Welcome to Gaia! ::

"Ahhh, heck nah. Not you again." The camera panned up behind the new arrival, focusing on a cowboy sitting in a chair. He held a rolled cigarette in one hand, and a small whiskey glass in the other.

The cowboy shook his head, draining the glass before setting it on the small table next to him, the glass clinking against a nearly full bottle of whiskey.

"And here I was," he began with a long drawl in his voice, "Thinkin' that I'd finally have a chance to kick back and enjoy a fine bottle of whiskey in peace. Then you show up, lookin' like you're tryin' to put your poor horse between you and some angry pa."

He leaned forward, smirking. "Or were you dun run off by an angry ma this time? And oi! Another glass out here!" The last bit, of course, was hollered into the saloon itself.

Thunk. Somehow, the arrival managed to finally disentangle himself, but at the price of his other boot, which went flying impressively into the air, barely missing the far corner-dwelling stranger. He toppled over backwards, across the porch, managing two almost perfect somersaults, to land somewhere between her and the bar counter.

"Fine day, m'lady," there was an obligatory hat tip, and then he sat bolt upright, facing the stranger in the chair. He sniffled, wiping his nose with his even dirtier hand. "You two just don't appreciate the finer things in life. Women. Money. Se- NOBODY CARES ABOUT CHRISTMAS."

A pause when he was sure those posse miscreants outside would remain outside. He postured. "And these guns. Look at us three. We could be anything we ever wanted. Why, just yesterday my pa gave me a treasure map, and you know what's in that map? Treasure. Which I'll share three ways, but you gotta keep my map a secret."

This was of course, said to the entire tavern.

"A secret," the visitor repeated, sneaking towards the (drinking) cowboy, "For also a pair of shoes and your best stallion. Which I'm going to name Dwight."

"Yeah I'll lend you the Stallion of the Wind, you can catch a ride on him when I toss you out!" She was unimpressed with either man's excuse and seemed ready to call over one of the house brawlers when her tirade is interrupted by the bookish man in the corner.

"Um...my name is Dwight? Did you say treasure?"

She woman issues a fullbody eyeroll as another capital S-Sucker is born before her eyes. With the air of an old unfriendly friend. the blonde settles in next to the the whiskey hoarder.

As the woman sat next to him, the whiskey hoarder drew the bottle in closer to him. He frowned, staring at the table before relenting his death grip enough to pour another glass.

The word 'treasure' didn't make him blink. The mention of being paid back twice, however, drew his gaze up from the table. "And how to you know," he began slowly, "That this treasure ain't one of your honky-tonk floozies?"

He glanced at the woman next to him, nodding towards Mark. "What's your take on this?"

"Ladies," Mark repeated, "think of all the ladies you could impress." He tried to make a swipe at the bottle when he thought chair-guy wasn't looking and ventured a trek through the barely protective doors.

"It's fine, there's still three horses outside," two more shots fired, "two. You and my partner here can double up."

Two more shots. "Still two. Good thing that guy is a terrible shot. I know him - one eyed Billy or something. The lack of an eye makes him stupider." More shots, and then silence. Ten seconds later, Mark, somehow wearing a pair of bloodstained shoes way too big for him grabbed a hold of Dwight. "s**t he's coming. Run!"

Unfortunately he didn't get too far before the door busted open and a red-headed guy with a piercing in one ear walked in wearing a very shiny sheriff's badge. There were rumors that the local sheriff had once gone to the very heart of Adder-Skull territory armed with nothing but a gun and a single bullet, and they were probably true. He had a great big encouraging smile on his face. "Hey Lance!" This was said to chair-man. "Seen Mark around? I could have sworn I saw him pull in with one of the horses and-"

- "No I'm not here, and goodbye!" said the "marksman" himself, forcefully yanking Dwight by one arm as they made their leave through the conveniently placed back exit. "Tell my ma I'm sorry!"

They made almost to the horses before the sheriff finally clued in. "Afternoon Mark. You should come down from that horse. Your family is waiting for you at dinner, they're nice folk and they just want you to be happy you know."

"I'll never be happy! Not unless I get on this horse now and get my treasure!"

"That's actually the sheriff's horse you're on. I mean you're a bit too old now to play-"

-" This isn't a game. This is for real. Goodbye!"

And with that he, Dwight for some reason, and the horse all rode off.

And came back about five minutes later. "I forgot the map," he confessed.

The blonde snapped out of what could only be called a wistful gaze at the sheriff. Gently slapping her cheeks to shake herself out of the swooning damsels, she got up and began ordering people around renewed vigor. "Don't any of you give those damned fools a drop to drink unless they;'re dripping with those so-called treasures when they roll back into town. What are you looking at? There's money to be made!"

"Aww, Clarice. Don't be so prickly, you'll scare the guests..."

Unfortunately for the adventurers, they didn't have to the right key to unlock the map's true mysteries. And they'd been so close to it too, even now it was laying on the floor of the saloon where it had fallen. If only somebody had picked it up and pointed it out to any of the would-be adventurers.

Music begins to play on the piano, something both old and new and a lively chatter builds up around it once again as the bodies finish falling outside.

Though the two women arrived at the same time, only one of them pushed through the doors as if she expected some sort of excitement and fanfare over her presence. Her dark red curls were piled into some mess of a bun, then pinned up in about six other ways, bright smile paralleled by the vibrant green of her eyes. The other followed her like a shadow, and looked much the same as one - everything about her was more muted, dull, and darker, and she seemed like she preferred it that way. For everything in the redhead's clothes and appearance that was fancy and catered to opulence, the dark-haired girl mirrored in absolute normalcy.

"Sit here with your book and keep nice and quiet." The older of the two yanked a chair out and pointed to it, eyes already searching for something more interesting to look at. "Mama's gonna have some fun."

Compliant without a word or as much as a distasteful look, the homely girl sat where she was directed to, smoothed out her dress, placed each braid equidistant over her shoulders, and straightened her posture before finally lifting her book to her eye level ('The Modern Prometheus', according to the cover).

"So." The redhead put her hands on her hips as she addressed the room, head held high. "Who's buying my drinks?"