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Author Topic: The Blazing Gun Saloon  (Read 30556 times)
The Abiliegh
Zeppelin Admiral
******
United States United States


Wench with a Wrench

The_Abi
« Reply #225 on: March 07, 2010, 09:50:52 am »

[[OOC: I'm home, broken, sore, lacking a voice, and happily about ready to go to bed. The Festival and Great Big Sea concert were amazing, and now I'm going to rack out for a few hours before another busy day. So, MW, feel better dear, and I'll like to be back to real posting tomorrow/tonight evening...]]
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Action! Adventure! Possible Harlotry!
Abis do it for SCIENCE!
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Sgt.Major Thistlewaite
Zeppelin Admiral
******
Gibraltar Gibraltar


I am, therefore I think.


« Reply #226 on: March 07, 2010, 04:08:39 pm »

Game is plentiful in the area, and it takes the priest only a short time to find tracks, and he comes across a pair of grazing mule deer soon after, both large does. About thirty yards away, he decides that to shoot one with the Sharps would be to inevitably lose the other in the time it would take him to reload. He has been careful to approach downwind of them, and he rises quickly from cover, the big nickle-plated Colt in his right hand, and assuming a classic shootist's stance, right arm extended, left thumb hooked over the gunbelt, he fires two shots in quick succession. Each finds its mark, each is a clean head shot, and both deer drop as if they were marionette deer and someone cut the strings. He holsters the pistol, takes his big Spanish folding knife from his pocket, and quickly and expertly field dresses the carcasses. He takes one of the loops of cord that he used to ascend the rope to the blimp and trusses the back feet of one together, and, slinging the other over his left shoulder, begins to walk back toward Purgatory, carrying one 175 pound deer, and dragging the other behind him. Much has changed about him, but his unnatural strength remains intact. As he walks, he takes stock of his own situation. When he got out, he did so with only what was on his person. The cartridge loops in his belt were full...that's thirty rounds of .45 Long Colt, but he has only enough powder and shot on him for about five loads of the Sharps. Water won't be a problem, and he should be able to find a rabbit for his own dinner, now that he has need of food again, but he realizes that if the situation with the barrier isn't resolved soon, it won't be long before he is not able to supply game to the town due to lack of ammunition. "Well," he thinks, "Like the Book says, "Let the evils of the day be sufficient thereunto." He may have to hike to Silverton, or Durango, and thinking of that, he remembers something...about five years back there was a railroad built between those towns. It's twenty-five miles away, and on the wrong side of the Animas Perdido en Purgatoir River...but that Baldwin locomotive is a vehicle capable of exceeding eighty-eight miles per hour, and with a cattle car behind it, or a flatbed, it could take the whole population of the town with it. There is no track running to Purgatory, and it's on the wrong side of the river, but still, something to consider. As he trudges, the sun is lowering in the sky, and he notices that his newly reacquired breath is making small puffs of steam. "It's going to be chilly tonight...won't be long until we get the first snow." That, he realizes, will create another problem...perhaps an insurmountable one.  
« Last Edit: March 07, 2010, 04:11:34 pm by Sgt.Major Thistlewaite » Logged

Yet well thy soul hath brooked the turning tide, with that innate, untaught philosophy,Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride, is gall and wormwood to an enemy.
The Abiliegh
Zeppelin Admiral
******
United States United States


Wench with a Wrench

The_Abi
« Reply #227 on: March 07, 2010, 07:54:28 pm »

After talking to the locals, she was a bit worried. They had supplies enough to handle themselves for a bit, to be certain, but they weren't going to last much longer than a month, she figured, and even that would end up being by combining the lot of it and rationing...

Her hope rested in the Blazing Gun. It was her last stop.

As she steeped onto the porch of the place, a chilly wind blew over her, soaking through the thin silk wrapped around her. Not a good sign... her thoughts were dark and ominous.

But inside, it was warm, nearly jovial as the trio sat around the mechine. Miss Turnblood was charmingly elbow-deep in the contraption, and Brantley seemed to be assisting her. Jack, as always, was doing what it was he did best. Mocking them.

She went to the barkeep first and handed him the ledger. "I need you t'add anythin' you've got to this ledger. I'm taking stock of what we've got in this trap, to see how long we've got til..." her words trailed off. It was quite obvious what she feared.

The barman obliged and began busying himself about, and eventually headed into his storerooms. Contented for the moment, she took a seat by Pulsifer. "How's it comin'?" She asked, willing an answer from any of them.
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MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
*
United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #228 on: March 08, 2010, 12:15:52 am »

"Weyullll,"... Jack said, in that way that southerners have of drawing out single-syllable words so that they last for two or more syllables," Brif'n you mean Brantley and me, we've finished upgradin' and tearin' up the Beau."

"If'n ya mean Brantley and Miss Thalesia over thar, Miss Thalesa's givin' Brantley a lesson in proper construction, feeding, hygiene, and rearing of chrono-travelling devices. Brantley himself? he seems OK, but you might wanna ask him just to be sure. Me, I'm just nursin' my beer and watchin' everybody else a-lookin' at me ..."
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Walk softly and carry a big banjo...

""quid statis aspicientes in infernum"
The Abiliegh
Zeppelin Admiral
******
United States United States


Wench with a Wrench

The_Abi
« Reply #229 on: March 08, 2010, 12:56:32 am »

"Everyone's always lookin' at you, old man." She smiled, briefly, until the barkeep returned and placed the ledger on he counter.

"S'all tallied up, ma'am. Hope this helps."

Taking the list, she mulled over it a moment. Better, but not my much. Her voice was pensive as she spoke. "Mr. Brantley... Miss Turnblood... do you have any idea or estimate, even, as t'how long we'll be trapped in this place? The barrier is gettin' harder by the moment... O'Callahan is out hunting, so as we have some fresh meat, but seein' as he's all fixed an' whole again, i don't know that we'll have any further divine intervention on escapin'..."
« Last Edit: March 08, 2010, 12:58:26 am by The Abiliegh » Logged
Sgt.Major Thistlewaite
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******
Gibraltar Gibraltar


I am, therefore I think.


« Reply #230 on: March 08, 2010, 01:09:41 am »

It is dusk as O'Callahan returns to the edge of town. Not wanting to use his dwindling supply of ammunition, he finds a rock about half the size of his fist, and pitches it overhand...his eye is good, and it finds the steeple bell of the nearest church. He tosses the deer through the barrier, then sets about gathering wood. Using a flint and steel, he soon has a fire going, and settles in for the night by the pinyon pine, drawing his cloak around him. For the first time in ten years, he sleeps.
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MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
*
United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #231 on: March 08, 2010, 01:35:19 am »

Brantley answered Miss Meta's query with, "Hard to say, exactly, but irf we keep the same pace, and manage to get the core into the containment field, we should be able to leae the town by,  oh... 'bout three hours from now."

DING!

"that sounded liek a church bell, or maybe teh schoolhouse -- assumin' there IS a schoolhouse, Jack said, going to look out of the swinging doors.he swiped his spyglass out of his greatcoat, and put it up to his eye, and exclaimed, "looks like the huntin' was successful! there's two deer layin' out, looks fresh-killed, and they's fully dresssed, on teh road at the edge of town."
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Thalesia Turnblood
Snr. Officer
****
United States United States


One bathtub scene, coming right up!


WWW
« Reply #232 on: March 08, 2010, 01:47:16 am »

"Mr. Brantley, unless you have a tri-pitted subharmonic nebulizing flux capacitating piston farthing* upon your person, will you please step back and give me some room to work!"

It was an absolute wonder they hadn't all been blown to Kingdom Come the moment this contraption was moved into the saloon. Thalesia swiped at a stray lock of hair with the inside of her elbow.

"Painting the lightning knob will be simple enough, but the bigger picture is disturbing. I can keep the lightning from generating an electrical field, that still doesn't fix the generator's faulty ignition, which I think is why it keeps surging, rather than running in a constant pattern. Even moving it into the containment field won't pose too much of a problem -- aside from the fact that I'll have to dislocate my entire laboratory to make room for this thing.

"It's the containment field that poses a problem in and of itself. Once this item is packed away, it no longer poses an immediate issue for us, but the generator is still faulty. If it explodes within the field, which isn't a field so much as it is a fold in time/space, it will have far greater repercussions although the Almighty alone knows where or when.

"As to your question, Miss Meta, if this thing explodes within the barrier, at least we'll have some hope of not beginning an apocalypse elsewhere. We are currently a fixed time and location and if this town becomes a smoking hole in the ground, I don't know how many of us will be missed. I'm certainly not volunteering to throw myself into the breech, by any means, but divine intervention may be our only hope."**

* I have absolutely no idea what I just said. Make of it what you will.
** I hope I haven't thrown too large a monkey wrench into the works!
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Reality is messing with my fiction.
Have Coffee, Will Write
MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
*
United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #233 on: March 08, 2010, 02:37:03 am »

"Hmmf..." Brantley made several noises as he thought of something, and 'Hmmf' was only the most audible.

"I can call the Committee and see if they can send a phase ship through, to carry the core to the Warehouse; that will make it less likely that it will explode, they have built-in field support poles that keep things copacetic during transport." Brantley said, but didnt look too hopeful.
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The Abiliegh
Zeppelin Admiral
******
United States United States


Wench with a Wrench

The_Abi
« Reply #234 on: March 08, 2010, 04:46:26 am »

"I've no mind to be a martyr." she intoned grumpily. "Make it work."

All the charming and the playful had melted from her. Shadows remained, but there was a very different woman standing before them. Her movements were precise, graceful; her eyes shone alert and contemplative, and she suddenly seemed much less... frivolous...

Jack had seen this before, of course, when situations got to be less than simple in the past, but even to him, it was rare.

Also notable was the sudden tension in her posture, making her appear more like a caged lioness than a woman in a kimono.

Standing, she looked between the door and the machine. She instructed the barkeep to go out and fetch the venison, and she strode out the door.
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MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
*
United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #235 on: March 08, 2010, 08:56:28 am »

A little while later, Brantley was on the Trillbuck radiophone, talking thrugh a wormhole, among other things, with Sally and th rest of the committee, which had remained in session. He had explained the situation, and made the request, and was receiving instructions --on how to make the Beau into a phase ship!

"Uh huh." Brantley handed Thalesia the latest series of instructions, written on an early form of cursive-practice tablet; that was the only thing that anyone in town had, that would serve the purpose and had multiple sheets. "yeah. And... what do I do with that? Yeah...another incantation? Sally, is this a tech solution or am I going to be piloting a spell construct?Both?"  he rolled his eyes, and then said, resignedly, "OK, give me the spell...ohhh kaaaayy... and a gold bauble? Huh. I can use that toe ring you-- er, yeah. The one we found in Galveston back then. nope, I ain't wearing any piercings this trip. Besides, I lost that stud playin' canasta with Mac. Yeah, the only hand he ever won, and it took my diamond stud!"

The Trillbuck Telephone conversation continued... "Oh, he's laughing now is he? Who'd a thought a  Arch-Piscaeupus could be a card-shark too... really? An actual pater nostor? Uh...don't we need an actual priest for that? Nope, O'Callahans outside the barrier. What?! I'm not a priest, I'm a Pala --!"What?! I AM?! how in blazes did that happen? no, now, wait a second, I know the church law on that, just a bag of medallions, no matter who owned 'em first..."Oh..."

"But its not the oath of ordainment, or whatever they call that. Ok, Ok,  Meta's all  steely-eyed and feral about this, and Jack says I'd better do what she says or she could get "radical," whatever that means, so I just don't have tome to argue it. OK. Love you too, m'dear. bye."

Brantley turned and looked at Thalesia, and said, "well, are we ready to go and spit spells and wrench setscrews?"

What Sally had dictated was not so much a phase ship conversion, as a protocol to make the Beau accept a much-later version of itself and allow it to take the ascendancy; one that had a true ship-sized chronojumper drive aboard, hooked into a hyperphase control array, instead of the chrono-jammer and the pocket devices.They went out and made the necessary adjustments, and reinstalled teh chronojammer and turned it on; said the words, and then, in a flash of rosy-golden light, there appeared the last thing that Brantley expected: the version of the Beau that had become a sort of wooden hovertank...

the note taped to the gangway read:
Quote
Mallie:
Take good care of her - no, scratch that, use her as you will, she's less vulnerable than she looks
 --Sally

P.S:Yes, it is supposed to be the beau, and in this configuration You won't miss the gasbag much, I promise.
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Sgt.Major Thistlewaite
Zeppelin Admiral
******
Gibraltar Gibraltar


I am, therefore I think.


« Reply #236 on: March 08, 2010, 03:03:42 pm »

Jed Gunn is just coming out of the large barn where he has been helping the airman work on his ship, and has shared an impromptu, good, although somewhat unusual dinner, with red wine. Wiping his hands on a piece of rag, he looks down the street just in time to see a golden flash in the darkened street, bright enough to dazzle his eyes for a moment. "Whut in tarnation is a-goin' on now?" When his eyes adjust, he is surprised to see that the Beau Rosin has changed into...what?!....he can't really identify it. The gasbag is gone, but now the craft floats a few inches above the dirt street, seemingly suspended in midair with no visible means of support. Jed had been planning to go to the Blazing Gun for a real drink, but, in the face of this new weirdness, decides instead to give the saloon a wide berth, and go bed down at the livery. There is a bottle of popskull home brew in his saddlebag. That will do for tonight.

(Meanwhile, down the street at the blacksmith's shop, unnoticed by anyone in the gloom, the original gasbag for the Beau remains tied to the corner of the porch, and it too is subject to the machinations and incantations being applied to the main part of the ship. It, too, is projected forward through time. Its future history is interesting. Eventually sold by the smith, it changes hands many times, is repaired, modified, and then modified some more, eventually coming to be used as a parade balloon. There is a lesser flash of light surrounding it, and suddenly what floats just above the smithy would be a strange sight in this Western town...luckily it goes unseen. It has come to resemble a gigantic cartoonish brown dog, with arms outspread, floppy ears, a big nose, and wearing a red shirt with a large yellow "U" emblazoned on the front. The new configuration no longer fits the way the smith had lashed it down, and it shortly slips its moorings, and goes sailing away, blue cape flapping in the wind. Apparently, it is still slightly out of phase, because it slips past the barrier with no hesitation, and drifts off to the northwest. It will become the basis for legends later told by several native tribes.)
« Last Edit: March 10, 2010, 10:00:23 pm by Sgt.Major Thistlewaite » Logged
MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
*
United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #237 on: March 08, 2010, 04:40:23 pm »

(OOC: So... thats where uberdog underdog came from...)
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The Abiliegh
Zeppelin Admiral
******
United States United States


Wench with a Wrench

The_Abi
« Reply #238 on: March 08, 2010, 07:24:49 pm »

She'd been walking, deep in her own thoughts, when a flash of unnatural light sent her diving for the nearest cover. She rolled into a crouch and had her revolver pulled and facing the main street in mere seconds, but nothing seemed to move from that point.

She held position, counting steady, even heartbeats. One.... Two... Three... There were neither screams nor noises of alarm, and she relaxed her arms.

Standing again, and taking a moment to shake the dust off, she contemplated returning to see just what was going on. She wasn't in a particular mood for company, but the thought it would be unwise to simply ignore whatever had just occurred. She studied her surroundings, pleased to find that she could easily scale the building beside her.

Doing so, she made her way by rooftop towards the Blazing Gun. She took a moment to appreciate the lack of being shot at, as so many such capers seemed to include, and soon, she was crouched on the edge of the saloon.

Seeing the Beau, she stifled a gasp. She'd seen that damn ship go few more than a few changed, but this... this was unprecedented. And impossible.

Not long ago, she would have sent word about all of this. They'd want to know. But as it stood, she didn't feel the least bit inclined to get the I.L.B.F. involved. They might have a way to get her out of here, but in exchange for that bit of tech down there.... it just wasn't worth it. She'd made that mistake before...

She wondered at what was going on, a pit of foreboding settling into the depths of her stomach.
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MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
*
United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #239 on: March 09, 2010, 04:47:01 am »

"Okay...lets get the spacefold up and ready on board; you should have plenty of room to work, now, Miss Thalesia. Let me first set the dipoles, and start the phase shield" he walked aboard the craft, still all or mostly wood, but now with the deck guns poking out of fortified steel half-turrets, and the Gatling gun all but encased in its own steel cylindrical turret. Brantley went in through a regular oblong steel bulkhead hatch into the cabin, flipped the switch on the now-chronojumper, and set the phase relay to -2.

There appeared just at the edge of the visible range of light a ring, completely surrounding the Beau Rosin. then he flipped the setting to -1, and another ring appeared, and the hovertank Beau Rosin nearly disappeared to normal sight! just the barest suggestion of the ship remained, like a ghostly image on a photo plate, with another image, like a large drainpipe running from the deck to the combined outside circumferences of the two rings.

"OK, Miss Thalesia, she's ready," Brantley called from the cabin of the hovertank...
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The Abiliegh
Zeppelin Admiral
******
United States United States


Wench with a Wrench

The_Abi
« Reply #240 on: March 09, 2010, 07:34:40 am »

She cursed softly under breath, the words carried away by the breeze atop the building. The ship had faded to nearly invisible, which meant, naturally she couldn't watch what a damn thing.

Only momentarily defeated, she dropped from the roof into the window of her room, deciding that she might be better served by more sensible attire. Digging through her trunk, she pulled out a sturdy pair of black suede trousers, a black leather vest, and a high collared shirt in a brilliant shade of marigold. She never had been one to wear all black.

Dressing quickly, she resettled the brass plate into the back of her vest and the button into her ever-present lace gloves. She checked her locket, slung her hip holster around her waist, replaced her firearm, and left the room just the way she came in.

Back on the rooftops, she stood, keeping out of the line of sight from the main street. She could see nearly everything from here, including a very strange... dog... shape... in the sky.

She disregarded it in favor of looking to the moonlit horizon. She needed to see it, needed to know it was still out there, despite her being trapped in Purgatory, Colorado. She smiled at the sight of a very small O'Callahan sleeping beside the pine tree, and felts a moment's warmth at her good deed. Maybe, to his god, she'd made up for a few of her past transgressions. She hoped so, at least.

And then it hit her, all at once. It was such a powerful moment that she actually felt faint.

Purgatory... faith... the machine... technology. The two're at war with each other. She dropped back to a crouch to steady herself, taking solace in the solid roof under her fingertips. Are the martians attackin' the christian god to weaken us? Or is this somethin' to prepare us for dealin' with the martians? Or was this totally unexpected?

Thoughts swam in her head, rushing over her with a speed and force she couldn't fathom. This is a crux, to be certain. What we do here... it's goin' to have enormous ramifications....

And she knew, in that moment, that she had to figure out just what Brantley and Miss Turnblood were planning to do with that machine....

She very nearly jumped from the roof, certain as she was, but she controlled her emotional reactions and climbed down with practiced accuracy. Walking to the shadow of the ship, she tried, first to touch it. Her hand went through the shadow as if nothing were in front of her, eliciting another soft curse. Her fingers went to her locket. It showed her the truth in things, and the truth of this place was that the damn ship was trapped just like everything else. Perhaps it would allow her to board.

Touching the delicate filigree, she felt as if the world around her was suddenly slippery, oily, and her stomach turned in on itself. But the ship materialized before her as the town around her seemed to fade, suddenly mere shadows itself.

She quickly boarded the vessel, shouting "Brantley! Miss Turnblood! Please. I need to speak with you both!"

When they answered, she asked them, with more frankness than was likely polite, what they were attempting in regards to the machinery.
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tophatdan
Zeppelin Captain
*****
United States United States


I'm not Steampunk, I Live Steampunk....


WWW
« Reply #241 on: March 09, 2010, 10:20:57 am »

well concidering the fact the myself, my top hat, a 357 lever action and a bottle of kentucky gentelman just came in from the cold front porch, i imagine this thread looks mighty inviting...
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you gotta love livin babe, cause dyin is a pain in the ass -----
 frank sinatra
MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
*
United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #242 on: March 09, 2010, 10:43:20 am »

(OOC: Wellsir...I suppose you'd be welcome to join in, if'n you want to...(pending the opinions of the others, of course)).

Brantley tried to figure out just what Miss Meta represented; it hadn't really struck him before, but he suddenly felt much the same sensation (had he but known it) as Meta, but with te added  irritation of knowing why; unfortunately, it didn't look as if Meta was really in a receptive state of mind. Well, there was nothing for it, he decided; she was already far past the point of classification being anything like effective. But he was going to get his answers about her first.

"Miss Meta, who are you, exactly, and whom do you work for? I'd like to know with whom I'm about to share a set of incredibly dangerous information. And don't give me the standard line about how I don't need to know, or cant handle the information, or whatever. You and I both know, or should know by now, that thats just a bunch of hogwash and deflective rhetoric. Answer the question, please.  And if I get the sense you're lying to me, i'll melt you here and now, and this craft with you.

His finger hovered over the "destruct" button; and since the interior of the Beau was essentially the same as a Timeship of the ancients, meta was standing in the confines of a state of multitemporal grace, meaning that her little button and other things (did she really think he hadn't noticed?) would not work properly, since they were essentially cut off from any other plane of existence.

"I'm waiting, Meta. Oh, and by the way, I don't work for you. Now, I charge you in the name of every deity you hold holy, or none if you prefer, tell the truth..."

(OOC: Sorry to make him so blunt, but meta's basically coming out of left field and asking a bit much what with the attitude and all, for no explanation to be forthcoming (especially considering how cooperative Brantley's been so far); she needs to come clean; Brantley's already died once,and was brought back by unnatural surgery, and nothing's been right with his body, to his mind, since the Martians' attempt to make him a "false Gallifreyan," so death holds no particular horror for him.)
« Last Edit: March 09, 2010, 11:13:08 am by MWBailey » Logged
Sgt.Major Thistlewaite
Zeppelin Admiral
******
Gibraltar Gibraltar


I am, therefore I think.


« Reply #243 on: March 09, 2010, 04:39:47 pm »

Down at the livery stable, wrapped in a mule blanket, Jed Gunn tosses and turns, trying to sleep. The dinner, the red wine, and the bad whiskey isn't sitting too well, and he only dozes fitfully. He comes groggily half-awake, once, and thinks he hears someone ride by, a single rider, judging from the clip clop of the hooves. He rolls back over, but a few minutes later comes fully awake with a sense of something being...not quite right. Throwing off the mule blanket, he pulls his dungarees on over his red union suit, puts on his boots and gunbelt, and, hatless and rubbing a thumb knuckle in his eyes, steps out of the livery and into the street. Looking up at the moon, he reckons the time to be about midnight. He looks past the barrier to the end of the street coming in, opposite the end where the priest is sleeping. Something's out there, and within a few moments, the something resolves itself into a group of riders. Stepping into the middle of the street, and close to the barrier, Jed holds up a hand, and says "Hey! You rannies might be a-wantin' ter take yerselves a detour around this hyere place...they's sumpin' funny a-goin' on hyere..iff'n y' ride in y' cain't git back out." The lead rider reins up, and peers down at Jed. "Who're you? The town drunk?" Harsh laughter emanates from the pack behind the speaker, who continues, "Get out of the street, you damned fool...we're coming off five days of hard riding and cold camps, and we're coming in for whiskey, food, and women, and some crazy nonsense ain't going to stop us." He spurs his horse forward, and Jed has to jump out of the way to keep from being ridden down. The rest of the riders follow, eleven in all, and the fifth rider pulls up beside Jed, and stares hard at him. "Waal, as I live 'n breathe!" he snorts, " Jed Gunn...I thought you'd be dead by now...still pretendin' ta be a gunhand, little brother?" Jed looks up, and responds, "Hullo, Clem. Iff'n you's a-ridin' with this bunch, they cain't be up ta no good!" The rider is Jed's half brother, Clem McKay. "Oh, you're right about that, little brother...we been robbin' banks! Mebbe if this town treats us nice, we won't rob yours." He laughs. Jed says, "The joke's on ya'll, Clem...thar hain't no bank hyere." "Waal, then," says Clem, "mebbe we'll jus' shoot th' place up a little and move on, after we get likkered up and have us a couple o' whores...ya got whores, ain't ya, Jed?" He laughs again, and spurs his mount forward to rejoin his companions. Jed rubs his chin. He says soberly, "Good luck with thet movin' on part, thar, Clem...easier said than done, I'se a-thinkin'...ya'lls done bit off more'n ya'll kin chew."
« Last Edit: March 10, 2010, 10:03:10 pm by Sgt.Major Thistlewaite » Logged
The Abiliegh
Zeppelin Admiral
******
United States United States


Wench with a Wrench

The_Abi
« Reply #244 on: March 09, 2010, 05:31:52 pm »

[[OOC: No problem at all! A little character conflict is always a good thing! Keeps things interesting.]]

Meta sighed, but not in anger. At least, were they conversing, nothing was being done. She did, however, take a moment for an inward smile. Her shield would work just fine, as it was a simple device, fully charged, and not beholden to any one place or time, as it were.

"My protective devices bear me no worry in havin' been noticed, Mr. Brantley. And, while you may believe, when I tell ya, that whom I occasionally work for truly holds no bearin' on this current situation to be a load of rubbish, it's the truth. Granted, I'll tell ya anyway. It's a little organization lovingly moniker'd the Irish Legitimate Business Front. What name it had died away long ago, and I.L.B.F. is as good an acronym as any. We came to the west with many of the 49's, some've our boys havin' a mind to cash in. Now, as for my involvement, I'm called in when I'm needed; they raised me, y'see. But, neither am I on a job nor have I contacted them about our current situation. I spend the majority of my time doin what I please. Some of that was spent with Pulsifer and Dreyf, some of that was spent with others, and most recently, I've been travelin' about makin' money as I can by playin' whore.

"And now, I've old you my story. Know, darlin, that I'm not askin for yours, as in this moment, it truly doesn't matter. We've got a much more dire situation than history to ferret out th'meanin' in. So, I ask you again, what are you doin' with that contraption? Are you aware that it's highly likely that with one wrong choice we risk destroying our own damn selves before the martians have ta worry about it?"
« Last Edit: March 09, 2010, 05:34:08 pm by The Abiliegh » Logged
MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
*
United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #245 on: March 09, 2010, 06:05:07 pm »

Brantley heard the riders through the open hatchway, and the whoops and yells, and his pinky finger reches out and depresses the Hatchway Control, closing the cabin's hatch -- and activating the final ring of the Chronojumper; it was now precisely one phase-shift away from the dimension of the Blazing Gun, and thus untouchable.

"No need to worry about the Riders of The Thoughtless Sage, Miss Meta. we 'timedweller' peoples must protect the rough-rowdies from the temptations of eternity -- isn't that right?

"Miss Meta, this ship is now, and was from approximately the time of its third voyage through time, the property of the US Customs Department -- of the 26th century, Miss Meta. It is also not the only time machine, for lack of a better term that you will understand, in existence, nor do I deserve the title of the inventor of time machines. I simply invented one of the more simple travelling devices, and unfortunately, in the hands of unscrupulous users, one of the most damaging; that is the crime for which I must atone, and the atoning for which I became a Judas Paladin.

There have been, since the late 1300s, approximately 15,000 different devices, many or most of private construction, but none did the damage, by simply existing and by using threadspace as they do, as teh chronojammers, which are my invention, and the damage they caused my fault, no matter how much I might rail at Jack. It's an old issue between us and nearly a mutual running joke, though neither of us is really laughing.

Now,a as to the possibility of blowing things up across time, and all, thats the reason for bringing the Beau Rosin, in this form, back to this time and dimension. In this form, even if the device does blow (and there's no reason for it to do so), it will not affect more than the tiny universe which is now this ship.
The spacefold carried it here. now it resides within the evbent horizon of teh collapsed star that powers it this vessel --But enough about that. Miss Meta, you can rest assured that this machine, however it arrived, is more than sophisticated enough to handle the device in question. As long as we remain in Purgatory, Colorado, Purgatory, Colorado will remain cut off from the rest of humanity and in fact the Pan-Multiverse, for all time.

When we leave for the Warehouse, however, the causal loop trap will travel with us, until we arrive, and open that door, there, behind you. Purgatory will go back to the way it was before the device was activated, and no, it won't stop being a waystation for unshriven souls, if you're worried about that. It was that before the device arrived, and will be long after the 26th century is done and over. Do I know that for certain? Yes. Will I tell you how? I will tell you, however, that I applaud your choice of a cause, Miss Meta, and that you won't know why for at least a century...
« Last Edit: March 09, 2010, 06:19:19 pm by MWBailey » Logged
The Abiliegh
Zeppelin Admiral
******
United States United States


Wench with a Wrench

The_Abi
« Reply #246 on: March 09, 2010, 07:10:49 pm »

She scoffed. "You don't have to play cryptic, Mr. Brantley. I've seen my fair share of time-related conundrum." She didn't like being belittled, and it often brought out some of her less admirable personality traits. "Nor am I talkin' about blowing away multiple universes. That, however unfortunate, doesn't really hold bearin' on the fact that we've stumbled into a war. You say you're a paladin, and I've a mind t'believe ya, today bein' what it has been. In that vein, can you not recognize what is happening? We muck up here, and your religion, your god, is at risk. Nothin' is so simple, in a holy war, as lockin' the offending whatever up in some futuristic warehouse."

She paused, collecting herself. "We've all got that wot we believe in, Mr. Brantley. It's what makes us human, and that is what's bein' compromised. There is no peaceful resolution here, and we've got to choose a side. Martians non-withstandin', we've got t'decide which is more important. Science or faith. Certainly, outside of Purgatory, the two can easily co-exist, but as you've all made pretty clear, we're stuck inside some damned bible story, and seems rather clear, even t'the likes of me, that it's like to be best we preserve that which makes this place exist."

She took to pacing, frustrated to be in a place where she seemed to be the only one defending something she didn't even particularly believe in. She recognized it's value, however, and she'd always believed that religion was true to the person believing it, making them all both viable and very very real. "Forget the Customs Agency, Mr. Brantley. Forget the Martians. Forget, even, that you've got to atone for the blasted chronojammer. Imagine, for a moment, havin' nothin' to atone to. Imagine the fate of your religion with no hopes for an afterlife. We destroy Purgatory, even accidental, and the rest will crumble. We've got t'destroy that machine, lest it be used again. There ain't a hope in the world for this country if you destroy their faith. And, knowin' that, should the machine explode, it wont hurt no one, I'll happily blow us all to bits. I said earlier that I've no mind to be a martyr, and I still hope not to. be I'm hopin' beyond hope that you'll see reason here, Mr. Brantley. I'm at wits end with this whole debacle, and I'm not fond of thowin' myself on the mercy of a god who ain't ever done nuthin' by me."

"We've got ourselves a blessing here, in the Beau. I'm certain we can find a way to destroy that cursed contraption here in it's own little pocket of existence while givin' ourselves time to escape."
Logged
MWBailey
Rogue Ætherlord
*
United States United States


"This is the sort of thing no-one ever believes"

rtafStElmo
« Reply #247 on: March 10, 2010, 12:51:28 am »

Destroy it? Who said anything about destroying it? It's being moved to a warehouse for things like it, things that are too dangerous to be allowed to exist, and too horrifically destructive to be destroyed. Things that only exist because the idiots who designed them only thought of the fact that they could build them, but never stopped to ponder whether or not they shouldThe Committee of Twelve exists for just such emergencies, miss Meta, and we of the Warehouse and A.U.N.T. S.A.L.L.Y. deal with them every day, month, and year.

Destroying it is NOT an option. Doing so would cause even more trouble than leaving it in place, and theat would make the situation untenable. sure, there's room now. what about a year from now? ten years? Will you decide which souls to damn to Hell for eternity in order to let more in? Then Who? Best look at ALL of the factors, Miss Meta, not just the seemingly simple source of a hideout.
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The Abiliegh
Zeppelin Admiral
******
United States United States


Wench with a Wrench

The_Abi
« Reply #248 on: March 10, 2010, 06:13:01 am »

She was obviously agitated. "You truly don't get it, do you? This isn't a situation magically whisked away. There is no dues es machina that can solve this, no matter how much you and yours believe it to be true. That said, however..." She paused, still pacing. "That said, I know what has to be done here. Maybe it's your god speaking, maybe I'm some moon-touched, godless, assasin whore who's cracked from the life she's been forced to live, but whatever the reason, I know. And I wont let you stop me from doin what it right."

And with that, quick as mercury, she pulled her revolver and unloaded all her shots into the machine. She didn't take the time to ensure it was destroyed, content enough once she saw erratic lightning shooting from it. She didn't have the moments it would take, and she wasn't about to die for this. Hands flying to her locket, she focused on the truth of her surroundings, knowing that around this pocket, Purgatory remained.

And then she fell through the boat, free of the Beau's phase. She lept to her feet and ran for the edge of town. She was pretty certain that she needed the preacher. If Brantley survived, she was in over her head.

[[OOC: not tryin to kill ya, honest! Just playing true to the character!]]
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Sgt.Major Thistlewaite
Zeppelin Admiral
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Gibraltar Gibraltar


I am, therefore I think.


« Reply #249 on: March 10, 2010, 04:24:09 pm »

It's true, the town of Purgatory remains...but outside, all Hell has broken loose. Meta has jumped from the proverbial frying pan and into the fire. The bartender of the Blazing Gun, noticing the carousing roughnecks as they made their first whooping pass down the streets, has wisely decided that he didn't need their custom, and blew out all the lights, and closed and locked the heavy oak doors that normally stayed folded back against the walls on either side of the batwing doors, doing his best to make the place look, not just closed, but out of business. It is not the only saloon in town, though, and the marauders have managed to get thoroughly drunk, and are riding their horses in and out of these establishments, firing their guns into the air, and at the feet of any citizen curious enough to get up and check on what is causing the pandemonium. Jed Gunn has finished getting dressed, and stands by the livery stable, helplessly watching the carnage, completely undecided as to what, if anything, he should do. The din is enough to wake O'Callahan, and he comes fully awake in an instant, and standing, strides over to the barrier. Broken oil lamps have started several fires, and the streets are lit in the jumping, flickering light cast by them. Spotting one of the troublemakers, the priest pulls a small spyglass from his pocket, and as the man pauses to take drunken aim at a cat, O'Callahan focuses the telescope on his face. He gazes at him for a moment, then snaps closed the glass, and pulls his deck of cards from his pocket, riffles them, and pulls out the ten of hearts. Yes. Morgan Freemantle. Meanwhile, the fellow in question has loosed three shots at the cat, all of which miss, and the hapless animal makes a dashing retreat under the boardwalk. The priest unlimbers the Sharps buffalo gun, and, though he is loathe to waste the shot, takes aim and fires. The big lead ball strikes the man at the nape of the neck, killing him instantly. Knowing that these vermin run in packs, O'Callahan figures there will be more. This changes things. He had hoped to be useful from outside the barrier, but now...not much use in trying to help a town that's been burned to the ground. He takes a deep breath, noting even amidst the chaos how good it is, how sweet the air tastes, and steps back through the barrier.
At the tannery, Gonzales stands in the door, and tears stream down his cheeks as he watches the destruction. He really loves this little town. He was up late, putting the finishing touches on Jed Gunn's holster, lost in the artistry of what he was doing. Now he stands in the doorway, a leather carving tool in his hand, aghast at the wanton violence. Just in front of him, a man is shooting at a stray cat. Gonzales' knuckles whiten around the handle of the big leather-knife, outrage twisting his features. Suddenly, there is a rending BOOM, the man's head snaps forward, and he plunges face first into the dust. Gonzales looks to his left, and sees O'Callahan step through the barrier, looking like an avenging angel, albeit a very dark one. Some vague memory tugs at the mind of the tanner. "Dios mio...thees I have seen before..."
The big leather tool hits the boardwalk, bounces once, and comes to rest. Gonzales has suddenly vanished.

....somewhere Else, Peter smiles gently. "Ramone Gonzales, your name is in the Book...welcome, amigo, welcome...."
« Last Edit: March 10, 2010, 05:07:28 pm by Sgt.Major Thistlewaite » Logged
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