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[Pink Panda Paw]

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-----➸-----o u t l a w s

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[tyrannisaurify]

இ miss S E L I N A carlisle <<

xx ____ aka K I T T I E

" you may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
when I tell you a cat must have three different names "

" but I tell you a cat needs a name that's particular
a name that's peculiar, and more dignified
else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular
or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride? "

Selina Carlisle strolled into her house. It was not as grand as her tastes usually ran, but it was more practical than the great manses and townhouses. Located on the outskirts of town, there was not much around but farmland. This manor had two floors, with a large kitchen, formal and informal dining area, three sitting rooms, bathrooms on each floor (and a private bathroom for the master bedroom), 4 guest bedrooms, with a cellar beneath the kitchen and the servants quarters in the attic with a separate staircase leading straight to the kitchen. Selina detested the idea that without servants, one was considered to keep a poor household. The silly habits of the elite socialites, though nothing near as outrageous compared to the Europeans, was troublesome for her. She loved extravagance and lavish displays of wealthy, do not mistake her dislike of servants for modesty, no; she simply disliked the inconvenience of explaining her comings and goings to nosy employees. She had brought with her a retinue of servants when she had relocated to Brisbook, and they were all high-class servants that prided themselves in efficiency and secrecy. She had made it clear that questioning her behavior was tantamount to the worst kind of betrayal, and not was curiosity discouraged and punished, but it was hinted that any suspicion of leak of household and personal information would result in an undesirable situation for all. They did not love her, but they respected her. She paid them well, and ensured their general satisfaction with her as their mistress. They always had good clothing, food, and even days off and bonuses for holidays. No, she was not worried about them turning on her anytime soon.

Still, she didn't get where she was now by trusting people, and she wasn't about to start. She had no illusions that their loyalty was infallible--she more than anyone understood the desire to seek one's own well-being before others. She was always looking out for number one, and as a part of her childhood, had learned that paranoia and a certain level of caution was always beneficial--even if you did everything right, you could still end up getting duped. She snorted at the thought, a rather ungraceful gesture. If anyone's going to be scheming, it'll be me. To her knowledge, only a handful of people had screwed her over since she took control of her life and went the way of the bandit. She had a colorful past, and it was always taboo.

She had grown up in a different culture, full of music, art, and passion. The foundation was rotten, however, and she had lived among it. She had a lot of people to thank for molding her into the well trained burglar she was today. She didn't often think about her past, but sometimes memories rose up unbidden, resurfacing at the cause of subtle cues. She sat, staring into the large mirror at herself. It was still so strange to see a well-fed Selina, surrounded by gilded frames and elaborate drapery. Her attention wavered for a moment, and she thought about her life recently. She had moved to Brisbook six months ago, having purchased this manor before she came to stay. She had no real ties to any one place at a time, but this time she had decided to stay for awhile. Partly because of a certain someone that had proved a bit of an annoyance to all but a marvelous toy to her, but also because she felt comfortable just staying here for now. She had recently been moving from town to town, and it was convenient to stay here. There was a group she had come with, of other "bandits" (though she did not think of herself so much as a bandit any longer) and was content to work with them as she pleased. Her gaze traveled to the array of elegant masquerade masks that hung on the wall, partially for display. Hidden in one full mask was the one she wore on her excursions, a simple black band worn over her eyes to partially obscure her identity. She had an entire outfit (it was rather scandalously fashioned, though quite practical for scaling walls) hidden beneath a floorboard in her closet--just in case anyone came snooping, it was also covered by a rug.

She wore a silk and cotton day dress in vibrant autumn hue, with a large bustle and slight train at the back. The neckline was fringed with tiered lace, similar to the wide bell sleeves, which were fitted before flaring out at the elbow. She wore a beaded shawl draped over her shoulders, and a simple but elegant necklace of rubies set into metallic squares, connected in a chain. It had been lifted one profitable night from a carriage she had ambushed as the driver was not paying attention, stopped to have a drink. Someone had been moving, it seemed, and they were not too careful about watching their goods. A matching pair of earrings dangled down from her ears, covered now by the tumbling thick curls of dark chestnut brown. Her hair fell to the small of her back, having been let down from the elaborate hairstyle it had been set in earlier that day. She was contemplating changing her clothing before she left for the bar--after all, she wasn't sure if she wanted to be seen as Selina going into a saloon. People of her social standing didn't have to go to the saloon, they had their own cache of alcohol and entertainment. The owner, a certain dignified Mr. Dumont had invited everyone, and it would be poor manners to decline, would it not? He was, after all, of similar (or outwardly exceeding) standing to her. Deciding it was best to refrain from being "incognito" for now, she motioned for Mary to come over and fix her hair. Nothing too elaborate, but an impressive display of curls and pins nonetheless.It would be perfect for when she donned her mask, keeping her hair out of the way. Pretty, yet practical. If tonight did not prove to be fascinating, she would be greatly, greatly disappointed. Always ready for a worst-case scenario, she made sure to dismiss Mary from the room before concealing her various weapons on her person. One such weapon was an set of ornamental hair pins that she slid into her hair, concealed by a few well placed curls.

She slid her hands into a pair of black cotton gloves, caught up her small purse, and set off for the saloon, the heels of her lace-up boots clicking on the tiled floor of the hallway. A short carriage ride later found her standing in the road, skirt lifted just enough that as she stepped down, she did not catch the material on the toe of her boots. Nodding to the driver, he set off to wait until she was ready to leave, though he would probably join then inside for the free "refreshments". Lifting her nose slightly, she entered the saloon, Sniffing indignantly, she swept into the room and selected a prominent table and set herself down..

She stared around at the small crowd gathered about, and began pulling off her gloves and stowing them in her purse, pulling the shall down from her shoulders so that it draped about her arms. The material of her skirts pooled out around her, flounces spilling over the sides of the chair. Not too long ago, she would have died to even be able to touch a dress such as this. She had worked hard, and now she was living a life of luxury. Sure, it could be stressful at times, but overall she loved the thrill and danger of it all. So far she had not been caught, and it had gone to her head. She was still careful, but she was confident in her abilities. She had no qualms about stealing from others, especially those that were better off. When she had been the one on the streets, no one had helped her--so she helped herself to their wealth. Until she began to steal jewelry and the such, no one even really knew she had stolen from them. A few coins here, some food there, selling what she didn't want and stealing her own food. She wondered if there would be anyone worth talking to; there were not many people she looked forward to seeing, but she loved watching. She surreptitiously watched the other clients in the saloon, recognizing all of them, for it was not so big a town that there were people you did not see often, even though she was out in the countryside. She absently wondered if she'd be seeing Miss Martin, a particular acquaintance of hers, one of the few people she easily tolerated.

She was waiting for the arrival of some key people, and though to the unwary eye she seemed like any innocent (though colorful) rich young lady, beneath her dress was the costume of a wanted feline. She hadn't expressly chosen a cat as her costumed identity, but the idea of her being a cat had resulted in a spread of her nickname as well. No, she had not been caught, but she had been spotted--made it that much more interesting! The rest of her costume, especially her mask, were also concealed in her purse, ready for quick transformation. She certainly didn't want to be the first person to meet up with the Boss; she wasn't scared of him, per se, but he...unsettled her, and she didn't want to be alone with him. She could handle herself, but she wasn't worried about physical pain. He had a way of twisting things around, like a snake held by the tail that twists upon it's own body and strikes it's captor. She was rather excited about the plan that was about to be set off, though she almost always worked solo, it was nice to share the blame with others. Behind the painted facade, a wicked smile was in place in her thoughts. She declined anything to drink, stating that she was simply awaiting the arrival of an acquaintance. She sat silently, playing the demure woman, while she watched the doorway.

{{ sorry about typos etc....I'm too lazy to edit it. : D }}

" but above and beyond there's still one name left over
and that is the name that you never will guess
the name that no human research can discover
but the cat himself knows, and will never confess "

---------------------------------------------------------------
JOSEPHINE SELINA KITTIE xx but a lady never tells....

[ENIGMA on a ROFLCOPTER]

william bronco,
_____blind billy bronco ✘

morning came, morning went. The boss had told him yesterday that he wanted to round up everyone together at the Saloon. As always, William decided just to listen to him, follow his lead like a good little bandit follower. He rolled his eyes at this and looked out the window. His right eye starting to numb. He could barely see out of it, much less find a reason to be standing there looking out at Bisbrook portrayed beneath him. He hated it, the whole not-seeing-what's-going-on, and not being able to be out in the playing field, instead of the sidelines. Billy ran a hand along his face, pulling at the frown that stayed. It always stayed there, unless he was with a very friendly customer, or her. The sun was setting overtop the wooden building across from him. The orange was bright and contrasting to the light blue of everything else. He sometimes wondered if he was even seeing it right. Well, if he wasn't seeing the sun right, with the brightness of it that could blind him though he really didn't care since he was already there, he didn't want to see it any other way. Billy put his large hands on the wooden sill and pulled upwards, his fingers now grasping around the wooden piece, then shoving it up so that it stayed upright. He grabbed the wooden plank and stuck it under so that it would stay. Breathing in the air, he realized all the things he had to do before the boss came. The day was getting short and he really had to start cleaning up the saloon downstairs. Another glance outside told him that the boss wasn't going to be in for another little while.

Life was short, Billy realized that quicker than most of the other people he had grown up with. Sure he was only thirty five and couldn't exactly say he had a lot of experiences and was old, but he looked more than fourty. Anybody could say that, so it was easy to lie about his age once or twice. With the deformity, he could be called young, too, because any bad thing that happened to you took a fraction of your childhood. Billy hated how that part of him had been discarded so carelessly. God didn't do bath things though, he was certain of that. He was also certain that the disease was totally meant for him. William had been through a lot, and therefore life was short to him. Nothing lasted forever, and for that reason he was wary of the strangers now entering his saloon. There were a lot of them around town these days. People that just came by the town and wanted a good swig of beer on the tap. If Billy didn't cut them off for his own sake, the keg would end up empty by the end of the day, and then he'd have to make his rounds again and get Stafford to drag a whole wagon full of beer all on his lonesome. He hated for his horse to have aching limbs, yet he needed to have the kegs, which is why he should've locked the doors and let only the bandit members in. He was awful sure that all the commotion inside his saloon would've roused the sheriff, but maybe that was what the boss wanted.

The day before, Billy had made a huge banner, and got the neighborhood paper boy to tell everyone that tomorrow, there was going to be free beer for everyone everywhere. So they might as well come in and have a sip. This helped the boss, and also got Billy where his saloon needed to be. The saloon wasn't particularly in a good shape, hell, it wasn't in a bad shape either. It was in the middle. There were the regulars, beat up old drunk guys that used to go to the saloon down the dirty road, but after it closed down, they started roaming around for Billy's. The bandits came here often, but only to enter the hideout down the stairs, as for the good guys, they didn't enter very much. They grabbed a beer and usually left, unless they caught somebody's eyes, that being one of the bandits, then there would be a ' code red ' where the bandit would have to leave the saloon. And that was what drove most people away. William loved beer, though, he always had and he always will. It was the taste of it, it just seemed so rich floating down his throat, wafting through familiar tubes and canals just to get to his stomach where it would meet the acid and forever stay, that is, until he took a piss. One thing was for sure, though, he liked giving beer out to other people to have a sip of. It seemed right to share something so great.

Billy pulled the blazer over his cream shirt and buttoned it up to about his mid-chest. He checked that his pants were good, and then he sighed, reaching to take the plank from the window and then letting it slide shut. He watched it slam, and the dust particles that wafted away from the window, for a moment before he decided it was time to go down the stairs. The saloon was hardly packed, but he knew that sooner or later everyone would appear. People were gathered around the stairs that he was descending now, and they smirked at him. "S'it your birthday, Blind Bronco?" they said with a swerve of their tongue. It was pretty obvious that they needed to be cut off, so he started towards the bar, slapping a huge glass mug on the counter and pouring some beer into it. And anyways, his birthday wasn't till about five months from then. Not that they would care. People usually shook their head at the thought of even asking him. Of course, why would they need to know Blind Billy Bronco's birthday? It wasn't like he was much of a nuisance to this place, or a greatness to it. They wouldn't get him gifts, never! They'd simply praise him for getting through life with that sort of rash thing all over his body. He hated that. And he hated how he kept on talking - to himself - about it. That was it, though. Billy never talked aloud about it, people just assumed he complained so much. But nope, the only time he had to complain was in his head, on his bed, in his dreams.

"Alright, Billy Bronco, we got some cards 'ere, and some chips. You in?" one tall man - the same on who had asked it if it was his birthday, and also one of the regulars - practically jumped onto one of the wooden stools, followed by two of his other drunk companions. Billy raised his eyebrow and raised one of his legs to pull one of the stools to him. They sat across from eachother as the man began to deal. "I guess I'm in," he said, though there really had been no questin about it. Everyday, Billy found himself talking to these three gentlemen, doing the same thing every day because the bandits didn't need him to do anything but host their hideout, and the beer was pretty easy to get for the few people that came into the saloon. They just slapped down a few coins and pulled up a chair and drank their beer off the tap. Now, Billy flipped his cards over, grinning slyly as one of the two other men guffawed and shook his head. "Don't know how you do it, Bronco, but there y'are." he said, and pushed in the cards for the man to start shuffling again. Gambling was illegal, it being the 1870's and in the middle of the second wave of the whole is-gambling-legal? phase of life. Surely, it wouldn't turn out to be illegal in the end. They were bored of nothing, and there was nothing else to do. If the law took this away from him, he'd ended up like the drunken b*****d outside in the front of the saloon, all bloodied up from a revolver shot. Billy stared ahead for awhile before Darry waved the cards in front of his nose. He smirked, and Billy sighed. "Alright, anyone want another round of beers?" he called, and moved the swivel-thing to get the beer out of the keg, and then he walked back to his seat where they had already started another round of poker.

Any minute now, the rest of the bandits would arrive. He already saw Kittie, and he wasn't even sure if she'd gotten her drinks yet. William clasped his hands around the cold beer, and then raised it to his face, where the burn marks were still resting. He found it unnerving how he woke up almost every day to the feeling that the fire was still on him, and that bugs were starting to gnaw at his body. He liked the feeling of the cold on his skin, it felt as if everything were at ease, and everything felt, you know, right again. He reached for another card, and then called the deck before setting his cards down. Billy took another drink and waited for the other three to give up already, but they just kept raising the stakes, and when it came down to revealing the cards, he flipped them over and found that yes, he had won - again. Billy always won, ever since the three had started coming to the saloon. They never asked about his face, but he knew that secretly they wanted to know. He was kind to them, and most often gave them free beers because it meant having their company around more than once a day. He liked having company, and having people not laugh at what he looked like on the outside. Grinning, William Bronco slid his beer away, as well as theirs since they were getting a little more than drunk, and then they started rolling dices, waiting for the rest of the bandits to get in and waste their time getting drunk and then running off to the hideout and making plans on whether or not to start a gun battle with the sheriff here and now. Billy didn't need to be there, but he went, for the sake that he might, just might, get to play the field this time.


so hopefully it`s okay? (:

[melona-pan]

Boredom.



Claire could handle physical pain, stress, her fights with the boss, even being held at gun point- but the one thing she could not STAND was boredom. It drove her insane. The only thing that probably twisted her the wrong way even more would be repetition- that just pissed her off to no end. Thankfully, she had rid of routine some time ago. Ever since she had become a bandit, life had been exhilarating- every day was an adventure. Well, most of them.

Probably what made today so horrible was the fact that she was just waiting for everything to fall together. Her love’s ingenious plan- it was today. Weeks of planning, all funneled into a few hours. Too bad the time before their plot started to unfold went by so damn slow- knowing that in a few hours her mask would be on, standing alongside her boss as he brilliantly kept the civilians of Bisbrook at gunpoint sent shivers up her spine. The rest of the bandits would be robbing, plundering- whatever they wanted, for the most part- while she stood loyally beside her beloved. Clairesse chewed on her bottom lip, tossing her perfectly clean, silver revolver hand to hand, staring at the wall before her.

She was clad in a typical saloon whore outfit, although anyone with a good eye could see it was of quality. One would think an outfit such as that would attract a lot of attention; and while it did, it wasn't the kind that made people remember Claire specifically. There was a surprising amount of saloon girls in Briskbrook, each with revealing outfits and pretty faces. Dressing in such a fashion would attract less attention, as there was constantly new scantily clad girls coming and going. Claire found it highly ironic; but truth be told, although it was a good disguise, she just liked dressing like this for her boss. Just to see him react- sometimes it was positive, sometimes it was negative. A gamble, really. A long string of pearls was wrapped loosely around her thin neck- ironically- it wasn’t stolen. It was bought with stolen money, but Claire had a pet peeve with wearing stolen things. It just felt… weird. She had no problem with using the money from selling stolen things to buy items she’d use- perhaps it was part of her growing insanity bubbling up. That was also her theory of why her love never gave her gifts- he couldn’t be bothered to trade his stolen goods to get her something new. Not that she cared- who needed material possessions when you have your one true love by your side? Regardless- she thought she looked rather nice today. Her short cropped raven hair was slightly messy- but it looked good on her. She knew how to flaunt her red lips and heels. To any outsider she’d either look like a slightly rebellious youth, or a worker at the local whorehouse. To a trained eye- it was obvious she wasn’t anyone’s child, and not only was she too gorgeous to be a mere prostitute- but she held herself in a manner most sex trade workers wouldn’t.

Claire’s deep blue eyes trailed across the plain walls of William’s secret room. They weren’t meeting here for another hour or so- she wasn’t sure, she had lost track of time. She was sitting on a dark brown wooden chair, a soft green pillow to cushion her perfect buttocks. Clairesse’s eyes trailed down to her gun. She kept it clean- she hated the feeling of a grimy gun in her hand. She often stole her bosses guns and cleaned them for him- they’d rust and be useless if they weren’t taken care of.

She brushed a tendril of hair away from her mouth with her tanned hand. Clutching the gun in her other palm, Claire held the barrel to her temple. The cold metal didn’t feel foreign- her boss had often put a gun to her head. Half of the time it ended in a kiss- but that was beside the point. What would happen if she pulled the trigger? What would have become of her if the boss had, in one of the other instances where he had threatened her? Not that she thought for a moment he’d kill her- but still. What happens when you die? Claire was a strong believer in the whole ‘you die, you rot in the ground, nothing more’ theory. But hell- she could be wrong. Was hell real? Was she going to hell? And more importantly- would her love have cared? Cried, maybe? Claire’s finger curled, pulling the trigger.


Click.


Her gun was unloaded, naturally. She wasn’t an idiot. Slightly annoyed that she had gone physiological on herself, Claire placed her gun down on strong oak table that matched her seat, and pushed herself off the chair. Luckily Billy had fitted their secret hideout rather well; it reeked of whiskey and wood, but she could live with that. It was a pretty nice room, for people like herself.

The woman stroaked her pearls absent mindedly, and lightly ran up the winding staircase to the roped off hall of the tavern. Peeking out the door, her light blue eyes trailed over the room. There were a few townies here and there, some sitting in groups, others alone. Billy at the bar, naturally, chatting with a few people. A woman in a beautiful dress caught her eye as well- she was a bandit. Red lips curled into a smile. Something about knowing that such a well mannered and dressed person was actually a criminal made her giddy. Claire would have liked nothing more then to have gone and chatted with Selina, but it was obvious she couldn't. A woman of her stature having light conversation with a saloon girl? That would raise some questions. Claire couldn't risk revealing her true identity, as it would probably end up blowing everyone else's. The boss would certainly be cross with her then, oh boy.

Claire darted quickly- yet still elegantly- down the steps. Her eyes trailed over William again. She was unsure of his nature, his 'alignment', if you will. But she couldn't care less, as long as he stayed out of the way. He seemed like a nice enough person; but Claire didn't have time to make friends. He served his purpose by doing what her love asked, and she was grateful for that- and a reliable ally in her eyes.

Claire pushed open a small wooden door, entering the space that served as a powder room for the women. Since the bar was, essentially, where the women of the whore house got their customers, it was in the best interest of Willian to add such an extension. It was really just a tiny room with a few mirrors and a counter. A couple towels and tissues as well as a small dish of mints were placed on the long counter. Nice touches. Claire ran her fingers through her short black hair, playing with her locks and readjusting them until she was satisfied. She took a moment to reapply her rouge, and gaze at herself for a moment, approving her quick fix up. Popping a mint in her mouth, Claire lazily stepped out of the room, into the bar.

Sounds of clinking glasses were accompanied with even more gruff voices. Huh- she must've taken longer then she expected. She ignored the looks she got from most of the men in the room- an attractive young thing just left the 'whore room'. She couldn't help the smile that cracked across her face as a cat call was whistled out. She glanced over at the source of the sound, giving the gruff man a wink. Sure, she was completely devoted to her man- but she was allowed to play with a few half drunk men. Who knows how loaded they may be? Call it Russian Roulette with men's lives, if you will.

Hands on hips, as Clairesse reached the stairs, she glanced back. William was still at the bar, gambling with a few men. Claire gave him a small smile and nodded a greeting at him. She click clacked back up the stairs after replacing the rope blocking them off. She ignored the looks of curiosity from some of the customers. No one knew what was really up there... was this gorgeous woman servicing some important man? If they only knew. Claire's pleasant smile curled into a frown, as she made her way down to the hide out.

Much to her disappointment, the room was still empty. She had been hoping someone would have popped in while she was out. Sighing, Claire flung herself onto a bench, heavily covered in pillows. She just wanted someone to play with, was that so much to ask? Her native friend, her love- hell, any of the bandits. Claire picked up a smaller, red velvet pillow and promptly shoved her face into it, screaming into the cushion. A few seconds passed, and she now calmly breathed through the dusty fabric.

Well, someone had better show up soon. Otherwise, she'd go crazy.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxWell, crazier.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

[s i n f u l BANANA]

graphic by holly [thank you, ilu]

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Mathilda held on tightly to various pieces of furniture while she made her way to the front door to her house. It was just a small place really. She didn’t require much. And besides, in her current condition, it wasn’t like she could handle much more than what she had now. There had been a few bad days where she hadn’t even been able to climb up the stairs leading up to her small room. That being said, she was getting better at handling this disability. She knew how to drag herself around her house without using her wheelchair all the time, and she could even do it at work. Of course, she still used the wheelchair outside of her home and at work. But home, it stayed at the door, it didn’t go any further. She refused to let that wooden chair with wheel control her life.

Of course, once outside, she had no choice but to use the wheelchair. Her legs couldn’t carry her anymore, not without some heavy leaning on objects and person. And she refused to show that she needed so much support outside of her home. She preferred the looks of pity she got from people than needing their help because she had landed flat on her face. If she refused the help of old friend’s like the sheriff, it was highly unlikely she would accept help from anyone else. Perhaps that was why she enjoyed that saloon owner’s company so much. He never commented on the fact that she was a wheelchair, and never offered help, unless she asked for it. In return, she didn’t care for his disfiguration. To her, it didn’t make him any different than others. Well, actually, maybe better than others. Maybe that was why he didn’t care or comment on her own problems: because he knew how much he hated it himself.

Mathilda finally reached the front door, where her wheelchair was waiting for her. She glared at it, as though she could make it disappear. Was it childish? Of course, without a doubt. But Matty wasn’t in the mood to act her age. Her legs were acting up today. When they weren’t numb, they were painful. The nerves still seemed able to send her brain messages like these. Too bad her brain couldn’t tell those same nerves to move correctly anymore. On some days, she was tempted to try out one of those new drugs, opium, to be more precise, just to see if it would help or not. But she never did. Instead, she relied on something that also gave her some company: alcohol. Sure, it was bad to admit that a lady such as herself relied on something like beer or stronger alcohol to go through the day sometimes, but Mathilda wasn’t exactly like other women. Besides, she didn’t get drunk. She never woke up with a headache of anything of the sort. It just seemed like alcohol helped.

The woman slid down in the wooden chair, relaxing slightly. As much as she hated it, it was a relief to be sitting again. Her legs throbbed, and she grimaced slightly. She reached down, rubbing them slightly. Really, life felt like hell now, and just because of one damn woman. Just thinking about it made Mathilda’s blood boil. She could think of a lot of things she could do to make the woman pay. A few painful ones too, both physically and mentally, both at the same time in some cases too. But what did you want? Matty was, by nature, a vengeance seeking woman. Granted, never before ad she felt such a strong need to get revenge, but there was a first time for everything, wasn’t there? And besides, she was pretty sure that anyone who would be in her current situation would think the same way she did.

After making sure she had everything she would need, meaning some money and her revolver, she started off towards the saloon. All of this rolling around was indeed starting to give her some pretty strong arm muscles. But even so, it took her a little while before she got to the saloon. It wasn’t very far from her house, but it was slower in a wheelchair than on foot. But she did eventually get there without problems, and quickly rolled herself towards the bar. She couldn’t help but grimace slightly, both from the pain in her legs and from slight one she could feel in her arms. Yes, she was building arm muscles, but no, they didn’t seem to be that strong yet. But they would be, she swore mentally, eventually they would. They would have to be in order to take down the newest band of outlaws, and to get her revenge.

For now though, it wasn’t time to worry about something of the sort.

Inside, Mathilda smiled slightly. She wasn’t surprised to hear some people whisper. Women weren’t usually here, unless they were some sort of whores. They certainly didn’t come here if they were in wheelchairs. Then again though, how many people in Bisbrook went around in a wheelchair? Matty knew she was pretty much the only one. Though, then again, she could be wrong. She concentrated more on learning more about the newest band of outlaws than on anything else. She probably wouldn’t know whether there was another one like her or not unless that person either became and danger and was rescued by the masked stranger or if she or he became a villain of some sort. But for now, she liked to think that she was special somehow, and not just for having survived the way she did.

In any case, she rolled towards the bar, where the disfigured gentlemen seemed to be gambling with some men. It was probably just by some luck that she didn’t come across Claire. But then again, would she really have recognized her? Either way, she smiled at the man at the bar, though her eyes stopped longer on Billy Bronco, to whom she smiled ever so slightly. “Same as usual” she said. Which meant just a beer, to start anyways. Then she looked at the gambling game, raising her eyebrows ever so slightly. “Who’s winning?” she asked. But of course, she had a pretty good idea of who was. As she spoke, she let her eyes travel the saloon, looking for something that she thought would be out of place. Something had to be up, right?

[Pink Panda Paw]

There was one thing Delilah hated about being a bandit- having no real home. She hated the fact that she barely had anything, having to move around alot restricted you from carrying a large amount of things. Luckily for her, the other bandits in her group had decided to stay in Bisbrook and after about a month of staying there, she knew they wouldn't be leaving too soon. She bought dresses, jewelry, hats; all of which she bought with the money she recieved from her career. By this time, she had already spent all her money, she was nearly broke, but she had just enough for rent. Of course, she can always get more money. She was now a resident of Bisbrook, living there for six monthes, and lived a rented room. It was small, but she had just enough room for herself and her attire, which consisted beautifully tailored dresses with unique patterns and colors. If they was one thing Delilsh loved- it was looking good.

Today she wasn't as fixated on her appearance however. It was the day she and her fellow bandits had plans, plans that involved holding the Bisbrook residents at Bronco's saloon. Delilah was looking forward to it, which was surprising because she normally hated group projects. The whole town was invited; and since the sheriff was a part of it, she was pretty sure he would be coming as well. He was her favorite out of every other person in town simply because he gave her more attention then anybody else and, quite frankly, he was just so fun to mess with. Just a couple days ago she had killed a man with one of her infamous deathtraps and had seen the sheriff once again. She was clad in her regular clothes, or the ones she used in criminal activities, which consisted of a frock coat, trousers, and a top hat. By now, he knew her simply as "D", she had introduced herself as that in a form of a riddle. She would never use an alias that hid her name completely, it would make her feel as if she wasn't getting the credit, which would've caused her great pain-- doing all that work and getting nothing in return.

Delilah was taking a walk around town right now, the hem of her skirt dragging along the dusty road as we walked along, causing some of the dust to go up in small clouds. The heat was killing her especially since her dress was pretty heavy and her loose braid was starting to frizz under the hot desert sun. It was important for her to look good though, she only dressed to impress-- anything she did was to impress. She liked to be better than others, actually she thought and knew she was better than others.

Delilah stood up straighter once she realized she was slouching a bit. To most it looked like she was just walking aimlessly along, but she had a destination: the sheriff's office. She wasn't quite sure if he would be there, but she certainly hoped he wasn't. Normally she would dress in pants and a coat to drop off a riddle or do anything related to her "career", but she simply didn't have the time to put on her normal get-up and walk back to her home to change into the proper attire for a party. In addition to that, she had left her coat at the hideout.

When the office came into view, she approached the small wooden building slowly, her eyes trying to scan the window for any signs of life. It was hard to tell, the window being quite dirty, but Delilah didn't detect any movement. She pushed open the wooden door and entered the building. It was empty, but she hurried nonetheless. She was quick when when took out a small card from her bag. The neat handwriting on it read:

-------------------------------
It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,
Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt,
It lies behind stars and under hills,
And empty holes it fills,
It comes first and follows after,
Ends life, kills laughter.
----------------------------------

Delilah looked over the note to make sure her handwriting was ledgible and left the room quickly, just in case the sheriff were to return soon. She knew he would know it was from her, who else would leave him a riddle to solve? She was pretty sure he could solve this one and figure out what it meant, he was pretty clever.

As she hurried off to the saloon, she knew she wouldn't mention this act to any of the other bandits, with the exception of the pyromaniac. They already disliked her hints and clues and Delilah was pretty sure they wouldn't like that she just told the sheriff that something was going to happen tonight. Oh well, she didn't mind if they got mad at her. She would still have one friend, a former carny like herself. Which was who she was headed towards now. He would like to hear about her latest plan, so she was off to the saloon, the place he would most likely be.

The saloon wasn't very far away from the sheriff's office, so the saloon appeared in front of her in a matter of minutes. It looked like a very drab building, much like the rest of the buildings that surrounded it; it was the type of scenery Delilah despised, but she had become used to avoiding thought of it, though she could still be found complaining about it every now and then. It was the dust that bothered her most and as she walked up to the building and pushed through the swinging doors, she couldn't help but grimace at the way dust swirled up around it. Nonetheless, she softened her face quickly and entered the building with poise and dignity, because, remember, image was everything to Delilah.

Stepping away from the door a bit, she began scanning her surroundings, something she always did when she entered a room. There were few things to explain why she did it, but it was something she always did; even if she visited the room frequently, she had to look over it again before walking in any further. It was one of the many things about Delilah that couldn't be helped.

All the furniture in the saloon looked the same; the bar was still there and the table and chairs, though a bit moved, were still there. Billy Bronco was sitting and gambling with a group of drunks, like she normally saw him doing, and that lady in the wheelchair was there as well. Delilah even caught a glimpse of Claire going off into another room. She liked familiar people in familiar surroundings, so as comfort fell on her, she began to lightly stroll into the room until her eyes landed on Selina, in attire much more beautiful than her own. Delilah mentally scolded herself for not spending more time to get ready; she hated the idea of not being better than or equal to one of the few people she hated.

Delilah pulled her glance away from the other woman as she began to go towards the hideout-- if she her clothing didn't look as nice as Selina's, then she was definitely going to arrive at the meeting before her.


ooc;; the answer to the riddle is "darkness" in case you didn't get it xD
it's the imply nighttime, 'kaaay? i think i put that in the post, but i'm not sure....

[Fushigi na Akumu]

Colby Stetson
----------the young wonder of the west!

The sun jumping off his eyes, dreams wandered behind in his head distracting from his duties. He had always had a problem with paying attention. Whether he did them absentmindedly or not, Colby enjoyed his duties on the ranch. As tedious and laborious as some were, there was a certain amount of fun in these things for Colby. Always caught between dreams and hyperactivity, he would complicate even the simplest of tasks. So, in order to get through hard work, he made his work into games. Sometimes, it was a test of speed. Other times, it was a skill contest. On this particular day, he decided to try something fun and ridiculous and resourceful to get his job done. He was to be building a wagon, but, somehow, he had managed to turn his job into target practice. Coaxing nails down the barrel and tricking them into being bullets, Colby shot the nails into place with sharp shooting. He would carefully set up the sides of the wagon in a way that the edges could be nailed together and, moving further and further away, shoot each nail in place with increasing efficiency. He knew it wasn't exactly what he was expected to do but hoped Mr. McCallister wouldn't mind. Colby would build the wagon either way, so he himself didn't care. He only cared that he was having fun. He fired off another nail-bullet with puerile giddy. The sound of the blast of a gun reminded him of safety, maybe not goodness, as opposed to evil, but safety.

His innocent smile fell to a calm, straight face. Colby thought back to his cripplingly gullible years with his family of bandits. He had never fit in with the bandits. He was always safe with them, though. Being such a child and free spirit at heart, he was rowdy and animated. He was loud and rambunctious and wouldn't sit still. He was the opposite of the criminals - so innocent. But he felt wanted - needed - and would always stay. He was horribly naive in this way along with others. Colby was childishly gullible and trapped in illusion. His starry-eyes saw far but not always near. He only saw what was clearly obvious when it was staring him in the face - when the criminals went to jail. Even then, naive illusions guarded him from the most threatening truth.

Having quickly assembled the wagon, Colby began to roll the wagon to the barn. He had shot the nails in far from the house and barn as to not alarm or scare anybody. Everyone that would happen to be on the ranch shouldn't be surprised by this anyway, but he couldn't help but be on the safe side. Colby would have normally warned everyone that he was to be firing a gun but just felt like moving farther away from the house. The questions would be bothersomely plentiful. The nails had ended up being louder than normal bullets, but Colby hadn't thought much of it because of the distance. His wagon-shooting range was very far from the house and ranch after all. A dog half the distance to the house would have had problems hearing the gun shots. He'd even crossed the fence to get out so far. Crossing back over the fence was not as fun with a built wagon.

He raced his shadow from the fence to the barn predictably losing because of the sun's position. Colby found his way to the handsome barn quickly. He set down his wagon near the broad double-doors of the handsome barn and unlatched the doors lock while panting. It was a good run. He pulled the thick, wooden door open and proceeded to roll the wagon on in. Growing older, with thoughts of an imcomplete history accumulating, he started to want to move on. As comfortable as he was in the quaint town of Bisbrook, Colby began to feel compelled to finally reach California where his parents sought. He felt slightly empty and unfulfilled. Colby wanted closure for what his parents had ventured towards. Beyond that, he wanted to know the truth of his first father. With building the wagon, he was reminded of his future dreams. Of course, he wouldn't move on until the problems in the town were over. He always had someone pull through for him when he was needing and felt obligated to do the same. In Colby's mind, that's how the world was supposed to work. Paying everything forward. Someone does something nice - great in most of Colby's cases - and that should be repayed. It was like crime and punishment except on the opposite side of the law. Just as he was needy, his city was needy. Just as he was helped and pushed along, his city would be helped and pushed along. Just as someone would always make everything turn out all right for him, he would make everything turn out all right for his city.

Colby rolled the wagon to a wall of the well-populated barn where surprisingly nothing laid and flipped it over. He took a moment to amuse himself with the spinning of the wagon's wheels before moving on to a short cabinet covered in tools. Amongst a collection of various-sized hammers and screwdrivers, he set down the hammer that had originally been intended to be used on the wagon. He pulled open a roughly cut drawer and unloaded his pocketfuls of nails into it. He'd made this particular cabinet himself when he was but twelve. It was one of the first things he worked on at the ranch. Colby, very much treasuring the history stored in the cabinet, loved using the horribly made furnishment. Sometimes, when he felt sad, he would go through the cabinet's drawers and look at the shoddy. He would think about remaking it with the skills he's acquired but always decide against it and feel okay again. Colby found so many undeniable similarities between himself and the cabinet.

Done in the barn, he closed the broad doors and made his way to the house. Approaching the backdoor, he realized how dirty he was. His close were littered with shrapnel from nails and dirt dried and loosened by heat and wind. Colby brushed off his casual, white shirt and worn jeans before entering the house. He knew that he would have to clean up any dirt-fuel disturbance his messiness caused and intended to make it easy on himself. He'd had a busy day and didn't want to make it any busier. Between his duties around the ranch and his animated nature, everyday ended up rather busy, anyway.

Colby wiped his black boots on the coarse mat before the door. Having finished his duties earlier than normal, he sought something new to do as he entered the house through its back door. He wandered what Mr. McCallister was up to. With his quiet nature, Colby often overlooked him. He may have been in the barn and Colby not notice him. Wherever he was, he was probably getting something that needed to be done. "Hey, Mr. McCallister? Are you in here?" Colby thought about going into town as he entered the kitchen. He hadn't been to town or talked to anyone other Mr. McCallister lately. He missed seeing some of his friends in town as well. He didn't miss many people with grudges who still didn't trust him satring at him and didn't really care about them, anyway. Colby found a glass and poured himself some water from a large pitcher. It wasn't really cold but, more importantly, it wasn't hot. He sat down at the table and relaxed for the moment. He didn't sit still, though. He always had to be moving, even if it was just his tapping feet. "Hello?" he called out to what seemed to be an empty house.