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 Taming the Savage Beast, Tag: Ida Roswell
Blodwen Cadwalader
 Posted: Sep 20 2014, 03:33 AM
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B.C. was pissed off. Of course, she was, as that was more or less her normal state of being, but on this windy afternoon, stuck in the Jail, babysitting a drunk, her normal state was certainly exacerbated. For once, the town seemed to be behaving themselves, which was almost more frustrating, because at least then she would have something to do. As it was, no one had stuck their head in to holler for her, and the Sheriff was nowhere to be found. Since he was the big man in charge (ha!), he had the luxury of pawning off the less desirable duties to his deputy, but what B.C. wouldn’t have given for some stage coach bandits or something to roll into town?

Babysitting drunks can either be exhausting or boring as watching tumbleweed roll, depending on the person. When B.C. got drunk, she was known to be more than a handful, and sometimes that led to her getting shot. Grimacing at the thought, and the stitches that still bothered her, the blond deputy tried to distract herself by writing in her journal. Yes, even mangy mutts kept journals when there weren’t nothing better to do. Honestly, it was just because she didn’t have anyone to write letters to, but sometimes the thoughts in her head needed a way to get out. She would have liked having a recipient of the inner musings of her mind, but her natural family was dead and she had severed any ties with her Rougaroux kin quite effectively when she ate their king. So, journaling it was.

The scratching of her pencil against the paper didn’t seem to bother the drunk much, and even if it did, she wouldn’t have cared. Fervently engrossed in her thoughts, not the least of which included cursing a certain Fae bastard, it was only her supernatural hearing that caught the sound of the door opening and shutting with great timidity, despite the harsh winds howling outside. Lifting her head to survey the visitor, B.C.’s face was a mixture of surprise and confusion as the kindly-looking woman with a delightful smelling parcel made her way to the desk. “Afternoon, ma’am. Sheriff’s out for now, but can I help you?” Which was the nicest thing B.C. has said in her life since leaving New York, and that was only because she hoped some of that fresh bread was for her. Mmmmm.
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Warren Cohle
 Posted: Sep 22 2014, 01:51 PM
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Warren cursed, cleared his throat, and rubbed at his face without opening his eyes. He didn't know where he was, but this wasn't an uncommon occurrence and he was pretty sure that the cot he was lying on was behind bars. The last thing he remembered was saying...something about another man's horse--or was that his wife?--and from the aching in his jaw and knuckles he was fairly certain that punches had been thrown. Finally opening his eyes, he cursed anew, a shaft of light hitting him square in the face as if planned. His head was pounding as if it were stuck up in the church tower during a wedding, but that was unexpected either, nor was it unfamiliar. Nothing another drink wouldn't cure. Or several.

Sitting up on the decidedly uncomfortable cot, he looked around, taking stock of things. His gun belt was missing, but give the fact that his suspicions about being in a cell were correct, this wasn't surprising. The idea that the sheriff might be a woman however, was. "You the sheriff around here? Shiiiiit." The curse was at least three syllables long. "Alright, I'm up and I'm awake," he said standing none too steadily on his feet. "Time to let me out." He directed this decree to the apparent woman sheriff who seemed more interested in that piece of paper she was scribblin' at than doing her job. Of course that was when the second woman walked in--what was this, some sort of social?--absolutely reeking of fresh baked bread, which only served to sour his already sour stomach. A baker's wife, surely. He opened his mouth to protest when the sheriff opened her mouth, and he snorted at his own foolishness. Of course she wasn't the sheriff. She was probably some deputy's wife sitting here passing the time, not a thought in her pretty head. That he didn't seem dangerous enough to warrant a man's attention was insulting.

"Still here. Still fixin' to leave," he reminded them. Woman could be so empty headed at times.

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Ida Roswell
 Posted: Sep 22 2014, 04:08 PM
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It hadn't really been a very decent idea to start with. Ida didn't know many people around town. There were some who were all too happy to speak to her and enjoy her company. And then there were those who weren't. Most of the people in the town were friendly enough, but there were quite a few that didn't want anything to do with her. Ida preferred to know a little bit about these people. Or at least to find out what was happening in the town. Others didn't really want to tell her, in fact she was still looked upon as a bit of an outsider. But at least there was something that she could do. She had tried being kindly and sweet, but most people ignored her. So somehow, in her rather naive and silly brain, she cooked up a plan that it would be good to go and meet people with food.

Because what better way to make friends than through their stomach?

The sheriff's office was the first that she stopped at, figuring that having someone worthwhile as a friend could come in handy. There were certainly enough people in this town to warrant needing a sheriff on one's side often enough. But as she stood in the door, staring at the woman with a pencil in hand and the rather unruly man behind bars, she was quickly beginning to think that this was a foolish idea. Or, at the very least, one that hadn't been thought out enough. Why had she thought this was a good idea again?

Clearing her throat, she patted a hand against her hair hoping that the tangled curls weren't looking too out of place. The last thing she needed was to seem like some kind of crazed witch, because... well she was one. "Hello." The rather mousey voice was hers. Ida usually had a difficult time with new people and this was no different. But at least she was here, when really her husband should be following her as well. Taking a cautious step into the jail, she nodded towards the woman. "I wanted to introduce myself. My name is Ida Ross... Gillespie. I'm new to town and, uh, thought it might be nice to meet the people taking care of us." She settled the basket onto the desk. "It's fresh bread, if you'd like some." She tried ignoring the man behind the bars, feeling rather unsettled by his presence.
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Blodwen Cadwalader
 Posted: Sep 23 2014, 03:40 AM
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"You the sheriff around here? Shiiiiit… Alright, I'm up and I'm awake, time to let me out."

B.C. was only too happy to pointedly ignore the inmate in lieu of writing in her journal. That was probably unprofessional and Dawson might get a complaint on her for it, but it wouldn’t be the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last. Given his less than positive reaction upon thinking she might be the Sheriff, B.C. wasn’t terribly inclined to move with any haste or really comply to any of his requests. Now if the stinking creature wanted a wash basin and some water for a clean-up, she might have been a touch more understanding. However, as he had not and as she was still the one with the keys, Mr. I-can-take-on-the-biggest-man-in-town-drunken-asshole could just wait a moment.

Especially when there was food involved.

“Well, thank you kindly, Mrs. Gillespie, charmed to make your acquaintance. Welcome to New Hope, though I can’t say you’ve come to the best building for a Welcome Wagon. Now, if you hie yourself to the butcher’s, Ms. Seraphim is the kind to make you feel right at home. That being said,” she grinned with her lopsided smile, pulling the basket of baked delight closer to her, “I try not to turn down food when I can. Doctor’s orders, you see,” B.C. smirked at the inside joke, pulling the fresh loaf from its confines and breathing in deep. “Thank you, very much.”

"Still here. Still fixin' to leave."

Rolling her eyes at the interruption, the blond placed the bread down, stood, and offered her hand to the other woman across the desk, feeling a prickle of energy come over her as she did. Hmm, someone wasn’t as simple as they seemed to be. “I’m Deputy Blodwen Cadwalader, at your service, though most folks tend just to call me B.C. It’s a damn sight easier,” she explained unnecessarily. “Just ignore our friend in the cell there. He thought taking on a feller twice his size was a good idea last night. It wasn’t.” Of course, not knowing exactly what the woman across from her was, she kept out the fact that said feller was a loup-garou like herself, passing through on his way out further West. The drunk human didn’t have a chance and if she hadn’t shown up, he may have woken up dead instead of in jail. Bully for both of them.

“If you don’t mind, I’m powerful hungry…” the petite lawwoman started, eyeballing the bread with a famished look. Sure, she had eaten breakfast under the express care of an infuriating Fae, but that was hours ago and her body needed the extra nourishment and there was some sitting so politely on her desk! With a grateful smile, B.C. pulled the antler-handled knife out of her boot, ran it across a clean cloth and cut a few slices of bread, first tasting it by itself, then dunking some in her coffee. Rolling her eyes once more, she took a cup and filled it with water and delivered it with some of her coveted baked good to the inmate. “See about behaving like a damn gentleman and we’ll see about getting you out. Do you even have somewhere you’re fixin’ to stay in town?” she asked, not really caring about the answer, which became obvious as she walked back to her desk to address the pretty woman once more.

“So what brings you to our strange little town, Mrs. Gillepsie?”
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Warren Cohle
 Posted: Sep 23 2014, 05:57 PM
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The baker's wife was a mousy one and so Warren didn't pay her much mind. He would be polite, she was someone's wife and he could even be charming when it suited him, but he was more interested in the blonde with the key to his cell. Who was ignoring him. Well he could be plenty loud when he needed to be and he had no desire to spend the rest of the day in this place. He had places to be and bounties to track down. He'd only arrived in town and hadn't even managed to go to the local post office yet. It was unprofessional but he'd needed a drink and one drink had turned into more than one and that was the last he remembered. He didn't usually get black out drunk like that. Either he was getting old or the ladies at the saloon had been refilling his glass a little too often. It was a common practice to get men to spend more money in the place, having lost track of just how much coin had passed hands. This notion was more comforting to believe than the idea that he might be losing a step.

Walking over to the wall of the cell he grabbed the bars in either hand and watched the two women talk, unhappy to be ignored. Especially not when they were talking about him. "I could have taken him," he grumbled half under his breath, not really remembering if this was true or not. His jaw felt swollen and the knuckles of his right hand were definitely scabbed over with blood. It must have been one hell of a fight. Shame he couldn't remember it. "Name's Warren Cohle by the way, ma'am. I'd tip my hat at you but appears that the Deputy has confiscated it along with my gun. Pleasure, all the same." He offered his best grin, knowing that it probably looked ghastly with the swollen jaw but unable to do anything about that. He frowned as the Deputy walked over with a piece of bread and a cup of what he hoped to be coffee but was likely water, accepting them after they were all but pushed through the bars with a order to 'behave like a gentleman.' He snorted. "Anything you say, Deputy," he offered, taking the plate of bread and water offered. "Much obliged, ma'am," he directed to Mrs. Gillespie for the bread. He couldn't decide if he was hungry or not but the water was probably not a bad idea, given the fact that his mouth tasted like the inside of an old shoe.

"Just got into town and no, I do not. The cell wasn't exactly what I had in mind if that's what you're offerin' however," he said wryly.
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Ida Roswell
 Posted: Sep 23 2014, 07:49 PM
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The two were, frankly, rather overwhelming. Obviously Ida had picked the wrong time to come to the jail, it being occupied and all. But the woman seemed kind enough, she certainly wasn't exactly the most polite to the man in the cell. But Ida had always thought that if she was going to be that frustrated by a person, well it was probably alright to be a little rude to them as well. Likely the man had done something to deserve being in there. She smiled at the woman, nodding at her words. "It's probably not the best place to be making friends immediately, but I find it's always good to have people in high positions on your side." Realizing that her words could be misconstrued, she backpedaled. "Not that I'm planning on breaking any laws any time soon, but... Well the west can be a difficult place that's for certain. It's always good to know people."

She watched as the woman walked back to the man in the bars, pleased that they both seemed to enjoy the bread. It was an old recipe from her family, plying on the sugar that made the bread taste sweet and rise in the softest way possible. It had taken her a mite long time to make it, there wasn't nearly as good of an oven here as there had been back home. But it was something, and she was pleased that someone was appreciating the work that had gone into it. Finally giving the man behind bars a once over, most likely because she was slightly intimidated by the idea, she saw that he was rather worse for wear. Squinting, she couldn't help but say, "I know an old way of getting that swelling down. If you get out today I'd be happy to lend you a bit."

Of course, neither of the people in this place needed to know that she was a witch. But there was a rather good salve that she knew how to make, a quick little incantation and the right herbs could do wonders for swollen body parts. Clearing her throat, she answered the woman's question. "Well I'm rather new to town here, it's barely been a month since being here and the house has taken up much of my time. I figured it's past due to come and meet people." Though there was something off about the woman that she couldn't place her finger on. The man seemed like the normal kind of person she would meet in this town. A little belligerent, a lot drunk, but a man that she wouldn't mind walking past in the street. Some of them though, now that was a different story.

"Are you sure he's alright in there? If it was just a street brawl then perhaps it's alright to let him out." She was overstepping her line, but there was that bit of truth.
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Blodwen Cadwalader
 Posted: Sep 29 2014, 03:13 PM
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B.C. snorted at the thought of the quiet woman breaking any sort of laws at any point, but she nodded in agreement that it was best to avoid criminal activity. “It certainly does, ma’am. Being a lone wolf out here is like asking Death himself over for dinner,” B.C. replied, a little tongue in cheek. Before the introduction of another loup-garou deputy in town, she had preferred to be just that: the lone wolf. Of course, there were a couple others of her kind lurking around, but she hadn’t sought them out. One never knew when an enemy from the old country would turn up and it was in B.C.’s nature to keep everyone at arm’s length.

Ignoring people was another one of her favorite pastimes, and her continued ignoring of the man behind the bars was something she almost reveled in. Obviously it wasn’t really half as fun as all that, but one had to take pleasure out of the little things in life, right? Or at least, she would have enjoyed it, if their shy visitor hadn’t taken that moment to speak up and offer her assistance to the idiot. Narrowing a look to the other woman, B.C. had half a mind to chide her for her lack of judgment, but what the woman did with her kindness was her own business. Of course, it made B.C. wonder what kind of salve the woman was peddling. They already had an Apothecary, so was she selling her wares through Cross or did she have a side business? Hell, maybe she was just a nice woman… or a nice witch. Maybe that’s what that tingling of power was…

The suspicious deputy listened to Mrs. Gillespie, nodding where it seemed appropriate, though social niceties were a challenge for her at the best of times. With a stinking drunk assailing her olfactory sense, it was even more the challenge, but she thought she managed well. Until, that was, the charming little housewife made a suggestion to the deputy on how to do her bloody job. An involuntary snarl pulled back her lip, interrupted only by the drunkard’s insertion back into the conversation. A look that bespoke her inner wild beast only a little too clearly was shot at the timid woman before B.C. calmed herself down enough to refill her mug of coffee. Goddamn people. This was why she was better on her damn own.

“No, the sooner you’re out of my care, the better, Mr. Cohle. You stink,” she shot back with a judgmental, blond eyebrow quirk. “And yes, Mrs. Gillespie, he’s fine. We don’t treat our inmates like animals unless they’ve done something to deserve it,” she half-growled, knowing just how badly criminals were treated across the country. She would do well to get herself educated on the matter before chiding her own town’s law enforcement.

All the same, B.C. moseyed back over to the cell and unlocked it, opening the door for the scalawag. “Go on then. You can stop by later, after you’ve bathed, to gather your effects.”
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Warren Cohle
 Posted: Oct 1 2014, 01:34 PM
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Warren raised an eyebrow at the woman's offer for assistance, suspicious in spite of himself. The woman seemed honest enough, and willing to help and he wasn't the sort of man to turn down honest offered help by a well-meaning woman. Even one who looked half ready to bolt should he look at her wrong. Which he wouldn't do. He was no monster. "I'd be awful grateful for any help you'd be willing to offer, ma'am. Don't reckon I've the coin to pay off whatever local doctor you happen to have in town." That much was the truth. The bounty business hadn't been booming lately and it seemed that there were more than a few snouts at the trough in this town. Maybe he needed to move on, or at the very least find another profession, but hunting was about the only thing he was any good at. Man couldn't help what he was and fightin' his nature was a fool's work. He smiled as best he could as Mrs. Gillespie stepped out of her timid shell for a moment to voice her opinions to the Deputy on his behalf. He leaned forward against the barred door on his forearms, his fingers hanging loose on the far side of freedom, waiting to hear how the Deputy would react as he took a careful sip of the water and chewed a bit of bread slowly to see how it'd sit.

The Deputy didn't appear to enjoy being told how to do her job, which Warren could understand, but not sympathize with as it applied to his freedom. He'd always side with the person who had his own interests in mind, no matter who they might be. The smile faded at the look on the Deputy's face, more rage than was warranted given the situation. She almost looked like one of the wild dogs or coyotes he sometimes saw out in the desert, and it sobered him a bit. What sort of woman became a sheriff's deputy anyway? He hadn't met said sheriff yet but thus far wasn't impressed with the man's choice in companions. And then look on the woman's face was gone as she went to get more coffee. "My apologies, dear lady," he drawled in response to the Deputy's comment about his stink. "I certainly should've had your delicate sensibilities in mind when I set out to find myself jailed last night." The snide remark was past his lips before he could think of what Mrs. Gillespie would think, and he cursed at his own foolishness. Clearly he was still a bit drunk, which wasn't unusual, but he was usually better at hiding it than this.

The Deputy didn't appear to be paying him no mind, going on about criminals and such. "Most of them deserve even less than what they get. Men I've seen would change your mind a bit about that, Deputy," he couldn't help but add with a scowl. Most men deserved to be treated like animals because they were animals. Or worse. He'd put down more than one in his time and felt no regret for it. Those offering rewards didn't care which it was, dead or alive, so long as they got their man. Warren was the same. Dead was easier in the long run. Fewer animals preying upon God's earth. He was suddenly falling forward as the Deputy opened the door he was leaning upon, the unexpected movement upsetting his balance and equilibrium. The bile and foul smelling remnants of alcohol was past his lips and onto the floor--and the Deputy's boots--before he could think to make it to the pot likely placed beside his cot for that very purpose. Wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand he looked down at the woman's boots and then up to her eyes, fighting down a hysterical giggle with every terrible memory he had in his head. It worked.

"Wasn't my intention. You unsettled me is all," he explained, half prepared to have the door slammed back in his face.
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Ida Roswell
 Posted: Oct 8 2014, 09:14 AM
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Ida was thoroughly out of place here. The more she listened to the other two talk the more she realized that there was very little that she could offer here. She was, in essence, a very quiet woman. She grew up in a home full of extremely loud, extremely rude, women that were always vying for the spotlight. Her poor father had hardly gotten a word in edgewise, and as the youngest, the same could be said for Ida. She was a quiet little thing, but she did enjoy being heard when someone managed to listen. Here though, this was part the rather awkward shyness and also that she didn’t’ know what she was talking about. Obviously she had stepped on some toes by offering that ointment, but she didn’t know why. Hell it seemed like Ida didn’t really know much at the moment, and she was really just trying to peacefully offer some fresh bread and kindness. Someday she would understand people, but until that point she certainly needed to learn how to keep her mouth shut.

Clearing her throat at the other woman’s rather uncomfortable tone, she deftly folded her hands together at her waist. “I never thought you did Madam Deputy.” She would have apologized further, and with a bit more fervor if she was being honest, but the man deserved a response. Listening with a smile on her face, she nodded in his direction. “I don’t expect any coin, I figure it tends to be the way around here.” She didn’t prefer to have people pay her. She didn’t have much use for money unless it was buying things for the house. At the moment, she didn’t see the point in the papers that didn’t really have much use here. Her husband would likely need it more than her, since he tended to be the one that bought the drink at the saloon, and the things that usually cost money. “But I could use a little help around the house. I’ve got a porch that needs to be put in and not enough men around to help.”

Trading always seemed to be the more logical way to go about things. People were more likely to do things when they were getting something in return as well.

She watched the two banter back and forth, their words making it obvious to her that the man was a repeat offender. Or at least that they knew each other. Or maybe it was simply anger at having to deal with him, she had never been very good at reading people. But the man’s warning was one that she raised an eyebrow to. She might not have been here long, but she did know that there weren’t many people in the town that she wanted to steer clear of. They all seemed like hard working individuals, most of them were likely just misunderstood. At least that was what her naïve mind seemed to think. At the man’s unexpected vomiting though, she let out a gasp, an “Oh my!”, and then covered her mouth with her hand. A quiet giggle was muffled before she managed to control herself. “I might have something to help with that as well.”

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Blodwen Cadwalader
 Posted: Oct 9 2014, 03:04 AM
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There was vomit on her boots. There was VOMIT on her BOOTS. THERE WAS VOMIT ON HER GODDAMN BOOTS. Before sense or reason had the chance to kick in, fueled by the fact that it damn well sounded like the drunken bastard was blaming her for his expulsion, B.C.’s fist shot upwards. A satisfying crack pulsed through her arm as her knuckles connected with his nose. The smell of blood was intoxicating and infuriating and he was far too fortunate that there was a lady present, because she would have seriously considered shifting and eating the bastard right there.

He probably would have turned her stomach, or worse: poisoned her. He also probably tasted awful, if his smell was anything to go off of, that was.

“Unless you want to spend the rest of your miserable life in that cell, you had better move your ass out of it before I change my goddamn mind,” she snarled from between clenched teeth. Tilting her head to the side, her neck audibly popped, while she moved aside to let her guest evacuate. Rage and loathing once more coursed through her body and everything was crimson for more than a minute. When she heard the soft voice of the bread woman filter through the fury to bring her back to civilization. Again, damn lucky for the drunk she was there.

Pointing to the corner, there was a bucket waiting for just such emergencies, along with a pile of cleaning rags. “I don’t care who does it, but someone go on and fill that bucket up with water from the well out front. Mr. Cohle, I would recommend you, since you can dunk your stinking self into the horse trough while you’re there and try to get some of that stink off of you. I know you can’t smell it with that broken nose, but you are repugnant. Mrs. Gillepsie, if you would be so kind, there is boot shining gear in the top drawer of that desk there. Please find it and bring it here.” Breathing was the key. Breathing was always the key.

B.C. counted to ten, her eyes screwed shut as she breathed carefully, then, just as carefully, wiggled out of her boots, leaving them and the pile of sick right where it was. Slipping off her socks, she draped them over the cell bars and waited for her accomplices to return to her with her requested items. “Mrs. Gillespie, I suppose you’re gifted in brewing a thing or two,” the wolf said with a pointed look that was akin to saying ‘I’m on to you, lady,’ “so if you could fix us up another pot of coffee, I’d be much obliged.” She even managed to say the last bit without clenching her teeth. Bully for her.
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Warren Cohle
 Posted: Oct 12 2014, 07:58 PM
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It was safe to say that Warren didn't see the tiny fist of fury coming. He probably should have, all things considered. The pain was sudden and all-encompassing, and he coughed out a mixture of blood and bile again, the sharp pain causing his already delicate stomach to throw a second riot. His right hand went to his gushing nose, pressing against it as hard as he dared in an effort to both quiet the pain--which wasn't working--and to staunch the flow of blood. The bitch was growling something at him but he wasn't really hearing it. He'd had his nose broken before and it felt like this. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, making his way out of the cell. If he'd had his gun on him he would have likely shot her dead right there. Give them a real reason to lock him up like some common criminal. As it was he was unarmed and hurting, but he had a long memory. He wouldn't forget this. And then her voice filtered through his aching head once more, spouting orders at him like a dog. Fuck her. He spat out a wad of blood onto the floor just to spite her. Maybe he did smell. She wasn't exactly as fresh as a daisy herself. With a glance to Mrs. Gillepsie, he moved out through the jail doors into the heat of the day before he did something that would get him hanged. He did not take the bucket with him.

The horse trough was indeed where she'd said it would be, and without taking a moment to consider how much it might hurt he leaned over and stuck his head in it, coming up spluttering and coughing. He ran his blood-free hand through his hair, slicking back the unruly curls as best he could before gently inspecting the state of his nose. There was a gash across the bridge that made him hiss when he pressed upon it, and a swelling beneath it. Definitely broken then, the bitch. Patting down his pockets, he came up with a handkerchief that had once been a bright red but had long since faded to the color of the dust on his boots and brought it to his nose. It was still bleeding, but not gushing blood as it had been a moment ago. He hadn't been lying about not being able to afford a trip to the local sawbones. He'd been willing to help Mrs. Gillepsie with her porch, a favor for a favor, but he sincerely doubted that the doc would accept a similar offer. Then again, in this backwater town with a woman as sheriff he supposed anything was possible. He took his time wiping at his nose, his hair dripping onto the collar of his linen shirt. He considered not going back in there, but he was no coward and the bitch had his gun. Satisfied that his nose was merely dribbling instead of gushing now he returned the bloodied handkerchief to his pocket and passed back through the doors.

"And do you think that I deserved that, ma'am?" He directed to Mrs. Gillepsie, his steely eyes--both of which already beginning to blacken above his broken nose--fixed upon the Sheriff. "She likes to carry on about treating her inmates well and then breaks one's nose. I'd hate to see the others." He was lying it on a little thick, he'd done far worse to those under his care than a broken nose, but he was furious and hurting. "And you Sheriff, need to get a hold of that temper of yours before you kill someone." He pretended to consider it. "Though I suppose it's as likely that you already have. Or am I wrong?" The smile he sent her direction was neither pretty or kind.
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