835 replies to this topic

[JimmyxxCindy4EVER]

Ditto!  Get your arse in gear, woman!!  And that user did an awesome job at drawing her!

[Pinky Pie]

I love this story! Of course, it is not as good as The Other Side of Tomorrow. I am wondering why you age up the characters so much. Oh, and what is Sheen's new obsession?

[Mara=^.^=]

I love this story! Of course, it is not as good as The Other Side of Tomorrow.

Nothing I write ever will be

 

I am wondering why you age up the characters so much.

Probably because I am an old fogey myself.

 

Oh, and what is Sheen's new obsession?

You mean...the gold?

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

Nothing I write ever will be

 

 

 I disagree.

 

 

I actually like this one a bit more. That probably has to do with the fact that I'm around for it.  

[Elraine]

So I pretty much said all I wanted to say on fanfiction (as ZePuKa), but I also wanted to add - in case it wasn't clear before - I want MOAR! D: Why you torture me with no updates since February!?!?!? Okay so, I only just started reading this fic today, so I really don't have as much right to complain as others, but still... WHY YOU SEND ME INTO WITHDRAWAL, WOMAN!?!?

Anyways, I kinda wanted to ask... since Carl still has his llamas, will Sheen have an idol comparable to UltraLord?

I'm kinda with Katia on this one... I'm enjoying "The Good, The Bad, And The Wealthy" a little more than I did TOSOT... but I don't necessarily think one's better than the other... they're both extremely well written and chock full of both real life facts and Jimmy Neutron canon throw-backs. They both have imaginative characterization that adapts the original characters we all know and love to their AU environment with your own flair that makes them your own. Perhaps my favorite similarity: they both contain SUPERB J/C tension that brings out my naughty perv side >_>

The main difference I'm noticing is that TOSOT was a scifi adventure/drama that delved a lot more into the uglier aspects of the psyche, and thus despite being an action thriller, had that extra pinch of realism of the human nature (and megalomanium-enhanced nature). So far, TGTBTW, while also being a bit more of a mouthful in its acronym form, is also an 'easier read', with less to digest per chapter/part. The historic setting also gives it more familiarity so you can spend less time trying to wrap your mind around an entirely new universe (as we had to do for TOSOT), and more time enjoying the snappy dialogue and references. It seems that the characters are beginning to portray more depth, so I can't make a judgement on which story has more complex characters yet, but I think in this slightly simpler (and historically familiar) setting, we'll find the characters a bit more transparent and easier to understand. Plus, it seems to be a lot more light-hearted than TOSOT... That's not to say that the character baggage is altogether absent, but a gun-slinging outlaw and rich train line heir doesn't strike quite as much fear into my heart as a crazed megalomanium-snorting genius dictator of the universe does...

Not to mention, historic westerns just plain rock, okay?

[Mara=^.^=]

So I pretty much said all I wanted to say on fanfiction (as ZePuKa), but I also wanted to add - in case it wasn't clear before - I want MOAR! D: Why you torture me with no updates since February!?!?!? Okay so, I only just started reading this fic today, so I really don't have as much right to complain as others, but still... WHY YOU SEND ME INTO WITHDRAWAL, WOMAN!?!?

I know...I am a horrible, horrible updater *hides face in shame* And if you think a February-June hiatus is bad, you should've seen what I used to do to my poor TOSOT readers. I think I once went like 6 whole months without releasing a single installment

You're in luck, though - I spent two hours working on the next chapter today, and now all that's left to do is figure out what I'm going to say in the sermon (since the chapter takes place during a church service). I know it's taking forever, but to be fair I had to do a LOT of research for this chapter (I even watched a four hour documentary on slavery, the Civil War, and Christian abolitionist groups). Hopefully I can work through this stupid last page or so and get something out to you guys before long.

 

Anyways, I kinda wanted to ask... since Carl still has his llamas, will Sheen have an idol comparable to UltraLord?

He already does. Gold is his obsession.

 

they both contain SUPERB J/C tension that brings out my naughty perv side >_>

Naughty perv J/C is the best J/C

 

So far, TGTBTW, while also being a bit more of a mouthful in its acronym form

Actually, the acronym's just "GBW" (Good-Bad-Wealthy) for exactly that reason.

 

a gun-slinging outlaw and rich train line heir doesn't strike quite as much fear into my heart as a crazed megalomanium-snorting genius dictator of the universe does...

Pffft, Megalomanium-snorting...

 

Not to mention, historic westerns just plain rock, okay?

I know right

 

Thanks for the response!

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[JimmyxxCindy4EVER]

 

Naughty perv J/C is the best J/C

 

Now THAT'S what I'm TALKIN' ABOUT!!!!!  Though, I do prefer me some J/E instead...  YOU NEVER SAW THAT!!!

 

 

Pffft, Megalomanium-snorting...

 

ROFL!!!  Good one, Elraine!!!

 

 

You're in luck, though - I spent two hours working on the next chapter today, and now all that's left to do is figure out what I'm going to say in the sermon (since the chapter takes place during a church service). I know it's taking forever, but to be fair I had to do a LOT of research for this chapter (I even watched a four hour documentary on slavery, the Civil War, and Christian abolitionist groups). Hopefully I can work through this stupid last page or so and get something out to you guys before long.

 

YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!!!!!!!!!  New update soon!!!!

[Katia11]

=) Mara,  you work so hard to give us what we want.

 

We bow to your awesomeness.

 

 

[Elraine]

Now THAT'S what I'm TALKIN' ABOUT!!!!!  Though, I do prefer me some J/E instead...  YOU NEVER SAW THAT!!!
 
 
ROFL!!!  Good one, Elraine!!!
 
 
YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!!!!!!!!!  New update soon!!!!

Wait, "J/E"...? What's the 'E' stand for? Elke?
Edit/Delayed-response: Oooo wait... your name is 'Emily'... coincidence? Methinks not... >_> (cut me some slack, I woke up at the crap of dawn this morning)

Why thank you xD

YAY UPDATE!!!! I saw Mara's reply on my phone last night... is it sad that I logged on at 6:30am this morning to see if possibly maybe it'd been posted yet? Oi, I'm such an addict... >_>

[Mara=^.^=]

LOL, don't get too excited. I won't post it without having someone beta-read it first. I'll let you guys know when I'm at that stage...until then, don't expect much, heh heh

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Ang]

[JimmyxxCindy4EVER]

Wait, "J/E"...? What's the 'E' stand for? Elke?
Edit/Delayed-response: Oooo wait... your name is 'Emily'... coincidence? Methinks not... >_> (cut me some slack, I woke up at the crap of dawn this morning)

Why thank you xD

YAY UPDATE!!!! I saw Mara's reply on my phone last night... is it sad that I logged on at 6:30am this morning to see if possibly maybe it'd been posted yet? Oi, I'm such an addict... >_>

 

*snicker* Took ya a little while to figure that out!  You should know about my "thing" for Jimmy around here by now! Right, guys??

[underwater]

*snicker* Took ya a little while to figure that out!  You should know about my "thing" for Jimmy around here by now! Right, guys??

Yes, Emily, you don't need to continually remind us. It gets kind of uncomfortable to hear about after awhile

 

 

Corinne

[Elraine]

*snicker* Took ya a little while to figure that out!  You should know about my "thing" for Jimmy around here by now! Right, guys??

Maybe I didn't notice 'cause I'm preoccupied with my own obsession... >_> Back off! He's MINE, I tell ya! *growl*

[JimmyxxCindy4EVER]

Sorry, my bad, Corrine!  Didn't mean to be obnoxious about it!

 

@Elraine: No, YOU back off!!  FJ's all mine(from TTB "good future")!!

[Mara=^.^=]

Regarding how long it's been since the last update, let me just say...

 

Désolée! 

¡Perdone!

E kala mai ia?u!

Förlåt!

??????

I'm sorry!

 

My health has been crap, and I've been so overwhelmed...but you don't want to hear about that. You want me to shut up and give you the next chapter. To which I say, "As thou commandeth, Queen Elizabeth..."

 

_______________________________________________________________________________________

 

 

There was no doubt about it: Tex hated Sundays.

 

Sundays meant prying stares and false promises – honeyed words from a bunch of blowhards who threw around terms like “sanctuary” and “forgiveness”, while secretly judging everyone around them. Tex wasn't fooled...she knew what people were really like. After all, did they not pay her to murder their neighbors, lovers, friends, brothers? The West belonged to devils and desperadoes, not to true believers. The good either perished or lost their souls to corruption's gangrenous rot.

 

The outlaw tried not to ruminate on the fate of her own soul as she and the Sheriff approached the tiny white church in the center of town. The house of worship was located next to the Retro Valley bank, and the arrangement appealed to Tex's sardonic brand of humor. Would you look at that that, she smirked. The Almighty and the almighty dollar, within spitting distance of each other. Hallelujah. Stealing a sidelong glance at Mr. Neutron, she wondered if he'd ever entertained such cynical thoughts. Probably not. He probably liked going to church – after all, do-gooders like him didn't have to worry about the near-certainty of eternal hellfire.

 

Sinner, said her conscience, and she squirmed in the saddle. The Sheriff, meanwhile, whistled as he rode, dressed to the nines in a pair of starched trousers and an indigo shirt. He looked so respectable, so comparatively sin-free... Tex's dour mood worsened.

 

“Head to the big oak beside the chapel,” he directed, breaking through her reverie. “We should leave the horses in the shade...my analysis of the cloud cover tells me that we're in for some uncomfortably high temperatures today.”

 

“The cloud cover?” she repeated, steering Humphrey toward the tree. “Are you serious? Any moron could tell you that it's gonna be a scorcher, Neutron. The heat's already intolerable and it's not even 9 o'clock.”

 

“Don't be so adversarial, Vortex,” he returned cheerfully. “Atmospheric conditions are a goldmine of predictive information. Those hazy clouds in the western sky, for instance – no, higher up, above the ridge line – yeah, right there, see those? They're called cirrostratus, and their abundance signals the approach of a summer storm system. Based on the current wind speed, I estimate that we'll receive precipitation in the next 24 to 48 hours.”

 

“What? You're full of it.”

 

“You doubt the accuracy of my forecast? All right then, let's make a friendly wager. How's this: if I'm right, and it rains, you have to return my firearm.”

 

“And if you're wrong? If it doesn't rain?”

 

“Then you can delight in the knowledge that, for one brief instant at least, you were smarter than me.”

 

Tex rolled her eyes as they pulled up underneath the oak. “Like I'd ever take that wager. It's bad enough you press-ganged me into attending Sunday morning service with you...in case you hadn't noticed, church-going's not exactly my forté.”

 

“You don't say! And here I had you pegged as a regular holy roller, what with your lack of feminine charm, abrasive manners, and constant depravity. How silly of me.”

She narrowed her eyes at him as she dismounted. “Lack of feminine charm? What's that supposed to mean?”

 

“It means exactly what you think it means: you're hostile and infuriating and you dress like a man.”

 

“Hey!” she shouted, knotting the reins with a bit more vigor than necessary, “I do what I have to do to stay alive out here, okay? I can't go around advertising the fact that I'm a woman. Might as well paint a big red target on my back and be done with it.”

 

He considered her words as they walked over to the entrance. “Fair enough,” he conceded. “I won't cast aspersions on you because of your clothing choices. I will stand by what I said about you being infuriating and hostile, though.”

 

“Oh, shove it. For your information, I can be plenty charming when I want to be. Amiable, eloquent...downright irresistible even. And I clean up real nice.”

 

“Pfft, sure. Whatever you say, Vortex.”

 

“I mean it! Why, if I pulled out all the stops, you'd be –”

 

Tex wasn't even halfway through her boast when the church doors swung open. The Sheriff nearly collided with the young woman who'd opened them, and when he caught sight of her, he went from insolent to tongue-tied in two seconds flat. He hemmed and hawed like an idiot while she apologized, and Tex could see why: the woman was strikingly beautiful, with porcelain skin, full lips, and dark brown hair. She wore a Muslin dress and a crucifix necklace, and the simplicity of her attire brought all the more attention to her glamorous features.

 

“Why, Mr. Neutron!” she declared, in a voice like milk and honey. “Early again, I see! Your unremittingly eager attendance is a testament to the strength of your piety and...oh, who is this? Have you brought a lady friend with you this week, Sheriff?”

 

The woman turned politely to Tex, and the lawman practically dove in between them.

 

“L-lady friend?” he stuttered. “Not at all, Betty, I assure you! She's just, uh...a colleague! A friend of a distant friend who I agreed to mentor for a week...nothing to write home about, in the grand scheme of things. I'd scarcely even call her a colleague, more like an acquaintance, or a quasi-stranger even...” He trailed off when he realized that Betty's expression had grown puzzled, and Tex's, murderous. “Ahem. I uh, I beg your pardon. Let me start afresh: Betty, this is Vor- I mean, Miss Vortex, my temporary deputy-in-training. Miss Vortex, this is Betty, our very own town preacher.”

 

It was an insulting introduction, but Tex's surprise outweighed her aggravation. “Town preacher?” she repeated. “Your sin-buster's a woman?”

 

“Oh, now, I'm not a proper minister,” dismissed Betty, fanning herself as she propped open the door with a length of wood. “I'm just filling in because my husband is no longer...well, until my husband comes back.”

 

There was an uncomfortable pause, and Betty covered it with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Tex, who read body language as a matter of course, scented blood in the water. Marriage troubles? she wondered.

 

The Sheriff wrung his hands together. “So, um, uh, need help setting up this morning? Any nails to hammer in, loose boards to fix, pews to re-align? You know I'm always happy to provide assistance.”

 

“Why, that's most kind of you, Mr. Lawman! Pretty sure everything's ship-shape at the moment, but you're welcome to accompany me as I go 'round and open the windows. The church is a bit on the warm side today, I'm afraid.”

 

His face lit up, and they headed into the building together. Tex scowled, stuffed her hands into her pockets, and stalked after them. Cursed evangelical belle, she grumbled to herself. Doesn't that tongue-dragger realize he's drooling over a married woman? Pathetic.

 

The second she stepped into the church, Tex knew that the morning wasn’t going to be merely unpleasant – it was going to be downright torturous. “A bit on the warm side” was the understatement of the century. A more fitting description for the church interior would've been “suffocating”, or perhaps “unfit for human life”. Tex hadn't even gone three steps before the heat engulfed her. It pressed in on all sides, vice-like, squeezing the air from her lungs.

 

“It's hotter than the hinges of hell in here!” she swore, releasing a constricted breath. “You're just opening the windows now?”

 

It was a blasphemous outburst, considering the setting, but Mr. Neutron and the preacher woman were too busy exchanging pleasantries to hear it. Useless, she thought. It's like I'm not even here. The outlaw stewed in her foul temper as she gazed around at the pews, fanning herself with her lapel. The interior of the church was unpainted, and an open Bible sat atop the pulpit, a satin bookmark dangling from its spine like a wilted summer flower. A sparrow fluttered overhead in the rafters, and when Tex closed her eyes to listen, she caught the nose-tickling scent of cedar and candle smoke.

 

“Oi, pistol chica! Over here!”

 

Tex turned to see Señor Estevez kneeling beside the back pew, clutching a rosary in one dirt-encrusted hand. He waved at her when they made eye contact, and she walked over to him – anything was better than standing around listening to the Sheriff's agonizingly transparent flirtation attempts.

 

“Buenos días!” greeted Sheen as she approached. “Nice domingo we’re having, eh? You enjoying the heatwave?”

 

“About as much as I’d enjoy a good flogging,” replied Tex. “What’re you doing here so early, anyway? Did you come to fawn over the church mouse too?”

 

“Huh? No no, Miss Pistola, I’m here because I’m Catholic! This town's got no priests or cathedrals or nothing, so I gotta hold my own mass before you heretics take over the church, know what I mean?” He winked to show he was teasing, then added, “Hey, you need me to pray for something? I was just about to call on Saint Anthony...him and me, we’re like, muy simpatico. He's gonna help me find a Sinai-sized mountain of gold out in the desert, just you wait and see. If you're looking for something special yourself, I can put in a good word –”

 

Sheen broke off mid-sentence; seconds later, he started waving like a madman to someone behind Tex. The outlaw turned to see Libby walking into the church, looking radiant in a short-sleeved yellow dress and matching gloves. She was humming to herself, swinging her handbag in time with the rhythm, and Tex couldn't help but be cheered. It only took a couple of seconds for Miss Folfax to spot them. She hurried over, and the prospector jumped to his feet.

 

“Wow mamacita,” he admired, “nice dress! You look just like a big stick of butter!”

 

Libby dropped her face into her palm. “Thought I'd find you here, Señor. It wouldn't be a proper Sunday without you kissin' up to some dead fool or another, am I right?” Tex caught the hint of a smile as Libby raised her gaze. “An’ Miss Deputy, you're lookin' right as rain this mornin', though I confess I didn't expect to see you here so early. Where's Mr. Neutron?”

 

Tex scowled over her shoulder in the direction of Betty and the Sheriff. “Pfft. Just follow the sound of incessant nattering, and you'll spot him in no time flat.” The outlaw curled her lip in contempt as she watched the pair. “Look at him, following her around like a dog begging for a treat. For a man who prides himself on his wits, he sure is an idiot.”

 

Miss Folfax raised an eyebrow. “I see what you're thinkin', Miss Deputy, but you really shouldn't get the wrong idea about the Sheriff. See, even though Betty's 'married', she ain't really married. Her pastor husband ran off with an Apache woman 'bout five months ago – left Betty high 'n dry without so much as a farewell. You can't blame Mr. Neutron for settin' his sights on her, considerin' the situation.”

 

Señor Estevez chuckled. “Not that he's had any luck, poor loco. Preacher lady's not looking for a new amor... Jimmy told me she's still all dutiful-like, hoping and praying that her husband will 'repent' and come back.”

 

Sheen clasped his hands and batted his eyelashes in a hokey imitation of prayer, and Tex grinned. Instead of sympathy, she felt spiteful satisfaction. Foolish woman, she thought. I hope she lives a long and lonely life, waiting in vain for her adulterous husband to see the error of his ways.

 

“I knew there was a reason I didn't like her,” Tex sneered aloud. “Fidelity without scruples is the mark of a weak mind. If I had a husband who ran off on me, I wouldn't just sit back and take it. I'd go out and hunt the bastard down.”

 

The prospector let out an uneasy laugh. “Heh…ay gringa, you're pretty scary, you know that?”

 

“Yes, well, maybe there's a reason for that. After all, I am a stone-cold killer who can shoot a man dead with nary a second thought.” Raising her arm, she curled her fingers into the shape of a pistol, then closed one eye and took aim at him. “Bang,” she said, before letting her arm fall back to her side. “Another verse for my gun to sing.”

 

He looked dumbstruck for a moment, then burst into an enormous grin. “Hey, wow, good one, guerita! I didn't know you had a sense of humor!”

 

Tex only had a moment to enjoy her own private joke before Miss Folfax grabbed her arm and pointed toward the door.

 

“Take a look at who's comin' in! Em and Oleander – an' if they're here, the Wheezers can't be far behind. C'mon, I'll take you round and introduce you. It ain't fittin' for you to be stayin' in town without acquaintin' yourself with everyone.”

 

“Actually,” began Tex, “I already met the Wheez–”

 

Evidently Miss Folfax wasn't interested in what Tex had to say on the subject, because she locked arms with the outlaw and out-and-out dragged her over to the entrance.

 

And so it happened that Tex, who sometimes went whole months without talking to more than a handful of people, was thrown headlong into the Retro Valley social circuit. First up were Emily and Oleander, the Wheezer's red-headed farm hands, followed by the Wheezers themselves. Then there was Ike the blacksmith, Wendell the Banker, and Nissa the shopkeeper, whose bedridden husband owned the general store down the road. Injun Nick and Butch she already knew, of course, and Dr. Bolbi's sister Ignishka needed no introduction, for she shared her brother's puffy cheeks and bug-eyed stare. The infamous Britney, who had been the cause of the argument between Nick and Butch the previous day, turned out to be a vacuous blonde with thick eyelashes and gravity-defying braids. Dozens more followed – a pair of gaunt brothers, a sullen teenage boy, an old man with no teeth – one after another, until names and faces began to run together in Tex's mind.

By the time Betty called the congregation to take their seats, the outlaw was all too happy to oblige. She collapsed onto the rearmost pew, cheeks flushed red from the heat, and Libby slid in beside her on the left.

 

“Confound it all,” exclaimed Miss Folfax, fishing a paper fan out of her handbag. “I'm sweatin' buckets over here. These Texas summers'll be the death of a poor li'l yankee like me, you mark my words.”

 

Tex's eyes shot open. “Yankee? You're from up north?”

 

“Mm, surprised, are you? I get that a lot. Folks tend to lump me in with the Exoduster crowd, but I'm a Pennsylvania girl, true as blue. I came west after –”

“No fair, mamacita!” cut in Señor Estevez, flopping down on Libby's other side. “Why you bein' so loose-lipped with Miss Pistola? It took two whole months for you to tell me anything personal!”

 

“Don't be jealous, you great lout,” snorted Libby as she fanned herself. “I would've told you sooner if you hadn't been so danged determined to flirt your way into my good graces. God Almighty gave some men the power to woo ladies with words, but I'm afraid He had other qualities in mind when He made you.”

 

Tex felt something brush against her right leg, and she looked up to see the Sheriff standing over her. Her heart skipped a beat. You let him sneak up on you, she thought automatically. What if he'd wanted to kill you? Do you WANT to die in this two-bit backwater?

 

And yet, she couldn't bring herself to feel the usual panic. After all, the voice that greeted her was not homicidal – merely grumpy.

 

“Scoot over,” he said, nudging her leg with his knee. “We five always sit together on Sundays. If you're determined to share the pew with us, you're going to have to make room.”

 

“We five?” She looked past him to see Carl and Elke waiting to join them on the pew, and her eyebrows shot up in comprehension. “Ah.”

 

She tapped Libby on the arm, who in turn prodded Sheen, and all three of them pushed down to accommodate the newcomers. The pew shook as Mr. Neutron and the Wheezers took their seats.

 

“It's a bit cramped,” grumbled the Sheriff, bumping shoulders with Tex as he settled in. “I'm not accustomed to pressing up against my seatmates like this.”

 

“Nobody asked you to sit so close,” she hissed back.

 

“Friends!” Betty's voice echoed out over the congregation, and the assembled worshipers fell silent. “As always I am pleased to see your smiling faces on this, another lovely Sunday morning. Let us begin with a reading from the New Testament, book of 1st Corinthians, chapter 7, verse 1. Ahem: It is good for a man never to marry. Nevertheless, to avoid immorality, if he must marry, then let every man have his own wife, and let every woman have her own husband. Let the husband render unto the wife due benevolence; and likewise also the wife unto the husband...”

 

“The Bible's views on marriage are a favorite topic of our lady preacher,” informed Miss Folfax, in a whisper laced with wry amusement.

 

Tex couldn't help but grin as she relaxed into her seat and turned her gaze toward the ceiling. For a time, she was content to watch the trapped sparrow as it flitted from beam to beam, its pitiful calls for help drowned out by readings from the Word of God.

 

This truly is a peculiar town, she mused, envisioning the space around her without dropping her gaze. To her left, a gold hunter from Mexico and a black yankee businesswoman, and to her right, a farmer and his immigrant wife, seated beside the self-banished heir of one of the richest families in the country. Tex had never before seen such dissimilar people mingling so freely. True, frontier gatherings were always motley affairs, filled with eccentrics and dreamers and castoffs and libertines, but this was different. It was as if someone had put the world in a churner and taken whatever splashed out.

 

And at the center of this whole affair is the man I'm supposed to kill, she thought. She dropped her chin and looked over at him. This close, she could see that the Sheriff’s lower lip was chapped, and that his forehead, cheeks, and nose were all pink with sunburn. She studied his profile for a moment before the truth of the matter dawned on her. That sunburn...it was my doing. I took away his hat after we left the jailhouse yesterday. He spent the whole afternoon down by the river fixing irrigation pipes, with nothing to keep the sun off his face...

 

Mr. Neutron caught her staring at him, and he swiveled around to face her, brow creased in a subtle frown. Tex went stiff as a board. She pursed her lips together, glared at him, and then rapidly turned her gaze back to the ceiling. She didn't budge another inch after that. She scowled at the rafters until the very end of the service, when the congregation stood to sing the closing hymns.

 

“Rescue the perishing, care for the dying...” The shaky melody gained sureness as the verses progressed. “Snatch them in pity from sin and the grave...”

 

Tex mouthed the words without lending her voice to the song. Beside her, Libby's vocals rang out warm and pure. With no oratorio of her own to drown out the sound, Tex could hear every nuance of Libby's singing, every measured dip and rise. Enraptured, she listened as the notes soared like cottonwood seeds caught in the updrafts of summer.

 

Sermon-averse though she was, Tex felt genuinely sorry when the final hymn came to a close. The church broke out into a soft hum as people began to gather up their belongings and prepare for departure. Tex turned her attention to Miss Folfax, watching as the prettily-dressed woman opened her handbag and stuffed the paper fan back inside. It was a simple, mundane action, perfunctory and unguarded, yet it somehow caused a two-day old thought to return to Tex: It's no skin off that girl's back if the sheriff ends up at the bottom of the river...

 

Is that really true? she wondered suddenly. If I kill the Sheriff, Eustace Strych and his ilk will be the ones calling the shots in Retro Valley. Will this woman really be unaffected by that?

 

It wasn't the sort of question Tex was accustomed to asking herself, and it had a paralyzing effect on her; she remained stock still even as people filed out of the pews, laughing and chatting as they went. Snippets of their conversations swarmed around her like summer flies: A bad back here. An apple-bread recipe there. A litter of kittens discovered under a porch. The sorrow of a relative's passing.

 

Miss Folfax must have noticed her prolonged immobility, because instead of following Sheen into the aisle, she urged him on. She observed the blonde for several moments before waving a hand in front of her face. Tex blinked in surprise.

 

“Somethin’ on your mind, Miss Deputy? You look quite invested in that patch of space you’re gawkin’ at.”

 

“Oh, I, –” she fumbled for an excuse. “I was just, uh…just wondering where you learned to sing like that. Your voice is honest-to-God Pearly Gates material.”

Libby feigned flusteration at the compliment, but her self-satisfied giggle gave her away. It was the laugh of a woman who knew she was talented and never grew tired of being praised for it. Tex almost smirked in response; she could respect that kind of vanity.

 

“You’re too kind,” replied Miss Folfax, waving her handbag with affected nonchalance. “But the truth is, I’ve been singin' like a canary for as long as I can remember. I was brought up in an abolitionist church, you see, and we –”

 

Tex felt the pew jostling against the back of her leg, and she looked over to see Mr. Neutron clumsily making his way into the aisle. He headed toward the front of the room, where a small crowd had gathered to converse with Betty. With a touch of perverse humor, Tex wondered why Strych couldn't have paid her to eliminate the preacher woman instead.

 

“–ancipation, our Pastor helped supply and coordinate members of the Underground Railroad in Philadelphia.”

 

The outlaw snapped back to the present conversation. “Whoa. Truly?”

 

“Mm-hmm. That's how my parents met. My Mama was free-born, like me, but my Daddy was a fugitive slave from Virginia. He ran away when he was just fifteen, and our Pastor helped him make a new life for himself in the city.” Libby sighed dreamily. “Our church was an amazin' place, Miss Deputy...so full of good-natured and charitable people. Did you know, we held mixed services right in the middle of Philadelphia? We were never short on attendees either, and I sang in front of the congregation most every week.”

 

“My-oh-my. A local celebrity, then.”

 

Miss Folfax's expression grew sheepish. “That's what I thought too. I have to confess, I grew a little full of myself. I was only eleven when Lincoln freed the slaves, but somehow I got it into my head that before long I was gonna become a famous chanteuse and sing for him at the White House.” She gave a half-hearted laugh. “You must think I'm daft, to have had a dream like that.”

 

“Not really. I’ve had some pretty daft dreams in my day, too. When you're young, you don't realize life's limitations.”

 

Libby gave Tex's forearm a commiserative squeeze. “Anyhow, after the war ended, my father went south to look for his missing family. It had never sat well with Daddy, having to abandon his brothers and sisters like he did, so I couldn't blame him for leaving. It took him a couple of years to track everyone down, but once he'd done it, he sent for my Mama and me to join him, and the whole lot of us pitched in to buy a small property in New Orleans – have you been, Miss Tex?”

 

“To the Crescent City? Can't say I have.”

 

“Then you've been sorely deprived, 'cause it's one of the finest sights this side of the Mason Dixon. I fell in love with it the second I stepped off the train platform. There's so much color and music and excitement – I woke up every day feelin' like I was really living, y'know? And the nightlife! All around me were showgirls and singers, beautiful women who performed in theaters or on showboats to crowds of cheerin' spectators. I thought, 'This! This is what I want to do with my life!'” Her glow of enthusiasm reached its apex, then slowly began to fade. “I really was a fool back then, Miss Tex,” she sighed. “I was just settin' myself up for disappointment.”

Tex could hardly believe how much information Miss Folfax was volunteering, especially since they'd only met two days earlier. The outlaw rarely encountered people so forthcoming, and it intrigued her.

 

“How do you mean?” she prompted.

 

Libby grimaced. “Life in the South wasn't like life in the Philadelphia suburbs. There were no mixed race churches, and there were no Pastors or Abraham Lincolns. The fine folk of New Orleans treated me like a flea-ridden dog. I was forbidden from settin' foot on the showboats, except as a servant, and every theater manager I approached laughed in my face and told me that no white audience would ever pay to hear a colored girl sing. Not even the shady cabaret shows would take me on, and eventually I had to throw in the towel. I ended up servin' drinks at a waterfront Juke Joint and wearin' low-cut shirts so I could get bigger tips from the dockworkers.”

“I'm sorry.”

 

“It's no matter. In the end, it all worked out for the best. You see, as I was whiling away the hours scrubbin' glasses and waitin' on grabby patrons, I picked up a lot of business tips from my boss. Not that he ever helped me intentionally, of course. He was a crotchety, greedy old mulatto with one milky eye and a mean streak a mile wide, but he always had plenty of money and the freedom to run his bar however he wanted. I thought to myself, you know, maybe this old codger's got the right idea. With things the way they are now, I can never be a singer...but I bet I could run the best damn Juke Joint you ever set foot in.”

 

By then only three other people remained in the church: Mr. Neutron, who was talking to Betty, and a pinch-faced biddy of a woman waiting in line behind him. The biddy caught the word “damn” and leveled a disapproving look at Miss Folfax. Tex glared daggers at the woman, who blanched and returned her gaze to the floor.

“So,” the blonde continued smoothly, “you decided to go into business for yourself. How'd you end up in Texas?”

 

“Haha, well. It seems bein' dark-skinned wasn't my only crime; I had the audacity to be a woman besides. As a female in a man's profession yourself, I'm sure you can appreciate my troubles.” Libby tucked in her chin, then thrust her index finger into the air, assuming the guise of a fat pontificator. “A woman can't run no drinkin' joint!” she bellowed. “What does a woman know about keepin' track o' figgers? Pah! You'll be bankrupt in a fortnight!”

 

“Ha,” said Tex. “The usual claptrap.”

 

“Exactly, the usual claptrap. And of course my parents wanted me to settle down and get married, but I wasn’t about to have some good-for-nothin’ husband orderin’ me around. My Mama taught me how to read, so I’d seen the newspaper articles about the men and women who’d gone West and struck it rich. A plot of land and a livelihood for anyone who wants it - that's how I heard it from the dockworkers. I nearly gave my parents a heart attack when I told them I wanted to try my luck out on the frontier. They agreed in the end, though, and a couple months later I took my life savings and a bag of clothes and caught the next train to Texas.”

 

“By yourself, without an escort or a way to defend yourself? Isn't that a bit reckless?”

 

Miss Folfax leaned in and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Just between you and me, Miss Deputy, I always carry. Got my trusty Derringer strapped to my garter belt even as we speak. I wouldn't dream of runnin' a Juke Joint without it, even in a town as mellow as this.”

 

Admiration welled up inside Tex. I misjudged this woman, she thought. She may be the town gossip, but she's got sand.

 

Libby drew in a long breath as she straightened. “You're right, though. In hindsight, I suppose it was a bit reckless. The West wasn't the welcoming paradise the advertisements made it out to be. Everywhere I went, I met lowlifes and criminals – nobody wanted me in their town, except as a harlot, and they sure as blazes wouldn't give me a loan to start a business. Things got real bad when a stagecoach I'd hired never showed, and I wound up stranded in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a suitcase and a gun.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“I walked for miles with no water, and I might've ended up as buzzard food if I hadn't run into Señor Estevez and that ridiculous mule of his, wanderin' the hills in search of gold.” Libby chuckled. “I think he was the first man I met in all Texas who didn't scare the daylights out of me. I stayed at his camp for two days, then he escorted me back to Retro Valley. And well...the rest is history. With Mr. Neutron's help, I got this bar, and I run it the way I please. Out here in the sticks, people don't have the luxury of bein' choosy about who serves their drinks. I have a monopoly on the alcohol in this town, so folks either gotta put up or shut up, and that's how I like it. I get to sing whenever I want, too…and while I’m a far cry from bein’ a showgirl, I can’t really complain about the way things’ve turned out.”

 

Miss Folfax beamed at her, and Tex got the distinct impression that the barkeep had not only enjoyed recounting her entire life story to a near stranger at church, but that she expected Tex to return the favor at some point. It was a strange form of tit for tat, and the outlaw wasn't sure how to take it. Was it the act of an emotionally manipulative gossip-monger, or an invitation of friendship from a talkative but otherwise kind woman? It was so hard to take kindness at face value – Tex had lied so often herself that she suspected everyone else of doing the same.

 

She heard a chuckle from the direction of the door, and she turned to see Mr. Neutron lounging against one of the pews, regarding them both with an amused expression on his face. Everybody else had gone.

 

Miss Folfax saw him too, and she stomped her foot in indignation. “James Isaac Neutron, didn't your mother ever teach you not to eavesdrop?” Libby gave a huff, but Tex could tell she was just playing it up for sport. “I have half a mind to knock some manners into you,” she added, “so watch yourself.”

 

“Don't bother. Vortex here will just knock them out of me again.”

 

It was the kind of comment that was ostensibly innocent, but with a bit of imagination could be taken another way entirely. Libby shot Tex a look.

 

“Well. I'll, uh, I'll leave you to it then.” She cleared her throat. “I enjoyed speakin’ to you, Miss Deputy. I'm off to begin preparations for tomorrow’s party – I trust I’ll see you there?”

 

The blonde nodded, and Miss Folfax waved goodbye as she headed for the exit, heels clacking against the floorboards. Tex watched her go, fondness and foreboding at war within her. The door swung shut behind Libby, leaving the outlaw and the Sheriff alone together.

 

He crossed his arms and leaned back, looking pleased with himself for some reason. “So,” he said after a moment. “Little miss killer makes a friend – somebody ought to telegraph the papers.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Oh, nothing, nothing at all. I am curious, though – if I handed you three thousand dollars this very moment, and I asked you to kill Miss Folfax, would you do it?”

 

Tex couldn't keep the shock from her face. She opened her mouth to protest, but he raised a hand to silence her.

 

“Don't look so scandalized. I didn't mean it. It's just, you said yesterday that you would, and I quote, 'care about public safety if there was a public to care about'. It got me thinking - I wanted to see if you're really the soulless money-grubber you make yourself out to be. I am happy to report that, in addition to greed and belligerence, your emotional repertoire contains at least some basic form of human feeling. Funny how that works...it's hard to murder people once you've gotten to know them, isn't it?”

 

His smugness infuriated her, but there wasn't much she could say in her own defense. She opted for a threat instead. “Don't think this changes anything between us, Neutron,” she said coldly. “It doesn't matter how well I get to know you; I will still shoot you in the head if you fail to deliver on your end of our agreement.”

 

He turned away. “Sure. Go for it. At the end of the day, the joke's on you, sweetheart – 'cause I'll be spending a happy eternity discussing physics and electrochemistry with da Vinci, Faraday, and Newton, and you'll be right back where you started. Just another gun-toting felon, with no friends or family, and no one to mourn you when you die. Maybe you ought to stop and give that a few moments consideration. I'll be waiting outside.”

 

Tex trembled, positively livid, as he walked out the door. She wanted to beat the tar out of him, but that wouldn't solve anything. There's no way I can win this, she realized, and the thought filled her with equal parts anger and despair. If I kill him, Strych and his cronies will take over, and I have no doubt that everyone in this valley will suffer for it. If I spare him, Eustace will just find someone else to do the job, and the outcome will be the same. No matter which choice I make, Neutron will wind up dead eventually, and then it'll be a toss-up to see who gets thrown to the dogs. Libby? Sheen? The Wheezers? Injun Nick? Could be any of them. It's like I told Neutron yesterday...this whole damn town's going to hell on a fast horse. All I know is, I don't want to be around when the shooting starts.

 

The trapped sparrow cried out pitifully from the rafters overhead. It flapped and fluttered and peeped, and the wooden walls creaked as they dried and splintered in the hot sun. Tex stood in the middle of the empty church, stomach churning, with all the world's saints and devils and angels looking down on her.

 

Sundays really are the worst, she thought.

 

_______________________________________________________________________________________

 

 

*bows profusely* Once again, allow me to apologize for the HUGE delay with this update. Health issues aside, this was an incredibly tough chapter to write because sexism, racism, and religion, OH MY! You would not believe the amount of time I put into historical research since my last update; I sat through 7 out of the 9 episodes in Kevin Burn's Civil War series, watched a documentary on slavery narrated by Morgan Freeman, visited like 30 websites, and read the entirety of Bruce Wexler's The Wild West. Now, to be fair, this is the kind of shit I do in my free time anyway, but still - that's a lot of information to digest.

 

 

HISTORICAL SHIT AND BULLSHIT SHIT
 

- Indigo - prior to the advent of synthetic dyes, if you wanted blue clothes, you'd need pigment from the indigo plant. It was an important cash crop in the American south, and because of its high value as a trading commodity, it was often referred to as 'Blue Gold'. In other words, the Sheriff's shirt was probably really expensive. 

- Muslin - A loosely woven cotton fabric. Air moves easily through muslin, making it ideally suited for hot, dry climates.

- Milk and honey - a reference to the Biblical book of Exodus. In the story, God speaks to Moses through a burning bush and promises the wandering Israelite people a land so rich and fertile it's said to be "flowing with milk and honey". The descriptor was basically desert culture shorthand for 'mega enticing', which is why I used it to describe Betty's voice.

- Saint Anthony - in Catholicism, he's the saint you call on when you're trying to find a lost item. Side note: I made Sheen Catholic because duh, he's from Mexico in this story, and Mexicans are predominately Roman Catholic. Of course, things get a bit complicated when you realize that Libby would undoubtedly be a Protestant, given her Pennsylvania roots. Nowadays, people from different Christian denominations intermarry all the time, and unless your family is super conservative or something, it's generally not a big deal. But in 1875? That would likely be a deal-breaker, and even if it wasn't, it would certainly be a huge sticking point in any potential relationship. The fact that Sheen and Libby are able to sort of playfully rib each other over the matter (with him calling Protestants "heretics" and her referring to saints as "dead fools") shows just how close the two of them really are. You don't joke about crap like that in the 1870s unless you're really damn secure in your friendship.

- The hymn sung in the chapter, "Rescue the Perishing", is an old American classic that was written in 1869. If you want to get a feel for the song, you can watch a group of white dudes sing it here .

- Underground Railroad - a network of secret routes and safe houses used by 19th-century slaves to escape to free states and Canada with the aid of abolitionists and allies sympathetic to their cause. It is estimated that by 1850, 100,000 slaves had escaped via the Railroad. The most famous member of the Underground Railroad is of course Harriet Tubman, but 'Conductors' came from various backgrounds and included free-born blacks, white abolitionists, former slaves (either escaped or legally freed), and Native Americans. Churches also played a role, especially the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers), Congregationalists, Wesleyans, and Reformed Presbyterians, as well as certain sects of mainstream denominations such the Methodist church and American Baptists. Local populations of free blacks were vital to resettlement - without their 'camouflage', escaped slaves would've been quickly discovered and captured. Runaways often chose Pennsylvania not only because it was close by, but also because it contained the North's largest free African-American population, more than 56,000 residents by the eve of the Civil War.

- Mason Dixon - A demarcation line between four U.S. States that was put into place in the 1760s to resolve a border dispute between British colonies. In popular usage, the Mason-Dixon line symbolizes a cultural boundary between the Northeastern and the Southern United States. After Pennsylvania abolished slavery in the late 1700s, it was seen by many to be an unofficial border between slave states and free states (not to be confused with the line drawn during The Missouri Compromise in 1820, which also had to do with slavery. Ugh, American history, Y U NO BE SIMPLE).

- I mention in the chapter that once the war was over, Libby's father traveled south to look for missing family members. This was actually a huge issue after emancipation. Because slaves were sold and resold so often, tracking down family members could take years, even decades, if they ever turned up at all. Libby's dad was able to locate all his relatives in a comparatively short time span, no doubt thanks to his years as a free worker, which would've allowed him to save extra money to aid in the search, whereas most former slaves had to do it while also dealing with severe poverty.

- The Derringer, originally called the Philadelphia Deringer, was a small caliber handgun designed by Henry Deringer and produced from 1852 through 1868. Its tiny size made this "pocket pistol" popular as a concealed carry weapon, especially among women.

- Fun fact: nobody would have used the idiom "throw in the towel" in 1875. The term, which first entered popular usage in the early 1900s, comes from boxing (if a boxer was suffering a beating, the guy in his corner would literally throw a towel in the ring to indicate the fighter's concession and end the match). Back in the 1800s, boxers used sponges to mop up their sweat instead of towels, so believe it or not, the original version of this saying is actually "chuck up the sponge" However, this sounds friggin STUPID and would probably just confuse the reader, so I had Libby use the anachronistic "throw in the towel" instead.

 

Vocab:
* She's got sand - a way of saying that a woman is chock full of pluck and resolve
* Exodusters - the name given to freed slaves who moved West after the Civil War. The biggest and most famous wave of the migration actually occurred in 1879, after this story takes place, with Kansas as the destination.
* guerita - blondie

* gringo/gringa - slang term for white guy/white girl, respectively

* Domingo - Sunday
* chanteuse - fancy singer
* colored - African American. Nowadays this term is considered rude ("people of color" is preferred), but back in the 1870s, "colored" would have been one of the more polite descriptors.

*mulatto - a person who is born from one white parent and one black parent. The term is not common in contemporary settings and is generally considered archaic and offensive.
 

P.S. This chapter is dedicated to Amanda for being my 100th reviewer on ff.net

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

 

NEXT PART -> Solid Gold Piss-Pot

[Katia11]

My health has been crap, and I've been so overwhelmed...but you don't want to hear about that. You want me to shut up and give you the next chapter. To which I say, "As thou commandeth, Queen Elizabeth..."

 

I want to hear it! :-) Ugh, this chapter though. *sits and stares at the awesome pouring off the page* 

[underwater]

I'll be spending a happy eternity discussing physics and electrochemistry with da Vinci, Faraday, and Newton, and you'll be right back where you started.

 

Haha, figures Jimmy would imagine heaven to be filled with a bunch of famous scientists talking about nerdy stuff all the time

 

 

Corinne

[JimmyxxCindy4EVER]

Brilliantly written, as always! Don't worry that it took so long to write; it was well worth the wait!!

Haha, classic Jimmy gawking over Betty. Very clever of you to make her the lady minister!

Sheen flirting with Libby, oh, that is too awesome!! You sure have got their relationship down pat!

Hmm... Could it be that Cin- *you give me a glare* er, I mean, Tex is starting to have second thoughts about shooting the Sheriff?! Holy Heisenberg!!

And nice work on Libby's backstory! Sounds like it was really tough to come up with all that! I applaud you on that, Mara-chan!! *claps and bows*

I adore how a friendship seems to be blossoming between the two girls, just like they already are in the show! Way to keep them, and everyone else, for that matter, in character!!

All in all, awesome work, and I eagerly look forward the next chapter in this marvelous piece of fanfiction!!

[Mara=^.^=]

Thanks so much for your review, Em!

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =