<hr/><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/7a/Josh_Brolin_True_Grit.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Christian “Spooky” Specter<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>None yet.<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 11th, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Outside Babel’s Tower<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Open<br/><hr/><br/>“Seems ta me the famous killer, Spooky, is too chicken ta take me on!” yelled a drunken young man to a small crowd that had gathered just outside Babel’s Tower. He walked staggered circles around the stern Gunslinger, all of his gestures exaggerated, sloppy, and encroaching upon the personal space of arguably (and only just so) the most dangerous man in Gomorra. Christian was not known for his patient and this man was pushing the envelope further than legends suggested were wise.<br/><br/>“Dammit, Vic, get yer ass over here. He’ll fill ya full o’ holes faster’n you can spit!” one of Vic’s friends hollered at him. Vic was a tall, gangly man. With more dirt than fat on him, and his muscles sinewy from working in the mines. His clothing was tattered and ragged, a shirt too tight, and pants too loose, as nothing he wore fit him. His gun belt held a simple pistol, beaten and worn. Missing most of his teeth, it was easy for the drunken miner to spit on the ground. Vic gestured to it, then to his friend and spun in the circle to the crowd, laughing. The crowd started to find the situation funny themselves. All of them laughing, chuckling, or giggling as the case may be, did not seem to faze the Gunslinger. He stood quiet, face holding a frown as normal, and a ghostly fire in his eyes.<br/><br/>“Well…guess Spooky, the fastest draw this side o’ Tombstone aint so fast, is he, Micky?” Vic said to his friend. The two of them were partners on a claim outside the city in the Maze. They had worked together for years, and it was obvious which of the two had the sense, and which had balls. It took both to be successful in the Maze, and they had been around a bit. This was not the first mess that Micky had had to pull Vic out of, though it was likely to be his last.<br/><br/>Christian stood there, surrounded on three sides by the crowd, the other Vic the Idiot Miner. Christian’s tack was not much better than Vic’s, though more well-kept. Reaper was holstered at his side, Doc on his back. His face wore an expression of patience quickly running thin, not embarrassment, fear, or caution. The stupid miner had been harassing him for almost five minutes now, calling him out in front of those waiting to get into Babel’s Tower, drawing a lot of unwanted attention to quiet gunslinger. Christian, despite being an infamous killer who was readily able to compete for fastest draw alive, was a private man. He did not seek these fights out. Unfortunately, they came to him.<br/><br/>“One last time, ya yella bellied…hic…slug-slow…hic…son-of-a-whore,” as Vic continued with his insults (and hiccups) Christian’s eyes closed, and he inhaled a deep breath, “I’m a callin’ you out!” The miner walked a few paces away, and the crowd cleared out behind him. The miner chuckled and called a few more boasts to the crowd, most unintelligible behind the liquor slur. The man stood between Christian and the road out of town, blocking any retreat should the infamous gunman choose a less honorable way out of the fight. Christian faced away from the Vic, not even deigning to stand toe-to-toe with the man. That would be too good for this moron, and would have made for a much less impressing sight.<br/><br/>“Goddammit, Vic!” yelled Micky, who then turned to Christian, “Please mister, he don’t know what he’s doin’. He’s drunker’n a Deseret Mormon with a sip a’beer. Just be on yer way, he won’t cause ya no more trouble.”<br/><br/>Everything was over far more quickly than most would have guessed. Vic lowered his palm to the handle of his irons. Christian saw it from the corner of his right eye as he had turned his head just far enough to see the drunken fool. Spooky spun in place, drawing his smoke-wagon in the same motion. Before a blink could finish, Spooky had slapped the hammer back on Reaper twice, sending lead ripping through the poor man’s kneecaps.<br/><br/>Vic howled in pain, his hand releasing the pistol. Unfortunately for the poor miner, Spooky never shot just to wound. Before the gun could hit the dust, Spooky had slapped two more rounds down range, one ripping into the miner’s chest, the other his skull, destroying his features. The next moment, Christian’s weapon was holstered, and a hush had fallen over the sobered crowd with a corpse in their midst.<br/><br/>Christian growled as he sauntered towards the entrance of the Babel’s Tower, “You’ll wanna get them buried or burned quick. Dark’s comin’.” His ominous voice filled with mystery, he slammed the door open to the new bar and turned back to the mourning Micky.<br/><br/>“Find yourself better friends, or they’ll be likely ta get ya killed.”<br/><br/>The fastest draw this side of Tombstone was definitely back.<br/>