Sandfall: Hope (rp)

[Zwark0]

Night - Claude Dallas North's Tavern (Day One)


Charles let the last few drops of Ale drop from his glass before slamming it down in a tame and inconspicuous fashion.
"Best go check the horses.." He thought to himself, leaving the tavern in boredom. Sure enough, the two reliable animals stood wearily with heads down and closed eyes. Giving a tired yawn himself, Charles sluggishly crawled into his small cart. Sitting up against a wall, he pulled out his rifle from under a blanket. Running his hands up and down the hand crafted, wooden body of the weapon, He performed a quick inspection of the sights before returning it to it's exiled resting place. Charles was now indecisive about whether to return to the tavern or to get some needed sleep. It wasn't usual for him to crave more alcohol, but for some reason tonight was different.

Re-entering the tavern, Charles decided to take a seat at one of the small tables rather than at the bar. After a few moments of solitary thoughts, a stranger dropped into the seat across from him. The man had dry and untamed hair accompanied by a large scruffy beard. He wore a strange coloured beanie and his glovelettes covered hand gripped tightly around his large glass of Ale. But the most noticeable trait was that his left eyelid bore the mark of an exile, causing the eye that lay beneath to be permanently buried from the world. Noticing he shared his table with another, the man turned his chair to face Charles.

"Haven't seen you round these parts 'fore!" Grunted the man in a grisly and rough tone.
"This is my first time in Caste." Charles replied hesitantly
"Well, welcome to ya then!" The man blurted, as he extended his right hand across the table. Charles accepted the greeting and took the stranger's hand with a firm grip.
"Me names Dilkons son.." said he, completing the shaking motion and drawing his hand back. "Inventor, ex-teacher and proud exile....and who might you be?"
"My name is Charles Harris."
"Well, Charles, what might it be that you do for a livin'?"
"I don't exactly have a job but I do have skills in the way of hunting and gun smithery"
"Guns ya say?" Dilkons said with a tone of intrest.
"Yeah, specialise in rifles"
"Well, as it seems, 'fore me whole exile ordeal, I was workin' on a new type of handgun"
"Handgun?" Charles questioned. "What, like a revolver?"
"Yes, yes, but different.." He suddenly stopped, overcoming his drunkenness momentarily; or at least long enough to realise that the information swirling on his tongue was not lightly discussed. With that, he hastily changed the subject, leaving an itching curiosity in Charles' brain.

 

[Anonymous]

Marcel listened in on the conversation with mild interest. Proud exile.

It didn't really prove anything. They could easily be people hired to say that kind of thing, especially when they said it so easily. It would be easy enough to give people money to claim to be exiles and report anyone who came out with 'yes, me too'.

She took another sip, she wasn't sure she liked whiskey this strong. She was too used to it being watered down. At least she knew now.

Getting out of the city would be troublesome. Getting in had been easy enough, she had gone in with a large crowd and didn't look suspicious, the guards didn't have time to check everyone because it was the middle of the day and very busy. They didn't check girls nearly as often and it helped a lot that she was small and didn't look dangerous.

Getting out, though, was a different matter. Barring forcing her way through and hoping not to get shot there was no real way she could do it until morning. There would be less people leaving the city at night, pretty much no-one leaving in large enough groups to avoid being checked.

Oh well, she decided, taking another sip, she'd work it out once the glass was empty.

 

[Spoo]

It certainly wasn't a time for Avery to be in Claude's tavern, but this was his best bet for finding the "Obsidian Slate" character.  Of course, he highly doubted that anyone would freely carry around a gigantic rifle.  Either way, th3e night was young, and this whiskey was strong, just the way Avery liked it. 

'Heh, I could sit here all night lookin' for this Slate guy'  He thought.  Obviously, the whiskey was getting to him, and he didn't realize that he didn't have all night.  Somehow, he was just entranced by the conversations and the people in the bar, most of them exiles, hardened by the desert...and possibly the ale.

Taking another sip, Avery snapped back into his right mind.  Leave it to the Garter men to have a hollow leg.  Avery immediately got up from his stool and left the bar, wanting to get out of Caste before nightfall.  He could afford a room in an inn, as the last month of bounty hunting had been prosperous, but he wanted to save up for other things.

'Ah, to hell with it,' He thought, 'I'll stay the night.'  Still in the drunken haze...

 

[Despain]

Midight - Claude Dallas North's Tavern (Day One/Two)

The night had been busy, but so far uneventful. It was getting later, though, and it was almost that time of night.  Claude had had his eye on a big hairy guy sitting alone at a small table in the corner. So far the man had been relatively quiet and Claude wasn't the kind of man to judge people based on looks, but there was something about him that didn't sit right with the tavern owner. It was in the man's eyes, not his bulk, and the way he constantly scanned the crowd in the place.

Didn't take too much longer before his suspicions were confirmed.

It was around midnight, when the tavern was closed off except for the folks who were getting a room for the night. Things were quieting down, as they usually did around this hour on busy nights, and Claude had dismissed his helpers. The big guy in the corner didn't show any indication that he was going to leave, and he hadn't rented a bed for the night. Claude sighed and heaved himself out behind the bar, picking up an empty mug off of a table as he walked towards the man.

"Getting a room or taking your leave?"

The man said nothing and continued staring past the tavern owner, lifted his mug to his lips and took a slow sip. The foam fizzled on his black mustache as he lowered it back to the table.

"It's closing time, hoss, if you can't tell," Claude said. He tapped his own mug on the wooden surface. "You hear me, friend?"

"I'm not your friend."

"So I can assume you'll be leaving then?"

"Y'all can assume whatever you want. I'm waiting."

"For what?"

"For someone."

"For who?"

At that moment, the double saloon-doors to the tavern swung open. Claude heard customers yelling, and turned around to see panic. People were jumping out of their seats and stumbling in their haste to leave the room. A number of nobility soldiers had forced their way into the building, holding revolvers and pointing them at various customers. After them, General Smith Tota stepped calmly through the door, his stout frame suddenly seeming very imposing. The general looked at Claude and nodded.

Claude turned around to face the man -- and was greeted by the hollow end of a revolver pointed at his nose.

"Waiting for them... friend."

 

[Anonymous]

Midnight - Claude Dallas North's Tavern (Day One/Two)

The stormchaser was awoken from her groggy half-sleep at the table by someone clambering, panicked, over her table in an attempt to get out of the bar as quickly as possible. She staggered backward in shock, somehow managing not to trip over her stool, before she realized the gravity of the situation.

Marcel slowly moved back but found herself against a wall. Out of habit she almost reached for the bundle of thick leather straps by her feet to reach for harpact until the movement got a gun trained on her and she froze, biting her lip. If they were going to do checks now she was dead but at least if she did nothing to provoke attack she wouldn’t be killed immediately.

Quickly scanning the bar to assess the situation she realized that the owner seemed easily as surprised as everyone else. So it hadn’t been a trap after all, at least not one that the owner knew about. Still, it wasn’t wise to flaunt being an exile as much as some had been within the city walls, it was likely that kind of thing that had led to this. So much for coming inside the walls being worth it.

She forced herself to breathe slowly, clenching her fists on instinct. She knew full well that attacking any of the soldiers wouldn’t end well for her but at the same time she couldn’t just let herself be arrested, she could be killed for being within the walls. For now she resisted the temptation to start any unnecessary conflict and watched what happened, trying to keep a close eye on the movement of all of the soldiers.

 

[So fist]

Day one Late Evening

Silas strolled through the doorway in his usual candor: careful dignified steps, hat cradled neatly under his arm, and his other hand tucked slightly under his coat.  He was a man obsessed with perception, never one to allow others their own conclusions on him.  Every behavior and style of his manner he had actively manufactured to appear as a man of disciplined power.  His suit was untouched by the abrasive fingers of the desert despite his travels.  His hair was managed into a neatly defined part.  Even the manner he carried himself, an aristocratic gait, commanded that impression of masterdom.

He was followed by a train of three unkempt men by comparison.  Desert worn cowboys in flannel and riding chaps. Their hats were hung on their backs by their chinstraps.  Their eyes sunken and weary from relentless travel across the dunes.  Their faces were worn into a gruff shadowy fade of whiskers.  They were a living cliché of the sand-beaten desperados that dwell in the badlands of Arizca.  As Silas made his way toward the table before Jeffrey's bed, his entourage spread itself neatly across the room.  Each occupying their own firing lane. 

As was his nature Silas carefully placed his hat on the table next to the host's abandoned plate.  The quiet that had conquered the room since Silas' entry was disturbed abruptly by the harsh grating of sliding wood, as he pulled his chair before Jeffrey who now sat up against the wall watching each measured step.  Silas sat down and leaned toward Jeffrey as a boss to a subordinate.

“Long time, eh?â€

 

[Grathea]

Midnight - Claude Dallas North's Tavern (Day One/Day Two)

Virgil was still wide awake, even though he'd decided to spend the night, and there was precious little of that left. He'd been talking casually (but not too casually, of course) with a couple of the other patrons. Despite the whiskey being drunk around him, Virgil had stuck to water. It was good, and didn't dull his senses, and Tezcacoatl knew he needed that around now, stuck in a city he knew almost nothing about where a mistake could be fatal.

The large man with whom Virgil had been chatting a little while ago suddenly got up. Virgil followed him out of the corner of his eyes, and slowly scanned the room - there was a shot glass not too far away that might come in handy. Grabbing it, Virgil carefully loaded it into his pistol, cocking the clumsy oversized hammer as he did so. He didn't trust his new friend at all.

He heard the last bit of the conversation between the barkeep, whose name he still didn't know, and his 'friend', who'd not disclosed his name either, not to someone he barely knew. Virgil knew a fair bit about him - he was a good listener, and the man had liked the sound of his own voice.

"For what?" the barkeep asked.

"For someone."

"For who?"

Suddenly, the doors burst open, nearly swinging off their hinges. Soldiers burst in, trying to calm the panicking citizens with brandished revolvers. Virgil carefully reached his own hand into his flowing robes, and steadied his pistol, but thought better of it as a soldier brandished a revolver at him.

A man walked through the doors, his large frame blocking out the main entrance. He looked at the bartender and nodded. Was this a trap? Was the bartender an agent, placed here to find people? They wouldn't be looking for him, certainly, but they had him nevertheless, and Virgil had heard stories about what happened to exiles. None of them ended happily ever after.

It seemed that it wasn't a trap after all - the man Virgil had been talking with had pulled a gun on the barkeep. That was good news, of a sort.

It looked like the heavyset man in the doorway was a commanding officer of some sort, since the soldiers had all acknowledged him and were watching him, maybe waiting for orders.

As the officer stepped forward to talk to the barkeep, the eyes of the soldier guarding Virgil turned. When the man's back was turned, Virgil carefully eyed the distance to the doorway. Not too far, but he had to be careful - he'd only have one shot at this.

Drawing his pistol and firing it in one smooth motion, Virgil sent shards of glass hurtling towards the officer. As soon as he'd pulled the trigger, Virgil ran for it, hoping the chaos created by the commotion would cover him.

 

[Zwark0]

Midnight - Claude Dallas North's Tavern (Day One/Day Two)

Charles' body instinctively hunched as the deadly shrapnel flew around him. The once peaceful bar erupted into a flurry of gunshots. Charles leapt through the nearby window just as his chair was torn by bullets. Without further thought, he grabbed his rifle rather violently from it's hiding place underneath a sheet of cloth , cocked a round into the chamber and trained his sights on the door. A uniformed figure fell lifelessly out of the tavern, and rolled towards him. Charles' blank stare was redirected from the fallen soldier to the group of his comrades running down the street, towards the tavern.

Thinking it wise to avoid further involvement, He leapt into his caravan and pressed his eye up against a small hole in the wall of which was facing the tavern.....

 

[Spoo]

Avery was still wide awake at midnight, even when the rest of busy Caste was finally shutting down for the night.  He was actually looking for a place to stay, but it was one of those unlucky nights where almost every inn was packed out, and even the allies that Avery might've camped out in were filled with shantytowns of beggars. 

"But that's alright..." Avery told himself, "That's fine.  I just got nowhere to stay, nowhere to sleep for the night!"  As a violent way to vent his anger, Avery drew one of his two silver revolvers and fired out into the desert sky.

"But that's aaalright.  I'm oookay."  He sat down on a nearby bench and lit a cigarette.  He didn't get to enjoy his smoke, though, because a split second after his cigarette was lit, a volley of bullets was fired.

"Damn it...Somebody had to return fire at me..." Avery said, ducking to avoid getting shot.  This clearly wasn't the case, as the gunshots didn't come from a nearby shack, but from Claude's tavern that was a short ways down the street.


"Wait a sec...What's Claude done to get himself in THAT much trouble with the General?" 

While it was true that Avery knew that Claude supported exiles, he did not know that he was harboring them.  Avery knew that it was best not to get involved with the buisiness of Tota, but he also knew that if he ever wanted to get back at his father, he should support Claude's buddies' revolution of sorts. 

"I'll help in some kind of stealthy way; I'm not really wantin' to get exiled myself."  Avery knew that his noble blood would probably get him out of any punishment the government would throw at him, but that would only last so long.  And murdering an official soldier would make it all the worse.  But he had a plan by now.

As soon as he made it to the tavern, Avery crouched at a window from the outside.  He couldn't get exiled if no one knew who commited a crime.  He'd sneak a few shots at some soldiers and hide.  The pandamonium inside would be his cover. 

Think of it as payback for my smoke I dropped...

 

[Zwark0]

*Please ignore this post, I wasn't considering the characters involved.. sorry. Nothing important happened anyway*

 

[Spoo]

Echoes of gunfire could be heard from all corners of Caste.  Avery had fired five shots so far, four of them hitting their targets.  This was exactly what Avery wanted.  He couldn't let anyone identify him, otherwise he'd be in a load of trouble.

"Alright, Tota, lets see how you fare with a bullet in your forehead..."  Avery loaded another few bullets into the chamber of his revolver.  He'd moved every time he fired off a shot or two, to avoid being located, and he was now crouched below a window on the left side of the building, the farthest one from the door. 

Without another word, Avery quickly peeked up into the window and took aim.  With only a window of a few seconds, his aim wasn't exactly at it's best.  This ultimately led to his missing Tota altogether and shattering a window behind him.  The worst part, though:  Tota noticed where the bullet had come from.

"Ah, shit!"  Avery dove toward his only likely hiding spot, a small caravan, parked to the right of him.

 

[Zwark0]

Midnight - Outside Claude Dallas North's Tavern (Day One/Day Two)

Charles leapt back instinctively, with his rifle pointed. The caravan bounced around uncomfortably to accommodate for the weight of it's new passenger. The two men exchanged glances of confusion. This stranger obviously didn't expect Charles to be in here.
"What are you doin' in here?" Charles asked with a hardened glare.
"Well, I.."
Their conversation was interrupted by the shout of the soldiers who were now outside. "He's in there!"

"No time, JUST GO!" shouted Charles' companion as he ducked his head to avoid the bullets piercing through the wood. Without hesitation, Charles leapt into the driving seat and cracked the reigns hard. The vehicle took off with a jolt, almost throwing the stranger out of the cart. A few stray shots faded into the distance as he directed the horses around the street.

    Making sure he was a safe distance from the tavern, Charles halted the cart and got out to interrogate his passenger. To his surprise, he was still laying in the caravan. For a moment the thought that a round had clipped him passed his mind, but were soon dismissed as the stranger erupted with life. Atop his clean, white shirt he wore a torn leather vest which looked as though it would brake from the touch of a butterfly. The rest of his clothes were either in the same or worse condition and he wore a large hat that looked a bit too big.

    The man promptly flicked his legs over the ledge of the caravan and lit up a cigarette, as if the night's events were standard routine. "So what's your name, partner?" Charles asked as he lifted himself into the cart. "Avery," The man replied promptly, pausing to take another puff. "Avery Garder."

"You an exile Avery?" Charles asked as he went about fetching food and various supplies.
"Not yet.." He chuckled.
"I doubt they would have seen our faces in the dark, but I'm quite sure they'd recognise a caravan full of bullet holes... I'm gonna have to ditch it."
"...sorry 'bout that.."
"No problem.. It was gettin' old anyway."
"I didn't catch your name stranger.."
"My names Charles Harris... say, where you headed Avery?"

 

[Spoo]

Avery took another quick puff of his cigarette before speaking to Charles again.

"I'm not really sure there...Right now my main concern is keeping outta trouble with the authorities.  Not that it'd make much of a difference.  Nobles are above the law, wrongfully or not."  He added a dark undertone to the last bit.

"A noble, huh?"  Charles said.  "You sure don't look it.  Why ain't you sleepin' in some fancy manor at this hour of the night?" 

Avery chuckled.  "That's not really the kinda' thing I like to talk about..." Which was true.  Only a handful of people knew the story behind Avery and his Fathers' feud.  Of course, it did slip out sometimes, seeing as the Garder's made a good many of the guns in Azrica. 

Avery looked out into the desert ahead of him.  No obvious threats could be seen.

"I think we'd better find a place to stay for the night.  The last thing we need is to be off guard in the mornin' when Tota's pissed off about mine and your's escape." 

Tota's definately gonna be ticked soon.  I'm gonna make sure of that...

 

[So fist]

Day 2, 1:00 AM, La Picolina

He squeezed the trigger in the midst of a drunken lurch.  The weapon discharged in a loud explosion of powder, the recoil disrupting his inebriated gait.  Before him a relatively young man dressed in his night gown had crab-walked himself frantically into his bedroom wall.  His right hand outstretched as if those several centimeters of bone and flesh could bat, catch, or otherwise shield him from from the metal slugs destined to sap him of his life.  His other hand in desperation slid and fumbled about the wall behind him like a frightened rodent attempting to tunnel under a door, but for him there was no crack to slip into, no grail to save his life, nor an excalibur to smite his enemy.  Just a smooth pueblo wall cold as a tomb in the night.  He pressed himself desperately against it as Jeffrey regained his footing and raise his revolvers one more time.

“I told you to stay the fuck away!â€