Paco Valdez
BF
You decide to stay in town a day to recuperate from your journey and let Betty enjoy the luxuries of the inn's stables. You've heard rumors that the Vigilantes have a sizeable presence in this dirty little town, but you don't let it worry you too much. As long as you lay low, you should be alright.
Despite your desire to be rarely seen, you need food and supplies for the journey ahead. It is with reservation that you leave your room in search of the general store. You walk out of the hotel keeping a wary eye on both avenues of traffic. It's not that you're worried, you're simply being precautious.
You make it to the shop without being accosted and search the stores' interior for the provisions you need. You walk in and search for their dried meets, finding them in a bin at the end of the counter. Dust covers the meat, but you really can't be picky at this point, and you reach in ready to pick up a handful.
That's when you notice the tall sturdy looking man at the door staring sternly at you. You study his face but know that you don't know him, have never met him. But he seems to know you.
Your eyes trail down to his hand and you swallow hard when you notice the black "V" tattooed on his hand.
Shit. The Vigilantes have found you. But how did they find you so soon? Certainly if they were following you, you would have noticed them before this, right? But here they are, and he's staring you down.
You look around the store and realize that there is no other way out. The Vigilante stands guard at the door. To exit the store, you must encounter him.
You take a deep breath and walk towards him, maintaining eye contact the whole way. Every breath you take seems to echo loudly in your ears. Your heart beats so severely that you fear it may burst through your chest. You try very hard not to show how nervous you are but know that it is a losing battle.
At long last you reach him after journey that spanned less than twenty feet but feels as though you've walked twenty miles. He stops you from exiting.
"You." He says to you. There is a silence after that makes you wonder if he was expecting some sort of response before he continues his statement. "You look familiar."
You smile a short and nervous smile. "I don't think so."
"Yeah. You're from Fullton, right?" He asks.
Fullton is the name of the town from which you just fled. You swallow hard. You nod dumbly, wondering if agreeing is a good idea even as you do so.
"I thought so." He says to you. "You were a pretty heavy drinker, right?"
Relief floods through you. Now you remember this asshole. He was often at the saloon in Fullton, usually playing cards at a back table. He bought you a shot of whiskey once. "I was." You say. "Am." You correct yourself immediately afterwards.
He puts one of his heavy hands on your shoulder. "We'll have to get together and drink while you're in town."
"That sounds good." You say, stepping past him as he walks into the store.
You check your pants. They're dry. Looks like you didn't piss yourself after all.
You begin walking hastily back to the inn to gather your things, but as you come within several feet of the door , you notice a group of three rough looking men riding into town. They don't seem to notice you, but you can make out the "V" tattoo on one of their hands and figure that they are probably looking for you.
You're so close to the inn that you might be able to get in there and get your stuff before they notice you. But they may be waiting for you when you get out. Maybe you should just walk around to the stables and forget your supplies. All you really need is the canteens in Betty's saddle bags and the six shooters at your sides, right?
You decide to stay in town a day to recuperate from your journey and let Betty enjoy the luxuries of the inn's stables. You've heard rumors that the Vigilantes have a sizeable presence in this dirty little town, but you don't let it worry you too much. As long as you lay low, you should be alright.
Despite your desire to be rarely seen, you need food and supplies for the journey ahead. It is with reservation that you leave your room in search of the general store. You walk out of the hotel keeping a wary eye on both avenues of traffic. It's not that you're worried, you're simply being precautious.
You make it to the shop without being accosted and search the stores' interior for the provisions you need. You walk in and search for their dried meets, finding them in a bin at the end of the counter. Dust covers the meat, but you really can't be picky at this point, and you reach in ready to pick up a handful.
That's when you notice the tall sturdy looking man at the door staring sternly at you. You study his face but know that you don't know him, have never met him. But he seems to know you.
Your eyes trail down to his hand and you swallow hard when you notice the black "V" tattooed on his hand.
Shit. The Vigilantes have found you. But how did they find you so soon? Certainly if they were following you, you would have noticed them before this, right? But here they are, and he's staring you down.
You look around the store and realize that there is no other way out. The Vigilante stands guard at the door. To exit the store, you must encounter him.
You take a deep breath and walk towards him, maintaining eye contact the whole way. Every breath you take seems to echo loudly in your ears. Your heart beats so severely that you fear it may burst through your chest. You try very hard not to show how nervous you are but know that it is a losing battle.
At long last you reach him after journey that spanned less than twenty feet but feels as though you've walked twenty miles. He stops you from exiting.
"You." He says to you. There is a silence after that makes you wonder if he was expecting some sort of response before he continues his statement. "You look familiar."
You smile a short and nervous smile. "I don't think so."
"Yeah. You're from Fullton, right?" He asks.
Fullton is the name of the town from which you just fled. You swallow hard. You nod dumbly, wondering if agreeing is a good idea even as you do so.
"I thought so." He says to you. "You were a pretty heavy drinker, right?"
Relief floods through you. Now you remember this asshole. He was often at the saloon in Fullton, usually playing cards at a back table. He bought you a shot of whiskey once. "I was." You say. "Am." You correct yourself immediately afterwards.
He puts one of his heavy hands on your shoulder. "We'll have to get together and drink while you're in town."
"That sounds good." You say, stepping past him as he walks into the store.
You check your pants. They're dry. Looks like you didn't piss yourself after all.
You begin walking hastily back to the inn to gather your things, but as you come within several feet of the door , you notice a group of three rough looking men riding into town. They don't seem to notice you, but you can make out the "V" tattoo on one of their hands and figure that they are probably looking for you.
You're so close to the inn that you might be able to get in there and get your stuff before they notice you. But they may be waiting for you when you get out. Maybe you should just walk around to the stables and forget your supplies. All you really need is the canteens in Betty's saddle bags and the six shooters at your sides, right?