835 replies to this topic

[Mara=^.^=]

**believes in you**

 

my anthem

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Jimbo248]

proud to say i have jerked off to this 7 times. great job!

[Mara=^.^=]

proud to say i have jerked off to this 7 times. great job!

 

Impressive!

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Thore]

Impressive!

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

Impressive it may be... but its not the update my mind expected for a brief second when I saw that you were the last to reply to this topic. Oh well one day it will come and maybe, just maybe I will beat his record. 

[Mara=^.^=]

Turns out that a really stupid masturbation joke was exactly what I needed to get back into the writing game. Go figure.

 

Sorry for the year-long hiatus. Enjoy chapter 14! and you damn well better reply because I spent WAY too much time on this

 

 

************************************************************************************************

 

 

For Tex, the Sabbath did not improve with age.

 

After church, she accompanied Mr. Neutron on his social calls, which included a conversation with Señor Estevez outside town, followed by a trip to the Wheezer farmstead. Pretending to enjoy the visit took immense fortitude. The house was sweltering, the midday meal was overcooked, and Elke asked enough questions to test even Tex’s prodigious lying capabilities. Then, just when it seemed like the worst of it had passed, they retired to the sitting room, and the Sheriff spent the better part of two hours telling Carl about his plans for a new wood-chopping machine. Tex felt like she was losing her mind. The whole town had a death sentence hanging over its head, and Mr. Neutron seemed unwilling or unable to acknowledge the approaching crisis. Did he not understand that she was going to kill him…and that if she didn’t, someone else would?

 

Plagued by these thoughts and others like them, Tex grew increasingly agitated as the afternoon progressed. By the time she and Mr. Neutron finally said their farewells, she was itching for a fight.

 

The ride home began civilly enough. A chance remark by the Sheriff revealed a mutual interest in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein; subsequent discussion, however, escalated into a quarrel. Mr. Neutron argued that Victor Frankenstein, though misguided, was given a disproportionately bad rap. Tex’s assessment of the doctor was less generous, and involved words like “hubris” and “complete jackass”. By the time they arrived back home, they were so irritated with one another that Tex stormed off to the stables, and Mr. Neutron shut himself inside the house.

 

They didn’t speak again until suppertime, when hunger compelled Tex to skulk into the kitchen and try to make amends. By the time she got there, the Sheriff was already dumping his cutlery into the mechanized wash-basin on the floor, where it joined days’ worth of dishes in the greasy water. He nodded in greeting, then gestured toward the plate of food sitting on the table.

 

“Help yourself. I’ll be on the back porch if you need anything.” His tone was terse, but polite – perhaps his anger had abated.

 

As soon as he left, Tex sat down to eat. She stabbed a piece of boiled potato with her fork, then held it up to the light, unable to shake off her habitual paranoia. She felt confident that Mr. Neutron wasn’t the type to poison food, but what about a sleeping draught? That wasn’t out of the question, was it?

 

Oh, for heaven’s sake, give it a rest, she thought, and took a bite.

 

The meal was cold, but richly flavored, and Tex wondered where he’d learned to cook. Didn’t wealthy families have servants to do that sort of thing for them? Someone in Retro Valley must have taught him, unless children of the Boston elite received culinary training as part of their education.

 

“What about you, Mr. Table Cactus?” she asked, addressing the saguaro. “Do you envy him? Wish you could’ve studied at some prestigious institution back in the Old States?”

 

The cactus, predictably, had nothing to say on the matter, so she finished out the meal in silence. To show her gratitude, she put extra effort into tidying up the kitchen – she scrubbed the table, wiped down the counters, and gave the cactus a good watering. She couldn’t make heads or tails of the basin-contraption, so she scoured the dishes by hand and stacked them in the cupboard. By the time she went in search of Mr. Neutron, it was nearly 8 o’clock.

 

As promised, he was out on the back porch, sitting in a rocking chair. Books surrounded him on both sides – to his left, the volumes were stacked in neat columns. To his right, they were strewn about all helter-skelter, as if he’d grown bored halfway through and tossed them. Goddard wagged his tail and puppy-smiled up at her, but Mr. Neutron failed to acknowledge her approach. He stared intently at the manuscript in his hands, eyes obscured by the brim of his hat. Customarily, a gentleman would cede his chair to a lady, but Tex expected no such courtesy. She hung her ten-gallon on the railing, peeled off her coat, flung it over the floorboards, and slumped down onto it.

 

She lay on her side, overlooking the vast prairie beyond the fence-line. The grass rippled and bobbed in the evening wind – a great, golden, undulating sea, stretching to the place where horizon met imagination. There were no words to capture its grandeur, or its desolation. A man could wander that expanse forever, and never find what he was looking for.

 

Thunk. Tex turned toward the sound; behind her, the Sheriff had thrown his book onto the deck. Rising with a yawn, he stretched, prodded Goddard with his foot, and motioned toward the house. The dog bounded over and opened the door for him, but Tex was not the sort to be wowed twice. As master and pet disappeared inside, the outlaw turned her attention to the discarded book. She scooted over to the rocker and picked it up. It was a copy of the British Medical Journal, opened to page 246.

 

“On The Antiseptic Principle in the Practice of Surgery,” she read. “…Joseph Lister. Hmm…”

 

She turned the page, skimming the text as best she could in the gathering dark. Once upon a time, Tex had been a swift reader, and she labored to recapture that skill. The article was easy to follow, at least. The author spoke at length about the need for cleanliness in operating rooms. Beyond that, he seemed to be explaining his technique for disinfecting wounds using a solution of carbolic acid.

 

She heard the creak of wood, and when she looked up, she found Mr. Neutron standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame and eating a pastry.

 

“You’ve chosen an excellent book,” he observed. “Though I hesitate to ask your opinion on it, given the trajectory of our last discussion.”

 

Tex ignored the gibe. “This Lister fellow,” she said, snapping the cover shut. “He a doctor?”

 

“Professor at the University of Glasgow, actually,” he replied, taking a bite. “His experiments are revolutionizing the way medicine is practiced in Europe. A few more years of refinement, and surgery will be safe. No more dying from suppuration or ward fever.”

 

“Sounds too good to be true.”

 

“The world is changing, Vortex. The United States is woefully behind Europe when it comes to cutting-edge medicine, but Lister first published his findings eight years ago. It’ll catch on. Soon.”

 

He sounded so confident, Tex was tempted to believe him. Instead, she revisited the conundrum that had been on her mind all weekend. Mr. Neutron came from the socialite crowd: educated, rich, influential. He clearly took an interest in world affairs. So why was he out here, wasting his talents on the inconsequential problems of Retro Valley?

 

“So. Joseph Lister,” she said, in lieu of her real question. “You ever meet him?”

 

“Not in person, no. Although we did correspond briefly, a few years back.”

 

“You did? What did you discuss?”

 

He walked toward her. “We talked about his research. About Louis Pasteur’s ideas. About life in Scotland. At the time, I was considering going to Europe – I was fascinated by physics, and I thought I might research electromagnetism alongside James Clerk Maxwell.” He chuckled as he sat. “Heh, good ol’ Maxwell. Brilliant man. Hideous beard.”

 

“Why didn’t you go? To Europe, I mean. If you were determined to leave home, why not go somewhere decent? Why come here, of all places?”

 

“Because, Vortex. I finally realized what I wanted.”

 

“And what’s that?”

 

“To get away from everything.” He leaned back in his chair and spread his arms wide. “From everyone. You speak of the West as though it were a den of lions, but rest assured, civilization has its own set of evils.”

 

“And what sort of evils plague a man of your station, pray tell?”

 

His response was uncharacteristically vitriolic. “Society is cursed, Vortex. Give people an inch, and they’ll take a mile. Can you fault me for running away from those who would seek to exploit my talents for personal gain? Out here, I’m the master of my own fate. I may never accomplish great things, but at least I won’t be a pawn in someone else’s game. And I can make a difference, small as it may be, for the people living in this town.”

 

“Why do you care about them so much?”

 

“Do I need a reason to care about people?”

 

She pursed her lips. “You know what you are?” she said. “You’re a man who threw away a winning lottery ticket. You hit the birthright jackpot: rich, white, intelligent, male. If I’d been born with those advantages, you wouldn’t see me wasting away out in cow country. I’d be sitting in a mansion somewhere, knocking back champagne and reading Voltaire in the original French.”

 

“You don’t know that, Vortex. In my place, you might have run away too.”

 

Tex thought back over the mistakes she’d made in her youth – the stupid, prideful, life-ruining mistakes – and concluded that maybe, just maybe, he was right. Disheartened, she flopped onto her back.

 

“All right,” she said. “Let’s say I run away. What am I running from?”

 

“Corruption. Greed. Exploitation. Pick your poison.”

 

She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “You can’t escape human nature, genius. If I’m going to suffer mankind’s foibles, why not do it in the lap of luxury?”

 

“What, and sell your soul to a bunch of crooked plutocrats? No thanks – not for all the riches on the planet. My parents taught me that lesson. They took my inventions, my discoveries, and they did terrible things with them. All for a little bit of money.”

 

He fell silent, but the hurt in his voice convinced Tex that there was more to the story. She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. After a pause, he got up and walked across the porch, then leaned against the railing with a sigh. She tilted her head to get a better look, and she found herself face-to-boot with an upside down version of him.

 

“What about you, Vortex?” he asked. “What’s your poison?”

 

When she didn’t respond, he turned and gazed down at her.

 

“Well?”

 

She lay there on the deck, resting on a pillow of filthy, tangled hair, looking up at him with her mad green eyes.

 

“Maybe I just like killing people. Ever think of that?”

 

He raised his eyebrows, and they stared at each other for a long while. “Is that so?” he said.

 

She should have kept her mouth shut. Revealing her secrets was against the rules; it went against every cautionary impulse she’d ever instilled in herself. And yet, in that moment, she wanted someone to know. It might as well be him.

 

“I wasn’t always like this,” she admitted. “I had very different aspirations, back before I – well, before. Like I told you yesterday, my father was an attorney, and my grandfather was a judge. For many years, I planned to follow in their footsteps. I thought that, with perseverance, I might be the first woman admitted to the Bar. A foolhardy notion, in retrospect.”

 

He sounded surprised. “You aspired to the practice of law, but became a career criminal instead?”

 

“The irony does not escape me, I assure you. If I could change the past, I would.”

 

“You’d take back your crimes?”

 

“No. I’d take back my aspirations.”

 

He frowned. She looked away. By unspoken agreement, the conversation ceased. The rest of the evening passed by in silence, and that night Tex dreamed of empty courtrooms, flooded white by summer sun.

 

***

 

Tex awoke to the peal of nearby gunshots.

 

Instinct took over immediately – she rolled onto her stomach, flattened herself against the roof, and drew her pistol. Heart racing, she belly-crawled toward the edge and peered over it. Disoriented and bleary-eyed though she was, it only took her a few seconds to locate the shooters. Even from a distance she recognized them, and her alarm gave way to anger.

 

Mr. Wheezer, Señor Estevez, and Mr. Neutron were down by the gully, sighting in a hunting rifle.

 

Tex released a stream of curse-words as she stood, jammed her gun back in its holster, and snatched her hat off the roof. She heard the three of them laughing as she climbed down the apple tree beside the house. It soured her mood even further.

 

Does no one work in this town? she grumbled to herself.

 

Carl was the first to notice her as she stomped toward them. He shaded his eyes, squinting against the morning light. “Howdy there, miss!” he called. “Fine morn, ain’t it?”

 

“Gentlemen,” she said, keeping her eyes on the rifle, which was currently in the Sheriff’s hands. “Bit early to be takin’ potshots in the gully, wouldn’t you say?”

 

Mr. Neutron tightened his grip on the gun. Their eyes locked, and she tensed. Easy… she told herself. He’s not going to shoot you in front of his friends.

 

Mr. Wheezer, oblivious to Tex’s fears, hooked his thumbs through his suspenders and gave them a tug. “Can’t be helped, I’m afraid,” he sighed, rocking back on his heels. “Coyotes are harassing my stock again. The brutes attacked a baby llama last night, and when I tried to come to her rescue, my gun misfired.”

 

“He shot the weathervane clean off the roof,” chuckled Señor Estevez. “Unlikeliest marksman in Texas.”

 

Carl blanched. “Mr. Neutron’s the only one who can mend my rifle, so I brought it over first thing.”

 

“Jim made special sights for Carl’s guns, on account of him bein’ blind as a bat,” explained Sheen. “Ain’t that right, Carl?”

 

“What? Blind as a – I am not!”

 

“Are too. You couldn’t hit the ground with your hat in three throws. I’d pity you if it wasn’t so funny.”

 

Mr. Wheezer continued to protest, but Señor Estevez had already left the joke behind. He jerked his thumb toward Mr. Neutron.

 

“Carl may be the master of dumb luck, but when it comes to marksmanship, Jimmy here is the real deal. Ain’t that right, amigo? Best shot in the state, by my account.”

Every man has his vice; that much is common knowledge. For some men, it’s women. For others, it’s cards. Some men take to the pipe. Others lose themselves in liquor. Tex was no exception, although her vice was different than most. Tex’s vice was competition. She yearned to win the way a boozer yearns for a stiff drink…and she couldn’t let a remark like that go unchallenged. She drew her revolver and gave it a spin.

 

“Five bucks says I’m better, hombre.”

 

“Oh ho, I like your mettle! How you wanna test it?”

 

“Got anything you can toss?”

 

Sheen fished around in his overalls, but came up with nothing. After a moment, Carl reached into his pocket and produced a small glass vial. The label read Dr Bolbi Specail Elixir.

 

“Caaaarl,” groaned the Sheriff. “You actually bought one of those?”

 

Mr. Wheezer muttered something about headaches as he handed the bottle to Señor Estevez.

 

“All right,” said Tex. “Throw it as far as you can. Angle it toward the gully if possible.”

 

Tex bent her knees and widened her stance, drawing arm at the ready. Sheen reared back and, grunting slightly, hurled the vial with all his might. In the blink of an eye, Tex drew her weapon, and the airborne bottle exploded into a spray of shards. The Señor let out a whoop of delight.

 

“Hot damn! You see that, Jimmy? Little miss bandida’s a trick-shot!”

 

Tex turned to face the Sheriff, exultant. “Beat that,” she smirked.

 

Mr. Neutron raised his chin slightly. “You misunderstand the nature of my talent,” he said, resting the rifle against one shoulder. “You’re the quick draw, Vortex. I’m the deadeye.”

 

Gripping the lever, he flipped the gun forward to cock it. He spun it round a couple times before returning it to his shoulder.

 

“Pick a target,” he said. “Something far off. Something you think I can’t hit.”

 

Tex glanced around. Her gaze fell on the tree beside the house, and she noticed a tiny red apple dangling from the uppermost branch. She would have missed it entirely if it weren’t for the color. The fruit had ripened months ahead of schedule; it stood out against the dappled green of the canopy.

 

“See that red apple over yonder? The early bloomer, on the top branch. Hit that, without knocking any sticks loose.”

 

“Easy.”

 

Mr. Neutron knelt down, brought the rifle into position, and exhaled. Then, he froze. If it weren’t for the wind that tugged at his hair and shirt, Tex would’ve taken him for a statue.

 

BANG!

 

As the smoke cleared, the Sheriff stood, satisfied, and gestured toward the tree. “Go see for yourself.”

 

Tex jogged over, and sure enough, the apple was gone. She circled round, inspecting the grass, until she found a bullet-torn chunk of fruit. She picked it up and held it aloft.

 

“Told ya!” shouted Sheen from across the way. “Best sniper in Texas!”

 

Impressive, she thought, but not impressive enough. Accuracy is one thing. Speed is another. I’m still the better shot. The outlaw walked back over, tossing and catching the apple fragment as she went. She approached the Sheriff with her hand held out.

 

“Your kill,” she said wryly, offering the fruit.

 

For some reason, the color drained from his face. The lawman ignored the proffered apple and practically shoved the rifle into Carl’s waiting arms. She’d never seen a man so eager to be rid of a firearm before. You’d think the damn thing had the pox, she thought.

 

It took Mr. Neutron a moment to comport himself, but if Carl noticed, he said nothing. Sheen just kept right on babbling.

 

“Don't run from a sniper, or you'll just die tired. That's what my abuela always said. Which is pretty good advice, coming from someone who fought in La Intervención. It's right up there with my tío's words of wisdom: a big wife and a big farm ain't never done a man no harm...”

 

Tex realized that Mr. Wheezer was trying to say something, so she tuned out the prospector. “…sure are incredible, miss,” came the farmer’s voice. “With you ‘n the Sheriff around town, I feel safe as a baby in his mama’s arms. Thank you.”

 

The outlaw felt a twinge of guilt, then a stab of fear. If the inhabitants of Retro Valley knew who she was, knew what she was, they’d revile her. More than likely, they’d clap her in irons and send her to the hangman’s noose. These people are your enemy, she reminded herself, but the thought lacked conviction. Tex felt a headache coming on.

 

“I’m going back to the house,” she said, rubbing her temples. “I could use a brief respite.”

 

“I should return as well,” sighed the Sheriff. “That side of bacon in the larder isn’t going to cook itself.”

 

“All right! Free breakfast!” celebrated Sheen, without waiting to be invited.

 

The three men trailed behind her as she headed back, laughing and joking amongst themselves. Their company was amiable enough, she supposed, but her mind was preoccupied. She remained quiet all through the morning meal, barely listening as Sheen relayed his latest gold-hunting misadventure, which involved falling down a hole and getting bitten by a gopher. It wasn’t until they were washing up that the conversation finally captured her interest.

 

Carl had just finished waxing poetic about the bonnet he’d given Elke for her birthday, and talk shifted to the new ‘department stores’ that were popping up back east.

 

“It’s a real shame about that railroad business,” lamented Carl. “Elsewise Retro Valley might’ve gotten a store of its own someday. Not that I mind going to Marble Orchard and ordering gifts by post, of course. Folks there are, um…lively.”

 

Tex perked up. “What d’you mean, ‘that railroad business’?”

 

“Oh, right,” said the farmer. “You don’t know on account of bein’ new here, miss, but Retro Valley was almost a very different sort of town. Some bigwig rail baron tried to buy the land off Jimmy awhile back. Said that we’d be part of the first transcontinental line: a bustlin’ rail-town fixin’ to bust with settlers, entrepreneurs, and travelers. Jimmy turned him down.”

 

So that’s why Strych wants him dead, thought Tex.

 

She turned to the Sheriff. “This rail baron…why’d you send him packing? Imagine the prosperity a railroad would bring. The town would grow. Businesses would thrive. This backwoods mud hole would finally be worth something.”

 

“Worth something to whom?” he shot back. “The vultures back east who call themselves capitalists? A railroad would ruin this town. Trust me: isolation is a blessing, and I aim to keep it.”

 

“But if you just –”

 

"Look, Vortex. If Retro Valley were to become widely-known as 'prosperous', people would flock here in spades. Criminals. Charlatans. Parasites. And worse still, the self-declared 'respectable' folk. And you know what they'd bring with them, besides greed and disease? Their prejudices. You think they'd let a colored woman operate a drinking joint in the middle of town? They'd drive Libby out. They'd open dozens of new stores and force ours out of business. They'd set up farms and banks and cattle ranches and then fight with each other about them. And worst of all for me, they'd take my irrigation system and my wood-chopping machine and anything else they could get their hands on, and they'd try to duplicate them. Our lives would never be the same again."

 

It was an impassioned speech, and Tex couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He was the sort of man who stuck to his principles, and he was going to die because of it.

You can’t save him, she thought, and you shouldn’t want to. Take a walk. Clear your head.

 

She slammed the cupboard shut after putting away the last dish. “I’m going outside,” she said.

 

And she did.

 

************************************************************************************************

 

 

HISTORICAL SHIT AND BULLSHIT SHIT

- At the beginning of the chapter, Tex and the Sheriff argue about Frankenstein. Fun fact: the author, Mary Shelley, was the daughter of famed 18th century feminist Mary Wollstonecraft, who I once portrayed during a project in high school. Shelley was only 18 years old when she wrote Frankenstein; it was published anonymously in 1818, then reprinted in 1823 with her name attached to it. The book is considered to be the first great work of science fiction.

- Have you ever gargled with Listerine? Congrats! Joseph Lister is smiling down on you from inventor-heaven. His article, On the Antiseptic Principle in the Practice of Surgery, was a complete game-changer when it was first published in the British Medical Journal in 1867. (And yes, it really did appear on page 246. I checked). Lister realized that operating rooms needed to be kept clean, which was a revolutionary idea at the time. He developed antiseptic surgical methods; by using carbolic acid to clean wounds and surgical instruments, he was able to prevent infection. Hospitals that adopted his techniques saw deaths from infection fall from 60% to just 4%. Think about that for a second. Before Lister, surgery was so dangerous that more than half of all patients died. After Lister, less than 5% did. What a class act.

- While we're on the subject of medical breakthroughs, the 1860s and 70s saw huge advances in our understanding of illness. In 1870, Louis Pasteur and Robert Koch established the germ theory of disease, proving that microorganisms are responsible for sicknesses like cholera and dysentery. Until then, people had believed that diseases were caused by "miasma" (contaminated air) or evil spirits. Of course, none of this information would reach the frontier until years later. Jimmy's just ahead of the game.

- James Clerk Maxwell was a Scottish scientist with a genius mind and a crazy beard. In 1865, he demonstrated that electric and magnetic fields travel through space as waves moving at the speed of light. Bam! Electromagnetism. His discoveries helped usher in the era of modern physics, laying the foundation for the fields of special relativity and quantum mechanics. Maxwell is largely considered to be the third greatest physicist of all time, behind only Newton and Einstein.

- Tex mentions her childhood dream of becoming the first woman admitted to the Bar. IRL, the first female lawyer was Iowa's Arabella Mansfield, admitted in 1869. [Tangent: My all-time favorite lawyer is ultimate BAMF Clara Shortridge Foltz, the first woman admitted to the California bar. After her husband deserted her and their 5 kids, she lobbied through a bill allowing women to be lawyers, then took advantage of it that same year - 1878. She was a spitfire with a knack for witty comebacks. She once retorted to a trial opponent's ridicule by exclaiming: "Counsel intimates with a curl on his lip that I am called the lady lawyer. I am sorry that I cannot return the compliment, but I cannot. I never heard anybody call him any kind of a lawyer at all." Most importantly of all, Clara Foltz is the reason we have public defenders. Have you ever seen a cop show where the detective's like, 'you have the right to an attorney; if you cannot afford one, one will be provided for you...' That was Clara Foltz's idea. What a badass]
- Sheen makes reference to La Intervenci�n Estadounidense, which is the Mexican name for the Mexican-American War. The conflict followed the U.S. annexation of Texas and lasted from 1846-1848. It claimed tens of thousands of lives, mostly from starvation and disease.

- Shop talk! 'Department stores' made a dramatic appearance in the middle of the 19th century, and permanently reshaped purchasing habits wherever they opened. Famous examples include Chicago's Marshall Field & Company, which started in 1852, and Wanamakers, which opened in Philadelphia in 1877. Both of these enterprises sprung up around freight terminals and were patronized by customers who arrived by rail.

 

Vocab:

• Old States - eastern part of the country, especially those states that existed before the Louisiana Purchase.
• Suppuration - infection so nasty it oozes pus

BONUS: Mr. Neutron's wood-chopping machine

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

 

NEXT PART -> Murder and Mayhem

[Katia11]

SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT THE EFF UP.

 

I SAW YOU POSTING LAST NIGHT AND I HOPED.

 

I HOPED.

 

AND MARA. I WANT TO WEEP WITH FREAKING JOY.

[Mara=^.^=]

SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT THE EFF UP.
 
I SAW YOU POSTING LAST NIGHT AND I HOPED.
 
I HOPED.
 
AND MARA. I WANT TO WEEP WITH FREAKING JOY.

[TheKingInTheNorth]

So glad to see this story back!

 

I love the characters of Tex and Mr. Neutron. I enjoyed reading Mr. Neutron describing his history, and why he's done the things he's done. It was really interesting. Can't wait to read more about them!
 

I also have to say, I love your descriptions - They're really creative, and instantly generate an image in my head of what's going on.

 

PS. When Mr. Neutron said "Caaaarl", was that a 'Llamas With Hats' reference? Because I totally heard the voice in my head.

[underwater]

She lay on her side, overlooking the vast prairie beyond the fence-line. The grass rippled and bobbed in the evening wind – a great, golden, undulating sea, stretching to the place where horizon met imagination. There were no words to capture its grandeur, or its desolation. A man could wander that expanse forever, and never find what he was looking for.

 

good lord. This passage is GORGEOUS. Seriously, it's so poetic.

 

 

Corinne

[Mara=^.^=]

PS. When Mr. Neutron said "Caaaarl", was that a 'Llamas With Hats' reference? Because I totally heard the voice in my head.

 

LOL, no. Just the usual exasperated voice Jimmy uses when he's 5000% done with Carl.

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[JimmyxxCindy4EVER]

I absolutely cackled when I read that!!  Sheen's lines were killer, as always, too!!

[SweeneyxxTodd]

Yayyyyy! I'm so glad you updated. This was good. Tons of fun stuff.

[Katia11]

 

SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT THE EFF UP.
 
I SAW YOU POSTING LAST NIGHT AND I HOPED.
 
I HOPED.
 
AND MARA. I WANT TO WEEP WITH FREAKING JOY.

 

 

 

[Thore]

An amazing 6 hour session with my RP group AND an update?1?! Please tell me I'm not dreaming.

[Chompyzilla]

No way it'll take as long as TOSOT, though. It's PHYSICALLY IMPOSSIBLE

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

Right...

[Mara=^.^=]

Hey! I said that shit before I got diagnosed with UC. Timetables change when you're diseased and barely able to function.

[SweeneyxxTodd]

How long did it even take for you to write TOSOT? I think I was on IDOJ for four years at the time you finished, but I don't have any idea how many chapter releases that equated to, just that the story was already into volume 5 when I started reading it.

[Mara=^.^=]

How long did it even take for you to write TOSOT? I think I was on IDOJ for four years at the time you finished, but I don't have any idea how many chapter releases that equated to, just that the story was already into volume 5 when I started reading it.

 

I first posted TOSOT my senior year of high school (2006-2007), and I finished it in November of 2011. All told, it took me about 5 years to write the thing (not surprising, considering it ended up being 375 pages long). I started The Good The Bad & The Wealthy in late 2012, and wrote the majority of it in the months that followed. I've only posted 2 chapters in the last 2 years, and the whole story's only 50 pages thus far. It's rather sad. I'm confident that I could put out a lot more content if I wasn't so sick.

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Mara=^.^=]

Happy birthday to me...and happy birthday to you, because you get another chapter.

 

 

************************************************************************************************

 

Back in San Antonio, it was raining. Eustace huddled under the umbrella his butler was holding, shivering and rubbing his hands together. The air was unseasonably cold, and mist suffused the street, turning distant buildings into hazy shadows. Eustace cursed Eddie for making him venture out of doors in this weather. The boy outlaw had insisted they meet outside the train station; he hadn't said why. And now, to top it all off, the little snot had the audacity to be late.

 

Eustace heard footsteps approaching. He ventured a glance to his left, but the brim of the umbrella obscured his view. All he could see were legs: one short pair, and two very, very tall.

 

"Well damn, Useless," came Eddie's voice. "I didn't think it was possible for you to get any uglier, but gosh golly darn it, it looks like I was wrong."

 

Eustace smacked his butler's arm, and Blix repositioned the umbrella. Eddie came into view, wearing another one of his unbuttoned shirts.

 

"At least I know how to tell time," snapped Eustace. "It's a quarter past two, Eddie. You were supposed to be here 15 minutes ago."

 

He was going to pile on more insults, but he took a good look at the men behind Eddie and thought better of it. The first was broad and muscular; he sported a unibrow, a spencer carbine, and more knives than Eustace cared to count. The second was lanky and unconscionably ugly, with blond hair and teeth that stuck out like slats in a crooked fence. They were both soaked to the bone, and neither seemed to care.

 

"These here are my associates," said the boy outlaw, motioning to the two goons. "To my left is Terry Finster. To my right is Abraham 'Muttface' Adler. They've been helping me drum up the necessary manpower for our little undertaking."

 

Muttface was picking his nose. Eustace couldn't contain himself.

 

"For the love of God, man, use a handkerchief."

 

"Ain't got one," replied Muttface, slime leaking from his nostrils.

 

Eustace closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, he kept his gaze on Eddie. "Well then. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

 

"I came to talk logistics. I know you've got the train fare covered, but I have other concerns. We're talkin' about stuffin' a bunch of heavily armed men into a railcar…that sorta thing's bound to attract attention. If we want our departure to go unnoticed, it's gonna take some doin'. There's bribes to be paid, favors to be called in, threats to be made. I want to make sure our asses are covered if this thing goes south."

 

"And we couldn't discuss this at the hotel because…?"

 

"Because Terry here is banned from the Menger. Ain't that right, Terry?"

 

"I pissed in their shrubbery," he grunted, by way of explanation.

 

"Of course you did." Eustace shook his head. "So, these preparations. How long are they going to take? Will we be ready to go by tonight? Tomorrow morning? When?"

"We leave when we leave, Useless. In the meantime, we might have another problem."

 

"And what sort of problem would that be?"

 

Eddie sighed. "I've been thinking. That broad you sent out after Neutron –"

 

"Tex?"

 

"Yeah, her. I don't think she was the right choice for this job. She may have a reputation for being the best, but if I'd've known the target was Jimmy, I never would've recommended a woman."

 

Eustace looked puzzled, so Eddie elaborated.

 

"Look. Speakin' in generalities, women make excellent covert killers. All they gotta do is bat their eyelashes and jiggle the goods, and men never suspect them until it's too late. But Jimmy? He won't fall for something like that. You know how he is when it comes to women – he only wants the ones he can't have. No way he'll be bested by some saddle-calloused tramp, not in a million years. He'll outplay her and survive."

 

"What makes you think she'll try to seduce him? I met Tex, and she wasn't exactly the 'temptress' type. Half the outlaws in the saloon were scared of her, and I don't blame them. I saw the gun she carried – you know, the famous one, with the green handle – what was it called again?"

 

"The Emerald Ire, sir?" supplied Blix.

 

"Yes, that's the one. The Emerald Ire. Point is, I care nothing for criminal exploits, but even I have heard talk of that weapon."

 

Eddie wore a self-satisfied expression. "Tex stole that revolver. Once upon a time it belonged to Seamus O'Healy, leader of the O'Healy gang. He and his brothers robbed a string of banks awhile back and popped off a few lawmen. Someone got a picture of him with his gun, and it was all over the papers – "the deadliest six shooter in all Texas", or some such nonsense. That's why you've heard of it. It was Seamus who gave that green-handled revolver its iconic reputation, not Tex. She took it from him after she murdered him in his sleep. She killed all seven of his brothers too, or so the story goes. You really think a teenage girl could've eliminated a band of eight outlaws without playin' a little hanky-panky game to get them off their guard? Don't be a fool. Both you and I know women are only good for one thing, and it sure as hell ain't gunfighting."

 

Eustace wasn't convinced, but he didn't press the issue. "All right, for the sake of argument, let's say she does get to Retro Valley before us, and Jimmy does manage to outwit her. How is that a problem?"

 

"Because, Useless, he'll know someone is gunnin' for him. He'll be on the alert. The element of surprise is our most powerful weapon; I don't want to fight a man who knows he's a target."

 

The rail baron waved his hand dismissively. "We have nothing to worry about. Even if Jimmy knows that his life is in danger, he'll never expect anyone to launch a full-scale assault on the town. It's just not in his nature."

 

"Eh. I suppose. Still, I don't like unknown quantities. What if Tex is there, in Retro Valley, when we ride in and start shootin' up the place? We have no way of knowing how she'll react."

 

"I can tell you exactly how she'll react: she'll hightail it out of there as fast as her horse can carry her. There's no way she's going to risk her flea-bitten hide to save a bunch of strangers." He shivered harder. "Now, unless there's some pressing reason to remain out here in the street, may I suggest we continue this conversation inside? There's a diner up the road that serves passable coffee."

 

"You buyin'?"

 

Eustace rolled his yes. "Yes, I'm buying. Let's just get a move on."

 

And so these strange bedfellows walked off together, to discuss the logistics of murder and mayhem over a hot drink.

 

 

************************************************************************************************

 

Woohoo! More minor character cameos. Props to those of you who recognized Terry Finster from Safety First and Retroville 9, and of course Abraham 'Muttface' Adler from that one scene in Trading Faces where Jimmy-in-Cindy's-body announces the list of boys who make "Cindy Vortex feel allll fuzzy inside".

 

 

HISTORICAL SHIT AND BULLSHIT SHIT

-There's not much to say this time around. There was a train station in San Antonio during the 1870s, but I'm not entirely sure when it was built. It might not have been completed until a year or two after this fanfic takes place, so I'm just gonna go ahead and claim artistic license on this one. After all, I invented two whole new railroad companies for this fic, so I might as well go for broke and change the timeline on Texas rail development as well. Yeah. Fight the power.

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

 

 

NEXT PART -> Revelers and Revelations

[SweeneyxxTodd]

I love seeing all the minor characters you manage to fit in.