Focused on recording his engine-sparked epiphany, Doc doesn't realize what's about to happen until he feels Jade's lips brush his cheek. Unsure how to react, he feigns being so engrossed in his writing that he's not even aware.
Head still down as if studying his still-drying pen strokes, his eyes flick up to watch her as she moves away.
"..."
Mallory enters the dining car just in time to see Jade Wen bend down and kiss Loveless on the cheek. Flushed jealousy and anger sweep across her face and she considers, not for the first time, the act of raising her gun and ending his life. Instead she takes a deep breath, knowing that this distraction will be over soon and she'll be back on her way to, well, wherever she's going. 'Reckon I ought figure that out.' She thinks with a grimace.
By the time they arrive at Outpost 7, Mal's body is screaming in exhaustion. The running, fighting, scrambling across the roof of the train, and then helping with repairs had really taken a toll on her. All she can think about is how nice it would be to kick back with a drink - a notion that makes her feel even worse when she realises how empty her pockets are. She scoffs as the train pulls up to the Outpost, and she hears others addressing it as Last Hope. 'Ain't no hope out here. Not in a long time.' She pulls her jacket tight around herself, fully prepared to have to spend a night sleeping in doorways. As she's leaving the train (without saying a goodbye to the others, of course), an official from the railway company stops them.
A combination of surprise and pleasure hits Mal as she's able to collect the bounty on Scalping Jack (even if she does have to share it). Still, she's an outlaw first, and she shows the bump on her head and the limp in her walk as a means to try and get extra pay. By the time she reaches a local tavern, she's in a pretty good mood, which only increases when they refuse to take any of her money. 'Ain't callin' it hope, but it ain't half bad.' She thinks to herself as she downs her third drink.
The insistence of the other patrons to talk about what happened begins to irritate her and damage her buzz. After threatening them with pain of death to leave her alone doesn't work, she sighs, and downs the rest of her drink, and stands up. She's turning towards the door before she stops. 'S'alright.' She tells herself. 'They just wanna have fun.'
She makes her way over to one of the emptier tables and climbs on top. Reaching beneath her duster with a smile, she removes a violin. Pausing to tighten the wraps around her hands, she looks at the blurred crowd, hoping that The Doc and Ben ended up in a different place for the night, before launching into a song.
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Ben was feeling mighty fine, all things considered. Not only had he gotten the bounty that lyin' polecat Mal had told him didn't exist, but she'd disappeared without taking him up on his promise of a drink, so he didn't have to seethe over it. A promise was a promise, but if she didn't want to take him up on it, well, he wasn't going to go lookin' for her. That way, he figured, he wouldn't run into the gnomes, either. He'd hate to have to shoot the Doctor dead in the street in front of his adoring public.
With people slapping his back and offering him both respect and drinks, and not a one of 'em gunning for him, he was in fine spirits when he finished the lone beer he'd been nursing and the tale of how he put down the band of monsters, especially the worst of them, Scalping Jack. Begging off further drink regretfully and waving off more calls to tell the story of his hair-raising fight, he went out to find if the gold weighing his belt pouch down could be put to use repairing the odd elvish antiquity he was carrying about.
He was sidetracked by the sound of a violin threading its way through the one-horse town. Curiosity got the better of him, and he followed it... until he heard a whiskey-hoarse voice singing. Familiar, that voice was, even if he'd never heard her sing.
Standing outside, he lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall, eyes following anything that moved while the rest of him stood still as stone, save for taking the occasional puff. He'd never have admitted it was because he was listening to the music. In any case, he'd be on his way in a minute. He just wanted to finish that smoke first, was all.
What's up with the Medicine? Is that going to this city here or do we have to take it with us?
The official from the Railroad hesitated originally, saying he wasn't authorized to pay out anymore. But he swore to you that he would see what he could do.
Mal earns a king's ransom in tips that night. At the end of the night, once she tallies it up, it ends up being 6gp worth. She had been in rare form that night, and many of the patrons had been aboard the train and didn't mind giving a little extra.
It seems like half the town showed up to hear Mal sing.
***
A lovely woman in a crimson red dress, and flowing black hair approaches Ben. She gets close, very close. And she smells like lilacs and fresh soap.
"A handsome feller, such as yourself, shouldn't go to bed alone, if he can help it."
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The train groans to a halt after limping the rest of the way to Outpost 7, but Doc is almost too exhausted to care. He remains slumped on a rare unbloodied, unbroken seat he'd stumbled across, staring out the car's window and thinking on what had transpired over the last several hours.
He's too tired to even snort in disdain as he watches first one, then the other, gunslinger exit the train and make a beeline each for their own choice of tavern. "Spirits," he mutters wearily to himself. "Abhor the stuff. Makes a person less than human. And those two are already borderline."
Eventually, he drags himself to his feet and into the room the rail company had provided. "Definitely going to feel today tomorrow," he laments as he flops face-forward onto the bed, out almost before he hits the covers.
The jury listens raptly as the prosecutor shreds Doc's character. "No better than these goblins!" he shouts as he points at the rowdy monstrosities in the gallery, destroying the benches with delighted abandon. "No better than these goblins!" he chants again as he turns to the jury and points at Doc, sitting in the witness chair.
"No better than these goblins!" the prosecutor snarls one last time as he turns towards Loveless.
Unable to mount a defense, Doc sits mutely staring at the lawyer. A man with an all-too-familiar face. Leland's face.
"What say you?" asks the judge. As one after another juror flatly intones "Guilty," Doc looks towards the jury box... a box full of Lelands.
"GUILTY!" barks the judge in agreement, slamming his gavel down with a force that shakes the walls of the courtroom. Loveless jumps at the sound and turns to look up at The Honorable Judge Leland Hopkins.
The judge taunts him with his own words. "Ultimately we are all prisoners... Because we cannot escape ourselves. Stone walls are never so much a prison as the skin that surrounds each of us. For your crime against a brother gnome, you are hereby sentenced to life without parole as yourself. May The Great Engineer have mercy on your soul... if you in fact have one!"
And then... nothingness. Dusty moonlight filters through the window and illuminates Doc's body as it twitches fitfully on the bed.
Leland spends the evening in a quiet corner of the saloon, nursing a sarsaparilla and ignoring the calls from the locals to tell the tale of what happened on the train. Laid out in front of him are an assortment of rumpled pieces of paper with jotted notes and statements from the surviving passengers. He wanted to get his report finished before the train left and was going to burn the midnight oil if need be to make that happen. "Worst part of the job..."
Morning found him in the same seat, head on the table, snoring softly. A finished report serving as a pillow.
A lovely woman in a crimson red dress, and flowing black hair approaches Ben. She gets close, very close. And she smells like lilacs and fresh soap."A handsome feller, such as yourself, shouldn't go to bed alone, if he can help it."
Ben regarded the woman appraisingly for a long moment. Normally this was the kind of offer he wouldn't refuse, but normally he wasn't carrying a small fortune in gold. He'd be an awful fool to lose it over a pretty woman with light fingers... well, to lose all of it, at least.
"Ma'am, you speak the gods' own truth," he said with a devilish grin, smoke curling from his cigarette. "Now, it so happens that I got a bit of business to attend to, but why don't you tell me your name and where I can find you when I'm done, darlin'?"
Mallory woke up and immediately wished she hadn't. Gun to her head, she'd have been hard pressed to make a decision out of what part of her body was in the worst amount of pain. It seemed to radiate from everywhere, and when it seemed like her legs had the worst of it, the hangover would take over and screams of agony bounced around inside her skull. Immediately upon getting herself into a sitting position, she threw up all over the floor.
"Someone'll clean that up." she muttered, pushing back her bangs and tossing on her hat. A glance out the window told her that it was still early, which was good. She had matters to attend to. After forcing herself to take deep breaths, she realised she wasn't going to make it out of this one without some help. Pulling the flask out from her pocket, she took a few deep gulps, confident in the belief that more was better.
Staggering out of the small room, she nodded to the man at the desk, and quickly made her way outside and back towards the train station, where she did her best to scout out someone important. A gnome stood with his back to her, looking important without seeming to do anything. 'Always gnomes.' she thought with a grimace. She tapped the man on the top of the head and introduced herself as he turned around, flashing a quick grin. "Mallory Lewis. Got me some important cargo on this here train, wanted to check on it 'fore we leave."
Ben is looking to get the parts to upgrade his pistol to a masterwork weapon (300gp with Gunsmithing). If that isn't possible here, he'll just risk his gold with the ladies.
The woman in red smiles coquettishly at Ben. She pulled out a long cigarette from a box stuffed down her bodice. She then put the cigarette in her mouth, leaned forward and touched the tip of it to the lit cherry of Ben's cancer stick, hanging from his lips.
She takes a long drag, and blows the smoke out.
"Lacy. They call me Lacy."
She winked at Ben.
"And don't worry, cowboy. I'll be around."
She turned away and, well, didn't "walk" so much as "saunter away hypnotically".
***
Hamish arrives at the bar, looking much to old for his age. He sees Leland passed out at the bar and smiles.
He gently shook the gnome awake.
"Time to wake up, Old Man. The Rails wait for no gnome."
***
When Mal questions the gnome about the cargo, he checks his manifest.
"Uh, Miss Lewis? That cargo was claimed this morning by a Mr. Alistair Kincaid. It was originally meant for Dry City, but he wanted it returned to New Oasis immediately."
Ben blew a long stream of smoke after Lacy had left. Music or no music, he'd a mind to get his business done and move on to... more important things.
***
He woke early, a trait that had saved his life more than once. While he sometimes regretted not drinking more, as he momentarily did with the dream of Jack's laughter fading from his mind, getting up feeling hale and hearty and un-stabbed or -shot in his sleep more than outweighed that regret. The lack of sleep he didn't mind at all, he thought with a grin as he glanced at Lacy, or at least, what could be seen of her under the blanket. Especially since the rest of his money, his spare parts and Jack's pack full of his things were all still where he'd left them. Sometimes you got lucky, he philosophized.
Without a moment's consideration, he left a few heavy gold coins on her dresser before slipping out the door. He might be back this way someday, after all, and like the lady had said, it'd be a damn shame for him to sleep alone.
When he got to the train, trailing a thin stream of smoke and with a swagger in his step, he saw none other than that lyin' polecat Mal talking to a gnome - not one of the gnomes from yesterday, thankfully. It just figured she'd be movin' on today - prob'ly wore out her welcome, if the gods were good. He caught the tail-end of what the gnome said, and frowned.
That there medicine was prob'ly worth a fortune in Dry City. Maybe he'd best have a chat with Mr. Kincaid. If the Gambler was of a mind to lend Ben a bit of credit, he could have the man dead in the dust and the other gunslinger with the blame while he took his merry ride to Dry City with the medicine.
'Course, he'd have to find out who the man was, first. He started to slink off, thinking to drop a casual question somewhere it wouldn't be remembered.
Mallory starts to nod, satisfied that the medicine has become someone else's problem. The name Kincaid didn't strike her as familiar, but she doesn't particularly care, either. It was one thing when it was on her way, but she had no interest in going toe-to-toe with some fancy businessman over a few pills.
Until she saw Ben out of the corner of her eye.
'Boy's a shifty one.' she reckons as he listens in and quietly sneaks off. It had been easy to blindly believe that this Kincaid could have well been a proper man, colleague of Vincente's, intent on helpin' the sick. But she'd seen Ben enough by now to know that he played by a different set of rules. Her eyes narrow as she turns back to the gnome.
"Let me get this straight, son. I save your train, kill dozens of goblins, take down a dangerous criminal, and you're so damn foolish that you go an' give away my cargo?" She was already reaching for her gun. "Boy you got all of five seconds to tell me where I can find him 'fore I replace your eyes with bloody holes."
Doc stumbles down the stairs, bleary-eyed after a restless night filled with haunting dreams.
"Tea," he croaks to the serving girl. "Tea. Honey. Breakfast. Big. Go."
The Serving Girl nods.
"Yes, Sir." And then runs off. A moment later she comes back. "Uh, Sir, I don't believe we have any tea. I could get you coffee," she suggests.
When Loveless glares at her she relents.
"I'll - I'll stop by the General Store. See if they have some."
She runs away.
From across the bar, Hamish notices the good Doctor.
"Good morning, Doc. It's good to see you."
He then continues to gently prod Leland awake.
***
The gnome facing Mal visibly shrinks in front of her.
"I'm - I'm - I'm s-sorry, Ma'am. But Mister Kincaid had the proper paperwork. Stamped by the Rails and all. The boxes are his. And he wants them in New Oasis. Not Dry City."
***
Doc rubs his eyes and then motions the Apprentice Conductor over to his table.
"Hamish... it is Hamish, isn't it?" He nods a tired head towards Leland. "He's had a rough time of it; let him sleep. What did you need from him, something I can handle in his stead?"
From his table Leland opens his eye a slit, "Don't see much needing to be exploded around here, so probably not."
He sits up with a groan, as his back crackles and pops, and peels off the top page of this report from where it had stuck to his cheek.
"Whatcha need Hamish? Must be something official for your to be bothering me so early."
Ben moseyed on into the saloon he'd been in the night before, returning hails and greetings with a polite touch to the brim of his hat. While it might be early for drinking, it was never too early for gambling, and he could afford to lose a little coin if it made the locals talkative. He joined a table playing cards, played a few rounds, then began to ease into the real reason he was there.
"I hear tell some fella's takin' the medicine on the train we brought in back where he came from. And after takin' on Scalpin' Jack just to get it there, too. Mighty shame for them sick children in Dry City," he sighed, hoping someone would take the bait. "That other 'slinger come in with me, she's hoppin' mad. I sure wouldn't want to be in that man's shoes."
Mallory looked at the gnome, trying to hide her disgust as he shook in his boots. She shoved her gun back into the holster, thinking that it wouldn't even be fun to shoot the little man. " You're jus' doin' yer job, an I get that. I'm just tryin' to do mine. Now look, I ain't askin' you to move them again, ain't askin' you to stop the train. That fellah Kincaid will do that his own self once I explain to him the terrible mistake he's made. Just tell me where he is and I'll be on my way."
"Oh." Drat, he's already awake. Doc clears his throat uneasily. "Morning, brother."
The gnome answers Mal quickly.
"I think Kincaid owns a saloon. Or, at least, his pappy does. I'm pretty sure it's called the Blue Rose."
***
An old halfling card player looks over his cards at Ben and antes up.
"That's a might shame. What dumb bastard is trying to take medsin' from kids?" he asks as he takes a sip of whiskey from a shot glass.
***
Hamish chuckles at the banter between the two gnomes, unaware there is actual resentment in the air.
"Actually, I should probably talk to both of you. I've been up half the night at the Telegraph Office. People are riled up, and want answers. Especially since lots of the folks in First Class were slaughtered. And, of course, First Class means money. And money means powerful people. Nothing like angry, scared rich folks to upset the balance."
Hamish sighed.
"Anyway, the goblins were smuggled in using boxes with some sort of conjur - conjuraaa -- uh, summoning runes. It's powerful magic, and should have been caught. We think one of our own in New Oasis sneaked it by. Maybe he was bribed or coerced, we don't know. But there's a dead gnome back there whose body has been mutilated. So we can't question his corpse."
Hamish looked sick.
"I wasn't aware that was something our preachers could do."
"Anyway, he was killed after the train left, so the one thing we do know is that Scalping Jack had help."
He sighed again.
"The whole thing's a mess. I mean, was this a conspiracy of some sort? Who would want to hurt the Rails?"
"Some rich fella, I suppose," Ben fished some more. "Kincaid, I think his name was. I don't guess he's local?"
Hamish's remark about talking to the both of them catches Doc's attention, and a bit of his tiredness is forgotten when the lad starts speaking of the goblinoid terrorists. He snorts at the mention of them being smuggled onto the train in crates. "I said as much in the very beginning. Obvious, really."
Loveless slides off his chair and walks over to Leland's table as Hamish shares the rest of the information. "Might not have been the Rails. Maybe someone wanted one those 'rich folks' gone. Or there was some cargo that needed destroying. There are more straightforward means to either end, but perhaps it had to look like an accident."
He claims a seat across the table from Leland. "Seemingly well-planned and -bankrolled, the whole thing. Except for relying on goblins for anything of importance; that's just insanity."
Thoughtful for a moment, Doc looks at Hamish. "Did any of those crates survive? I wouldn't mind a peek at those runes. A ward of secrecy or an SEP field would make sense, but..." Turning back to Leland he comments, "You're clearly a summoner of some ability; how would conjuration runes fit into all this?"
"Probably some kind of teleportation set up. Straight up conjuration don't normally last that long. If that's the case, then we're talking some fancy mojo. Seems like a whole lot of trouble for an assassination. Easier ways of destroying an engine too. I think the accident angle is probably right. Maybe someone is trying to discredit the Rails, or maybe the Brakeman himself. I don't like this at all."
Turning to Hamish, 'Any new order come in over the wire?"
Mal grins a twisted smirk at the gnome. "See that? Ain't so hard." She starts to swagger off, pausing briefly to turn and give a playfully mocking salute. "Be seein' you." And with that, she disappeared into the town, searching for this so-called Blue Rose.
Mal locates the Blue Rose Saloon without too much fuss. It helps that there ain't a whole lot of town. It has a bright blue sign, with a stylized blue rose etched into it. The swinging double doors are also painted blue.
There doesn't appear to be much business at this hour.
***
The halfling gambler chokes on his whiskey and then spits it out. A healthy amount of it lands on Ben's face.
"Have you lost your religion, boy!? Them Kincaids is bad news. And that boy Alistair mayhap be the worst of the bunch. What he lacks in his daddy's smarts he more than makes up for in violence. Don't be dealing with that one."
He stared down at his empty shot glass.
"You see what you done did? Tch! Damn fool boy done gone and made me spill my whiskey. I ought to break your fingers off and make you eat them."
He then waves his hand, and the whiskey is magically erased from Ben's face.
"Ruth! Refill! And give this feller here one on me. It might be his last drink, so make it a stiff one."
***
Hamish nods and starts to pat his pockets. Eventually he finds a folded piece of paper and hands it to Leland.
LELAND HOPKINS. STOP.
CONTINUE WITH MISSION TO TIN STAR. STOP.
MISSION REVISED. STOP.
EVALUATE TIN STAR FOR POSSIBLE RAILWAY EXPANSION. STOP.
INCLUDE FEASIBILITY STUDY. STOP.
STUDY DUE IN 3 MONTHS. STOP.
"Something about the... 'incident'?"
Hamish shakes his head while Leland reads the Telegram.
"No. Correspondence from the Company. That boomtown everyone keeps talking about - Tin Star. Some folks want to see if it's worth the bother extending the Rails that way."
Loveless rubs his chin in thought. "Hmm... not a spur-of-the-moment question, surely. I wonder how many know about this."
He looks from Hamish to Leland. "Is it possible someone doesn't want the line going to Tin Star? Seems a bit far-fetched, but then so does what we've just been through."
Hamish considers for a moment.
"Well, I'm sure plenty wouldn't want a line going up to Tin Star. The Kincaids in particular own lots of mines and wouldn't want the competition. But I don't see how Scalping Jack would figure into that. Even if they killed Leland, the Rails would just eventually send someone else."
Doc shrugs. "Buying time, maybe. Something's going on and they don't want anyone from the railroad around for now. If they'd succeeded, it would have taken a while to clear the wreckage and rebuild the torn-up rail bed."
"Or maybe this isn't the be-all-end-all, and they plan to continue crashing trains on this run until the company gives up on Outpost 13, let alone Tin Star. Or discrediting the rail, like Leland said."
"We're all gnomes here, we know the rail's being run for a profit, not out of hearts' goodness. Cost the company enough money, do enough damage to their reputation, they'll pull back, wash their hands of a route."
He reaches absently for his tea, then realizes he still doesn't have any. "Dammit," he mutters as he pulls a whetstone out of his bag and begins honing a dagger to keep his hands busy and his mind off breakfast.
"I can't imagine there's a lot to be made out here," he adds. "Profit margin has to be thin. Maybe they figure even one black eye will drive off enough business and cost the rail enough money to back off."
His eyes narrow and he points the dagger at Hamish. "And there's another possible angle. Does the company have insurance? Is there a way someone could benefit from a claim payout?"
Mallory walks in, pausing briefly to let her eyes adjust to the darkened saloon before walking up to the bar and dropping a coin onto it. "Whiskey." she says simply. She looks around curiously while waiting for her drink. Once it arrives she'll nod at the bartender, "Where can I find Alistair?"
Ben slowly stood, staring down at the halfling. "Old timer, maybe you got the age to call a man 'boy', and you dried up what you spat in my face, so I'll be generous about that and call it even. But no one threatens to break off Ben Dalton's fingers, even in jest, and lives to tell the tale. Why don't you step outside with me, and we'll see if your magic's faster'n a bullet. I'm askin' you politely, on account of you offerin' to buy that drink."
From behind him, Ben heard Ruth bust-a-gut laughing. She placed a shot of whiskey in front of him and the halfling and walked behind her bar, still chuckling.
Meanwhile, the old halfling looked at Ben up-and-down, seeming to see right through him. A single finger scratched the point of his chin where a few grey, scraggly hairs had made a home. Finally, he shrugged.
"Nah. You ain't the type. Else you'd have jumped off that train when you had the chance. Don't get me wrong, I reckon you wish you was the type. Be so much easier."
The old halfling sighed and downed his new shot of whiskey.
"Been years since I had me a proper duel, I got to admit. But I can't be doing that no more, no way. Even if you was half-serious."
"Hazard of the life. Sometimes you survive. And then you just don't know what to do with yourself no more. And then, some idjits go and ask you to do something stupid. And before you know it, there you are, being all respectable," he said with a scoff.
The halfling reached into his overcoat, making Ben flinch. He pulled out a shiny metal star and threw it on the table.
In common it had the word Sheriff engraved on it.
"Now you'd best just go on and finish your drink quiet and friendly like, and this here unpleasantness can be forgotten. Just some hot talk between men. Happens all the time. Sure'n ain't no cause for dying."
The Sheriff took the cards and started to shuffle them. He started to deal them out between Ben and himself. He's quiet for a long moment.
"Anyways, it's a right shame what's happening to them folk in Dry City. I tells ya, if someone were to steal that medicine away from the Blue Rose Saloon, well a feller might look the other way. Lawman or not."
The sheriff took a peek at his cards, and then gave Ben a significant look.
"Now, you gonna pick up that hand? Or do you got somewhere else to be?"
Hamish looked uncomfortable at the thought of treating the Rails so skeptically, but he nodded regardless.
"I suppose it's possible," he admitted. "But this is all a bit beyond me. I'm just an apprentice conductor. I don't know much about the business side of things, really."
Hamish sighed.
"Only I guess that's not true no more. I've -- I've been promoted. I'm being made Conductor. At least, on a probationary basis. It feels wrong, though. I don't think I did much of anything to warrant it."
"It wasn't me saving the train when we needed it. It was you guys."
***
The woman tending the bar placed a shot of whiskey in front of Mal with a shaky hand, but she doesn't answer Mal's question.
"You'll need to forgive Suzy. She's a simple girl. Frightens easy."
To Mal's right sits three men. One of them she recognizes as the man she found in the wreckage of the cabin with the Bugbear.
He looks Mal up and down slowly in a way that makes her skin crawl.
"I'm Kincaid. Heard you playing last night." He smiles lasciviously at her. "I like a woman who knows how to use her hands."
Mal stiffens slightly at the notice of the girl's bruise, memories of her old life flooding back to her. It's enough for her to take an instant dislike to Kincaid, though his lecherous words certainly didn't help his first impression.
The difference between them, she figured, was that she had no problem killing someone, but she knew exactly what she was doing when she did it. She felt like she knew Kincaid in two seconds of sizing him up. Came from money. Ain't ever had someone say no. More than that, he thought power came from what he had, 'stead of who he was.
She makes a mental note that if the chance came up, she should shoot him.
Below the belt, at the very least.
"Most girls frighten easy." Mal replies, coolly. She ignores his other comment, but narrows her eyes at it. 'Reckon I'll show you 'fore long what else I can do with my hands.' she thinks, but instead replies "Heard you might have took something don't belong to you."
Doc scoffs and looks at Hamish, the dagger-sharpening rhythm unbroken. "I'll tell you what you did: You survived."
He returns his attention to the dagger. "So many lost their lives, that alone justifies a promotion. At least, a promotion in quote marks. But you kept your head, too. Hamish, you were badly wounded -- not to insult you, but probably scared too -- and you still did what needed to be done."
Loveless looks at the youngster again. "Talk about what 'we' did all you want. How far do you think we'd have gotten if you hadn't given Leland the service car key? And as soon as you were on your feet again you were all about helping the passengers. I love gnomekind but let's face it: Many of us could never measure up to you yesterday. There's something special in you, brother, and the powers that be can see that."
Back to the dagger again. "Be proud of who and what you are, Hamish. You have no idea how fortunate you are."
Pulling back the sleeve of his duster to test the dagger's edge against his arm hair before continuing to sharpen, he adds, "And... congratulations."
Figures it's the Sheriff, Ben thought wryly. Killin' him'd be takin' on more trouble than I care to at the end o' the train line, with nowhere to go. At least he seems all right... for a Lawman.
"Badge ain't no license t'be runnin' your mouth disrespectful at folk, and it ain't no comfort in the coffin, but you seem like a decent enough sort despite it. I reckon I got time for another hand with a respectable old feller, even one what talks down to a man who's been toe-to-toe with Scalpin' Jack and won." Ben sat down again, taking his shot and emptying it in one swallow.
"But then I got places to be. Ante up, old timer."
William was not a happy man, which was an odd state for him to be in. Usually all smiles, he stared into his drink and barely gave Mal an acknowledging glance as she walked in.
The source of said discomfort sat across from him, smiling lecherously at the new bar patron. Alistair was just bad news written all over and if it weren't for the fact that the man supposedly held information useful to him, William would have left a long time ago. As it was, he was performing a stint as the man's hired muscle, something that rankled him greatly. So far though, he hadn't been asked to do anything particularly objectionable, but he knew it was only a matter of time.
Sensing the tension between the two, Will ever-so-slightly slid his chair away from Alistair. Wouldn't do to get caught in the exchange early on, be they words or lead.
Alistair Kincaid smiles at Mal.
"You'll need to be a bit more specific, Darling. Lots of things are mine, that folks thinks is theirs instead."
Beside him one of his men tries to subtly scoot back. But the other man, looks as if he's from The Lotus Empire or maybe The Banzai Islands. He seems to stare a hole at Mal.
***
Hamish nods at Doctor Loveless.
"Thanks."
The serving girl returns with a steaming plate of food. "Tea will be ready shortly."
***
Ben makes his way over to the Blue Rose Saloon, a few silvers shorter than before.
"Take the promotion and be happy, Hamish. You kept a cool head when most would have lost their religion. You done good and if anybody actually reads this thing," Leland taps his report, "I've no doubt that conductor will be only the fist stop in a rise to bigger and better things."
Doc quickly sets the dagger and whetstone aside and turns his attention to the meal before him.
"Excuse me while I make this plate visible. I was so tired last night I just fell into bed. I haven't eaten since..." He pauses to think. "Heavens, since dinner in the cabin! Much longer and I'd just waste away," he adds as he attacks the meal with vigor.
DM, is there a back way into the saloon? Ben would try that first, in an effort to keep a low profile.
Ben approaches the rear entrance. The back area is blocked by a fence.
Ben made an effort to hop the fence, hoping not to land flat on his face in a pile of bottles...
Mal and Porter both hear a noise coming from the back.
Mr. Gulch stiffens. "We are not alone," he says in a gravelly voice.
Kincaid's jaw tightens in anger.
"Mr. Porter," he said brusquely. "Why don't you go and fetch our guest. Ain't no need to be impolite."
***
Hamish thanks Leland and Loveless and leaves solemnly.
Breakfast decimated, Doc leans back with a belch of approval and a sigh of satisfaction. "That's better. If only two nearly sleepless nights could be addressed as easily."
He slides down from the seat, digs into his money pouch, and places some coins on the table. "My apologies for disturbing your morning, brother. I need to pick up some gear and such -- as well as claim that complimentary potion -- so I'll leave you in peace now."
He picks up his medical bag and starts to walk away, then pauses and turns back. "And I'll... try to stay out of your way from here on out."
William stops looking about for the source of the noise when Mr. Kincaid orders him to investigate. "Um, yes Sir," he replies quietly.
He quickly stands up from his chair, secretly glad for the distraction from the current standoff. Drawing his musket, he heads towards the back.
Once at the door leading out into the back-lot, he slowly pushes the door open -musket first- wary of any strangers trying to skulk around back there.