<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/20/Christian_Bale_Cowboy_3.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Christian Specter<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Unknown<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 4th<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Evening<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The event<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Margeurite, Elisabeth, Agatha, Harley, Open<br/><hr/><br/><strong>“…but don’t you have to leave, Spoo…Christian? You always leave…”</strong><br/><br/>The words hit Christian like a Wasatch locomotive. He did always leave. Since he was seventeen years old, Christian had not stayed in one place more than a week or two, and aside from Agatha, had not kept the company of the same person any longer than that either. He let out a soft sigh at the realization, knowing that of course she would think that of him.<br/><br/><em>Hell, you’ve been a vagabond fer a long time now, Spook.</em>He told himself, a deep frown covering his face.<em>Can’t blame’er fer thinkin’ you wouldn't stickin’ ‘round just cause the two of ya hit it off.</em><br/><br/>“Darlin’, looks like I won’t be goin’ nowhere fer awhile,” was the only response he could give Elisabeth, a touch of sadness in growling voice, though whether that was from his decision to stay or her words was difficult to say.<br/><br/>The gruff, violent, and rude voice of a foreigner caused his voice to trail off into a growl. He was about to bark a threat about how he ought to talk a mite kinder to the lady folks lest he catch a deadly case of lead poisoning, punctuated by a pointed Winchester ’76, but the ugly ruffian was already bounding away by the time Christian had finished consoling Lady Boyle.<em>I reckon I’ll just have ta find me that nasty bastard tomorrow, teach’m some manners when it comes to a fool's tongue.</em><br/><br/><strong>“My potions, white topper, healing…I need them.”</strong><br/><br/><em>That’s right, she mentioned that last night, talkin’ about her apothecary and chemical wonders. She sounded like a goddamned snake-oil salesman.</em><br/><br/>Christian considered that a moment, whether to take a chance on some potions or get her to a doctor that should definitely be able to help her out. The potions were closer, or Christian thought they were, so he could get her the help quicker that way, but it was also a gamble, a big gamble. Christian Specter had never been a great gambler. The doctor was definitely the wiser choice. Then, a lashing tongue came flying his way.<br/><br/><strong>“Thanks, but if you want to help, holster the hardware and bring me a stretcher.”<br/><br/>“Ordering the delirious woman around isn’t helping at all.”</strong><br/><br/>The gunslinger Spooky Specter was known for several things, a nigh-perfect marksman, the fastest draw on this side of the world, and a voice and stare that could knock a grown man on his ass. What he was not known for was his patience, or his ability to accept criticism. That bone-chilling stare slowly turned its way to Margeurite, his ice-blue eyes screamed fury, anger, and retribution. A low growl formed in his throat to accompany the words that were sure to follow.<br/><br/><em>“Whatever did that to’er is still out there, ya damn idiot. Ya really want to be without a goddamn gunman when it brings it’s ugly mug back’ere?”</em>Christian wanted to say, to say.<br/><br/><em>“How many times you hauled wounded out of a situation like this, ya damn idiot? I’m orderin’ her to stay alive, goddammit, which is a hell of a lot more helpful than your damn blabber ta God,”</em>he wanted to bark back.<br/><br/>Instead, the growl was the only thing that he actually did. Saying nothing was more productive to getting Elisabeth taken care of than trying to argue with a fool of a woman. He was not about to holster his weapons, but he understood the necessity of someone hauling the wounded Elisabeth on a stretcher. He shoved the back of one of the men she had not pointed at towards the plant and gave him a look that brooked no argument. The already frightened civilian nodded furiously to Spooky and began to assist with getting the stretcher ready.<br/><br/>Christian then noticed Agatha’s approach with another woman he did not know. He knew the look of trouble when he saw it though, and that woman had trouble in spades. How did he know that? She carried herself a lot like Christian did, and Christian was most certainly trouble. While the Gomorra citizens began their work as a makeshift ambulance, Christian moved to place himself between Agatha and the scene beyond.<br/><br/>He may have failed to protect Elisabeth, but he was damn sure going to protect Agatha.<br/><br/>“Aggy,” he held out ‘Doc’ towards Agatha, “take my rifle and see yerself home. Ya don’t wanna see what’s back there.” The deep, gravel voice of the Christian was spoken with a straight face, no hint of emotion. While many might have been panicked right now, Christian was keeping a cool head. This was far from his first rodeo.<br/><br/>The steely-eyed gaze of the gunman turned to Harley, “You look like you can handle that sixgun on yer hip. See Agatha home safe, or I’ll teach ya exactly why they call me Spooky. Understood?” While it certainly was worded as a threat, the tone he used seemed more like a plea for help getting Agatha safe home than a warning or rough tongued bragging. Was he talking tough for Agatha’s sake, or to try and impress Harley? Or, did he just not know another way to ask for help? The latter seemed more likely given the way his eyebrows narrowed with concern when he spoke the last question.<br/>