Welcome to Gaia! ::

The sun was so bright. And warm. Tria tugged at her collar, loosening it slightly. It was truly a wonder, though, the park. She'd only just barely stepped out of the train, and had she known how lifelike the hosts would be, maybe she would've thought twice about coming. But her friends had all crowed about this place, poking fun at her, "You'll never survive out there! Not for Real!", they'd cried. "Even if the hosts can't kill you, I bet you won't have the stomach for the wild west". And that had been enough. Time to prove them wrong.

Well, first things first. The train had spat her out in a town charmingly dubbed 'Sweetwater', and the hosts at the Westworld Center had indicated that adventures were to be had of greater danger the further you departed from the sleepy town. A charmingly authentic clocktower bell rang, once, twice, four times. Find supplies, get a quest, then head as far out as I can make it. Tria tipped her head backwards a bit, trying to affect a confident pose and stride as she stepped out into the street.

A quick word with a frequent flyer on the train earlier had revealed that the place to go was definitely Russell's. Servicable guns, they'd claimed, good enough for this place, leaving you plenty of coin to explore the rest of the world with. Money enough to spend on other supplies she'd probably need -- Tria pressed a handful of coins into the hand of a local fruit hawker as she passed, "A bag of apples to go, please!"

At the very least, I'll have something to feed my horse when I get one, something to bribe it's friendship with, Tria mused. No stomach for the wild west, my a**!

--

Tria had made a mistake. The bag of apples over her shoulder just felt heavier and heavier as she trundled down the road. She still hadn't found Russell's. And how was she even going to procure a horse? There didn't seem to be a horse emporium just lying around, and what would she do with her sack of apples in the meanwhile? It was becoming more and more improbable that she'd be able to carry it til then. And leaving it tied to some post somewhere felt like an easy way to lose a sack of apples. She stepped under a nearby awning, letting the apples drop to the floor with a sigh of relief. Maybe she could gesture the brown haired girl in the store to speak with her outside? Where she could keep an eye on her apples? Yes, that could work!

Tria waved at the window, hoping that the girl inside would notice her.

Oh thank heavens, the host had finally noticed her! Though she wasn't really reacting, more like staring. Is this how hosts are supposed to behave? Tria wondered, she felt rather ... ignored by this particular girl, especially when she only raised an eyebrow. Nothing to do but to double down, though. Tria gesticulated more fervently, waving her arms in large, wide circles. Come out here and help me out!

So when the first thing the girl did when she finally came out of the shop was to filch an apple from her sack, Tria was rendered speechless by shock. How infuriating! But But... But I paid for those! She was tempted to knock the apple of out this girl's smug face, but alas, she justified, maybe this was the price for a little assistance. She tried to ignore the blatant thievery. This didn't bother her.

It's hardly like she yearned for apples in the real world. What's a fake apple in a fake land?

It didn't, dammit!

"Sorry, miss, I was wondering if you might be willing to give me a hand?" She indicated the sack of apples. "At least to somewhere I could purchase a horse? I've got places I need to go, and it might be hard to go places without a way to go places."

Tria brushed her hair over her shoulder. "You can even consider that apple compensation?" She smiled brilliantly, charm turned up as high as it could go.

The Washburne Ranch itself was more intimidating than she was expecting. It was headed by a large wooden ... well. Mansion, Tria would've called it in any other circumstance. Though perhaps, she mused, it only seemed so large since it was framed on either side by large rolling pastures. Flat land, cut through the middle by a river, a herd of horses slowly grazing their way across the grass. She squinted into the setting sun as she took in the view. Simply Beautiful. Not every day you get a view like this one. Tria didn't bother hiding her delight.

There was an edge to the host's smile that Tria wasn't sure she could trust. But... Best horses in town. "From what I can see, you definitely know your horses." These were good horses; Tria could see that even from the distance. She ran her hand over a few stray stalks of tall grass that flanked a nearby post. They were still quite a ways from the ranch proper, not yet having reached the tall sign at the head of the road, the ranch name emblazoned boldly along the top.

She hefted her sack uncomfortably as she stepped in line behind her guide. "Thanks for accompanying me, goodness knows I would've been lost without your help. I'm Tria, by the way. What can I call you?"

Loud bangs, and then the the sound of thousands of hooves scattering, dust rising into the air.

Three figures scatter from the dust, bare shadows, approaching Washburne Ranch. They are yelling something, just nonsensical shouts and cheers-

- BANG.

Almost immediately, Mrs Washburne collapses like a puppet. A second, and third bullet pierce her forehead and neck, blood dramatically spraying over Tria and Kite. But she doesn't just collapse, she struggles, individual muscles convulsing, mouth opening and closing, still attempting to breathe.

More gunshots, and then a rain of them. People screaming in the distance, and the distinct smell of fire.

"Miss Kite," the forerunner of the raiders calls, taking off his black hat to bow lightly to her, "fancy seeing you around here. I hear you give very best peach cobbler." He whistled, the others jeered. "You got five seconds to come with us."

Kite was growing more and more uncomfortable as Tria chattered on, stabbing at the dessert moodily with her fork. "Isn't any of your business," she'd protested, to no avail - the other two kept talking over her, about her.

But the questionably pleasant moment came to an abrupt end with a series of gunshots and a splatter of blood and brains.

Laundry, was the first thought that came to mind. Ma's body, like Mrs Washburne's, bleeding and twitching on the floor, blood spattered all over the freshly-washed sheets flapping in the wind. Kestrel clinging to the lifeless figure, screaming his lungs out until they'd snuffed his life out with another gunshot. And despite that, despite seeing all that, and being right there, she'd only been able to stand frozen, trembling and crying, her finger on a trigger she hadn't had the guts to pull.

She'd recognise the voice that taunted her, haunted her nightmares, any day; and just like in her nightmares, just like on that day, she found herself unable to move.

"Miss Kiiiite," the man called again, his sing-song voice nauseating. "Fiiiiive, fooour, threetwo--"

Quite unlike that day, fire suddenly exploded around them, stirring Kite back into action. She grabbed Tria and dragged her through a maze of corridors, out the back door, to the stables.

There was no time, no time; her heart was pounding, head reeling, adrenaline rushing through her veins, equal amounts a desire to go back and shoot the hell out of the attackers, and a desire to make it out of there alive. Behind the pair, fire and smoke spread through the wooden mansion, devouring it in giant greedy gulps.

All the horses, in their stalls, were panicking, and Kite fumbled with each of the doors in turn, letting the frightened animals run free. Only one, a beautiful black-and-white gypsy vanner, stood in place, as if waiting for them, and Kite ran to him, gracefully vaulting herself up onto his back.

"Come on," she gasped, still breathless, and reached a hand out to Tria. "Now."

Tria instinctively reached out to support Kite's body as it lurched uncontrollably forward, carried by the momentum of the bullet. A list of possibilities scrolled through her mind, conjured and discarded as impossible within milliseconds. It didn't take more than a couple of seconds, but she knew what she had to do. It had about a 5% chance of success, perhaps, but of all options, it had the highest probability of success.

Thank god for her training in engineering.

Because you see, the benefits of an oil based fires is it's quick nature. And while the barn was aflame, it could possibly have survived. The roof would not cave in over the bandit's heads.... Unless the load bearing poles were somehow damaged. One wouldn't do the trick; one load bearing structure's removal would destroy a house, yes, but not in the time frame required for this particular move. Thankfully, the fire had taken care of a series of posts enough that they had perhaps five minutes before they'd collapse under their own weight.

But there was one problematic strut.

That maybe a panicked and blind horse might be subtly redirected towards.

In the haze of fire and smoke, Tria took aim, and with a snarl, lobbed her pack behind the poor creature, praying it would take the noise as a threat and bolt. "SHE'S NOT LEAVING WITH YOU, YOU HALF BAKED POTATO!"

The bandits did not follow them.

Perhaps they had finally met their reckoning, buried alive in the barnyard flames and smouldering wood. Maybe they had given up.

The escape was peaceful, the ranch giving away to ravine and open paths. North was probably the next settlement, but just east of them was an open running brook with fresh, clean water. It could be a risk, but it could also be neccessary.