SIM:Lt.JG Ethan Brice - Fief Is Good...
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During Ethan's first mission to Wheeler Colony, he encounters an almost daredevil leader of the Fief called Jackson and it slowly turns out he's one of the good guys.
((Alice – Saloon - Before The Troop Arrive…))
::Jackson scuffed his Stetson on his coat and placed it precariously back on his head, tipping it forward slightly and blocking out the world outside. He kicked up his boots onto the chair opposite, his spurs making the dull clunk and crossing them over, taking precautions not to look like an idiot and stab himself with the pointed edges. He felt almost godlike. While he knew he was human, he could bleed, one bullet lodged firmly in his skull would have him on the floor faster than a bordello; he felt almost felt omnipotent.:: ::A six-chambered revolver was holstered under his coat on one side; attached to his custom belt that he’d picked up off some dead miner that had it made for his fittings. It just so happened that with a few nicks of his penknife; the belt was a dead fit for him too. With a slight smile attached to his mouth, Jim closed his eyes and for a second, just a miniscule second, he believed he wasn’t in Alice anymore and he was off exploring what else the dusty plains had to offer someone of his caliber.:: ::He snapped his head up as a loud clunk sounded from the front western doors, the swinging two. Jim looked up and tried looking underneath the rim of the cowboy hat at the newcomer as chairs scraped backward and the place went to a dead silent. There wasn’t a noise in the place; not a bullet-shell could be heard if one dropped. No needle in gunpowder; no shots. Jim stood up and pushed his chair backwards; the scraping of the wooden legs hitching against the floor boards.:: Skank: ::drunkenly:: You can’t make a fool out of PREFECT!! ::The man was fumbling with his words, heavily drunk but the smell of copper pouring our over him completely.:: ::From underneath his coat, Jim flicked his finger into the trigger and pulled it out, throwing it over to the young lad, who fumbled for a few moments before pointing it at the groggy red territorial. The three red stripes across his shirt were still fresh and Jim didn’t want to think what it was as a horse saddlebag was slung over the banister rail. Jim grabbed the red by the scruff of his collar and made him stand on his tiptoes, holding him up.:: Jackson: ::angrily:: You think you can do this? You think you can… ::The shot resounded behind him… The shot went off and he dropped the red but the red seemed to shudder there for a moment as a few more shots sounded, then drop to the floor. Jim had dived onto the floor and as soon as the red had fallen; whether opposing or your own, he lowered his hat, taking it off his head and scrambled to his feet. He grabbed the Red by the laps, bullet ridden and threw him out of the swinging door.:: ::A gasp behind him came from the boy but Jim walked over to the young man and grabbed him.::
Prefect: When you kill a King, you don't kill him in private. You kill him where the whole court can watch. I'm not going to ask again. Jackson: Then we've got a problem. ::Swirling something around in his mouth, Jackson spat it onto the floor. A thick, juicy gob of tobacco landed between the Prefect's feet.:: ::Jackson leaned back on two legs of his chair laughing heartily. Suddenly, Jackson was no longer sitting on the chair and more or less sitting on the broken pieces on the deck as the young woman fired her Winchester, blasting more rounds than a prizefighter. As soon as he felt his back hit the deck and a sharp pain from his right arm, Jim bit into his bottom lip and held it tightly, watching the veil of smoke disappear from around the beautiful face and the smirk she wore like a Christmas wreathe.:: ::Everybody hit the floor as the shots resounded, reaching for their weapons whether it was a chambered one or a ‘set-to-stun’ model. The team resisted, receiving just one shake of Daydan’s head, declining the use of their firearms.:: ::Bystanders went for their weapons, the scared man lit rip with both barrels of his shot gun felling two of them instantly, the young woman raised her Winchester rifle level with everyone who was watching this drama unfold, the whole time the tall old man never moved. His face gaunt; expressionless and devoid of any and all emotion as he watched two of the Fief gang be cut down like rabbits in season.:: ::Using the chair beside to stand up, Jim stood shakily, holding the wound on his arm and dousing his hand in the red colored liquid. It dripping onto his leather coat and through, making it appear brown and sodden. Jim took his hand off the wound and flailed his soaking hand at the Prefect, splatters of blood flying around the bar from his dripping fingers.:: Jackson: You shot me… You bloody shot me! ::The Prefect merely glinted his smile once more.:: Prefect: One bullet, Mr. Jackson. Pity she missed the target. ::He glanced over his shoulder at the young woman who refused to meet his gaze, letting her eyes stare down the aim and sight of the Winchester, pointing the barrel straight at Jim’s leg.:: Prefectt: I will be back for the deeds, Mr. Jackson but it seems I have wasted enough time today on you already. ::Taking his watch from his pocket and checking the time on it, smiling delightfully when he noticed, he looked back up at the population of the saloon; giving them a curt nod and a tip of the edge of his stove pipe hat.:: Prefect: Enjoy your evening. ::As the three began to leave, pushing the doors open wide, Ethan watched the young woman glance back over her shoulder at him and make a sort of motion towards the saloon doors. Thinking it would be too dangerous too follow her at that moment in time, no matter what he intentions were, Ethan clung back with the group as each of them latched on for dear life. It was only when he got up that he noticed he’d had his arm hooked around Lt. Cmdr Towsen’s waist as they fell to the ground.:: ::He held his hand out to her offering her to take it, and she stood up. Slowly turning to the debris and mess the three of the Prefect’s gang had made, the two dead men on the floor wit bullet holes rippled through their chests and Jackson who was holding onto his arm and being fussed over by every so called friend he kept in the godforsaken bar.:: ::Jim grabbed the nearest chair and sat himself down, grabbing the bottle of whiskey from the table, thankful that it hadn’t been pummeled with bullets. He took his coat off then his shirt and looked at the bullet wound punched into his flesh. He could just about see the tip of the bullet’s butt when he dabbed at the wound with his white shirt, staining it completely. He poured some of the whiskey onto the wound and stamped his foot on the floor as the sting of alcohol on tissue rippled through him.:: Bartender: I’ll get the Doc… Jackson: ::gritting his teeth:: You’ll do no such thing… just a cut for gawd’s sake… ::He looked up at the gang of Fief’s surrounding him and scowled.:: Jackson: ::angrily:: Go on! Away home to your mothers! Go! ::The saloon started to clear out and within a few minutes, the team were the only ones left inside save a few drunks who had nothing to do with the gangs, the two dead on the floor, Jim Jackson still dabbing and ebbing away at his wound and the Bartender slowly cleaning out glasses one by one, placing them hole down on the countertop.:: Bartender: If you’re stayin’ the night, we’ve got some rooms spare. ::He spat into the spittoon behind the bar and hocked up a load of phlegm, repeating the process.:: Bartender: Two on the floor were kipping upstairs, took up a twin and a double room each. Looks like one of you will be on the floor… ::That was until his eyes roamed over Susan and gave her a slight wink.:: Bartender: …That is unless you’re lady here might like to stay in the Owner’s room. ::Taking a deep breath and turning his back on the bar, trying not to focus on the two corpses, Ethan walked slowly over to Jim and grabbed the chair from the opposite side of the table, twisting it round and sitting down, the back of the chair to his chest. The man was not all that frighting, Ethan thought, just a little unerving. He was older than most young gun-slingers around but still had an air of authority surrounding him like a pack of rottweilers.:: Brice: You need medical help, you know. ::Jim threw him a glare, and when coupled with a quick cry of pain, it wasn’t so nice.:: Jackson: I know that, you little bleeder’, but where in this godforsaken town am I gonna get a Doctor who won’t tell me I need my godforsaken arm lopping off?
& Jim Jackson |