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Rohirrim
Jonah stepped into the morning sun from the darkness of the tailor shop. He carefully situated his goggles on his face, hitched up the rifle strap on his shoulder, and went to find some lunch. This was the slaughterhouse district, so a broiled beefsteak or kidney and some drink wouldn't be too hard to find. Spotting the double doors of a saloon, he stepped in and grabbed a seat at the bar. He held up his flask and dropped a penny on the bar. "Refill, please. Whiskey." The bartender silently obliged him, and Jonah took a swig. He winced. Rye, always rye, he thought, what I wouldn't do for some good old bourbon. He let the whiskey coat his mouth then put down a nickel. "Two kidney chops, my good man." The barkeep went into the kitchen to place Jonah's order. Satisfied it was being taken care of, Jonah looked around. The synth-piano played a gay tune, and some women of questionable virtue, as well as several other patrons, were around. He hiked up his bowler hat, letting his bangs fall down, and removed his goggles, putting them on his forehead. He cast a glance at the bounty board hanging at the end of the bar. Maybe, he thought, maybe.
Colonel Mustard
There was a certain charm about the saloon, Lucius couldn't help but reflect. True, it was dingy, run-down and smelt slightly, but it was also a place where he was having a 'lucky streak' in the current poker game and getting away with it, and it left him greatly enamoured towards the place.

"Your move, Duke," the Texan he was sitting opposite him said, grinning as he laid down a pair of Kings. The third man at the table, unmistakably Apache even in the gear of a working cowboy, shook his head.

"No way you're beating that, Englishman," he pronounced grimly.

"Oh, I don't know about that, old boy," Lucius said, laying down his cards on the table. "The four fine fellows I've got on my side might just have a thing or two to say about that, don't you know."

"Four aces?" the Texan said, looking at the cards. "God damn!"

He sighed as he slid the small pile of notes and coins to Lucius.

"Well, Duke," he said. Lucius managed to avoid the glower at the nickname the Texan had chosen for him. "Guess you won that round fair and square. You up for another?"

"Perhaps a bit later, old sport," Lucius said, the words of his adopted accent rolling off the tongue with practised ease. "Right now one feels the need to wet the old whistle, wot."

The Texan gave him a look that seemed to threaten violence, but decided that Lucius, or 'Algernon' as the New Yorker had introduced himself, wasn't worth the effort.

"Yeah, fine," he said, as Lucius stood and collected his winnings. As Lucius left the table, he heard the Texan remark; "And that, my Apache friend, is why you should never underestimate an Englishman."

Lucius took a spot on the bar next to a man who had just placed his bowler hat down, a long rifle sticking up from his back like an antenna.

"Excuse me, barkeep, I don't suppose it would be possible for me to get a gin and tonic, would it? Oh, it would? Jolly good, one of those please."

The drink arrived a few moments later, and Lucius took a sip. He noticed the way Bowler Hat was eyeing up the bounty board on the bar, and for the sake of striking up conversation asked; "You a bounty hunter, by chance? Exciting looking work, that. Never been my cup of tea, mind, but certainly seems thrilling."
Rohirrim
Jonah looked over to the man who had asked him if he was a bounty hunter. "No sir, I'm an aeronautical engineer by trade, a freelancer. I do some bounties occasionally, I like to keep in practice, but it aint my specialty by any means. The name's Jonah Markwit. And you would be...?"

John eyed the man up and down. He had a mask covering half his face, a cybernetic arm, and quite a dapper suit on. Wonder how he got that injury, Jonah thought, pausing to look at the arm and mask again. He took another drink from the flask. "Terrible stuff, rye whiskey. But it's all they got out here. You from England, stranger? Y' here to join the Darwinists?"
Elisabeth Hollow
Morning light streamed through the dark, closed curtains of the saloon's upper rooms. Betty was already awake, combing a three-pronged comb through her curls, careful to leave the curls springy and smooth. Her face was already washed, but makeup free at this point. Her thin cotton undergarments left her pale, tattooed arms naked, a novelty in such a town as Dodge, Kansas. The intricate weavings of celtic knots along her eft arm, twining around the fleshy part of her arm, were joys to most of her Johns.

"They don't make 'em like you, anymore, darling."

Betty turned her head slightly, her full pink lips curling up in a slight smile. Her John was sitting propped up on one elbow, his handlebar mustache twitching in an amused grin. The light from the morning streamed in and lit her face up, giving her the appearance of a fiery halo.

"If I were a religious man, I'd thank the gods for you. But I'll simply marvel at the wonder in front of me."

She laughed, a soft, tinkling sound. She covered her mouth with pale fingertips, a practiced move, her eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Sugar, you flatter me. You know that won't lower your bill."

"Flattery is free, Betty. Come here."

"Sugar, I'm hardly dressed for receiving."

"I say you look glorious as you are."

Her nostrils flared as she bit back a laugh, keeping the chaste smile on her face as she rose. Her cotton garments rustled as her slip fell back to her knees, and the man drank her in as she walked. His hands fell to her ample hips as she straddled him.

"You know the drill, Tobias. The night is over, and the package deal is null until ten tonight. Tell me what you want, and we can get started."

"The usual. You know me, Betty." He pulled a fiver out of his wallet sitting on the nightstand. Betty slid the bill into her bra and grinned at him.

"Of course. I thought maybe you'd want something different this time. Doesn't hurt to ask."

Twenty minutes later, Betty was back to combing her once again unkempt hair. Tobias had headed downstairs to grab a quick drink at the bar before heading back to his job at the local bank. She blew irritated breaths out of her nose as she rearranged the curls on her head, making a neat, but stylishly messy, bun. she allowed a few ringlets to drape her face, then lightly powered her blemish-free face. She applied a red lipstick, giving her the unmistakable appearance of a working woman.

She slid on her dress, a black dress with undertones off dark crimson, lacy ruffles along the long sleeves, and just enough of a dip in the collar to show off slight cleavage of her ample bosom. She sat on the bed and counted her earnings of the evening. She technically owed The Madam half of what she made during the evening, and Tobias often provided her extra money through his wanting attention to his morning problem. She slid the fiver back into her bra, since the Guild accountant was a shrewd and prying man, going through the purses of each member, looking for every half cent.

She had made nearly a hundred dollars, and Betty was not happy. Most of the men were giving their attention to the new women, her only customers of late being her loyal ones. But the novelty would wear off, and they'd come crawling back to her.

Betty walked down the stairs, her graceful steps giving the impression she was nearly floating. A few men stared at her, but most knew who she was and what she did. She had, after all, live here most of her life. Though some of the men had known her before she had a womanly figure, that didn't stop them from approaching her for her services.

The bar was empty, save for a man in a bowler hat next to an impeccably dressed man with cybernetics. As per her profession, Betty eyed the men. The man in a bowler hat had the look and feel of a man with some brains, but no brawn. The other man, however, was impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit.

And cybernetics don't come cheap, She thought wryly. though it was early, and she had errands to run, the extra money in her pocket gave Betty the ability to get herself some food. She was, by no means, poor, but merely hungry. She slid onto a barstool a few places away from the better-dressed man, placing her slender hands in her lap. She smiled coyly at the bartender and ordered a whiskey and food.

She looked over at the well-dressed man and shot him a flirty smile and downed the shot and set it primly down. Maybe she could make a few extra bucks before noon.
Colonel Mustard
"Ah, an aeronaut, I see," Lucius nodded. "I'm Algernon DeMontjoy, by the way, but everyone calls me 'Algy'."

Lucius swirled his drink around after Jonah's comment about rye whiskey.

"Nothing short of a miracle that they've got half-decent gin around here," he said. "In answer to your question, I am indeed from England, but not here for the Darwinists; I, like many visitors to your fine nation, have come here hoping to make my fortune on America's fair shores."

A woman sat down nearby; if he were to guess by her attire and general manner, she was a working girl, no doubt about that. Well, he had some dollars going spare, and he could always treat himself. Even if she wasn't on that job, he might well get a roll in the hay by dint of his accent alone.

"Good morning to you, miss," Lucius said in response to the flirtatious smile she shot him. He made the motion of tipping a hat as he said that, partly in keeping with the character of an English gent and partly to flaunt the symbol of wealth that was of the cybernetic. He nodded to her empty glass. "Still thirsty, perchance?"
Elisabeth Hollow
Her flirty smile widened when he tipped his hat. She coyly batted her lashes and let out a short giggle.

"Why yes," she said in a soft, feminine voice. Her southern drawl was evident, but not overwhelming. Those outside of the south preferred it when the women enunciated properly, but still kept their slight twang. Betty knew how to do that, as practiced as she was at speaking with men. "I could use another shot, sugar."

Betty slid closer to the gentleman, the silky material of her dress rustling against the other fabrics of her outfit. She dipped her chest lower, allowing the Englishmen a better look down her top. She tilted her head slightly and slid the glass smoothly over to his hand, her fingertips resting lightly on the rim.

"Buy me a drink, handsome?"
Rohirrim
Jonah observed all this in a bored way. Whores, he thought, they manage to show up everywhere. HE returned his attention to the bounty board.

Wanted, it said, Dead or Alive: Rodney Razorback, Mutant and Gang Leader. $300 Reward. Additional $10 for Every Dead or Captured Gang Member.

Jonah took a swig of whiskey again. He didn't even wince, he was so lost in thought. He looked over at Algernon. He seems strong...perhaps he would be interested? In any case, he noticed his kidney chops had arrived, and began eating quietly, lost in thought.
Colonel Mustard
Lucius had to admit that the woman's pale skin, red hair and curves were a pleasing combination, and it certainly helped that she had managed to look good without slathering herself in makeup, as was the wont of most ladies of negotiable affection.

"Why, it would be my pleasure," Lucius said with a slight smile. "Barkeep, two whiskies please, there's a good fellow."

The drinks arrived a few moments later, two fresh shots of whatever local brew was being served.

"Might I be so bold as to ask your name, miss...?"
Elisabeth Hollow
The man's English accent was stiff, but charming. She slid her eyes up and down his suit, a slightly lusty look on her face. Her real intentions were slightly more nefarious than her face betrayed. Were she to nab herself a rich John this early in the morning, perhaps she could make him cough up a little more cash, unawares.

Betty wasn't unaccustomed to rich men. Her most loyal Johns were those in power. The mayor, bankers, hell, even a few priests and holy men sought her services when they wanted to see Heaven. As she looked him up and down, she tried to discreetly check for extra pockets on the insides of his jacket. She'd check later. She drank her shot quickly, setting the glass down primly, a small smile, no teeth, on her lips as she held her hand out for him to kiss. She had dabbed a small bit of perfume on her wrists this morning, and she was glad she did.

"Betty," She said in answer to his question. "And you are?"
Colonel Mustard
"Algernon DeMontjoy," Lucius lied, kissing Betty's hand between the knuckles of the index finger and middle. His nostrils caught the faint scent of perfume.

It was hard to tell if the lustful looks Betty was giving him were genuine or not, but if Lucius were to guess he would have to say they were encouragement for him to engage her in business. As enjoyable as this little exchange was, it was nothing more than a game of innuendo to disguise a business transaction, an exchange of coin for carnality, and he would be a naive idiot to think that she wanted anything from him apart from his cash. He had always been a cynic, and his violent treatment that had forced him out of New York had beaten any last scraps of naivete out of him.

"But please, call me Algy."
Elisabeth Hollow
Betty smiled a little wider at him when he kissed her hand gently.

He'll be in for a surprise later when he sees how many tattoos I have. She thought to herself, amused. Though she was mutant and cybernetic-free, she did not have virgin skin. Light green wines twined up her stomach from her nethers, twisting around her navel and cradling her breasts. Colorful pictures on her arms of fish, even a small oasis in the desert, were etched on her arms. They were covered by her long sleeves, though. Most were less surprised by these, and more impressed with the detailed cybernetic bat winks on her shoulderblades, extending to jut above her buttocks. A poem, the words the leaves of a willow tree, graced her left thigh in brown and green ink.

By no means was she, in any way, virginal. And she intended to make that clear.

"Algy," she purred, drawling out his name gently, pronouncing it the way he had, with a twang. "I haven't heard a name like that except from someone who was from nobility. Tell me, Algy," Her voice was smooth as silk as she said his name. "What's a cultured gentleman like yourself doing in Dodge?" She lightly traced the rim of her glass with pale, delicate-looking fingers. She allowed her gaze to linger on his trousers for a second before looking back up to his face. She wanted to close this deal soon. She had errands to run.
Callidus Thorn
Gregor paused as he stepped into the saloon, loitering in the entrance, the pale morning light behind him and the brim of his stetson casting a shadow across his face. He smiled, the cold, grim smile of a predator as he scanned the room, his practised eyes darting from face to face. Saloons like this were where people come to hide, to avoid problems, he'd made good money in the past in places like this, but not today.

He made his way to the bar, his right hand never straying too far from his holster as he walked, making his way to the far end before taking a seat, turning slightly to keep the entrance in sight. The bartender was already waiting for his order as he sat down. "Gimme something to wash the dust outta my throat, then gimme a shot of something worth drinking" Gregor placed his left hand on the bar, the fingers tapping away, while his right hand rested on his leg, covering the holster.

He threw a glance over the others sat at the bar, weighing them up with an experienced eye. A young guy checking out the bounty board, not in the trade, just a look at him gave that away. Too neat, too tidy, with an engineer's rifle slung over his shoulder. Near him was a tin plated dandy. It seemed to Gregor that cybe's only came in two types; those that showed off how basic they were, and those that tried to make 'emselves artistic. Gregor never met a dandy he liked. He was talking to a red-haired harlot. Good looking, reminded him of-. Gregor's mind veered off that thought, and turned his attention to his drinks, knocking back the cheap one and grimacing.

He caught the eye of the guy checking out the bounty board. "Anythin' good up there?"
Rohirrim
Jonah lookedupfrom his food, holding up his index finger as he swallowed. "Not really, although one did catch my eye. There's a mutant gang out in the plains, and they've got a pretty hefty sum on their heads. You a bounty hunter, my good man? Say, what is your name, stranger?"
Callidus Thorn
Gregor snorted contemptuously at the young man's response.

"Amateurs, always chasin' the big money. The name's Gregor Jones, and I've been huntin' men for more'n twenty-five years, and mutants for the last ten. You know how many times I've seen a man take down a gang by himself?"

He stood up and moved down the bar, sitting next to the man and looking at the board for himself. "Hell, it don't even tell you how many're in his gang, could be a half dozen of 'em, could be more. That's why they're payin' well, they're expectin' to have to pay a posse to go after 'em. A man'd have to be mad to take them on alone."

He knocked back his second drink. "Barkeep. One more, for the road." He said, dropping a couple of coins on the bartop.
Rohirrim
Jonah pointedly raised an eyebrow at the man's response. "I said nothing about following through, just looking. I don't know any man in this town, 'cepting you and the man dealing with the whore over there. I'd be madder than a coyote to try for that. In any case, I'm Jonah Markwit, aeronautical engineer, Mr. Jones."
Callidus Thorn
"Sorry fella, seen too many young men with guns chasing a big score go down in a hail o' lead. Mistook you for the type. Glad to see you've got some sense, Mr Markwit." He nodded to the bartender as he set the drink in front of Gregor. “Aeronautics must pay well, to be able to afford such a fine weapon. Didn't think it was a profession that needed a gun like that though, you use it much?”
Colonel Mustard
"What's a cultured gentleman like yourself doing in Dodge?"

"Chasing my fortune," Lucius said. "I'm an investor, and I'm trying to see if there's any money in the railroads here."

He saw the slight hint of impatience in her gaze, and added; "Of course, aside from the railroads there are numerous other...assets one would be willing to invest in."
Rohirrim
"No, sir, not really, but I if an outlaw or two should try for it, this does help to scare 'em off. I've killed around five men and plenty more animals with this. The best part is you don't even gotta buy percussion caps. One steam cartridge'll last you at least a month of use." Jonah took a drink from his flask again. "What's your story, Mr. Jones? I'd be quite interested to hear it."
Callidus Thorn
"Can't say there's much of a tale to tell. Left home young, got into bounty hunting the hard way, and I've spent the last two and a half decades making my way across America. All of it under a banner of "dead or alive." He knocked back his drink, but made no move to rise. When he continued speaking his voice was cold, devoid of emotion. "I've dragged men behind bars, I've led more'n a few to the gallows, I've left more dead men in my wake than I care to remember, and not all of 'em were marks. And all I've got to show for it is what you see here. No thrilling tale here, just a man surviving."

He nodded to the barman, gesturing for another drink. "The road can wait" he muttered to himself.
Elisabeth Hollow
"Of course, aside from the railroads there are numerous other...assets one would be willing to invest in."

Now they were getting down to what Betty was really interested in. Money. She was glad for the bit of spearmint in her toothpaste as she leaned in, a sultry smile in her face. She leaned in close to his left ear and whispered.

"Why don't we discus the assets you're interested in upstairs?" Her fingertips lightly rested on his knee. Were he drunk, she'd be more bold. He seemed sharp, and able to pick up on her signals easily enough. But negotiations with a drunk man and sober man were two different worlds. A sober man was lighter on his feet, and had a sharper mind. Dull minds were useful to Betty.

But she did love a challenge occasionally.
Colonel Mustard
If there was one thing Lucius had learned about Betty, it was that she was sharp, razor sharp, and for that he liked her already. A girl with her looks would have been fine, but there was nothing quite so interesting in a woman as a quick mind and Betty was very interesting indeed.

"That, my dear, sounds like a most intriguing proposition," Lucius said. "And if there has been on thing I've learned in my time, it's never to let an opportunity slip away. Please, lead on."
Elisabeth Hollow
Betty laid a deft hand in his grasp and led "Algy" upstairs. She had a deal with the barkeep, and her rental hours were still in effect as she led the Englishman up the creaky wooden steps. She slid her key into the lock and led him inside. She gave him a flirty grin as she locked the door behind them.

"Now, sugar, the fun can't start yet." She handed him a slip of paper, a certificate from the Prostitute's Guild declaring her disease and mutant free.

"My pedigree, so to speak. I'm as clean as you'll ever find a whore, and I work hard to keep it that way. I provide protection as well as contraception. I'll give you my prices, and we can decide how bad you want to be." She gave him a wink and primly sat on the bed.
Colonel Mustard
If Lucius had to guess, either the certificate was genuine or Betty was as good at forgery as he was. He weighed those odds against each other and decided that they were much more in favour of her being genuine than her being a forger with some kind of excessively convoluted plan.

"All looks to be in order," he said, habitually giving it a longer inspection than most other customers would. "So how much would I have to pay for the unique privilege of sharing a bed with a beauty such as yourself?"
Elisabeth Hollow
Unique privilege, indeed. She thought. She stood up, her curls falling neatly from her bun as she pulled pins from it. They framed her face, the sunlight giving them a fiery shine.

"Well," she purred, running her hands up his arms and giving his shoulders a light squeeze, "Depends on what you like. And the more you give me, the better I am. Starting at five for oral, ten for full intercourse. You tell me what you want, and if you like things weird, that costs extra. I absolutely don't do bodily fluids, sugar." She slid her hands around his waist andfelt for pockets lightly.

Ah, there we are. She felt the discreet seam of a hidden pocket. She gave him a sweet smile and let her hand travel lower and brush him.

"What do you say, handsome? We got a deal?"
Colonel Mustard
"I believe we do. Ten dollars should adequately cover what I have in mind," Lucius said, producing the note and laying it on the counter by the bed. In a movement halfway between a simple spin and the rotation of a waltz, he turned her around so her back was facing him. "Now, my dear, as exquisite a sight as you are, I can certainly think of a way to improve such a view."

With deft fingers both organic and mechanical, he set about unlacing the back of the black dress that Betty wore, loosening the garment off. He placed a kiss on her neck as Betty obligingly shucked it off (he was surprised at how easily it was removed, but then again it may well have been tailored for such a thing, considering her line of work).

For a few moments he halted at what he saw. Betty's skin was far from unblemished, as he had suspected, instead decorated with an extensive web of tattoos. Across her arms were a multitude of designs, leaping fish and a desert oasis among other things, but the most impressive were the pair of mechanical wings stretching down her back, inked canvas stretching between faux-metallic struts.

"My word," Lucius said after an appreciative intake of breath. "You are a walking work of art."

He placed her down on the bed and stripped off his own jacket. A few undone buttons was enough to remove his shirt, exposing his bare chest and the ornamented metal plating over his right shoulder, moving above Betty, and devoted some time and energy towards the appreciation of art.
Elisabeth Hollow
Betty waited until the breathy sounds coming from the Englishman slowed significantly. Once the steady breathing had carried on for a few minutes, she quietly slid out of the bed on shaky legs. She hadn't expected much from him, but a man's stamina seemed to be better in the mornings. Her dress rustled as she slid it on and silently snapped her orset into place. He was insistent on seeing all of her, though some men thought that her leaving her corset on during was ideal.

She bent low and rifled through his trouser pockets, finding his wallet. She watched his sleeping form carefully as she pulled a ten and fiver note from his wallet, silently cheering her good fortune. She noticed he had change and a few dollar bills, and figured this was pocket change for him. He still had plenty to eat for the rest of the week, even if it wasn't.

She tucked all the bills into her top and finished pinning her hair. She slid her boots on, and with a soft click the door shut, and she was on her way out the saloon. She passed the young man from earlier, joined by another man. She shot the rougher looking man a wink as she passed, heading out the door, swaying her hips.

She walked down the road, earning a few nods from the men, both respectful and less-inviting, and looks from the wives and widows of the town. To the women, she was a hooker. A common whore. One who sold her body for the sinful delights of the flesh. For the men, she was a gateway to the Divine. For herself, she was trying to survive.

She took a left turn around a brick building to set her eyes on a white, wooden building three stories high. A picket fence surrounded the property around the acre of land covered in green grass. She pushed open the gate and squinted her eyes against the sun reflecting off the red-shingled roof of the building. She went inside after shutting the gate.

Her boots clicked softly against the cherry hardwood floors, and a plump, balding man looked at her over thick glasses. He was seating at a whit desk, the oak showing through the cracks of the aged paint. His desk was impeccably maintained, a large, neat stack of papers to his left, a small, similarly neat stack in front of him, and files in brown folders to his left. He seemed to have been flipping through them when Betty arrived.

"Good morning, Miss Bridges." He said, his reedy voice congested with a slight bit of phlegm. "Late again, I see. Like clockwork. Albeit, less punctual like clockwork. What was it this time?"

"There was traffic." Betty's voice lost the sweet, feminine sound she used with her Johns. She set her purse down on his desk, and he pulled out the contents, naming each item.

"Three throwing knives, two mint candies, toothbrush, mint leaves for chewing, hair pins, and..."after a few moments, he finished counting the money. "Ninety-three dollars. Not your usual amount, Miss Bridges. We're not skimming from the company collections, are we?"

"Slow night. And I know who took all my business, too. Those new girls. You mark my words, they'll show up dead in a ditch before they hit eighteen, the way they conduct their business. Gettin' drunk and partyin' all night, with four of 'em in a bed with one man. That ain't no way to conduct yourself! You need class. Dignity."

"Dignity for a hooker?" The man wheezed a laugh. "I can see the bills peeping from the clefts of your breasts, Miss Bridges."

Betty sheepishly handed over the ten and fiver notes, her brows set low. "Times are tough, Bill."

"I've been here for-"

"-over twenty years, and no on'es had the audacity to call me Bill." She finished with him. "I know. Just count the money, so I can go shopping."

Bill obliged, muttering not very quietly about his name being "William, not some back-water, bull-roping dandy name like Bill," and gave her her share. She sighed at the forty dollars and change and put it in her purse. She thanked Bill and went upstairs of the curiously empty house. She went to her quarters and changed into a similar dress as the one before, but much lighter in thread, and more breezy. She held open an umbrella to shade herself and walked back to town, a basked hanging from the rook of her arm.
Callidus Thorn
Gregor watched the harlot walk out, the ghost of a smile just visible in his features. Then finished his drink, his sixth or seventh, he'd stopped counting. "To hell with this town" he muttered to himself as he rose, without a trace of wobble, and made his way to the exit.
Rohirrim
Jonah watched the bounty hunter leave. "Safe travels." He made a small effort to wave, but just couldn't bring himself to care about the old, scarred vagabond, so he merely raised his open hand. He probably works both sides of the law, anyway, Jonah thought.

He noticed the woman Algernon had been with walk out. And so the rich get poorer, and the poor get richer. Odd like that, capitalism. He turned his attention to his plate, empty except for some pieces of meat and onion. He rapped a penny on the edge, catching the barkeep's attention. "That'll be all for now. I'm going to stick around for a while, if that's alright." The bartender, eyeing the empty saloon, nodded, and went back to cleaning glasses with a rag.
Colonel Mustard
Lucius awoke with a quiet snort, and glanced around at the unfamiliar hotel room he was lying in the bed of. He blinked a few times, and getting his bearings, and then he remembered. Certainly, he had had worse circumstances for waking up in unfamiliar rooms, and as he pulled on his shirt and jacket he couldn't help but feel a little pleased with himself. He'd have to engage Betty's services again in the future.

He was a little thirsty, and decided that he might as well head downstairs to fix himself a drink. Jonah was still at the bar as he arrived.

"Good day," Lucius said to him cheerfully. "Excuse me, barkeep."

"Whaddya want, pal?"

"Another G&T, if you'd be so good," Lucius said, opening his wallet for the cash. He frowned, shuffling through the pockets. He pulled it open fully and peered in; there was some money still in there, but fifteen dollars had disappeared.

"That thieving little bitch!"
Callidus Thorn
Percival Bradshaw stumbled into the saloon, muttering to himself, his mechanical left hand tapping a nevous rhythym against his ill-fitting steel breastplate. He took a seat at the bar, oblivious to anyone else there, and pulled out a pocketwatch on a chain from somewhere behind his breastplate. He glanced at it briefly, then glanced a second time, realizing that it had stopped. He immediately reached into one of the numerous pouches rivieted to his toolbelt, retrieving a roll of cloth, which he unrolled on the bar, revealing a selection of small tools, and set to work.

He was so engrossed with this, muttering to himself as he worked, that the bartender had to clear his throat several times to get his attention. Looking up at the barman, seemingly concerned, Percival began speaking rapidly. "That sounds like a bit of a cough you've got there, my good man. Oh? Sorry, I do get distracted by my work easily, or I did, I can't really say I've got anywork anymore. Oh, yes, of course, ermm, whiskey." The bartender took a moment or two to catch up to Percival's rapid speech, bfore turning to get him his drink, secretly hoping that it would be the only one he'd ask for.

Percival didn't even notice it's arrival, having returned his attention once more to his watch, bringing the mechanical array of lenses on his hat to bear, seating them over his right eye. "Hmm, looks like I'm going to have to pull you apart, see how that spring's holding up" As he muttered to himself his hands matched words to action, his mechanical hand catching the light as he worked, occasionally rotating fully at the wrist, an unconscious habit he'd picked up in the years he'd had it. "Yes, there we are" He pulled out the broken spring and began rifling through his pouches, eventually coming up with a spare, deftly fitting it into place before reassembling the watch. He then pulled a second pocketwatch from under his breastplate, only to find that one had stopped also. "Damn, I could've sworn I wound this this morning." He then proceeded to wind it before digging out yet another pocketwatch, this one working, and set the times on the other two, before returning them all to their various locations beneath the breastplate.

Putting away the roll of tools, he dug out another, and began tinkering with his mechanical arm, muttering to himself about it "needing adjusting".
Rohirrim
Jonah watched this almost farcical episode unfold. After Algernon expressed his disappointment at being picked by the whore, another British man arrived. In...armor? God almighty, this one had a mechanical arm too! Before he asked if they were both going to some sort of convention, he decided that was probably going to make Algernon angrier.

Turning to the new arrival, he cleared his throat, hoping to grab his attention. "Your...drink has arrived...if you didn't notice..."
Callidus Thorn
Percival almost started when he heard the voice. He'd been completely lost in his tinkering, as per usual, and the voice had shattered his focus. He turned towards the speaker, finding him to be a pale young man with a steam carbine slung over his shoulder. "Hmm? Oh, yes, thank you for reminding me." He began closing the access panel on his arm and putting away his tools. "Never can seem to get that arm right. Built it myself you know, or rather I rebuilt it, replaced the one they gave me after the accident one piece at a time. Sorry, I'm rambling, I've been told I do that, nervous habit I suppose. I'm Percival, Percival Bradshaw. Frightful name isn't it? Percival, of all things. I sometimes think my father had a grudge against me from the start. Sorry, there I go again, as I said, I have a tendency to do that." He extended his flesh-and-blood hand to the gnetleman. "Everyone always calls me Bradshaw, thankfully. And you are?"
Rohirrim
Jonah limply shook the Percival's hand. "I'm Jonah Markwit, and the man fuming over there is Algernon Demontjoy. I expect he'll want to go find the whore who frisked him. He doesn't seem a man to trifle with."

Jonah lifted the flask to drink, then winced at the smell. "Railroad accident, eh? I worked with Union Pacific for a while. I'm an aeronautical engineer, you see."
Callidus Thorn
At the mention of the man fuming, Percival cast an eye in his direction, seeing the anger virtually radiating from the well dressed man. "Yes, he certainly doesn't seem like someone I'd like to get angry. He must have the constitution of an ox to suvive enough surgery for all those cybernetics. Frisked by a whore you say? Can't say I've ever trusted their kind, more fool him." He turned back to Jonah. "Yes, a railroad accident, or at least a steam engine accident. I was tinkering with a way to increase the power and something gave out. I really thought they'd have a margin of error on the tolerances but apparently not. Something went bang and I woke up with a mechanical arm. I never did find out what it was that went wrong." His eyes seemed to drift off slightly, as if looking into the past for a moment, then returned. "An aeronautical engineer you say? That sounds interesting, you spent much time up in those zeppelins? I've never been able to get near them, too likely to try and tinker with something. You'd be amazed how frequently a man can lose his job just for trying to improve things."

He knocked back his drink, eyes widening slightly at the coarse liquor. "So what brings a aeronautics engineer to Dodge? I wouldn't have thought there to be much call for one in a town like this, those zeppelins tend to stick to the cities."
Rohirrim
"Indeed, they do, for the most part. The ones that service Dodge are cattle wagons, either for live or butchered cargo. I've been contracted by a man who wants to get in on that business, and his engines need refitting, to compensate for the heavy load."

"But that's really quite boring. You say you're a tinkerer, then? Is that...cuirass, yes, that's it...is that anything special, or just some extra...protection?
Callidus Thorn
Percival looked down at his breastplate for a moment, before rapping his metal knuckles off it. "This? It's just a breastplate, only protects my front. I figured after I lost my arm I needed to be more careful. I found an older combat automaton, something inside it had snapped or sheared, and the mechanism tore itself apart. The shell was in good shape though, so I salvaged this from it. Rigged up a harness of sorts so I could wear it, and left it at that. Damn thing weighs too much as it is for me to consider modifying it though, so it's just something to protect me from myself."

He signalled the bartender for another drink, then turned back to face Jonah and gestured towards his weapons. "Now these on the other hand, these are what I tinker with mostly. They're my protection from everything else."
Colonel Mustard
Grumbling and cursing to himself, anger meaning he could barely maintain his accent, Lucius managed to fish out just enough to pay for his drink and slammed it on the bar. Driven more by rage than thirst, he swigged it down and placed it on the bar.

He glanced around the room, gaze alight on Jonah. He was talking with some man with a bionic and a breastplate but Lucius wasn't particularly bothered by that.

"Hey, you," he said. He caught himself as he nearly slipped into his New York accent, and cleared his throat. "You there; did you see where that little ginger strumpet ran off to?"
Rohirrim
"Let's see..." Jonah's analytic mind went to work. "It's around midday, which means that's the end of the morning rush...and she seemed to be keeping some for herself...I'd say she's gone to the Guild to pay her dues."

Jonah's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of shouts and gunfire. "Jesus!", he exclaimed, standing up and taking the carbine off his shoulder. "What the Hell was that?!"
Callidus Thorn
Percival started as Jonah leapt to his feet and grabbed his carbine. Percival's mind had wandered to tinkering as he gestured to his weapons, and so he'd missed the shouts and gunfire that Jonah had heard. Snapping out of it, he pulled himself to his feet, checking his breastplate was securely in place, and drew his rifle, checking that it was fully loaded, praying that he wouldn't have to use it.

"What in Tesla's name is going on out there?" He asked no-one in particular, likely the only reason he didn't start rambling again.
Colonel Mustard
Lucius was snapped out of his irritation by the sound of gunshots cracking through Dodge, thoughts of retribution pushed to one side by the sound of weapons fire and screaming. He sniffed; there was the faint scent of smoke in the air.

"Unless I'm very much mistaken," he said to Jonah, in response to his question. "That's trouble."
Elisabeth Hollow
Betty strolled through the midday sun casually, glancing at passer-bys with little interest. She was off the clock, so to speak, and her charms were to be bought. No flirtatious glances were shot, and her face was kept smooth and uninterested as she bought her groceries. Red apples, a small jar of honey and preserves as well as mints and a bit of candy. She idly bit into one of the apples as she stopped in front of a dress shop, looking into the window. She watched the people in the reflection as she pretended to window shop.

A few men dressed in dark clothing, faded black jeans and dark denim shirts with dark hats or handkerchiefs on their heads, strolled by. Betty had counted eight before she saw one of them draw a gun and aim it her way. She ducked and rolled, screaming as she did so, the glass shattering into hundreds of small pieces. It clattered onto the stone ground, and she heard a cackle.

"You missed a whore! How did you-"

Another shot rang out, and Betty didn't look to see where it had come from. The square erupted into chaos, shots ringing out freely and screams of women and men alike were heard. A bullet ricocheted off the pavement near her feet, and Betty ran. She dove behind a building and leaned against the brick wall, panting heavily. She shrieked when someone grabbed her arm roughly. She swiveled her head to see a man in a similar dress as the bandits, grinning behind a black handkerchief over his mouth.

"Well well, lookie what we got here. You sure are perty." His hands roamed as he kept her pinned by her throat against the wall. Anger flashed in Betty's eyes.

"You could never afford me." She spat in his face, and received a slap in return. She gasped and held her face.

"I'll teach you some respect for your betters, bitch!" He slapped her again, this time knocking her to the ground. Betty cried out and held her face.

"I like it when they're on they're hands and knees." The bandit said before kicking Betty in the stomach. She grunted and rolled over, coughing. In a flash he was on top of her, pinning her down, trying to strip her. Betty fought, reaching for her purse. He suddenly reached beneath her skirt and tried to rip her underwear off, and Betty saw a flash of metal strapped to her thigh. She leaned up and grabbed it and sunk it between the bones in his ribcage, letting out a screech of rage. The bandit yelled in pain and punched her, hitting her left cheek. He pulled out the knife, panting.

"You cu...you cu..." He fell over with a groan, and Betty grabbed her knife from his hands and wiped it on his shirt. Shots continued to ring out and she smelled something burning. She held her stomah and walked cautiously along the back alleys, hoping to remain unseen.
Rohirrim
Jonah's face hardened. "We need to move. Now." He put on his hat and goggles, cocked his rifle, and leaned out of the saloon, sweeping the market square with his rifle.

He spotted the whore who had ministered to Algernon earlier. "You! Come on, we have to get out of here." He looked back at the saloon. "You too, fellas. I'm pretty sure some bandits are raiding the town as of now, and the smartest thing would be to leave the raiders to raiding, rather than become the raidees."

He turned to the woman. "What did you see?"
Elisabeth Hollow
Betty held her stomach and straightened as best as she could.

"Eight men strolled in and shot. They just shot. They're wearing dark clothing from head to toe. I killed one in that alley." She pointed behind her.
Rohirrim
Jonah nodded, his jaw tightening. "Good job. You live here, where's the quickest way outta this town? I think the tinker and myself have burners, so we can each take someone else. Care to join us?"
Elisabeth Hollow
Betty hesitated for only a half second. She had nothing here besides loyal clientele. Her Guildmates were nothing but coworkers and competition. Her only concern was for old Bill.

"Yeah. I'm comin'. The quickest way is-" She shrieked when a bullet hit the barrel she was standing near.
Rohirrim
"[censored]-a-doodle-doo!" Jonah turned the corner where a black-clad man was standing. He fired several rounds his way with a hiss. The clutched his leg as blood spurted from, it, and Jonah finished him off as he tried to jump behind a barrel.

"Do you have anyone here you need to make sure gets out? Family, friends, anything?", Jonah asked as he hastily reloaded.
Elisabeth Hollow
"None. Just me." Betty glanced around hastily.
Callidus Thorn
Percival followed Jonah, figuring that he did have a point. They'd barely got out of the saloon before he started tp regret that. They'd apparently met the whore that Algernon had been shouting about earlier, and Jonah seemed rather intent on presenting himself in a good light. Shaking his head, he turned to cover their backs while Jonah reloaded.

The turn saved his life.

A couple of bullets struck showers of sparks from his breastplate in quick succession, making Pecival stagger backwards a step. The bandit watched on, stunned, as his victim failed to die. "Hahah!! It is bulletproof!!" Percival shouted triumphantly, bringing his rifle to bear and fired a round from both barrels, punching the bandit off his feet. As he watched the bandit spin slightly as he fell, Percival glanced down at his rifle and frowned. "Hmm, pulls a little to the left, I'll have to do something about that."

"Might I suggest we run now and talk later? This is neither the time nor place for a conversation." He shouted over his shoulder at Jonah and the whore.
Colonel Mustard
They ran into the damn whore not long after they bolted from the tavern, but Lucius' finely-honed survival instincts told him to leave that issue for later and instead make sure that they made it out of this sudden attack. Bandits appeared, and the others were much quicker on the draw than he was, dealing with them even as he fumbled for his revolver, where it was tucked into his jacket.

Another figure appeared in his field of vision, the long, straight shadow of a rifle in hands, and Lucius managed to yank his revolver from its holster with his left hand and aim it at the figure. There was a distant bang.

His attempt to squeeze the trigger failed. For some reason, his arm had stopped responding to the mental commands sent across his nervous system. Fingers turned limp, as did the rest of the limb, dropping like rope slack.

There was something hot and damp clogging and spreading around his neck, and he realised that he couldn't breath properly.

"Well, [censored]," he muttered, as his knees buckled beneath him. He collapsed to the ground, bionic arm twitching sporadically, a pool of red spreadng from the clean, neatly-punched bullet hole in his throat.
Callidus Thorn
Percival flinched as something wet and warm splashed across the right side of his face, turning to see Algernon swear as he crumpled to the ground. "Holy [censored]! They killed him! They killed Algernon" He shreiked, turning towards the rifleman, switching his own rifle over to single barrel firing. He fired every shot left in it, ten shots ringing out, the clockwork mechansim screaming as it fought to match the firing rate as Percival unleashed a hail of lead. On the eighth shot the mechanism broke, springs and cogs unable to handle such vigorous use, and Percival's final two shots went wild. The rifleman went down, and Percival slung the broken rifle over his shoulder and drew his revolver from the bandoleer across his chest.

"They're everywhere! Run!" He shouted, a wild gleam in his eyes.
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