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Our Motto: All members should be treated with the same basic respect that any human being deserves. When considering respect, statistics such as post counts, or the time spent here are meaningless. Everyone should get along with one another, avoid conflict, respect each other, and respect the Thread.

1. No flaming: Do NOT seek to insult, deride or lambaste other members; even a flame that you mean as a joke will not be accepted, unless it's obvious to all the other users reading your post that it's not intended to attack or offend. If you are flamed, then contact a myself, and I will deal with it - do not retaliate.

2. No baiting: Do NOT treat people in a manner intended to anger or upset them. If you feel you are being baited, then first ask them to stop ((NEVER react with a flame)). If they continue, then contact myself..

3. No Drama Whoring: You must keep personal information OFF the Topic. Do NOT seek help here; This is a role play, not a self help center. Post entries ONLY regarding the role play. If you must post out of character do so with, "((EXAMPLE))"

4. Take Account of Others Viewing the Topic : Make sure that your posts are readable. Literate, PG-15 and creative to capture attention. Each entry must be longer than three sentences, but below a sensible amount so as the role play continues to flow.

5. No Advertising: DO NOT advertise your thread in this role play. If you wish to do so, contact myself and I will place your link and or banner in the affricates area where all members can access it easier.

6. YOU MUST READ ALL THE INFORMATION. It's needed to participate in the Role play.

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1. Unofficial Warnings:This is a Thread leader sending you a friendly PM to inform you if you have done something wrong. Don't see this as too serious, but do make sure to listen to what they have to say and try to improve upon it.

2. Official Warnings:Should be taken very seriously if you receive one. You should speak to the staff member and make sure that you do not repeat your mistake again, lest you get something more serious next time. This is to be taken seriously, and not as a simple slap on the wrist. Warnings can be issued by any Thread leader.

3. Permanent Banning:These are very rare and hopefully will never occur. However, if this does happens you will be prohibited from posting on the thread.



Note: Fighting is allowed- though, do not destroy too much. Make things detailed and realistic- no gun fighting inside. PM me if you wish to be on the wanted poster or wish to be an employee in the Saloon. To join the actual role play itself, is simple- merely make an opening post describing your character. Simple as that. By the way, this is strictly HUMAN.

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The year is 1829. Andrew Jackson is the President of the ever expanding America. The war of 1812 is a distant memory, though there are plenty of veterans walking amongst every day citizens. However, beyond politics and economics on the boarders of society lives adventure. Here, out west, adventure and mischief is sheltered and welcomed- here amongst the brush and tumble weed lays a sub society with their own rules.

Card dealing, whiskey drinking, and gunslinging can be heard amongst the notes of a piano- where robbers and rebels are more famed than the President himself- such are the ways of the West.

Ride the fresh rail ways to a small town on the outskirts of a desert, where the buildings are pounded by scorching temperatures, sandstorms; plagued by rattlesnakes and the lack of authority. Though, such things burden, prosperity and population prevail in a burst of culture here in Utah.

Here amongst the ladies and cowboys stands a new building- a new popular building for the entertainment of the townsfolk. The White Rabbit Saloon. Past the horse post and trough and up upon the creaking wooden deck; past the swinging doors and wanted poster lays the haven for most western Fantasy. The White Rabbit Saloon.

Upon entering the smell of whiskey and heavy tobacco assaults the senses- strong and ever lingering. Round wooden tables litter the hard wood floor, ideal for card playing and whiskey drinking- ideal, even more so to stare down an opponent or sit perhaps with your clan of fellow criminals.

Even a billiard table, for those skilled at playing it-or, of course, hustling- is present upon the floor.

Walking across the buckling floor one will notice the amount of dirt and sand littering the surface, causing the deafening sound of heavy boots and spurs to reverberate through the boards. Despite the employees' efforts to keep the floors clean and the tables wiped, it appears to be a loosing battle.

What lay straight before the eyes is a well stocked bar. Made of fine upholstered wood and lined with rather simple stools. Stacked upon shelves is a variety of brandy, whiskey and the like- one can even stare at their reflection, if they happen to catch the mirrors that line the wall behind the beverages. Of course, only the most keen of drunkards would notice such a thing- which would explain why the building is rather dull in decoration, only housing a couple of oil lamps and candles for necessary lighting.

Behind the bar lay the Kitchen, though few ever venture there- it's merely littered with pots and pans, a small tub for dishes, and a wood stove.

To the left of the main entrances lies the entertainment center. An old piano sits perpendicular to a small stage, where barmaids and wenches alike hold the most...scandalous of entertainment.
It's a fairly small building, despite the many masses that usually congregate there.

Down a small hall past the bar, a small office as well as a small room, belonging to the owner is tucked away neatly from the prying eyes of the customers.

Not much can be said for her of course, she is a small woman, with graying hair and a rather large mole on her chubby cheek. However, her niece- the heir to the Saloon, is quite the looker- at least that's what the passing travelers told of- then again, men are fickle; are they not?

Enter the world of the West- Enter the White Rabbit Saloon.



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1- Back Door.
2- Abigail's Room
3- The Office/ Owner's Room.
4- The Bar
5- The Kitchen
6- Tables
7- The Piano
8- The Stage
9- Backstage

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Within a dimly lit den sat a woman, finely dressed; quill in hand. The candle light flickered off her creamy skin, an aurora of tranquility fluttered about the room. Her eyes lay transfixed upon the parchment she wrote, scanning through some familiar handwriting.

Her skirt was layered; a white slip hide under layer of black cotton which rested under a silky cream material. The assortment hinted to quite a bit of wealth. Her black shoes were simple, flat- she aired a sense of simplistic beauty. One would also notice her skirt was a bit too short, hanging leadenly above her finely crafted ankles. It was folded strangely around her trim legs, exposing that small portion of skin. She was a petite young girl from her very toes to the top of her head. Of course, one could not see the shapelessness of her legs, the roundness of her buttocks nor the lush swelling of her hips under the rich materials. However, her waist seemed even smaller under the constraint of a black corset, strung rather harshly in the back by silver silk laces. One could only guess that without this restriction she would still possess a tiny midsection that could easily be spanned by a large male hand. The fashionable corset pushed up her adolescent chest into delectable view, despite the lack of abundance- it would satisfy most prying eyes. Her shoulders were small; seemingly too small to bare the weight of even her small endowments. Finely etched collar bones added a certain air of delicacy to her physique that even was prominent in her elegant, gently, slopping neck. The young lady's long fingered hand flexing impatiently against the arms of the soft chair- hands smooth and unscathed; hands that had not lifted a broom or watering bucket their whole existence. Her face was turned away, but one could see the smooth angle of a well defined jawline, curving into graceful cheekbones. This young adolescent must have had an air of pride about her, for her chin was strong, and her full lips set defiantly upon the lower half of her face. Though, looking closer one will see vulnerability in the corner of her mouth, with the edges turned up slightly, as if begging to be kissed tenderly with love.

Looking up and away from her work she turned towards the threshold of the small den, as if awaiting someone to enter; leaving the eyes a full vision of beauty. Her nose was small, straight and well proportioned to herself. Most striking in the candle light would be the deep green of her eyes, a window to her soul which was curtained by the thickness of her eyelashes. Her very gaze scream femininity as her eyes flickered around the dimly lit room.

The young woman didn't seem prim, but her arrangement of hair would speak otherwise. The auburn tresses were wound tightly behind her head, fixed in a long braid which was pinned firmly in place and woven with a fading blue ribbon. To the naked eye one could only guess the length would reach well below her waist, perhaps to the line of her hips, however, one would not be able to determine the texture, which was in fact, graced with thick lustrous curls.

Her name was Abigail.

Though, quite wealthy Abigail seemed to contest to any amount of fine jewelry. The only trinket she held was a black ribbon upon her neck, which was laced through a silver north star- a gift from her grandfather who she had first lived with in London before coming to live with her... not so sophisticated Aunt. Rising from her chair, she swayed gracefully to her door. The night was about, it was time for her to make her apperance, and open the Saloon.

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It has been a long time since either of them had actually had a place of refuge. Both of them were either incarcerated or swept behind the idea of gunfights and gang wars. It was too bad that the insurrections that were out further west were dampening businesses, otherwise, both of them would be there.

...Well...not really. In fact, both of them were fish out of water...or to make it worse, fish out of that barrel of water that was their only hope of surviving.

Which brings us to our protaganist - a twenty four year old Chinese man who had come here on the basis of 'opium trade' under the disguise of a hardworking railroad worker. Unfortunately, that grand line would have to wait for him to actually work on it, as he had larger ambitions than to just work on a railroad. His hair cut short, like the white men who rode here, he looked more like a dusty Indian in cowboy's clothes rather than an actual opium front man. But it wasn't as if he was going to continuously harbor that dangerous trade either - going for a rather easy approach to life and trying to flesh out his horizons in order to gain a proper job. He was known as 'John' to most people out in these parts.

Of course, in order to accomplish this task, he would need to seek out the person who had left a deeply wounding impression on him by tearing apart his morality and traditions by cutting his hair in the first place, and then gotten him mixed up in all these wild goose chases for treasure...

Enter his antagonist - Michael. Known as 'Mad Mike', he has the problem of stealing from others and even cheating in a card game to get by. It doesn't help that he drinks away his money either. Though he wasn't a bad looking man at all, his rowdy behavior tends to make him shunned by the general in public. Short, kept blonde hair and blue eyes, he was probably the stereo typical cowboy with the leather pants, the soft white shirt with the matching vest and the black hat hung low so that his eye brows were covered. His slim body was kept in a low slouch as he played cards at the other table...of course, he was cheating...there were SEVERAL aces up his sleeve.

"You!" The bad American accent kicked into his head as his collar was grabbed my a familiar person.

"Oh...you found me..."

"Give it back!"

"Your hair? It's a bit late - you're going to need to grow it back."

"No! The ring!" It may have looked funny to see an Asian man in a wrassler's garb choking out a 'rich' white man.

"Gack! Sheesh!" Of course, all of this caused the cards to fall out of poor Mike's sleeves. The other roughnecks saw the cards hit the floor with a rather surprised look before bringing up a rather hostile gaze back to the two men. "Agh...look what you've done..."

"Me?! You're a lying dirty sneak!"

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Walt had never been very punctual in arriving at work, and it was clear now, fifteen minutes after six, as he hurried along the dusty street. His mousy brown hair was ruffled and wild, and he absent-mindedly ran a hand through it, making it even messier than before. He wasn't quite up to par this evening, with high-collared white shirt and striped red-and-white vest looking a little wrinkled and frazzled in the sinking sun, his black tie slightly crooked and the cuffs of his pants dusty. In his hand was a simple tote bag, a few pieces of paper sticking out of the edge, looking as hasty as the rest of him as he hurried down the street.

There was something in the way he walked that made the observer pull a double take, and it took a moment longer to recognize the strange dip of his left shoulder as he paced along quickly. On every other step, Walter's left hand would swing further down than his right, and his leg bent a little funny, as if it was shorter than its pair. Walter normally used a cane when out and about, but at the moment the mahogany rod was hooked in the handle of his bag. After all, it wasn't that far from his little room to the White Rabbit, and the musician had trained himself to walk the distance over time, going a little farther each day without the cane. Now he could almost make it to the swinging doors without stopping to rub his bad ankle, and it was something he was very proud of.

Walter paused outside the saloon to lean on a vacant space on the horse post and take in his last bit of sunlight for the day. He turned his angular face to the sun with his eyes closed, a wide, lopsided smile spreading from ear to ear as he ignored the fact that he was late. The evening rush would be in soon, and the good folks of White Rabbit needed their song and dance, it was true. Of course, that never quite inspired Walter to get there on time. It put the spring in his limping step and the money in his pocket, but never the purpose he constantly looked for.

It would have been much nicer to sit in his little room on the top floor of Mr. Mason's house, with that sun streaming in the window and warming his skin as he bent over his music sheets with some ink. Ah well, Walt had to keep that little room, didn't he? And if that meant he needed to play in a bar all night long, then so be it. There were harder things than sleeping in until noon the next day. With this thought in mind, Walter turned his warm brown gaze away from the sun and towards the peeling sign of the proud institution before him. A hand pulled the mahogany cane from his bag as the lopsided smile faded, and he gave a little sigh as he hobbled into the Saloon and bid adieu to the sun.

Stepping onto the dusty floorboards, the lean man paused again, surveying the busy haunting grounds with a familiar, crooked smile and a twinkle in his eyes. As a cripple, he had learned to take his time in these things, and was absolutely delighted by the swarming population of the bar. He could probably get away with fifteen more minutes before he was noticed by the faculty and had to start playing, and a few new notes of his half-composed Aria had popped into his head during the trip here.

Within minutes, the musician was seated on his stool, smiling a loving welcome to the ebony and ivory below his hands, a lopsided twist of the lips that dwarfed the one that had greeted the bar minutes before. It was a miracle, the gift he had been given, the power of music and a sweet baritone sound like the voice of God. And he abused it every night with this sidestage bar bawling and the Honkey Tonk he was forced to play. Still, he was always surprised by how warmly he was treated by the half-wits who frequented the place, and it was nice to be cheered for every so often.

Ah well, until he got the pocket money for a ticket to El Capital, it was this or nothing. And there certainly was nothing wrong with a few shallow ladies and some very deep tankards of rum. The musician pressed a bony index finger down on middle C, slowly and gently, so that the instrument made no sound. Or maybe it maybe a quiet one, but he couldn't tell. The same thing that took his once-sauntering gait had also taken the hearing in his left ear, and that was the side that was turned to the hollow middle of the piano. His other ear, the working one, was turned towards the bar and a few harsh words of some would-be-brawlers drowned out whatever sound the keys made.

Musing on this, Walter spun on his stool to face the bustling Saloon with that crooked grin of his, and he flexed the fingers of his left hand as he bent to pull the bag onto his lap, and with the dextrous digits he was known for, he began shuffling through the disorganized papers within it.

Halfway through the papers, Walter paused and stared at his clothes. There was a stain on the bottom corner of his shirt that he hadn't seen before, and he tugged at his rumpled vest to cover the inky mark before returning to his shuffling. As long as none of the other staff was around, Walter would seize whatever freedom was thrown the way of the daydreaming man. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he stared down at the messy papers in his bag, absent-mindedly noting that he'd need to shave tommorow.

Now where did he put that sheet...?

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Her delicate hand looped graciously upon the layered fabric of her dress as she strode out her room. Locking it behind her and placing the key in the hidden folds of her dress she turned down the hall. She stood stunned, her skirts slipping from her hands to again sweep upon the dirty floor.

It appeared her Aunt had already opened the Saloon, for it was already bustling with business, and lingering on the verge of quite a nasty brawl. Squaring her shoulders Abigail sauntered gracefully over to the event, her hips moving deliciously under the accenting material of her dress. She was careful to avoid the wandering hands of the many patrons, and gave no more than a weary glance at the whores already seating themselves upon the laps of those they deemed worthy.

Turning a bit, to cast a glance over her shoulder she found her Aunt, seated provokingly upon the bar surface. Which, was an unnerving scene, considering her Aunt wasn't the most delicious female about- however, as said before men are fickle- and having an ample bosom like her Aunt seemed to distract from the stench and flaws of the rest of her stature.

Grimacing slightly she turned back to the matter at hand. It was unlikely she would be able to stop a heavy brawl, but who was going to anyway? Men came and went, and the women that resided in and around the Saloon were no more than whores or barmaids looking for keep. If the Saloon was to be destroyed it would be Abigail who payed the price.

Parting her lips a bit, she licked them- preparing to force an appealing smile. Abigail was intelligent of course, she knew any amount of charm could usually quench a man's temper.

'Good sirs' she said polity, a fresh English accent hinting into her pronunciation, 'What seems to be the problem? I'm sure it can be settled with a round of free drinks?' she attempted to bribe- perhaps these were the type of men who would become jolly and cheerful under the influence. Though, Abigail never had the best luck, did she?

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"Kind ma'am...he's cheating in a card game...I warrent that's stealing...'round here, we don't take too kindly to cheaters and swindlers." The old'n man was the first at the card table to give a small cackle and even push the abohorrence of this group to a further extent. A small hunting knife was taken from his boot and his near toothless grin could be seen now.

"How utterly repulsing." John muttered to himself, trying not to get in a bar fight with about another group of men. He wouldn't fight well if he was surrounded in closed quarters. Mike just looked towards his antagonist before looking back to the other men, a nervous look on his face.

"Hey, shut up before we're killed!"

John would just shake his head and decided to head to the exit after grabbing the ring from Mike's pocket. His expression would shift to an utmost seriousness when three men blocked his way, his eyebrow arching and his mouth opened to make a protest.

"Get out of my way, sir. I'm in no way a part of that man's schemes." The Chinese man said to the men blocking his way, but they would only grin and wobble back and forth.

"Now wayyyyy shonny...Dats our pay! We're not lettin' some boyyyyyy like YOU take that awayyy...We gotta haf some fun fer ourselves, ya know?" He said doing a little pervert notion by doing a pelvic thrust. John just cringed at the thought of his ring being used by these three drunkards to buy ugly hookers and struggled to keep the contents of his stomach from spilling out of his mouth and onto the floor. Stepping forwards with Mike now standing behind him, he would only feel a palm at his chest, stopping him from exiting the accursed building with its foul smelling stench of alcohol and liquor.

"What'd wez tellz ya? Youz ain't goin anywherez!" the first drunk said taking a swing at John, him ducking and Mike being hit instead. After a few moments of wobbling, Mike had nearly collapsed and John caught him in his arms. But once more, the drunkards swung at him.

John would jump back and threw Mike up into the air so they both won't get hit. He'd land on a table behind himself and Mike landed on top of him as he clasped his arms around his, ready to lift her off. Now if he wasn't half-concious, that little action he did wouldn't be a problem.

"Gahhh..." he wondered, a buzz in his mind. John just shook his head as he rolled off the table with Mike still in his grasp and then he'd try to walk towards the exit once more. There was no way he could fight the drunkards in closed quarters like this. He needed to escape with a person in his hands, and so far, this escape looked like it would end in injury.

"I'm tellin' yaz...Leggo o' that cheater..." he said now grabbing his arm, almost causing him to let go of Mad Mike completely. He'd drop from his arms, his head threatening to hit the floor. John quickly did a front split kick, bringing his right leg forward and putting it between the open stance of the drunkard's legs and his left leg aiming backwards. He'd sigh and smile upon Mike as he barely caught the thin man in his arms. What a close one when he barely landed within his arms, mere inches from the floor.

"You drunken men, get out of my way. He needs a bed to sleep...maybe even a doctor for that jaw..." He said now pleading with them one more time. They wouldn't listen. They just chuckled idiotically and advanced with an eager grin, a show of violence when they clenched their fist in aggression.

"Damn American: you better thank me for this." John mumbled as he backed up, still carrying Mike.

"Weee! Mommy! I wanna ride da pony!" Mike mumbled into John as he held the cowboy up.

"Ah! I'll make a note never to bring you to a social gathering!" John said as he backed against a counter. Prepping Mike's body on top of the counter, he'd jump over the next table to meet the bar flies. As soon as one came up to him, he'd bend back to dodge a poorly coordinated hook punch and then would move forward and deliver a punch to the man's nose, a giant "CRACK" as the man's eyes would glaze over as he flew over his comrades and at the door, his body knocking it open and him rolling out into the sun's glory. The other two would look from their counterpart to John, only contempt and hate within their gazes. The Chinaman just shrugged and move forward to greet some new competitors. "Here we go again."

John would encounter the next man to be exceptionally smelly. He wouldn't want to keep these men as a disturbance in the bar. Soon, one of the men would try to grab at John, but he knew better than just to stand still. He head butted the man as soon as he grabbed his shoulders and then did a back flip kick, stepping on his chest for support, then kicking off, giving spectators something to gawk at. His aerial spectacle wouldn't be finished though, because as soon as he was mid-through the back flip, he'd bring back his fist and punched the odor-bounded goon in the same part he had already hit in the chest. The man lost his breath and gasp as soon as John had landed, and in turn, John ducked low and delivered a spinning roundhouse sweep to the man's legs, causing the man to drop on his back.

The second man, a behemoth of a man would tower over John. Throwing a punch to the man's face, the man would only look at poor John, baring his teeth at him and growling like a feral demon.

"Hey!" Mike called out, waving at John. He was still barely concious, but good enough to see what was going on. Tossing him a small pot, John would look back up to the man and then without further hesitation, smashed the wine pot on his head. The man cringed in pain and turned his face away for a moment, but only for that moment. Soon, his eyes were wide and upon John. Flexing his muscles and then cracking his neck muscles, he would prepare to grab John and bear-hug him until Mike called out again. "Here!"

Throwing, this time, a metal pole, John caught it and looked towards the large thug. The thug would widen his eyes at the pole and then looked to its wielder. Getting on his knees, he'd start to cry and shake his head as John would actually smile as he crumbled before him in a fearful pile. Now THIS was his kind of fight. The thug started again and ran towards his comrades, picking them up and running out the door.

"...Sheesh...all this for a card game." Mike came back, tipping his hat as if he was the star of that whole show. John only looked at Mike with a wide-eyed surprised that was a mixture of shock and anger.

"WHAT?! You didn't do ANYTHING!"
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