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ItalianoBeef, Blood and Brotherhood
Del 2: Game Session no. 1
| Saturday December the 11th in the lords year 1875 Buffalo gap, Taylor County, Texas Matthew woke up to the sound of a dozen or so copper smiths setting up shop just behind his forehead. Dear Great Spirit, he should not have drunken that heavily the previous night. The memories were hazy at best, but he simply refused to ponder them just yet, he´d get to that, in a bit. Getting down to the ground from the hayloft was an exercise in bodily-control. If he woke James up with his less than soundless landing on the earthen floor of the stable, the man would just go right back to sleep, after threatening to cut his scalp off. Nate and Josh, frankly he didn´t care one bit. Rain looked up from his stall as Matthew closed in, the silver-bay stallions gaze was judgmental, almost disappointed. ‘Scoot over, little brother.’ The horse, grudgingly moved half a step, allowing the man to slip by to the water bucket, where all but fell to his knees. ‘I´ll get you fresh water later, I promise.’ The snorting reply was drowned out as the man dunked his head in the cold water, staying under until his lungs burned and some sort of consciousness had returned. The fist lungful of air once he re-surfaced was divine, Rains soft muzzle nuzzled across his forehead and cold water soaked into the worn cotton shirt. The sounds of stirring from the loft brought him out of the moment and he slicked back the soaked tresses of hair and tied the neckerchief in a tight flat knot, pulling the edges high and tight around his jawline. Nate appeared on the loft, looking slightly worse for wear. ‘Morning.’ Matthew secured his belt with a few tugs and tied of the sheath to the Bowie to his thigh. ‘Morning.’ Nates already thick Texas accent was further enhanced by the early morning, quietly they saw to the horses, the conversation low and on point. A breakfast of questionable origin later they were on their way out of Buffalo Gap, heading towards Maverick County, taking the road south, ironically the same one that James and Matthew had come in on the previous day. When saddling up just before mid-day it was still clear whom had endured last evening with slightly more dignity than others, but they got on the road, leaving Buffalo Gap behind. The city slickers turned out to be more adept to the saddle than first impression had foretold and they managed to put a full days travel behind them despite the weather, that was persistently damp. In the evening they reached the coaching station they had been pushing for, and Nate, good old Texas boy he is negotiated with the manager, a mr Buckley, and mr Buckleys’ shotgun for the service of sleeping indoors. Which after some grudging and pointed questions were permitted. The coach station´s hospitality matched the weather, but considering they didn´t open fire outright, Matthew suspected they had something going for them. The manager a Mr Buckley and his son Alex served dinner in the manor building, with a side serving of dirty looks that with the grace of the Christian God should have struck James and Matthew dead in their boots. After dinner, Josh showed unexpected talent for the construction of weapons and James Winchester was now short one serial number. The horses were cared for, and the mismatched rag-tag of a group, one by one drifted off to sleep. Sunday December the 12th in the lords year 1875 Lannigans coach station, Runnels County, Texas Sunday morning came with little grace expect for those which were spoken by others. The second morning largely confirmed the impressions of the first, Nate, Ismael and Matthew were early raisers. Followed by Josh, and later once breakfast was ensured, James. Some form of morning routines was developing, Nate and Matthew looked after the horses. Ismael showed of some strange sort of sword-art Matthew had never seen before, despite the lengthy campaigns across the Mexican border. Though considering that he had been tracking desperados, cattle thieves, Comancheros and rebels, it wasn´t a stretch of the imagination to see why he should have missed this type of sword play. The men he hunted were more dogs like himself than the skilled control that were behind every movement of Ismaels blade. Josh, not to be outdone matched with impressive skills of twirling his revolver around his fingers, which though impressive, didn´t truly reveal if he could hit a target, even less if he could hit that target whilst it was shooting back at him. Breakfast had been served by mr Buckley, but they were informed that they had overstayed their welcome since well before dawn broke. Rather than risking getting into pointless trouble they got on the road, with a route mapped out and a steady pace set. The miles were steadily left behind as they continued down the coaching road to the south, the hours chewed up by conversation that was slowly growing easier. Eyes were still weary though and to many questions were still avoided. It had become an unspoken agreement that there were a few things best not asked, like ‘so, what are you wanted for?’ or ‘who and or what are you running from?’ That did not keep the congregation from taking careful measure of each other. Details, movements and words were taken in like shots of whiskey, a game of poker being played without the benefit of a deck of cards. Josh was relaxed in Rebels saddle, they had put some distance between the coaching station and themselves, ghastly people, so, suspicious… What was happening to polite society these days? Everyone was, so on edge that it was bad for business. He wrapped the poncho tighter around himself, the back of it was slipping, and the cold wind was finding its way in. Then he settled back again, his right arm gently resting against the butt of his Colt, the weight of it a constant presence. He looked over at Matthew, who for once was within line of sight. The McClellan saddle held two holsters one who clearly contained a rifle, the covered butt pointed backwards in classic cavalry manner. The other holster held something long, that was entirely wrapped in leather. But no six-shooter, because frankly, the Bowie didn´t count, even if it was short of being a fricking medieval sword. The man was practically unarmed, or did he hide something under that coat? ‘What are you up to?’ The cavalry man, James spoke up, looking pointedly between Josh, and the object of his study, and now apparently, the conversation. ‘What? I did´na do nothing!’ ‘I see the way you´re looking at him, should´na you be looking at some pretty girls instead?’ ‘I wasn´t doing that,’ he sputtered at the notion, that he would, no! ‘Your just, imagining things!’ Josh dug his spurs in Rebels sides abandoning the conversation. The mere thought it, it was, un-thinkable. Curves man, he preferred curves, thank you very much! Rebel passed a few yards to the left, but the pace was controlled, and Josh had a tendency to dash about as if his tail was on fire, so it didn´t cause any great commotion. What did cause concern was James sudden appearance at Matts elbow, it was made worrisome by the frown-line between James eyes. ‘I think Josh is checking you out?’ Matt´s first reaction was a snorting laugh that turned more into a cough when James didn´t wink to take the edge of the joke. ‘You taking a piss at me?’ He asked, just to be sure. ‘No, he´s been staring at you, I tell ya.’ James gestured with his jaw towards the hastily disappearing young man. ‘If you say so, I trust you.’ Matt adjusted the reins, keeping the long loose ends from snagging on a nearby branch as they passed. ‘Let him, not much harm after all.’ They exchanged a few telling looks before shrugging. James, bless his heart changed subject. ‘So, you gonna get us dinner or what?’ ‘You are so bloody demanding.’ Matt clicked his tongue and Rain set of in a collected trot. ‘Stick on the damned trail will ya, I´ll catch up!’ As he passed Nate at the head of the pack he asked. ‘Coming hunting, Texas?’ With a grin Nate and Junior fell into step and they veered out in the bush. Hunting went predictably terrible, which was expected, since it was raining, and Matthew was distracted by the previous conversation with James. Why there was so much, tension around these subjects he would never understand. It took some white men, or at least their way of living to turn something simple and mutually enjoyable into a writhing mess of suffering and denial of ones, baser instincts. Growing up on the plains, things had been, a tad bit more, relaxed. Everyone knowing and accepting that both men, and women have certain urges. Matthew himself had been that age not to may years ago and could remember more than one poorly thought through decision made based on more basic instincts, rather than careful consideration. Besides, considering that Josh is an, excitable young man of significant passion in his life, it was not strange that he would also have a healthy taste for bodily gratification and physical intimacy. Though he might consider trying to hide it, after all the pale faces have an aversion to anything even remotely intimate or enjoyable, unless violence was involved, he reminded himself. Lunch turned from a restful pause to attempted arson, but no major loss of livestock, limb or worldly possessions occurred which was something at least. But they were making good time towards the goal of todays journey. Besides, Ismaels cooking, was not to be underestimated, Matthew could get used to this. Arriving in Cottonville, Runnels County, Texas The small town of Cottonville showed few graces to commend itself, but it did have two (temporarily) closed saloons, two stagecoach stations and a hotel. Though the saloons were closed, the ‘Cottonville Central Hotel’ was not, and they secured lodging for the night. Once in his room Nate looked around, sure it had not been cheap but there were clean sheets and there was not only a mattress on the bed, but pillows as well, he would sleep like a king. The balcony presented an excellent view of the main street, where Josh still appeared to be busily taking inventory of the available businesses. Off to the northwest, the church doors were pushed open and a trail of mourners in their Sunday bests stepped out, walking in a convoy to the hotel where they deposited what must be the grieving mother, or wife, or sister of the deceased, before heading back down the street to the ‘Red Feather’ saloon. Down in the hotel reception Ismael accepted the change for his room and stable fee just as a woman draped in black stepped over the threshold to the hotel. The exchange between the receptionist and the mourning woman was short, a few words of condolences and a key was handed over before she gracefully disappeared up the stairs. Ismael hefted the saddlebags a bit higher on his shoulder, his fingers instinctively sought out the scabbard to his blade. Then he nodded towards the receptionist and, somewhat tenderly walked towards the stairs. In the stable, after having cared for the horses needs and declined further assistance from the stablehand James and Matt sat down on the loft, their Winchesters in pieces in front of them, rags in hands and oil at the ready. James tapped the aged map they had spread out before them. ‘Here is Dodge city,’ he waited a second for Matt to try and commit the symbols to memory, they were fleeting however, frustratingly so, they were all but dancing in front of his eyes. He blinked a few times, but as usual it didn´t help one bit, but it was better than doing nothing. James finger traveled across the map, to the south. ‘Maverick County, here´s where the Double Cross Ranch will be.’ ‘And here´s fort Concho…’ Matt tapped the map, and they shared a look, it was a close call, if they were going to take the shortest route between Maverick County and Dodge city it would take them within a rifle shot from the fort. A rifle shot was not that far off from the length of a good rope. ‘This is the apache territory,’ They shared a short look, the autumn had been long and, trying for them both. ‘we could go through Chickasaw to the east, or Yong County to the west.’ James fingers danced over the map, carefully pointing out the names as he read them out. ‘Meaning we have options.’ The map was carefully folded and rolled up before being slipped into its leather case. ‘Let´s get a drink down our parched throats, it has been a long day.’ ‘Says the man who doesn’t drink.’ ‘Means there is more left for you…’ |
Fortsättning:
Del 1 (9 dec 2019)Del 2: Game Session no. 1 (9 dec 2019)
Del 3: Game Session no. 2 (9 dec 2019)
Del 4: Game Session no. 3 (9 dec 2019)
Del 5: Game Session no. 4 (9 dec 2019)
Tillagd 9 dec 2019 Noveller #Egenupplevt #Rollspel #Geeky/nördigt
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