<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0c/Doomtown2-Recovered2.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Walter Sinnett<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 5th, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Morning<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Scared Stiff Saloon and Casino Morongo<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Max Baine, Graham Neiler, Open<br/><hr/><strong>“So, you enjoy your swim last night then Walter?”<br/><br/>“Do you want a slap Billy? Cos' the way you're goin' you're goin' to get a feckin' slap son.”</strong><br/><br/>Billy the Knife sniggered as he walked away, Walter's eyes staring daggers into his retreating back. The Scared Stiff saloon was rarely busy in the mornings. That's not because the reprobates and rascals that made up its regulars were off doing an honest day's work... none of them would have known a day's honest work if it reared up and bit them in the arse... but because of any given morning they were usually too busy sleeping off the previous night's excesses to do anything else. Some didn't even make it out of the bar; Walter could see a pair of legs he thought belonged to Dirk sticking out from under an upturned table and hear the dull rumble of snoring. But somehow Billy the Knife was not only awake but here and basically alert. And the grimace on Walter's face showed exactly what he thought about that.<br/><br/>Shaking his head Walter sipped at the whisky in front of him as he sat at the bar, following it up with a big swig of coffee. It was that sort of morning after that sort of night. A bowl of what was optimistically called porridge sat to the side, barely touched. Ethan was busy trying to clean one of the few glasses the place had. Walter never saw the point. Chances were it was just going to get smashed over someone's head anyway and more then that have you ever seen someone with one arm try to clean a glass? Walter doubted Ethan had been the most house-trained of people when he had both arms and now here he was trying to clean a glass with one. Walter half suspected that Ethan had seen a barman polishing and cleaning glasses one time and now thought that was what all barmen did. Bollocks to it. But being a bartender did mean that Ethan had one ability shared by bartenders across the world. The ability to be talked at. Not to. At.<br/><br/><strong>“You know the bloody worst thing Ethan...”</strong><br/><br/>Ethan barely answered, merely arching a single eyebrow.<br/><br/><strong>“... I didn't even bloody end up in the bloody drink. Yet here I am sat on my arse with Billy the feckin' Knife thinkin' he can crack on at me about it.”</strong><br/><br/>Ethan merely nodded, continuing to rub the glass awkwardly. At the other end of the bar Walter's donkey, now a veritable regular, munched on some feed that Handsome Taw had found somewhere.<br/><br/><strong>“It was that bloody lawman... what did you say his name was...?”<br/><br/>“Nathan, Nathan Hunter. And I'm not so sure he's a lawman any...”<br/><br/>“Hunter, that's the bugger. It was him who went for a dip and had to doggy paddle his way out. Me? I kept nice and dry on the side and what do I get for my trouble? Shouted at by some damn bint, I have to run halfway across this bloody town with a group of people I don't know and don't like, catch sight of God bloody knows what, have a damn bridge collapse and now I get feckin' ribbed by a feckin' idiot like Billy. Teaches me to try to be a bloody hero.”<br/><br/>“You got that sword at least.”</strong><br/><br/>Walter protectively ran his hand over the unfortunate officer's sword, the scabbard now strapped to his hip with some crude string under his duster.<br/><br/><strong>“Guess I did. Nice lookin' blade at least. Wish I'd got back in time to half-inch his boots as well. They looked decent.”<br/><br/>“You may want to get rid of the sword though Walt. Pretty quick as well.”<br/><br/>“Feck off Ethan. What, you turned into a feckin' sword merchant 'ave you?.”</strong><br/><br/>Walter took another sip of whisky, following once more with the coffee.<br/><br/><strong>“It ain't that Walt. You hear what happened after you left?”<br/><br/>“Nah, I was too busy chasing feck knows what around like I just feckin' told ya.”<br/><br/>“Well I wasn't there but the story is the guy you got that sword off was some Confederate officer.”<br/><br/>“So bloody what?”<br/><br/>“A Confederate officer who was meant to be with the army.”<br/><br/>“And?”<br/><br/>“So he's a deserter.”<br/><br/>“And that means?”<br/><br/>“Well, if you're just a trooper and you desert they'll hang you if they catch you but they're not going to go hunting for you. But an officer? They put a bounty on your head.”<br/><br/>“Well he's dead now ain't he? And it ain't like that feckin' beast is goin' to go claim the reward. What's that got to do with me and this blade?”<br/><br/>“As the story goes, after you head off some bounty hunter shows up looking for that officer. Now, he see's the dead body but it isn't really recognisable is it? So he needs something to take back to the army so he can get the bounty, the army not being given to believing any stranger when he walks in and says he killed a bounty.”<br/><br/>“And?”<br/><br/>“Well, there's a chance there was a locket or something on the body but if I know officer types they like to get inscriptions on their swords. I'm thinking that blade you've got has one on it.”</strong><br/><br/>Walter half drew the sword from its scabbard, glancing down at the flowing script that was engraved into the steel.<br/><br/><strong>“Bugger.”<br/><br/>“So what you've got there Walt ain't just a blade. It's also the proof needed to collect a rather substantial amount of money.;”<br/><br/>“Bloody 'ell. So what happened to this feckin' bounty hunter?”<br/><br/>“He tried picking a fight with a drunk Bilton and got himself shot dead.”<br/><br/>“Bilton? I've never met the bastard but I thought he was just a bit of a bully boy. That's a feckin' surprise.”<br/><br/>“Not as much as it was for the bounty hunter.”<br/><br/>“Well, at least he's dead then.”<br/><br/>“Yeah, but he isn't going to be the only one is he? It's a pretty substantial reward after all. And you're not exactly inconspicuous Walt. From what I hear a lot of people saw someone with a big hat walk up and take the sword before shouting at some girl in an English accent. Considering the only other person in town with an English accent is Lady Boyle that doesn't make it hard to work out who took the sword.”<br/><br/>“Feck. You got a chisel?”<br/><br/>“A chisel?”<br/><br/>“To get rid of the bloody inscription. If it don't say nothin' it's no use to any bloody fool lookin' for a reward.”<br/><br/>“You could just get rid of it.”<br/><br/>“Feck off. What am I goin' to do? Throw it into the bloody drink? No chance of that... I took it right fair and square I did and I ain't just giving it up. And I ain't going to be able to sell it am I? Can't imagine there's too many feckers tryin' to hawk sabres around and if people know the feckin' story you just told me a merchant ain't goin' to want a flock of bloody bounter hunters descendin' on them lookin' to take the sword. And I ain't goin' to go bloody ridin' off to claim the reward myself... not with those bastard hunters waiting to ambush my arse. So, you got a bloody chisel?.”<br/><br/>“Not on me. Try Miner's Peril. Full of that sort of stuff.”<br/><br/>“Feck.”<br/><br/>“You alright Walt? I mean, you're hitting the whisky pretty early, even for you. And the good stuff as well.”<br/><br/>“Feck off Ethan.”</strong><br/><br/>There was a long pause as Walter finished off what whisky remained in his glass and did the same to the coffee. Experimentally he prodded at the fork embedded in the porridge but the thick mixture had set solid through neglect. Finally he sighed.<br/><br/><strong>“Listen Ethan, I'm only telling you this because I hate you a little less then every other bastard here. That thing last night.... that thing... it was feckin' wrong.”<br/><br/>“What even was it? I've heard people say it was a bear.”<br/><br/>“I've seen a bear. It weren't no feckin' bear. It weren't normal, weren't no proper creature. It was somethin' dark. Was feckin' huge but moved as swift as feckin' anything. I'm fairly sure we put some bullets in it and it didn't even notice. It didn't ignore them, didn't even have the decency to look pissed off. It just didn't even bloody notice. And it could move. It could move like nothin' I've ever seen. Quick as hell and then jumped into the air like... like nothin' I've ever bloody seen. If it weren't for the lack of fur and the bloody moon not being full I'd have said it was a damn werewolf.”<br/><br/>“A werewolf? You're joking right?”<br/><br/>“Do I look like I'm feckin' joking?”<br/><br/>“But... a werewolf?”<br/><br/>“Too bloody right. Listen Ethan, Gomorra and this whole bloody “fast country” or whatever the feck you call it. It's a dangerous place right, no doubt of that. And you've got some strange shit showing their nasty mugs around here. But it's all in the feckin' light. During the day the sun beams down and during the night a thousand feckin' stars shine on you. London ain't like that. London is dark and dank and narrow. Bad things lurk in every cramped alley, in every shrouded feckin' corner. I know... I was one of them. But there are things out there Ethan... things that even I get a bloody chills over. Things that ain’t natural. Things that go bloody bump in the night. And that thing... that was one of them.”<br/><br/>“So what are you saying then Walt?”<br/><br/>“I'm sayin' that what did this... that that creature... it's somethin' new Ethan. It's somethin' dark and it's somethin' bad and it ain't somethin' us feckers have ever had to deal with before. It ain't a drunk miner, it ain't a man with a gun, it ain't an Indian raid and it ain't a bunch of outlaws. It ain't even a feckin' Maze Dragon sittin' in the water. It hunted us Ethan. It hunted for pleasure. It didn't even eat those poor bastards. What sort of creature kills for pleasure Ethan? Humans do... I bloody do... but what feckin' manner of beast comes into a town and tears people apart for the damn fun of it?”<br/><br/>“You hear it raped that Boyle lady...”<br/><br/>“Don't you ever spread that feckin' nonsense Ethan. That Boyle lady is a feckin' English woman and I won't have you feckin' colonials disrespectin' her in my feckin' earshot, you bloody get me. I won't have you disrespectin' her outside my feckin' earshot either, it just might take me a little longer to find out you did. She's a proper feckin' lady and you will not be tellin' tales about her getting' fecked by a beast from the feckin' black lagoon.”<br/><br/>“Jesus Walt, I'm only saying what people said happened.”<br/><br/>“And what feckin' happened depends on what people feckin' say Ethan. If people are goin' around sayin' she been fecked by this creature then that's what happened. But if people ain't sayin' it then it never bloody happened. You get me?”<br/><br/>“Sure Walt. So what now?”</strong><br/><br/>Walter sighed and pushed his stool back, glancing down at the empty coffee cup and the empty shot glass.<br/><br/><strong>“Well I could sit here and drink myself feckin' silly but I rather figure there's a little more to do then that. I once met a bugger...”<br/><br/>“Is this going to be one of your stories again Walt? I'm still trying to get over the one about the man you beat to death with a walrus penis bone...”<br/><br/>“Shut up Ethan. So yeah, I met this bloody man and he was a right clever sod... smarter than me anyway... and he said that where other people saw challenges he saw opportunities. Sounded nice that did. Didn't help him anyway.”<br/><br/>“You kill him?”<br/><br/>“Nah, not me for once. I just ended up drinkin' with him. Normally I don't like smart bastards... it's why I get on with you...”<br/><br/>“Gee, thanks Walt...”<br/><br/>“... but he was a good sport and could tell a crackin' yarn. Got stabbed for his coin purse a couple of days after I met him. But what he said stuck with me. “Opportunities, not challenges”.<br/><br/>“So what does that mean?”<br/><br/>“I don't like bein' hunted Ethan. I don't like bein' hunted by thugs, I don't like bein' hunted by the law and I like bein' hunted by some bloody beastie even less. I like bein' the hunter. And I like bein' the hunter even more when I can get bloody paid for it. And I think there's an opportunity to do that right 'ere.”</strong><br/><br/>And so Walter stood, made sure his new blade was hidden well away within the folds of his duster, made sure his hat was fixed firmly to his head and headed across town towards Casino Morongo, now the centre of business for Sweetrock in Gomorra itself. You basically needed to sign away your soul to Sweetrock if you wanted to get onto their mesa and Walt didn't have much of a soul to give away at the best of times. He nodded his head at the bouncer, some other new arrival in town who looked fairly handy with the shooter at his side before striding to the bar. The place was likewise fairly quiet at this time of day, a few hardy drinkers and gamblers dotting the main room but Walter paid them little heed. A jerk of his head brought the bartender over.<br/><br/><strong>“Go and tell Mr Baine that Walter Sinnett is 'ere to see him. I've got a proposition.”</strong><br/><br/>As the bartender nodded and scurried off Walter settled back, eyes running over the place once again.<br/><br/><em>Opportunities. Not challenges.</em>