Topic: That Blue Bastard

BottomOfABottle

Date: 2006-09-18 02:21 EST
Present.

Was told WestEnd was some sort of "deadzone" as far as most magicks went. Anything you can find in the darker corners of Stars End are out the window too. Good.

Word of mouth is about all I can take. Need a slow start back into the game after this last break. They've been getting longer and longer. Joints stiffer, aches worse. Reflexes the same, but the day afters hurt more and more.

Wind blows scrap of paper against my boot, bend to pick it up and have a chuckle. Voice is getting worse too, as time ravages on. Picking away at my vocal chords and larynx. Can't imagine how bad it sounds to others. Glass being crushed up against concrete.

"WANT'D," the paper screams. No idea how the tik-tok chose Rory for his target. Could be anyone. Grainy photo and almost want to collar a few lowlifes to the gavel for its gilt.

Boomdowns feel heavy in the shoulder holsters. Leather rubbing up against the scarred-over nubs I used to call wings. Taken from me on the Longfall. Catch a peer of myself in a grimy storefront window and wonder how people take me seriously. Dirty gutter water sort of skin, blue like a thundercloud pregnant with rain.

Busy pitying myself when the first lead barks its way into my right shoulder. Drops me to one knee for a moment. Half reflex, half fat caliber. Shoulder feels like brimstone, heavy and slow to move. Left hand lands on its feet though, boomdown out and searching. Eye's gone gold and prowling for a mark.

Streets are empty and can't believe there isn't a second bite to follow. Make for an oasis and nurse it over whiskeys. Ask around but no one's biting on the tik-tok line. Either he's been flushed already or ported somewhere for a good stretch. The morning will make sense of it.

BottomOfABottle

Date: 2006-10-01 03:24 EST
Present.

Spend the next day stitching up my skin and my shirt. Hit the RDI for a bit, it's a long doubletime there, but worth it. Learn the tik-tok is gates after a knockdrag. Building fell on him. Don't hookline on it, but it suffices for the time being.

Ror visits with me for a stitch. We trade info and I give him a few doss'es on sensitive matters. Thumbs up for my work and off to the sanct. Spend the next couple days catching up on who'd put heat into a blue bastard such as myself.

No leads and it's been a week. Reminds me of the old days. Digging and digging, no possibility of a good outcome, but dig anyways. Eventually, the bones surface...

BottomOfABottle

Date: 2006-10-01 03:53 EST
Three years' previous.

Pine needle in my ass. Been poking me for an hour now. Stuck in brush, rifle cocked and trained on L'dagh. O'Corr's spending some quality face time with him, laying out his side of the deal. Playing babysitter to his gypo-ass. 'Hairs on L'dagh's skull. Ready for bloodlust. Ready for killshot. Dying, aching, burning, pining for the spray of brains and crimson. Want to see the little puff of air and liquid.

Can barely hear O'Corr, but always the same. Ror tells them about me. Waiting with the trees. .50 cal rifle. Can't really call it a riflle. It is a giant against my shoulder. It is the reason I cannot wake without creaks and cracks. It is the reason I cannot raise that arm as high as the sun.

It is from a world war and it has seen the deaths of a thousand men, only three hundred of which lay to rest on my conscience. It bears the mark of Browning and it clicks beautifully to my ears. It is heavy and reassuring. It settles scores and debts and makes things right in the world.

It rips through bone and flesh and soft tree and rock. It will dent a tik-tok into oblivion, and will stop some of them forever. It is the ender of all bargainings.

L'dagh doesn't listen. He is torn to shreds of flesh within a few seconds. Two take him in the chest. He is on the ground and I cannot lift my finger from the trigger. His arms and legs are ribbons. His head is quickly mush. There is nothing left of him to identify. Our word will be taken as god, however.

This is becoming a more and more desireable job than the assassin work. This beats gunslinging. Humping miles and miles and then maybe dusting someone. Maybe not. Probability is my thing, but only when it plays up positive.

BottomOfABottle

Date: 2006-10-04 01:48 EST
Present.

No sign of Zeik in halfmoon. Give the jacket up and tell Ror about it at the Estate. Morgan's batty with the children. Think it's a pair, now. I'm happy but we fight for a bit and settle up later. Keep the WestEnd safehouse for later. Hope it can come in flush.

Ror's got other chores for me. And can't say the work ain't enjoyable. Nothing as mud as back then, but afraid those days're past us now. Can't stay in the house with Morgan, driving me as batty as she is. Love her to death. Would kill anyone who touched her or even looked at her wrong. But she drives me off-kilter all the same. Worse when she's bearing.

Can't wait for that kid, or kids, to pop out though. Almost ready to settle down from this. Almost. Got some more fight left in me though. Can't quit. Won't quit. Won't ever quit.

Take a walk and clear the cobwebs. Calculations on the jaunt and run through probabilities. Think of a few rocks to be rolled over. Start rolling. Gypo mentions something 'long the lines of detail work. C&D-type stuff. Not my bag until he drops the purse. Do anything for the paper.

Almost anything...

Before that, got me on some recon. Enjoy that almost as much as yankin' triggers. Roughin' up people, answers flowing out alongside blood and teeth. Says no on this one. Girl. Young. Innocent. Knows what he wants to, though. Says I'll want to, too.

Must be about the wolf. Long-fall part of me thinks I want him more than Rory does. Feel the left one go gold, hot flash against my skin, cornea surges and skips heartbeat after heartbeat. Subsides and I head for the RDI.

BottomOfABottle

Date: 2006-10-12 02:14 EST
Present.

Place I never been before, The Marketplace. Night time when I get around to passing through it. Cobbles hard as horsehooves, sound good against the boots, echoes make me wish for snow.

Imagine what it's like full up of vendors and tents. Must be right lively with noise and nonsense. Lifter's paradise, reckon. Thinking over the new information, Tik-Tok comin' back and puttin' Ror's arm into three pieces on accident. Ain't like I never done it before myself.

Stuck in my own grey when the little one stumbles upon me. Or maybe I upon her. Either way there she is, and we jaw for a bit. Figure out some of the things Ror wants me to, or at least went ahead and assumed he wants me to. Gonna play this by my own way now. Had his chance. Blew it, got a chair in the side, got knocked around and didn't even get to fire off a few bites.

Surprised she doesn't ask more about the eye. Flashes so bright afraid it was gonna turn the damn marketplace into daytime. Can't help it, 'specially after she tells me where he's sleeping. Directions, no less. Can't remember the room number, so just tells me where she brought him breakfast.

Blood and bone and the crackling of logs in a fire flow through the grey. Ain't no helpin' but flash hot gold at that. Got to be excited about mashing that pretty little irish face in. Want to see people wince when they see him. Want to hear him whimper like a little wolf pup. Want to watch his chest sag and grab at air.

Want to give him what he wants to give O'Corr. Can tell. Ain't no way to know how, just can tell, he wants it. Wants to make O'Corr pay for cuckolding him. No surprise. Seen bakers' worths give O'Corr that look. Ain't the first time he done it...

BottomOfABottle

Date: 2006-11-16 20:53 EST
Five Years' Previous.

Kid, can't be more'n twenty-one, comin' out window of an Inn I been casin' for weeks. For this kid, in fact. Only reason I ain't shot him yet is he ain't got no pants on. Too busy laughin', watchin' the man who hired me to find out who his wife was sleeping with, yellin' at this kid.

Only took it cause he promised me I'd get to give someone the dirtnap. Clap the boomdowns at someone, watch 'em light the night dazzle-hot. Guy ain't deserve a wife. Can tell just lookin' at him.

Queer look on this kid's mug, notices me and instead of runnin', like they all do, he comes right at me. Pullin' on his slacks as he comes over. Tattoos scrawled all over his arms, from wrist on up to his shoulders. White wifebeater is all he got on. No shoes either. Ain't a good idea in this backwater town. He don't seem to care either way.

Kid's tongue is mangled. Ain't that beat all? Ain't mangled, just a gypo. Ain't heard one like him since Caul's heyday. Tells me he'll double whatever that letch is paying me to pop the kid's top off. Tell him it's five hundred.

He shows me ten hundred-note paper. We seal it over whiskey at the nearest ginjoint.

BottomOfABottle

Date: 2006-11-16 22:26 EST
((OOC Note: For the usual "Present." interstitial that would appear inbetween the two entries from Five Years ago in Mish's history, please see The Hardest Tale To Tell))

Five Years' Previous.

Kid's christian is Rory. Ain't sayin' his sur but it's inked, an' good, atop his back. Second sunup in an' he roughhouses with me. See it as he's busy headfirstin' into a wall. Last time we roughhouse. Caul's kid. No wonder tongue sounded like Longfall days.

Doubles the scripture again an' tells me wants I make the louse suffer. Says he beats the missus but awful. Sets my eye agolden, hearin' she gets the worse end'a that miserable lout. Ask him if the lout's got a name, Kid says it's "Carl Ripher." Tell him Carl Ripher done seen his last 'set.

I'd do it fer free, but O'Corr's happy to pay. Sunup find me awaitin' in Ripher's bedroom. Missus crept by her tiptoes back to roost with the one done spat her out. Jes' me an' him an' a whole lotta time.

Hear the sheets rustlin' an' then he's yelpin'. Pig on a roast left alive, sound like. Hogtied, that'un what he is. No gag, wanna hear him scream. Wanna hear him beg fer me to stop. Ain't gonna stop 'til he's pulp.

Creak up outta the chair been left in'a corner. Sees the joints unfoldin' an' the thunderhead-hide an' knows he been doublecrossed. Knows it's the kid done paid me triple. Ain't gonna help him now. Smile wicked an' feel my left eye go hot with the golden. Ain't no Gods in any silverlinin' can help him now.

Curl them bony fingers 'round the silver knuckles. Cast 'em myself in the stoke'n'coals. Harder'n most silver, cuts a jaw like thinnest papermills' product. Last words I hear outta him, beggin' me fer his wife's sake.

Funny, exactly why he's slippin' under this surgeon's knife tonight.

BottomOfABottle

Date: 2006-11-20 20:57 EST
Present.

He spoke to me in a voice so sweet,
I thought I heard the shuffle of angel's feet.

Few spins'a the watch's face go by out in Marban. Captured by 'er voice, 'er frame. Brought 'er what I done owed, an' by the time I dust, it's too late. Web been spun? Maybe. Maybe. Too soon to tell.

All's I know so far, that she's worth seein' again. More behind the curtain than she lets on. Aim to find out what that is. Got a few glimpses, an' ain't no use lyin' to myself. Like what I saw. What I smelt. What I heard.

Distractions. Like I need more.

You can throw your rock, hide your hand,
Workin in the dark against your fellow man.
But as sure as God made black and white,
What's done in the dark,
Will be brought to the light.

Ain't been careful enough. Come back to the WestEnd room an' it's tatters. Ain't been waitin' fer the mac' to be flat. Ain't periscoped an' sure as hell ain't kept an ear up. Help 'em finish the job, the eye gold an' hot an' yeah, riles me up. Break what they didn't, shatter what they forgot to.

Ain't the quickest horses in the pasture. Leave enough clues, can find 'em with enough work at the nearest soakery. Spend the night knockin' over pigeons an' scarin' up alibis. Find 'em sure as sin, 'fore the night's empty.

You can run on for a long time.
Run on, for a long time.
Run on, for a long time.
Sooner or later God'll cut you down.
Sooner or later God'll cut you down.

Quarter'a bakers' think they're nails. Knew the 'print an' 'fit 'fore I come in. Ain't no use, botherin' with questions. Source is rock. Barrels're smokin' before they heard me come in. Leave one kickin', wishin' he ain't never heard'a Mish'Cael Na'ar-Syntanzk.

Maybe he never did. Maybe he heard "The Blue Bastard," maybe he heard "The Irish Assassin," maybe he heard "Yellow-Eye." Ain't make a difference. Let 'im know who he really dealin' with. Who he wish he ain't never heard'a now.

Out of bullets, slaughter him with the butt of a Peacemaker. Cracked the pearl grip that night. Ain't never got all the blood outta it. Made for a good story. Everyone who'll see that handle, sees that'un vein'a a crook's blood. Adds to the myth. Word spreads quick.

Go tell that long tongue liar .
Go and tell that midnight rider.
Tell the rambler,
The gambler,
The back biter.
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down.
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down.