((Dot away if you want to add this to your dash. Game will begin once we've got our posse of 15.))
The shot opens with a panoramic view from within the covered platform at the train station. The sun hangs low in the east, just peaking over the green hills and spreading long shadows across the platform where a cornucopia of various travelers await their coming passage.
With a loud whistle and squealing brakes, the locomotive glides into view -- coming to a stop with a sustained release of steam that settles over the platform like a deep fog, masking the individual silhouettes of those awaiting it.
Voiceover with a smooth eastern accent:
"Since the emergence of demon ore across the country, prospectors have discovered a high concentration of the minerals in the Black Hills of the Dakota Territory. The great thinkers of the day speculate why this location has an abundance of these minerals, but none of them agree on a single theory. Some believe that the greatest battle in the war for Hell was fought deep under the Black Hills, while others have long believed the badlands of the Dakota Territory hold special significance to infernal powers.
"Whatever the case, thousands of prospectors flock to Brimstone every month to seek their fortune. Most never return. All the normal dangers of a boom town in a lawless territory - indian attack, robbery, claim-jumping, starvation, and disease - coupled with the volatile supernatural threats found around and within Hellstone mines make survival far from a foregone conclusion. Those that do return, however, do so wealthy and powerful, albeit it almost universally changed in some way."
The train whistle blows long and low, like a mournful wind across the moors. The steam is dissipating, revealing the shining locomotive bearing the brass plate "The Devil's Cauldron" and the melting pot of travelers soon to occupy it. "All aboard!" calls a tall, silver-haired gentleman near the first class passenger car, smiling beneath a waxed mustache and lightly gripping an impressive pocket watch.
As much of the crowd disperses to their particular cars, eager to settle down for the length trip, what do you do?
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Info:
The train consists of 10 cars including the engine.
There is an official looking person at each of the passenger cars checking tickets ((feel free to decide whether your characters are riding first class or steerage, but I would recommend keeping all three of them together for your own ease)). The train won't be leaving for a good 10 or 15 minutes, giving you time to do whatever you wish before needing to claim a seat.
Archie climbed about the steerage passenger card, cheap ticket in hand. The former woodcutter was traveling light, less then half a dollar in his pocket, and the prospect of a long ride ahead. Looking in he sees two men playing at cards.
They tip hats and wave hello.
"Name's Barney." A small, scrawny looking man with quick blue eyes and blond hair says.
The other man offers a soft, nimble hand. "Casey, myself. Just settling in for some poker, care to play?" The man flashes him a broad warm smile, 'Something to help the miles roll, eh?"
Archie shrugs, and sits down. Awfully nice of these men to let him play. Maybe it is his lucky day?
Pamela looks up at the train, holding her ticket. She was finally heading west, and she'd be doing it from the bottom.
"It'll be alright, little lady," Art says from beside her, an identical ticket in hand. He had not expected to find a companion so fast, but he was equally glad that she wasn't traveling west all by herself.
Sighing, Pamela gets on the train with Art into the steerage passenger car, choosing seats by themselves. It isn't long, however, when another man abruptly sits across from them without a word. Pamela thinks of making conversation, but looks over to find him just staring at them, wihtout a word. And Mr. Clean just stares...and stares...and stares.
This is going to be a long trip, Pamela thinks, looking out the window to escape his gaze.
Inside the Steerage Passenger Car:
While mostly empty at the moment, you're certain it won't take long for this sprawling car to feel quite crowded. Solid and smooth, hardwood benches are bolted in pairs that face each other, each pair backed against the other, along either side of the car with a crimson carpeted aisle down the center. Orange light from the building sunrise filters in through the curtainless windows situated between each facing pair, igniting the dust that swirls through the air as you enter like thousands of tiny embers. It smells like cigarette smoke and old sweat. The box for the outhouse, situated at the rear of the car nearest the door to the freight cars, is certain to take on its own distinct aroma over the trip as well -- and may best be given berth by those early enough to choose their seats.
Nets hang across either side, bunched into hammocks of sorts for stowing luggage. The three men playing poker have to precariously balance their 'hands' upon their laps, casting bets onto the open seat beside the third. As any of you take your seat, you are greeted by the fortunate realization that, should you get bored on this nearly 2 day trip, there are plenty of poorly spelled limericks, personal claims, and etched drawings scratched into the benches and wall panels that might serve to pass the time. What luck.
"I wouldn't read the scratcings, if I were you," Art says to Pamela, noticing some of the more vulgar words.
Silence falls between the three for a bit, until Mr. Clean suddenly speaks up. "So, how are your teeth doing?"
The other two blink for a moment, caught off guard. "Well, mine are doing just fine, lad," Art says, despite the fact that the other gentleman looks much older. "Had a tooth fall out about a year ago, though, after breaking up a fight."
"Mine are fine," Pamela adds.
"I am a dentist," Mr. Clean explains, as though it was obvious.
"Ookay," Pamela replies.
After a few more awkward one-liners from Mr. Clean, Art introduces themselves and orchestrates a polite conversation between the group.
Among the passengers entering the steerage car are three more men. The first is quite thin and frail-looking, although he can't be more than forty. His black hair is swept back from his forehead and his clothing is of fair quality, if a bit worn. The most curious thing about him is the equipment he carries--a folded tripod and a case for a camera. As he enters the car he pauses, seeing the lack of space, and wheels about to look for an employee. "Begging your pardon, should these go in a baggage car?"
In his mind, Spencer Collin starts wondering if he shouldn't have booked first-class after all, instead of trying to save money for once he arrives in Brimstone.
- - -
There's a small ruckus outside the car, but it breaks up quickly. A few moments later the source becomes apparent: a real-life Indian steps into the passenger car! His clothes look like they already come from the Frontier, beaten and dusty, and he has a hat cocked back on his head over long hair. Clutched in his hands is a finely-made wooden box, with a small crank handle on the side, likely to produce music.
Tekumsah casts a wary gaze across the crowd of mostly white folk. It was really bad luck and his struggle with letters that brought him here--he'd meant to hop a train straight to Brimstone, but somehow he'd mixed it up and come up here before getting there. Now he had to endure another long trip on the rails. With a small grunt, he finds an empty seat and settles in.
- - -
The third man draws attention not by what he's carrying or the color of his skin, but by the sheer aura of danger about him. A big, burly bear of a Scotsman steps aboard the train, his mahogany hair and beard curled and thick on his head. His clothing is simple, his hands gnarled, his shoulders and chest thick. At his hip is a knife. Most immediate is his face, though: two long scars cross one cheek to the nose, looking barely healed, and across the lower half of the other side are a series of pockmarks that, if you didn't know better, you'd swear were caused by a shotgun blast. But who could survive such a thing?
Roy MacArran moves toward the back of the car, and takes a seat near the outhouse box, seemingly without care of the potential smell. He doesn't particularly look around or regard the other passengers, just stares ahead and folds his hands once he takes his seat. This is just the road to vengeance.
As [Spencer] enters the car he pauses, seeing the lack of space, and wheels about to look for an employee. "Begging your pardon, should these go in a baggage car?"
"Larger items such as those we can store in freight for you, if you wish," replies the man who has been checking tickets for those entering steerage. 'G. Blake' is stitched into his engineer uniform above the left breast-pocket. He pauses for a moment, checking the tickets of a gentleman and the young boy accompanying him, then returns his focus to Spencer.
"Those should be small enough to hang above if you wish to keep them nearby, but I'd be happy to take them if you wish them stowed," he continues with a smile. The man has a young face, despite nearing middle age, and blond hair cropped short.
"Ma'am, I can stow that for you as well," the man states to the young woman boarding now. She is pulling along a large, rectangular trunk as well as a sort of animal cage beneath a large kerchief. The lady is wearing a men's suit (of all things!) which appears a bit long in the legs and a bit short in the arms.
"Oh, er... no thank you." She replies nervously, quickly dragging the luggage onto the car. "I'd prefer it stays nearby, if you don't mind. I promise to keep it out of the way."
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The older gentleman and presumably his son, who entered a moment before, take a seat behind the men playing poker. Upon first entering, the young boy was drawn to the 'red-skinned' man seated by himself. His father, however, was quick to grip the lad's arm and direct him elsewhere, avoiding eye contact with Tekumsah. The boy is quickly caught up in observing the card game, which his father likely finds a welcome distraction.
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While Art preserves Pamela's honor, warning her away from some of the more base rhymes or libelous statements, he also notices that not all of the scratchings are in English. This probably isn't shocking considering the melting pot that America has become.
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For those still outside on the train platform, most of the patrons have boarded, save a few more hurriedly purchasing tickets at the counter. The Devil's Cauldron (the locomotive) is nearly finished filling up its water reserves, and a handful of railroad men are loading what appear to be firearms into the armored car near the caboose.
The poker man finish the first hand and Archie grins. A winning hand! Maybe his luck was changing after all. And a real Indian, wow!
Casey, the cardsharp, keeps his face long and sad although instead he is already counting his future winnings. What an easy mark!. A few thrown hands, let the guy get overconfident, then squeeze him dry. By the time they get to the Cauldron he should be a few dollars richer. He keeps up a friendly patter to both the boy and the older father who sits by. More marks, perhaps? A bit of a smile, a lent coin might just entice them...
Barney breaks from the game to help a lady with a caged animal. The clever man enjoys a mystery and fixates on the covered cage. After moving her luggage he offers to move the cage as well.
As he carries it sniffs it, wondering if smells more like bird or mammal. As he sets it down, he jostles it a bit, trying to jar a sound or squawk.
After, he tips his hat to the lady and re-joins the card game. He has a feeling it is rigged, but it'll amuse him to figure that out as they travel.
Barney finds the cage rather light, greeted with the familiar scent of something mammalian (not a snake... thank goodness). You can feel whatever is contained within hopping to readjust itself when the cage is momentarily jostled, and you catch a glimpse of white rabbit fur as well.
The suited woman is quite grateful for the assistance, and thanks you for the aid before she takes her seat and you resume your game.
Pamela, constantly glancing out the window, notices the large boxes being loaded. Hmm, I thought this was a passenger train, she thinks, not recognizing the cargo being loaded.
Art meanwhile notices a few strange markings on the seats and wonders just how many different kinds of people of taken this train before.
As the crowd gathered around the train made their way to their chosen seats, two men waited for a brawny one to finish his bussiness.
People passing nearby could eavesdrop some chatting. Apparently the handsome, tall and perpetually smiling one went by the name of Thomas. He was explaining to Blueboy -the younger one, thin and bookish looking yet with long white scars covering the left half of his face- the dangers that await them. He heard them himself from a sioux converted to the one true religion a week ago, or so he said.
Alien to this conversation was Brick, as caressing Marla's cheek for the last time perhaps seemed more important than whatever awaited him in Dakota. The muscled man wasn't a stranger to mines, being a quarryman, and thought of the demon ore's prospection like another day in a shitty dark hole... only difference being this one could change his luck for the better.
"If you snuggle any longer we'll be left here, Brick." shouted as he grabbed his oak barrel from the ground. contained a laugh at his friend's words.
With a nod and a last kiss, Brick said farewell to his lover and joining his two pals entered the steerage car. "Might as well start with a drink or three." commented before leaving their luggage and heading towards the diner car.
The smooth-faced gentleman, G. Blake, offers to stow Thomas' barrel as well as Blueboy's fine looking saddle as he checks their tickets. They each receive tickets with the items number scrawled upon it so that they may redeem them come Brimstone. You are some of the last to enter the steerage care, making it quite difficult to find any good seats.
Instead, you opt to pass through to the dining car - a scene of decadence compared to the utilitarian aesthetic of the passenger car you just vacated. The ceiling is paneled with rococo tiles, and each of the windows is draped with blue-velvet curtains - drawn back to let in the morning sun. You can see Marla outside searching the windows for your face, with her own lighting up the moment she spots you. Each side is lined with simple tables covered in white linens, with chairs surrounding.
"Morning, Gentlemen." calls a deep voice from the far corner near the kitchen, where a dry bar is set up. The tall man is dark skinned with a trim beard and cut. "It's a bit early for drinks, so I assume you're here for some coffee?" he enquires with a grin, continuing to stock some of the refreshments before the train departs.
Before you can answer, however, the curtain draws back from the corridor to first class. A short gentleman, with flush cheeks despite the complexion of either a native or an Atlantic islander, steps through and hurries past. He barely makes eye contact with the three of you, tipping his hat slightly, before continuing back to steerage with his luggage.
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Those of you in steerage notice this young and somewhat aggravated gentleman enter from the dining car shortly after the trio passed through. Likewise, he is hesitant to make any eye-contact with those of you already seated and instead opts to sit at the back facing Tekumsah. He's the only one so far that has been brave enough to sit near the native.
After a few minutes more, the doors are closed and the mournful whistle blows. The steady chug of the locomotive rolls beneath you, gradually building momentum as it pulls away from the station.
The final camera shot is one from the loading platform, watching the train slowly chug off -- Marla and a couple others waving to their departing loved ones, the armored car at the back, and finally the caboose before we're left with an empty station and a distant train with the sun at its back, heading west.
Spencer looks at the employee with a somewhat helpless smile and nods. "Oh, ah--yes, yes. If you could take this..." He hands the tripod to the man, but keeps the camera box to himself. "You never know when an opportunity might present itself, I... reckon?" He chuckles to himself and moves to a seat--near Archie and Casey. "I don't suppose you gentlemen might be willing to deal me in for the next hand?"
- - - - -
Tekumsah does his best to ignore the man and his son, simply remaining quiet in his seat as he looks down at the music box. When the short, flushed gentleman sits facing Tekumsah, the Comanche looks up for a moment, but drops his gaze again soon enough. Better not talk until somebody talks to me.
- - - - -
Roy simply sits back in his seat and settles in for the ride. Most passengers here are looking forward to the arrival in Brimstone, but for the Scotsman, it can't come soon enough.
Archie shrugs in an easy-going fashion. A bit dimly he looks to Casey, questioningly. Casey grins broadly sand says, 'Of course, always rooms for another at the table." he chuckles, dealing Spencer a few cards, "Even when there is no table."
Barney, looking across says, "Name's Barney, what's yours?"
Tekumsah, the man eventually introduces himself as Perre. He's friendly enough, but obviously not outgoing enough to push the conversation far. Though he doesn't share much, in a brief conversation you gather that though he's back in steerage he has a ticket for first class - quite the waste of money to be sitting back here. There was some sort of altercation that forced him back to this car, which may explain why he chose to sit near you when no one else would.
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Spencer smiles at Barney and offers a free hand in greeting. "Spencer, Spencer Collin. It's good to meet you, Barney." He takes the cards and looks them over.
- - - - -
Tekumsah nods at Perre. "Tekumsah." He listens to the man's story and shrugs at the end. "Something to do with not being a white-man, I guess?" He snorts once, derisively, and glances out the windows at the rolling plains. They're the only thing that's even a little familiar here.
- - - - -
Roy remains seated and scowling, although he also looks out the windows once the train gets moving. The sights of the land changing are more appealing to him than the people inside the train. It makes the movement toward Brimstone feel more real. More like he's getting where he's trying to go...
- - - - -
After those first few moments, he presses his hands against the darkness around him. He remembers what he saw last--the leering faces, the barrel of the shotgun after he knocked the knife away. What he doesn't know is how he's still thinking. Is this Hell? Is that why there's fire in his veins? But then, that fire could be simply the pain of the wounds. Shouldn't his whole body be racked, tormented by the hellfire? And when his hands press out against his restraints, it's a familiar feeling: wood, rough but worked.
This isn't Hell. It's a coffin. His coffin.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The three men shrug at the barman's mention of the early hours. says "Mine will be black, no sugar and large if you will."
The three men enjoy their beverages while making small chat regarding the caravans, the indian attacks and the last gold fever around town. The chat, though, slowly shifts towards the remaining time of their trip. "Any of you fancy some games? Perhaps Hold 'Em?" proposes to which answers "I only know honest to God classic Poker, like pa and granpa played. Any of you got cards?"
None of them carry a deck, and as such the trio drifts around the train looking for a chance to kill some time after paying their coffees.
Let's take it from Roy's flashback: the man pounding against the lid of his coffin. The camera zooms in on the furious and panicked eyes -- the scene fades into an identical close up of the Scotsman's face, with the same fury and intensity but surrounded this time with a calm demeanor holding it back. Suddenly the eyes narrow as he spots something.
It's about four hours into this long trek and outside the window, barely visible to those inside the cars and only those who might be facing toward the rear, are some racing clouds of dust quickly approaching the locomotive. You're all on an incline currently, which is slowing the train significantly, and these approaching riders are flying in at a reckless speed -- even with a large cart in the rear (though it seems to be losing ground on the train).
Roy, it's hard to explain outside of that knotted feeling inside a man's gut. There's no way to know otherwise, but you're certain that some of the roughnecks that thought they put you in the ground are present in that oncoming gang. There's no way anyone else sees it yet, but in about 5 or so minutes, they'll have caught up with this train and likely swarming all over it as well.
What do you do?
The rest of your characters haven't noticed, and are none the wiser.
Casey, despite being focused on the game, keeps close track of his surroundings. A man constantly looking for the next main chance (or worried about angry former marks) has to. At least if he wants to live long enough to retire.
So he was looking out the window and noticed puffs of dust, even as he was trying to fleece his fellow passengers.
'What was that? he was no Westerner, used to such big distance and distant shapes.
'Folks, I think we shall have to table the game." With long practiced ease Casey grabs all the cards and shoves into the pack while pointing at the dust clouds. 'we have company and I don't think they want dealt in."
"Bandits," Art muttered, jarring both of his companions out of the awkward silence. "We need to do something."
Art gets up and moves toward the forward door linking the cars and looks to see if there is a way to lock or block it.
When Roy spots the clouds, his gut twists around like a knife is digging through his stomach. He squints at the dust and realizes what's likely happening. After a moment, he stands and draws his knife, moving to the door. One of the other passengers catches his gaze as he moves and he nods his head toward the rear of the train. "Bandits coming. Get ready."
- - - - -
At the commotion that begins at word of danger, Spencer takes on a worried look and grabs for his camera box. It isn't so much a hope to capture the event on film, or defend himself or his possession. It's just instinct and not knowing what else to do.
- - - - -
Tekumsah frowns at the word of danger, and wishes he still had the knife and pistol he'd usually wear during his work. They belonged to the bosses, not him, though, and all he had now was a branding iron--not much good in a fight, especially since he'd put it in the freight car. He was good with his fists, though, so if it came to it he'd be ready enough.
After a moment, [Roy] stands and draws his knife, moving to the door. One of the other passengers catches his gaze as he moves and he nods his head toward the rear of the train. "Bandits coming. Get ready."
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Three of the bandits swing free from their horses, landing quietly on the small landing beyond the door. Several others ride past, heading for cars further up the line, but you're all likely too focused on the immediate to catch precisely how many.
Art, you rise just after Roy's warning, having noticed the interlopers yourself at that very moment.
Art gets up and moves toward the forward door linking the cars and looks to see if there is a way to lock or block it.
"Um... you could use my trunk?" squeaks a timid voice from the lady wearing a suit. She looks at Art uncomfortably with a shrug. Indeed, it seems to be the largest thing in the room other than a bench (which are bolted down), though there could be something she's missing.
There is indeed a door, hinged to swing inward and lockable, but you certainly don't have the requisite key. The jumpers will be at the door in a matter of seconds, so without anything else to hinder them there won't be enough time to get that trunk into place before they're in.
What would you like to do?
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Several of the other passengers cower down behind their benches. The man with his son rises momentarily, but quickly rethinks that position when his young son follows suit.
"I ended up in the wrong car," Perre, the darker skinned gentleman from first class utters beneath his breath.
Art flattens against the wall beside the doorway, taking a quick look to see if anything is in arm's reach to use as a possible weapon against the first person to enter the cabin.
Pamela and Mr. Clean hunker down behind the benches they were just sitting on. While Pamela pulls out her knife and says low, Mr. Clean reaches in his pocket and pulls out the sole tool he had taken from his now deserted business. Scapel in hand, Mr. Clean peers out the window to see what's going on better.
There's a push-broom (1d3 - breaks on a 3) near the door, close enough to grab, but that's about it. You may also have your trusty gavel on hand. If so, we'll see who the lucky winner of this auction is should he/she come through that door your watchin'.
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Mr. Clean, keeping low you get a peek out the window at the riders going past. You're good at counting, which is necessary if you care to know how many teeth a man's lost, and figure there's seven riders heading further up the chain of cars. Three of them are beginning to board the First Class car and the next four are heading toward the engine.
Back the other way there's a whole mess of 'em - 5 you count - boarding the armored car near the back.
There's also a cart several yards back, and dipping further. Whoever's racing that cart is clearly trying to catch your interlopers. If you can stop or at least slow the train then they should be able to catch up and lend a hand!
Archie stands up, palms sweating. he had never been very brave despite his muscles. Still he says, "Let's work together! Can we bar the doors?" Even as he speaks he paws for his axe
Barney leaps to his feet, old battle juices flowing. He pulls his sabre rather dramatically, 'This man is right. We must work as a unit, like soldiers. Togetehr, we can beat back any slovenly bandits. What weapons do we have?"
Casey palms his small pocket pistol, edging away from the windows and doors.
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Archie stands up, palms sweating. he had never been very brave despite his muscles. Still he says, "Let's work together! Can we bar the doors?" Even as he speaks he paws for his axe.
With a little time you could get that steamer trunk in the way, or someone could hold it momentarily with their body if they're willing. But who knows how strong/desperate these bandits are.
Myles hefts his hammer and slaps its heavy head against his palm grimly, watching the door and crouching slightly into a ready position. He didn't like getting violent but he wasn't afraid of getting his hands dirty at all.
Behind him, Diggory Priest looks down at his branding iron. The vision said that I would encounter hardships on the road, he thinks to himself. This must be what it was referring to.
He looks down at Edward, who is cowering lower in his seat and trying to look unobtrusive, while clutching conspicuously at his bag. "Can you use that letter opener?" he asks him, gesturing with one finger. "I could use the knife to defend myself if those bandits come in here. I'd give it back. Or you could take it off my body if I get killed."
Edward flinches when Diggory addresses him directly, but appears relieved that someone wants to use his knife in his defense instead of him. After a moment's hesitation, he hands over the instrument to Diggory, who grins and holds it in his off-hand.
The trio finally settled by the steerage car, where they found a passenger willing to lend them -and play with them- a deck to play Poker. No betting, though, as none of the players were eager to gamble with the littlw coin the called their savings.
As the commotion regarding the bandits started, each of them reacted differently. having only heard of bandits, exchanged looks with Thomas who was a tad too calm given the situation. The pious cooper twirled his moustache as he stood up "I saw the workers load weapons to the armored car, I need some hands to come with me and alert them! We need weapons!" he said,, yelling the last part as he looked around "Brick, help that fellow there block the entrance with the missus' trunk. Blueboy, come with me. Blueboy?..." the last time was a sort of question as he noticed already standing, with his right hand placed over a gun that wasn't there anymore. Intrigued, Thomas waited for his younger friend to react and head forward to some weapons. A sad but determined look was the only anwswer the saddler provided before following Thomas.
nodded and answered "Copy'd, Tom. Bring me my hammer, I know jackshit 'bout guns... I only used pa's rifle once and almost blown his hand off." before moving to help the best he could moving heavy objects to the entrance.
Archie moves to help block the door.
Barney pokes a head out the window to see what is going on.
Casey looks at the other door and ponders escaping into the freight car.
Order: Blue Drake, Bandits, All other PCs
As everyone's scrambling and calling orders, the front door beside Art flies open with a splintering crack. The tall woman who kicked it open from the other side has a grey bandanna tied over her lower face and a dusty cap pulled low. You can tell she has a long face and a somewhat gravelly voice, but that's it.
"Sounds like we din't get the jump on ya we was hopin' for. But I still hope noneya'll're fetchin' t'be heroes. Heroes die out this way."
She's got a pistol already unholstered and raised just enough to still have the jump on anyone, and a look in her eyes that says she just might use it to prove her point anyway.
Behind her, a second bandit presses his/her back against the dining car and pops that door open quietly to check for passengers within. The third is pressed outside your own door in a similar manner, as you can see his cap as he peaks around the corner long enough to survey how his amigo fares within.
None of them see Art just yet beside them.
Rallied by Archie's words, the father revives the fire within that was almost smoldered before. He begins to rise defiantly and furiously from his seat.
What do you all do?
As the car erupts into action, with calls for defense against the bandits, Spencer remains in his seat, unprepared for this sort of ruckus. He's quick and has steady hands, and his mind is sharp, but he isn't used to real threats of danger like this, not yet. At the cry for help moving to open the freight cars, though, he finally begins to move.
- - - - -
Tekumsah stands near his seat, fists clenched, eyes trained on the door as the bandits arrive. He gives a quick look to Perre, but doesn't reply at the moment. There's more pressing matters, and when the door is kicked open, he stands still for a moment, staring at the gun and wondering what's to be done.
- - - - -
Having warned the others, Roy moves to the front door and flexes his grip on the knife. When the door bursts open and the woman steps in, he stares back at her, unflinching. His eyes show no fear for the gun or her demeanor, only cold anger and readiness.
- - - - -
Staring Roy in the face, the woman lifts the pistol in her hand to level it at the center of the man's chest. "Are you the first hero, Roy? I won't make the same mistake Logan did."
Before the Scotsman could answer, however, the gunshot rang through the passenger car.
The scarred man with a gun in his chest didn't drop... but the father creeping up behind him did. Bolstered by the earlier speech and sensing his window in Roy's defiance, the father seated behind the card game had been slowly moving forward to take action - but only made about half the distance.
"That was the first hero, Sal," laughed the bandanna clad man at the door behind the first bandit, smoking gun in his hand. "Whoever your dog is, he'll have to settle for number two."
Roy spares no words for the woman or her friend, barely reacting to the gunshot when it rings out. Once you've been shot to death once, the prospect of it happening again loses some of its terror. He simply lunges in, pushing her gun aside with his free hand as he plunges his knife into her chest.
- - - - -
"Oh my--" The words from Spencer are cut off as the violence erupts, and he drops low to the ground, suddenly very out of his element. Without any weapon or knowledge to defend himself, the photographer decides that just getting cover and keeping his head down might be the best option.
- - - - -
When the fighting breaks out, Tekumsah isn't sure what to do--he's a little far back to move in for a fistfight, and the bandits are armed with guns. The great big fool with the knife looks ready to go down fighting, but Tekumsah isn't so sure he wants to throw his life away for a bunch of people he doesn't even know--and the bandits were awfully quick to put down the first man who got too antsy about putting up a fight. For now he stays put, but he casts about for something he might be able to grab and swing if need be.
As if by reflex Casey shoots back at the bandit with the gun.
Barney shouts and treis to rally everyone by charging forward.
Archie stands paralyzed inf ear and doubt, axe limp in his hand.
"You coward son of a whoooore" yells as he charges as a bull at the bandit that fired. Brick wasn't a hero, he was a simple man which a deep hatred of those that leeched of others' honest work. Specially those cold blooded enough to kill for it.
"Damn you Brick, the hell are you doing?" exclaimed at his friend's sudden action. Thomas firmly grabbed him by the shoulder and hurried him "If want to save his sorry ass we better run and grab the guns! C'mon Blueboy!"
"It's getting pretty heated in here," says Myles the farrier, still holding his hammer in a defensive position and staring at the bandit at the front of the car, while addressing Edward the Librarian. "Come on, let's sneak out the back." So saying, the broad-shouldered man tugs the smaller librarian out of his seat with one hand, dragging him toward the back of the car and away from the bandit with the gun. "My letter-opener!" Edward protests meekly, waving at Diggory as he is pulled away.
Diggory is already imagining the bandit with the gun as some kind of menacing bovine with a gun instead. The inner vision fills his veins with pumping blood carrying adrenaline to all corners of his body. With a toothy grin, he follows up on Brick, waiting for the battle to be decided one way or the other to lend support. In this tight space, it's too risky to try to wade into the fight with his hammer swinging. He waits for his opportunity.
Sal's gun fires up through the roof of the passenger car, releasing a thin beam of light down over Roy. Her eyes are wide in shock and she begins to mutter something in defiance, but the words don't come. Struggling to breathe, she drops to her knees at the Scotsman's feet. The gun tumbles from her hand and the dusty cap drops as well, revealing the short blonde hair beneath.
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Tekumsah takes note of the netting fastened to the wall, as well as some loose boards peeling from the walls. They're a bit rotted and soft, but a board hits better than a fist, eh? Beyond that, he doesn't seem much luckier than Art was.
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