Lorenzo Crabbe

• Role

  Main Character

• Playby

  George Costigan

• Full Name

  William Lorenzo Crabbe

• Goes By

  Crabbe

• Profession

  Photographer, Flim Flam Merchant, 'Theatrical Agent' (Pimp), Poker and Monte enthusiast

• Position

  Independent Operator

• Birth Date

  08/24/1846

• Status

  Widower

• Height

  5'8"

• Hair Color

  Tow

• Eye Color

  Blue

• Physical Description

  Slim and wiry, bears himself well. Usually fancily dressed, as befits his profession. Face is dominated by the thick spectacles he wears.

• Character Traits

  A pretty nice fellow, all things considered. Others may disagree, but that how he sees it.

• Employment

  Ex Trapper, buffalo hunter, legitimate trader, cattle drover and placer miner who saw the light and turned to pimping and sharping. Now hoping to cream off some money from Canadians coming down through Kalispell for the Black Hills Gold Rush.

• Expertise

  Sniffing out money and human frailty.

  Can shoot straight with his glasses on.

  Knows about trapping, mining (shaft and placer) cattle and horse-stock, but would rather others do the work and he relieve them of the profits.

  Speaks a little Crow.

   

   

• Residence(s)

  Looking for a suitable building to open a theater/brothel/casino/you name it, in Kalispell.

• Kith & Kin

  Father, Mother, Brothers and Sisters may or may not still be alive and kicking in Bowling Green, he doesn't know and doesn't care.

• Timeline

  Born and raised: Bowling Green, KY 24th August 1846 - 22nd August 1864

  Ran away from being conscripted by both sides in Kentucky, 1864.

   

  1864: To avoid conscription by both sides in the civil war, he moved to West eventually making Fort Pierre, South Dakota to work as a trapper.

   

  1867: a trader at Fort Berthold in the Dakota Territory and, for a time, married to an Indian woman, the sister of a warrior named Limping Bear. Subsequently a cattle driver, trader, placer miner.

   

  1873: His annus mirabilis. Finally seeing the light at Frenchman’s Ford, Montana Territory, he stopped giving his hard earned gold to dance-hall managers, pimps, card sharps and underhand traders, he joined their ranks instead.

   

  1875: Realizing that there was more money to made in the impending Gold Rush taking money off successful miners than panning for gold himself, he came to Kalispell to bottom out the options.

Recent Posts

1. 

   The Talk

   May 23, 2022

   Bridget didn't even hear Caroline come in. After the torrid lovemaking session, or 'special hugs' as she thought of them, with Brendan, then the shock of Lorenzo's death, then Mr Guyer and Charlie coming and asking her all those questions, even though her damaged brain was reeling she fell asleep on Brendan's chest surprisingly quickly, out of mere exhaustion.
    
   She fell deeper and deeper into the depths of sleep, it became darker and darker and then it became light all of a sudden. It was very bright, the Sun beamed down on the wagon that Lorenzo had stolen from her old 'owner' after he had shot him as he had begged for his miserable, worthless life. They were running away from Dodge and heading toward somewhere called Kalispell. It was last March. Except it was also now.
    
   "Oh you're awake." said Lorenzo as she jerked into life. He glanced at her, a caring smile on his face. "You know this is a dream, right?"
    
   "Yes" she replied "I always know it's a dream because I can talk all right and think straight in dreams, I mean, really deep dreams. Oh, you're dead, by the way."
    
   "Yeah, I know. What a way to go! Well, no use crying over spilt milk."
    
   Bridget looked ahead.
    
   "Are we still going to Kalispell?"
    
   "No." replied the man. He wasn't wearing his glasses and fancy suit. He looked different somehow, freer. "Not sure where I'm heading. Someplace nice, I hope."
    
   "Am I coming" she asked.
    
   "Not yet." he put the reins in one hand and reached over and hugged her with the free arm. He told her some other things and then finally said: "You'll go back again now, and when you come back to me here again, we'll nearly be there, at the nice place. how will that be?"
    
   She smiled at him and lifted up her skirt a little and wiggled the toes of her bare feet. 
    
   "Do you always have two feet in dreams?" he asked, chuckling.
    
   "Sometimes I have four!" she laughed. 
    
   Then the swaying of the wagon made her nod off again, and she awoke in her bedroom, in the dark. Something was happening.
    
   @Wayfarer @Bailey
   
2. 

   The Talk

   March 23, 2022

   Finally he looked up at Crabbe, eyebrows furrowed as he tried to choose his words carefully. "I...will take care of her. I will. But..." He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "I can't marry her."
    
   It took a second for Crabbe to process this bombshell, he could literally feel the the blood pumping in his ears, hear it singing; and then he did it, exactly what the doctor told he shouldn't do: he blew his top. He was suddenly on his feet, whipping out a derringer from his vest pocket and cocking it as he bellowed "You slept with her knowing you had no intention of marrying her?! You god-damn son of a bitch!!"
    
   The small black hole of the gun barrel was staring Brendan Connelly directly between the eyes. But the look of fury on Lorenzo's face suddenly morphed into one of agony: his gun hand and his free hand flew to his heart and then he was falling stiffly forward, slamming face first onto the table with a explosive BANG! that was far too loud and sharp to be that of a mere body hitting the wood. He slid off the table and onto the floor, his eyes sightless and one of the lenses of his spectacles cracked. The large and quickly growing patch of dark blood on his vest mute testimony to the fact that the small pistol had gone off as he had hit the wood. 
    
   Bridget didn't scream, she made a low horrible moan, like a wounded animal, and stumbled forward to throw herself on the body of the man who had been her rescuer, her father and her friend. She looked up and round at Brendan, confused, speechless, imploring his help. 
    
   @Bailey
   
3. 

   The Talk

   March 12, 2022

   It had to be admitted, when Lorenzo Crabbe entered Bridget's room and saw Brendan Connolly standing there, a primitive flash of protective anger did flash in his eyes. But he held on to it, and remembered. He remembered what was happening, his condition. This was actually what he wanted. He even managed a nod and a half-hearted smile. 
    
   "I'm sorry to have disturbed you." he said mechanically. "Come down and we'll have a drink... when you're ready." he said. 
    
   "Charlie's gone," he said to Crabbe finally. The edges of his shirt flapped as he moved in front of Bridget. "Went to New York."
    
   "Yeah." said Crabbe. This was evidentially no surprise. In fact, it had been his idea. 
    
   - - -
    
   When Connelly eventually did come down, Crabbe had already helped himself to one drink. He was hitting the bottle pretty hard these days. A good slug of whiskey had put him in a better mood. The first one always did. 
    
   "Mr Connelly. Whiskey?" he asked and had started to pour a glass even before he heard an answer. Bridget had followed Brendan down, unconcernedly dressed in a light dressing down. Why not have her there too? He considered. After all, this concerned her, too. in fact, it was ALL about her. But his remarks were addressed to Brendan alone. 
    
   "So... I've been waiting for an answer. About you looking after Bridget when I'm gone. Is this it?" he asked. 
    
   
    
   @Bailey
   
4. 

   The Talk

   March 9, 2022

   Lorenzo felt like he was living two lives, thinking constantly of 'it' whilst carrying on his normal usual life. When he woke up of a morning, he had forgotten... but there was a horrible sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and then he would remember. He had been through what modern psychiatrists would recognise as the five stages of grief. At first he had simply ignored the diagnosis. Ahhh, he didn't feel that bad. It was just the odd spasm of pain. If he hadn't gone to see the doctor, he would never have known about what was wrong with him, ergo it wouldn't have existed. 
    
   Then he'd got angry. Why him? What had he done to deserve it? He hated everybody in Kalispell , even Bridget. Why couldn't they have it: dumb, dull, grey people. Damn them all. But... maybe he shouldn't be so angry. Maybe if he thought kindly of people, did kindly things, well, maybe God or Jesus or some Chinese God of Fa's would think kindly on him. Maybe some divine miracle would take this all away. That had keep him going for a while: a couple of weeks, a strange couple of weeks where Crabbe was the kindest man in Kalispell. But an increasing depression crept in, and ever growing despondence which convinced him more and more that it was better to end it all by his own hand than to wait for the pain and disability that the disease would bring before his eventual pathetic demise. 
    
   Then he was at peace. He accepted it. The only problem was Bridget. He couldn't abandon her. If nobody else could clearly accept and love her as he, against his own will almost, loved her, then he would look after her in his own way. He would take her with him. 
    
   All that was there, in the back of his mind as he climbed the now familiar wooden stairs in the old funeral parlour: the fifth stair creaked as it always did. He reached the top of the stairs. Strange, he was worried about the crippled girl's safety: the girl he had now decided to... no, kill, murder, these were too strong. He would let her sleep, is all. Sleep, dream, and then sleep on and on and dream no more.
    
   "Bridge?"... "You in there? You all right?" He knocked and opened the bedroom door.
    
   @Bailey
   
5. 

   Two At Breakfast

   September 28, 2021

   "If either of you two would like to make a wager on the fight, I'm running very good odds on both men.  It seems the town is divided on who will win," Ben said, before addressing Speed, "By the way, Marshall, I run a clean book...you have my personal guarantee."
    
   Crabbe wondered whether he should mention that all of his operations were strictly above board and legal, too, but then realised that this would only serve to weaken Ben's position rather than bolster his own. Guyer was good enough a lawman to have taken Crabbe's measure the first minute he laid eyes on him, and Crabbe was good enough a chancer to know it, and to make sure he steered clear of any trouble with the men carrying tin badges.
    
   "My only problem is finding a referee" he said instead "I was going to ask you, Marshall, what we you being a respected and neutral party; but now ol' Charlie's your Deputy, you might be seen as partisan. Any ideas?" he asked. It was a genuine question, the person overseeing the ruckus in the ring needed to know about boxing and been entirely impartial. 
    
   He then added one last comment.
    
   "Oh, and order some breakfast, will ya fellers, this poor girl's been standin' here an hour." he tipped his head toward Clara. Oh, Lorenzo was always considerate to the ladies. 
    
   @Wayfarer @Flip @JulieS
   
6. 

   Two At Breakfast

   September 26, 2021

   "So Simons, I hear there's to not only be a prize fight, but some talk of a stage play? Interesting."
    
   Lorenzo let Ben field this question, as it was aimed at him. He himself was always careful what he said to the bloodhound newspaper reporter and editor. Not that McVay ever printed lies: but he had a knack of printing what you did tell him in such a way that did quite give the impression of yourself that you had hoped for.
    
   Then, "Mister Crabbe, you involved in all of this? doesn't seem to be in your bailiwick. Well, maybe the fight."
    
   "Mr McVay, I'm sponsoring and running the whole shebang. And it's going to be an exciting and educational exhibition of the fine science of pugilism, too. We've got local talent in the form of Kalispell's very own Deputy Marshall, Mr. Charles Wentworth Junior taking on a wild young Irishman called Battling Bob Cullen. And it's a real grudge match, too!" he added on a whim. People were more interested in a fight if the two combatants were known to hate each other, rather than a couple of disinterested sluggers throwing hooks and crosses at each other.
    
   He'd have to invent a story as to why the two young men hated each other, probably something involving an argument over a girl, that always went over big with the general public.
    
   Phinn stood looking at Crabbe a long moment. "Crabbe, Simmons. You let me know the dates, be in the Union. We do posters and hand bills as well, if printed adverts strikes your fancy for either event."
    
   "Will do that, Mr. McVay!" nodded Lorenzo "'It pays to advertise' as they say. Soon as I'm sure of the exact time on the 6th, I'll send one of my people around with the details." 'One of his people!' Crabbe thought that sounded pretty grand.
    
   "Of course, there will be free entrance to the gentlemen of the Press who will no doubt wish to report 'pon the proceedings!" he added as a sweetener to a, hopefully, favourable piece on the event. A pretty cheap sweetener, too, as Phin was about the only 'gentleman of the press' in town.
    
   @JulieS @Flip
   
7. 

   Woman at Work (Open to any)

   September 19, 2021

   A huge smile crept on his face, "You know Crabbe, you might come in handy after all."
    
   "Well Ben, you know I ain't hard to get along with, what'd you want?"
    
   Clara carried out then set  two heaping plates in front of Mr. Simon and Mr. Crabbe,"There you go, gentlemen. Salt and pepper is on the table. Would either of you like any cream or sugar or both for your coffees?"
    
   "Black will be fine," Ben answered.  He looked down at his plate, before picking up his fork and tasting the bacon.  "As usual, it tastes as good as it smells.  My compliments, Mrs. Lutz."
    
   "Er, yeah, me too." added Lorenzo distractedly, wondering what Simons was after.
    
   After taking a few more bites of his breakfast, he turned to Crabbe, "I want to ask you about your ward, Bridget.  Would she be interested in joinng a young ladies group, if my Aunt was in charge of it?"
    
   "Why sure! She'd be tickled pink to join that there... er, 'Young Ladies Group'" he beamed. Frankly, anything that got Bridget off his hands for a few hours was welcome. He'd run a few 'Young Ladies Groups' of his own in the past, of course, but he suspected that this was something a little more upmarket and respectable.
    
   "So, er, what happens at this 'Young Ladies Group'?" he asked, making it pretty clear he had agreed to something on his ward's behalf without really knowing what it was.
    
   @JulieS @Wayfarer
   
8. 

   Woman at Work (Open to any)

   September 13, 2021

   "As far as I know, he's still going to fight.  Unless you know something that I don't," he told Crabbe in a light-hearted tone.
    
   Lorenzo rubbed his hands together, a smile of satisfaction decorating his face. "Well, that's good to hear, Ben my boy, mighty good to hear. Apart from saving me the inconvenience of finding another pugilist, I reckon half the town'll pay to come and watch the local law having ten bells knocked outta them!"
    
   "Besides, I think the fight is the least of my worries at the moment.  According to you, I have go and find some shapely girls who can act and sing."
    
   "There's Caroline Mundee at the saloon: she can sure sing and half her act's showin' her legs. I mean she's kinda..." the word he wanted to use was 'slutty' but as her long-time friend he tried to think of a better way of putting it, especially as her brassy nature hid an actually reticent sexuality. "... well, let's just say she might not be overly convincing as the innocent Ingénue!"
    
   He shrugged, and added philosophically: "You should audition her on stage, though. You can't tell until you see 'em up there, having to fill a great big place like that with their personality, you know what I mean?"
    
   "You know Crabbe, if it weren't for you, I would have no-one to remind me of how important it is to get the right ladies for my theatre.  I'll make sure that I'll give you the credit you deserve."
    
   "Oh sure!" Crabbe grinned "If the thing's a smash, definitely tell folks it was all down to me. Course, if it's a failure, you'd best keep my name outta the thing." he joked in reply. "So, where you puttin' this wing-ding on - White Rose, I suppose?" he asked, thinking the recently deserted building would make the obvious place to convert into a theatre. 
    
   @JulieS
   
9. 

   Woman at Work (Open to any)

   September 11, 2021

   Glancing over at the Weavers, Ben smiled.  Weaver was too busy leaning over to notice the scowl on his wife's face.  No doubt she would have a lot to say to him when they left.
    
   "Never mind them. Whatdya think? Operetta or, well, just about anything that gives you an excuse to show women in tights. Problem is finding girls who can sing and act and have real nice shapely legs." Crabbe half explained, half drooled. "And don't go looking at Muddy: she can sing but her legs are like pipe-cleaners, I've seen 'em." 
    
   He turned his attention back to Crabbe, "If Light Opera is what it takes to fill seats, then so be it.  As I said, it all depends on who you get to and what shows you put on."
    
   "Hmmm" Lorenzo agreed and then shrugged "Well, while we're talking of shows, what's this I hear about your Charlie up and becoming Deputy Marshall: does that mean he ain't intending to fight any more?" the bespectacled man asked with a genuine frown on his face. After all, he would hardly be able to ask the Deputy to arrest himself for bailing on his boxing contract, and he'd rather keep friendly with the law as far as possible.
    
   @JulieS
    
    
   
10. 

    Woman at Work (Open to any)

    September 7, 2021

    Getting up out of his chair, Ben went over and took a seat opposite Crabbe, "Let me guess...you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar."
     
    "More like some whore tried to bite my ear off!" snapped Crabbe, gently touching his bandaged protuberance. The Weavers made disgusted noises, and Lorenzo lowered his voice a little to a calmer level. 
     
    "Sorry Ben, not your fault. Just gets my goat, is all, folks round here are just philistines. I took this hooker back to our place and asked her to take her clothes off so I could take some artistic shots, and she up and says she's 'not that kind of a girl!' I mean: girl?! Tessie must be 40 if she's a day. Jesus!" he said, touching his ear again. Then he remembered.
     
    "Say, did I hear Muddy say you were opening a theatre round here? For these yokels?!" he snorted, jerking a thumb at the Weaver's as representatives of the local fauna, before sitting back in his chair and surveying Ben like he was some sort of lunatic on display at a circus. 
     
    "You remember the Helena Theatre?" he reminded Simons of the somewhat unimaginatively named playhouse in the Territory's capital city. "Even they had trouble getting full houses every night, with a populous and, I guess, sorta sophisticated potential audience to work with. Course, the answer's pretty clear, but I'm not sure that there's many men willin' to sink to dabblin' with such things..." 
     
    What could it be that the ex-pimp and aspiring pornographer thought too horrible to get involved in?
     
    "Ben, I'm afraid that to make a go of this thing, you're going to have to present... Light Opera!" he let the full grimness of this assertation sink in, but then warmed to the subject: "See, the womenfolk like to go to that, cause they think it's respectable and socially superior, and the fellers like to go cause of all the girls in tights, showin' off their nice shapely legs." 
     
    Mr Weaver was leaning sideways a little, cocking an ear at the mention of these delightful fancies.
     
    @JulieS
    

Topics I Participated In

1. 

   The Talk

   Started by Brendan Connolly · December 28, 2021

   Rating: PG-14 Content: N/A Mature Content: Possibly?
   With: Brendan, Arabella, Bridget, Crabbe, and maybe Charlie Fa
   Location: Stardust Saloon/the old funeral parlor
   When: July 30, 1876
   Time of Day: Afternoon
    
   
    
   Brendan's conversation with Caroline had stuck with him for the past three days. All of it, but especially the parts about Bridget. Even though he knew deep down that she was right - he shouldn't marry Bridget - something kept him thinking about the redhead.
    
   Finally he decided he needed to talk to her...or at least try to. He clomped down the stairs and peeked into the saloon, searching for Arabella. What with all the recent changes in ownership at the saloon, he had tried to draw less attention to himself. Since the staff was all staying, and Caroline was part of the staff, he felt pretty secure, but you never knew.
    
   "Arabella!" He finally spotted her and waved her over, already second-guessing himself. He must really be desperate if he was asking Arabella for help. Even though he had finally forgiven her for the things she'd said about Caroline, was she really the best person to ask? But she knew Bridget, and would know when a good time to talk to her without Crabbe around would be.
    
   @Javia
   
2. 

   Two At Breakfast

   Started by Henry S. Guyer II · September 25, 2021

   The morning air was not quite crisp, not quite warm, one of those mornings when a hint of the coming fall was in the air, not too odd for July, though the day would mature into a normal mid-eighties from the high fifties. But the day promised the normal sunshine drenched afternoon. For the present, the two men walking up the boardwalk to the Lickskillet Diner were enjoying the morning cool.
    
   "Life will take a different turn for the Town Council, as well as the Post Office. Looks like Nolan Ashworth takes over again." Speed observed.
    
   "He might seek to take Orr's spot on the Council." Phinn pointed out. A direct line out to the Evergreen, you're aware of that connection. Either him, or maybe Cole Latham, the other Steelgrave man in town. Well, that we know of."
    
   "I can see that, for sure. Give the old man a voice on the Council, and the knowledge of what's going on." Speed agreed, adding, "I expect maybe Elias might hold sway with some we're unaware of."
    
   "You know, you've a point, Speed. To be real honest about it, I have no idea who might be in old Elias' camp. Well, he ain't that old, but mean as he can be, I agree, he's the old man alright."
    
   They had reached the door of the cafe, Speed a step ahead stepped up and opened the door, both men stepping inside, hit with the smells of fresh cooked bacon, beefsteaks, and sausage frying. The heady aroma of boiling coffee, all the things that entice the appetite. As they moved into the room they both saw Ben Simmons and Lorenzo Crabbe at a table together. Speed smiled.
    
   "So Simmons, I hear there's to not only be a prize fight, but some talk of a stage play? Interesting." Then, "Mister Crabbe, you involved in all of this? doesn't seem to be in your bailiwick. Well, maybe the fight."
    
   Phinn stood looking at Crabbe a long moment. "Crabbe, Simmons. You let me know the dates, be in the Union. We do posters and hand bills as well, if printed adverts strikes your fancy for either event."
   
   @Javia@JulieS
   
3. 

   Woman at Work (Open to any)

   Started by Clara Redmond Lutz · August 26, 2021

   Rating: PG-14 Content: N/A Mature Content: Highly doubt it
   With: Clara, not sure who else
   Location: Lickskittle Diner
   When: 6 July 1876
   Time of Day: Morning
    
   
   Clara opened the door of the diner right on the crack of 8:00 AM, the usual opening time of the popular diner on Main Street. Now she herself had been hard at work a good two hours earlier baking and doing other food prep. Normally she and Emeline, the real owner of the place, did such things together but now today she was on her own for the first time. Yesterday Em and her brand new husband, Pike, left on a long trip ...somewhere, she wasn't even sure where just that it was to celebrate their very recent wedding. Em deserved it, Clara was so happy for her.
    
   Clara knew there would be some who would question whether a girl of sixteen could manage a business like this on her own but she herself was beaming with confidence. It was a matter of being willing to put in the long hours of hard work and also know what one was doing. On that second category, Emeline had prepared her well. As for the first, Clara had always been a nose to the grindstone hard worker especially since the death of her mother when she had had to assume the mantle of cook, laundress, and housekeeper.
    
   It didn't take long for the first customers to walk on in, a married couple, Tom and Victoria Weaver.
    
   "Morning, Mr. and Mrs. Weaver," Clara greeted them.
    
   "Good morning, child, we are here for the usual breakfast," Mr. Weaver smiled as he escorted his wife to the far corner table, their usual spot.
    
   "Coming right up then," Clara nodded and sprang into action. Another day, another dollar!
    
   TAG: Anyone
   
4. 

   Damaged Goods

   Started by Arabella Mudd · May 24, 2021

   Rating: PG-14 Content: N/A Mature Content: Yes, some disturbing imagery
   Author: Arabella Mudd. 
   With: Brendan Connolly; Caroline Mundee; Lorenzo Crabbe; Bridget Monahan.
   Location: Stardust Saloon and then mostly at the Old Funeral Parlour.
   When: July 1876, couple of weeks after the 'big shootout'. (anytime before 26 July to fit into the timeline)
   Time of Day: Evening.
    
   
    
   She didn’t need her anyway, Arabella had decided. If Caroline wanted to ignore her and not make friends again, that was her loss. She would bear the complete and total unfairness of her attitude with beatific dignity. She’d show her!
    
   She tried not to think of the good times, the fun they’d had rehearsing  and making up new words to old songs and chuckling at some of the fellers who came into the bar and tried to get over-familiar with the pretty blonde singer, and how she always cleverly put them off. She was pretty, too. Oh, for those glorious mornings after the busy and late Saturday night, when they could lay in a little and Arabella would sneak into Caroline’s room and softly and silently lay on the bed next to her and just stare in wonderment at her pretty, funny little face as she gently snored her way through who knew what dreams.
    
   “Sunday will never be the same.” she thought to herself as she tidied the pots. Hey, that would be a good title for a song! Maybe she and Caroline could get together and … oh. No. They couldn’t. Well, so what? Not going write a stupid song about her anyway!
    
   While these guilt-loaded thoughts were battering at her conscience, the letter was burning a hole in her pocket. Lorenzo had given it to her to deliver to Brendan next time she saw him. Well, she had seen him just now, in the saloon, but he was talking to her. Dang it.
    
   Still, no time like the present. She would dearly love to know what it said and had even thought of steaming open the envelope to have a peek. But that would only prove what a devious, untrustworthy person she was, just as she had accused her of being.
    
   She marched from the kitchen to the bar and made a show of ‘only just noticing’ Brendan and heading across, ignoring Caroline. “Oh, Mr. Crabbe gave me this for you.” She said to Brendan, not daring to act in her usual chummy way with him. They were both cold to her these days. Well, she didn’t need them, and they could just go and leave her alone, they were nothing to her, in fact…
    
   Oh no, what was she doing? No no no… too late! She just couldn’t help it, she looked at Caroline, and gave a tight, sad little smile which said ‘I’m so sorry, I am nothing without you: please, please, please forgive me! And then pulled herself away quickly, ashamed at her weakness. To save face, she tidied up the first glasses that came to hand.
    
   “Hey, I was drinkin’ that!” complained the old man whose glass had suddenly disappeared from his hand.
    
    “You’ve had enough!” Arabella shouted, not looking back, as she strode back out toward the kitchen.
    
   @Bailey @Wayfarer
   
5. 

   Bridget Monahan to Brendan Connolly July 15 1876

   Started by Arabella Mudd · May 18, 2021

   Too Mister Breadan Conoly
   At the Ranch
    
   From Miss Birgit Monohan
   At the old funeral parlor (not the new one with the dead folks)
    
   hello handsome!
   howdy Cowboy!
   Dear mister Breadan Conoly
    
   This is Brigit writing you and I want too say what a great time I had dancing with you the other night at that barn dance and we sure had a good time dancing to that tune. You was a real gent and it give me a real thill. I think I love you so why not come round but not when mister Crab is there because he is awful protectif of Brigit me. He mite shoot you and you already bin shot latelie so best make sure hes’ out.
    
   What they say about red head gals is true and I am a red hot kisser. We could get marreed some time. What do you think? Anyhow I got to go now so you think on it.
    
   Your nice pretty gal,
                                                 BRIGIT
    
   XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
    
   PS Why don’t you make freinds agin with Arabella she is sorry about what happened when she had the brain fever thet time.
   PPS I she didn even no what she was sayin.
   PPPS Arabella didn right this letter it was birgit herself what done it.
   
6. 

   Shacknasty

   Started by Charlie Fa · May 12, 2021

   Mature Content: No.
   Author: Charlie Fa. 
   With: Robert Cullen, Lorenzo Crabbe.
   Location: Add specific location information here.
   When: Early June 1876
   Time of Day: Late Morning.
    
   
    
   Bao-yu wasn’t used to seeing Crabbe dressed in what would generally pass for ‘working clothes’ these days: lately he was all about the fancy suits (all the better for impressing the gulls with)  and the heavy ended walking canes (all the better for stoving somebody’s skull in with) and the derringer hidden in his derby hat (all the better for … well, that one was obvious). Then again, today Bao-yu wasn’t wearing his usual ‘Chinese’ outfit either: both of them were togged out for field operations in boots, slickers, and broad-brimmed slouch hat, all the better to keep off  the rain that was helpfully pouring down, making their job in the muddy bank all that much easier.
    
   He’d sloshed around in the stream long enough, just at the bend where the deposits tended to form. Nearby was the roughhewn wooden sluice of the poor placer miner who was wasting his time here. The man from Xiangxiang reached up his hand and the man from Bowling Green reached down and pulled him up the bank.
    
   “Washed out?” asked Crabbe as he hefted the short stout man up. The latter nodded.
   “I tol’ you: claim salted!” he pronounced.
    
   In other words, the man who had tried to sell the literal ‘gold mine’ of a claim to them had planted some gold ore fragments to fool them into thinking the place was worth paying the exorbitant price he wanted for it. Crabbe had been suspicious of the feller in the first place. When they’d been shown the claim documents in the lawyer’s office, it seemed that some idiot had signed the land over to him without any form of recompense whatsoever! That was odd. Said idiot, the one who had built the sluices and was even yet working the claim for someone else to reap the profits, that was who they needed to find now: for Lorenzo Crabbe, Bao-yu 'Chinese Charlie' Fa and the lawyer Tubb had a plan to reverse not only his fortunes, but their own.
    
   Half an hour later, boots caked in the rich alluvial loam of Northern Montana, and rain dripping from the brims of their hats and the bottom of their slickers, they found the shack. Crabbe had seen nastier looking shacks out in the rough and ready claims out side Deadwood, but only usually after some kind of accident involving the dynamite store and a stray match.
    
   “Jesus, d’ya think it’s collapsed an’ killed him?!” quipped Crabbe looking at the ‘structure’. But a weak peaty sort of smoke was rising from its rudimentary chimney, so somebody must be home and alive and kicking.
    
   The Kentucky half of the duo knew better than to bang on the door and get a chest full of buckshot, so stood well back and hollered at the rude hut from a safe distance.
    
   “Cullen? Bob Cullen! You in there? Wanna talk some business with you!”
    
   The pair of them kept their hands well in sight, held out in front of them, like they were surrendering to some imagined gunman who held a bead on them. There was complete silence, apart from the patter of the rain on their waterproofs.
    
   @Wayfarer
   
7. 

   The Quick and the Dead

   Started by Jemima Wigfall · April 14, 2021

   Rating: PG-14 Content: N/A Mature Content: No.
   Author: Jemima Wigfall. 
   With: Anyone who is passing.
   Location: Outside the Old Funeral Parlour.
   When: June, 1876
   Time of Day: After the bodies are brought into town.
    
   
    
   Jemima Wigfall could have been a light breeze passing with a whisper through the streets of Kalispell, the amount of attention anybody paid her. Hmmm. Maybe light was an ill chosen word: for she was heavy in body, dark and brooding in looks, and dull in her very nature, unless roused to anger by her twin brother’s merciless prodding or tickled to reluctant mirth by some rare, tittersome event in the vicinity. She hardly even noticed herself: her days passed by in repetitive drudgery and commonplace turgid toil.
    
   Thus she was thrilled to see any new novelty to brighten up the soulless days as she dragged herself from one job as a drudge to another. Right now she was heading from her position as a doorstep scrubber in the upmarket part of town to her home, and another job as a general dogsbody in her Mother’s boarding house, and the novelty she espied was enough to bring a wet smile to her slack lips. Dead ‘uns! Three corpses laid out on the boardwalk outside the old funeral parlour and a crowd gathered that would do justice to a lynching or a cock fight. She moved in a little closer, the slow blood in her veins struggling to do a little pounding in her heart, a feeble effort to feel a thrill.
    
   Before she could see a body properly, she was treated to the sight of Arabella Mudd being dragged off one of the corpses, covered in blood, moaning incoherently about someone called Billy, and getting more or less carried in a faint back to the Saloon where she cleaned spittoons and wiped up vomit for her keep. Why dead ‘uns was grist to everybody’s mill, and Arabella had sure got her ten cents worth. Another vulture was that Crabbe feller, even now setting up his tripod and camera, ready to take a jolly snap of the stiff stark trio, trying with professional patience to get his own shadow out of the shot.
    
   She oozed her way through the crowd to get to the front and stared down with ghoulish delight at the three cadavers. A fat one and a thin one were a nice mess, but the one Arabella had been covering with tears was still handsome, pretty almost, in death. She could certainly see the appeal. They all had their shirts pulled off, no doubt to display where the bullets had entered their torsos and caused their death, their return to the clay. Jemima Wigfall felt her eyes inexorably drawn to the one called Billy, his angelic face, his pale, slightly muscled body, his once pink but now deathly white nipples, his belly button looking like one of the bullet holes, the crease where his loins marked a vee at the bottom of his stomach...
    
   She was jealous of Arabella, she wanted to throw herself upon his marble form as well. But she was never able to do dramatic stuff like that. She was just too doggone dull. Well, she couldn’t be romantic, but she could sure be ghoulish. She nudged hello to a boy standing next to her and bend down a little to whisper in his ear.
    
   “They reckon you can see a reflection of the murderer fixed in a dead man’s eye. I dare you to go look.” She said in flat tones, but with a flash of horrible delight in her black eyes.
   
8. 

   Starting All Over Again Part 2

   Started by The Old Ranger · January 23, 2021

   Mature Content: Maybe
   With: Caroline, Lorenzo, and others  (also open)
   Location: Kalispell Main Street
   When: April 1876
   Time of Day: Late afternoon
    
   
    
   
   The collected and edited letters of Miss Caroline Mundee would have made a rather slim and meagre volume, but amongst them might have been included two telegrams that were now stuffed, somewhat crumpled, in the middle of one of the trunks that accompanied her atop the stage to Kalispell.
    
   The first, crafted by the hand of Lorenzo Crabbe, who always saw writing a telegraph, where you paid by the letter, as an exciting test of how much message you could get across with the least expenditure, read as follows:
    
   Telegram Office: Kalispell, Montana Territory.
   To: Mundee Clark Hotel Helena.
    
   Poss opening here stardust sln apl ms devrogh [sic] [stop] Do not mention yt crabbe [stop]
    
   Or, as he hoped his old colleague at the Kiyus Saloon in Helena would read it:
    
   “Dear Old Mundee, Having heard of the recent incendiary demise of our good old stamping grounds of the Kiyus Saloon, and knowing that you would be desirous of alternative employment, I forward to you the intelligence that an appropriate position has arisen here in Kalispell at a venerable watering hole which carries the appellation of the Stardust Saloon. Enquiries should be forwarded to Ms. Devereau at said address. Please forebear to mention the author of this missive, as such a disclosure might possibly injure the reception of your application for the post. Signed this day by your Good Old Pal, W. Lorenzo Crabbe.”
    
   A second message, typed out on the same thin telegram paper, had travelled across the wires and been decoded at the other end by an operator of the Western Union office. On hearing that the the pretty blonde girl, who used to sing and show off a little flesh and a lot of lace while he relieved her admirers of their dollars at the Monte table, had secured the job, Crabbe had sent a slightly less cryptic:
    
   Telegram Office: Kalispell, Montana Territory.
   To: Mundee Clark Hotel Helena.
    
   Hooray [stop] Wll meet y off stg [stop]
    
   And, as good as his word, both he and the Chinaman Charlie Fa were there at the Kalispell Stage office to meet her and help her with her luggage, at least as far as the swinging doors of the Stardust Saloon. Miss Bridget Monahan was also in attendance at this august occasion, excited to meet the 'Famous Singer' that her Guardian had described. 
    
   
9. 

   The Scouting Mission

   Started by Lorenzo Crabbe · September 27, 2020

   Mature Content: No.
   Author: Lorenzo Crabbe. 
   With: Ralph Flandry, Bridget Monahan plus anyone else who might be there.
   Location: Bar Room.
   When: Early April 1876
   Time of Day: Early evening.
    
   
    
   The bespectacled be-suited ‘dude’ with the low crowned billycock hat entered the saloon through its swinging doors with the waif like, aubern-haired beauty on his arm, and both of them looked about the place with no little interest. Her gaze was one of wonder at the beauty of the place with its fancy mirrors and the attempt by some local dabber to render neo-classical paintings on the plasterwork in several places. These showed nymphs and goddesses whose modesty was tastefully saved by a luckily blown cloak or cloud in just the right places. Crabbe’s interest was more practical, and he immediately decided that his ‘Hurdy Gurdy House’ would go one better – he’d have Greek goddesses too, but their saddle blankets would have been blown away totally by a strong Nor’Easter some time previous to them posing for the artist.
    
   The man sauntered up to the bar and hefted a foot onto the brass rail that was placed there for that very purpose. He grinned, real friendly like, at the bearded barman.
    
   “Hello friend! A glass of sarsaparilla for the little lady, a drop o’ the good stuff for me, and one for yourself!”
    
   When the drinks were set up, he handed the glass containing the soft drink to the girl and told her “You go sit down at that there table, honey, I’m talking to the man.” The woman managed to juggle the parasol, clutch purse, a large (and somewhat disturbing looking) porcelain faced doll, and now the drink, and she walked slowly and carefully over to the table. She put the objects down on its surface first, before she eased herself into the chair with as much care as a saddle-sore cowpuncher might.
    
   
    
   Once she was safely ensconced, the man with the thick glasses turned around again and spoke to the barman. “Nice place y’got here!” he smiled, looking around the area above the bar where the big mirror reflected the glory of the whole place. “You the owner?”
   
10. 

    Fixing a Hole

    Started by Lorenzo Crabbe · September 6, 2020

    Mature Content: No.
    Author: Lorenzo Crabbe. 
    With: Jay Ryker; Charlie Fa & Bridget Monahan.
    Location: Empty rented store at the end of the High Street.
    When: Early April 1876
    Time of Day: Morning.
     
    
     
    Mr. Lorenzo Crabbe, late of the snakepits and dives of that Sodom and Gomorrah of the old West: Ogallala, Nebraska, had yet to reach the heights of sartorial elegance that he became known for in his heyday, but even in the early days of April, in the year of our Lord 1876, as he stood looking up at the man wobbling up at the top of the slightly tottering  ladder, he was already an unmistakable figure: dressed in a decent suit with a low crowned derby hat, with thick spectacles on his face and toting an elegant silver topped cane nonchalantly over his shoulder.
     
    Had one cared to lift that billycock hat, one would have found a head of straight tow colored hair, neatly combed into a side shade and, more significantly, in that hat, a good wad of padding for extra protection against blows to the top of the head. Similarly, a closer inspection of his cane would reveal that the top of the cane was formed not of silver, but a heavy enough knob of lead to crush a skull if applied with a good amount of vicious force.
     
    This individual looked up for some time, before shouting to the man aloft.
     
    “You Ryker?!”
     
    He squinted through his glasses and blinked against the weak but cheering and fresh Springtime morning Sun.
     
    “A dickybird tells me you can do fine work in metal.” He added, indicating his reason for being interested in talking to the Englishman, if only still in the vaguest of terms.
    

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