Dust and Blood (xanaphia and Alkaline)

[Alkaline]

Colton Fraser wiped his brow, and removed his hat, fanning himself lightly as he turned his horse into town. It was nearing the end of the day, and the street of Independence Ridge was bustling. At least as much as a town of this size could bustle. The area's population was somewhere just over a couple hundred at most, Colton figured. He'd only been in town himself for a few months now anyway, but was starting to take to the place.

The town itself was mostly unremarkable. A single street, settled on the top of a bluff in the southwestern desert. The government cared little about it for the first decade since it's founding. Excitement was limited to the brothel and saloon. The rest of the town were simply shops and craftsmen of a sort. A place to trade your goods and services so one could survive in the dusty hell they had all settled into. Then one day, a local rancher found gold. A pitiful, insignificant amount, but it changed the town in the blink of an eye. Now, the law was coming to town, supposedly, and set to arrive any day. This was more than a problem for Colton, seeing as he was a wanted man, after all. He just needed to hope "Joe" was a good enough cover for now.

"Hey Joe, the usual?"

The ranch hand nodded to the barkeep, taking a seat quietly at the bar he'd wandered into. Mercifully quiet, tonight, tension hanging in the air as the few people around the room whispered quietly to themselves. Word had come in about the new sheriff, and he had a reputation, to say the least. A real tough guy, here to ensure that no outlaws took over this new town of gold. The quietness only brought Colton's attention to the creaking from above his head though. Saloon downstairs, brothel above. People still needed to blow off steam, he supposed, and it brought a small smile to his lips.

A glass was slammed on the table, brown whiskey filling it to the brim. Colton slid a coin across the counter, tossed it back in one go, and motioned for another.

"You got it sir," nodded the bartender. As it finished pouring the second, the door to the saloon slammed open, a man panting heavily as he put hands on his knees to rest.

"Dust cloud coming in! I think the sheriff's here..." He said between ragged breaths, finger pointing eastward down the street. The rest of the saloon, already quiet, turned dead silent. Colton just shook his head, set his hat down on the counter, and ran fingers through his long, dark hair, pushing it back behind his ear.

"Go ahead and pour me two more, while your at it, Matthew. Seems like I'll be needing it." Lifting the second glass, he took a smaller sip this time, savoring the burn that ran down his throat. Stay quiet. And they won't even think twice about who you really are...

 

[Xanaphia]

Once the sun set, Charlotte O’Daly’s day would begin. After all, her saloon, The Lucky Lass, (or, as it was more commonly called by the townsfolk, The Lusty Lass) was the only business open once night fell.

For now, she worked on the glasses, drying them, polishing them, setting them out in a row. Getting everything ready for evening, and the rush of folk hungry and thirsty after a long day’s work. And while that preparation brought on its own tension, it didn’t account for the glare in Charlotte’s green eyes, or the stiffness in her posture.

That tension could only be explained by the recent news that the United States government was to bring the township of Independence Ridge into its “protection.” They said they were bringing law to the town, order. Justice. That was a myth, an attractive lie. That the law was coming to keep everyone safe. She knew better than that. The law was just men, and men could do good or evil, even if they wore a badge.

Besides, Independence Ridge didn’t need no sheriff. They kept the peace, well enough round these parts. Whether it was with the embrace of a warm body or the cold steel of a pistol, wasn’t no problem Charlotte couldn’t handle on her own. And she never cared for the idea of some man breathing down her neck and poking his nose where it don’t belong.

But it wasn’t upto Charlotte. Not this time, at least. While a sizeable segment of the population looked down on her profession, few could deny she was a businesswoman, and among the most successful Independence could boast. She owned the ground beneath her feet and had nearly enough savings to buy another parcel of land, so she could expand the saloon as the town grew.

A crowd gathered, of folk trying to look too busy to care about the arrival, but still taking their time to mosey on by. But, good or bad, the arrival of the law in Independence Ridge was news ‘round these parts, and few wanted to miss out on news. Charlotte, meanwhile, leaned against the door frame, watching with a distant, yet intense focus.

Four men arrived on horseback. Three were more or less forgettable: tall, skinny men with weathered skin and interchangeable features. The fourth was quite distinguished, however, even if that weren’t usually the word she’d use to describe him. He was a bear of a man, taller than any of his men, and far bulkier, by at least half. Older, middle-aged at least, sporting a serious mustache and side burns. Grey strands speckled his dark hair and deep lines extended around his eyes. Features that spoke to a hard life, though, perhaps a different sort of hard life than folk around here knew.

With a tug on the reins, he reared his horse. The horse brayed, then brought down its hooves in a clamor, kicking up a fine clod of dust. He dismounted then, standing nearly a full head taller than most of the folk gathered. “I suppose Y’all heard why I’m here, to take over as sheriff for this here township. What I doubt, is that anyone here knows me, so let me rectify that right quick. Name’s Bryce Larson.”

Most nodded in acknowledgement, but a few men offered a hand shake, which Bryce took with a firm grip. Tension set in the air, nearly as heavy as the evening heat, as folks who would have been heading to the saloon hung around, trying not to look guilt, or attract much attention to themselves.

“Aw hell, I ain’t Sheriff yet,” Bryce joked, his laughter booming out from his belly. The crowd joined in with a tentative chuckle, as nervous as amused. “That starts tomorrah. Tonight, let’s have a round on me!”

That declaration brought genuine enthusiasm from the crowd, but a sigh from Charlotte. This was going to be a long night.

 

[Alkaline]

Colton watched the crowd draw out of the bar from the corner of his vision, but kept his own head focused towards the back of the bar instead. He had no desire to see who the new sheriff was, or why he'd come to town. He reckoned that he'd met enough lawmen in his life to know they were all the same. From the cheer erupting outside though, it seemed this one was a charmer, at the least, and soon after the whole saloon was backed tight with three times as many bodies as before. Far from the quite refuge that Colton had sought out before.

With a heavy sigh, he finally turned back towards the door, catching the Madam Charlotte's eye briefly as she turned from her perch at the door. He offered a brief smile, though it was a half hearted one at best. It was quite possible, that Charlotte knew more about "Joe" than anyone in town. And she knew little to nothing about him at all. He'd frequented her establishment enough, for her to likely assume he had no problem with the business of whoring and drinking, at least. Charlotte and her three ladies would be the only ones to know he paid rather well too. More than they'd expect from the quiet ranch hand the rest of the town figured him to be.

The Madam, usually the center of attention for any red-blooded person with an attraction for women, was soon an after thought as the sheriff busted through the swinging doors behind her. Another cheer followed as he repeated his proclamation of free drinks for every one, his hand resting back on his hip, an inch or two from the revolver tucked into his holster. Colton watched it all unfold in a mirror settled on the wall behind the bar, his shoulders tensing a bit as he did his best to blend in as an unassuming drunk.

"One more. On top of what he's paying for, but water them down a bit..." He grumbled to the bartender, reaching out and grabbing his wrist as the man tried to take away one of his empty glasses. "And leave the empty glasses for now..." He slid double the cost of a drink across the counter, a sharp glare sent the man's way as an unsaid threat as well. The bartender, quietly nodded and did as told, returning with two more drinks at hand in short while, leaving a healthy collection of glasses in front of Colton. A subtle enough cover, for now. No one ever paid real attention to the local drunk unless they started acting up.

A few minutes later though, and a large hand clapped him on the shoulder. Shoulders tensed, and Colton looked up to see Bryce Larson grinning happily, though his eyes were focused on Charlotte instead. The hand slid off, and Colton tucked into the counter further, as the Sheriff seemed to pass him by without a second thought.

"So you run this place, huh? Not just the saloon, I mean, but all of Independence Ridge. From what I've heard, nothing in this town happens without running through you first Miss... O'Malley? Or was it O'Daly? Well... Shame we had to put it all to an end. But I'm sure you'll be relieved for me and my men to take that burden from your very fine shoulders... In fact, I'd love to talk business when we get the chance. I wouldn't want your little establishment to go... Unprotected."

Colton's eyes darted to the right, catching Charlotte's with a raise of his own brow, then stealing a brief glance at the Sheriff. It didn't take a genius to see the threat being made, but the man managed to keep the same jovial tone and smile in his voice the entire time. To be so brazen as to throw down the threat, with half the town in ear shot sent a message in itself. One of the deputies saddled up next to his boss as well, an even bigger shit eating grin on his face. Clearly they thought themselves God and conqueror of this back country town already. Colton couldn't disagree more. Not a single person in the bar seemed to be paying them any mind, happy with their free round of drinks and content to believe the Sheriff was their new best friend.

"We won't ask for much, of course. Just your cooperation... And that of your ladies when me or my men come calling, that is..."