Let's take a look, shall we...
Scene opens as an old man wearing spectacles, hair as white as bone, sits on a hill next to a crude wooden cross jutting over a grave mound. He takes a long puff of his pipe and fingers the just-used shovel he's stuck in the ground.
Gravedigger Deth: Forty years of diggin' graves and it's finally come to this...the last earth this shovel'll ever see. Forty years of corpses. Forty years of death this shovel's served me. Now, no more...quite a tale t'were. Sit back and listen. It begins just one month ago, at the bottom of this hill...
Scene changes to one month ago, at the bottom of a dry, dirty hill one mile out of a collection of dry-timbered houses that serves as a town. The gravedigger is busy pulling out some hard-packed earth from the ground. A goatee'd man with a purple hat and a shiny badge lies on the earth next to his hole.
"T'were about high noon that day. I don't remember by the sun, since the sun's always high and harsh in the town of Cresty Gulch. I remember 'cause of the glint offa the shiny Sheriff's Badge of the stiff I was fixin' to bury."
A tall fellow wearing dirt-stained garb and a dusty cowboy hat rides by on a tired-looking horse. A gun, polished clean but still obviously aged, trots by, tipping his hat as he goes.
Stranger: Howdy.
The gravedigger doesn't look up, merely continuing to dig through his hard-earned grave, as the stranger trots past, his horse's hooves kicking up little dust against the packed ground.
"I wouldn't pay him no heed, lots of folks come through this here scorched land without a word. I was content to do the same; odds are I weren't gonna see this fella around again. It was only 'cause of what he done next that I even knew his name."
The stranger whirls his horse about and trots back.
Stranger: 'Scuse me there, gramps. I said "Howdy."
Deth: 'N?
Stranger: 'N usually it's proper for a fella to say "howdy" back s'soon as he's greeted.
Deth: Ya done come to the wrong place, then, stranger. T'ain't nothin' proper 'bout Cresty Gulch.
Stranger: Cresty Gulch, eh? What makes it not so proper?
Deth: Well, usually proper for most people to be livin' an' happy in a town. Nothin' like that in Cresty Gulch. Just death and sorrow, long as I live here.
Stranger: 'Zat so?
Deth: Yup. Not much folk left these days. Them's that are ain't got the fundamentals for happiness. No feasts, no money, no family. Only fools, dead men and those that can't leave for roots or for lack o' proper currency live in Cresty Gulch.
The stranger gestures to the corpse upon the ground.
Stranger: What were this fella before he joined the dead men?
Deth: One of the fools, the biggest of them all. Name was Bajah. Used to be our sherriff.
Stranger: An' what happened to him?
Deth: He were a fool, like I said. Forgot how things were run in Cresty Gulch. Got hisself hung. Now he's gonna be buried with that badge he carried.
Stranger: Seems a mite off. Wouldn't the next sherriff need that badge?
Deth: Gulch's got no need for a sherriff. We got our own law. Bajah here's just a fool that forgot that. He was the first and last sherriff we've had since aught five.
Stranger: Who keeps you safe from outlaws, then?
Deth: We gots two kind of outlaws here, stranger. The kind that loots and pillages with guns don't want nothin' to do with this skeleton of a town. The other kind, the kind that loots with laws and politics, is in charge 'round here.
Stranger: What do you mean by that?
The gravedigger stops and glances up at the stranger, narrowed eyes glinting behind his spectacles.
Deth: You goin' into Cresty Gulch or stoppin' by, mister?
Stranger: I figures I was gonna go in for a spell. Why?
Deth: Ask 'em folks in town. They'll tell ya; I got a grave to finish.
Stranger: Fair 'nough. What's yer name, gravedigger?
Deth: 'T'wouldn't do you much good to know it, but folks call me Deth.
Stranger: Pleased to meet you, Deth.
The stranger pauses, looking at the gravedigger as he awaits a response. Seeing that Deth won't be looking up from his grave anytime soon, he shrugs and trots off towards the town of Cresty Gulch.
As he does, the gravedigger looks up and calls out his name.
Deth: What's yer name, stranger?
The stranger turns and smiles at the digger, tipping his hat.
Caid: Some folks call me Caid. Billy the Caid. Awful nice of you to be askin'.
Deth: I don't care one way or another. I just need a name to put on your cross tonight.
Caid: I gots no plans for dyin', gravedigger.
The gravedigger merely grunts at the comment, then returns to his digging. The newly-introduced stranger trots his horse down into the gulch.
"At the time, I thought I was just lookin' at another visitor to Cresty Gulch, another corpse on a horse that I'd have to bury. The way that boy talked, I knew he was gonna try to take up Bajah's spot. I figured I was just lookin' at another doomed fella, come to Cresty Gulch to die without making a difference.
"Turns out I was wrong..."
To be continued...
Whatcha hombres think? I watched Unforgiven last night and I'd been asked to make this awhile before, so I thought why not. How's it tickle your groin?
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System.out.println("Super Kagrama said this:");
yuo haev my swored!!1
FINALLY
quote:
This insanity brought to you by Super Kagrama:
yuo haev my swored!!1
holy crap
quote:
ACES! Another post by Super Kagrama:
yuo haev my swored!!1
I never thought you'd write a cowboy story Parce, you're my hero.
quote:
ACES! Another post by Super Kagrama:
yuo haev my swored!!1
And mine to--
...Waitaminute, where'd my sword go?!
quote:
Super Kagrama had this to say about Duck Tales:
yuo haev my swored!!1
NICE
Thinking about your posts
(and billing you for it) since 2001
<cackles madly in Mad Scientist gear in a old lab, lightning flashing in the background>
I eagerly await the next installment.
quote:
Rodent King had this to say about Robocop:
'Billy the Caid' made my laugh. Or tickled my groin, however you want to put it.
Ditto!
More! More!
I like!
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Nae Model 2000 was programmed to say:
It's like Salem's Lot meets Tombstone!I like!
Like that new 1st person shooter game that is coming out soon...Darkwatch. You play a vampire (full or partially, not sure) cowboy hunting down other monsters in a dark world. 
Scene opens as Caid trots into the self-proclaimed ghost town of Cresty Gulch. He pauses at the edge of the town and glances over it, seeing nothing but houses that have either run-down, rotted or fallen to the dirt completely from disrepair.
"Yessir, at that point, I thought I'd see him again trottin' on out of our little town. I suppose I didn't know Billy the caid too well back then, though, 'cause he just spurred his mount on in like nothing was wrong."
Caid rides his horse into town, with naught but the sound of the dry, dusty wind blowing through, whispering despair and fortuneless plights to accompany the decrepit town. As he continues to trot through, the sound of metal ringing upon metal reaches his ears.
He spurs his horse towards the sound to find the only building still standing: the saloon, and even it is in shoddy repair, with many holes riddling its drying, decaying timbers. Caid pauses as he spies a pretty young, brown-haired lady pounding away at metal on an anvil beneath a decaying shed. From the wall hang the pelts of seven foxes, in remarkably pristine condition in contrast to the dying town.
Caid: 'Scuse me, ma'am...
She continues to pound away...
Caid: Ma'am?
Girl: Drinks're in the buildin', mister. I just make horseshoes.
Caid: Ain't never seen a pretty young thing like you be relegated to makin' horseshoes.
Girl: You ain't never seen a zombie town, neither, I bet.
Caid: Zombie town?
Girl: Cresty Gulch, mister. It's not quite dead, but it ain't livin', neither. She's standin' on legs that're rottin', but even when she goes down for good, she'll be livin' in her zombie life, with maggots like me crawlin' through her corpse.
Caid: *cringing* For simple folk, you Cresty Gulchers sure are talented with your words.
Girl: Ain't nothin' to do here but pound at metal and think about junk to say to passersby, mister. What do you want?
Caid: If'n you give me your name and show my horse somewhere he can bed down, I'd be mighty grateful.
Kat: Folks call me Kat. I can give your horse somewhere to sleep, but he ain't gonna like it. Th'r's fleas 'n worse in the stable.
Caid: Well, he's a sturdy kid. He won't mind none.
Caid hops off his horse and hands the reins to the girl, she promptly gathers them and begins to lead his horse off 'round the back.
Caid: Say, girl. What're them fox furs doin' here?
She turns and glares at him briefly.
Kat: Drinks 'n small talk're in the saloon, mister. I just pound horseshoes.
Scene changes to the interior of the "Dry Delidgamond Saloon & Billiards." Its interior is decrepit and dying as the outside. The stage, once lively with showgirl and merriment, stands empty and host to spiders, cobwebs and dust. The old piano that used to accompany those times lay sitting in decrepit condition nearby.
The chairs have long since been turned up and set on the table, and by the looks of the dirt and cobwebs covering it like a second skin, they haven't been down in quite some time.
The only signs of life are three men sitting near the bar. Behind it, polishing a glass that's beginning to wear down from being polished, is a tall, stout fellow sporting a thick moustache and neatly-trimmed hair. In stark contrast, a man with a long, dirty beard and dusty clothes sits at the bar, gingerly sipping his drink. Nearby, a petite, goatee'd fellow sits scrubbing a stain off a plate.
The hours of silence are broken as the dusty man speaks, his voice thick and grizzled.
Callalron: The beer durin' the rush was better.
The man behind the bar sighs.
Barman Gydyon: Everythin' durin' the rush was better.
Callalron: I tell ya, Gyd, those days 'twas like the streets were gold...the whiskey came in gold bottles...even the whores lined their petticoats with gold. Everythin' was gold durin' the rush!
Gydyon: Sure were...too bad all the gold dried up and the town with it.
Callalron: 'Nother one's comin'. I can feel it in my bones.
Gydyon: You been feelin' it in your bones for upwards of fifteen years now.
Callalron: Well, then, I s'pose it's about due, ain't it?
Gydyon sighs and returns to polishing his glass. All eyes turn up as the saloon doors swing open and Caid comes trudging through, a smile breaking through his dusty face as he approaches the bar.
Caid: Afternoon, gents, I was hopin'-
Gydyon: We got rooms enough to spare, stranger, but not much food and not at very cheap prices. Horse beddin' costs extra, ain't no shows no more and we don't got no billiards. Burned that table for firewood back in aught six.
Caid: ...er...how 'bout some whiskey then?
Gydyon: Ain't got no whiskey.
Caid gestures up to the bar, where a glittering bottle of golden whiskey sits.
Caid: What about that one there?
Gydyon: That ain't for sale.
Callalron: That one is mine.
Caid: That looks to be an expensive bottle...what is that, a bottle of Suddy Walker? Aught 2?
Gydyon: Close...you got quite the eye for your drink, mister.
Callalron: A man after my own heart, to be sure...but the bottle's mine. S'soon as I can pay it off, I'll be havin' it.
Caid: Pay it off?
Callalron: Ah-yup. Started payin' it off durin' the big gold rush. S'soon as the next one hits, it'll be all mine.
Caid: When's that gonna be?
Gydyon: By listenin' to him, you'd guess anytime from now to a hunnred years or so.
Caid: That's too long. How much is left on the bottle?
Callalron: Twenty dollars 'r so.
Gydyon: Don't you be cheatin' me now. It's twenty 'n eight.
Caid: 'zat all?
The stranger takes a pouch off his hip, bulging with coin and paper currency, and tosses it upon the bar, grinning from ear to ear.
Caid: Why don't you pour a little for us, there, barkeep?
Gydyon: With gusto!
Callalron: Hey now! That's my whiskey!
Caid: Well'n, give him the lion's share, then. He paid it.
Callalron: Now, then, stranger! That's a fine thing to hear in this day and age! *he extends a powerful, leathery hand and takes Caid's without waiting* Name's Callalron. Arrived here back in the gold rush and won't be leavin' 'till it comes out again.
The barkeep begins to pour three shots of whiskey, the largest one for the old prospector.
Gydyon: I 'rrived 'bout the same time, though I'll be leavin' soon 's I have the money. So's if you buy maybe a hunnerd more bottles of whiskey, I'll be takin' my leave. Name's Gydyon.
He gestures to the goatee'd man at the end of the bar, who looks up and smiles, speaking in a sweet, gentle voice.
FaeFae: Well, hello there, cowboy. The next show's in three hours. Hope you brought a lot of money. Me 'n the other girls'll be waitin'.
He winks, Caid cringes and Gydyon shakes his head.
Gydyon: That there's Fae McCray. Nowadays, he calls himself FaeFae O'Shea. 'Riginally, he was a dishwasher here. Took a mule's kick to the head 'n thinks he's a showgirl now.
Caid: Seems a mite odd.
Gydyon: He can call himself the Queen of England fer all I care, 'slong as he washes them dishes. I plan to get out of here s'soon as possible to put a thousan' miles 'r so between me and him.
Caid: Well, I got some currency, mister, but not enough to do that.
Callalron: 'N how'd you come by that much coin?
Gydyon: Don't you be pryin' now, Call! A man's money is his own business.
Callalron: I was jest curious!
Caid: No need to argue, fellas. I got this much by bein' good at what I do.
Callalron: 'N what's that, mister?
Caid: Odd jobs, here 'n there.
The prospector and the barkeep exchange a glance that is half nervous, half intrigued and all cautious.
Gydyon: You mean to say yer a bounty hunter, mister?
Caid: Was. Back in Kansas, they called me ol' Five Fists.
Callalron: *narrowing his eyes* Why'd they give ya such a fool name?
Caid: Well now, it coulda been fer the fact that my grandpappy was three fists, my pappy was four fists, and here I am. *he takes a sip of whiskey* It coulda been fer the fact that in a brawl, they say I moved fast enough that it looked like I had all the arms of the devil. *he takes another sip* Or it could be said 'cause my gun won't fire it's full six shots, stoppin' only at five.
Callalron: And which one of them's the real reason?
Caid drains the whiskey and smiles.
Caid: None of 'em. I got my name from some permiscuous event involving me, a bottle of Mexican tequila and five ladys of ill repute.
The two men go into a hearty guffaw as FaeFae shakes his head.
Callalron: Now that's a story. Betcha took yer share o' men's lives in yer business, too.
Caid: Not a chance, gent.
Gydyon: *raising an eyebrow* Not a single life?
Caid: Now, see here, friend, it's a sin to kill another man. I was baptised shortly afore goin' into this business. Been free of sin and temptation since that day, don't mean to start now.
Callalron: Now how's a man supposed to be a decent bounty hunter if he don't take no lives?
Before Caid can answer, the door bursts open and Kat meanders in, looking surely.
Gydyon: Afternoon there, Miss Kat. Y'meet our newest guest here?
Kat: No time for small talk, sir. The collector's come 'round again.
Gydyon narrows his eyes and sighs.
Gydyon: I shoulda known. Once he hears coins-a-clinkin', that slimy Maradon comes 'round lookin' to wet his beak.
Caid: Now who's this fella y'all're talkin' 'bout?
Kat: Ain't no time for that kinda talk, boss. He seems awful impatient.
From outside, a call goes up.
Maradon: You in there, Gyd? It's tax time, boy, and you better come out where's I can do my job! If ya aren't out in five, I'm a-comin' in. If I reach five, though, you ain't gonna like it.
To be continued...
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Why do ya build me up, Mr. Parcelan-cup baby just to let me down, and mess me around?
Caid: None of 'em. I got my name from some permiscuous event involving me, a bottle of Mexican tequila and five ladys of ill repute.
Hahaha. Awesome stuff.
Disclaimer: I'm just kidding, I love all living things.
The fastest draw in the Crest.
"The Internet is MY critical thinking course." -Maradon
"Gambling for the husband, an abortion for the wife and fireworks for the kids they chose to keep? Fuck you, Disneyland. The Pine Ridge Indian Reservation is the happiest place on Earth." -JooJooFlop
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Lazzay's account was hax0red to write:
Kat is very mysterious. What's her deal? This is very suspenseful.
Why do I have fox skins hanging up in my shed??! 
Awesome story, Parce! ^.^
Sadly, I have never been mentioned in his stories... makes me sad...
Of course if I WAS in one of his stories, I'd probably die almost instantly.
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Out of a possible 10, Y.O.T.C scored a straight 1 with:
Great story parc.Sadly, I have never been mentioned in his stories... makes me sad...
Of course if I WAS in one of his stories, I'd probably die almost instantly.
Good work, Parce. It's a fun read, for the most part.
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Bajah had this to say about John Romero:
Reverse psych hasn't worked yet, but you keep persisting. Let it go, man. Let it go.Good work, Parce. It's a fun read, for the most part.
Actually the reverse reverse psych is working wonderfly, I haven't been nuked in any of his stories yet!
Y.O.T.C. You were in that one where it introduced like, 8 no-names every post and they all died by the end.
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Manticore's fortune cookie read:
SNESness. fo-sho.Y.O.T.C. You were in that one where it introduced like, 8 no-names every post and they all died by the end.
I do not remember this. FIND IT FOR ME!
Thinking about your posts
(and billing you for it) since 2001
quote:
Y.O.T.C wrote this then went back to looking for porn:
I do not remember this. FIND IT FOR ME!
nty.
Edit: I can tell you it was sometime between April and June of last year though. Manticore fucked around with this message on 04-15-2005 at 04:10 PM.
Maradon: I'm gettin' bored here, Gyd. You best be out with my money soon, else I'm comin' there with ol' Gunny.
The young man pats the long pistol at his side.
"Yessir, I remember ol' Maradon well. He had of way of stickin' in your mind...like how a gamblin' debt sticks in your mind or how a problem given to ya by a lady of ill repute sticks in your mind. 'Course it didn't help that Maradon the tax collector dealt primarily with debts and always reminded you of a venereal disease.
"Fact o' the matter was that Maradon was the richest man that ever came to visit Cresty Gulch with any regularity. He had connections and those connections got him his cushy job and his wealth. Despite his money, though, he ain't never spent a dime on anyone but himself. Consequently, he was also the most unwelcome man that ever visited Cresty Gulch with any regularity."
Maradon: Time's up, Gyd! I'm-a comin' in!
The barkeep comes sauntering out of his saloon, heedless of the man's threats, a disdainful look on his face.
Gydyon: You hold yourself there, Maradon. I'm-a comin'.
Maradon: 'Bout time, ol' man. Any longer an' I woulda have to had busted out Gunny here.
Gydyon: Yeah, yeah. You been threatenin' to bust out ol' "Gunny" every week for upwards a year now and you ain't never done nothin' but sit on your damn horse and look at that damn watch of yours.
From inside the bar, the old prospector and the stranger peer through a window as the two men outside talk.
Caid: Now who's that tall drink o' water there?
Callalron: Maradon McGee. Most ungrateful scamp ever to be spit out of this dried-up husk of a town.
Caid: Say what? He's from around here?
Callalron: Ah-yup. Ol' farmer Nae McGee's boy. Always was the shame o' his family; too skinny to lift hay, too lazy to slop pigs and too stupid to drive cattle. He fell in with Boss Zaza real quick-like.
Caid: Now who's this Boss Zaza?
Callalron: Why he's Cresty Gulch's savior an' greatest curse. About two years back, he comes 'round with his posse and puts down them bandits that'd been runnin' loose all o'er the countryside, pillagin' honest folk.
Caid: That explains the savior...
Callalron: No less than a month later, he proclaims hisself mayor. Mayor...more like dictator.
The old prospector spits on the floor.
Callalron: We got rid of the thieves on the countryside just to make one boss o' all of us. He sits around taxin' ourselves like there's no tomorrow.
Caid: Taxin'? This town don't look like it can take much more taxin'.
Callalron: Yup. 'S'why Boss Zaza don't live here. He's got some manor out in the country where he and his posse lurk like toads in a hole. E'ry week he sends ol' Maradon out to collect taxes. Eventually, there'll be nothin' more o' this town at the rate he's collectin'.
Caid: Now that ain't right. Taxin' a town like this...
Callalron: Ah-yup. Ain't nothin' no one can do 'bout it no how, though. My gun hand's too shaky now, Gyd's never been one for violence, neither. The only one left's FaeFae O'Shea...
The two men glance behind them at the bar where the young, goatee'd man is busily applying rouge.
Callalron: So there ain't no one to stand up to Maradon. Watch yer pockets, stranger. Maradon'll be after your coin s'soon's he hear 'bout you.
The old prospector glances up just in time to see Caid rise up and begin walking towards the saloon door.
Meanwhile, outside, Maradon busily counts the coins he's been handed by Gydyon.
Maradon: As I live an' breathe, Gydyon! This is genuine outside currency! You got a customer in there?
Gydyon: We get the odd straggler that brings us some cash.
Maradon: Been doin' alright for yourself, then, I wager. I also wager that Boss Zaza will be interested in seein' an increase in collections come next week.
Gydyon: Now hold on there, you ornery horned toad! I ain't got that much an' you know it.
Maradon: Well, then, I s'pose it's time for this lil' town to be put outta its misery. Lord knows it's as terrible now as it was when I was workin' for you.
Gydyon: An' if I didn't respect your mama so much, boy, I'd be quick to-
The tax collector whips out his gun and levels it at Gydyon.
Maradon: You'd be quick to what, old man?
Gydyon stands, staring angrily at the gun before snorting and looking away. Maradon grins and raises his gun into the air.
Maradon: 'S'what I thought.
Voice: Now y'ain't oughta be threatenin' good folk with a gun, boy.
The barkeep and the collector turn to see Caid standing a ways away.
Caid: Whoever taught ya how to hold a gun oughta have taught you that it's for protection, not molestin' folk.
Maradon: Well, well, 's'this yer stragglin' customer, Gyd? Listen here, stranger, I don't know why you're standin' up for this pile o' junk here, but when you talk to me you best be addin' "sir" to the end o' every sentence.
Caid: Alright, then, "sir." I'm givin' you to five to git outta town and leave these people be before I use my piece to protect a few dozen holes in your hide, "sir."
Maradon: Why you son of a-
Maradon levels his gun at the stranger, only to have it shot out of his hand suddenly. Caid stands, holding a smoking gun levelled at the tax collector.
Caid: One.
He fires a second shot at Maradon's horse's feet, causing the animal to back away, whinnying nervously.
Caid: Two.
He shoots once more at the horse's feet and the beast rears backwards, toppling the tax collector and sending him sprawling on the ground.
Caid: Three.
The stranger shoots a fourth bullet right between Maradon's legs.
Caid: Four. I've got one shot left and a few inches upwards to go, "sir." You gonna git or'm I gonna end up "protectin" a bullet right through yer skull?
He levels his pistol at the young man and pulls back the hammer.
"Now I ain't never seen shootin' like I did on that day. Time was when mercy an' skill with a pistol were mutually exclusive. I coulda swore Maradon was gonna loose his stools right afore Caid blasted him.
"Turns out I was only half-right."
The tax collector scrambles to his feet and tears off running, dropping some stained trousers as he goes.
Caid: That'll do, "sir." We'll just keep your ol' watch and horse here for back taxes.
He turns to see that the populace of the town has assembled, staring at the stranger with wide, open eyes. He grins and holsters his gun.
Caid: Now then...who's gonna be the first to tell me 'bout this ol' Boss Zaza?
To be continued...
take that maradon!
quote:
When the babel fish was in place, it was apparent Delidgamond said:
[QB]I haven't read anything in this post but I'm going to bump it using evil smilies
