Shadow Essen:
An amalgamation of every Western cliche ever written. Grizzled prospectors, outlaw gunslingers, lawmen, banditos, and women of dubious virtue all cross paths in a deadwood boomtown shadow.

[Victoria]
Sat 08:29PM

Blood.

That's how it always begins, really. How everything begins.

And there's so much of it on her hands...

It had been a normal card game in some odd Shadow, she been winning (she usually did - she had a mind for the game, and luck was usually on her side), and some of the roughnecks were growing a little unhappy.

Well, chairs got thrown, guns got drawn, and when it was all over, the four men she was playing against lay dead on the floor of the saloon. This would not have been an unusual thing either... except for the fact that she feel a stirring in the back of her mind just before the fight broke out...

...Victoria...

Trump. Who the hell had a Trump of her? Never mind... she was busy. But it distracted her enough so that one of the goons got off a lucky shot - clipped her in the side.

Her hands... covered in blood. Hers this time, but how often have they been the same in the past, stained red by the lives of how many others?

How long before the debt is paid?

...it's never enough...

And so, distracted, she'd wandered off into Shadow, to find a safe-place to hide for a while (she has a number of them tucked away... just in case).

She'd nearly finished healing, in the Shadow named Cytherina, when she got the Trump from Cassandra - and heard an interesting little tale...

Like she needed more complications in her life.

[Victoria]
Sat 08:38PM

Cytherina was a great place to heal up... fast-time, so that hardly any time passed in other Shadows, no matter how long you were there. Warm breezes, tropical beaches, friendly natives (of both sexes, to appeal to all preferences). Good food, better liquor... in short, a vacation Shadow Victoria was very proud indeed of having found.

Now, of course, she's left that all behind.

And so it is that with her wound healed, she's hellridden back into her favorite Shadow of choice - Essen - to shake off whatever rust she might have picked up during her time off...

I am a weapon. Nothing more, nothing less. A weapon that needs to be honed...

I'm still not ready.

[::Kloethos::]
Sat 08:47PM

To her back the sun bleeds. If there were any on this lonely desert(ed) trail they would see her framed in dying gold and bloody clouds. To her left, sheer rock slices upwards, towards a sky which seems to go on forever. Before her, more desert, shadowed now by dusk. More shades and valleys of darkness then in a religious book. A skull. A human skull, half-buried in the sand.

A cold wind blows.
And it gets darker.

(...most heroes only ride off into the sunset -after- they've won the day.)

[Victoria]
Sat 08:55PM

Perhaps its fitting then, that she rides with the dying rays of the sun to her back... away from the sunset... into the night.

Because she's no hero.

And she's never foreseen much in her own future, except Darkness.

Her leather jacket keeps her warm, and she pulls it a little tighter as the temperature drops. Amberite endurance is usually more than enough to deal with a little chill... though the switch from tropical to temperate climes always takes a little bit of getting used to...

[::Kloethos::]
Sat 09:02PM

In the desert it gets dark quickly and uncompromisingly: but perhaps the harsh, barren landscape (in all its unmercies) has always suited Victoria. The cold steps up a notch as she and her horse pass beneath the overshelf of the rockwall; there's a stream of water there. No light catches the gold flakes which could be buried amongst stream pebbles. She comes back into openspace: The first thing Victoria sees are a number of black shapes, against the sand. Wagons. No buzzards circling: but she hadn't seen any smoke, either, and they don't seem to be moving. Perhaps they'd been there for a while.

A coyote yipyipyips.

[Victoria]
Sat 09:16PM

The harsh landscape? An excellent means of testing herself at every turn, of building herself up, of hardening that which supernatural genetics gave her at birth. If her enemies were simply ordinary mortals, they'd stand no chance in hell of beating her now.

But then again, her enemies share the same gifts she does... and some have been around a hell of a lot longer, too.

So... practice makes perfect. And she'd have to be better than perfect, to beat them.

Wagons... maybe the victim of an indian ambush, or maybe part of an ambush themselves... she reaches back into her saddlebags, pulling out a telescoping spyglass she'd picked up somewhere. It was meant to sight ships at a distance on the sea... though it could occasionally come in handy on land, as well.

[::Kloethos::]
Sat 09:21PM

Her enemies. (They're -everywhere-.) Her telescope picks up the slightest of movements amongst the wagons: the coyote, probably. She has to refocus: something white flickers across her sights.

And behind her, a pebble rolls.

[Victoria]
Sat 09:26PM

Ever fallen off a horse?

Victoria has... more than a hundred times. She practiced it, once, so that going from being mounted to being unmounted would be a natural act. Her legs swing clear, she slides to the side, pivoting off the horse's flank as she falls, spinning, back to the ground, landing squarely on her shoulders as she hits.

And, as she moves (poetry in motion), two hands drop to two holsters, and metal gleams in the light of the stars overhead. One barrel pointing towards the left, one towards the right, even as her eyes search for a target.

Might only be a coyote. Might be something worse. Or someone.

Better safe than sorry. Wounded pride heals faster, after all.

[::Kloethos::]
Sat 09:32PM

"Mighty jumpy..." he adds, in that drawl which tends to mean everything as often as it means nothing.

[Victoria]
Sat 09:46PM

She slides... in a way that, in another time, another place (like, say, a rave in Los Angeles, Shadow Earth) would have men taking a deep breath. Of course, here, it's just vaguely unsettling.

...legs tense, boots on ground, shoulders lifting, knees flexing, hips rising, then chest...

She rises from the ground, never putting down her guns - never taking the one barrel off "Crazy" Charlie, never taking her eyes off him either. She comes back up to her feet in slow-motion, like a reversed-image of a man falling down. It's an incredible display of agility and leg-strength... and she's quite pleased she could pull it off - she hasn't done it in a while.

Standing (legs spread fairly wide, slowly closing that gap - and regaining her center of balance - as she slowly saunters towards him), gun still in hand, still pointed at him. The other slides back into its holster (sign of trust? She's a better shot on the fast-draw anyway), and she smiles. "Dayum, boy. You're lucky I like to look before I shoot... else you'd be whistling through your neck right 'bout now."

And she chuckles, faintly. "I have a habit of that, I'll admit... when damnfool banditos sneak up on me."

[::Kloethos::]
Sat 10:06PM

Her little move would have shaken a greenhorn - hell, it still shakes up the old hands, but they, like Charlie, usually try to look cool-eyed and sweatless when the Quicksilver Kid whips out another one of her impossible moves. Daughter of the devil, they've called her--and, well.

"So, I see you're still above snakes." He nods, slowly. Slowly. Charlie is one of those who really does manage the cool-eyed and sweatless look in front of Victoria.

"There'd been rumours."

Charlie Heart keeps one eye on Victoria, but the other goes up to the stars when he exhales smoke. One thumb hooks at his belt: the movement has two purposes. One, he just feels like it. Two, it shows the empty holster. Doesn't mean he's unarmed, but it does mean he's "officially unarmed."

"You know, purty. . . the in'juns around here still have it down like you're the daughter o' one of their Gods, or something. Not like the rest of us..."

[Victoria]
Sat 10:18PM

Daughter of the devil, they've called her - and, well... she's never denied it. But who really believes in fire and brimstone, in a world of gunpowder and lead?

Too damned many, actually.

She slips her other gun into its holster as well... hell, she can outdraw Charlie any day of the week. Now that she's more centered, she's willing to make the show of faith.

But trust? HELL no. It's always been too damned easy for yesterday's friends to become tomorrow's killers.

"You know me, too damned stubborn to die. And the redskins just say that because they ain't never seen a white man who can draw half as fast as me."

And she grins, tipping her hat slightly. "But who am I to deny semi-divine parentage? It would explain which side of the family I got my looks from, at any rate. Though if we used that argument in your case, at least one of your parents is obviously a pack-mule."

[::Kloethos::]
Sat 10:27PM

He laughs, quietly (an edge to the laughter as always). "Sure, sure. . . but if'n my Pa was the 'Sacred Pack Mule' yours was th' vulture." Charlie's still examining the sky, but he slowly ( boy always was kind'a ponderous when he wasn't saving his ass) looks back to her, and smiles. "It'd sure explain the looks, anyway."

...a smirk, and then he's sifting through his breast pocket. "Want a smoke?"

Friendly. ( There's always a line.)

[Victoria]
Sat 10:35PM

She chuckles as well... where a number of her other relatives would have killed the insolent Shadow-dweller already (There's always a line). But she's never been like that... she chooses her enemies a lot more carefully than that.

"Naw. Those things'll kill ya." Hardly a threat to someone who barely expects to live past tomorrow... but maybe Victoria knows something the others don't. And maybe she plans to live forever...

"So, what the hell brought a curly wolf like yourself out this way? Last I heard, you were out East."

[::Kloethos::]
Sat 10:39PM

"I was. Got me a wife, a pretty little office job. . . the whole nine-yards." He flashes his swindler’s grin, but there's something hard behind it; his eyebrows lift like a joker's. Pointed. He has something in his hands now, flat and rectangular, and he glances at it feigning surprise she can see through like he was a screen with a light lit behind it. "Well... what do you reckon this is doin' here?"

It? Even in this light, ( cigar spat onto the ground. He never smokes 'em full.) she can see what it is. A card pack. In her colors.

[Victoria]
Sat 10:47PM

Her colors?

She's never worn them in Essen.

"I don't know... mostly because I ain't got the foggiest clue of what it is."

[::Kloethos::]
Sat 10:48PM

"Well...." he drawls, brows furrowing together like he was some poster boy for confusion. Charlie Heart stares at the pack for a moment, or two; then looks back up at Victoria - and holds the pack out. "They're yours." Coyote grin. "Take my word for it, lady."

[Victoria]
Sat 10:54PM

She looks at him for a moment more, and at the case he holds out. Her gaze upon it wouldn't look much different if he was holding a rattlesnake. "I haven't taken anyone's word for anything in years..." ...not since Patternfall...

"If they're 'mine', where'd you get them? And how did you find me? I've been a bit... walkabout... lately. There's no way in hell you had a trail to follow." And she narrows her eyes for a moment, the shock of his appearance finally wearing off enough for her natural (paranoid) instincts to kick in.

She was in another Shadow... how did he find her?

[::Kloethos::]
Sat 11:02PM

He sighs, exaggeratedly. "Well, we never were exactly close friends." Glance again at the card pack, he still holds. "Pretty motif, no?" A smirk. "I'd play ya for 'em just on account o' the pictures. You know me, connosewwer of fine art. But how's I got 'em is kinda strange."

A coyote cries again. (The loneliest sound.) He shifts a little.

"Some guy in one of them carnivals - Buffalo Bob's, maybe. Cheap, knock-off show..." He huffs, stamps in one place, and looks about - before meeting her eyes again. "...Anyway, he pulled me aside n' gave me these. Told me you'd me around here, eventually, and I could keep my saddle if I found you and delivered."

Charlie Heart tips is hat down, lets the brim shade his eyes. (. . . closer, that mournful animal call.) "But I ain't here for you - least-a-ways, I didn't think I was. You riding with that dick-sucking varmint Rogers, now?"

Above the two, the stars are white points of fire. . . and there are more stars then beats in all the hearts of all the West.

Fucking. Beautiful.

[Victoria]
Sat 11:14PM

Fucking. Beautiful.

'Course, any shave tail who spent much time looking up wouldn't even see it coming when the bullet hits the bone.

"I don't ride with anyone..." She spits on the ground to her side. "You should know better than most. Sometimes a body might follow along on the trail, don't make 'em a partner. Don't even make 'em a friend..." ...I don't have friends. Not really...

"Pictures?" She's heard the story from Cassandra... and a really nasty thought enters her mind. It can't be... She reaches out, takes the case from him (how does it feel, Shadow, to hold a piece of the Real, only to have it taken from you once more?), and slips out the cards. "Well, I'll be damned..."

And she looks back up at him. "You looked at these?" She raises an eyebrow, but doesn't seem overly concerned (about that, anyway). "This guy who gave them to you... what exactly did he look like?" He holds the case up before him. "Like someone in here?"

[::Kloethos::]
Sat 11:22PM

"You aren't?" his eyes narrow. Close as she is, she can see them. Muddy green. Knife-sharp. "Then, no offense, ma'am..." a quiet smirk at the terming. "But maybe you should ride on. I'll catch up with you at the next town - " he waves a hand.

The wind whistles. The wind howls.
...Something, nearby, begins to fizzle.

Her sharp hearing can pick up on that, at least.

[Victoria]
Sat 11:29PM

Shit. Shitshitshitshit.

Reflex takes over - after all, she was going to do this anyway... her hand blurs, the Peace(widow)maker almost leaps into her hand, and the trigger jerks back, taking him right between the eyes. She'd been planning to do it regardless... he'd seen the Trumps. He'd become a threat - to her, to her plans. And nothing, no one, would be allowed to do that. Not even a foolish Shadow-dweller, innocent (maybe), unaware of the greater movements of the universe.

She just broke one of her own personal rules... but what's another piece of her soul? She already sold most of the rest, and she'll likely sell a lot more before the game is done.

And even as the gun is smoking, she's turning towards the sound, the case slipped into her jacket, then the other gun flying into her hand, eyes narrowing...

Fuck.

[::Kloethos::]
Sat 11:34PM

Charlie's eyes hadn't even the time to widen - before his heart stops. Death comes to us all, and he could have had a messier end. His body crumples to the ground even as Victoria whirls to face the (...Fuck) wagon ruins which had originally been in her path. The sound hisses like a rattlesnake for another second: and then, the wagons explode.

The force hurls her backwards, towards the rock.

[Victoria]
Sat 11:42PM

Okay. Bad day, followed by nice month, followed by worse night. Things are rapidly going from shitty-to-worse, and something deep inside her almost wants to burn this entire Shadow to cinders, for daring to treat a daughter of Amber this way.

And then she slams into the rock, and all such thoughts are driven from her, along with most of her breath.

Gasping, she falls, dazed, to the ground. She looks up, a moment of double-vision blurring images before her. Concussion? Probably not... her focus is already returning.

It takes her another second to realize her hands are still holding her guns.

For a moment, she leans towards bravado ("Want to come on out, so we can talk about this?"), but then decides to sit it out, quiet... maybe whoever set the trap will think they got her...

Yeah. Right.

[::Kloethos::]
Sat 11:49PM

...she looks up, a moment of double-vision blurring images before her...

A (two, say her echoing eyes) woman plummets from the rock and lands about two feet from her. Obviously, an eastern gal; high-necked dress and pretty skin. Her eyes would have been pretty, too. If they hadn't been widened in petrified horror, and touched by death. Not from the fall, but from the crimson smile gaping at her throat.

Another explosion, this time to her right. The way she had been coming. Victoria's horse is long gone.

...maybe whoever set the trap will think they got her... Yeah.

And then, voice right beside her. "Damn it, woman. I'd wanted him to see me kill her before I killed him." And a chuckle, from right above her.

Right.
(It can get worse.)

[Victoria]
Sun 12:00AM

Well, what can you do?

She's played the game before... with worse odds (maybe - what ARE the odds, here?). She COULD draw, and fire towards the voice, towards the chuckle. Or she could try and talk it out... see what they want. Might even be able to talk her way out of this (suuure) - well, at least buy herself some time, and a better shot.

Hell, it's time to be an Amberite.

"Well, I guess you're going to have to get used to disappointment..." Dive, drop, roll. Right to the side of where she was. Just above. Both guns out, both guns fire. A silent prayer that those bullets find their mark. Not a prayer to anything in particular, mind you. Victoria doesn't believe in much.

And then, she keeps rolling (less of a target, that way). To her feet, zig-zagging run (doesn't wait to see if the shots hit, she'll know soon enough). Her horse is gone, but there are other ways...

If she wasn't so damned independent, she might even consider using those Trumps in her jacket.

But she doesn't.

[::Kloethos::]
Sun 12:16AM

And maybe her prayer hadn't a chance of being answered.
(And maybe Lady Luck was smiling - but the Lady was a bitch.....)
And maybe she'd managed to piss off every single deity in the known Universe(s).

Point is? There was never anything there to hit. She keeps rolling ( tumbleweed tornado) because it makes her less of a target. Somewhere, far distant, her horses hooves are beating a tattoo against the ground. . . and it is screaming its distress as it stumbles, fractures a bone.

And is beset upon by predators.

To her feet, zigzagging ru--
No.

Victoria runs smack into a tall man, leather dusters and a low-brimmed hat just like every other sonofabitch out there. She has a split second to register his face. . . which is cast in shadow, and a pair of brilliant, burning eyes. . . which seem to glow (the fire, that's all, the fire from the wagons), when -

the world goes black.