Prose Verse part 1, New comer (of course mine be a western)

As understandable as the problem was, annoyance could not be negated. Six horses pulled the large stagecoach along the hilly landscape; their heavy hooved trot slammed into the hard packed dirt road and somehow broke dust free in huge trailing plumes. Despite the animal’s admirable attempts at swift speed, they could not move faster than the dust. It caught and clung to their wake, and the fancy wood covered wagon they towed about by leather and metal harness.

Tin Crow sat atop the driver seat, sucking down dust his bandanna refused to filter and generally cursing his lot in life. The horses were old hats to this run and needed very little correction. He could of slept if it not for the bounce and sway of stage couch. The steel clad wheels of the coach seemed to find every god damn runt and hole. He also had to piss, and the aforementioned worn road and its bone rattling trappings weren’t helping. Tin Crow considered once more, standing up, riding out the buck of the stagecoach and pissing over the side. But just as quickly as the thought came, he wiped them away, not out of decency, but rather practicality, he doubted his own sure footedness.

Thus Tin turned his ear upon his shotgun toting partner Acadec in hopes for a distraction. Acadec spoke in earnest, this was their fifty-six run together and Tin Crow still found himself listening with intent as Acadec went on about his dreams of directing plays at the local theater. While they both went to the Faux Hero Theater together, Acadec always seemed to get more out of the plays than Tin, whether it be the lines and the conviction in which they were spoken or the proper emotion for the scene. In a lot of other western states Acadec would have been an odd man out, not that there weren’t black people about, or even black cowboys, but just as a stagecoach driver. Not all jobs were seen as proper for someone with black skin, but Wyoming seemed to be different than rest of the Union, Tin Crow had even heard Wyoming had a black U.S. Marshal appointed by the government and everything.

Acadec sucked in a deep breathe through his nose, it vibrated with thick wet, which he immediately turned into a hocking followed by a huge spit ball of snot, saliva, and mucus encased dust. Throat now clear he turned toward Tin. “What did you think of Henry V?”

While he thought on his answer Tin Crow pulled down his bandanna to better speak to his friend. He had to shout a bit to be heard over the horse hooves, harness jingle, and rock and sway of the coach. “It was good, that one speech, the one the King made before the battle, it got me all wound up. I mean, I wanted to pick a fight with someone.”

Acadec nodded. “I know what you mean. I love the Saint Crispin’s Day speech. I start every morning by reading that. Makes me feel like I can take on anything, come what may.” 

Acadec shifted the shotgun in his lap. “I think I want to modernize the play, rewrite it. Maybe have it happen during the war. Switch out the French for the South and the Brits for the Union. Having the proper costuming would certainly be easier, no armour, just maybe your own or even your father’s military uniform. I would have to change some of the dialogue and maybe some of the scenes to make it work. Except for the Saint Crispin’s Day speech, it is too good to mess with.”

Tin thought about that and then nodded. “Could work, but who says the Crispy speech? We have no king and Lincoln never led men into battle. Though you could have him say it instead of the address after Gettysburg. After all, I can’t see Grant being sober enough to string that many words together, and in all honesty that speech sounds more like a thing Lee would do.”

“Maybe I should have Sherman say it--- yeah, that works, since the play is about Henry marching on French, Sherman’s march could easily replace that. Part of the point of the play and especially the “Crispy” speech is Henry V’s right to rule and his justification of the war. That works with the Civil War being about the Union trying to establish its right to rule and Sherman justifying his march. ” Acadec looked excited, almost ready to stand and pace as he worked out the specifics. However, due to circumstance he sat and shifted constantly in his seat.

Tin looked his friend over again. Acadec cradled the shotgun absently running about within his own mind, the scatter gun seeming an afterthought since there was no real need for it. Marshal Paul Chambers and Sheriff Sammie Lee brook no nefarious doings and so the town proper and the surrounding county saw very little crime. Well, until recently.

Tin forgot he had to piss, until he remembered he forgot.

*   *   *

The horses pulled through a turn on a high hill which allowed a brief glimpse at the coming township. Inka, Ink to friends, and Miss Salt to everyone else stuck her head out her open window to get a better view of her new home. The town looked much bigger then she thought it would. Prose had been gaining popularity as of late and found itself with a sudden influx of new residents. Her whale bone corset strained under her movement, hindering it somewhat, but thankfully she hadn’t tightened it too much.

“Have a place to stay Miss Salt?”

Ink turned to the voice and smiled. ‘At least she didn’t sit next to me.’ The women seemed nice, but Ink tended to have issues with close proximity of other people. Her book thus far had deterred conversation, however, Ink had to abandon it for her view of her new home and so her fellow rider sprung upon her chance to speak with Ink. She sat back and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dark blue bodice and settled her bustle behind herself. Ink was thankful the stupid bag of cotton hadn’t gone too askew, how the in the world the bustle had become poplar again she wound never know. Ink resisted checking her hat, instead relying on the pins to do their job and hold the silly thing tight to her tirelessly made up brown hair. Her dress fell into order, the dark yet shiny blue contrasting the wide belt of floral printed fabric at her waist. The print swirled in and out of gold, sliver, and emerald flowers. The skirt followed suit with the same fabric laid out as wide horizontal stripes down its length. This was offset by a solid deep blue bit of skirt that tucked in under the floral belt on the right side, hiding the stripes on one side as it draped to the left, thus making it appear she wore two skirt instead on one.

Ink fiddled with her book, wishing to rush back into the pages. “Yes Miss City…”

“You may call me Onyx darling.” Onyx City seemed to favor dark colors when it came to her dress, purple with blue lapels and a wide blue belt, which fell into a skirt made of folds and drapes of both colors. The purple and blues were of a shade so dark they verged on black. She wore simple black top hat tilted slightly to the left atop her raven hair, which was pulled into a tight bun. Onyx smiled and Ink stared, for some reason Ink noticed Onyx’s dog teeth looked a bit longer than normal.

‘Why did I notice that? Better still, why are you looking at her teeth? Say something, anything, too much time has passed.’

Ink grabbed her skirt and moved the drape about. “Yes, I am staying at the SandFlea.”

Onyx nodded. “Mrs. Sandy is a wonderful woman. I think she knows everyone in town. And don’t worry; there are no fleas in her place. She is not too far from Ruby’s Pond, a nice little café. And you must see a play at the Faux Hero Theater darling.” Onyx smiled again, dog tooth seeming to bite into her lower lip a bit.

Ink went back to fingering the pages of her book. She really wished she was reading it. “I will keep that in mind.”

Onyx didn’t appear to see the fidgeting and its implied meaning. Or she chose to ignore it. “What brings you to our little metropolis? Work, family, future husband?”

“Um, work. I am to write for The Situation. I don’t know what I am to write, but Mr. Situation read some of my work and hired me to write for the newspaper.”

“Harry is a lovely man; he writes for his own paper, did you know? These great little pieces about a little girl and her stepfather and their adventures together. And don’t listen to what others have to say; him and the town preacher get along just fine darling.” Onyx smiled again, teeth separated a bit. A bit of pink appeared and quickly vanished.

Ink furrowed her eyebrows. ‘Did she just lick one of her oddly long dog teeth?’ Ink shook the thought loose. “Preacher?”

Onyx nodded. “Yes, Tobias Broken. Don’t worry, he is not the fire and brimstone type. He is more of the, let’s talk about God, or not, whatever you want type. You see, he and Harry often get into these long, and sometimes loud, discussions over beer and whiskey at the Beowulf and Grendel, that is James Byer’s saloon by the way, people hear loud and they think heated, but it just not so darling.”

Ink gave up on the book and her nonverbal clues about her desire to read it. “I heard there some trouble about, bandits?”

Onyx smiled again. “I won’t worry too much about them fine ladies, they only rob men. And very specific men for that matter.”

As they neared the town proper a sign flash by.

Mayor Ruby Pond welcomes you 

and asks for you to turn over 

your firearms to the local law.

Ink caught only a glimpse of the sign and reviewed the words she thought she had seen. Certain she was not mistaken she looked at Onyx. “Did I see that right?”

“Why yes darling, no guns in the city limits. Can’t anybody getting angry and shooting a person, or dog for that matter. Guns are bit uncouth.” Onyx took this moment to stare significantly at Ink’s purse.

‘How did she know about my pistol?’ Ink’s mind flashed to the little .38 British Bulldog tucked into her hand bag. Such guns were considered best used by ladies or whores, and seeing how Ink was not a whore but not quite a lady, it suited her just fine. The short little barrel tended to be about as accurate as spiting across a table, though the noise and smoke produced made up for that. The bird’s head grip fit well into her hand and the double action took care of the worry of remembering to cock the hammer. Granted the best results would be achieved by burying the barrel into someone’s gut or back and pulling the trigger till empty. ‘If I have to do it again, I wonder if it will get easier? How many times must it be done before it is a practiced skill?’ Ink meanwhile decided to ignore the implied meaning of Onyx prolonged stare at her handbag. “I meant the mayor.”

Onyx smiled. “Ahh, yes, our Madam Mayor, Miss Ruby Pond. Like I said, a wonderful woman--- wait did I say, huh, none-the-less, it holds true for her as well. This is Wyoming after all and women’s suffrage is a strongly held belief. We had it before being welcomed into the Union and held onto once we achieved statehood darling. Here women are allowed to vote, serve on juries, female teachers earn the same pay as a male teachers, and women even have property rights that can be kept separate from their husband’s. There have been a few female judges, and then general feeling is, if a women can vote for who is allowed to hold office, than she can damn well run for office too. Wait till we get out very own Congresswomen and female Governor. While the other states are very backward in their thinking, Wyoming is a good place to be an independent women.”

Ink smiled back. “Or a bandit, apparently.-- But wait, Wyoming is not a state yet, it is still a U.S. Territory, what do you mean statehood?”

Onyx looked lost for a second, her mind turning things over. But then she smiled once more and opted to touch a long dog tooth with her tongue rather than out right licking it. “Sorry about that darling, got a bit ahead of myself. I sometimes forget the time.”

Ink narrowed her eyes and looked off to the side, losing herself in thought. “Odd,-- also it has occurred to me, the names are a bit on the strange side.” Ink nodded to Onyx. “Onyx City, Sandflea, Faux Hero, Rudy Pond, Beowulf and Grendel, and I think our drivers are named Tin Crow and Acadec Fidysax. It seems all a little queer.”

Onyx raised an eyebrow. “So says the lovely young lady with the names Salt and Ink. Now, now, darling, this is the wild west after all, and odd names, titles, nicknames, aliases, and strange monikers go hand in hand. You will hear more unusual names before the day is out.”

It was Ink’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Wild west? I don’t think I have heard it called that. What a queer thing to say.”

Onyx chuckled. “I forgot the time again, sorry for the confusion darling.”

“You keep saying that, I forget the time. Also very queer, what do you mean by it?”

Onyx smiled, dog teeth ever so slightly biting into her bottom lip again. “Not a thing darling, poor choice of words on all accounts. It must be the heat, it has to be muddling up my brain a bit. I find the sun doesn’t favor me most days, I prefer the night.”