((Events are tied to: http://rdi.dragonsmark.com/forums/viewtopic.php?t=23353))


Monday, July 6th.
Red Dragon Inn.
Sometime late in the evening...


The glass fell from Madison's hand and shattered on the old boards of the Inn. Dandelion wine ran a path into the gaps, dripping down below.

That was the second time glass had shattered around Glenn Douglas for the set of his boots into her life.


Glenn Douglas cast a long shadow. It stretched across the floor like a snake. He had a young man's eyes, still bright as stars. The sound of shattering glass was old and familiar. He had that effect on people.

"Well..." he too seemed taken aback. His mouth hung half-open like he was looking for something to say. Instead he laughed to himself, quiet and hoarse.

He made his own slow way across the inn, passing a few tables and a few chairs on the way to the bar.

Her eyes moved to follow him, the rest of her ice-cold and still. The conversation with Amber Cartwrite had broken too, her attention like shatters on the floor.

He grabbed a glass and a bottle of rye. Then he turned, seemed to have second thoughts, and grabbed a second glass. Then Glenn, the troublemaking bastard that he is, walked toward the couch.

"Didn' anyone tell you it ain't polite to stare, Rye?"

A hard swallow. She still just sat there, blinking. Breaths slow behind the tightness of her lips. Eyes flickered from the glasses in his hand, to the gunslinger's face.

He took a seat at a chair to the left of the couch. Both glasses were set down on the small table in the area. He opened the bottle and poured two drinks. One was slid closer to Madison. He kept the other for himself.

Breaking her stillness, rather quickly, she spun around and put boots to floor. Hands didn't reach for the glass, but remained on her thighs. Curled like pale knots. Madison was still staring at him like he was a ghost come walking.

"Alright," he shrugged and leaned back, kicking up dusty boots to rest on the edge of the table. "We'll talk when you're good'n ready."

The toe of one of her scuffed boots began tapping.

Through grated teeth. "..... Talk?" The words were flat like dropping stones on dry-packed earth.

"Yeah," he took a swallow from the glass, let the drink rest on his tongue for a spell. "Talk. You ain't got questions? Last we saw each other, a whole lotta somethin' happened."

A hand ran down the front of the oversized white tee, still damp from her rainy walk. She looked down, chewed his words, and then gave him her eyes. "I don't believe that there's answers to be havin' from it." Sole stilled from its anxious rattle against the boards.

"Well, saves me time," his fingers tapped against the glass. "Good t'see you again, Rye. Glad you ain't got yourself killed."

A fist rubbed at her thigh. Nerves moving from one part of her to another. It telegraphed throughout her like an alarm while wine continued to drink below the Inn, like a persistent doubt. "You still wonder about what we saw?" His sentiment not lost, but not addressed. Yet.

"I don't like t'think about it, honestly. Prefer t'leave it like a bad dream. Just an unpleasantness in the back of the head when I sleep."

"But you wanna talk about it?"

"No, but I thought you might. Figure I owe you a few answers, at least."

Chin lifting, just barely, eyes giving him a once over. No extra bullet holes or scars that she could see. "Answers?"

Fresh as the day he was born. Clothes were worn and dirty, but he was healthy as she could have hoped.

A hand of hers unwrapped and reached out for the rye. "You look better." There was the start of a smile.

"Yeah. Answers," he stared at her, the corner of his mouth twitching upward when she reached for the rye. When it didn't smash and its jagged neck was't held beneath at his throat, he spoke again. "There's some justice in the world after all."

The bottle gripped and brought to one knee. "How's the hand?" The tattoo, the snake.

He held it up, his skin seemed clear. Though a close inspection would reveal the ghost of an image where scales had once been inked in.

"Some things you can't ever fully get rid of."

Madison looked at his face for a long moment, then to his hand, leaning over to look it over proper. Then she looked down to the bottle of rye. Its label worn.

"Sure can't." Hint of a smirk, her eyes beheld him again with their intimation. A drop of eyes to look to the glass meant for her. "Been feelin' a little off. No whiskey for me, thanks."

"Off?" he asked with raised brows. He reached out for the extra glass and used it to refill his own.

"Been feelin' a bit sick the past few days. Picked somethin' up." One shouldered shrug. She watched Glenn refill his glass. A hand was still clasped tightly on one knee.

"Sounds like whiskey is exactly what you need."

The laugh that came, she couldn't help. Her head hung. "Glenn.... I am glad you ain't dead, neither."

"Takes a lot t'keep me down. Though I was close to it for a spell. Went wanderin' the world half-mad. Well, not half. I was always half-mad. Guess then I was full-mad. Huh?" he laughed and drank.

"How...." She paused, her eyes shiny at the corners. "How did you..." She was getting close to needing that whiskey. "How did you get rid of the... the taint". Something of a grin at his humour. Bleak as always.

"Soldier on, so they say. Just picked the pieces back up."

"And put yourself together again." Her fingers left the bottle.

"Yeah, more or less."

"Me too." She answered, quietly. "But we can also shatter like glass." A slow blink, eyes hard on his face.

His reaction was a quiet snort. "Were you always this grim?" He was one to talk, though. Once upon a time every word outta his mouth was some ill omen.

"Honest, I am thinkin'."

"Same thing. So, what are you up to these days then, Madison?"

"Grim and honest.... maybe...." a look to her face, something faraway. "Maybe somethin' I picked up when I was a widow. Or maybe somethin' I picked up when I roamed the roads with your ass."

"The good ol' days?"

She didn't nod, but she did smile.

Then, "What am I doin'? I opened Charlie's Bar back up.. well .. on my way to doin' so."

He sighed wistfully, as though remembering a simpler time. The road stretched out ahead of him, the wind at his back. Dust all around and the sun bearing down overhead. He could still feel the matted sweat at his brow and the horse between his legs. That familiar trot, trot, trot.

"Good ol' days," he said again, laughing quietly to himself. "You didn' learn your lesson last time?"

A stolen breath, she blew it up, fanning curls from her face. They were heavy with the moisture of the air. "Not my lesson to learn." Pointedly. "You still owe me money for that window."

"Soon as I get a job we'll talk."

Her eyes said no you goddamn won't.

Glenn offered her his slyest smile.

And Madison Rye drank it down. Then, she reached for the whiskey despite knowing better and drank that down too.

"Speakin' of jobs..." he set his glass down, feet planted on the boards of the floor. "Got any leads? I'm short on cash and I got nothin' but time right now. Seems like all my missions done come to an end right now."

"An' I'd hate to go back t'robbin' trains," something about the way he said that suggested he didn't entirely hate the thought. Violence would forever be a part of Glenn's nature.

"Could come work for me. But I can't trust you around that safe of mine." A side-on look with another grin. She smacked her lips and thunked the glass down between them.

"Work for you?" he sat back. "Doin' what? I ain't exactly a people person."

"You could load and unload. It's physical. Don't worry, I'm not so desperate I'd put you behind my bar."

"Ain't that more dangerous than the safe? Drink calls to a man in ways money never did."

A wry look from her. She straighted a little in the chair, and sat forward.

"I wouldn't let you near my whiskey. Don't even think it."

"Well what the hell would I be loadin'?"

Lid returned to the goldrush, she thunked it down beside her empty glass, still sparkling at the sides with the remains. "Empties." A toothy smile. Then a hand went out, to shove at his knee.

He snorted and slapped at her hand. "Better off throwin' 'em at slouches who don't pay their tab."

"That too. Ain't opposed to constructive ... manhandling." Her hand flew aside and back to her knee.

She stared at him, eyes narrowing.

"Oh hell, Madison, I can always beat the **** outta some drunk for you."

"Fine. You got yourself a job then, Douglas."

"Don't give me that look."

She took up her glass. "What look?

"Huh?" he blinked, bewildered. "Alright then."

She laughed. "Let's toast to it then, say we?" Holding out her glass.

He skimmed over her question at the thought of another drink. Glass in hand, he raised it toward hers.