Firstborn of the Frontier

A lot of Catholics got persecution complexes, and in this regard, I suppose I'm Catholic enough to count.

Can't help but hate myself as I trudge on downstairs all by my lonesome and wish it were otherwise. Well, I got Inari with me, but same as Stella who I done left with Tina, the snowy, three-tailed furball is fast asleep and too small for a proper, full-on cuddle. That's what I want, a full-sized Cowie to hug and squeeze as hard as I can with no fear of hurting him, while he gives as good as he gets to provide the crushing warmth and comfort I need to contend with all the rage and regret I got welling up from within.

Ain't none of this on Sarah Jay. She a fine woman who knew what she wanted and went for it. Don't begrudge her for it, and in fact, I'm rather flattered even if she had to drink enough to unload everything she'd eaten in weeks before she decided it was a good move. Ain't nothing put some pep in your step like knowing you're wanted, and while I sorta guessed she might've been carrying a cross for the Firstborn, it ain't her feelings that got me so mixed up. It's mine, because all I can think of is how Josie always made me feel wanted, and how I'm a fickle and faithless monster of a man for not loving her as much as she loved me.

That's the truth of the matter, and a fact that hurts me to the core. She was ready to spend her whole life with me, willing to share me with Noora if it came to that, whereas me? I wasn't satisfied with the one wife, I wanted a girlfriend on the side too. Never really thought much of it in the moment, but looking back on it now, I can't help but be disgusted by my past and present self. It's been little more than half a year since I watched the light fade from Josie's eyes, and here I am ready and willing to go along with the first woman to jump my bones just because. You could say we only had a few months, shorter than the time we've now been apart, but my daddy was only with my mama for a scant 8 months, and he loved her right up until the day he died some 14 years later. Was true to her and only her without so much as glancing at another woman with amorous intent, while I can't go five minutes in the presence of a pretty face without thinking about sex.

Even if said woman happens to be the woman who done raised me, or my sorta sister who I'd do anything to shelter and protect from men like myself.

Never really noticed it while I was up in the quay by myself. Probably because I was all by myself, save for a bunch of sweaty labourers and the occasional visit from Noora every now and then. Even then, it was less about sex and more about comfort, with the both of us seeking solace in one another's embrace. After a while, it turned into just me seeking solace from her, but too proud and conflicted to actually voice it out loud. Things would probably be different if I did, if I told her just how much I'm hurting and how little I've actually healed. Though she plays it all cool and jaded, Noora is a kind and compassionate woman underneath all that hard skin, because she knows how bad things can get and don't want no one to go through it alone. If I had opened up to her instead of closing myself off, I think she would've never even thought about running off, because she would've known just how much I need her.

Or anyone with breasts and a pulse, it appears. Very large, perky breasts in this case, with a full-figured body you can really sink your fingers into. Sarah Jay is a whole different sort of woman from the slim and dainty Josie and Noora, and I ain't just talking about looks or physique. The tall brunette ain't shy like the former, or sultry like the latter, but bold and assertive as can be, which is really something else. Wasn't in her right mind of course, and if I was a good man instead of how I really am, I'd've shut her down right quick instead of letting myself get dragged in by lust and loneliness.

I ain't a good man though. Never claimed to be one either, though I did say I'd try. Didn't seem like a big ask from Uncle Art. Try to be a good man. Just try is all, but I can't even manage that, because if Sarah Jay didn't upchuck when she did, I'd've lost what little restraint I still had and done something we both would've come to regret. Ain't neither of us in the right kinda headspace for that sort of thing, and I ain't one to take it lightly. Even though I'd know it for a mistake, I'd try to make something more of it, which is a disservice to the both of us really. Sarah Jay is hurting, and she deserves a man who loves her for who she is, not because she happened to show up. As for me? I'm still hurting from losing Josie, and now I'm hurting even more because I don't think I'm hurting enough.

They say time heals all wounds, but that ain't true in the least. I ain't about to regrow my hand for starters, and losing certain people can leave a hole in your heart that ain't ever gonna be filled. Like my daddy, Uncle Raleigh, and Marcus, people who had a huge impact on me and continue to do so even after they gone. Thought Josie would also be on the list too, but apparently not, and I can't help but feel like there's something wrong with me for it.

Because there is. I ain't right in the head or the heart. Folks always talk about how hard it is to kill a human being and how not everyone can do it. For me, it might well be the easiest thing in the world. Point a gun and pull a trigger. That's all there is to it, and even when I know I done killed the wrong man, like Deputy Corey Macintyre, a name I won't let myself forget, I still sleep like a baby each and every night.

Or I should say that it ain't the killing that keeps me up at night.

There's a word for that kind of person, one I've had thrown at me plenty before and even more in recent times. Psychopath. Someone who don't got no conscience, empathy, or remorse. I would say I got plenty of all three, as life would be a whole lot easier if I didn't, but I also sort of understand the other side. Soon as I decide someone's earned themselves a Bolt, then they're no longer human to me. A justified kill ain't nothing but a walking corpse, and the Bolt I send their way is what they got coming. Fate. Justice. Karma. Whatever you wanna call it, that's how I sees it, and I thought that was just how things work. Normal people ain't like that though, not even seasoned soldiers like Marcus. He lost his son and did some dark things, things I thought him justified for. He didn't see it that way though, not after the fact, and he used to his dying breath to warn me not to be like him. Problem is, I ain't. I'm worse. I'm a killer without remorse, one cursed with enough self-awareness to know that ain't a good thing.

So I accept that I'm broken in some ways, only now I gotta come to terms with the fact that I might well be broken in others too. I love Josie like I love air. I need her, and it hurts to go without her, so much so that it's killing me slowly a little bit at a time. I also love Noora, and knowing she about to leave to blaze new trails in the west is like a dagger hanging over my head. I see it, know it's about to fall, but all I can do is watch it hang and wait for it to drop. I almost welcome the hurt and pain, because even though I love her dearly and will miss her something fierce, I don't deserve her or anyone else.

My heart died with Josie, so I can't give it to no one else. I wouldn't let someone I care about be with a heartless man, not Tina, not Noora, and not Sarah Jay, so why should things be any different if that heartless man happens to be me?

Inside the living room, I steer clear of my favourite chair so it can air out a bit, and instead head over to the mantle and remove a few loose bricks. Hidden in the recess behind them sits a wooden jewellery box about the size of my palm, and inside contains all that I hold near and dear to my dead heart. My daddy's badge, a five-pointed star inside a circle on which is inscribed 'American Ranger'. A harmonica Uncle Raleigh made for me which I don't play no more. The crucifix Marcus was wearing when he died, which Simone gave over to me to remember him by. Last but not least are the latest additions. A fistful of Josie's ribbons as well as a crystal containing all the Photos we ever taken together, wrapped in the kerchief with our initials that she done made for me. Don't got the heart to go through the pictures, which is fine because I'm here for what's next to it, the fancy velvet box holding the engagement ring I bought for Noora.

Just in case you know. Bought them both at the same time, which got me a strange look from the salesman, but I didn't care much for what anyone thought. I was in love with the both of them, and even though I was pretty sure I was playing second fiddle to Josie in Noora's heart, it only seemed fair since I was two-timing the both of them too. Never did end up asking Noora to marry me. Was too wrapped up in my own misery to even consider hers and left her to fend for herself in the aftermath. Can't rightly blame her for wanting to leave, because it wasn't like I was around to be left really. I put the ball in her court, then walked right off and left her to play by herself, so she couldn't have passed it back even if she wanted to. Best I can do now is hold fast to my promise to let her go without a fight, because she don't deserve to be tied down by a sad sack like me.

I suppose this makes me a sad drunk then, and I don't like it much. Nor do I much care for my lustful ways, because even if it might've been fun to have a tumble with Sarah Jay, I don't think I would've much liked how I felt about myself in the morning. Love and lust ain't the same thing, and after having experienced the first, I don't see how the second could even hope to compare. Heaving a sigh, I close up my box of mourning and put it back behind the loose brick before heading over to sit on the couch and wallow in my misery while cradling a snoring Inari. Ain't as comfy as my chair, but I slept in worse places with worse positions, so I close my eyes and open them again to the morning light when I sense two people enter the room and settle in on either side of me.

One is Chrissy, and the other Elodie, both up bright and early for a morning cuddle. "Sleepover," Chrissy says, when she sees me open my eyes and raise a brow in wordless question. Seems she's under the impression that she's allowed to snuggle up next to me so long as we ain't at home. I ain't about to disabuse her of the notion though. She ain't the only one who loves our time spent together, and I know there ain't nothing untowards about it. We family plain and simple, a truth I know in my head and in my heart, unlike how it be with Tina. Chrissy here is my Princess, who I live to serve and protect, my sister not by blood, but by choice, and that ain't ever gonna change.

Elodie shouldn't be snuggled up either, but having seen how scared she was yesterday when faced with all them workers over at the docks, I can't help but want to wrap my arm around her and tell her everything's gonna be okay. Which is technically a lie, since I don't know that for a fact. She needs to hear it though, because I see the tension in her shoulders as she takes shelter beside me while glancing at the curtains hiding the window and docks beyond. She can hear the workers already at it, as they start bright and early so as not to waste daylight, and she's worried they barge in here with guns a blazing because she don't understand the sort of mindset one needs to inflict mindless, senseless violence on a complete stranger.

Anger she gets, and maybe even hatred, but killing without any direct grudge like what them wannabe mafiosos did to Josie? That right there is beyond Elodie's ken, because she's pure as snow and innocent as the angels in heaven above. Some would call her simple, or even feral or animalistic, but I say she's just more in tune with her nature. Something most folks could do with, if you ask me. Too much of polite society is all manufactured nonsense, like laws, morals, manners, and what not. Ain't natural all that, so most adapt by putting on false fronts, which is even less natural to be sure. That's how you end up with schemers and deceivers, because they done learned that honesty is very rarely the best policy despite what anyone might say.

No, in this messed up, quasi-modern world with an olden day twist we live in, it always best to play your cards close to the vest. This here be a Frontier in which we uphold ideals like virtue and morality while those who eschew both are well rewarded. I ain't talking about lawbreakers, not primarily at least. Just look the most profitable companies and you'll see that they make those profits though unsavoury means. Exploiting their workforce by paying them less than their fair share. Skimping on workplace safety or comfort to lower expenses. Keeping a stranglehold on supply to artificially raise prices. Offering bribes and kickbacks to officials, supplies, or regulators to gain favourable treatment. The list goes on and on, and don't no one ever get punished for it.

Hell, no one even seems to think much of it. That's just business is what they'd say when asked, and smart business at that, which really goes to show how morality ain't nothing but a sham.

Elodie don't see things the same way. She sees the world as it should be. In her eyes, I ain't a psychopath or killer. I'm a protector who might sometimes go a little too far, but one with his heart in the right place. Which is what I am, or at least that's what I hope, but sometimes, I think that this here is a difference without so much of a distinction.

Sick and tired of being maudlin all the time, I push aside all the dreary thoughts and force myself into the present. "You two hungry?" I ask, and though Chrissy shakes her head and clings tight to my arm, Elodie is more honest and nods like a kiccaw pecking grains. Speaking of which, the round birds have made their way down the stairs and are pecking at my toes with their tiny little beaks, letting me know it's about time I fed them, so in spite of Chrissy's silent protests, I figure it's time to get a jump start on the day.

Handing over Inari to soothe the Princess's displeasure, I head over to the kitchen and whip up some coffee, bread, butter, and smoked ham for a quick bite while we wait for the honeycakes to finish baking. Course, I gotta feed the kiccaws, horses, and cattle too, all of whom are over the moon to spend some time with Chrissy and Elodie. Including Old Tux, who's looking hale and hearty as ever as he nips my hat right off my head and goes a galloping off with it, much to both girls' delight.

This right here is a nice little slice of the life that done been denied me, and much as I would love to have my family here with me too, I can't ask them to give up everything they got going on over in town just to be with me. Ain't nothing to do but suck it up and figure out some way to get back in good graces with the town, or at the very least make it easier for family and friends to come visit.

Got me a whole mental list of things to do, like visit Levi up in Silver Summit to see what ideas he might've come up with. Can do that during my trip to see the Sheriffs of Rimepeak, which I was gonna do today but might have to put off since I want to bring my friends and family back to town myself. While I'm there, I can have a word with my lawyer and ask Tina to pick me up some groceries to make up for what done been stolen, killing three birds with one stone as it were. That's the plan at least, one that I'm ready and raring to carry out save for the fact that I failed to account for the fact that most of my friends got good and proper drunk last night, and unlike me lack the proper experience to know when to quit.

What can I say? I was fourteen years young and out on the Frontier by my lonesome with a trunk full of homemade honey mead. Of course I got drunk. Still prefer fizzy drinks though, because they taste even better and don't leave me tipsy as a sailor on shore leave. Got trouble enough controlling my actions and emotions as it were; don't need to be adding alcohol into the mix.

So while my friends sleep off their drunken stupors, save for Tina who's just sleeping in, I make a morning of it with Chrissy and Elodie. After leaving a note for the others in the kitchen, I bring them on a tour of the ranch while the animals follow us around, all save for the kiccaws who stayed behind in the warm house. Including Frowny, who's still fast asleep with Sarah Jay and might well stay that way for the rest of the day. Digesting a Spell Core takes some doing, as it changes your body on a genetic level, and he'll be ravenously hungry when he wakes. To say nothing of all the hurdles he's got ahead of him, what with being a Magical Beast and all. Ain't much to be done about it though, nothing besides ask Tina to bring him back to Aunty Ray so she can weigh in on the matter at least, because it's important to consider temperament when dealing with newly Awakened Magical Beasts.

Not to say that Frowny will wake up and immediately know a whole host of Spells, much less Ablative Armour. Which is a pretty nifty Spell if I'm being honest. Sheathes the Caster in an Ectoplasmic padding that can take the shape and form of whatever you please. Could be simple as an extra layer of clothes that covers you from head to toe, or complex as shiny steel plate armour like what them medieval knights wore. Regardless of the appearance, it does the same thing, namely protects you from getting hurt the same as any physical amour would. Course, given that it's called 'Ablative' armour, there are some differences between it and say Mage Armour or Conjure Armour. In short, once spent, then the Ablative Armour is done with regardless of how much time left you got on its duration. It's a little like Aid in that regard, in that the Spell will absorb the damage, but be damaged by it all the same, removing some or even all of the barrier before anything hits the caster underneath.

In contrast, Mage and Conjure Armour work more like traditional armour, meaning if you get shot and the Bolt don't kill you, it'll still hurt something fierce. If your Ablative Armour is strong enough, or you stack the Spell enough times for it to block a Bolt, then you could get shot and not feel a thing besides your Spell coming to an end. A great Spell if you got the tech to feed the Core as much Aether as it needs to protect you, but I'd say it's much too resource intense for self-casting. Would have to blow something like 20 Aether into it to survive a shot from a proper Aetherarm, and more if it's a military rifle, so the juice ain't worth the squeeze. Course, that's my opinion, and I could be wrong seeing how the British Knight's Protectorate swear by the Spell, with their standard operating procedure being to blow all their Aether on Ablative Armour while relying on weapons, mundane, Imbued, or Augmented, to do most the heavy lifting.

As Spell Cores go, it's not the worst one for a kiccaw to eat. Them round birds got no natural weapons worth writing home about, and are about as fast and nimble as one might expect a round, flightless bird to be. Which is to say not at all, so a Magical kiccaw can hardly be all that dangerous with only a First Order Defensive Spell available to it. The thing about Innates though is that they hardly ever stop at just one Spell, and Transmutation runs the gamut when it comes to effects. It's got offensive Spells like Dragon's Breath, Alter Self to grow horns, talons, fangs, or whatnot, and Erupting Earth to dole out a whole host of hurt while rearranging the terrain at the same time. It's also got more defensive Spells like the oh so useful Barkskin, or the Minor Regeneration I been using each and every day as often as I can to recover right quick.

That said, utility is where the School of Transmutation really shines. Expeditions Retreat. Featherfall. Jump. Longstrider. Darkvision. Levitate. Gaseous Form. All Transmutation Spells that every proper Spell Slinger should know how to prep, because any one of them can pull your chestnuts out of the fire. Then there's the real star of the school, namely the Third Order Spell Fly, because who doesn't want to soar through the air like a bird and see everything from on high? In terms of actual usage, Fly isn't all that and a bag of chips, because you still gotta learn to control it. Most folks have trouble enough navigating through life with their own two feet, so expecting them to learn how to Fly is asking for a bit much. Add in a short 10-minute base duration and you got yourself a Third Order Spell that ain't all that useful really, not compared to the less fun but far safer Gaseous Form.

I still want to learn it though, if only for kicks. It'd be hilarious if Frowny also learns the Spell and becomes the first kiccaw to ever soar through the air. Would be less funny if he picks up Dragon's Breath and starts setting things aflame, like his fellow kiccaws or the barn he's housed in. Sure, the Spell only lasts a minute at base duration, and the Spell don't got Ignite baked in, but 60 seconds can turn into a lifetime when everything around you is on fire. Poor Cowie had to go through so much training and jump through a whole bevy of hoops before the Feds would sign off on his papers, because prey animals with a flame Spell tends to make for a terrible combination. While I trust my bovine partner with my life, I'm less inclined to trust Frowny, who I'm pretty sure would murder me in a heartbeat if I served him breakfast a minute late, assuming he had the means of course.

Them other kiccaws? They give love bites and playful pecks. Frowny though? He ain't just frowning in expression; he's frowning in temperament too.

Meaning that if Aunty Ray don't think she can train him up, then we might have to turn the grumpy kiccaw into something like a stew. Would hurt me something fierce to have to do it, especially since he started sleeping in my lap two nights back, but there ain't nothing for it. Was me who opened up Sarah Jay's shirt like I did, undoing all the buttons to get a hold of the voluminous mountains underneath, and while she resisted all of Tina's efforts to help do them back up, she was also drunk as a skunk and not entirely in the right frame of mind to be considering proper Spell Core safety. If I'd've known she was wearing it, I'd have convinced her to have the whole thing dipped in epoxy or something, so that if something did swallow the Spell Core, it'd remain undigested and intact until it came out either end.

No help for it though, and I ain't too too worried about Frowny. This is all worst-case scenario after all, and chances are he'll just learn Ablative Armour and turn bigger and poofier when he puffs up his chest. As for the other Spells, only time will tell, and I got a sneaking suspicion he's too dumb to learn much. If that's the case, then Frowny's got a good chance of getting his papers and living out the rest of his life as a low-key Magical Beast.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Who knows? Maybe he'll even be useful as a means of communication if he happens to learn Fly, like them homing pigeons or something. Hell, might be I could even let him breed and figure out some way to have a whole flock of Flying kiccaws hoist me away somewhere. Could be fun, and while I could sweat the small stuff and worry about what's gonna happen if he picks up Dragon's Breath, Erupting Earth, or some other dangerous Spell from a different School of Magic, I'm of a mind to deal with what may come if or when it rears its ugly head.

Speak of the Devil, and what may come appears. Takes me a moment to place it as my Portent alerts me to something hinky, but my subconscious mind got me turning towards the threat before it even appears. There, in the shadows between two houses, right along a fence that just so happens to provide proper cover against me, appears a tall, gangly figure of an armed stranger who somehow bypassed all my Alarm Wards. Got no jacket on despite the cold, and just a white button up shirt with the collar done up and a shoulder harness holding four guns on full display on either side of a red silk tie that glimmers in the sunlight. To top it all off, he's wearing a black fedora with a white feather up top with a matching vest like he was wearing a three-piece suit, only the jacket ain't nowhere to be found, though the rest of his ensemble is neat and tidy as can be.

The stranger spots me the moment after I've spotted him, and is surprised to see me ready and waiting with my Shortsword in hand. Lucky for him he showed up with his arms out and palms facing forward, meaning he wasn't sneaking into position to shoot me in the back, so I repay him in kind by not shooting him in the face. "Name's Rossi," the stranger says, speaking through a Minor Illusion Cantrip so only I can hear him. "Came here to have a word, but would've slept in if I'd known you was with friends."

A non-apology that sounds contrite and is meant to convey remorse, but he's only bothered by the added complication, not the disturbance his presence might've cause to me and mine. So far though, he seems like he's on the up and up, as slinging a Cantrip shows he don't got no Spell readied to sling either. I know the look of a man like him though, all tall, dark, and neat as a button without so much as a hair out of place. Might not seem like much, but considering he done just come in on a boat where the winds be strong and the cold biting, the fact that he arrived dry and immaculate speaks volumes to his means.

Or his fastidiousness, which ain't what you want to see in a gunman with four top quality revolvers all holstered and ready to draw.

Fits the name though, as that there is Renato 'Revolvers' Rossi, fixer and hitter for the Catteneo Family who I done butted heads with a bit. Them smugglers who showed up before I set out for the badlands were working for the Catteneos, so I been expecting someone to come around sometime to have a word with me about it. Bad timing then, what with Chrissy and Elodie both being here, and the alert, green-haired girlie having noticed our exchange. Bless her heart, Elodie keeps her cool and moves Chrissy to stand behind her, though they'd both be better off taking cover in the grass or rabbiting right on out. Least her intentions are good, which counts for something, so in the interest of safety, I respond to Rossi in kind.

"Back on out to the cobblestone street," I say, holstering my gun before gesturing for Elodie to bring Chrissy back to the house. The green haired girlie understands body language more than words sometimes, so she realizes that all is safe for now and heads right on back without another word. Chrissy don't understand though, and keeps her pale violet eyes on me while letting the other girl drag her on back. Can't spare the time to explain, not now, because while Rossi might've come to talk like he said, he also ain't about to let me out of his sights. As such, he stays at the fence-line as I make my approach, and only starts backing away when we less than 15 meters apart. Despite being in unfamiliar territory, he don't gotta look as he moves backwards through the yard and even backs over the front fence without taking his eyes off of me.

Impressive spatial awareness that, putting him a good few levels above the likes of Mikey D'Ippolito and the rest of them mooks I faced down in Brightpick. Now granted, I'd imagine the Don brought his best and brightest out with him considering he was marching to war, but even then I wouldn't expect a mere mobster to have skills like this. That right there is the difference between arrogance and confidence, as I let the latter turn me to the former and got a touch too big for my britches. Just because I took down the Puglianos don't mean the other Families will go down as easy, especially when my enemies are already on guard and I don't got a network of Nahuatl Cultists feeding me information.

So I stay on my best behaviour while mantling the waist-high stone fence, one that's more for looks than anything else since the former occupants weren't all that worried about Abby or outlaws. I spot a few of Rossi's lackeys hanging about, but they ain't making no effort to hide what they are. Nor are they armed for bear, just pistols like their boss instead of rifles or submachine guns. Lots of revolvers, which could be good or bad. Good in that revolvers only got six shots, and most are single-action meaning they shoot even slower. Bad in that they make for better habits, because you learn right quick how you want to be hitting your shots when you shooting once for every three Bolts coming your way. So might be these lackeys are just posers trying to be like their boss, or might be they got some actual skills. Then again, I never did think shooting Aetherarms was all that difficult, as all you really gotta do is point and pull the trigger. There are a whole bunch of things to pay attention to before, in between, and after those two steps that can help improve your accuracy, but I'd say that even if it's your first time firing a gun, you got at least a 50/50 chance of hitting your target so long as you take the time to point properly.

Which is where most screw up. They just shoot, and while they shooting, they try to aim, which makes things so much harder than it's got to be. Even then, at close ranges, it's kinda hard to miss, so I'd much rather not find out how good Rossi's boys be, at least not firsthand without my armoured plate carrier. Or Mage Armour, a Force Barrier, a Barkskin potion, or any other real defenses besides my duster. Not ideal that, especially considering how Rossi could've Spelled himself up to the gills before coming out to see me. He was ready for this meet and greet after all, and despite what he says about only wanting a word, I'd be a fool to take him at it.

Nah, he a gangster through and through, a neater, more competent gangster than the ones I've dealt with before, but a gangster all the same. One who's keeping his hands folded in front of his belly, steepled like they resting on a desk except he careful to keep his fingers from interlocking as they hover over empty air in front of him. It's a posture I know well, as I do the same when wanting to show I ain't fixing to draw while still remaining ready to do so all the same. Ain't no point doing it with only the one hand though, especially when I want to keep my right prosthetic close to the butt of my Model 10 which I got strapped on my hip.

Rossi clocks the movement and finds it odd, that a man with only a left hand would strap a pistol to his right hip poised for a right draw, and it makes him nervous to consider the angles. Doesn't show it, not with more than a minor twitch of his brow, almost like he's more annoyed by the lack of respect than the prospect of getting shot. Might be that's the case, as he would've come ready to fight if he knew what's what, and from the looks of things, he do. Competence in one's enemies is never pleasant to see, but I ain't made a name for myself by only taking on idiots. As such, I pay him no mind and focus more on his lackeys, scanning them one by one by one and marking them for dead should this 'talk' get out of hand.

After a long minute of tense silence and seeing how I ain't in no rush to be, Rossi finally decides to break the ice. "I'd appreciate if we kept this between ourselves," Rossi says, raising his right hand to tap his fedora. Not to tip it in a gentlemanly greeting, but indicate he knows my bull's head medallion is a Video Recorder which I keep running most of the time. I didn't have a chance to turn it on, and I make no move to show him it's off either. Could just be a trick to get me to raise my left hand away from my gun so he can shoot me down in the street. Almost tempted to do it, but a quickdraw at close range is always 50/50 at best. Even if I'm faster with my right, I doubt I'd be fast enough to shoot and kill him before he gets a shot off. Then there's his friends to deal with, meaning I'd much rather not take those odds.

Not unless I have to, but best we avoid it if we can.

"It ain't on," I say, and Rossi shows he ain't a trusting soul. Leans back a hair and turns slightly to his left without taking his eyes off of me, and I note that his posture leaves him ready to draw and shoot all the same. The lower two guns, a 44 Rattlesnake on the right and Longsword of the left respectively, are positioned for a draw from the same side, meaning his primary is the Rattlesnake and the Longsword is his secondary. Assuming he's right-handed of course, as most people are, but I ain't seen nothing to say which Rossi favours just yet. The other two guns sitting a touch higher are an Arbiter and a 44 Special, with the latter being the big brother to my Model 10. Ain't just the caliber that's bigger, but the entire gun as a whole, with a 7-inch barrel instead of the 2 inch on mine and a honking big frame and grip to match. It's not like the 44 Rattlesnake, which looks just like the Mended and defunct gun I got stashed away in my weapons locker, because I don't got nowhere to hang it yet. Rossi's Rattlesnake is a carbon copy of my daddy's, differing only in bore and thickness of the barrel.

As for the Arbiter? That there is the gun Uncle Teddy uses. A single action workhorse that fires in 22, though keeping in theme, Rossi's is built for 44, same as the rest of his guns. No Silence, no Toppling, no other bells and whistles, the Arbiter is a gun that hearkens back to 1873 and is accurate as all sin. That's how Uncle Teddy is able to fire off a triple shot and hit his targets without any magically augmented hands, and yes, I did say 'targets'. As in plural, meaning he can draw and shoot three times in the blink of an eye and hit three different targets centre mass. That's all thanks to the Precise Metamagic on the Arbiter, as back then, ammo cartridges were less reliable and didn't expel all their Aether right quick every time, adding to variance in the spin of the Bolt. The Precise Metamagic was the solution they come up with to reliably hit targets over 30 feet away. With modern ammo and modern manufacturing however, the gun's accuracy surges up to a whole new level. The right shooter could clip the wings off a bumblebee from 20 paces and leave the body intact, and judging by the cut of his jib, Rossi might well be that right shooter.

Course, the Arbiter ain't his go to weapon. No, that'd be the Rattlesnake same as me, though seeing how Ao Tian ruined mine, I gotta fall back on the Shortsword. Or the Model 10 for my right hand, an Armour Penetrating Aetherarm that Rossi is still wary of he waits for confirmation from one of his lackeys that my hat is well and truly not recording.

So he ain't a Diviner then, which is something I guess. Maybe an Abjurer like Mikey, which could come in handy considering his line of work. Ain't an Evoker, I'll say that much, because if he was, I doubt he'd have been nicknamed for his guns. No, he does the bulk of his work with his 6-shooters, so I am even less inclined to test his mettle, not here and now when I ain't 100% ready. In fact, I'd rather not test him at all and come at him when he's not expecting it. That way I can shoot him dead before he even knows I'm there much less has a chance to draw.

Ain't cowardly. Just good sense. Like my daddy always said, a fair fight is a bad fight and always best avoided. The winner is king, the loser dead, so who cares what anyone has to say in the aftermath?

Though no words are exchanged, Rossi appears reassured to know my hat ain't recording, though I suppose someone using Detect Magic could've also told him I didn't have no Spells up. Which would be difficult to discern, as my duster is Imbued and Augmented to the gills and glows warm in Detect Magic, like a dark spot on a white canvas that makes it difficult to see what's painted on underneath. Either way, when he finally feels free to speak his mind, he cuts right to the bone and don't mince words. "We have ourselves a slight problem," he says, his deep, smooth voice seeming so out of character for a man of his slim stature. "That's why I'm here, to see if we can come to some sort of solution." He pauses, then adds, "Peacefully, if possible."

Or not so peacefully if that's the way its gotta be. I can read between the lines. Colour between them too, but that ain't nothing to brag about. "Your smugglers?" I ask, just to be sure we on the same page. "They came in after hours, and I gave them plenty of warning to back off. Wasn't like they was flying no Cattaneo flag, and truth be told, it wouldn't have made a lick of difference if they was." I shrug. "I ain't good with flags. There are like fifteen that are just some variation of the Union Jack, and a dozen more that are just green, white and red. As for a Cattaneo Flag? I wouldn't put money on me spelling the name, much less clocking your colours and knowing what it means."

I ain't jawing on because I'm nervous. No, I'm talking for two reasons, the first of which is to buy time. The second is to rattle Rossi and his lackeys and see how they react, which thus far, is not at all. Shows discipline, not just in the top dog, but in the little mutts too. They don't look none too pleased to hear my disrespect, but they don't speak out of turn. Hell, they don't even shift about or nothing. They just stand there and scowl without making no moves on their own. Again, it shows to the quality of these gangsters, who are a cut above the likes of the Puglianos. Guess they got fat off the mines and lost their edge, whereas the Cattaneo's are still fighting tooth and nail to hold onto their territory. I file that bit of information away in case I should need it, because if they got enemies, then I might have friends if push should ever come to shove and I go hunting mafiosos again.

It'd be a nice activity to partake in over the boring winter months, an excuse to get away from my desk and workshop as it were. Plus, I'm pretty sure Rossi here got a bounty on his head, seeing how he done took each and every one of his guns from a Ranger, Sheriff, or lawfully appointed Deputy. Thems the only ones who had access to Mr. Kalthoff's handcrafted Aetherarms back in the day, and all four of Rossi's Revolvers got the look of bonafide originals. That in and of itself would be a prize worth pursuing, because even if someone offered Mr. Kalthoff a veritable fortune to make them a gun today, he might not care to do it. Got better, more important things to do besides enrich himself, especially since his government contract has made him plenty wealthy already. Not obscenely rich, but he got money enough to not have to worry much about it, not now and not 10 years from now I'm guessing.

Which is really saying something given the rate of inflation.

The prospect of another war on mobsters has got me feeling cheery, and Rossi notices it right quick. Man don't miss much as far as I can tell, but it ain't a fun hunt if it's all too easy. Instead of rising to the bait however, he just shakes his head and says, "I'm not talking about the smugglers, though we will touch upon it. I was told you intended to ride up to Rimepeak this weekend to file a complaint with the local Sheriffs. Something about a break in on your properties?"

"Oh, that. Yeah, you heard right." Meeting the man's eyes, I show him I ain't afraid and let him know what's what. "So you can see why I'm left with no choice," I conclude, after telling him what his mob flunkies done to my properties. "Gave them a chance to make it right, and they spit on my good graces." I shrug. "Time was, I'd've handled it myself. Problem is, folks get mighty upset when I kill worthless, no-good criminals like Skinny Sam and his ilk out of hand, so ain't nothin' for it now 'cept to kick it over to the lawman."

And Mr. Tillman, but I'm keeping his name out of it for his safety more than anything else.

"Maybe we can work something out," Rossi says. "Keep this dispute between us."

I raise an eyebrow. "You trying to buy me off?"

Rossi shrugs. "I would, if you didn't already owe us for the guns you took from those smugglers and sold off in Silver Summit." Giving me a look, he keeps quiet for a long minute and waits for me to speak, but I am nothing if not comfortable with silence. When it's clear I don't care enough to retort, he twitches ever so slightly and says, "You drop your report, and we'll let the guns slide. Moving forward, we'll pay you a fee to use your docks after hours. Say fifty bucks a month?"

That's 600$ a year, or half a working man's salary pretty much. Not bad money just to look the other way, but I ain't about to be bought. "No dice," I say with a shake of my head. "Ain't the number. It's the inconvenience of having to look the other way. I ain't built for that. I'm more of a see somethin', do somethin' sort of fella, as I'm a curious sort who runs headlong into conflict like a bull who sees red." Which ain't actually true, as Cowie is sorta colourblind, with red just being another shade of yellowish brown.

No point explaining as much though, because I gotta let Rossi and his bosses know where I stand. "Contrary to what you may have heard," I begin, making ready to fight in case Rossi refuses to take no for an answer. "I ain't no vigilante with a hatred of Sicilians. Or even criminals in general, though I don't think much of them. Don't care either way, so long as it don't affect me, but that's the catch, ain't it? Your operations here in my village affect me. Your people done broke into my properties, done disrespected me in ways I won't even say, and ferry their illicit goods from the quay named for my daddy." Ain't gonna lie. The heat has crept into my voice as I stoke the fires of anger from within, fires which only been banked aside and never truly died down. "That, I will not stand for, and you and yours should thank your lucky stars that I can't be bothered to do more than file a report. What you do out of sight is out of mind, but so long as you operate here, I'll take you on every time I see you, you and every other two-bit crime syndicate who comes ashore on my docks."

Credit where it's due, Rossi takes my verbal tirade in stride and responds without missing a beat. "I suppose our problem isn't so slight after all."

"Nah." Flashing a toothy smile, I say, "Not our problem. I'm fine and dandy as things stand."

"You sure about that?" His smooth, dulcet tones deliver the words without haste or emotion, as calm and steady as a frozen lake. "I could see how this could be a problem for Levi Adelmann in Silver Summit who sold the guns you scavenged off our people. Or Gordie, the wagon hand you talked to about moving here, or any other future neighbours you might have. People won't want to pay for a house in a warzone, and I'm guessing you could use the cash. Heard you had a rough time in the badlands this year. Not so easy when you only got the one hand, but you have my admiration. Still brought your family back home safe and sound." He pauses, then very deliberately adds, "This time."

We stand and stare at one another, and when he sees me about to lose my temper, he realizes he done overstepped. "Don't do it," he says, making ready to draw the moment I do. "You're fast kid, especially for someone who had to learn lefty, but believe me when I say I'm faster."

"Might be you right," I say with a cold smile and eyes blazing with anger. Raising my left hand to tempt him into making a move, I show it to him like he ain't ever seen one before. "Only one way to find out though."

It's all in the delivery. The confidence he hears and sees in my posture, the complete and utter lack of concern. Even if he's fast as his rep would have me believe, he knows it's a flip of the coin for me and him, and I'm ready to take on whatever comes next. He ain't though, because he'll already be dead or dying because he done been shot by my Armour Penetrating Model 10. He also sees that I ain't wholly committed to the fight, and he's smart enough not to see that as weakness. A fine line to walk, tempting your enemies, but I got Misty Step, a Quickened Force Barrier, or even a Quickened Fireball in my back pocket just waiting to be unleashed, so I like my odds just fine.

Especially since I done finally bought enough time for Chrissy and Elodie to tell Tina what's what, and for my drunk friends to actually do something about it. The ready and waiting comes in loud and clear from my sorta sister, as she uses Minor Illusion from the bathroom window to let me know she's got me covered from on high. Same as Sarah Jay, who's got my Ranger Repeater in hand, while Michael and Gabriella got an angle from my right, and Ike, Antoni, and Big Al are all ready and waiting on the left. Since it ain't about killing, but about avoiding a fight, they don't do nothing to hide their presence once they all ready to go, because their guns are a deterrent that could very well keep me from having to eat a Bolt or three.

Which is the right call, as Rossi picks up on them right quick and holds his hands out to signal his lackeys to stand down. "Lemme tell you where you went wrong," I begin, not at all ready to see them just walk away. "You might not like to hear it, but you should listen all the same, and consider carefully before you come back again. I'm sure you think you was being reasonable, coming here with your guns and your threats and offers of payment. Fact is, I'll be the first to admit I'm a fool to turn you down. Most wouldn't, because what's the harm? Ain't no skin off my back if you using the docks to commit crime, least it wouldn't be if they didn't bear my daddy's name. Plus, once word of the Cattaneo's are paying for access, I'm sure I'd get offers from plenty others too, and make bank just sitting around twiddling my thumb."

I grin, because subtle jokes about having only the one hand still make me smile, but Rossi don't look all that amused. Don't look angry either, or really any sort of emotion, as he do be a hard man to read. "So why not accept?" he asks.

"Because I ain't like most people," I reply with a shrug. "I ain't talking about the colour of my skin or slant of my eyes either. Most people are just that. People. They got families to care for and livelihoods to sustain, so they avoid a fight wherever they can because that ain't their job. Me? I'm a soldier. My job is to fight. That's how I was raised by my daddy, to be a soldier first and foremost. It's all I know, and it's all I'll ever be. Much like the soldiers up in the windows there." As I gesture in the general direction behind me with my left hand, Rossi still don't take the bait, so I explain, "They might not look like soldiers, but I assure you, in the eyes of the United Federation of American States, each and every face you see up there is a Ranger through and through."

Most of Rossi's lackeys don't much like to hear it, but I hammer the point home all the same. "So if I was you, I'd forget those faces," I say, playing it cool, calm, and collected same as Rossi. "Because if you go after them young, untested Rangers, then older, wiser, angrier Rangers will come down on you hard. You think that fella who done burned most of Brightpick last July was a menace? You ain't seen the Rangers take down an enemy fortification. And that's what you'll be, because soldiers only got allies and enemies, and their job is to protect, or avenge their allies, by eliminating their enemies."

All this is said to protect my friends from retribution, as they just here to watch my back. I ain't done talking yet though, so once I see that my point has set in, I continue with, "They won't be here tomorrow though, or whenever you do choose to come back, if you should so choose." Again, I smile, and this time, it's a genuine one. "It'll only be me, all by my lonesome most like. Won't be no Rangers comin' after you if you kill me clean and quiet either, so really, which brings us back to your question of why I won't take the deal. The answer is simple, and I done already told it to you. I'm a soldier. Not a Ranger, but a soldier all the same. One without a cause as it were, with no enemy to fight. That's why I don't care to take your deal, Rossi, and why I never will. Most men need a damn good reason to go to war. Most soldiers go to war for a cause. Me? I don't need no reason, and don't care much for a cause either. All's I need is an excuse."

Leaning in, I lock eyes with him and show him the Yellow Devil just howling to be set free. "So please," I say, smiling all the while and meaning every word I say. "I'm beggin' you. Make a move. Give me an excuse."

Once I'm sure my message has been received, I follow it up with a shrug. "Or steer clear of me and mine, and I'll forget you ever existed," I say. "As an olive branch, I'll even forego pressing charges against Skinny Sam and his boys, though if I see them again, I'mma disrespect them the same way they disrespected my property." Well, not exactly the same way, since I ain't about to shit on a man. Not because it's too much, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be able to pinch a loaf while another man is staring up at my asshole.

Rossi takes in what I said and thinks it over for a hot minute, then says, "It's not enough. I gotta bring something back to save face for the family, some sort of deal we can say we made. If we back down, our rivals will read that as weakness and pounce on us in a heartbeat, and I assure you they won't be as… amenable to a deal as we are."

My first instinct is to sneer and say I won't ever work with no mafiosos, but I quash it flat because I can see that Rossi don't want this fight. I wouldn't mind it so long as they only came after me, but if there's one thing I've learned, it's not to trust the walls of New Hope to keep any mafioso's out. Wracking my brain for a palatable solution, I come up with an idea that don't seem too too bad. "How about this," I say. "You got a bounty right?" Which gets Rossi all tense and nervous, so I wait until I'm sure he ain't about to draw. He wants to, but he knows well as I do that's what I'm waiting for, so he stays his hand. Not because he's scared, but because he don't know what I got up my sleeve, and he a smart man who won't take a fight he don't like.

A shame that, but it is what it is. Picking up where I left off, I continue, "You know any other guys like you? Outlaws with a price on their heads who walk around in broad daylight? Ones you ain't so friendly with? Well, if you do, you give me a name and location, and I might see about claimin' that bounty. Might not, as I ain't no hatchet man, but if the price is right, I'd be more than happy to handle it."

Before Rossi can ask, I add, "Official bounties mind you, issued by the Federal government. Not some local Sheriff you got in your pockets. And no paddin' the bottom line. I won't take no monies from you and yours. Just information. That good enough?"

Credit where it's due, Rossi stops to think about it. Then, to my surprise, he asks, "You know this means people will think you're a mob hitter, right? It won't go over well for your rep."

He ain't saying it for my sake. He's just making sure I understand the deal, that they will brag about having me in their pocket so they can spook their enemies something fierce. "What rep?" I ask, gesturing around me. Again with my left, and again, Rossi don't so much as twitch at the opportunity. "They done already Exiled me. How much worse can it get? Long as the bounty's aboveboard and information's correct, I don't care about the rest."

Rossi nods, then backs away with his lackeys, none of whom are as aware as their boss. Rossi makes it all the way to the side of his boat before he gotta turn around to get on it, at which point I don't got a great angle anyways. Ain't until they set sail that I let myself relax, and I take a moment to make sure there ain't no hidden shooter just waiting for me to turn around. With that done, I head back inside to serve breakfast for my friends before bringing them all back home to New Hope, and pray that this decision don't come back to bite me in the ass.

Ain't like I'm working for the mob. Just taking information from them, information on criminals who committed horrific crimes for which they have to pay for. And whose corpses the government will pay for after I put a Bolt through them. It's win-win. All upside, and lets me avoid starting another war in which I might accidentally kill some civilians.

Uncle Art only asked me to try to be a good man after all. He didn't say I had to have a rep as one, as I couldn't care less what folks think about me. I done tried to be the good Qink, and that didn't work, so might be time I tried a different tack and got paid doing it.