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Post by J. Shaw on Aug 15, 2009 13:10:21 GMT -6
The desert dragons were beginning to become a bit of a nuisance. Rarely did the flying ones of the mountains bother the ranch, but the ones from the desert had become increasingly more aware of the cattle buffet that was Shaw's ranch. Usually when one showed itself, a well aimed shotgun blast could scare it off, if not injure or take it down. But the increase in appearances of curious, hungry wingless dragons sneaking onto his land was starting to royally stress Shaw and his men out.
He parked his hover bike outside of the spaceport. Normally he preferred to ride his horse when he traveled, but there was no safe place to hitch a horse outside of the spaceport. He pulled off his hat and headed into the large station, immediately feeling the contrast between his dirty boots and the shiny polished floors. He nodded in greeting to the people he recognized in the halls as he headed for the bar just down the corridor.
He hated most of the station. It was terribly out of place in the dusty, dity landscape of Heimdall, all metal and shine and uniforms. Reminded him of Terra whenever he was in there. Not for the first time, he wondered what would happen if he were to ride his horse right through the building.
He entered the bar and felt a little more at home. It was still a lot of steel and cold surfaces--well, as cold as a surface could get on the desert planet--but at least there was something personal about it. Less glaring lights baring down on you. Well used and aged guns and axes displayed on the wall, even a set of bull's horns, donated from one of Shaw's own prized beasts that had met it's demise at the hands of a dragon. The dragon's teeth were mounted on a plaque next to them.
Shaw slid onto a barstool, placed his hat on the bar, and ordered a drink from his friend on the other side of the counter. The bartender smiled at him a little sympathetically as he passed him the glass. "'Nother one today?"
Shaw nodded, immediately downing half the glass in one shot. "Damn beasts are getting on my nerves. I might just have to hire a hunter at this rate."
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Post by Hiram Cooper on Aug 21, 2009 15:28:49 GMT -6
Hiram was wandering and he wasn't sure where he was going. His feet did this to his often, leading him off in places and locations he wasn't supposed to be. It was a warm day and he wiped at the sweat on his forehead, looking over the sparse crowds.
There was a buzz in the back of his head, and a tickle in the back of his throat. He wanted a drink. Did he even have money for one? He checked his wallet. There were some credits in there that he didn't remember having before. Were they from the man he'd killed in the desert? Hiram wasn't sure. He wasn't sure about a lot.
His feet found his way to the bar. It was cool and it felt familiar. Had he played his music here? Maybe. Heimdall had a lot of bars. More bars that people maybe. More cattle than people. He'd written a song about that but he couldn't remember how it went.
Hiram found an empty barstool and took a seat, setting his guitar down beside him and waiting for the bartender to notice him. The man was talking to the cowboy beside him. What did he want? Whiskey. There was a bottle across from him and it looked so good inside the glass.
The bartender glanced at Hiram, "You want something?"
"Whiskey. And a glass of ice." He could almost taste those ice cubes melting in his mouth. They would be wonderful after being out in the desert.
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Post by J. Shaw on Aug 21, 2009 18:30:17 GMT -6
Shaw glanced over at the man who had just taken a place at the bar. He looked disheveled, like he'd spent one too many days in the desert or something. No hat. A guitar? What was he, a musician? Probably didn't know how to take care of himself in the planet's weather.
His thoughts were confirmed when the man asked for a glass of ice. Shaw shook his head. "You look like you've been in the sun just a tad too long, boy. What've you been doing? Wandering in the Great Desert for a week?"
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Post by Hiram Cooper on Aug 21, 2009 18:38:10 GMT -6
Hiram thought about it. How long had it been? He looked to find a calendar. The date was scrolling at the top of the mirror behind the bartender, small red numbers. It was winter, not that you would know it on this world. Not that you world know it on Terra. One of the songs he sang was about wishing for a white winter. He didn't even know what a white winter was.
"Three weeks." He said, a little surprised to see how long he'd been out this time. The bartender put the glass in from of Hiram. He paid, credits dusty but still good. Then he sipped his whiskey and then popped some ice cubes into his mouth. It was so good, so clean. His canteen was still full of that black water, and it had served him well. "I quit my job and went for a walk."
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Post by J. Shaw on Aug 21, 2009 21:31:42 GMT -6
"Three... Three weeks??" Shaw was fairly certain this guy's brain was fried at this point. Went for a walk? Maybe he'd been fried before he'd even stepped into the desert. No sane men would go into the Great Desert for a stroll. But then, he'd actually survived, so clearly he wasn't stupid. Either that or just extremely damn lucky.
Shaw couldn't help but down a large gulp of his drink as he tried to process this weird fellow. "Went for a walk... I think you need your head checked, kid." Still, he couldn't help but wonder how he'd survived with so many dangers out there. "...run into any, uh... Goblins? ...dragons?"
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Post by Hiram Cooper on Aug 21, 2009 21:46:15 GMT -6
Hiram took another sip once the ice chips had melted. Damn good whiskey. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had whiskey that good. Mostly he drink whatever the house served, which was rarely good.
"So they say." Hiram had been to a doctor, plenty of 'em in prison. They'd thrown around big words but at the end of the day, they all said the same thing: there was something wrong with him and nobody knew what the hell it was. Whatever it was, it was as much a part of Hiram as his hair was, or his skin.
He brought up his back and checked. Canteen, knife, compass, some dried meat. And then, near the bottom, a dirty music box and an assortment of babbles. "Ran into a few one night. We had a disagreement. But we worked it out." They'd come on him in the darkness, planning on cutting his throat and taking what he had. He'd killed the clan leader. They didn't bleed green when you cut them open, no matter what people said. It was black. The rest of them had left once it was clear Hiram wasn't worth stealing from. They'd left their loot scattered on the ground. Hiram had picked it up and brought it back with him. Maybe the music box belonged to some little girl. If she wasn't dead, she'd probably want it back.
Hiram slipped a few more ice chips in his mouth, and realized he hadn't fully answered the question. "No dragons. Saw some in the distances, but they didn't come near."
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Post by J. Shaw on Aug 22, 2009 15:45:30 GMT -6
Shaw let his mind wander to the number of scars he had as reminders that you didn't "work things out" with Goblins. They steal and kill, so you kill em back. There are no agreements. Only fights. Only dead Goblins. As for dragons... he just shook his head, knowing this guy was completely off his rocker.
"What's the guitar for?" Shaw nodded in the direction of the instrument leaning against the counter. "You play music, or is it just to look pretty?" Maybe the kid stole it. Or maybe he was one of those crazy genius people who were creatively inspired but lacked all other mental capacities.
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Post by Hiram Cooper on Aug 22, 2009 16:14:59 GMT -6
"It's for music." Hiram said, running a hand over the top of his guitar. She wasn't as pretty as she used to be. All the wandering had gotten her covered with scuff marks and scratches. But she played sweet as ever, and that's all that mattered. "I play. I think I played here once."
He looked around to see if there was a stage. Had there been a stage? There was. It was over in one corner, a small thing that was clearly an afterthought. He nodded, mostly to himself. "Yeah, I played here when I was fencing for the Johnsons." That had been a good job. It had taken a few months to replace all the wire and put down new posts where the old ones had gotten rotten or broken by cattle. They'd paid well, and he'd been within walking distance to the pub.
Hiram finished his whiskey. He didn't remember it being this good last time. Maybe he had been out in the desert too long.
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Post by J. Shaw on Aug 22, 2009 22:58:37 GMT -6
That was surprising. Most musicians didn't really think to come to Heimdall of all places. They usually stayed on Terra, where there were plenty of people to play for, or places considered "higher inspiration" like Antheia or Corus, though Shaw would generally dispute such a claim when it was made. Heimdall had plenty of inspiration. The hills and mountains were full of them. The planet could probably use more creative types. Maybe more people would hear about the plus sides to his beloved home, rather than it's downfalls.
"Ahh, the Johnsons," Shaw nodded, finishing off his drink and motioning to the bartender for another. "You worked that job, eh? That fence was a mess. I had to go round up quite a few of their lost stock for them."
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Post by Hiram Cooper on Aug 22, 2009 23:14:28 GMT -6
Hiram nodded. Cows getting out had been a problem, especially while rebuilding the fence. There were so many holes, and the cows had been surprisingly wiley. He was sure some of them had been watching him, waiting for Hiram to turn his back before they made a break for the fence. It was like they were determined to be eaten by a dragon. He couldn't imagine wanting a dragon to eat you. They'd be too warm.
"They let it run wild." Years of neglect. Too few farmhands, or people who didn't care too much about what they lost, so long as they met the bottom line. Hiram didn't have a head for numbers, but even he knew that letting something go for so long was just bad for business. "It was a good job. Nice, temporary."
He motioned for another whiskey, paying in credits. His ice chips were melting, and he drank the cool water. He'd have to get back to work soon. The credits weren't enough to pay for another walkabout. "I'll swing by tomorrow, see if they need more work done. Their barn was looking shoddy." But they might leave that, the way they left the fence. If so, he'd move on. There were others. There were always others.
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Post by J. Shaw on Aug 26, 2009 0:13:00 GMT -6
Shaw took another swig from his glass, nodding. "That barn is a mess. They need some real workers over there. In fact, Heimdall really needs a new crop of good strong lads around here, willing to work. Too many people who leave Terra nowadays are too scared of this planet. They'd rather go frolic in some meadows on Antheia or some dumb crap like that."
He shook his head, sighing. "I'm stretched thin at my place too. So let them know I can't help if their cattle get out again. I won't be chasing after their stock when I've got my own to defend from fiking lizards."
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Post by Hiram Cooper on Aug 26, 2009 1:01:48 GMT -6
Hiram chuckled a little. Seemed like the man beside him shared some of Hiram's views on other worlds. "They don't see it the way we do. All they see is dust and scrub." Hard work was mostly what they saw and in Hiram's experience, many born in the sea of steel were allergic to such things. He rubbed his calloused hands. Hiram couldn't imagine a life without them. No. That was a lie. He could, if he looked at his brothers.
His head felt a little clearer. The heat of the desert was finally letting go of him. He took another sip of whiskey. Goodbye madness. Keep safe.
"Lizards? Ah. The dragons." Hiram nodded. They were a pain and a half. Magnificent things though. Really beautiful. They were pretty in the way a good knife was pretty. "I'll pass that on. I heard once that they couldn't stand the smell of mermaid oil. Never tested it, mostly since the stuff's illegal, so I can't say it's true."
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Post by J. Shaw on Aug 26, 2009 15:23:06 GMT -6
"Yeah, dragons," Shaw grumbled. "Their activity has been increasing lately. Constantly moving in on my lands, trying to take cattle. Me and my men are hardly keeping them at bay lately. Thankfully the mountain ones aren't that numerous or they'd be a worse problem, with those damn wings of theirs. Suppose that's why I was surprised you didn't run into any while you were... taking your walk."
He twirled his glass around a little, watching the ice cubes swirl around in the bottom. "Mermaid oil, huh? Now how does one gain mermaid oil?" He wasn't so sure he wanted to know the answer to that one. It either sounded like dirty business, or well, really dirty business. He'd never seen or met a mermaid. They rarely strayed off their planet and, well, the driest planet in the system was probably the last place they wanted to visit anyway. Maybe one day. They sure sounded like interesting folk, at least.
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Post by Hiram Cooper on Aug 26, 2009 18:00:04 GMT -6
"Didn't see any of those. Saw a few wyrms but, like I said, they were a ways off. There were better things to eat than me." That, and animals didn't like Hiram, even big dragons who had nothing to fear. They tended to go their own direction. Maybe they thought he'd give them indigestion.
"Black market." Which was where you got anything worth getting. Except maybe whiskey. And guitars. Black market didn't know anything about good instruments. "If you knew anyone on the Underworld, they could get you a tin. But it's dark stuff and, like I said, I can't even say it works. A woman I was with once rubbed some on my boots. But I didn't have any dragons eating me before she did it so I don't hold much stock in it."
He looked at the boots. He could still see the line where the leather was darker than the rest, that little line she'd rubbed all the way around. Who was it that did that? Rita? He couldn't even remember her now, except that she'd rubbed his boots and when he left, she'd thrown a lamp at his head. Nearly got him too.
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Post by J. Shaw on Aug 26, 2009 22:44:15 GMT -6
"Ah well, I think the black market is to be assumed with that kinda thing, ain't it?" Shaw agreed, though it wasn't really what he'd meant by the question. "But where does it come from before that? Like, is it a natural thing one can just... collect, or is there some sort of, ya know... ending someone's life in order to extract it? No, you know what, on second thought I'd rather not know..."
The conversation was getting a bit more morbid and maybe illegal than he'd thought. If he was going to continue that kind of discussion, it'd be in one of the other bars around the bend, not the one located right in the space-port. Last thing he wanted was someone else overhearing and then assuming he was actually interested in the stuff.
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