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Scrappy Craddock

ACTIVE
  • Content Count

    6
  • Last visited

  • Player

    Javia

About Scrappy Craddock

  • Cowboy - drag rider

ID Card

  • Role
    Supporting Character
  • Playby
    Dane DeHaan
  • Full Name
    Clement Marriot Craddock
  • Goes By
    Clem, Scrappy, Scrap'
  • Profession
    Cowboy
  • Position
    Looking to settle down
  • Birth Date
    15/03/1855
  • Status
    Single
  • Height
    5'5"
  • Hair Color
    Light Brown
  • Eye Color
    Blue

Physical Description

Short and Scrappy.

scrappy 3.jpg

Traits & Characteristics

A loyal pal, polite to ladies, somewhat touchy about his diminutive size.

 

 

scrappy 4.jpg

Employment

Just been paid off at the end of a cattle drive from the Mexican border to Dodge City.

Expertise

Ropin' Ridin' and Brandin' - a noted lariat man and handy with a de-horn saw.

Aliases / Nicknames

Scrappy Craddock

Residense(s)

The starry Western skies are his roof.

Kith & Kin

None worth tellin' about

Life Events

Born in Kosse, Texas, back in '55.

Character Notes

Player Notes

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Recent Posts

  1. Scrappy Craddock
    "Well then, it seems Arabella thinks the same way you gents do about such things," she then shrugged and plastered on a best customer smile, "So any of you wanna another drink. Or maybe buy me one, my mouth is feelin' a little dry."
     
    Scrappy pushed his hat back on his head and then scratched the back of his neck, the way he always did when he was feeling a mite hornswoggled by a beautiful woman. He didn't know who the dickens this Ara-belladonna woman was, but she seemed to be a bone of contention around these parts and he vowed to avoid her even more assiduously than he'd vowed to steer clear of Jess's cantankerous sister Zenobia, whom he had met for the first, and hopefully last, time today. 
     
    He and Jess had blown a good deal of their bankroll on buying the remuda to get them here as quickly as possible and funds were short, and he'd scrounged about as much as he was likely to scrounge off Jess' cousin, so he reluctantly took off his hat and pulled a couple of notes from within and gave them to Ralph.
     
    "Whatever the pretty lady wants, Mister." he said to the bearded custodian of the beer-pumps and the stoppered bottles.
     
    "And can we talk about something nice instead of this Arid-bella girl. Like: when do we get to hear you sing, oh nightingale of the North?" the Texan asked Caroline. 
     
    Jacob had had enough of wasteful expenditure on alcohol, Scrappy's borrowing and Caroline's scornful tone about Arabella, so he nudged Jess.
     
    "Say, why don't we leave your sagebrush Casanova here and I'll take you back to ours to meet Clara?" he suggested.
     
    @MD @Wayfarer
  2. Scrappy Craddock
    If the cowpoke thought the compliment would elicit some sort of smile or pleased reaction, he didn't know Ralph.
     
    Miserable bastard, thought Scrappy, but said nothing, just looked around the place. It seemed kinda miserable, too, just like the barman. Oh well, beer was beer, wherever you drank it. 
     
    Ralph nodded and reached for two beer glasses from the shelf, "Two beers comin up. Nickel apiece."
     
    Scrappy was suddenly immensely interested in the ceiling of the place and Jacob frowned and dug into his pockets bringing forth a silver dime with a bare headed liberty on the front, a rare 1873 'Open 3' to a modern collector, but just another coin to the express telegraph rider. 
     
    Another moment and two beers were placed right on the bar in front of the two men, foam slightly overrunning the brim. Ralph made a habit of never stinting on the drinks.
     
    Scrappy rubbed his hands together, then lifted the glass and gulped the refreshing brew down in a nonstop series of gulps that ended with the empty glass hitting the bar again, while Jacob took a ginger sip of his, making it last. 
     
    "Ahhh" Craddock licked his lips "Well, my round! Oh, you're still drinking yours. Fill her up there will you, 'Keep?" Scrappy indicated his empty glass to Ralph, while he fished out a lone nickel. 
     
    "How are you getting along without Arabella, Mr. Flandry?" Jacob asked, politely and boringly. "Did you get anyone yet to take over the cleaning? I think she's doing OK at the funeral parlour. She did my Aunt Hildie and I went to see her and she'd got her looking real nice." he told the bearded man "My cousin Jess's just gone over to see her."
     
    Scrappy wished he'd gone, too. Would've been a damn sight livelier than this dead and alive hole. 
     
     Of course, he'd yet to meet the star attraction!
     
    @MD @Wayfarer [Either could go next, I reckon...]
     
     
  3. Scrappy Craddock
    Jacob Lutz seldom visited the Stardust Saloon, Kalispell's sole drinking emporium, and when he did it was usually because he'd been dragged in there, against his better nature, by someone like Hector Wigfall. It was as much about saving money for the baby when she came, than a certain disinterest in getting drunk, that kept him away. Thus it was that he got as many curious glances as the stunted cowpoke at his side when he pushed open the swing doors. He knew Mr Flandry the barkeep though, and gave what he hoped was a nonchalant nod to that Grand Keeper of the Bar.
     
    "Howdy, Mr Flandry. Er, a beer please and whatever Mr Craddock here wants." he said, maybe a bit too politely for the ambience of the place. 
     
    "Thanks Jake, beer here too." chimed in Scrappy, a little more colloquially. He looked around. "Nice place!" he nodded, but it looked kinda tame compared to the gambling-filled, fight-filled, whore-filled dives of the Cowtown he and Jess had just ridden from. There was no Wichita Lou here, boobies bubbling over her top and offering them introductions to young ladies who were anything but. 
     
    @Wayfarer @MD
     
  4. Scrappy Craddock
    Scrappy followed his pal out of the cosy looking, but very chilly feeling, home: he didn't care that his pie-eyed ideal of the Matthew Family's domestic bliss had been exploded into a thousand shimmering shards, he just cared about Jess's inevitable hurt that his Mother had died and that they had arrived just a day too late for at least the consolation of a deathbed farewell. He felt for him, too, about the frosty reception he had met at the hands of his family. 
     
    They were men, though, they couldn't actually talk about these feelings. 
     
    "Pretty rugged, huh?" he said grimly. 
     
    He waited for Jess to say something: whatever he wanted, Scrappy would go along with, be it unhitch the horses and ride out of there, hit the saloon for the anaesthetic of a drink, or go and view the body of his dearly beloved Mother. Even the last option was preferable to re-entering that house and meeting Jess's harpy of a sister again. 
     
    Then there was a call "Jess?" a lanky, long nosed and long faced lad of about eighteen or so Summers was hailing them from across the street. It was Jess's second cousin something-removed, Jake Lutz. The young man jogged over to them, hardly recognisable as he was wearing beat up clothes covered in dust with a Western Union satchel and a rifle over his shoulder and a black armband rounding out his ensemble.
     
    He shook hands with Jess and nodded at Scrappy. He noted that Jess wasn't wearing mourning.
     
    "Guess you just got in." he surmised "I'm sorry you were too late. Did you get the telegram Ray got Hector to send? Your Pa wouldn't let him send one himself." the distant cousin related. 
     
     

     
    @MD
  5. Scrappy Craddock
    Scrappy was just about to knock back his grog, when his friend seemed to physically sag and his voice let out a pained whisper. 
     
    "Oh, no...." he whispered as he stared down at the information from his old friend Hector, then blue eyes back up at the woman. "Can you send a telegraph from here?" He asked her, wanting to send a message to his family quickly, let them know he was coming and see if he could find out how his Ma was doing.
     
    "Does this look like a telegraph office?!" answered the woman tersely. Wichita Lou didn't have a very big heart, especially considering the size of the containers. "Anyway, the line's down. Indians!" she added uncaringly. 
     
    "What is it?" asked Scrappy with a worried look on his suntanned, unshaven features.
     
    He looked over at Scrappy. "It's my Ma....she's fallen ill." His brow pulled together, heart sunken to his stomach, making him feel sick.  
     
    "What, bad?" Clem looked serious as Jess handed him the telegram, the shorter man scanned it and stated what they already knew: "Sent two weeks ago... Let's think, Dodge to Kalispell, that's right up the top of the Territories, right? That's quite a space." He shook his head for a second, but then the light bulb literally shone above his head. He slapped his pal on the arm. "Drink up, It'll do you good, you're in shock. Then come on. The boss hasn't sold off the remuda yet. If we pool our pay, he'll cut us a deal and we can buy enough good remounts that we can ride hell-for-leather for Kalispell and be there in a few days."
     
    And if the Boss didn't want to play ball, Scrappy had already decided he'd make him an argument in lead. 
     
    Wichita Lou returned to them. 
     
    "Say boys, would you like me to introduce you to couple of nice young ladies?" asked the shameless bawd. 
     
    "No thanks, we're not interested in girls, we're only interested in horses!" exclaimed Scrappy as they exited the den of iniquity. Lou looked them both up and down as they exited the place "Takes all sorts, I suppose!" she shrugged. 
     
  6. Scrappy Craddock
    Mature Content: Probably not, some bad language.
    With: Jess Matthews
    Location: The Long Branch Saloon, Dodge City, Kansas
    When: Late August, 1876
    Time of Day: Afternoon
     

     
    "That's it, Jess, I'm gettin' tired of cowography! I'm gonna find a nice little girl, get a nice steady job and settle down someplace... nice!"
     
    Clem Craddock, known to his friends as 'Scrappy' (more from the amount of fights he seemed to get into, than his ability to win them), could hardly be blamed: this had been the toughest cattle drive of his life: the Boss had been nearly as surly as the herd, and as likely to stampede at the slightest provocation. Rivers had been swollen beyond crossing (they'd lost one man that way) or creeks they relied upon to water the doggies were completely dried up. Rustlers, Indians, rival cowboys whose herds had mixed with theirs, touchy townsfolk, farmers with their confounded barbwire fences, outlaws: they'd had falling outs with all of them. And one particular ornery muley - well that hornless steer just about had it in for Scrappy - from the minute the Mexican 'Corporal ' had delivered the herd to them over the border to the time the Boss had paid them off in Dodge, about fifteen minutes ago.
     
    Dodge City, Kansas - the latest and greatest cattle entrepot. Jess and Scrappy's crew had always delivered to Wichita before now, but the growth of farm lands around that railhead made the place unviable now. Dodge was the place to be, and the place to be in Dodge was the Long Branch Bar. 
     
    As Scrappy slammed down his cash on the bar and ordered two fingers of red-eye each for himself and his pard, he sighed somewhat wistfully. "Boy, just think of it, a feller like me that never had no family to speak of, settling down, and getting a nice family started, just like yours. You've sure painted a nice picture of family life for me, Jess: I can picture them now, just back from church: the dear old father, proudly beaming down on his happy brood: his noble upright sons, his pretty little daughter, and there in the background, the idol of them all, the sweet mother of the family, serving up their Sunday roast..."
     
    "Hey, you!" a female voice broke Clem from his reverie.
     
    "Jesus Christ, Wichita Lou?! What in the name of hell are you doing here?!!" he gaped. 
     
    "I go where the cowboys go" the brassy looking blonde replied. "Crappy Craddock isn't it?" she asked, and looked at Jess "Your friend's called Matthews isn't he?"
     
    "Scrappy, actually and yes, this here's Jess Matthews." the short cowpoke replied, frowning quizzically at his partner while the woman disappeared someplace and came back. "They left this telegram here for you, couple weeks ago now." she said and handed it to Jess.
     
    It was from an old Kalispell school friend of the taller man and read:
     
    Jess, Yr Mother very ill. Outlook bad. Come soon if you can. Yrs Hector W.
     
    "Good news?" asked Wichita Lou, adjusting her cleavage - maybe the feller had come into money! -  while his friend looked on with a concerned look on his face.
     

    Wichita Lou
     
    @MD
     
     
     
     
     
     

About Sagas

Sagas of the WIld West is a roleplaying game set in a fictionalized version of the town of Kalispell in Montana territory. Our stories begin in 1875 and are set against the backdrop of actual historical events.Sagas was inspired by the classic television and movie westerns. Our focus is on writing, storytelling and character development.

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Founders: Stormwolfe & Longshot

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