Gran Cienaga
09-03-2006, 00:37
Undisclosed location west of the Jackknife River, Gran Cienaga
Under the humming, yellowing lightbulb dangling from a silvery chain, Tom sat on the floor eating hot sausage patties on a plate atop a wooden crate. The shack, or rather the shoddy little box in the middle of the swamp, bothered him immensely. He always had the sensation that the walls would someday close in on him or that beams from the ceiling might someday clunk him in the head as he slept. Ignoring these feelings for now, he adjusted himself on the floor, making himself as comfortable as possible in his cramped surroundings. Tiny splinters from the oak-wood floor of the shack had long ago rubbed off on the seat of his trousers so he didn’t have to worry about any sharp prickly pains as he ate his dinner. Ladling syrup over the patties, he stared dully at the “meal” in front of him, sneering as he remembered how much he resented going into hiding in the marsh.
At least it’s the one place that sonofabitch won’t think to look for me.
Remembering the gleaming white veranda of his family home in Andahra only angered him more. Now, in his wife-beater and brown trousers, he looked more like a settler than the wealthy heir he knew himself to be. Without warning, he swiftly punched the side of the crate in a passing fit of rage and spat out curses as crimson blood slowly rose to the surface of his knuckles.
Ah, shit!
Cringing as his hand writhed in throes of pain, he muttered a few more curses before calming down a bit. Picking up his knife and fork off the floor, Tom began to eat when he heard a rapping sound outside the shack. Groaning as he picked himself up off the floor, he flung open the door and lunged outside in search of the noise’s source. To his left, greenish willows reached out to snatch him and the brownish river rushed up against rocks and reeds to whisk him off deeper into frontier territory. Avoiding them both, he stayed close to the side of the shack. Small packs of mosquitoes, half of them probably carrying malaria, danced about in the night air, buzzing and darting under the moonlight. He swatted them with his hand, searching, when he heard another rapping noise on the other side of the cabin. Walking quickly now, he soon found himself on the other side of the cabin yet couldn’t find the source of the sound. After another minute of looking, he shrugged and went back inside, shutting and locking the door behind him.
“You’re pretty far from home. This isn’t Andahra” the voice said as Tom looked up dumbfounded into the eyes of Rob Sears. Decked out with a bandolier over his white, collared shirt and a gleaming silver revolver on his hip, he was a sight to behold for Tom Rollins. His skin had been deeply tanned from years out in the fiery Najan sun and his youthful face belied a much more sinister interior. Rob looked at his acquaintance with squinting eyes, staring at him and chuckling occasionally.
“What the hell! How did you find me?”
“I asked around, wasn’t too hard.” He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, smirking as he looked around. “Last time I checked, I could’ve sworn you had a bigger place than this.”
“Your mother, what do you want?”
Looking back at Tom, his tone changed suddenly from a mock-jovial one to a much more aggressive one. “You know damn well you oughta take this money!” He pulled out a roll of yellow bills from his shirt pocket behind the bandolier, throwing it in Tom’s face. “Stop pissing me off, bobby!”
“I’m not taking the money!” Tom shouted back, throwing it to the floor and kicking it in Sears’ direction. He rapidly pulled his gun out of his holster in an attempt to mortally wound Rob. Instead of pulling the trigger, however, the revolver flew out of his hand as a burning pain shot through his wrist. A little metallic glint resting on the oak floor was the only hint Tom had that he had just been shot. Shocked, he fell back against the wall as blood spurted out onto his white wife-beater while he cradled his wrist.
“You sonofabitch! You shot me!”
“You know why I had to do that! Don’t make me do it again!” Angrily, he squatted down and picked up the money off the floor, counting again to make sure it was all there. While he counted, he noticed that Tom’s revolver was not where it landed when he shot it out his hand. Looking back up, Rob saw that Tom was frantically trying to position the gun with his good hand.
“Are you actually aiming that at me again?” Bewildered, with his mouth agape, he stared as Tom looked at him defiantly, revolver in hand. “Are you actually aiming that gun at me again!”
Tom didn’t have a chance to fire it though. The next thing he knew, his good hand was nailed by the wrist to the wall, the handle of a small dagger poking out and facing his assailant. Tom let out a cry of agony as his arm tensed up in pain. Rob flung the roll of money against his chest before turning towards the door.
“You know what to do with that.” With that, he walked out into the humid night air, out of Tom’s sight.
NOTE: This is just a preview of an RP I’m planning on doing, I haven’t worked everything out yet. Let me know if you’re interested.
Under the humming, yellowing lightbulb dangling from a silvery chain, Tom sat on the floor eating hot sausage patties on a plate atop a wooden crate. The shack, or rather the shoddy little box in the middle of the swamp, bothered him immensely. He always had the sensation that the walls would someday close in on him or that beams from the ceiling might someday clunk him in the head as he slept. Ignoring these feelings for now, he adjusted himself on the floor, making himself as comfortable as possible in his cramped surroundings. Tiny splinters from the oak-wood floor of the shack had long ago rubbed off on the seat of his trousers so he didn’t have to worry about any sharp prickly pains as he ate his dinner. Ladling syrup over the patties, he stared dully at the “meal” in front of him, sneering as he remembered how much he resented going into hiding in the marsh.
At least it’s the one place that sonofabitch won’t think to look for me.
Remembering the gleaming white veranda of his family home in Andahra only angered him more. Now, in his wife-beater and brown trousers, he looked more like a settler than the wealthy heir he knew himself to be. Without warning, he swiftly punched the side of the crate in a passing fit of rage and spat out curses as crimson blood slowly rose to the surface of his knuckles.
Ah, shit!
Cringing as his hand writhed in throes of pain, he muttered a few more curses before calming down a bit. Picking up his knife and fork off the floor, Tom began to eat when he heard a rapping sound outside the shack. Groaning as he picked himself up off the floor, he flung open the door and lunged outside in search of the noise’s source. To his left, greenish willows reached out to snatch him and the brownish river rushed up against rocks and reeds to whisk him off deeper into frontier territory. Avoiding them both, he stayed close to the side of the shack. Small packs of mosquitoes, half of them probably carrying malaria, danced about in the night air, buzzing and darting under the moonlight. He swatted them with his hand, searching, when he heard another rapping noise on the other side of the cabin. Walking quickly now, he soon found himself on the other side of the cabin yet couldn’t find the source of the sound. After another minute of looking, he shrugged and went back inside, shutting and locking the door behind him.
“You’re pretty far from home. This isn’t Andahra” the voice said as Tom looked up dumbfounded into the eyes of Rob Sears. Decked out with a bandolier over his white, collared shirt and a gleaming silver revolver on his hip, he was a sight to behold for Tom Rollins. His skin had been deeply tanned from years out in the fiery Najan sun and his youthful face belied a much more sinister interior. Rob looked at his acquaintance with squinting eyes, staring at him and chuckling occasionally.
“What the hell! How did you find me?”
“I asked around, wasn’t too hard.” He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, smirking as he looked around. “Last time I checked, I could’ve sworn you had a bigger place than this.”
“Your mother, what do you want?”
Looking back at Tom, his tone changed suddenly from a mock-jovial one to a much more aggressive one. “You know damn well you oughta take this money!” He pulled out a roll of yellow bills from his shirt pocket behind the bandolier, throwing it in Tom’s face. “Stop pissing me off, bobby!”
“I’m not taking the money!” Tom shouted back, throwing it to the floor and kicking it in Sears’ direction. He rapidly pulled his gun out of his holster in an attempt to mortally wound Rob. Instead of pulling the trigger, however, the revolver flew out of his hand as a burning pain shot through his wrist. A little metallic glint resting on the oak floor was the only hint Tom had that he had just been shot. Shocked, he fell back against the wall as blood spurted out onto his white wife-beater while he cradled his wrist.
“You sonofabitch! You shot me!”
“You know why I had to do that! Don’t make me do it again!” Angrily, he squatted down and picked up the money off the floor, counting again to make sure it was all there. While he counted, he noticed that Tom’s revolver was not where it landed when he shot it out his hand. Looking back up, Rob saw that Tom was frantically trying to position the gun with his good hand.
“Are you actually aiming that at me again?” Bewildered, with his mouth agape, he stared as Tom looked at him defiantly, revolver in hand. “Are you actually aiming that gun at me again!”
Tom didn’t have a chance to fire it though. The next thing he knew, his good hand was nailed by the wrist to the wall, the handle of a small dagger poking out and facing his assailant. Tom let out a cry of agony as his arm tensed up in pain. Rob flung the roll of money against his chest before turning towards the door.
“You know what to do with that.” With that, he walked out into the humid night air, out of Tom’s sight.
NOTE: This is just a preview of an RP I’m planning on doing, I haven’t worked everything out yet. Let me know if you’re interested.