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"There's not enough room in this forum for the two of us." FM slammed his emptied whisky glass down on the wooden counter. "Step outside, Grix......"
Grix eyed FM carefully. They'd known each other for a long time, but things had been gettin' a little strained lately."
"What's this about, FM," he demanded, making his way through the packed but hushed saloon and pushing the swinging doors outwards as he stepped onto the dusty ground outside.
"Well," replied FM, pushing open the doors again and following Grix outside into the hot, dry air, "You've bushwhacked one of my topics just one time too many. It's time we had this out. Mano a Mano. Poster to Poster."
Grix paused in his stride to think of a witty retort about FM's last comment, then decided that now was probably not the time.
"So, what's it to be? 10 paces, turn and fire?" asked Grix, making sure his gunbelt was fastened properly.
"You know me better than that, Grix. 30 paces." FM checked his gunbelt. The Smith and Wesson 6-shot revolver hung loosely at his right hip.
They stood back to back under the glare of the midday sun, and started to count.....
1....2....3....
The occupants of the saloon were packing the windows trying to get a glimpse of the showdown outside. This was unheard of. The last shootout in the town of Last Chance Reserve had been quite a time ago, when the Er-no posse had cleaned out the Desperate Dans, but this was different. Two equally matched opponents were about to face off.
Insane Bartender was going even more nuts behind the saloon's counter because he was losing good sales whilst all this was going on.
Outside, the count was at 25.... as FM glanced to his right and saw PB on the roof of the Red Splat Hotel and Boarding House, shotgun at hand. PB nodded with a knowing look. FM nodded back.
The count was 26.... as Grix looked across to the SR Saddlery, where he spied Sniper with his trusty Winchester Rifle. Grix gave a brief nod. Sniper returned it.
27....28...29..
Dust whirled up as both men spun to face each other. The blast of PB's shotgun firing both barrels broke the deafening silence that preceeded it, and a cloud of sand flew up at Grix's feet as the buckshot ploughed into the ground.
Grix drew his gun and took aim, FM was still drawing his because he was left handed and his belt was on the wrong way, Sniper fired his rifle, and there was a sharp report, then a clatter as PB dropped his shotgun and swandived off the roof of the hotel and landed in a horse trough.
FM grappled with his pistol, it had snagged in the holster, and he reminded himself to be more careful where he left his chewing gum.
Grix took pity. (No he didn't). Grix fired his gun. Fortunately, FM and done his research and Grix's eyesight wasn't as good as it should have been, and at 30 paces it was like trying to read a Wanted Poster through a mirage. Grix's first bullet flew out of town faster than a newbie Gameaday winner. He wasn't sure if he had hit FM or not, but then he heard FM pull back the hammer of his Smith and Wesson with a
*click*
Grix eyed FM carefully. They'd known each other for a long time, but things had been gettin' a little strained lately."
"What's this about, FM," he demanded, making his way through the packed but hushed saloon and pushing the swinging doors outwards as he stepped onto the dusty ground outside.
"Well," replied FM, pushing open the doors again and following Grix outside into the hot, dry air, "You've bushwhacked one of my topics just one time too many. It's time we had this out. Mano a Mano. Poster to Poster."
Grix paused in his stride to think of a witty retort about FM's last comment, then decided that now was probably not the time.
"So, what's it to be? 10 paces, turn and fire?" asked Grix, making sure his gunbelt was fastened properly.
"You know me better than that, Grix. 30 paces." FM checked his gunbelt. The Smith and Wesson 6-shot revolver hung loosely at his right hip.
They stood back to back under the glare of the midday sun, and started to count.....
1....2....3....
The occupants of the saloon were packing the windows trying to get a glimpse of the showdown outside. This was unheard of. The last shootout in the town of Last Chance Reserve had been quite a time ago, when the Er-no posse had cleaned out the Desperate Dans, but this was different. Two equally matched opponents were about to face off.
Insane Bartender was going even more nuts behind the saloon's counter because he was losing good sales whilst all this was going on.
Outside, the count was at 25.... as FM glanced to his right and saw PB on the roof of the Red Splat Hotel and Boarding House, shotgun at hand. PB nodded with a knowing look. FM nodded back.
The count was 26.... as Grix looked across to the SR Saddlery, where he spied Sniper with his trusty Winchester Rifle. Grix gave a brief nod. Sniper returned it.
27....28...29..
Dust whirled up as both men spun to face each other. The blast of PB's shotgun firing both barrels broke the deafening silence that preceeded it, and a cloud of sand flew up at Grix's feet as the buckshot ploughed into the ground.
Grix drew his gun and took aim, FM was still drawing his because he was left handed and his belt was on the wrong way, Sniper fired his rifle, and there was a sharp report, then a clatter as PB dropped his shotgun and swandived off the roof of the hotel and landed in a horse trough.
FM grappled with his pistol, it had snagged in the holster, and he reminded himself to be more careful where he left his chewing gum.
Grix took pity. (No he didn't). Grix fired his gun. Fortunately, FM and done his research and Grix's eyesight wasn't as good as it should have been, and at 30 paces it was like trying to read a Wanted Poster through a mirage. Grix's first bullet flew out of town faster than a newbie Gameaday winner. He wasn't sure if he had hit FM or not, but then he heard FM pull back the hammer of his Smith and Wesson with a
*click*
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Someone pulled the man that called himself Your Honour down from the gallows and back into the crowd. They were used to him trying to gain attention in the town, like the time that he started a custard fight with the local chef because he wanted to draw attention to the new stageshow he was putting on, always the showman. It was Edgy who eventually managed to get Your Honour off the wooden platform. He wanted Tony to continue so that Meka could be hung. Once that was over, Edgy could relax.
Tony had barely got the hood ready for Sheriff Meka and was still trying to put it on him. Meka was still trying to talk his way out of being hung and this helped incite his end of the crowd into shouting louder.
The skies were darkening as Meka talked and a distant rumble of thunder sounded in the hills behind. "Tony. You and I have known each other for a very long time." He said, trying to sound sincere, it was a skill he hadn't yet fully mastered. "I've always protected your bank, haven't I?"
Tony sneered at the snivelling wretch in front of him. "Ha! You call that protection? I've had 4 robberys in the last 2 years and all from guys who were supposed to be locked in your jail. Maybe it's because you spend most of your time in that saloon, drinking away your life, or with that lady of the night!" He pointed at Jenny.
"Well, you can talk Mr Bank Manager!" Yelled Meka, cut by Tony's remarks. "Don't think that no-one has noticed that you're stealing money from the bank! Or perhaps you think all your customers are stupid?" he pointed at the crowd of onlookers behind Tony. The noise level dropped completely on both sides as they all strained to listen to what the two rivals had to say. Meanwhile, Joe and Ali were frantically trying to untie their bonds.
The Preacher looked on, a slight sign of dissapointment crept on to his face. "Humans! They're so stupid. This won't do!" he said to himself as he started to fish in his deep pockets.
Tony had barely got the hood ready for Sheriff Meka and was still trying to put it on him. Meka was still trying to talk his way out of being hung and this helped incite his end of the crowd into shouting louder.
The skies were darkening as Meka talked and a distant rumble of thunder sounded in the hills behind. "Tony. You and I have known each other for a very long time." He said, trying to sound sincere, it was a skill he hadn't yet fully mastered. "I've always protected your bank, haven't I?"
Tony sneered at the snivelling wretch in front of him. "Ha! You call that protection? I've had 4 robberys in the last 2 years and all from guys who were supposed to be locked in your jail. Maybe it's because you spend most of your time in that saloon, drinking away your life, or with that lady of the night!" He pointed at Jenny.
"Well, you can talk Mr Bank Manager!" Yelled Meka, cut by Tony's remarks. "Don't think that no-one has noticed that you're stealing money from the bank! Or perhaps you think all your customers are stupid?" he pointed at the crowd of onlookers behind Tony. The noise level dropped completely on both sides as they all strained to listen to what the two rivals had to say. Meanwhile, Joe and Ali were frantically trying to untie their bonds.
The Preacher looked on, a slight sign of dissapointment crept on to his face. "Humans! They're so stupid. This won't do!" he said to himself as he started to fish in his deep pockets.
Ok, sorry mate i should have thought, kill me off in an exciting way though eh?
There is something amusing about saying "i dont mean to be rude Your Honour" isnt there!
There is something amusing about saying "i dont mean to be rude Your Honour" isnt there!
Look, I don't mean to be rude Your Honour, (Sounds odd... say it again.)
I don't mean to be rude Your Honour.
(Ha ha ha ha.)
Anyway... we have put a lot of time and effort into this... and everyone who writes in this are very proud of it. We really don't want it to be ruined... and because you haven't really been here from the start of writing, it would be very hard for you to be able to write as... err, emotional as us.
So can you please not write in it? Please don't hate me for saying it... but the other people who aren't here at the moment who also love the story as much as I would be thinking the same.
I'm sorry.
I don't mean to be rude Your Honour.
(Ha ha ha ha.)
Anyway... we have put a lot of time and effort into this... and everyone who writes in this are very proud of it. We really don't want it to be ruined... and because you haven't really been here from the start of writing, it would be very hard for you to be able to write as... err, emotional as us.
So can you please not write in it? Please don't hate me for saying it... but the other people who aren't here at the moment who also love the story as much as I would be thinking the same.
I'm sorry.
There was a Tarzan-esque yodle (sp?) from the nearby roof top as Tarrant swung down, pull out his gun on the way. With uncanny marksmanship like abilities he shot through the rope holding Your Honour up.
As he swung over Your Honour he removed his hood as well. Then went flying through the window on the opposite side of the street.
So it was just the two of them now, standing face to face, Your Honour and Tony, on the platform.
As he swung over Your Honour he removed his hood as well. Then went flying through the window on the opposite side of the street.
So it was just the two of them now, standing face to face, Your Honour and Tony, on the platform.
Can we stop the chit chat in here please... this topic is reserved for the story, if you want to talk about it, PLEASE start another topic... thanks.
Suddenly a muffled shout of "now" from under Your Honours hood.
Suddenly Tarrant managed to stunningly pull of a hitherto unarranged plan to perfection!
Suddenly Tarrant managed to stunningly pull of a hitherto unarranged plan to perfection!
"Well you see, Judge..." Tony said... "Grix isn't here... I sentanced Meka to death, and you are getting in the way."
Tony clicked his fingers.
"I suggest you try and pay attention from now on... from the heavens, at least."
Two men dragged Your Honour up to the gallows, put a bag over his head, and tied a noose to his neck.
The bag was returned to Meka's head...
"NOW can we actually do this before anything more happens!" Shouted Tony... this was getting irritating...
Tony clicked his fingers.
"I suggest you try and pay attention from now on... from the heavens, at least."
Two men dragged Your Honour up to the gallows, put a bag over his head, and tied a noose to his neck.
The bag was returned to Meka's head...
"NOW can we actually do this before anything more happens!" Shouted Tony... this was getting irritating...
Your Honour wrote:
"Why am I not surprised to see you under there eh?
Hehe!
"Why am I not surprised to see you under there eh?
Hehe!
"Whats going on here then?"
Your Honour rides up to the platform, dismounts and walks right up to Grix.
"Am I going to have to repeat the quesiton? I now I'm new in this town but I am the Judge, I've already dealt one tough sentence out to Meka, you want one as well son?"
Your Honour removes the hood from the first, revealing Meka's head,
"Why am I not surprised to see you under there eh?
Mr Thraves, you have not answered my question, I'm waiting"
Your Honour rides up to the platform, dismounts and walks right up to Grix.
"Am I going to have to repeat the quesiton? I now I'm new in this town but I am the Judge, I've already dealt one tough sentence out to Meka, you want one as well son?"
Your Honour removes the hood from the first, revealing Meka's head,
"Why am I not surprised to see you under there eh?
Mr Thraves, you have not answered my question, I'm waiting"
This could get interesting...
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