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About boshmi


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  1. "What I'm sayin' is you can have a free drink, I will pay for it. I don't make a habit of doin' that for just any customer but it's not an impo....imposition." "Well, if you're quite certain... then I'm sure a drink can't hurt." Oskar replied, with a well-meaning grin. "As for visiting the place, I like to think it's always a good experience if I have anything to do with it. You really should drop in sometime, hon." "I suppose I shall have to then, shan't I? Seeing as you've credited me with a free drink and all. Very well, It's decided - I'll see you, Caroline, at the stardust within the week. Perhaps I'll have an early fix for your derringer when I do." (end thread? could continue with a follow-up stardust one if you wanted?) @Wayfarer
  2. "That your mount? She's a nice one. Bring'er along to the stable an' she can have some water'n oats if she wants 'em." José could not help but feel some pride at Brendan's appraisal of his mount. He and Loretta had crossed the treacherous Rockies and wintered in those peaks, and there was a sense of kinship he felt with the mare, young and prone to mischief as she was. José nodded and moved to unhitch Loretta, before leading her along by the bridle in Brendan's wake. The mare followed obediently, her plodding gait rising to a low, rhythmic thump against the dirt. "So cattle and horses are your thing eh?" José asked Brendan. "Seems to me like you're living in your dream out here." Dream was an English word José was proud of, having picked it up off a young man he'd met by the roadside in Nuevo México. Said he'd a dream, to 'make a fortune off'a shine.' José had told him to be wary of Las Gorras Blancas, and ridden on. They entered the stable, and the musty smell of horse hide met José's nose in force. It wasn't unpleasant, merely overwhelming, and as the seconds passed he quickly adjusted to the olfactory surprise. @Bailey
  3. As the first hands crested the rise, they would see flashes of light and hear the report of gunfire along the paddock, as the three outlaws emptied their weapons downrange. Gunsmoke rose in the air, concealed by the dark of night, but its stench hung heavy. A horse reared, baying loudly, then collapsed to the ground, blood streaming from a wound in its flank. Its rider fell with it, cries of man blending with that of the animal. "I think I got one!" shouted Jed from up the way, and Wayne gritted his teeth in frustration. Even he knew that you never give away your position in a gunfight. His horse rocked beneath him, and he held it steady with his legs, focusing on sending as much lead as he could before the return fire came. Centering his sights over the silhouette of another rider, he worked the lever and snatched the trigger with blistering speed, arms moving like a machine. He squeezed off one, two, and three shots before the rider disappeared from the silhouette, and his horse ran on, alone. ---- José reached the paddock just as gunfire had begun to open up. He saw a rider go down, and quickly pulled back on his reins to avoid a collision. Loretta resisted, pushing the urge to run on, but the sound of rifle fire had begun to spook her, and within a moment she had slowed, whinnying at the fallen horse. She rolled her eyes and stomped her hooves, but José coaxed her on, around the tangle of fallen flesh and up to where those orange flashes sounded with frightening frequency. "Cálmate, chica!" he whispered, but even he could feel that the mare was close to breaking courage. Before he even knew what was happening there came a whistle of gunfire over his head, frighteningly close, and he instinctively ducked against Loretta's neck. She broke into a run, all obedience forgotten, and in a moment José had become a sitting duck, moving in a straight line across the paddock edge. He did the only thing he could think to; and let his feet slip from the stirrups, his hands from the reins, and his body from the saddle. He hit the ground hard, rolling through the grass unceremoniously. Clutching his gun in a vice-like grip, he felt the burn of scrapes along his forearms, and when he finally came to a halt there was nothing but the wet dew against his face and the clammy dirt clinging to his clothes. Glancing up, he saw Loretta's silhouette gallop off into the night after the herd, seemingly unhurt. He checked himself over for injuries, which would have been hard to see in the dark anyway, but couldn't find anything worse than a few scratches. Next, he checked his pistol, which seemed to function properly, and turned his attention to the matter at hand. He was now on foot, less than fifty meters from the rustlers, who he presumed to be mounted. As far has he knew, they assumed him dead or incapacitated, which granted him a distinct advantage. It was decided; he would push forward, and catch them by surprise, using the superior accuracy of shooting from foot. He already knew where one was, given the way he was whooping and hollering after each shot. All José needed was some cover fire. He rolled onto his back, waiting for the next few riders to crest the rise so that he could push up with them. @Bailey@Flip
  4. "Say there, you've been so nice ta me, I'd like to return the favor. Tell ya what, why don't you come inta the saloon sometime and ask fer me if I'm not about but I practically live there so that shouldn't be a problem. Then I will buy you a drink on the house." It was true that Oskar had lived for some years now in the US, time enough to broaden his catalogue of Americanisms. That didn't mean he always used them correctly, and herein he had to reevaluate his understanding of the phrase; 'On the house' as Caroline used it. If he understood correctly, she had offered to buy him a drink at her own cost, rather than it being paid from his pocket. "I- on the house?" he repeated, carefully choosing his words to avoid seeming ignorant. "I wouldn't want to impose. Although, I have not visited the Stardust in a little while. It could be a, uh, experience." @Wayfarer
  5. OOC: I wouldn't mind a few ranch shenanigans! Up to you, though.
  6. "Well. It ain't gettin' any cooler out there. You want to ride out with me, get the lay of the land?" José hesitated. He'd expected cool indifference, perhaps even slight hostility at a newcomer, and here Connolly was offering him a tour of the grounds. It was a good reflection on his character, and perhaps, by extension; the character of the ranch as a whole, that practicality would come before pride. "That is, if Carson don't want you to be a night owl with him?" "Good idea Connolly. Give the man a good look at the place and a chance to really look over the herd." "Sounds good." José confirmed, the matter more decided for him than by him. Not that he'd want to miss out on a chance to get settled in. He rose and moved to the kitchenside bucket, where he'd seen men depositing their dirty plates earlier, and left his in kind, murky water eddying as he did. "Alright. Let's do it." he told Connolly, and with a nod to Carson, José headed for the door. "G'wan, see you men later." @Bailey
  7. "That's a pretty gun." "I'm pleased you think so. It is quite well-made. A clever design." he agreed, though using strategically different terminology. Caroline would be right to think that 'pretty' was a seldom used term in Oskar's line of work, but not altogether absent. "I like it. I like it a lot, you got yerself a deal, hon." Oskar mirrored the girl's infectious smile. "Wúnderbar. I'm sure you won't be disappointed." "Does that forty cents include ammo?" "Hmm, I hadn't thought of that." Oskar admitted, suddenly thoughtful. "In honesty, it isn't very often that I rent guns. I'll tell you what; I'll give you a box free of charge-" He reached beneath the counter and procured a box of .22 rimfire, which he in turn offered to Caroline. "-and should you need to use it, you may pay the usual rate upon return of the gun. That is fifty cents a box, twenty-five bullets a box, two cents a bullet." his voice dropped an octave. "Let's hope it does not come to that, for being attacked once is one time too many, I should say. I digress. If you'll return this time next week, I hope to have your derringer in fine working order, and if not it'll be no less than three days after that." @Wayfarer
  8. OOC: funnily enough, I think they're about the same size, with the four-shot potentially being smaller. I can't say for sure, since I've never seen either in real life, but the specs online say that the Remington 95, her first gun, had 3" barrels and fired 41. short, meaning the barrels would have to be at least .41 inches wide. The Sharps Four-shot's barrels are listed at two-and-a-half inches long, and with firing calibers as small as .22. Of course, the fact that there are four barrels instead of two means the gun is probably a bit wider, but as far as it's length and height is concerned, I think it's actually smaller. Here's a picture of each in someone's hand, for reference;
  9. "Well, you understand I don't exactly plan out when the dangerous stuff comes at me. Not like I put down 'drunken gunman...appointment on Thursday evening' in my note book. So yeah, I could use a spare then. Depending on this here small fee? Take mercy on a gunless helpless little lass, won't you?" "I understand, of course. The part itself will be around a dollar, and I would be willing to lend you a weapon at the rate of forty cents a week, provided that it is returned afterwards with no substantial damage or wear." He smiled, in a pastiche of Caroline's own countenance. "...and in my mercy, I believe a have a Sharps four-shot around here somewhere..." Taking a key from his pocket, he turned to one of the cabinets behind the counter, unlocked it, and swung the hinges wide. After a moment of poring over the weapons array within, he selected the little four-barrel derringer, and lifted it carefully onto the counter for Caroline to see. "It loads similarly to your Remington, though of course, holding four shots rather than two, with a little toggle here to open the breech, load the rounds into the barrels, close the breech, cock the hammer, and fire. Yours, as I say, for forty cents a week." @Wayfarer
  10. "Yer good with your hands for an older gent, ya know?" "Oh, you have a sharp wit, Miss." Oskar responded, matching her smile. This time, her humor was not lost on him, and to the old gunsmith's surprise, he too found himself amused at the admittedly crude joke. "Caroline, hon, just Caroline, I ain't one for fancy titles. Oh alright then, so... give it to me straight, doctor, can it be saved or is my gun a goner?" "Well... Caroline." Oskar articulated, with only the smallest sense of difficulty in using a first name for a customer. "The gun can be fixed, but the camwheel is, like you say - a goner. I will need a replacement piece, which will need to be sent for, and likely carried up in a regular shipment from Missoula. It will realistically be a process of a week or two, I'm afraid." He glanced down at the disassembled gun, lying quite uselessly on the countertop. "Alternatively, for a small fee, I could offer you a similar weapon in the interim, if your personal defense situation cannot wait that long." @Wayfarer
  11. "I'm sure that your partiality will be appreciated by all sides. I know that my cousin and the rest of his family value honesty and I see that you, Miss Leane have it in abundance. You will be a great asset to this venture." "Oh! Well, that's tellin' me!" Having affirmed her position, Aoife once more turned her attention from the conversation, for its part moving on to yet more combative, veiled dialogue between the frontrunners. It seemed, unwittingly enough, that she'd involved herself with the boxing match quite thoroughly, and now slated herself to provide medical expertise to not just Robert and his camp, but this Charlie fellow and his. And to that end, she could have had something to say about the chance of infection on open wounds, what with the woody indoor environment and close crowd, or perhaps the fact that the ring posts looked like they'd give splinters if you stared at them too hard. Given how rough Robert's life usually was though, she imagined that he'd probably scoff at that sort of thing, along with the rest of the room. Instead, she merely moved to sit upon the stage. Mr. Crabbe had mentioned it would be for seating anyway, and she had little interest in the mindgames that he and Mr. Simons would no doubt proceed to play upon each other. @Javia@Wayfarer@JulieS
  12. "Special? I don't know, just the rounds they came with when I bought it. Tell ya the truth there, hon, they all look kinda short to me." "Hmm? Oh, yes. Aha." Oskar absentmindedly responded, uncertain if there was a rude joke being made or not. "Well, if it wasn't the ammunition, I'm afraid I'll have to open this up..." He set the turnscrew upon the frame of the derringer, and carefully set about removing the grip, then separating the body. The screws in question were tiny little things, matching the tiny little gun in which they sat, and so it was no small effort to set them all in a little pile to the side of the counter. Finally, Oskar removed the top half of the frame, revealing the guts of weapon - it's trigger, lug, camwheel and hammer. "Aha!" he said, as prospector might upon finding a thick vein. With steady fingers he reached down to pluck out the camwheel, and held it up to the afternoon light. "Here is your culprit, Ms. Mundee. The wheel's notches have worn quite severely. Likely the hammer was not falling with sufficient energy to strike the primer." (OOC: piece number 5 is causing the trouble!) @Wayfarer
  13. "Here? Nah, we all do the same work. Only some of us are better at... how'd you say it... the herding... than others." Realization dawned on José. "Ah. I see." he voiced. "Well, you know. Like I say; I can do both." He might have been in an oddly unique position, having both rustled cattle and shot men, and though he couldn't say for certain yet, Mr. Connolly's words seemed to imply that both skills may yet come in handy upon the Evergreen ranch. José finished his meal at around the same time as the others, eating all he had taken and leaving nothing to scraps. Not just out of hunger, but courtesy as well. "How long you been workin' cattle?" continued Connolly, a question that caused José a twinge of guilt. "About one year." he lied. "I did some other things, in the meantime. I know a bit." @Bailey
  14. "WAYNE!" A shout from across the paddock. The younger Baker brother sat in his saddle, chewing his lip. At his side, Jed glanced down anxiously. "Oh, shit, Baker. We gotta get the fuck out of here." Down by the mustering field at the base of the ranch came the shouting of men; orders being issued, hands mounting up, guns being loaded. Pinpricks of light rippled their way over the black expanse as lanterns were ignited and torches drawn from hearths. "WAYNE WHAT THE FUCK?!" The cattle had begun to stampede, alright. The pen had nearly been drained by now and cows were fanning out across the grassland. The sound of their march was deafening, and their frightened mooing swelled like foghorns in the dark. Through all that noise, Clyde's voice still found its way to his ears. "ANSWER ME, YOU DUMB BASTARD!" Around the side of the paddock galloped Frank and Clyde, the whinnying of their horses only adding to the cacophony. "Damn it, Clyde I didn't know what else to do!" he protested lamely. "You didn't know what else to do?!" Clyde roared, voice only slightly muffled beneath his bandanna. "You have fucked us, Wayne! You've god damn fucked us!" To the side, a fifth horse joined their muster, as Finch rode down from the flank. "I heard the shot, what's going on?" "What's going on?! Wayne's fucked us, that's what's going on!" Finch shifted anxiously in his saddle. In the cool night air, sweat rose from the flanks of his horse as steam. A small army of ranch hands would be upon them any moment. "So, we run...?" the amateur rustler asked. Clyde shook his head, still fuming. "Fuck, they'll cut us down like dogs either way!" He paused, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. "...Clyde?" Wayne began, but his brother cut him off. "Shut the fuck up, I need to think." Precious moments passed, and when Clyde finally raised his head from his hand it was in a determined mask. "Okay, we can salvage this. We're gonna try salvage this. Wayne, Finch, Sampson, you cover the rear. Greene and I are gonna muster what cows we can, drive em' into the woods. If you gotta kill a couple cowpokes you kill those fucken' cowpokes, just buy us time. We regroup at the campsite from the night before last, alright? Maybe there'll be one or two cows left for us to take. Now go! Don't argue!" With the plan decided, Frank and Clyde wheeled their mounts around, and with a few shouts and kicks they galloped off after the herd. Wayne gripped his rifle. It seemed he'd be shooting it more than once tonight. "Well, what now? We buy them time?" Jed asked. "Yeah we buy em' time." repeated Wayne. "Fan out across the paddock. Pick the hands off as they come over the rise. If any of you run, I'll shoot'cha my god damn self." "On what account are you in charge? You put us in this damn mess to begin with!" shouted Finch, growing frantic at the deteriorating situation. "On account of I'm second in command. Fucken do it." growled Wayne, chambering his rifle. Finch shot a look of misgiving at Jed, but pulled his reins to bear, and the three outlaws spread across the fence line, weapons in hands. ---- Down in the bunkhouse, José re-fastened his gun belt. In the back of his mind lay the memory that his pistol was cowboy-loaded, and there wasn't time to get out his second belt, his second revolver, or even his rifle. Five shots would have to be enough. He sat his hat firmly back upon his head, and was making for the door when Granger burst through it, urgency in his voice. "Get up, Goddamn it! They're after the herd!" "'Mon' José, we got us some work ta do!" So the worst was confirmed. Rustlers. He nodded at Carson before he darted out the door, put his head down, and ran for the horses. His boots fell heavy in the muck, and the sound of stampeding cattle echoed down from the hills. Horse hooves joined the din as ranch hands spurred their mounts up towards the paddock. He careened into the stables, picking out Loretta at her stall, and thanked his good fortune that she still wore the bridle and saddle he brought her in with. In one deft move he yanked her reins from where they were tied, tossed them over her head, gripped the saddle horn and hoisted himself up. The young mare snorted, and her breath came away steamy. After a moment to settle his feet into the stirrups, José gave her a quick kick, and they trotted out into the night. "Martinez!" shouted Connolly at his side. "You know who's after the herd?" José shook his head. "I didn't see them. Could be anyone." With another quick kick he moved Loretta into a canter, and they crossed the mustering area, picking up speed as they went. "Ándale, ándale!" he cried, and the horse beneath him broke into a gallop. He braced himself in the saddle as they streaked across the grassland. Loretta whinnied and tossed her head, excited to run after a month of rather mundane ranch work. Her hooves kicked up dirt as they went, and the whinny quickly turned into a determined snort. It was fortunate for José that he'd taken the time to secure his hat, otherwise it might have blown off at such speeds. However, he hadn't been able to throw on anything warmer than the work shirt he'd spent all day in, and as it blustered around his torso, he felt the whipping wind begin to chill his exposed skin. Still, there was a rise in his chest with a weapon at his hip and an enemy on the horizon, and for a moment José was back in Mexico, tearing across the desert with the law at his back. They sped past a blur that might have been old man Steelgrave himself as he mounted up to join the chase, though José could only spare a passing glance as he eased Loretta out into the paddocks, wind coursing through his curly hair. Gripping the reins in his left hand, he darted the right down to his hip, snatching his pistol from its holster and holding it at the ready. @Flip@Bailey
  15. "Connolly." "Good to meet you, Mister Connolly." José repeated, returning his attention to the food on his plate. "You new here?" In spite of himself, José grinned at the question. "Joined on not half an hour ago, so fairly new, sí." There was no malice in his voice, for Mister Connolly did not seem as though he intended to start anything. Rather a sense of curiosity came with his questions, maybe at his sudden appearance, or maybe at his heritage. "You a gun hand or cow hand?" José paused in idle chewing, a little confused by the question. "I can shoot, and I can also herd. Is there a... difference between the shooters and the herders?" he asked, glancing about the table. Everyone within his eyesight either had a gun at their hip, or looked as though they might draw one from some hidden crevasse as soon as they were prompted. @Bailey

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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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