<hr/><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/20/Christian_Bale_Cowboy_3.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Christian “Spooky” Specter<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 2nd, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Pre-dawn<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Agatha Dunwich’s Home<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Agatha Dunwich<br/><hr/><br/>Some men ride into town on a bright white horse, badge and teeth gleaming in the noonday sun. Other men ride their black stallion haphazardly through town during the full moon, firing their weapon into the air and snarling at every person they see. Christian was neither.  It was the darkest time of the night, the moon hidden behind clouds, the wind swirling dust and dirt about town. The saloon was winding down for the night when Spooky pushed open both batwing doors with a creak. He glanced about the room making eye contact with all those present, sizing them up ready to gun them down at the slightest provocation. None provided that threat, and so the brooding gunslinger sauntered his way up to the bar.<br/><br/>“What’ll ya have?” the barkeep sighed at his new patron. It was not that he minded the business, any new dinero was good to have, but the hour was getting late and this man seemed completely sober, so the hopes of the poor man going home soon were dashed.<br/><br/>“Lookin’ for someone,” Christian spoke with a heavy Texan drawl, his voice thick as mud and sounded like gravel turning over, “red-haired gal, absent minded, likes to play with ghost rock.” Christian surprised himself with the description. He had played through this very scene many times in many towns. Every other time, he was looking for the gaunt man in black. The purpose to his journey across the vast West, and yet here he was seeking out a softer, kinder person from his past instead.<br/><br/>“Ah, yup, I know’r. Who’s askin?” the keep spoke with irritation, that the interruption to his closing activity was not going to at least result in some coin was too frustrating to make him cooperative any longer.<br/><br/>Christian finally glanced up far enough to allow the light from the dim lanterns to break the shadow of his hat. He gave the barkeep a glare, cold as the winter in the Great Northwest, his dark eyes narrowed.  He dropped his pack to the floor behind him, the movement giving the barkeep a glance at the expertly engraved Peacemaker at his side in a quick-draw holster. “Name’s Christian, Christian Specter,” he leaned across the bar, placing his face only a few inches from the burly saloon keep’s own, a silence existing while the man processed the name. “You were tellin’ me where I can find Agatha.”<br/><br/>Whether the man recognized the name of Christian and the tales that went with it did not matter, he recognized a man who had killed before, and would again. The keep nodded stiffly, “Yeh…Yes sir, she…uh, she lives on the outside of town, east o’ here.” The man stammered through the description, his fear evident. Christian, having obtained his needed information, leaned back slowly from the man though his stare never broke from the eyes of the keep who showed such disrespect. He finally harrumphed and picked up his pack, breaking eye contact with the poor, frightened fellow. He sauntered his way back to the door, and just as he was halfway through it, he turned back to the barkeep halfway.<br/><br/>“If you see a gaunt man, dressed all in black, tell him Spooky is gunnin’ for’m,” Christian growled, before letting the doors swing behind him as he made his way into the dreary night.<br/><br/>The streets were all but cleared, the hour late and only the early shift miners would be waking soon to start their day. As Christian strolled the streets, he made note of the various locations, many of them saloons and brothels, places miners would find an easy outlet for what they made at their claim. He thought on the months and years that had passed since he had last seen Agatha, those few weeks they had spent together as he made sure she was safe. Why the fast draw gunslinger had decided to take her on as a charge remained a mystery, even to himself.  Yet, he had, and over the years he had come to see Agatha as something of a sister, and the watchful eye he kept over her during that trip certainly seemed like one of an older brother. The memory of those times brought a tiny smile to his face, and a twinkle in his eye.<br/><br/>A few minutes later, he arrived at what had to be Agatha’s house. The contraptions that jut out from the abode randomly, at least it was random to Christian as he had no idea what they did, was easy to spot, and gave proof to the owner of the residence. Christian did something rare at the moment, and grinned a warm, hearty grin.<br/><br/><em>Hell, I coulda found her place without that ornery barkeep. </em>He thought to himself as he slowly shook his head. Christian swaggered up to the door, and dropped his pack from his shoulder and onto the ground beside him. He put his head down so that the brim of his hat would hide his face and gave the door three firm, precise knocks.<br/><br/>When, or if, she answered the door, he planned to raise his head up slowly, dramatically revealing who he was. He would give her a small smile, the largest of that particular emotion he gave anyone these days. Of course, the obsessive gunslinger had forgotten not everyone kept the same strange hours he tended towards, so he might have accidentally woken her, or worse yet, angered her.<br/><br/>As always, his facial hair was unkempt, though it held a hint of grey in the brown that covered his bearded face, different than the last time they had seen each other. His hair was longer than she might remember it being, as he did not find much time, or more likely attention, to get it cut. His clothes were filthy, as was he, as many weeks on the trail with no hint of a bath or laundry had dust caking his cheeks and hands. Yet, despite all of that, he held that smile for her, and the twinkle in his dark eyes bespoke of the fondness with which he saw the woman before him.<br/><br/>“Heya, Aggy. Good ta see ya again,” he drawled with his baritone, rocky voice.