enough that they would notice him.

He was fairly small compared to them, perhaps a bit shorter than the average height. His skin was pale, he had vibrant blue eyes, that seemed almost green. He had shaggy dark hair that sometimes swept over his eye. It looked like it hadn´t known the touch of a brush in many moons yet at the same time it was soft and gentle. He was wearing a white shirt and a dark-brown vest. From his vest ran a little chain from a pocket-watch. Chessy looked around the room, a bit nervous perhaps. He looked like he was in his early- to mid-twenties. He walked in further so as to not stand in the way and sort of put himself in a corner a bit. He had one hand in his pocket and the other scratching the back of his head.

It was out of habit that Frank's eyes flicked toward the door as it swung open again. He looked first toward the newcomer's hands... but the man's pinkie finger looked to be intact, so this wasn't Four-Fingered Tim.

The next place for the bounty hunter's habitual gaze to go was the forearm, but that was covered by the white shirt. So he couldn't see if there was the tell-tale tattoo of the snake wrapped around the six-shooter. Odds were low anyway. Normally, that would have been the end of his interest in the man. But it was his demeanor that struck Frank as potentially troubling. After a decade of tracking down bounties, he'd gotten pretty good at picking up on the signs of a nervous person. And nervous people tended to do some dumb or dangerous things.

He noted the hand in the man's pocket. Was there a derringer in that pocket, perhaps? The way he'd gone to stand toward a corner made it seem like he was waiting for something. Maybe another person. Maybe to steel himself for something.

"Speakin' of odd sticks and squirrely fellers..." Frank said to the marshal and the agent, gesturing with only the slightest tilt of his hat toward Cheshire.

“What do they not do?” Faulkner humors the question with one of his own. “Mr. Efferson’s lookin’ for someone in particular, but I’m on somethin’ of a monster hunting, Good Will tour for the government...”

The agent trails off as he catches Frank’s remark. His eyes trail over to the corner Chessy has taken for himself. The agent eyes the nervous fellow with natural attentiveness.

“Huh, he looks like the sort of man who’ll whack a stablehand with a jammed gun in a panic, just to steal a horse.”

His horse was as black as the night he rode in on. A large framed man unmounted and tied his trail worn horse to a hitchin post. His first instinct was to head over to the saloon and get a drink. But he wasn't in the mood for questions. Still, he figured he would atleast see how busy the place was as he headed down the street, and eventually stepped up onto the porch with as little noise as possible.

When Cole passed by the door and paused to look inside, he noticed a full house of different people. One nervous fella seemed to have some attention. Maybe then people would just let him drink and get a room. Cole pushed the door open and stepped inside. He kept his hat down and eyes forward as he made his way to the far end of the bar and ordered a whiskey. When he took the glass in his hand, the strange mark on his guns grip was shown for a split second before his duster covered it back up. He hoped it would go unnoticed.

Sydney looked over his cards. He had a good poker hand but tried to keep a neutral expression on his face. He could blow his fun The others were drawn towards the doorway as the saloon doors were opened. Sydney glanced towards the side as the first newcomer entered the saloon. He did seem like a squirrely feller. Kind of like he was nervous about something. The marshal watched the new male for a good minute or so while the card game continued on.

"What brings ya to Saltypeak, stranger?" Sydney asked Chessy.

Sydney returned his gaze to the card game. Only a few minutes went by before the door opened again. This town was getting a lot of new faces. He furrowed his brow lightly and looked towards Frank. He seemed to know the most about the town. Sydney pointed towards the doors with his thumb.

"It normal to get this many new fellers?"

Sydney looked over the newest arrival. He also looked rather suspicious. The sight of the guns did not escape his attention but the mark was unknown to Sydney. His eyes followed the newest male as he ordered his drink and looked around the pub.

"You looking for trouble, mister?" Sydney directed this question towards Cole.

Cole had barely gotten his whiskey when he heard a man ask him if he was lookin for trouble. "Barkeep, I also need a room." Cole tipped his drink back and downed the whiskey before paying for it and his room. Cole stood up after a minute and began to head to his room, but paused by the poker table to answer the mans question.

"I ain't lookin for trouble mister, unless it finds me first. Names Cole. I Heard rumors on the trail bout some strange howlin and some sorta beast round these parts. Figured that was more entertaining than chasin bandits and outlaws. Y'all hear of anything strange round here lately? "

Cole had managed to keep his right hand and gun covered for now. He figured he would have to show what it was at some point, but not until the time was right.