Post by Terminally Chill on Oct 9, 2012 20:24:25 GMT -5
Beck allowed the man who had been his enemy to sit beside him without any hesitation. Oaklan could have taken a free swing at the relaxed bounty hunter; Beck wouldn't have blamed him, either. The bad blood between the two would undoubtedly not be forgiven over a drink, but at the moment the drunkard had no intention of igniting the feud once again. The strained laughter of his former foe signaled some amount of civility between the two as perhaps the most bizarre round of drinks Beck had ever shared with another commenced. After Rod poured the content of the saloon's namesake into the meticulously clean class, Beck tipped his own bottle toward Oaklan to return Oaklan's own gesture. After the lackadaisical “cheers” to his fellow blooded bar patron, the bounty hunter took a long drink of rum to join Oaklan. Beck couldn't help out a chuckle as Oaklan coughed from the fiery burn in his throat. The best kind of burn.
“A hard day’s work huh? Think I’ve earn’t at least two.”
The intent in Oaklan's words was hard to hide. Beck raised eyebrow as he caught sight of the swordsman's glare. A moment of tense silence passed between the two, Rod crossing his arms in anticipation for what would happen next. Even getting one drink out of Beck was a feat in itself... The kid was pushing it now. However, Beck finally cracked a smirk in the face of the man he had killed.
“Sure, why the hell not?” Beck motioned toward the empty glass with his steely-haired head, Rod letting out a chuckle as he retrieved the glass from the bar. A fresh Sundowner was placed with a light clink in front of Oaklan, the golden liquid swirling gently in the sparkling glass. By now the usual din of Sundowner had resumed, people going back to laughing jovially after the intense break in the festivities.
“Hope they didn’t pay ya’ too well.”
“They paid enough,” Beck gruffly replied, displaying the bag of beri and jingling it for a moment before replacing it in the pocket of his black slacks. The irony of Oaklan's sharing on the earnings of his own death was almost worth the two drinks he'd bought for his nemesis. Almost. Beck had little time to dwell on whatever poetic qualities the ridiculous round of drinks held as Oaklan suddenly burst into a flurry of questions.
“W-wait!? Like dead-dead, officially ‘n all? Damn Christ spit it out, could I start huntin’ again?”
Beck returned the inquiry with a strange look, not entirely registering why Oaklan's fiery gaze had suddenly turned into one of pleading hope. Perhaps he'd done more for the rogue hunter than he realized. The bruised and battered boozer took a long swig of rum before offering a reply, an irritated edge evident in his voice.
“You're as dead as any dead man I know. That's what they know anyway. Do whatever the hell you want, I don't know!”
Soon after offering the curt words, Beck's ear caught an unsettling sound after his ears had been freed of Oaklan's hopeful pestering. The light chink of spurs rattling cut through the ruckus of Sundown. Beck had undoubtedly caused a mess of Pecos in his pursuit of Oaklan; he had a pretty good idea of who had entered the bar. A bead of sweat rolled down his head and a plume of smoke accompanied a loud sigh. The pressure of a pistol barrel soon lodged itself in Beck's back. The bar once again settled itself to a murmur as patrons caught sight of the development.
“Good ta' see ya, Beck.”
“Barclay...”
“Now, I'm sure ya know why I'm 'ere. Ya caused a damn right mess of my office, not ta mention my town.” A hand full of younger lawmen accompanied the sheriff with the prominent moustache, guns trained on both men should they try and make a move. “I'm doin' everything in my power from shootin' ya right 'ere n' now, but since ya do good work... I reckon ya can just pay me. Now.” A loud click from the pistol punctuated the demand. “Don't try runnin', neither... My boys got the place surrounded.” Beck didn't exactly seem to be worried by the situation though, casually turning his head to address perhaps the most powerful man in Pecos.
“Alright, how much do I owe you?”
“Well, my man 'ere...” Barclay motioned to a bandaged man with his arm in the sling; the same man Beck had sent crashing through the floor in the sheriff's office. “... Said we could jus' put it on yer tab. So we did.” The sheriff retrieved a long piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “I'm sure since you n' yer friend here are such good drinkin' buddies that you wouldn't mind payin' for all the damages, right?” Barclay withdrew the pistol from Beck's back, looming over his shoulder as he slammed the astounding list of figures on the bar in front of bounty hunter. The sheriff's thick moustache hid the satisfactory grin he had from serving Beck the costs.
Beck's bloodshot eyes widened as they fell upon the final figure. The shock on his face was not because of how high the amount was, it was because...
… It was the exact amount he had been paid for taking care of Oaklan. Give or take a couple of drinks, of course.
“Damn it.”
~ Fin.
“A hard day’s work huh? Think I’ve earn’t at least two.”
The intent in Oaklan's words was hard to hide. Beck raised eyebrow as he caught sight of the swordsman's glare. A moment of tense silence passed between the two, Rod crossing his arms in anticipation for what would happen next. Even getting one drink out of Beck was a feat in itself... The kid was pushing it now. However, Beck finally cracked a smirk in the face of the man he had killed.
“Sure, why the hell not?” Beck motioned toward the empty glass with his steely-haired head, Rod letting out a chuckle as he retrieved the glass from the bar. A fresh Sundowner was placed with a light clink in front of Oaklan, the golden liquid swirling gently in the sparkling glass. By now the usual din of Sundowner had resumed, people going back to laughing jovially after the intense break in the festivities.
“Hope they didn’t pay ya’ too well.”
“They paid enough,” Beck gruffly replied, displaying the bag of beri and jingling it for a moment before replacing it in the pocket of his black slacks. The irony of Oaklan's sharing on the earnings of his own death was almost worth the two drinks he'd bought for his nemesis. Almost. Beck had little time to dwell on whatever poetic qualities the ridiculous round of drinks held as Oaklan suddenly burst into a flurry of questions.
“W-wait!? Like dead-dead, officially ‘n all? Damn Christ spit it out, could I start huntin’ again?”
Beck returned the inquiry with a strange look, not entirely registering why Oaklan's fiery gaze had suddenly turned into one of pleading hope. Perhaps he'd done more for the rogue hunter than he realized. The bruised and battered boozer took a long swig of rum before offering a reply, an irritated edge evident in his voice.
“You're as dead as any dead man I know. That's what they know anyway. Do whatever the hell you want, I don't know!”
Soon after offering the curt words, Beck's ear caught an unsettling sound after his ears had been freed of Oaklan's hopeful pestering. The light chink of spurs rattling cut through the ruckus of Sundown. Beck had undoubtedly caused a mess of Pecos in his pursuit of Oaklan; he had a pretty good idea of who had entered the bar. A bead of sweat rolled down his head and a plume of smoke accompanied a loud sigh. The pressure of a pistol barrel soon lodged itself in Beck's back. The bar once again settled itself to a murmur as patrons caught sight of the development.
“Good ta' see ya, Beck.”
“Barclay...”
“Now, I'm sure ya know why I'm 'ere. Ya caused a damn right mess of my office, not ta mention my town.” A hand full of younger lawmen accompanied the sheriff with the prominent moustache, guns trained on both men should they try and make a move. “I'm doin' everything in my power from shootin' ya right 'ere n' now, but since ya do good work... I reckon ya can just pay me. Now.” A loud click from the pistol punctuated the demand. “Don't try runnin', neither... My boys got the place surrounded.” Beck didn't exactly seem to be worried by the situation though, casually turning his head to address perhaps the most powerful man in Pecos.
“Alright, how much do I owe you?”
“Well, my man 'ere...” Barclay motioned to a bandaged man with his arm in the sling; the same man Beck had sent crashing through the floor in the sheriff's office. “... Said we could jus' put it on yer tab. So we did.” The sheriff retrieved a long piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “I'm sure since you n' yer friend here are such good drinkin' buddies that you wouldn't mind payin' for all the damages, right?” Barclay withdrew the pistol from Beck's back, looming over his shoulder as he slammed the astounding list of figures on the bar in front of bounty hunter. The sheriff's thick moustache hid the satisfactory grin he had from serving Beck the costs.
Beck's bloodshot eyes widened as they fell upon the final figure. The shock on his face was not because of how high the amount was, it was because...
… It was the exact amount he had been paid for taking care of Oaklan. Give or take a couple of drinks, of course.
“Damn it.”
~ Fin.