The Chronicles of a Shootist

Details and a record of the characters exploits, successes and failures within the Parallel Worlds.

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The Chronicles of a Shootist

Post by arcanus » Fri Oct 28, 2011 10:08 pm

Mekanis I - 1881
Divergence Point: Ambroise Paré corresponds with inventor Juanelo Turriano in 1585, leading to the development of clockwork prosthetics and
automatons to remedy battlefield amputations.
These developments advance into the fields of transport and weaponry, however at the sake of understanding of radio waves and electricity.
Mogollon Mountains, Arizona – Mid Morning.
Ponderosa Pine trees cascaded down the slopes of the Mogollon mountains, two weary figures trudged their way across the scrubland, one of which was busy releasing a stream of obscenities.

“Am gonna kill im, am gonna rip out his scrawny gizzard, stomp on it and shove it some place real painful” cursed Hester Salinas
Hester’s older brother Lester Salinas squinted at the rising sun and fixed his brother an uncharitable stare, “Wut for”
“An after that am gonna cut off his ears an make me a knecklace” continued Hester, not hearing Lester

There was no kind way to describe Hester and Lester, both of them fell out of their dear old mother, hit the ugly tree on the way down an plum lost a good foot o height when they hit the dirt.
In summary they were a pair of pig ugly dwarves that only their mother would love and then only barely

Lester snarled, the brothers relationship had started as a volatile spat the day they’d been born, now his marginally younger brother just pissed him off
“Am gonna pluck out his eyeballs, jab one of them little pointy sticks through them and pop them in one o those fancy drinks” continued Hester
The blow sent a resounding crack across the valley, a punch to Hester’s temporal bone or in laymans terms the side of his thick head and promptly propelled him down the slope in a cloud of dust.

Hester sprang to his feet nursing half a dozen scrapes “YOU DANG IDIOT, WAT THE HELL IS WRONG WIT YOU” he bellowed
Lester slid down the slope snarling at Hester “WRONG WIT ME, ME, YOU FUCKIN DOLT, AM GOIN DO THIS AN THAT, SHUT YER STUPID FAT STUPIDER MOUTH!” the pair glared at each other, eyes bulging

“Yer worried about him ain’t ya” said Lester
“Aw shoot course A am, stupid old bastich can’t look after his self and if anyones gonna kill im it should be us” replied Hester
“Aint that the truth” said Lester who was scanning the valleys for their erstwhile boss, the cantankerous old Shootist called Alfie, who had the previous night vanished without a trace.

Now this in itself was not unheard of, Alfie had turned up in all manner of places, normally after having had an almighty rukus that sometimes ended up in someone else getting shot, but he’d gone missing in the middle of nowhere with a posse after them.

That and something felt odd about the mountains, something that Lester just couldn’t place, so odd in fact that he cleared his head by punching Hester square in the face, he found this provided a power of good in clearing both their heads for some serious thinkin.

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