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latibvles · 2 years ago

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titling is for the weak. part three to the band au. also putting this on ao3 so uhh watch out for that when I post the link there! this turned out WAAAAAAAAY longer than I initially planned for it to be. anyways have the guys, a bar, a performance, and Vicki's perspective again as a treat. a special thank you (again) to @almost-a-class-act and @cody-helix02 for listening to me lament over naming this goddamn band. this one is aptly just called “The Bar Scene.” You Can also read the rest of this under the tag “ #au: let me down easy ” :)

A Sunday with Devil’s Piano starts in the studio. Reuben “Chuckler” Jeurgens (although his friends also call him Lew, of which he has many) walks in with Wilbur “Runner” Conley hot on his heels. Between them are five iced coffees. Jeurgens smiles as he crosses to put the fifth in the mini fridge they put in the practice room.

“For Lena, when she comes in.” He explains, in reference to Lena Riggi, the sound engineer who’s worked with the group since their first album, and also known for her work with the Basilone Brothers. As Conley heads immediately to the drum kit, Sidney “Sid” Phillips, bassist, walks in — face lighting up when Chuckler hands him the coffee, but he’s looking around the room like something’s missing.

That something, or rather, someone, is Bill “Hoosier” Smith, their lead guitarist and typically — the first one in the room.

Vicki taps away at the keyboard, glancing periodically at the digital clock on the bedside table, and then at the slip of paper, the name of the club the guys would be performing at sprawled in Corrigan’s neat print. He’d given her the venue name and address earlier that day. The guys would be playing tonight in town, as good of an opportunity as any to get photos. She figured she could hack away at the beginning of the article now.

But her words keep getting away from her and what replaces them isn’t nearly as productive.

Staring at the blinking cursor on her screen, the only thing that comes to mind is an acoustic guitar, its owner smug-grinned and messy-haired, making sharp remarks in a rumpled white t-shirt. And every time he caught her stare, she knew he got a sort of satisfaction from watching her face flush, or watching her look away.

Monday was worse. A clean-shaved, alert, not-hungover Bill Smith was more bold than late, disheveled, embarrassed and hungover Bill Smith. He brushed by her, looming over her notepad and she could smell the spice from his aftershave — but she didn’t say anything. He gestured with his pointer finger to her heading, grinned.

You always make a heart for the letter I?

Only for headings, she’d wanted to say. But he was far too close and his eyes were far too blue for her to form a coherent thought, so she just rolled her eyes instead

Vicki’s been working far too long to not be able to recognize a honey trap. Bill could be as kind and funny as her neighbors in Melbourne, it didn’t change the fact that rock bands lived life in the fast lane, and she’s watched too many of her coworkers end up in messes of their own after falling for the easy smiles and pretty faces that this line of work attracted.

The first thirty minutes is a hodge-podge of activity. They step into the booth to record what they can, and exchange ideas for new songs for their next album. “He’ll show up,” says Conley, not especially worried about his bandmate’s absence. “He’s just directionally challenged.”

And sure enough, thirty minutes past call time — Bill “Hoosier” Smith walks into the studio. He’s narrow-eyed and clearly exhausted from the previous night (when the band held a much more intimate performance at The Troubadour). What occurred after the band’s 30-minute set? They’ll never tell. But Smith wastes no time in grabbing his guitar, and getting down to business.

The best and worst part was that Bill, contrary to what the gossip mags and paparazzi claimed, didn’t mind striking conversation and answering questions. He, like the rest of his bandmates, was endearing in his own way. He talked fondly about his grandparents and his parents, his siblings and growing up in rural Indiana.

But Bill would ask questions too, and no one wants to hear that sob story, so she skirts around it with the story of how she met Bob Leckie after her interview and how he’d crashed on her couch for a couple months after breaking up with a girlfriend.

She takes one last look at the clock, and scrunches her nose. She’d have to continue this later. Thanks a lot, Hoosier.

Picking out clothes isn’t a difficult affair — slipping on the black dress and the heels, flattening her hair and parting it down the middle, hanging her camera around her neck in lieu of a necklace. Vicki calls for a cab while putting on makeup and thanks whatever higher power there is that she doesn’t poke her own eye out with a mascara wand when her brain is elsewhere.

By the time she’s stepping into the cab from the hotel lobby, she’s already fiddling with her camera in an attempt to stave off her own thoughts.

It was a smart move on Corrigan’s part, keeping their talent fresh with these smaller gigs and not letting the local nightlife forget their faces. She wasn’t at The Troubadour the night they performed, but she’d be there tonight. If the label wanted them to maintain relevance, this was definitely the way to keep at it without compromising the quality of their work.

Vicki sees the line out the door before she sees the white lights of the sign for the bar itself, and withholds a groan as she pays for the cab. She had no personal qualms about pulling out her ID, and if that didn’t work she’d just have to call Corrigan. She takes one last look at herself in the cab’s rearview before stepping out and crossing the street. She focuses on the precise click of her heels rather than the indiscernible noises of offense as she skips the line. The bouncer at the door looks at her with a raised brow.

“I’m with the band,” she supplies him with, watching as his eyes narrow, reluctant to let her in. She reaches into her purse to grab her Press ID. As she’s pulling it out, a warm hand presses against her back, and she snaps her head to the right.

Hugh Corrigan’s in one of his finely tailored suits, and behind him are three familiar faces with large black cases in their hands. He smiles at her, then looks to the bouncer as Vicki flashes the card to him.

“She’s with us,” Corrigan reaffirms with a nod, ushering her inside before security can object. He immediately retracts his hand after that as they walk into the mostly-empty bar, its future patrons outside and buzzing with excitement. “Hope you weren’t waiting there too long, Miss Graves.” He offers, all squared-shoulders and polite smiles.

The ones trailing in behind him are anything but polite.

“Shit, I didn’t realize you were comin’ to this thing,” Chuckler’s voice is drenched in mirth, flashing a smile. “What, you invited Leckie too?”

“What if I did?”

“Well we would’ve told Hoos here to put on a nicer shirt.” Without meaning to, her gaze immediately moves to him — and Sid lingering beside him, and he returns it. He’s in a black short-sleeved button-down, a watch on one wrist and several bracelets on the other. His hair’s parted and gelled in an attempt to keep it out of his face. He eyes Corrigan with blatant suspicion, although the latter can’t see it, before looking back at her and eyeing her up and down.

“I think he looks alright as he is,” Vicki decides, without thinking about it too hard. His lip curls, and she’s grateful for the dim lights hiding her flush. Adjusting the end of her dress, she rolls her eyes and looks away.

The back entrance door slams, echoing through the space before Runner calls out.

“Y’know the band performing before us is called Dumb Fucks?!”

—

Dumb Fucks isn’t half-bad for an opener, but she’s not here for them, so she sits with her Coke and lets her legs swing from the barstool, watching and waiting to approach the stage later once the guys take it. She didn’t plan on drinking anything stronger until after she got her pictures — if she stuck around that long. Across the bar, tending to drinks, a familiar face hums.

“You didn’t tell me you were working tonight,” Margie points out. Margie was currently interning at Fusion, and worked as a bartender here on weeknights. Vicki shrugs, watching the brown-haired girl salt a rim swiftly and then get to work on a margarita for someone two seats down. “Or that the drummer was cute.” Vicki laughs, with a roll of her eyes.

“Right, cause that’s what at the top of the list, cute drummers for Margie.”

“Well it could be, if you loved me more.”

“I love you just enough,” Vicki assures as Margie moves down the bar to slide the margarita over the counter, take another order, and mix another drink.

“Not enough to get me the number of your cute drummer friend.”

“You mean my drummer client?”

“Same difference,” and then, tossing a rag over her shoulder and leaning on the bar, she gets a catlike grin. “Although the guitarist couldn’t stop looking your way during soundcheck, you know,” there’s a giggle in there, somewhere, as Margie’s grin grows and Vicki rolls her eyes, reverting her attention back to the band onstage to avoid Margie peering right through her.

“Kinda hard not to look when someone sticks a camera in your face, I reckon.”

“Oh you’re the worst,” she bemoans, all but flinging herself on the countertop. “Right, cause every guy you interview smirks at you and licks their lips and totally shows off on a guitar solo, right? All for the camera?” Vicki laughs, turning to look at her friend who’s resting her chin on her fist.

“Do you want me to answer that seriously?” Margie huffs, exaggerating her point by rattling her cocktail shaker with a certain type of vigor as the opening act wraps their set. Ice rattling is drowned out by the scattered applause and faint murmuring as the lights of the stage dim so they can change the drumkit and the guitars. She then finalizes it by sticking out her tongue before pouring the drink into another glass and breezing by to another patron.

Vicki rises after a few minutes, camera in her hands, as the murmuring starts to crescendo and the lights come up with Runner’s familiar drum kit. There’s a fairly sizable crowd around the stage, but thankfully she gets to the front of it — and there’s enough room for her to move about. Her palms are unreasonably sweaty, and her hair’s standing on end, ignoring the occasional bumps and jostling from other people trying to cross the floor.

When Chuckler comes out, and then Sid, she can’t help but giggle at their stark contrast. Chuckler, all rock-star swagger and charm, versus Sid, who’s somehow maintained that endearingly sweet smile, his cheeks already flushed under the lights. He catches her eye and the corners of his eyes crinkle as he takes his spot further from her, at the left of the stage. And then Runner, full of energy, waving his sticks in the air once he takes his spot behind his beloved drums.

She really tries not to stare too hard, when Hoosier walks on right behind Runner. She knew it was coming, but Vicki swallows hard nonetheless. He looks positively golden under the lights, catching all those shades of dirty blonde in his hair, that looks way softer than she remembers it looking earlier (not that she’d been looking for long). Now though, it feels almost criminal to look away. She might need a drink after this after all.

They go straight into the first song. Chuckler’s voice in the mic is a surefire wakeup call, and she snaps back into herself.

She heard and watched them practice several times in the past two days, she even sat through soundcheck prior to this. She had pictures of them tuning up, one where he looked through his lashes and grinned at her, but said nothing.

This is fundamentally different. Were it not for the view being a bit different through her camera, she could get completely lost in the sight of him. It feels less like her losing her train of thought and more like him stealing it.

And if Vicki weren’t so painstakingly alert, every hair standing on end — she could mistake that warm feeling in her stomach as her being drunk.

She shifts her focus to Sid and his bright grin, fingers dancing across the neck of the bass. He nods his head along to the music and she smiles as the camera shudders and she gets three more shots of Sid, in all his bass-playing glory. Then shifting his attention to Chuckler, sticking his tongue out on the ad libs, his raspy baritone reaching every corner of the room.

By the time he greets the crowd at the end of the first song, they’re already buzzing with energy, barely able to contain their murmurings as Chuckler speaks into the mic.

She watches and moves as her camera requires of her, taking pictures throughout and conscious of bumping into other patrons. The guys onstage work up a sweat, jumping around or otherwise moving. Hoosier gets this grin on his face that she’s never really seen. All-encompassing, directed towards the guys around him, his hair no longer neatly done and now strewn about his forehead. He licks his lips and her eyes divert to his hands as they fly across the frets. He makes it look effortless.

He looks golden.

By the end of the set, she’s already making her way towards the bar, to Margie who’s got one of her more knowing smirks on her face.

“So are you gonna introduce me to the drummer or what?”

“No, but if you get me a drink I might change my mind.” Margie laughs at that with a roll of her eyes, but likely recognizes the look on Vicki’s face — fixing to make her a Manhattan.

Now, at the very least, she can blame the warm, tingly feeling on alcohol and not—

“Thought I knew that lady in the front row.” Fuck.

She turns her head, as Hoosier takes up the seat next to her. She swallows hard as she catches the whiff of sweat mixed with whatever cologne he wears. In the moments where he asks Margie to get him a beer and she agrees, Vicki does her best to brace herself.

“And what if that seat was taken?”

“I’m sure whoever he is won’t mind if I keep you company.” Vicki scoffs, finishing off her drink and ordering another.

“Is that what you’re calling it?”

Hoosier twists the bottle around between his fingers. Vicki’s gaze moves from his hands back to his eyes. He runs his fingers through his hair, to push some of it from his eyes, but it still falls over his forehead.

“Well then what would you call it?”

“A bad idea,” his brows shoot up at her forwardness. She takes a sip of her drink, focusing on the burn of the whiskey as she swallows rather than on the intensity of his stair. “You’re much more marketable if you aren’t seen with a girl. The public likes attractive, single young musicians.”

He leans towards her and she sucks in a breath when his arm brushes hers. She tries to tell herself it’s for purely logical reasons — it’s a crowded bar and he’s just spent the past two hours carrying harmonies and talking into a mic, so he doesn't want to strain his voice by talking over the din. But Hoosier makes it very hard to believe that, looking her up and down like he did when they first walked in.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a bad liar?” She turns her head a little more to stare at him, saying nothing. “‘N you still haven’t told me to go away yet.” He points out. She swallows hard, licking her lips and returning his stare.

“Would you go away? If I told you to?”

“If you want me to,” She doesn’t have a response for that, not one that’s true, so she says nothing. But Vicki doesn’t look away, and neither does he. He just grins, knowing, and she doesn’t know if she wants to wring his neck out or pull him towards her and make him finish what he’s trying to start here. More importantly, she really hates how he’s seeing right through her right now. “You look good, by the way. Forgot to say that.”

Musicians really are nothing but trouble.

“You didn’t have to,” She can feel a flush creeping up her neck, but she certainly hasn’t drank enough to be incoherent. She knows it’s him, doing that. She hates that too. “I saw you staring.”

“You said I looked good,” he returns, bumping his knee against her bare one. “And I saw you staring.”

“I said you looked alright.”

“Ain’t it funny how synonyms work?” She rolls her eyes and snorts, shaking her head slightly.

“You’re not funny.”

“Then why’d you laugh?” He challenges, and she knows it’s meant to be playful. Vicki presses her lips together, and with her free hand, she takes his shoulder, gently pushing him back so there’s a distance between them again. It’s hard to ignore the heat of his skin through his shirt or the firm muscle there. He looks at her hand, and then at her. She glances to Margie tending to the bar through her periphery, in an effort to remember where and who they are.

“Cause this isn’t gonna go how you want it to.” She lets her hand fall, resting her elbows on the bar itself, waiting for the scrunch of his nose and some kind of venomous words thrown her way that she won’t write about to maintain some semblance of pride. You weren’t the first, Bill Smith, and you probably won’t be the last — but I’m damned before I become a notch on your bedpost.

But he doesn’t do anything like that. Bill takes another sip from his beer, then sets it down.

“I don’t want it to go anywhere,” he sounds almost reassuring. The smile Bill gives her then, is almost boyish. “I just like it when you talk.”

It’s not what she was expecting and the way he says it, as warm as he feels, leaves her without anything that she could say in rebuttal. She can’t help but wait for a ‘but’ or some kind of catch, even though nothing of the sort comes from him. Vicki stares at him, mouth slightly agape but he doesn’t seem to notice until she clears her throat.

“Watch my drink, yeah? I’m going to the restroom.” She watches him drag the glass towards him, and without another word, she slips off the barstool to beeline to the bathroom.

If Vicki’s heart is hammering harder than it had been all night, that’s no one’s business but hers.

#bill hoosier smith x oc #au: let me down easy #. vicki graves #the pacific fic #the pacific oc #hoosier x vicki

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sweets-fanfics · 5 years ago

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Retribution 2

Title: Tumbleweed

Wordcount: 4174

Warning: violence, slow burn

Tags: *crickets*

AN: I love my OC you can’t stop me.

)___________(

I shot up in my cot covered in sweat. The breeze flowing across the Heartlands where the camp was set up felt cool and instantly began to calm me. I ran my fingers through my hair trying to forget the nightmare I had just had of that night. The sun hadn’t risen yet but it had to at least be right before sunrise.

Birds chirped in the trees nearby. I glanced over my should through the planks of my camp to look at the overflow our camp was situated by. I took a long sigh as I regained composure and figured I wouldn’t be getting much sleep anymore and got up for the day.

Cripps who never seemed to sleep already had coffee brewing by the fire inviting me to take a cup for myself. He talks a lot, but not in the mornings. Cripps simply smiles and goes about his business.

I smile at Buster as he walks out from his spot under the wagon and stretches before walking up to me. “Buenos Días, mi amor.” I hum to him softly while scratching his favorite spot on the top of his head. The American foxhound bounced back and forth as is rubbed his head. He let out a small bark when he had his fill and went to go do whatever it is he does.

After enjoying my coffee the sun starts to peek over the hills that surround this valley. I looked around seeing that my campmates have not come back yet. I see movement in one of the tents and Hair climbs out and stretches.

“When did you get back...?” I blank again on her name but don’t want to be rude.

She sighs, “Yakira.”

“I was just about to say that.”

“Uh-huh. I got back maybe an hour ago. I couldn’t sleep.”

“You didn’t bring the other two?”

Yakira shrugs, “They were gone.”

I groan and start to grab my bag. “Well now I gotta go look for two middle-aged men,” I think for a moment, “Mr. B will be fine I just need to find Irish before he picks a fight. Stay in camp in case Irish comes. If he does just send Buster to get me.” She nods and goes to get coffee as I climb on to Willa and take off for Valentine.

The ride through the Heartlands is always beautiful in the morning. Pronghorn and Deer run past when I spook them from being to close. Buffalo glance as I ride past but stand their ground. Even the rabbits and squirrels seemed up an awake. I ride into the dusty town of Valentine in search of a certain Irishmans horse. I see the horse hitched at the saloon.

I stop and hitch Willa next to the big Shire, Irish unfortunately named “Riggy Tony” after his strange obsession with Italian food. He had once met a man from Italy who showed him this kind of food and now he names everything after an Italian dish. But seeing as I’m still teaching him to write he spells it all phonetically.

I give Riggy a pet as I step into the saloon and see the mess before me. The entire saloon is a mess. Chairs are thrown and broken. The mirror behind the bar is shattered. The bartender looks up from where he’s sweeping and his face gets red. “Oh no. No no no, You’re guy did enough mess.”

“What happened?”

“The Irish guy started beating some guys up-”

Before he can finish there’s a groan from upstairs and a body slams into the ground at my feet. “Oi, you think you could win a fight against me?”

I let out a long sigh. “Irish, we can’t keep doin’ this in every town.”

Irish appears over the banister directly above me and gives me a giant smile. “Josie!” He pulls back and begins his long journey to the stairs. His face is bright red from the alcohol and he’s barely walking and more like limping as he goes. “This wee lass in my boss!” He points to me and smiles at the bartender who is not impressed. “This little girl here is going to take down the O’Driscols with me and I’ll…” He stops to burp, “I will help her kill that damn Mexican gang.”

“Dear god, Irish, let’s go. We have ruined this man’s building enough.” I start to move him towards the door when I hear a loud punch sound and suddenly the overweight Irish man falls back trapping me under him. “What the fuck?” I somehow get myself up and see a giant angry man standing above me with a red face.

“Who the fuck are you?” He asks me.

“I feel I should ask that you jackass.”

“This low life tried to pickpocket me last night.”

“I’m sure he was probably going for your beer.” I try to calm him down before patting Irish on his forehead to wake him up.

“If he gets up again I’ll kill him.”

“For… pickpocketing?”

“He’s a garbage theif. You probably are too, you dirty greaser.” The insult wasn’t anything new. I’d been called it so many times before. Especially when I still ran with the Del Lobo. And wearing my mother’s white and blue blanket poncho across my shoulders probably didn’t help either.

I slowly stood up and dusted off my pants before calmly looking at the asshole and socking him so hard in the face, that he falls out of the saloon, down the two steps and into the dirt. Everyone near the saloon stops and walks over to see the commotion. And since the saloon is in the middle of town I’m pretty sure all of Valentine was about to see this man get his ass handed to him by a young girl.

“You dumb bitch.” He grumbles as he begins to get up and rub his nose. “You broke my nose.”

“Imma bout to break more you son of a bitch.” I threaten as he stands up and towers over me.

“Kick his arse.” Irish slurs from somewhere behind me. I roll my shoulders back and try to hold myself up more like I will kick this guys ass. I mean… I probably could.

He swings towards me and I duck and punch his jaw making the crowd cringe. A few more punches and I start to realize he might not hit me. Admittedly I get a bit cocky and punch him in the gut before turning and smiling at the crowd. As I spin around and wave I spot a familiar smirk amongst the crowd that distracts me long enough for the guy to grab my arm.

“Uh oh,” I mumble as the man turns me to face him.

“Got too cocky didn’t ya.”

“I mean… yeah, I’ll admit it.”

Just as he raises his fist another hits him knocking him out. I turn around to see Irish, still drunk, pat my shoulder before passing out. “Irish not again!” I groan and try to catch him only to have him slip and fall in the dirt.

The crowd begins to disperse as I struggle to wake Irish up. “Mrs. Espinosa?” I look to my left and see Arthur giving me a sympathetic smile. “You seem to need some assistance.”

“I don’t….” I look at Irish, snoring on the ground. “Yeah. Just to get him on the horse.”

Arthur smiles and grabs Irish’s shoulders while I grab his feet. “Your gang seems to have a lot of fun getting into trouble.”

“I didn’t think he’d get drunk on his way back from getting drunk.” I struggle to say as we put him on the back of Willa. She wines a bit but I give her a sugar cube and calms down. “What are you doing so far North?”

Arthur reaches into his bag and hands me a piece of folded up paper. “From Hosea, says you would know what it is.”

“You didn’t peek did you?” I give him a suspicious look as I unfold the paper and see the name of the marshal he had talked about. And a list of towns he frequents.

Arthur holds his hands up, “Ain’t my business.” I smile and put the paper in my bag. “However,” He starts, “If it’s about revenge… I don’t think it’s the best idea.”

“What do you know?” I say a bit too bitterly and instantly regret it. “Sorry, Mr. Morgan.”

“Don’t be. You’ve gone through a lot last year. It’s okay to be angry, but revenge is past anger.” He awkwardly pats my shoulder but I can tell it’s an attempt at comforting.

“I’ll do what I must, Mr. Morgan. But I’ll think about your words. Tell Mr. Matthews thank you for me.” I climb onto Willa.

“You gonna need help with him?”

“Nah, I got help at camp. Hey, is Dutch sure about Micah?”

Arthur shrugs and scratches his chin, “You know I always agree with Dutch… But I don’t know about Micah. Why?”

“I kicked him from my gang after a week because he had an issue with my authority. But also because he would always come back with stuff for the camp that was suspicious. I didn’t like the idea he might be killing folk. Just keep an eye on him. Especially since you have Women and Jack in camp.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Oh, also, I’ll be moving camp down near tall trees while I do a job. In case y'all need me to steal a score from ya again.” I wink jokingly as he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves me off as I ride down the road and out of Valentine towards camp.

____________

As I stopped in camp Cripps sighed and tried to help with Irish. I stopped him and smiled. “I got this.”

I pushed Irish off of Willa making him fall into the mud from the overflow. Irish yelps and sits up looking around scared. “What the hell was that?”

“You dumbass. Cripps, grab me a bucket of water.”

“Uh… Josie?”

“You heard me.” Cripps sighs and walks away. Irish and I continue to stare each other down until he returns a minute later.

I take the bucket and pour all the water over Irish who cringes in disgust. “How dare you? I have been goin’ four weeks strong without baitin’...” He’s cut off from me chucking the bucket at him.

“Go wash and sober up. The camp is gonna move temporarily.”

Both Irish and Cripps look at me with a mixture of surprise and annoyance. “Are you wanted?” Cripps asks.

“No. I have some work to do down in New Austin and I’d rather bring you all with me. We aren’t doing anything right now anyway.” I think for a moment, “We can set up near that big ranch down there. Mc… something.”

Cripps sighs but starts getting camp taken down. Irish is still sitting with the bucket in his hands. “But.. that one new lady is gone..”

“Jen has been in the gang longer than you. And knowing her, she’ll find us.”

Irish grumbles on the floor a bit longer before getting up and going to his work to help us move.

____________

The move was easier than I had expected. Next thing I knew we were set up northeast of the big ranch. Irish and Yakira were a great help for once and with their help, we were able to be done by nightfall.

“I’m going to ride to Tumbleweed, see if I can find who I’m looking for.” I walk out of my tent in my white button-up tucked into me black tight pants and Pedro’s worn Gambler hat and brown leather coat with sheep wool on the collar. Sometimes I swear I can still smell his cologne.

“I would feel better if you take someone with you,” Cripps says, looking up from his work.

“I don’t really need those two to go. They are probably exhausted.”

“Well, take someone.”

I sigh and look around the camp. I see Jen’s Shire named Thena and smile, “I’ll take Jen.”

Jen peaks her head out from behind the wagon and frowns. “What?”

“Let’s go cause trouble.” I smile.

She thinks for a moment before sighing, “Fine.”

Cripps sighs, “At least I know she’ll have your back.”

We hopped on our horses and started for the small town in search of this Marshall. Jen is usually the quiet type. Despite no accent, she’s from France. Her Dark hair is always braided behind her back. She towers over me and like most of the gang is older than me. I wanna be tough like her one day. But I know I have a long way to go.

I met her right after I started my gang. It was just me and Cripps until one day when I was out somewhere alone. I had been searching for a certain elk to hunt for Cripps when A grizzly found me instead. I had thought I was going to be gutted right then and there but at the last moment there was a shot and the bear dropped on top of me.

When the bear was dragged off of me that’s when I met Jen. She didn’t say hi when she met me she immediately scolded me for not looking at my surroundings. I call her my best friend, but I’m pretty sure she’s just worried I’ll get myself killed. She’s been with the gang ever since. As I thought back to how we met I accidentally stared at her which got me a “The fuck you do now?”

I blinked and shook myself out of it. “Oh, sorry. I was thinking about the day we met.”

“Yes, the day you were almost killed by a bear.”

I chuckled, “Yeah, that.”

“It’s very strange to me that you were once married and a mother.”

“Well I’m still a mother, and my late husband and I were only married for maybe eleven months before he was killed. I know marrying at 17 probably isn’t the best idea in the world. But at the time it seemed right. We both wanted to get out of Del Lobo and we thought, why not together?” I looked down and petted Willa.

“I’m sorry if I made you sad.” I hear her mumble.

“You didn’t. It’s been almost two years. I’m 19 and very mature.”

Jen rolled her eyes. “No, I can guarantee you are still an immature, short, brat.”

We stopped our horses out said of Tumbleweed as I looked at her, “You just like insulting me sometimes.”

She shrugs and smirks at me hopping off of Thena. We both walk under the beating sun into the dusty town. There are about two clumps of small rectangle buildings and then the big saloon in the corner. A butcher stand is set up in the middle town where a butcher is chopping on a giant piece of meat. I walk up to him with some fake confidence and smile. “Hello sir, I’m looking for a Marshal Tom Davies?”

“I don’t know none of that. Might wanna ask the Sheriff.” He points his thumb behind him at a standalone building with the word ‘Jail’ written on it.

“Thank you, sir.” I smile and walk over with Jen behind me.

“You almost looked actually confident that time.” She jokes on the way.

“Har har.” I roll my eyes.

I open the door to the building and here a man yelling. “Please! You’ve got to help me.” The man begged.

“I can’t help you, mister. It’s way outta my jurisdiction. My job is to stop folks from getting shot on these streets, you know that.” The sheriff replies. I stop a moment in a happy shock of seeing that the sheriff isn’t a grumpy old white man.

“But… but she’s my wife.” The old man says again, “She’s my goddamn wife. They’ll do terrible things to her, you’ve got to help me.”

The sheriff eyes Jen and I and gestures to us, “Well maybe these two can help you.”

“Oh, sorry I’m just looking for…” I begin to say before I’m cut off.

“What can these two girls do?”

“They got guns and don’t have a badge so they can probably do more than me or you.” The sheriff jokes. “Besides, why not? I’m assuming they are bounty hunters.”

I glance at Jen before we both nod. “You’ll help?” The old man asks. “I’ll pay… handsomely.”

“Uh… sure, why not.” I give in.

“Thank you. Allison is a wonderful girl. Quite a bit younger than me, you’ll see. But better that way for wives I’ve found.” Jen and I both look at him unimpressed. “Anyway, outlaws took her I believe. Towards that way.” He points out the door as he opens it.

“Alright, we’ll go have a look. But first… Sheriff..”

“Freeman.” SHeriff Freeman answers.

“Yes, I’m looking for a Marshal Tom Davies?”

“He is in another town on business. He usually comes threw town tomorrow. But for now, help this man out.”

__________

“I hope that man’s wife isn’t as creepy as he was,” I say to Jen as we near a tiny pueblo styled ranch. “There are so many men here for one girl.”

We hop off our horses and walk up to the guard. “Get outta here!” He yells.

“You guys kidnap a girl named Allison?”

The reply I got was a shotgun fired in the direction of my head. Only Jen pulled me out of the way and shot him with her pistol. Probably proving my theory of why she sticks around. I pull out my repeater and get to work while Jen uses both her pistols. We shoot our way through at least 30 men before we are at the doors to the small farmhouse.

“Hello? Is someone kidnapped in here?” I say as I open the door with my sawed-off out.

“He sent you didn’t he? He sent you. Well, I’m not going back to him. I can’t” The blond lady says as she hides behind a man with orange hair the goes to his shoulders with matching orange facial hair.

“We’re in love.” He says to us as he holds a hand up. “Leave us be. I’ll give you all we have. It ain’t much but it’s somethin’.” He walks forward and I’m able to see his kind face better and his blue eyes begging Jen and me. “Help us escape. Please.”

“I’m not going back,” Allison says pacing the floor. “Cliff, you swore. You swore I wouldn’t have to go back.”

“They’ll have to kill me first,” he says to her calmingly. “Come on ladies, have a heart.”

I sigh and put my gun back in its holster. I can hear Jen follow suit. “We better hurry then.”

“Oh, thank you.” Allison cries.

“Let’s go. There is a carriage and money outside.” Cliff grabs her hand and leads her out.

“He would have sent men to follow you. They’ll know you’re trying to help us.”

“Well, then we better be quick,” I say as I hurry after them. “I’ll ride with them on the wagon, Jen, follow on the horse just in case.”

“Oh god, it’s a massacre,” Allison says, glancing at all the bodies. I pretend to not pay attention. “This is all my fault, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t think about that now.” Cliff urges her. “They knew what they was gettin’ into.”

We see a handful of men riding over the hill towards us with their guns out, “That’s my husband. Sending killers after killers.” Allison says in anger.

“I ain’t too sure what you saw in the man.” Cliff jokes.

“Very amusing.” She hums back.

We rode past Tumbleweed and up to the train tracks where a train was passing by. “Come on. We gotta get around this train!” Cliff yells.

I pull out my repeater and start taking out as many men as I’m able while Jen gets the others. Cliff is able to make it around the train and we are able to get away and shoot down the rest of the men chasing us.

Cliff stops the cart and groans, “How many more of them will we have to kill.” He climbs into the back of the wagon and pulls out money.

“He won’t stop. He’ll keep saying you kidnapped me and soon some other sucker will come and kill us.” Allison sighs.

“No.” Cliff turns on his heels and takes the woman’s hands. “We’ll go… somewhere hot. Like Columbia, or Australia.”

He hops off the wagon and stands before Jen and I. “Here. Thank you.” He says handing me the small wad of cash. “Tell him we drowned, or got hit by a train.”

“Tell him to go hang himself,” Allison yells to us as Cliff climbs up to the wagon. “Tell him to leave us alone.” She takes her loves hand and smiles at him, “Cliff, isn’t all so romantic?”

He smiles at her before yanking the reigns and making the wagon move.

Jen rolls her eyes at them as I hand her share over. She looks at it and walks to Thena without taking it.

“Wait, Jen…”

“Keep it. You’re saving for the boy’s birthday aren’t you?” She gives me a warm smile.

“Thank you,” I say softly. I put the money in my saddlebag and climb onto Willa. “Let’s go rent a room at that saloon. We can corner the Marshal tomorrow.” She nods and we ride off down the desert.

_____________

I clutched my mother’s letter tightly as I sat in front of the Blackwater dock. I had just gotten off of the boat from Saint Denise where I had come in on the train from New Mexico. The rain fell hard from the sky and I was barely able to fit under the small overhang by the town sign as I tried to figure out where to go. The town wasn’t quite as populated as Saint Denise or Santa Fe but there was still a good amount of residence. There seemed to be a camp towards the edges of town that looked pretty crowded as well. I wondered if they were a gang or more like a family. They seemed happy and kept to themselves. Even in the rain they laughed and chatted with one another.

Thunder rolled across the sky suddenly making me lookup. I sighed tugged Pedro’s coat on a little tighter.

“Not a fan of thunder?” A gruff voice with a western accent asked from my left. I spun my head to face him quickly and began to reach for my pistol which he noticed. “Shit, I’m sorry.” He held up to gloved hands.

He was a tall broad man. He had blue-green eyes and sandy-colored hair. His cheeks and chin were covered by some scruff with a small scar on his chin. He wore a thick blue coat and funny enough, had on basically the same hat I wear that belonged to Pedro. “I didn’t mean to scare ya.” He grinned.

“You… didn’t. I was just thrown off.” I say before looking back at the map.

“You’re carrying a lot of guns.” He gestures to the bolt action rifle and pump-action shotgun on my back. Along with my pistol and sawed-off in my gun belt. I smile since he might even see the more guns I have on Willa. “You steal ‘em?” He smirks.

“I earned these if you must know.”

“How old are you?” He leans on the map board and crosses his arms. Droplets roll off the edge of his hat.

“I’m almost 18,” I say proudly. “I’ve come to start a gang.”

He huffs a laugh. “18 and already starting a gang, huh?”

“Wouldn’t be my first one.”

He gets serious and looks at me. “What?”

“I was raised in a gang. I’ve returned to kill them.” Why was I so openly telling my plan to this guy? Maybe it was his kind-looking eyes. Or the way he really is listening to me.

“What they do to ya?” He asks in a sincere tone.

“They killed my husband and my father.” I look down at my shoes.

“Bastards.” He huffs. “Hope it ain’t my gang.” He says trying to lighten the mood.

“You’re Del Lobo?” I ask.

His eyes get a bit wide at the name. “Wait a second. You want to take out Del Lobo? Alone?”

“Of course not alone. That’s why I’m going to make a gang. A gang of the strongest people to help me on my quest.”

The man smiles at my enthusiasm. “Well, ya got spirit. People will follow that.” He stands up straight and puts a hand out towards me. “Name’s Arthur Morgan.”

I grin and shake his hand, “Josephine Espinosa. But just call me Josie, white people tend to pronounce my full name wrong.”

He laughs as our hands shake for a bit too long. “Great to meet you Josie.”

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