boobtube | {open party post | who is the tall, dark stranger there?}

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{open party post | who is the tall, dark stranger there?}

The sun rises on another day in Devil's Creek, painting the night sky a burnt orange and the edges of clouds a pale yellow. Although not a large town by any stretch of the imagination, the early morning hours are the most quiet it will ever see. The night's chill still holds close to the dirt, keeping people inside, tucked away in their beds.

A perfect time for a return.

Three horses, three riders with one less rider than they left with come into town at quiet trots. Anyone awake this hour and foolish enough to look outside their window may recognize the silhouettes, but most are smart enough to leave it be. The riders don't linger long, going their separate ways in town. A long, low howl of wind whipping through the distant gorge signals the night's work is done.

In a few hours, the sleepy town awakens. It's a busy day today. Although the general goods store is always there and always open for business, shipments and other businesses from the city have arrived today for some trade and everyone could use a few supplies they won't get for another couple of months. By the time everyone has set up their carriages and stalls, the sun has climbed into the sky, warming the city's dusty town square as well as its streets and alleys.

There also seems to be the arrival of some more new faces this morning and to these outsiders, there seems to be something that's going without saying among the natives. It's the same thing they've thought of the other newcomers to their little town over the past couple of days.

Old Nibbles might just have a feast in its near future.

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after the morning sermon; church party and confession

While Sister Anne can be mercurial, she is noted for putting this to good use in her sermons. They can be as loving, as kind and gentle as any shephard should be with it's sheep. They can be warning; a reminder of God's vengeful wrath. His jealous nature. That morning's sermon was more along these lines. What better way to remind people of the risks of pride and preaching false idols, than the story of King Saul and everything he sacrificed for such false being. Oh how he had started out humble and pious, but more and more he could only disobey, thinking that all he had was due to his own sake, and not due to the glory and grace of God.

She reminds them of John 5:3 "This is the love for God: to obey His commands; And His commands are not burdensome." But she also mentions that not all who have sinned need be like Saul. They can still repent; to remember their humility and their own immortal souls. And so she continues, "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” Because without forgiveness, what happens to the fools who do not know their own foolishness, and forget their love and obedience to God?

They become nothing other than sacrifices; warnings to remind all of what happens when one does not recognize and remedy the err of their ways. Do not disobey, and you will not be sacrificed. Obey, and you will be loved: by God, by the Church, and by Sister Anne. Isn't that the best any good Christian can hope for? To feel comforted and understood along with the rest of Christendom, in the bedrock of their home and their neighbors.

"Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock." Matthew 7:24-25

The message may be clear to some, and all-too-easily dismissed by others. But afterward, Sister Anne will be smiling and greeting all who have come, and for any lost souls who wish to heed her advice and confess, then she will be ready and waiting.

among the lost lambs; finish your vegetables

As if she wasn't busy enough, Anne has much more than just church business to tend to. She has her orphans, both past and present, as many who once resided here still feel the need to assist her on occasion. Certainly it would only be out of the goodness and love in their heart, and not only because she holds the key to so many secrets and weaknesses.

It is only to make them stronger, if they are to continue surviving. Even if they don't understand, she fully does, and it is what drives her. When that isn't enough, then there is the flask of wine to sneak behind turned backs, for extra strength. She needs different rocks to stand on.

Assuming she can get the orphans and visitors to cook supper good and proper, then she can spend that time making certain all with the orphanage walls are as they should be. The influx of strangers does little to ease her paranoia, and she is never one to knock before coming to their chambers. They are hers, and they will always be hers. It is the only way to keep them from becoming his.

OUTSIDE THE CHURCH
Alison always pays her dues, church for just about every sermon that Sister Anne runs, and heaven help anyone who got up to misbehaving during. She liked her Sunday best more often than not, prim and prepared. Even in uniform, and anyone messing with that idea certainly had another thing coming to them.

After the sermon, she usually waits by the door, a lingering social presence to converse with all of the people exiting the church. She shakes hands, she gives hugs, she keeps that plastered smile on for everyone to see because she is proper and certainly needs to keep up her face in the community.

AT THE SHERIFF'S STATION
It's been a slow day. Sometimes there are legitimate laws that need to be upheld, a reason behind all of the rifles she had locked up within her office. She would ensure the safety of this town first and foremost, and she found herself fully prepared for the worst. Word tended to be that there were two types of sheriffs: quick or dead.

Alison was a very quick draw.

Today, she files through her own notes at the station, cross-legged at her desk and sighing distractedly. Her fingers press up against her temples, index tapping at her hairline as she thinks. There are some days where she enjoys the peace and quiet, revels in it because this town is safe and that's in large part her doing. That feels good, at the end of the day, it's what keeps her going.

But some days are dull. Slow. Today is slow. Sometimes, she just wishes for an elaborate bank heist.

After long enough she grabs up her jacket, buttoning it up tidily and heading outside for some fresh air. Surely there was something she could find to do around these parts.

[ Wanna come across Alison in the street? You jaywalker? Or possibly she sits down for lunch? Are you just ALREADY in the cell?! Choose your own adventure! ]

AT THE SALOON
Sometimes, you just needed time off.

The thing was that the whole place tended to go quieter whenever Alison was in here, but she was in here often. She wasn't sure if that was a respect thing or if it was due to her ill patience for rough-housing. Either way, she spent plenty of her time in here, and the barkeep by now knew her choice of drink very well.

She had plenty of long days.

"Whiskey, please." Politely, hands placed on the counter. "Four fingers."

Edited (i can't believe i forgot the liquor option) 2014-08-01 05:49 (UTC)

Whatever it was that planted him in this church to hear the crap this lady was spouting out. He showed up for the curiosity. He stayed for her tits. He approaches her at the end because he has a very important question.

Roman's biting at his thumb as he approaches her, eyebrows raised and eyes deadened as he stares her down. He'd showed up here for the shit that people claimed out of Devil's Creek, the good shit you could find. He was pretty sure it was all donkey crap, but that left the poor little rich boy mostly preoccupied with how fucking weird everybody in this town is.

And it's disgusting. Absolutely filthy.

"You believe all that bullshit you just spouted?" he asks in a clear voice, nearly loud enough to be overheard by other people in the room. Roman's not so much with the - caring.

As Anne ushers on a murmuring couple, two pairs of eyes pinned on him as they scurry away, ready to spread rumor about already. People causing such trouble among the Church should know better. But Anne is fully prepared to tolerate, and then to deal with those who hold dear their ignorance.

With both hands resting before her, as if posing for a painting, Anne seems to barely humor him with a sweep of her gaze, as if he may not even be worth that much. She is not so dim-witted as to show any smug dismissal, but anyone with wit can spot it in the wink of her judgmental looks. As with nearly every conversation, she wonders if one would be so bold speaking to a man.

"You offer such a loud voice in the house of God. You must wish wholly for Him to hear you. What pains you so, child?"

He'd tell her that to a man he'd be twice as belligerent. But he's not sure if that'd be true. She is an easy target. So he thinks, anyway.

"Lady, I don't have any voices in my head. I don't think God's talking to anyone." Or hearing this, for that matter. There's a part of him that thinks of something vengeful that will surely strike him down for his efforts when given the chance, but it's not today, and it's not tomorrow either.

"If He's got commands, they're burdensome as fuck. You have no clue what he asks some people to do." He thinks about his sister, but only briefly. "So I guess what pains me is people quoting backwash vomit out of the Bible. It's all horseshit. It's infallible."

outside the church

Mayor Tazim seems to have genuinely enjoyed the Sister's sermon, though he doesn't stay to confess once he's congratulated her on her continued service to the Creek. And if he says that with a trace of delighted irony... well. There have been a number of late nights recently, and the overworked take their amusements where they can. In any case, he's soon to be found strolling around the square, greeting each townsperson as they emerge from the church. As expected of one of the pillars of the community, he has a question or quip for each, and lingers between groups in case anyone has a concern for the mayor's office. Incidentally, he'll be asking after those who missed the sermon, with the same lopsided, harmless grin.

Later he'll move on, to take a stroll around the rest of the town. Maybe, incidentally, run into some of the newcomers who arrived with the shipments and mail. God willing, et cetera.

at the ~~mayor's office~~ saloon

He doesn't return to the saloon until well into the afternoon, and after a look at the side-door into his office, elects to duck into the saloon proper instead. Better company and fewer-- well, better not to think about what there's fewer of so soon after last night. No sense tempting fate, eh?

So! His usual stool by the bar, and a winning smile and a nod towards the top shelf later, he has himself a drink in hand and a fine view of the entire saloon. He'll remove to the office if something comes up, but why sit around by himself when the town will soon pour through those doors?

Anne allows his words to ring loudly, to settle, to linger. She is so quiet that only the other surrounding her can follow suit, so that she can be sure that as many as possible hear him. In how she is to fight her battles, when done properly, Sister Anne rarely has to be anywhere near when the weapons find her enemies.

Or the maws of darkness itself ravage the fools. That, in itself, is enough for her to give him a moment where he can figure out if he feels that he has won, or made a terrible mistake. It isn't only for effect, though. She does need a moment.

He hasn't a clue what God has asked her to do. And for that, she is barely able to keep her tone level, but she does, and as quiet as a mother's croon to her newborn.

"I am sorry that you have been so wounded as to think that He has abandoned you. I once thought so myself, before I came here and was granted my own absolution. I found that He is very much here. All around us." With lips once again softening to a smile, she steps forth and reaches a hand out to settle upon his shoulder as she looks to him without blinking. "You will never be alone under His gaze."

Edited 2014-08-01 05:32 (UTC)

Cassandra had watched the riders returning from the window of the Black Rock, feeling that inevitable surge of relief when it had become clear all was well. Trust your leaders to put things to right, she'd told herself, and had opened up for business.

By the time the Mayor's come in and taken his place, the saloon has reached its typical afternoon state, which is... well, dead. There's not many people who come until the sun sets, after all. Still, Cass pours Yusuf his drink - the good stuff, none of the watered down whiskey she serves her other patrons - and arches an eyebrow at him.

"It all went smoothly, then?"

She's kind of starting to shake him now. Only that little bit. Maybe because of that whole motherly voice thing, a tone he hasn't heard in ages since he was a child, and even then scarcely. She's got a hand on his shoulder and a comfort in her smile and all he can do is wrinkle his nose, giving a minute shake of his head.

"Jesus your Lord and savior," he quips back sarcastically. "That's the creepiest thing I've ever heard in my life. Is he watching me when I fuck somebody else? Does the Lord get off on that?"

He needs to stop. He really needs to stop. He just paws Anne's hand off his shoulder, watching her hand drop off as he pushes at her. "I don't remember giving you permission to touch me."

With a room of her own upstairs, the saloon is where Cass is all day and all night, unless she has some social calls to be making. In the morning she cleans up the mess from the night before, shoves any leftover drunkards out the door and on their way, and sees about restocking.

The afternoon is similarly dead, but once it hits evening she'll have her hands full. Drinking, gambling, whoring, it all goes on at the Black Rock and Cass keeps an eye on it all, keeping her girls safe and her customers happy in equal measure.

She'll be friendly to people who are friendly, she'll serve anyone old enough to be drinking in her fine establishment. The Mayor's office is just down the hallway and Cassandra herself more than capable of handling any overly rowdy gentlemen, so lets all keep our heads, shall we?

It would certainly be a shame if you gave anyone an excuse to dislike you...

Oh.

Well, she tried.

There are many things Anne could say. A few poignant things she could do. Those who belong here know that she is not one to push, not one to taunt, and certainly not one to underestimate. Even if some of the townspeople enjoy speaking cruelly of her, none of them would be idiotic enough to make such open claims in the eyes of God, Sheriff, and Mayor.

But all she has to do or say is nothing. She merely steps back, certain to to wobble as if she might just nearly slip, and rests a hand to her chest as if she just might faint at his crudeness. Let those who know better deal with him now, for if their love for her won't guide them, then their fear of sacrifice surely will. If not here, then soon, as all ends come.

Little lamb, she damns thee.

He needs to set up somewhere for this night, and this dump's as good as any. Roman's got a lot of money to spend and an underwhelming amount of places to spend it, here. He's just raised a hubbub at the church and - well, fuck it, he wants to spend his not-earned cash.

With a lean up against the counter, he flashes Cass a wink and folds his fingers together on the surface. "Looking for a room. Biggest one you got. With clean sheets." He paws through coin in his bag, folded papers by his side. "Oh, and if you could send up one of your girls."

He gestures vaguely to his mouth. "I like them better when they have all their teeth."

There are only three people who get their pick of what they drink in this town and Alison? Alison is certainly one of them. Cassandra pulls a cup from behind the bar, plucks a freshly washed rag from the counter, and makes sure the sheriff can see her cleaning it out well.

Their sheriff is... well, picky. Cleanliness in the west is difficult, but Cass does her best. Once the glass is clean, she fills it up with the best whiskey in the place.

"A long day, then?"

Reliable and discreet, Cass is one of those he'd might actually regret sacrificing for the good of the town if it came to it. Good thing there are enough strays and sinners that it won't. He takes an appreciative drink, and grins at her thinly over the glass.

"As smoothly as water, thanks to the good Sister."

Which can't be said for the reactions to her sermon this morning, but since that's likely to be a topic come evening, he won't wear it out just yet. "The girls will be relieved, eh?"

For a very long moment, Cass just watches Roman. Then she looks around, wanting to see if there's anyone else who can witness this, who can see just how badly this young man's life is going to go if he keeps this up. If anyone is going to be missing teeth, she would bet it'll be him.

She hopes it'll be because she's knocked them out herself.

But then she bends down to retrieve a brass key, because who is she to deny a customer.

"All the linen is cleaned regularly." She says, and lays the key on the bar in front of him. "All the rooms are the same size. You'll be in the one at the top of the stairs, end of the hall."

Adam wonders if the town's changed any since the last time he was here. He was too young to really remember what his birth parents looked like much less this place. But that works to his favor because it's not likely most would remember the young boy who couldn't be found when his parents died. Most probably assumed that boy ran away and died out in the surroudning wilderness anyway.

The further he gets into town, the more he can't imagine that it has changed all that much. Places like Devil's Creek are keen on staying set in their ways and remain fearful of any changes, anything that might upset the balance of things. Which is why he's not surprised that when he comes riding into town around midday, there are more than a small handful of eyes on him.

He meets some of them - the ones that seem amiable to such a thing - with a small, friendly nod, but most of them he ignores. Adam eventually finds a post to hitch his horse and dismounts.

"Well, Kubrick," he says, glancing down at the young border collie that followed him into town. "What do you think?"

Kubrick, of course, has nothing very insightful to offer and simply barks before jumping up on Adam. Adam obliges him; ruffling the fur on top of Kubrick's head before nudging him back down to the ground. Time to familiarize himself with this place and make sure whatever gossip there is about him is what he wants there to be. As far as anyone might be concerned, Adam is simply looking for a place to call home with some steady work. As much as the questions he has about this place, about his past continue to eat away at him and buzz around in his head, he keeps them tamped down. He might get killed like everyone who warned him to leave the past where it was, but impatience will most certainly get him killed.

Adam remains friendly to anyone he crosses paths with, at the very least giving a cordial nod in greeting. Sometimes it's not Adam who acknowledges them though so much as it is Kubrick who is very enthusiastic about people. For the most part, the two spend their time wandering the streets before Adam ducks inside the boarding house to find a room at least for the night, and then over to the saloon for a drink. Kubrick waits outside on both occasions, out on the porches and close to the doors ready to greet anyone coming or going from either.

Edited 2014-08-01 06:13 (UTC)

With a smile, Cass ducks her head and starts to swipe a rag along the surface of the bar. The way things work is carefully lined out and she knows what the stakes here are, she won't risk stepping on any toes.

"They'll be pleased. One of the men ran off in the night, left all his things." She says it like it's some big mystery, but the grin at the corner of her mouth says she knows exactly where the man is now. "I'll see to it anything they haven't claimed has been donated to the proper establishments."

She'll let her girls have first pickings at clothes and money before giving over what's left to the big three, is what she means.

Somehow a dog makes approaching the strange man with it more socially acceptable, and it's just as well because Karolina makes a beeline for Kubrick the moment she's released from the home for the afternoon and sees them on the main street. Come here, puppy. She needs to meet you before curfew and there's sinister intentions in the air around the church that she really wants to ignore.

"Oh wow, he's really cute."

Sat dutifully with the other children - though she's almost a graduate, and isn't that a terrifying prospect - for the entire sermon and charged with waiting for the Sister before she can return to the house and change out of her church best, Karolina can't help but overhear the argument. More like all of Devil's Creek can't help but overhear, and she's not sure if it really counts as an argument anyway. You don't argue with Sister Anne. What's that guy thinking?

Wow, did he just shove her? Orphan to the rescue!

"Hey, what's your damage? The Sister was just trying to help."

The young reporters from out east rolled into town some days ago in a cloud of dust and bickering, dragging with them trunks of mysterious photography equipment and what sounded like long held, deeply felt personal grudges against each other. Though outbreaks of hostility still occur on more or less a daily basis, it never escalates beyond words, now that the stress of travel is over.

The smaller, bespectacled reporter is well-dressed for a newspaperman but he doesn't seem bothered by the conditions of Sister Mary's boarding house, nor does he turn his nose up at the other guests. Quite the opposite; he's only begun to make a nuisance of himself, but he's already earned a reputation for being generous with drink-buying, as long as you've got a colorful story for him. Some of the money probably comes from his success with cards, but not all of it, which may make him and all that photographic equipment an intriguing prospect for thieves. Blake especially doesn't look much like a brawler.

At the moment, he's only eating breakfast, as he's not much of a church goer. Later on in the day, he and Idris will probably spend some time doing what makes the real money — tintype photography, for those who wish to have their pictures taken. The business of making news, well... that will happen in many ways other than straightforward interviews. You can't say anything in confidence to a newspaperman, not really.

Edited (fixed tense) 2014-08-01 06:48 (UTC)

Though there has been much to discuss within the church, there now seems all-the-more to discuss outside of it. Or at least, outside of the sermon. Anne will wait for all to leave, sending the children on to the orphanage ahead of her, only letting Karolina stay to wait so that she can properly escort Sister Anne.

But she can stay outside. The Mayor is who Anne beckons inside once he seems through with his perusal of all who attended.

Truth is, while most talk about Sister Anne runs to the unfriendly, Derek has something of a soft spot for her. After all, it's not as though talk about him is any sweeter. But he doesn't mark what other people say: it's the orphanage that makes her one of the rare few people capable of coaxing a real smile out of the harsh scowl of his face. Derek Hale was eighteen when he lost his own parents and his family's ranch all in one blaze, and he had barely made it on his own in the world after, wouldn't wish a moment of that struggle on someone younger.

'Course, that mishap and its mysterious circumstances shook his faith something fierce, so he finds sitting through her church sermons a little difficult. He doesn't feel comforted and understood. He doesn't feel purified. But he comes anyway, sits in unmoved silence and mouths along when he has to, hat in his hands.

Afterwards, he comes to speak to her, though he isn't one for many words. "You speak well, sister," he tells her solemnly, a little awkward, not sure what to do with his hands. "Devil's Creek is lucky to have you."

Though Anne may well be a Sister of the Church, she is more than closely acquainted with weaknesses, and that includes all the weaknesses of man. How else could she practice her sermons so properly? She expects it is only a matter of time before the majority of the populace truly sees her good intent for them. That or she'll finally have enough blackmail on enough people to keep every mouth sewn shut.

At least those who draw an unfond eye. Derek is not one of those. She does need some fancies, and if one of those fancies is making an uncomfortable man even more uncomfortable while still wearing a habit, then so be it. Besides, he has always been so good with the children, it only makes his gruff disposition that much more amusing to Sister Anne.

She only proves it be smiling with a scolding tick to her brow and one hand settling to cup his cheek in short affection.

"But still you do not confess."

black rock saloon

Derek isn't much for getting drunk, so he waters down his whiskey something fierce, sitting in the corner and listening to the tinkle of the piano, wincing occasionally to himself when the out of tune C is hit.

Ostensibly, he comes here to be social — work is slow, and making money's easier when you're available to take a man's offer rather than out on your lonesome. But despite that fact, he sits in the corner smoking and not talking to anyone, a mass of muscle in a leather coat made stiff from overwear, five day stubble under the shadow of his broad hat.

While he's never really looked at any of the working girls twice, sometimes if there's an altercation he might step in — or if he happens to hear some of the talk about the Hale family that gets whispered on the wind, sometimes he's the altercation. Still, it's warm in the evenings, and the pianist is good; the saloon is a sight better than what's waiting for him when it's time to head home.

the old hale ranch

Most of the cattle and land got snapped up by the other families who own property 'round here, but Derek fought hard for the plot that contained the burnt out shell of the Hale house itself.

It's an isolated property, and the chill wind whips through what is now nothing more than an overlarge, rickety shack. The only room that retained some roof integrity was the scorched remains of the kitchen, which Derek has boarded up and furnished with rough blankets and some half barrels, the old iron oven now a makeshift fireplace. Given that he only sleeps there, Derek isn't around enough to contest the borders, so occasionally there are sheep or cows closer to the house than they should be, but Derek doesn't mind. All he concerns himself with keeping clear is the smear of overgrown grass around the back that has the grave markers for his family, though there weren't enough remains to bury them.

devil's creek

There's a well near the house if he needs to quench his thirst or splash his face, but Derek prefers to wash before church. So every Sunday at dawn, he goes skinny-dipping in the warm waters of the creek, strong shoulder working as he swims laps against the current until he's exhausted. Afterwards, he might sit immodestly on the bank a while, letting the early morning sunshine dry him before he puts on his Sunday best.

the church

Derek shows up, sits through Sister Anne's ceremonies with a sour expression, and leaves again soon after. He doesn't seem to be a godly man in the slightest (something he got from his headstrong mama) but he's still present, every Sunday, grey-green eyes eying the other parishioners with something between wariness and bitterness.

[ This had to be the worst misunderstanding of all times and Erin was pissed. She was caught up in a awkward situation that was not all that clear for anyone but herself and the supposed victim. See, Erin is a woman that likes her answers clear and fast. If she has to go rough on a suspect, she has no problems in doing so - threatening, pushing all their buttons, mentally torturing them or even actually physically getting the answers out of them. It's all acceptable in the name of justice.

But when she was caught breaking the jaw of a suspect (going all private investigator on his ass), Alison had made sure to break it up and throw Erin's ass in jail. As an outsider, she wasn't going to get any fair hearing, but she might as well try. ]

Listen, [ She speaks up, fingers wrapping around the bars. It had been a long time she was on that side of the jail and it was a feeling she would rather not remember. ] Are you listening? [ She calls out again, growing irritated at this woman who has been appointed sheriff by, what Erin assumed to be, a bunch of morons. ] I wasn't assaulting that guy. I was getting answers from him. You do know the difference, right? I'm a deputy. I do what I have to.

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Page 1 of 8

{open party post | who is the tall, dark stranger there?}

SISTER ANNE — church & orphanage {open}

Sheriff Hendrix | church + sheriff's station + etc | ota!

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Mayor Tazim | Church, Town and Saloon | OTA

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saloon

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Cassandra Cain | Black Rock Saloon | OPEN TO ALL

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saloon

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adam jensen | ota

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Blake Angler | Sister Mary's Boarding Rooms, in the Attached Eatery | ota

church

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derek hale / open to anyone

JAIL