"Blood and Guns" (closed)

[DeadManTyping]

Vance continued pounding deep into Jenny while watching Maxwell. He looked absolutely lost ... desperate for release. Unconsciously, he repeatedly moved a hand toward his cock; every time he did, Vance warned him off.

But then his wife exploded in a loud orgasm, her body trembling so deeply and completely that Vance could feel it in his hands and against his groin. The gunslinger didn't slow his thrusts, though. He wanted her climax to run on as long as possible.

"Now?" Maxwell asked Vance desperately, recognizing his wife's ecstasy. He started to move toward the table, begging, "Please, Vance. Let me--"

"No!" Vance answered quickly, still ramming the man's wife hard, deep, and long. "No. Not yet, Max. Not 'til she cums again, Max. Be a good boy. Tell him to be a good boy, Jenny."

Vance didn't know if Jenny even heard him, let alone whether or not she'd be able to do as told. Vance repeated his demands of both of them as her orgasm played itself out and her entire body relaxed against the table. It jerked back and forth, out of her control, with each of the vampire's thrusts.

But Max recognized his wife's body language while being fucked by other men, and soon enough he recognized her slowly building pleasure. He moved a bit closer to the table, raising his hands in a sort of surrender gesture to Vance when the other man warned him not to touch.

"Cum for me, baby," Max urged. He leaned over, then dropped to his knees before the table. Again seeing Vance's scrutinizing expression, Max raised his hands to the edge of the table as he begged his wife, "Please, Jenny ... please, for me ... cum for me, baby. Please ... I need in you."

Vance could feel Jenny coming alive, too. Soon her hands were again grasping the table's edge, holding on tightly as she tried to meet Vance's long, hard thrusts. It took longer to get her to climax this time, but the vampire knew her orgasm was coming.

"Now, Max," he said softly. "Put it in her, Max."

 

[SandS13]

Her thighs were wet as she came around his cock. Her knees were weak and she was glad the table was there, under her. Over and over he pushed deep into her.

Jenny was barely registering the conversation between her husband and Vance. She was lost in the pleasure that ran through her body.

Her eyes looked up as Max begged her. That did it. her second orgasm was building.

Max did as he was told, pushing his rock hard cock between his wife's lips. Jenny eagerly sucked him deep. Max grabbed her hair and held her head still. His head went back.

His whole body went rigid as he bucked his cock down her throat and unload a torrent of semen down her throat. He held her tight despite her attempts to wiggle away and scream.

For her part, Jenny's hips lifted, pushing back as she came around Vance's manhood. Her cunt dripped around him.

 

[DeadManTyping]

Vance continued thrusting to and fro even as he watched euphoria overwhelm both Jenny and her husband. All through the encounter, Vance's attention had been on satisfying the couple's needs and desires, not his. But now, seeing them both in orgasm, he allowed his mind to wander away from their pleasure and to his own. Despite what Vance assumed was an active sex life, Jenny's pussy wrapped around Vance as tightly as if his cock were the first to have been in her.

It only took a few more strokes for the already-primed Vance to know he was going to cum soon. But he didn't simply let himself go, though. Instead he waited until Maxwell was beginning to come down from his high and demanded, "Look at me, Max."

Jenny's husband either didn't immediately hear Vance or ignored him, either of which was the result of being lost in his euphoria. Vance waited a moment, waited for Max to pull his hips slowly back, pull his cock from Jenny's mouth, and lean onto the table's edge with both hands and his head hanging. Then he said with a loud demanding voice, "Max! Look at me!"

With his chest still swelling and shrinking with deep breaths, Maxwell forced his eyes open and upon the man fucking his wife. He'd watched many men sink their cocks into Jenny's still young pussy. But none had caused him to explode with such force and satisfaction as had Vance. Forcing him to hold back his climax had caused it to build to a level Maxwell had never imagined.

But there was still more to be had from this, even though it was Vance -- not Maxwell -- to realize it.

"Look at me, Max," Vance repeated. He waited until he was certain the other man's attention was fully on him before he told him, "Watch me ... watch me fill your wife with my seed."

"I'm ... watching..." Maxwell managed between breaths that were still strained. As he watched Vance somehow increase the ferocity of his thrusts yet again, Maxwell demanded, "Fill her ... fill my wife!"

The two men stared directly into one another's eyes as Vance began moaning deeply with his approaching orgasm. Maxwell couldn't take his eyes off Vance, and as the man grunted out loud and long, his cock erupting and emptying inside Jenny. Somewhere along the way, between his climax and Vance's, Max's cock once again stiffened to full hardness ... and he wanted to be inside his wife.

 

[SandS13]

Maxwell waited for Vance to pull out of his wife. Drops fell from between her legs to the floor. A gentle hand guided Jenny up and around the table. Maxwell drew her close.

He looked into her eyes and began to kiss her deeply, the sort of kiss born of true passion and love. Sensual and it drew a moan from Jenny. She pressed her body against him. She was used, relaxed but his touch and kiss provoked a deeper response. She was not yet satiated.

Lovers could make her beg, make her scream and orgasm but the night was never complete until Maxwell had made love to her.

He sat on a chair and Jenny moved in, straddling him. Instantly she was moving along his cock. It was slow and deep. She ground against him as his mouth claimed a pert nipple. Her head went back and she bore down on him a moment.

For Vance watching it would be clear that though they enjoyed their playful and open love life in the end the two had a great deal of passion for each other.

Maxwell's hands moved down to grasp her ass. He moved her against him, slow and deep. They were in no hurry.

"Did his cock fill you darling?"

"Yes...he was so deep, so rough."

Jenny moaned Maxwell's name as his mouth found her neck. He sucked and nibbled there.

"You took it well darling. I was ready to burst seeing you pinned to the table being fucked so hard I feared the table would collapse."

Jenny rolled her hips slowly front to back, pressing her sex and more importantly her clit against Max. "He filled me up...so hot inside me..."

It was Maxwell's turn to moan. He let it out against her skin.

"Clean him off my darling." Jenny looked down to Maxwell. She beckoned Vance to her. They stopped moving as he stood beside them. Jenny stood and turned around. Her back was to Maxwell's chest now. He held her to him by her hips. He slowly pushed his cock into her as she leaned forward to take Vance's cock into her mouth.

She was good though erratic in her tempo as she moved her mouth along Vance's erection. When he came some dribbled onto her chin but most she swallowed down.

Jenny leaned back against Maxwell and he increased his tempo as he pushed his hips up into his wife. She turned her head, kissing Maxwell as he reached around to slid a finger between the lips of her sex. He strummed her clit.

Soon they both cried out in pleasure.

It took time for the breathing to regulate out but eventually Jenny slid from his lap and donned her cloak. Maxwell stood and adjusted his clothes.

 

[DeadManTyping]

(OOC: I am changing Vance's amnesia ability to be called Dream. It sounds cooler.)

Vance's life spanned more years than those lived by Maxwell, Jenny, and all of the Stewart's combined. And yet in all that time, he'd never met a couple with a relationship quite like this. After he'd spent himself inside Jenny -- once in her pussy and then once in her mouth -- he simply stood back and watched Jenny writhe in Maxwell's lap until they were cumming together again.

Only, this again -- this mutually shared orgasm -- seemed to Vance to be obviously far more satisfying to the couple than the previous one in which he had been driving Jenny to orgasm and Maxwell had been unloading his cock in her mouth. Vance studied their faces, read the beating of their hearts, smelled the scents being expelled from their bodies.

This was true euphoria. This was true passion. This was true love.

Vance could hear, see, and even feel it in their last explosions, and it marveled him. After it was over, they simply sat there, holding one another tightly, letting their heart beats and breathing slow. It was a beautiful sight for Vance, something he hadn't anticipated seeing this evening. He'd truly thought this was night was going to be a suck'n'fuck of epic proportions, with Maxwell and him taking turns at Jenny's holes.

Needless to say, Vance was surprised. But happily so.

He quietly slipped his slacks on to again contain his dangling cock and waited. They were in no hurry to leave, and he was in no hurry to see them go. After many minutes, the couple stood and donned their clothes. Well, most of them: Jenny's nightgown was in shambles and she simply rolled it up and slipped it under her arm.

Maxwell stepped up close to Vance and offered his hand out. As Vance took it, the other man simply said, "Thank you."

As the Stewart male stepped back, Vance wondered what her farewell would be: would she leave without a word, thank him for the great fuck, thank him for making fucking her husband more incredible...?



After the couple left, Vance once again dressed for the work night. He returned to Midnight, tied up around back. The horse reacted negatively to all the new and unfamiliar smells upon his owner's body but finally settled down and allow Vance to mount up.

Vance headed off into the night, patrolling the property first atop Midnight and then -- as the night before -- on foot for a more silenced approach. Once again, the night passed without incident, which satisfied and surprised Vance both. Just two days earlier, seven Iron Club members had ventured out to the Stewart Ranch and then failed to return, and yet no one from the gang had come this way to find out what had happened to their men. It left Vance wondering whether the men had been working totally on their own at the time or whether the other Club members were planning for something bigger than just a Q&A at some near future date.

Vance needed to feed after his energetic evening with Maxwell and Jenny. He made his way to the Mexican squat, slipping silently up behind one of two night time guards and simultaneously clamping a hand over his mouth and his fangs into his neck. The man flailed in an attempt to free himself from the vampire's powerful grasp, then went rigid for a moment, then totally relaxed in Vance's arms.

It took less than five minutes for the night time security agent to get his fill, after which he gently laid the donor within the rotting and dangerously sharp limbs of a long-downed, dead tree. The Mexican would awake in an hour or less and -- with Vance using his Dream ability on him -- would believe that he'd stumbled upon the log and fallen. It would explain his lost time and the wound on his neck.

Vance returned to his patrol -- on foot, then on Midnight -- then returned to the cottage. He stripped and used the items Mabel and Tilly had delivered that first day to wash his body. There were still a couple hours of deep darkness left, and while he could have simply sat in the rocker on the porch and listened to the night, Vance's mind had been occupied all evening with just one thought.

Seeing Lillian.

Despite Benjamin employing a night time guard and dogs for additional security at and around the ranch house itself, Vance was able to get to the house and up its side to the second floor without alerting man or animal. He moved silently, cautiously finding and avoiding the portions of the porch overhang that were more likely to make movement noises.

Soon enough, he was at Lillian's window. He could see her laying in her bed as clearly as if the sun itself had been sitting on her dresser as opposed to the oil lamp which was turned down to little more than a flicker. She was beautiful ... stunning.

The night watch typically stoked the big fireplace on the first floor early enough to warm the house for the awakening of the Stewarts and house servants, so Lillian's room was already warming about her. She had pushed her bedding down enough to expose the bosom of her sleeping gown, and Vance watched her chest rise and fall with each breath, imagining his hands and mouth upon them with a gentleness than he hadn't employed earlier with Jenny.

He wanted to be with her.

He wanted to at least be closer to her.

Vance tested the window and -- despite the recent attack upon her -- found it unlocked. He gently lifted it fully and slipped in silently, approaching Lillian's bed. He stood over her unmoving, simply studying her every facet for several minutes. Then, he leaned from the hip until his face was so close that he could feel her breath upon him. She could feel his upon her as well, but before he'd gotten so close to her he'd already begun using Dream to ensure she remained in slumber.

Vance could have filled her brain with fantasies and desires that included her stripping her clothes off inside his new place of residence and riding his hardened cock for hours each night. He didn't. Instead, his mind whispered to hers, Find happiness, Lillian ... find your happiness ... enjoy your happiness, where ever it be ... with whomever it be ... you deserve happiness.

He left the ranch house area without anyone ever knowing he'd been there, returning to his cottage to hand the flag indicating he was unavailable, and slipped into his bed with the intention of sleeping until close to sundown once more.

 

[SandS13]

Jenny pulled her cloak about her body and kissed Vance on the cheek. “Until next time.”

Together the pair slipped into the night. They arrived back at the main house and Anna heard them in the hallway but paid them no attention. They often were up at odd hours and getting up to all sorts of things. She had often overheard them having sex when they thought the rest of the house was sound asleep.
***
She dreamed of searching. For what she wasn’t sure but her dreams found her wandering and looking for something. Lillian wasn’t distressed just questioning.

The morning passed as usual. Maxwell was a little more sluggish as he worked about the ranch but nothing was hindered. By early afternoon he was napping, Anna was working on a blanket for the baby in the parlour and Mabel was going over some details with the cook about the food for the party.

Jenny was in town. She was on a mission. First there was her dress to check in on. Then she purchased a new hair pin for the party, a comb with a peacock feather on it. Her last stop was to order new suits for the men. Her men. One in navy blue for Maxwell to highlight his features and one in a light grey for Vance. The man needed to brighten his wardrobe a little but she didn’t want to lose the dark and brooding quality he had. It was part of the fun.

Dinner came and went with little excitement. Jenny and Maxwell stole away to their room. There they talked of when they will own the ranch, of moving Vance into the main house with them so they could play whenever it suited them. And of course, when a night like that could happen again. The pair made a plan to arrange it for around the time of the party.

The idea of all was exciting. Though Maxwell brought up the idea of another woman as well Jenny pouted, claiming she wanted to be the only woman for both men. She loved Maxwell with her everything but she didn’t want another woman taking any of the attention at all.
***
After breakfast Lillian did a bit more reading and some other business paperwork. Her mind wandered to the letter from Laurence and she tried to figure out what she felt about it. Frankly, she felt nothing. She wasn’t not displeased but she wasn’t overly excited either. It was nothing more than a letter from a friend. A friend who once had professed his desire to be with her but a friend nonetheless.

She pushed that aside, slipping it away with the dream she had last night. Whatever she was searching for that letter and Laurence were not it.

After dinner, as the sun was beginning to lower Lillian made her way to Vance’s cottage. She knew he was still sleeping and didn’t want to disturb him but she wanted to leave the packages for him to find. She had feared leaving them too early in the day and having animals wander away with the boxes. This way when he woke, likely not long from now he would find them.

Lillian placed them down in front of the door. She tucked a note into the edge of the top box. It was a simple note saying “With all my thanks, L” neatly scrolled in feminine handwriting.

As she turned she noticed a flower, one that had appeared in her book. Lillian picked it and began to walk. She now wondered what other plants grew on the land here. Perhaps she might find some that were supposed to help with pain, for Anna when she was in labour.

With that in mind Lillian wandered. It wasn’t until she realized the sun was getting low enough that it was hard to see that she looked up and with a frown tried to puzzle out the direction of the main house.

“Drat.” It had been silly of her to simply wander off but she had been so focused on the plants that it hadn’t occurred to her to orient herself to the house.

With an amused shake of her head Lillian turned and attempted to find her way back.

 

[DeadManTyping]

Sleeping through the day while the vast majority of the world's population regardless of location was up and around doing what it was that they did had its drawbacks. But Vance had his ways of dealing with that. Over centuries of practice, he'd learned to control and direct his subconscious to operate almost as if it was an entirely conscious second version of him. His ears listened for sounds, his nose sniffed for smells, his entire exterior sensed movement and motions, even down to changes in air flow and temperature.

Without disturbing his sleeping self, his second self kept guard over him. When this second self felt he needed to wake, it brought him back to full consciousness in an instant. And what was even more incredible about this ability -- a feat all vampires eventually learned to perform -- was that if her were in fact awoken by his second, he awoke fully aware of everything his second had been sensing.

So when Lillian was nearing the cottage, Vance's second self was listening to her steps and determining whether the approaching and unexpected stranger sounded like a threat. As she was leaving the boxes on his step, his ears were continuing to listen but his nose was also picking up the familiar scent of her as a light breeze wafted under the crevice of the door and across the room to his bed; as she was standing on the small porch of the cottage, contemplating whether she was disturbing him, every nerve ending of his sleeping body was feeling the vibrations of her movement upon the planks, determining her direction of movement; as she finally wandered off away from his range of senses, Vance's second self was continuing to tell itself that there was no reason to wake Vance.

When almost an hour later he did finally wake, Vance found himself instantly pleased to know that Lillian had made him a visit and -- possibly, though unlikely -- might still be in the general vicinity of his new home. He donned the clothes in which he'd arrived at Willow Springs with the addition of the shirt Benjamin had pulled from his own closet after the gun fight, slung his Colt around his waist, splashed some water on his face, and slicked back his curls with a little additional water before donning his hat.

He glanced outside and -- though his internal clock already knew this, of course -- was pleased to find the sun just dropping behind the distant mountains. He stepped out onto the porch to find packages awaiting him, a note with "L" signed at the bottom. He opened the boxes and found a shine brush for his boots, some soap with a strong, musky scent, an additional blanket to keep him warm at night, and a new, tailored black shirt that was of a different style than his ruined one but definitely something he would have picked out for himself if ever he'd been doing some shopping of his own.

Vance smiled again, pleased. He took the boxes in to the dining table, straightening out the table cloth upon which he'd so energetically fucked Lillian's sister-in-law the previous evening. He paused for a moment, drawing a deep breath. The air reeked of the odor of sex, and while he knew that the others wouldn't sense it as he did, Vance knew he had to do something about it.

He lifted the boxes and stripped the table cloth from the table, returning the boxes to the now-bare wood. He went out behind the cottage and dunked the cloth into the water trough, leaving it there for now. Back inside, he opened all of the cottage's windows and -- as he returned to the out-of-doors -- left both the front and back doors open as well. (He'd probably have to deal with some wild animals when he came back -- there were plenty of rodents, birds, and reptiles found across the estate -- but he'd rather have to deal with them then explain to Lillian or Benjamin or Mabel why his home smelled like a brothel.)

Before he headed outside to find Lillian, though, Vance hesitated and looked to the boxes on the table. He smiled as he thought of Lillian and her gifts.

Outside again, Vance drew a deep breath, holding it for a long moment before smiling. Lillian's scent was as fresh to him as were the flowers she was holding in her hands ... where ever she was at the moment. Vance headed off in the general direction from which her scent was coming, and after less than a quarter mile walk he found her wandering through the tall grass in the far distance, heading in the general direction of the ranch house.

With the sun dropping and in front of her, therefore in her eyes, Lillian didn't see Vance approaching her. Soon, he was close enough to hear her mumble...

“Drat.”

Vance smiled and even chuckled a bit, but she apparently did not see him. He contemplated sneaking up on her and giving her a little fright, but after the attack at the ranch house that seemed highly inappropriate. He contemplated stepping off to the side and letting her get to a point where the sun was no longer blinding her to his presence. Again, that might frighten her.

Then an idea came to him. He hurried ahead of Lillian and, looking between her and the terrain, guessed as to which path through the grasses, groves, and hillocks she would take. And he guessed correctly. She continued onward and stopped suddenly at an unexpected sight a little bit to her left. And she smiled.

Vance had placed his hat atop a post from a long abandoned wire fence line, then wrapped his gun belt around it midway up. Another chunk of twisted wood he'd found was stuck against the post, creating a gunslinger scarecrow that -- while very comical in nature -- almost appeared as if it were about to pull on her.

"Draw, you varmint," Vance said with a soft voice, not wanting to startle Lillian. When she spun her head to find him on the other side of her, he smiled broadly and as he nodded his head toward the post, he quipped, "If I'd had my partner there the other night, I wouldn't have needed a new shirt."

Vance opened his long riding coat and vest both, revealing the new shirt she'd purchased for him. He thanked her as he covered the distance to her, smiling as he asked, "Does your uncle know you're out here alone with a dangerous gunslinger?"

He continued passed her as she responded, retrieving his hat and donning his gun belt again. He returned to stand near her, asked if she needed help with her collection of flowers and herbs, then suggested they get her back to the ranch house before people began to worry.

"We really haven't talked about what happened the other night, Lillian," he said after a moment of slowly walking by her side. "How are you?"

He listened to her answer again, then -- remembering that he would need Midnight -- suggested that they turn for the cottage first. After they'd walked a bit talking, there was a long silence between them. Vance glanced at Lillian a few times, smiled a couple of more, then -- as the cottage came into view -- asked her with a serious tone, "What is it that you're looking for from life, Lillian? What are you searching for? What ... what will bring you happiness?"

He finished his inquiry that way, of course, because during the darkness before she'd risen this morning, he'd suggested to the sleeping Lillian that she find what would make her happy. And he was kind of curious as to whether or not she already knew what that thing -- or that person -- might be.

 

[SandS13]

If it got darker she would be more concerned, a bit more fearful. Her black dress would mean she blended into the darkness should they come looking for her. As it was the sun was painting the sky in blues, pinks and indigos. If she could just figure out where the house was she would be fine. She wished she had explored the place more when she first arrived. Mourning had kept her indoors as was expected. Lillian liked the outdoors and now, was regretting spending so little time in it. She vowed to explore more during the daytime.

Her face pulled into a smile as Vance stepped out of the shadows. His ‘partner’ was a little lopsided, amusing. She chuckled.

Brown eyes went wide as Vance opened his coat to reveal the shirt she had given him.

“I am pleased you liked it. I thought perhaps it would be acceptable for the party as well, if you chose to wear it that is. I don’t mean to assume of course but so you had options.”

The wind caught her hair, bringing strands of it across her face. Lillian brushed them aside. She hadn’t felt the wind in her loose strands since the day before her marriage. She inhaled the evening scents on the air. “No one knew I went out. I didn’t know I was going to take a walk but I caught sight of some flowers and then…” She gestured to the odd bouquet in her hand. “Besides I am safer with you than any others. I believe you said so yourself, Vance.” The last statement was said softly. She did indeed feel safe with him.

She chose to hold the flowers despite his offer of help. It was a manageable bunch. They walked side by side.

Vane turned the conversation to the attack and Lillian inhaled slowly.

“At first I worried about leaving my room but it did not take long for me to decide that I would not be made to stay hidden away and afraid of every little noise. I do not wish to live in irrational fear. Not that the men were not a danger but not every shadow contains a monster who wishes me harm. Sometimes shadows are beautiful and I choose to see that, not the fear.”

Lillian had long and hard on the issue. She knew she was safe and cared for. She felt it like a blanket draped over her shoulders. She didn’t know part of that was Vance’s suggestions that he had put in her mind to help her sleep.

With a nod she followed him towards his cottage.

Vance’s question caused something to shift in her mind as if piece of a puzzle was put into place. Her dream, she had been searching for something, something that made her happy.

A hand reached out to touch Vance’s arm. “That was it.” She laughed softly. “In my dream last night I was searching for something but did not find it. I wasn’t scared but desiring to find it. I did not know what it was though. You have just helped me to piece it all together. Thank you!”

Lillian looked lost in thought for a moment. “I feel happy here. I adore Boston but now it doesn’t have the same happy pull. Perhaps travel would make me happy to but I think I would like to return here. Maybe. For now, here is a happy place.”

She looked up at the night sky. The blues were deepening. “I do not wish to be alone. I don’t mean family. I mean a partner. I long for someone to discuss books and news with. To take in theatre. I know that when this party happens I may have interest from some.” Her mind turned to the letter from Laurence. Her eyes lowered to Vance. “I have - there are assets that you would not be aware of that many would find more appealing than my company. I do not want that. I want someone who desires me, my time and to be with me. Not how Johnathan are. No, a love that is deeper…”

Lillian blushed. “Here I am pouring my heart out and perhaps you meant like a room full of flowers or a new dress.” She sighed, amused at herself. “I have not had many conversations lately, just with you really. Everything else revolves around mourning or what should and should not happen on a given day.”

She licked her lips, sucking in her bottom lip. “And what about you Vance, what makes you happy? What do you look for in life to make you happy?”

 

[DeadManTyping]

When Lillian reminded him of the upcoming party, Vance suddenly realized that he hadn't realized that he'd be attending. Oh sure, he'd heard them discuss it. And Jenny had most definitely hinted at wanting him there. Had Lillian made it clear he was on the invitation list? These weren't things Vance typically forgot, which made him wonder where his attention had been at the time.

He was a hired hand. Oh sure, he'd sat with them for dinner at the Golden Eagle that first night. But everything he'd done since then had been as a paid employee of the Stewart Ranch. Well, except for fucking Jenny, of course. Vance suddenly found himself uncertain of where lay the lines between employee and social acquaintance.

What he wasn't uncertain of, though, was that his current wardrobe -- short of the new shirt, of course -- was not anything he would wear to something as important as a Stewart party. He's purchased it in New Orleans just prior to being put in his coffin for the week long transit to Willow Springs, so it wasn't like it was old and ragged. In fact, it looked almost brand new, and he'd been trying to keep it clean by wearing his second (and only other) outfit when he was out here on the ranch doing his patrol duties.

But, the black-on-black getup that was intended to give others the idea that he was someone to be avoided -- the overt gunslinger appearance -- was what was he'd been wearing the night he'd sunk his fangs into young Bobby's neck and drained him until his heart stopped. And he'd been wearing it again when he pulled the Colt and gunned down five of seven members of the Iron Club gang who'd made a night time visit to the ranch. And -- short of the jacket, which he'd already shed by then -- it had been what he was wearing when Jenny and Maxwell came out to the cottage evening before last for a refresher on their very unique sex life.

The outfit smelled of blood and gunpowder and sex. Plus, it reminded Vance of all those incidents, none of which would likely be desired pieces of conversation at a Stewart Family party.

But then he reminded himself: they -- the others, the humans weren't going to smell all of those scents upon him like he himself did; and -- with the exception of certain individuals -- not all three of those incidents were of common knowledge to the Stewart Family as a whole. Bobby's killing wasn't known to any of them, obviously.

Maybe he was over thinking the situation. After all, it was just a suit. It wasn't like he had another one anyway. He wasn't really the type to go out and buy himself one just for one party. And it wasn't like anyone was going to buy him a new suit. He thought of the shirt Lillian had purchased for him and smiled a bit. It had been special for her to do that for him. She didn't have to tell Vance that: he knew. And it was just as special for him that she'd done it. And he was going to wear it to the party, so that every time she looked his way, she saw it upon him and knew how special it was to him as well.

Vance's questions about what it was for which Lillian was searching and what it was that would bring her happiness caused her to recall in greater detail the dream to which he had given a spark. The excitement in her pleased Vance. Recently, he'd been using his Dream ability to cover his feedings, so knowing that it had been used for something so different was a delight to the vampire.

Lillian went on to talk about that for which she was searching. He was happy to hear her answer, because it meant abandoning her mourning to pursue it. And while Vance would have loved to believe that Lillian might find him to perfect man with whom to enjoy these activities she'd been missing since her husband's death, he was at the same time certain that Benjamin and most of the people important to Lillian wouldn't find a barely known gunslinger to be the appropriate man to fill that hole in Lillian's life.

"I know that when this party happens I may have interest from some.”

Some men, the evil, defeatist voice in Vance's head reminded him. Other men, other more appropriate men. Vance could fantasize about being Lillian's chosen man all he wanted, but deep down inside he knew she couldn't choose him to become her next husband. She was a women of comfortable wealth from a family of property and standing. And he was ... well, Vance Hamilton, blood-drinking gunfighter.

She broke his dark mood by returning to his original question about that for which she was searching, about that which would make her happy by quipping...

"...perhaps you meant like a room full of flowers or a new dress.”

Vance laughed, responding quickly with humor, "Truthfully, I meant sugar or honey with your coffee or tea. I have both of each now, courtesy of your aunt But ... I didn't want to interrupt your far reaching thoughts."

They laughed, and then she went on speaking of good conversation, mourning, and how the latter tended to get in the way of the former. Then she put the focus on him by asking...

“And what about you Vance, what makes you happy? What do you look for in life to make you happy?”

Vance chuckled -- short and sharp -- then looked off toward the now colorless western horizon. He rarely thought about what would make him happy. His thoughts were more often on what would keep him alive. He glanced to Lillian, waiting to catch her glance.

"Good company," he said, certain that she would understand that he specifically meant her company. "That's enough for me right now."

He held the gaze for a moment, then fearful that it was becoming too intimate for their current relationship, looked off toward the cottage, which they would soon reach. From here, the fact that the entire home was open to the night air was obvious, the flicker of the fire he'd built before leaving -- to make warming it after again closing it up -- danced upon the walls beyond the open windows and doors.

Then a scent caught Vance's attention, and his eyes began sweeping their surroundings. He saw everything more easily than Lillian could have even at high noon, but he didn't see that for which he searched.

"Be silent," he told her in a soft voice as he looked to the cottage. He whispered, "We're not alone."

A shadow within the cottage not caused by the dancing flames caught his attention. A moment later, Vance recognized the scent in the air, let the air in his own lungs puff out in a bit of relief, and relaxed his grip on Lillian.

"Johnathan has decided to pay an unexpected visit to my new home," he told her, releasing his hold on her arm. "If you think it would be wiser for us not to be seen out here like this..."

He let the words die as he nodded off in the lights of the ranch house which was less than a quarter mile away beyond open range land. They made their farewells, and Vance watched Lillian until she was nearly to the porch. He then proceeded to the cottage, arriving just as Johnathan emerged. The man was noticeably nervous and had to force a friendly smile upon his face.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Vance," the younger Stewart son began, his words tentative and filled with concern. "I, um ... I have a problem. A problem I am hoping you can help me with. Can we, um..."

Johnathan gestured a thumb toward the cottage's still open door, and Vance motioned him affirmatively. As the other man turned, Vance looked to the weapon on his waist and observed, "I've never known you to carry a side arm, Johnathan. Except for that one afternoon when we were shooting targets."

Johnathan adjusted the gun belt as he turned back to face Vance. Although others might not have noticed it, Vance picked up on the trembling of his hands. His simple response was, "I don't often carry, no."

"What seems to be the problem, Johnathan?" Vance asked as he began moving about the little house, closing the windows and back door. When Johnathan didn't answer, he looked to the man and asked more firmly, "What has happened?"

"Gregoriavic Anishin has happened," Johnathan answered. "Gregor, they call him. He is the leader of the Iron Club Gang. He has been away for sometime ... San Francisco they say. But..."

"Now he has returned," Vance offered.

Johnathan nodded, adding, "And he's angry about his missing men."

Vance didn't immediately continue. The men he'd gunned down were dead because of Johnathan and his debt to the Iron Club. But it had been Vance and his anger over the near rape of Lillian that had led to the death of all of them.

Gregor wasn't entirely unknown to Vance. Oh, he'd never met the man, of course. But during and after a card game his second night in Willow Springs, Vance had plied several already intoxicated men -- some members of the Iron Club -- with cheap whiskey to keep them involved in a lengthy conversation about things in and around the town of which Vance thought he should be aware.

And Gregoriavic Anishin was most definitely one of them. Gregor -- some called him Gregor the Great though never to his face -- had been born and raised in The Ukraine, which at the time had been occupied and controlled by the Russian Empire. He'd been pressed into the Russian Army, sent to the Far East to battle the Japanese, then pressed again into the Russian Navy and put aboard a small coal fired gunboat to patrol the waters off Alaska, which Russia had recently sold to the United States.

The name The Iron Club Gang would originate shortly afterward when -- as part of an act of mutiny and piracy -- Gregor would use a bar of steel to beat his Commanding Officer to death. A dozen crew members -- mostly officers -- were killed, and a dozen more sent adrift in a life boat in -20 degree temperatures. The rest swore allegiance to Gregor, and the boat headed south for California.

Gregor had hoped to sell his new boat and -- casting his men aside -- take the money and run. But they'd come up against a cruiser from the British Navy near Vancouver Island, and after a too-short gun battle, found themselves swimming for shore as the gunboat burned and sunk behind them.

The next 10 years would be hard for Gregor. He and his Gang would continue to move south for California, committing an endless string of crimes as they went. Ultimately, with only 4 of his original 15 men still alive and another 10 filling the gap in the Gang, Gregor would end up here in Willow Springs. Over the next year he would add another 20 men to his Gang, all cruel, vicious criminals who did as they liked and did what Gregor the Great commanded.

"I presume he's contacted you," Vance asked Johnathan about Gregor.

"He's contacted every one!" Johnathan responded with growing anxiety. He began pacing back and forth, which -- considering the size of the cottage -- meant only three steps left, three steps right, and three steps left again. "He knows his men aren't out on some ... mission. He knows someone is responsible them ... that someone has killed them."

Johnathan stopped finally and turned to look directly at Vance. "He's calling in all debts immediately ... and..."

When Johnathan couldn't finish his statement, Vance filled in for him, "And you can't repay yours."

Johnathan shook his head.

"And ... if you can't repay your debt immediately...?" When Johnathan's face went white, Vance again filled in the rest with, "He's going to have you killed."

"Not just me," Johnathan finally spoke up. His eyes filled with tears as he sobbed, "He's going to kill Anna. My wife, Vance ... he's going to kill my wife ... my unborn son."

"No one's going to kill anyone--" Vance tried to comfort the man as he moved forward toward him.

"My son!" Johnathan continued, not truly knowing whether Anna would be popping out a son or a daughter when that day finally came. "What am I going to do about this--"

"You're not going to do any thing," Vance told him firmly. The gunslinger reached out to skillfully pull loose the gun belt around Johnathan's waist, relocking the buckle and slinging the holster over the back of a chair. "But ... I am."

Johnathan's face filled with instant relief, and he began thanking Vance profusely with babbling praise. Vance managed to wave the man silent, got him to suck down a few gulps from the brandy bottle that Vance would finish later himself, and headed him for the door.

"Go home," he demanded. "Don't do anything. Don't talk to anyone. Don't tell your wife about this. And don't tell Benjamin about this. This stays between you and I. Do you understand?"

Johnathan jumped back into his blubbering gratitude and praise again. It was obvious to Vance -- it would have been obvious to anyone! -- that Johnathan had come out here to get the gunslinger to save his ass. And while Vance was thinking pretty critically about Johnathan's standing as a man, he was simultaneously somehow pleased that this opportunity had come to him.

The Iron Club Gang was a plague upon Willow Springs. And Vance knew something about plagues, plagues of any sort: they drew attention. And in this case, they would draw attention from the Marshall's service. Vance had come to Willow Springs specifically because its ratio between civilians and law enforcement was about 100 to 1. The last thing Vance wanted was for the Sheriff to increase his staff of Deputies or the Territorial Marshall -- who currently occupied his office by himself -- to suddenly have a dozen well trained gun toting investigator types with him here in the boom town.

"Go back to the house," Vance told Johnathan, escorting him around to the back where the man's horse was tied. "Make an effort to bump into some of your family. Make it known that you were talking to me ... make it about learning to shoot better. God knows you could use some practice. Let them know I booted you out so that I could patrol the property."

"But..." Johnathan inquired hopefully.

"But ... I'm heading into town," Vance said, confirming the other man's hopes. "I'll have a conversation with this Gregor ... find a way to settle your debt ... and, with any hope ... keep it from being learned that I gunned down his men, despite their deserving it."

They made their farewells, and Johnathan repeated some of his groveling thanks to the gunslinger. As he had earlier with Lillian, Vance watched the man as he disappeared into the night, then went to the tiny outbuilding that served as Midnight's private little stables and saddled the black beauty.

 

[SandS13]

Lillian eyes watched him as he looked off at the horizon. She wondered just how much he had done in his life. Had he ever married? Family? So many things she didn’t know but longed to ask. It would be rude, especially at this moment so she resisted and pushed aside her curiousity.

A slight blush pinked her cheeks but Lillian was grateful for the darkness and knowing he would not see it. Her eyes however, didn’t look away as they should have. Lillian should have looked to her feet demurely, showing respect and manners but she couldn’t.

In that moment, their eyes on each other as he commented that wanted good company, something in her clicked. She wanted good company as well and his was the best she had known in a long time. The realization brought a pounding to her heart.

Her eyes were still on him though he looked away to the cottage now.

Her thoughts went unvoiced as he told her to be silent. Vance was on alert. Lillian held her breath.

It was only when he relaxed, letting her go that Lillian even realized he had put his hand on her. Her eyes looked from his hand to his face. Her own expression was almost unreadable. She was grateful he could not hear her heart or racing pulse. She found herself wishing he had pulled her into his chest, holding her against his body instead of just her arm.

Blood rushed to areas of her body it had no place being. Perhaps he was being polite saying he enjoyed her company? Anna seemed sure Vance was interested. Could Lillian really believe that though?

Conflicted, confused and aroused, much to her embarrassment Lillian nodded. “I - I will go back to the ranch.” He had her flustered so much that words had trouble stringing together.

With that she left him in the night. She gave a parting glance over her shoulder though she knew he could not see her as the night enveloped her figure.
***
The next day passed without incident. It had not gone unnoticed that Johnathan had not been leaving at night to play cards but no one spoke of it. They wanted to say it was because the birth drew near but they all knew that wasn’t the truth deep down.

As dusk began to fall, dressed in black with a coat on this time, Lillian approached Vance’s cottage. The flag was down and she smiled as she rapped on the door.

They walked again that night, speaking of Boston and how it had changed in the last few years. She mentioned the estate there, her home and how others were taking care of it. She didn’t speak of how she managed it or the money she had. Lillian told him of her favourite operas. She prodded gently about his travels. She told him about the plants she had picked the previous evening and the book she had been reading about their use for medicine.

The conversation was easy. Relaxed and comfortable. Sometimes as they walked Lillian put her hand on his arm pointing to a plant or leaned in close when tell him something a little personal, like her desire to one day travel on a ship.

Lillian left him that night with a promise to visit again. She made sure to let him know how much she enjoyed their time together.
***
A new day, the same routine.

After luncheon Jenny and Lillian headed into town. Their dresses were ready as was the suits Jenny had ordered. Both were excited as they rode in the carriage. Both had Vance on their mind though for very different reasons.

Dresses were picked up. Suits bundled away as Lillian was distracted by something. Jenny didn’t want anyone knowing until the day of the party. It was her gift to Vance for ‘helping’ at the ranch. No one need know the real reason but she was pleased to know she would have such handsome men at her side.

The packages were sent back to the carriage as the women stopped to get a dessert and tea.

They chatted, though only about superficial topics, the newest fashions and word from Boston. Their paid and headed back outside.

“Oh, well it appears someone dropped a glove.” Jenny began moving away as Lillian stood, pulling on her own black glove.

“Perhaps best to leave it.” Lillian frowned as her cousin in law moved towards an alley between two buildings.

“But it will get all dirty and it is such a lovely ivory colour. Look at the bead…”

Lillian pressed her mouth together and followed. Jenny stooped down to pick up the glove just as Lillian approached. To Jenny’s right four men stood.

“G’day ladies. If you would join us for a moment. We don’t want a fuss now. We have a message we would like you to deliver.”

Icy fear gripped Lillian’s body. Jenny stood slowly, cast off glove in hand. She moved towards the men slowly. “What can we do for you?” Her fear was clear in her voice.

“You too.” The man gestured to Lillian to follow.

It was daytime and the men couldn’t physically do much here but Lillian was petrified they would kidnap them away or something alike. Her feet moved slowly but she followed.

About midway down the alley the men parted to let the women step in the middle. The men shifted so the two ladies would be hard to see by any passerbys.

“Now, then we need to you let the men know we don’t appreciate debts being unpaid or lap dogs coming to cause a ruckus. You see, we don’t take kindly to threats from men playing pretend.”

The man stepped closer and Jenny launched at him. She tried to beat him about the chest and head but one swing of his arm and he shoved her to the ground. She landed with a yelp. Another man stepped in and put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from standing again.

The man who had been speaking stepped in towards Lillian. She pressed her back against the wall of the building. He drew closer until his was almost right up against her. He lifted one hand to cup her chin, turning her head.

He leaned in, breath hot on her ear. “I can see you are the sensible one. Will you listen to my message then?”

Lillian tried to nod but all it did was cause his hand to chafe her skin. “Yes.”

“You let Johnathan know that Gregor doesn’t like guard dogs barking at him. We can get to them, one way or another. This is about more than some debt now. Overstretching they are and no one is safe. Not the men and certainly not the women.”

The laugh in her ear was hard and Lillian closed her eyes. The grip tightened on her jaw. “Tell them this isn’t over, not even close. Tell him to keep you all close to home, next time we see if pretty wildflowers out in the town we will be sure to pluck them.”

He inhaled deeply as if taking in her scent. Lillian opened her eyes to look at him. She was shaking.

With a laugh he released her face and stepped away. “He may have daddy’s money and a guard dog but no one is above payings what’s owed. There are always ways to get to him.”

The men walked away leaving the women in the alley, Jenny still on the ground. Lillian moved forward to help her cousin in law up.

“Rats. All of them.” Jenny’s anger hid her terror at the interaction. For all her claims of wanting to be a part of outlaw excitement she had learned first hand how powerless she really was.

It was less exciting than she had suspected.

Arriving back at the ranch the pair rounded up Johnathan and Maxwell. In hushed tones they told them what happened. Johnathan looked deathly pale. They decided not to tell Mabel or Benjamin or Anna. Johnathan had thought Vance was going to take care of things yet they seemed to get worse.

Together the four left for the little cottage. Maxwell walked with Jenny, her arm in his. This walk was very different than the last time they had visited. Her dress bore dust from the ground. Lillian walked behind them. Her face was marked with dirt from the man’s hand.

If I could fight back. Shoot maybe, those men would not have thought us such easy targets. If I could shoot it might have gone badly, they were all armed… Lillian’s mind raced with the man’s threats and how she could have stopped it from happening.

Johnathan knocked hard on Vance’s door. “We need to talk, now. Something has happened.” His voice was raised in hopes of waking the man as the flag still hung outside the cottage. “Vance!”

 

[DeadManTyping]

Vance's always-alert subconscious detected the approaching footfalls of four people. Unlike the night when it recognized Lillian's familiar and unthreatening pace, this time it awoke him with enough time for him to pull his Colt from under the pillow and point it toward the door.

“We need to talk, now. Something has happened. Vance!"

The voice was Johnathan's, obviously. His subconscious hadn't been able to determine exactly who was with the older Stewart son, but -- by the time he was finding and donning his pants -- Vance had come to understand that at least one of the sets of footfalls was female. As he found and slipped into his shirt, hurrying for the door, Vance's mind was racing with all of the horrific things that could have happened to Lillian.

He flung the door open, searched the faces, and visibly released a relieved breath at the sight of his love interest. He stuffed his .45 stuffed into the waist line of his pants below his still-displayed, scar-filled torso, and began buttoning his shirt as he asked, "What's happened?"

"What happened in town?" Johnathan asked with a hard tone. "What have you done? You said you would fix this!"

"What happened?" Vance stressed again. He began to feel the uncomfortable tingle upon his skin from the light of the sun lowering directly behind the four and grimaced a bit from the pain. He backed into the cottage out of the direct rays, gestured them to enter, and continued, "Come in ... please. Johnathan, tell me what's happened."

Inside, the story of what had happened in the alley was told, mostly by Johnathan but also by Jenny and even a bit by Lillian. Vance's mind was reeling with thoughts of what could have happened, as well as with how this was mostly his fault, regardless of whether or not it had begun with Johnathan's debt.

Vance had continued to dress as the quartet told the story. By the time they were finished, he was fully dressed with his Colt once again belted across his waist.

"I went to town to talk to this Gregor..." he began his response...

Two nights earlier:

Vance's first stop when he rode into Willow Springs wasn't to look for Gregor or some of his Iron Club Gang members. It was to an opium den on the outskirts of town, located inside a large, thread bare canvas tent that still bore the worn but recognizable symbol of the Confederate Army unit that had used it a decade and a half earlier before the South's defeat.

He located the proprietor, a young, beautiful Chinese woman who he could tell had probably never used the product she was pushing, and allowed her to escort him to a mattress spread out on the packed dirt behind a curtain. There, he grasped her quickly and bit into her neck, holding her body tightly to his own while he blocked her memory of this moment with a dream of once again running through the lush forests of Hebei Province in which she'd grown up before being kidnapped and shipped across the Pacific to America. He laid her unconscious body gently onto the mattress and slipped out the back of the tent, feeling more prepared for the trouble he was sure lay ahead.

Finding a member of the Iron Club Gang wasn't difficult, of course: they all wore a blood red bandana tied around an arm right above the elbow or, sometimes, around their neck with the knot's ends off to one side. Vance walked right up to a trio of them standing at the bar of one of Willow Spring's many saloons and demanded, "I need to talk to Gregor. Please take me to him."

The response didn't surprise Vance. The three questioned who he was, who he thought he was, why he thought for a moment that Gregor would give a rat's ass who he was or thought he was, and other such inquiries meant to demean him.

When Vance repeated his demand, the three men slowly moved into positions around him that would give them an offensive advantage when the fight they intended to take place began. Throughout the saloon, people had begun taking notice reacted: those who knew and, for the most part, feared the Iron Club boys -- which were most of those present -- casually (or not even so casually) began to move away from the action, which very well may end up involving gun play.

"I wouldn't advise that you make this physical," Vance warned without even a hint of defensive concern on his part. "I just need you to take me to--"

That was as far as Vance got before being interrupted by the expected violence. He knew the punch was coming before the man throwing it had even cocked his arm back: the body language, building heart rate and respiration, and darting eyes was as telling to Vance as would have been a telegraph explaining the imminent act.

Vance backed up a step, allowing the hand to pass before him, grasped the unbalanced man's arm and torso, and heaved him forward, taking out a second of the Gang members. The third man watched his compadres fly over the nearby and now vacant poker table, then looked back to Vance to find the end of the Colt just an inch away from his face, pointing at the bridge of his nose.

"I'd like you to take me to see Gregor, please," Vance said with a calm voice. Then, with a slight smile, he repeated his last word, "Please."

The still standing man's gaze moved quickly from the big gun to Vance's face to the two men struggling to return to their feet and back to the gun. Then, after diverting his eyes just a bit to look over Vance's shoulder, the man looked back to the gunman and smiled.

"Fuck your please, asshole," he growled.

Just as Vance had known that the ineffective punch was coming, he knew what was coming that was causing the man before him unwarranted satisfaction. With great speed, he both stepped aside and gave the man before him a little push: the result was that the fourth Iron Club member entering the saloon door and firing at Vance put a bullet through the chest of the smiling man instead.

Vance hadn't wanted to kill anyone tonight: he doubted that would get him the audience with Gregor after which he was seeking. Instead, he pulled the big knife on his right hip and sent it toward the floor just before the saloon door. The ten inch long blade easily penetrated the boot -- and foot -- of the wanna-be back shooter. The man screamed out in pain, doubling over, then kneeling down with the intent of trying to pull the blade free.

Vance was on him in a flash, lifting one of his own booted feet into the air, and bringing it down hard atop the hilt of the knife. The man screamed even louder as the blade sunk even deeper through his foot, essentially nailing him to the saloon's hardwood floor.

Stepping around behind the man and denying him of his firearm -- not that he was able to use it anyway -- Vance pointed both guns at the two men who had finally righted themselves. They each had been about to pull their own weapons, but seeing the mayhem around them and the two pistols pointed at their heads, they simply froze, wide eyed.

"First one of you to lose his gun belt and head out the door gets to take me to Gregor," Vance began with a calm voice. "The other one gets a bullet through the brain."

The two men hesitated, then glanced at one another. Simultaneously, they headed for the door, bumping into one another. One pushed the second, the second pushed the other, a punch was thrown, a couple of more, and after a whiskey bottle crashed down upon a skull, knocking the unnecessary Gang member out, the winner headed for the door with his hands up in a surrender gesture.

A couple of minutes later, Vance was voluntarily handing over his Colt to a pair of men outside The Red Russian Hotel. It had been The Parker, one of Willow Spring's first boom years Inns, but its previous and now deceased owner had -- like so many people -- gotten into deep debt with the Iron Club Gang. Gregor took over the title, as well as the man's wife and two daughters. The hotel owner's son had been killed, though: Gregor had had no use for him, of course.

Inside, Vance was escorted up the stairs to the second floor, from which he could see a bare knuckles fight taking place in the center of the main floor below him. Dozens of spectators watched from the mezzanine level between the first and second floors, as well as from the railings of the second floor. After ascending another staircase, Vance found himself being searched for weapons yet again. The men escorting him kept him in place while a man named Pavel -- Gregor's right hand man, oldest friend, and most trusted bodyguard -- crossed the landing to stop near and lean over yet another man who, from here, could see the fight below. Vance knew that this had to be Gregor.

After a moment of whispering to Gregor, Pavel waved the escorts to bring Vance forward. They stopped him well out of reach, then -- after Gregor gave him a knowing look -- one of the men punched Vance in the gut with great power. Vance had known the punch was coming, but unlike the one in the saloon, he allowed this one to land. He bent over, feigning pain as the air rushed from his lungs with a loud huff.

"They tell you kill one of my men tonight ... shot in chest," Gregor said, his Russian accent stronger than his English. "Is true?"

"No, it's not true," Vance said with feigned pain in his voice. He rose almost to height, his hands over his gut, as he clarified, "I didn't kill your man. Your own man did. The one who's now pinned to the floor of the--"

The second punch came to his gut again but not before Vance inconspicuously moved his fingers out of the way, not wanting one or more of them to be broken incidentally. Again he slumped over, and again -- after a dramatic moment -- he rose slowly to almost full height.

"Why you come to me?" Gregor asked. "I no know you. You owe me money maybe?"

"No, I ... I don't owe you money," Vance answered with strained breaths. "But ... my employer's son does. Johnathan Stewart."

Pavel spoke in Russian to Gregor for a short moment, after which the latter asked, "And you pay this man's debt, yes?"

"Yes," Vance said without hesitation, adding after a breath, "I just need a couple of weeks to get it to--"

A third punch landed in his gut, causing the same bend and stand sequence. When Vance was standing semi-erect again, Gregor said simply, "You pay now."

"I don't have the money now," Vance answered.

"Then what you have to give me repay this man's debt?" Gregor asked. An uproar on the floor below signaled the end of the match, drawing the Russian's attention. He hollered out in Russian -- words of appreciation, then orders -- and turned his attention back to Vance. He looked the gunslinger up and down and asked, "You can fight?"

Vance hesitated before responding, "I have on occasion."

"You win?"

Vance gave a meek smile, repeating his response, "I have ... on occasion."

Gregor spit out some orders, and Vance found himself being manhandled down the stairs. He stumbled near the bottom and tumbled to the second floor landing, only to be scooped up and hurried down the next flight. This time before he reached the bottom, he was intentionally shoved. He flew out to land and roll across the floor, slamming into the feet of some fight fans who immediately began kicking him as if he were a dog that had just peed on their boots.

Vance wasn't surprised to find himself herded through the crowd and tossed out into the center of the circled fans. Gregor hollered some commands and encouragement from above as he himself was descended toward the main floor. Pavel stepped out into the circle and told Vance to strip off his jacket and shirt.

"No," Vance said simply.

Pavel stepped up closer, repeated his order, and -- when Vance only shook his head lightly -- lashed a punch out that caught Vance square in the nose. Vance teetered a bit, reaching up to his face. He pulled his hands back to reveal palms full of blood. There was a mess all about his mouth, but -- of course -- the bleeding had ceased within just seconds.

Vance recalled that he was wearing the new shirt Lillian had given him and leaned forward to prevent the blood on his face from dripping upon it. He gestured subordinately to Pavel and did as he was ordered. The crowds reaction to knowing that another fight was coming shifted dramatically when they got a look at Vance's scarred body. In addition to the damage on his front that Lillian, Jenny, and Maxwell had seen -- three sword, four knife, two spear, four gun shot, and one scythe scars -- Vance's back also showed damage caused by attacks from a sword and a knife, the exit wound of one of the front piercing spears, two gun shot holes -- one an exit wound and one a cowardly back shot -- and a dozen lashing from a leather whip from during Vance's pirating days.

"You fight!" Gregor called from the mezzanine where he was now being flanked by a pair of scantily clad girls who worked the brothel that occupied much of The Red Russian's second floor. He repeated over the hollers and applause of the excited crowd, "You fight!"

"For how much?" Vance asked, still fiddling with his already totally healed nose. "If I fight, you--"

Vance moved his head just enough to prevent Pavel's punch aimed at his jaw from breaking bone, then tumbled to give the audience a show. They exploded with delight at the violence, but went relatively quiet at Gregor's gesturing for silence.

"You fight!" Gregor repeated. After again waving for and getting a more significant silence, he leaned over the Mezzanine's railing and growled, "You fight ... you win ... and I forget that you kill my man."

"I told you!" Vance countered as he struggled to his feet. "I didn't kill your man in the saloon."

"I speak of Buck!" the Russian called down. He stared at Vance for a long moment. "I like Buck. He good soldier. Not so smart. But not afraid kill when good. Kill a lot. Now ... killed, too. Killed ... and six soldiers with. "

"I didn't kill this man you speak of," Vance lied. Another punch hit his head, sending him to the hardwood floor that was stained with the blood of others and was now getting a fresh sprinkling of red from Vance's own face. He struggled to his feet again, wobbling about as he eyed Pavel warily. "I'm not a killer!"

"No care," Gregor called down. "Stewart owe me money. Buck go collect. Buck not return. Stewart fault. You Stewart man. You fault."

Pavel reared back and sent another punch to Vance's forehead, connecting with full force. Vance let his knees buckle and fell to his back almost right where he was standing. He hit with force, and as he feigned near unconsciousness the crowd around him roared. Pavel kicked at him, trying to get him to stand as he had the previous times he'd been knocked down.

When Vance didn't stand, he was forced to his feet by a couple of Iron Club members. Gregor gave his final ultimatum. "You fight ... you win ... you walk out. I give two days find money. You fight ... you lose..."

He hesitated a moment, causing the crowd to get rambunctious again. He finished, "You lose, you die ... next day friend dies ... next day wife dies ... next day, some one dies ... until debt paid."

Vance contemplated the offer presented to him, and despite the fact that most of the crowd was already giving and taking bets against him surviving, he nodded his head tentatively to Pavel. He whispered breathlessly as he raised his fists before the lesser-Russian, "Okay ... I'm ... I'm ready."

Pavel's smile widened. As he removed his own jacket and shirt, the crowd about them came alive with excitement. Pavel revealed his boxing experience, moving about with shuffling feet, bobbing his body left and right, stretching out his arms with punches into the air before Vance. Vance, for his part, pretty much just moved his feet back and forth and held his fisted hands before his face as if fearful of more damage.

And the damage began. Pavel landed a punch to the forehead, another to the jaw, then engaged Vance in a full blown, knock down, slug-fest. Vance landed a couple of blows of little consequence and feigned a struggle to stay on his feet. He stumbled into the crowd, then again, then even turned as if looking for a way through the fans and out of the building.

After taking a beating that would have downed most men for a final time, Vance landed a punch to Pavel's face that was intentionally meant to look like a lucky punch. He feigned a surge of confidence and rushed Pavel, landing a second lucky punch that stunned the man, allowing Vance to slam a powerful fist to the man's nose.

With a thud, Pavel landed on his back ... out! Vance leaned over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath and both crying and chuckling as if dealing with deep pain and deep relief simultaneously. The crowd was roaring, some with disappointment, some with delight at the upset.

Struggling to rise to height, Vance looked up to the mezzanine to find Gregor's face seizing in anger. He spit out some orders and made some gestures, and a moment later Vance found himself being manhandled off to another room on the same floor. The men hustling him away beat on him for a minute or so before Gregor entered and halted the torture. He stood over the bloodied and beaten Vance for a moment, surveying the damage.

"I won," Vance proclaimed through tears he struggled to produce. "You'll let me live, right?"

Gregor didn't immediately respond, but finally said, "Friend still owe debt. I think..."

Gregor considered his threat for a moment, then said, "Think I kill wife. Yes? Kill friend ... he not able to pay debt. Kill wife ... still pay."

Vance feigned deep fear, begging Gregor not to harm Anna, speaking of her by name. After a suitable amount of groveling, he told Gregor, "I'll fight again! I'll fight again ... tomorrow. I'll fight another one of your men."

Gregor contemplated the offer, then simply said, "No."

"Why not?" Vance pleaded.

"Already see fight," Gregor told him. "Lucky punch. Not take chance on lose debt lucky punch."

"Please, I ... I'll..."

"What?" Gregor urged Vance onward.

Vance struggled to his feet, wobbling a moment before continuing, "Two men. I'll fight two men."

"Two?"

"Two!" Vance continued. "I win ... you leave Johnathan and Anna ... all of the Stewarts ... you leave them alone."

"More Stewarts than two," Gregor said. "So ... more than two men."

Vance tried to look shocked.

Gregor continued, "You fight three."

"And you leave them alone?"

"And I leave them alone," Gregor confirmed.

"And you forgive Johnathan's debt," Vance added, pushing the deal.

Gregor laughed long and loud, then added, "I forgive debt ... four men."

"Four men," Vance repeated with a defeated tone. "I don't have to win. I just ... I just have to fight all four."

"You fight four, win or lose ... live or die," Gregor said, turning to leave the room. He stopped to look back at Vance, adding, "I no care live or die. Only good fight."

As the Russian left, Vance straightened up a bit, then murmured to himself, "Oh, you'll get a good fight."



Vance had left The Red Russian all bent over, carrying his shirt, coat, and gun belt -- short the Colt that had been confiscated -- in his hands, appearing as if a broken man. But by the time he'd crossed half of town and was certain he was no longer being watched, he was standing tall and wiping away the drying blood with a scarf he'd snatched from a drunken woman's shoulders.

He dressed again, mounted Midnight at the stables, and road out of town. Arriving at the cottage, he cleaned himself up, then headed out to do what Benjamin was actually paying him to do, protect the Stewart Ranch. He spent most of the evening walking Midnight slowly about the range land, and for the first time since being employed, actually came across rustlers.

Well, if you could call them that. It turned out to be a pair of severely intoxicated cowboys who were having a helluva hard time getting a single heifer to abandon a rocky little gorge that include a pinnacle in the center that was allowing her to avoid capture. Vance tossed a rock down to hit one of the men in the head, told them the next thing to hit them would be a round from the Henry rifle, and watched as they hurried rode off into the dark. Vance probably should have shot them dead -- that was his job, after all -- but somehow he didn't think Benjamin would have a problem with this.



He got a good day's sleep ... right up until Johnathan began beating on the door. He explained to them what had happened -- leaving out the details that made him sound possessive of beyond-human powers -- and apologized for what had happened to the girls.

"I assumed that tonight's fight meant you and yours would be left alone," he told them with a sincerely apologetic tone. "If I'd known..."

But he could see that there was now more on the minds of the women than what had happened to them this afternoon. The fight.

 

[SandS13]

All details of importance were laid out between them all. The five decided to keep this all from the others. There was no need to bring more worry to the house. With this fight all debts would be paid and the trouble, gone.

Lillian wondered if one could really trust the word of men like this Gregor but she said nothing.

There was some discussion about who would attend the fight. No one thought the women should go which of course mad Jenny as mad as a mountain cat. There was talk that Johnathan should not attend for fear they might back stab him in some way.

In the end the four decided to attend and the discussion was put to bed.
***
At the ranch they cleaned up and dressed for an evening out. Nothing fancy as they had told the others they were just going for brandy and desserts at the Golden Eagle. Jenny appeared in a smartly cut brown walking dress with a tailored jacket. Nice, but not too nice. Being a woman who was not a saloon girl she was going to stick out already but there was no need to bring extra attention.

Lillian appeared in a black walking dress. Less tailored and a bit outdated but they were still mourning clothes for the time being it didn't bother her.

The four got into the carriage and headed into town. They were silent as they road. Beside them the horse hooves from Vance's steed soundly steadily. Lillian occasionally tried to look out to see him on the horse but it was no use. Jenny had the only real view of him and she cast lustfilled glances at him.

She was already imagining him sweaty, shirtless and beating the men who had dared push her around. A champion of sorts. Jenny's hand ran over Maxwell's thigh. He too was thinking about the fight and how Vance was fighting for his family's and Jenny's honour.
***
The place was dirty. The smell of blood and sweat hung heavy in the air. Johnathan led them through the crowd to an area where they could see. Around them the throngs of people made up of the Iron Club gang and other men looking to bet looked on as two men were beating each other. A warm up fight of sorts.

Maxwell held Jenny close to him, both for the intimacy and her protection. He didn't want anyone assuming she was available. He liked sharing his wife but one glance around and he did not see anyone suitable of touching her. He was particular. They had to be worthy of the act, of her body.

Lillian, without an escort, stood near the trio for some sense of protection. Her eyes were scanning the edge of the ring looking for Vance.

It was not a place the Stewart's would normally find themselves. Even Johnathan's vices kept him in saloon's and brothels for the cards. This was a level beyond petty gambling.

Lillian feared for Vance's life. The current fight seemed brutal and she feared it would get worse when it was Vance's turn.

The fight ended and Vance's figure, shirtless appeared at the edge of the ring.

 

[DeadManTyping]

Vance had tried his best to talk the four out of attending the event, though not necessarily for the reasons he gave them. Johnathan, of course, shouldn't have been anywhere near the Iron Club Gang, let alone in Gregor's house. And the women...? Well, c'mon: that didn't even deserve a word of explanation.

But Vance's real fear was that as he used his beyond-human abilities tonight, the quartet of Stewarts were going to see things they couldn't understand or explain. Sure, the crowd was going to see it, too. And if, at some later point, word of the fight got back to Johnathan or Jenny or Maxwell or Lillian, and they asked him about it, he could shrug it all off a myth building tales of people who likely were so intoxicated that they'd had a hard time standing, let alone analyzing a brawl.

During the ride, Vance glanced down at the coach a few times. He hadn't intended it, but he'd ended up riding along the opposite side of the vehicle from Lillian. The canvas top blocked his view of her and hers of him, which was probably for the better anyway: he really didn't need to see the worry and concern that the scent wafting from her revealed.

Jenny, however, was a different story altogether. Oh sure, her scent spoke of worry and concern as well. But additional chemicals being produced from her body -- and not necessarily escaping from the pores of her skin -- told him that she was wracked by lust and excitement over what was about to come. After he survived this night -- presuming he survived this night -- Vance could probably sneak the woman away and fuck her to multiple and quick orgasms in some dingy, dirty, smelly room without any concern about Maxwell's attendance and participation.

Before they arrived at The Red Russian, Vance split off. The Stewarts weren't strangers to Willow Springs, of course, but there was no reason for the uninformed to know that he was connected to them this evening. He was escorted through the dark halls of the combination hotel/brothel/saloon/opium den/fight club to a back room, where he was stripped to his pants and boots and checked for sharps, as was a common cheating technique for fisticuffs fighters.

"I need to see Gregor before I fight," Vance told the men watching over him. They ignored him, until he looked specifically to one of them -- one of the survivors of the previous night's fight in the saloon -- and asked, "Do we really have to go through this again?"

Although he tried to hide it, the man's concern over getting pummeled again caused him to leave and fetch Gregor. Vance listened to the happenings beyond multiple walls and heard the beginning and ending of one fight and the beginning of another before a black-and-blue Pavel stepped inside, followed by the Russian who essentially ran the dark underworld of Willow Springs.

"I'd like to alter our arrangement, if you don't mind," Vance said with a respectful tone. Gregor stared at the would-be-fighter for a moment, then gestured for him to speak. "I'll fight all four men simultaneously."

Gregor's lips widened in a smile as he contemplated Vance getting pummeled to death before a roaring crowd that -- because of the spreading word of last night's tussle -- was growing rapidly beyond this room. He asked simply, "And in return...?"

"You forgive Johnathan's debt as agreed," Vance continued, "you vow to leave the Stewart Family, its lands, its hands, its ... its every things and every ones alone ... from now to the end of time--"

"And if Johnathan--" Gregor began to ask.

But Vance was expecting the question and continued, "Johnathan will stay away from the establishments you own or have any financial interest in ... from now to the end of time."

"Then how I make money," Gregor asked, "If I begin tell gamblers no more gamble ... men no more fuck my girls?"

Vance reached into a pocket of his slacks and withdrew a folded wad of cash. It was everything he had left to his name, almost $1,000. "You bet this on me--"

Gregor laughed, but again Vance was expecting that. "You have some of your associates bet it on me, so that no one believes you're betting on both sides of the fight. Then ... you keep the winnings ... and leave me and mine alone."

Vance looked to Pavel, who he presumed kept close track of the happenings out on the floor, and asked, "I assume the odds out there are severely against me, even fighting just one man at a time?"

"Two to one on the first fight," Pavel said, finally joining the conversation. "Five to one the second ... ten to one third ... higher for the last."

"And what will the odds be when you go out there and announce that I'm taking on all four men at one time?" Vance asked Gregor.

The Russian laughed. "No odds. No one take that bet."

"Figure it out," Vance said firmly, as if he was in charge. He studied Gregor for a moment, then added one final stipulation. He looked to Pavel, then to the familiar Colt .45 caliber Peacemaker in the man's holster, and said, "And I get that back when I'm the last man standing."

"And if you're not standing?" Pavel growled.

Vance cocked his head a bit, then smiled. "Then you can kill me with my own gun."

They all stared at one another for a long moment before Gregor said firmly, "Done!"

The pair of Russian's turned and left, and a few minutes later after the uproar of the distant crowd signaled the end of the current match, a quartet of Iron Club members escorted Vance out to the edge of the ring, where Gregor himself announced from the Mezzanine the changes in the upcoming fight.

As Vance stood off to one side, he glanced about and instantly found the Stewarts. They wore a variety of expressions as he expected, but it was really only Lillian's for which he had concern right now.

From a door below and out of sight of his friends, four fighters emerged and spread out in a semi circle line opposite Vance. Two of them were your ordinary, average sized, fit white guy brute types, similar to Vance's own body style. The third, however, was a larger than average man of Asian descent who was a walking rock of a body; he was dancing about, getting his body warm and demonstrating some practice moves that Vance assumed had origins in the Far East.

The fourth man, however, was a monster. He was easily three inches taller than Vance's 6'3", and again easily outweighed Vance by 30 pounds. And he made the dancing China Man look like an underfed child.

Vance looked them over carefully, glanced back up to Lillian, and thought to himself, This may have been a mistake.

 

[SandS13]

Maxwell shifted Jenny so she stood in front of him. He took her hand and brought it behind her to feel his growing erection. Oh, he was concerned but there was something about this man, fighting for his wife and family that got Max going. This man had fucked his wife and would do so again if he survived this fight. The idea that such a strong stud wanted his wife pleased Max. In the end he could enjoy her body but Jenny was all his.

Jenny's fear from the afternoon had long faded. She was excited to watch Vance fight. Apprehension crept in when his opponents arrived however. Still. She stroked Max through his pants, stoking the flame of his arousal. Eventually they were too caught up in the fight to continue. It didn't matter, there would be time for that later.

Johnathan was on edge. He was in the heart of the enemy's territory. Though he was sure everything would be fine if Vance could win. Then the announcement. Johnathan was thrown off guard. That wasn't a fair fight. There was no way Vance could win something like that!

Then the men appeared.At first it didn't seem so bad. The men came out to meet Vance in the ring seemed to be his equals. The third and fourth though....Johnathan felt sick to his stomach.

Lillian watched Vance take his place. The announcement had caused the blood to drain from her face. Four men, at once. She was sure that she might watch him die in front of her eyes.

As the men stepped out Lillian looked them over. Vance was doing the same. Her eyes caught his as he turned to look at her.

She didn't know why she did it but gloved fingers came to her lips and she kissed them before gesturing them out to him. It was as if the fear of this moment, that he might not be alive after the fight, told her to do something to let him know that she cared for him.

It was not a good bye but an expression of feeling, caring directed at him. Lillian wanted him to know, wanted him to hold that thought somewhere as he fought.

 

[DeadManTyping]

Coming from anyone else at a time like this, Vance might very well have thought he was being tossed the kiss of death. He knew better, of course. Still, considering that Lillian remained officially in mourning, the gesture surprised Vance and caused him to smile up at her.

"Whatchu smiling at, dead man?" asked one of the two halfway-normal looking bruisers, a blonde with Nordic facial features.

Vance began to shift his feet slowly, moving left, then right, the back a bit as the others performed their own individual movements. He eyed each of the men as he began stretching out his arms and clenching, then relaxing his hands into and out of fists.

"Hans..." he said with a sly smile to the blonde man, who was making gestures toward being the first to attack, "I'm going to make you an offer. Turn around and walk out of here before you throw your first punch--"

But Vance didn't get the chance to finish his proposition as the man surge forth with skillful footwork and threw what would have been a solid, powerful, and potentially deadly punch directly at Vance's face.

Vance had contemplated his performance tonight, trying to decide whether he should act the normal mortal human and take some damage -- seriously looking but obviously not -- or put out all the stops and seriously kick some ass. He still hadn't decided when Hans's punch came, but his instinct got the better of him and he went temporarily to the latter. He pulled his head out of the way of the fast moving punch, and -- like he had in the saloon the night before -- grasped the punching man by his arm and torso. But unlike at the drinking parlor, where he'd thrown the man across ten feet of the room to knock a second man down, Vance instead slammed Hans to the hardwood floor with great might -- well, for a human anyway -- and at the same time gave the offending arm a 240 degree twist.

The sound of the scream exploding from Hans after having his arm pulled from its shoulder socket was more than obvious, even over the continuous roar of the three-times-the-normal crowd. Vance ignored the man's agony, leaping over Hans just as China Man leaped forward and spun around in a kick that would have otherwise connected with Vance's skull.

The crowd went relatively silent as they took in the sight and listened to Hans's continuing screams of agony. Then suddenly, the crowd exploded again with excitement and -- not surprising to Vance or many others -- quickly engaged in a new round of betting with Vance-friendlier odds.

Vance's eyes shifted from Goliath to his left to China Man before him and the fourth man on his right who began chastising his opponent for having broken his brother's arm. Vance continued to work his feet to stay out reach of the shifting and sometimes closing men as he told the fourth man, "Well, Franz ... I tried to make him an offer, but..."

Franz surged forward at Vance, and as the latter backed and shuffled the pair threw punches at one another. Most were avoided or blocked, but -- having decided for a less-vampire approach to the fight, for now anyway -- Vance allowed the man to land a few of them as he more importantly kept an eye on the other two men.

China Man closed again, throwing the fastest moving punch Vance had ever seen from a mere mortal. He'd move enough to prevent it from doing too much damage. Nevertheless, it put Vance off balance a bit, and he stumbled back into the crowd. A dozen hands were suddenly upon him, grabbing him tightly before pushing him back out into the ring.

Vance played up being unstable and let Franz hit him solidly in the face. He pulled his head back, stumbled into the crowd again, and came back into view with his bloodied hands covering his face. With China Man backing him up, Franz was feeling confident and attacked. Vance let him land more than a dozen punches -- face, chest, belly, kidneys -- and during the little gaps in the assault allowed China Man to land a couple of kicks and another one of his faster-than-a-speeding-bullet punches.

The crowd's demeanor was shifting again. For a moment, they'd thought Vance might actually be able to pull this off, but now -- as he wobbled and teetered and struggled to stay afoot -- bets were shifting the other way once again.

Vance moved quickly back away from his attackers and -- realizing where he was in relationship to the Stewarts -- peeked up over the crowd to the second floor landing. He looked at Lillian, Maxwell, Johnathan, and Jenny each: despite the differing emotions and expressions they'd each had on the way to the fight, Vance now saw only varying degrees of concern, panic, and fear.

He hated putting them through this -- particularly Lillian -- so Vance knew he had to change the fight's direction. He shuffled awkwardly around the ring a bit, accidentally putting himself within reach of China Man's powerful and skillful kicking leg. The opponent took the bait, stepped forward, and spun, attempting a roundhouse kick.

But instead of finding his foot connecting with the solo man's head and sending him off into the crowd again, China Man found his foot being caught in the grip of one of Vance's powerful hands. He pulled the man forward, putting him off balance, and pulled him down toward the ground as he lifted and then lowered a bent arm. His elbow caught China Man's knee on the side.

As with Han's arm-to-shoulder socket mishap, the scream that came from China Man's lungs as his knee was bent and snapped ripped through the arena. Vance was up and moving away from the writhing man in a flash, listening to the crowd as first they hushed noticeably ... then began calling out their desirable pro-Vance bets yet again.

Vance was getting rather tired of this by now, and thankfully so was Franz. The man rushed him at full speed, hollering out at him with great anger and fury. He slammed into Vance, and the two of them -- still on their feet -- crashed into the crowd and disappeared amongst the dozens of fight fans. They were lost to view for a moment, as onlookers stood over them chanting and cheering and sometimes getting pushed or knocked over or even hit by fast moving fists or kicking feet.

After a moment, the mayhem died down and the fans became unconcerned with the violence so close to them. Throughout the hall, faces looked the direction of the two men, anxious to learn the outcome.

That outcome was announced soon enough as first one man, then a few men, then several men and women, then dozens of them took to chanting, "Vance...! Vance...! Vance...! Vance...!"

And from the parting crowd, the very bloodied and yet strangely confident looking form of Vance Hamilton stepped back into the ring ... looked to Goliath, who hadn't yet thrown a single punch ... and lifted his hand to curl a finger at him in a gesture of invitation.

 

[SandS13]

Vance had noticed her gesture. He smiled. Her unease was lessened only by the thought that should something happen he at least knew she did indeed feel something for him.

Maxwell leaned in to whisper in his wife’s ear, “See how he smiles up at us.”

Jenny smirked, an eyebrow raised. It would be improper to wave or give another gesture to Vance. Besides everyone knew he was tied to the Stewart’s. They may not know he fought for her but that he fought for their family was enough.

The tension was making Lillian’s stomach hurt. She watched Vance and the other move. It reminded her of a book about snake she had read. The way they prepare to strike.

And just like that the first punch was thrown. Lillian’s hand went to her mouth. Vance moved and before she realized the other man was on the ground screaming. Her hands now gripped the railing now. They were white knuckled under her gloves.

The crowd was is in an uproar as the fight kept changing. Lillian turned them all out. She was watching Vance. He took a few punches, there was blood. She feared her legs would give out.

Beside her Maxwell and Jenny alternated between excitement and concern. The whole thing was exciting.
Johnathan looked like he might be ill though he stood rigid, serious and eyes never leaving the fight. So much was at stake and all of this was his fault.

Lillian turned her head as she saw Vance catch the oriental man’s foot. She heard him cry out. She looked back just in time to see Vance and one of the men disappear into the crowd. She shook her head and tried to scan the mass of people.

Where was he? Why didn’t they pull them apart?

Then the chants. Vance appeared and walked back into the ring. He was bloody. So very bloody that Lillian wondered how he was still walking. A gloved hand covered her mouth again to stop herself from calling out in concern.

Jenny was clapping her hands. Her knight had bested another. Now she watched him call the largest combatant to him.

The man was big. Lillian feared that if he caught Vance he would crush him or break his limbs.

 

[DeadManTyping]

Across the ring from Vance, Goliath smiled at Vance's invitation to finally engage him in the bout. He crossed to the middle of the ring, then leaned forward a bit and flexed his curled arms before him as he opened his mouth and let loose a fierce growl that sounded more like a bear than a human being.

Vance looked to the man's arms. Goliath's arms were solid, rippling muscles, bigger than Vance's also muscular legs. Vance found himself suffering the same crush fear that Lillian was having on the landing above him. The crowd roared with delight at the man's demonstration of his strength. Goliath stood tall again, turned ninety degrees to repeat the gesture and garner another cheer, then turned another ninety, another ninety, and a final ninety that put him back flexing at Vance again.

Vance smiled, stepped a bit closer to the man, raised an arm with his elbow bent -- fist to the sky -- and feigned a flexing grimace in his face with no muscular swelling in his biceps. He tried again to no affect ... except for a round of laughter from the crowd. He tried it once more, straining his face while doing nothing to cause his muscles to tighten. As he looked to Goliath and found the man sneering at him with bared teeth, Vance reached his other fist up to his bicep, pressed on the inside to cause it to rise, and shrugged to the now laughter filled crowd.

Goliath had had enough. He rushed Vance with as much speed as his oversized bulky body could muster, curled arms out to his sides ready to wrap them around Vance and begin his crushing. At the last second, Vance ducked and stepped aside. Like a locomotive at full speed, Goliath found it hard to slow: he surged right into the crowd standing about them forming what amounted to a fighting ring. He and a dozen others crashed to the ground, another hail of laughter and applause filling the hotel's main room.

It would take a while for Goliath to get back to his feet, and during that time, Vance looked up to the mezzanine to find Gregor. The Russian was not laughing as so many others had been. Neither was Pavel, who stood next to his sitting boss, gently touching his black and blue face as if hoping the pain had somehow finally ceased. It hadn't, and when he found Vance looking at him, he lowered his hand ... to Vance's Colt.

"That's mine," Vance called -- not that Pavel could hear him -- as he pointed to the weapon. "And I'll have it back in a moment."

Movement behind him, as well as changes of expression on the faces of the fans before him, told Vance that Goliath's next attack was underway. Again, he stepped aside, but this time he left a foot extended out where he had been standing. Goliath tripped over the foot and flew forward a few feet to land upon his chest. Below his feet, Vance could feel the hardwood floor shake at the crash of the big man's weight upon it.

Vance wanted to look up to the Stewarts to see if they were enjoying the show, but he resisted. He feared the expression he might find on Lillian's face. Jenny, however, had taken to clapping and cheering and taunting the big man who was struggling to his feet yet a second time.

Goliath was getting smarter now, though. Rather than charge, he took his boxer's stance again and moved at Vance, directing him with foot movements and air punches until Vance was getting trapped in what amounted to a corner in the ring of people.

Okay, fine, get your punches in, big boy, Vance thought to himself. He bobbed away from one of the punches but not nearly enough to prevent it from landing. Acting a bit stunned, he let Goliath's next three jabs land firmly, followed by a big swing from the other hand that sent Vance into the crowd. Goliath stood tall, hands over his head and gave out a loud, long victorious growl.

Turning, the massive fighter waited, and eventually a wobbling Vance emerged from the cluster of onlookers. He moved out into the ring to throw a couple of ineffective punches, then let Goliath perform a jab, jab, punch combo that made him teeter a bit, then fall straight down onto his keister. He looked up at Goliath as the man repeated his curled-arms-before-chest flex and growl.

When Goliath came for him, though, Vance rolled out of the way and stood quickly, feigning disorientation. He avoided the man's punches for a bit, landed a jab of his own -- which did nothing but make the big man smile -- then took another combination that sent him into the crowd.

Up on the mezzanine, Gregor was finally beginning to smile happily. As he watched, Vance emerged again, engaged Goliath, got pounded yet again, and disappeared into the crowd head first a third time. Gregor gestured his right hand man to lean to him, gave him and order, and watched as Pavel disappeared into the mezzanine crowd. Looking down again, he found Vance once again getting beating by a long series of combination punches ... and, yes, catapulted into the crowd again!

This time, however, Vance's landing point in the crowd was very intentional. One of the men who helped him to his feet looked him squarely in his swollen, bloodied face and asked, "Is it time yet, sir?"

Vance took a moment to listen to the crowd. He separated the cheering and jeering voices from those discussing the current betting odds on him. He looked into the face of the mortician again, smiled, and told him, "Let the odds improve a bit more."

"For that to happen," Mister Bowers said with a wry tone, "you'll have to already be dead on the floor."

The crowd was trying to force Vance back out into the ring. He told Bowers, "Wait!"

Tossed out into the open, Vance found himself instantly taken into Goliath's massive arms. The fighter began crushing Vance in a bear hug about his waist, arm's pinned to his rib cage. Vance tossed his head back and gave out a loud feigned cry of pain. Goliath growled, turning to let everyone see him squeezing the life out of his opponent. Vance flung his head forward, catching the other man in the nose. And while he instantly drew blood, the attack did little more to the giant.

Vance continued his feigned response to the crushing as Goliath continued to turn. He head thumped the man again and managed to get free, only to have Goliath grasp a handful of his long hair in one hand while the other began pummeling Vance's face ... again ... and again ... and again ... and again ... and again!

Freeing himself finally, Vance tried to escape ... or, at least, it appeared he was. But the crowd kept him in the ring, pushing him repeatedly back toward Goliath, who sometimes got in a punch and sometimes only pushed Vance back at the crowd. Vance had been listening to the odds makers again, and when he realized that most were giving odds against him of at least 50 to 1 -- some as much as 150 to 1 -- he looked to Mister Bowers and nodded.

As he turned back to face the approaching Goliath, he listened for the mortician's voice in particular, hearing Bowers say, "Fifty dollars at 70 to 1 ... yes."

With that, Vance's posture took a sudden shift. He rose taller before the slowly approaching and obviously confident Goliath and -- his smile returning -- once again curled an extended finger to him in invitation. Goliath smiled, performed his flex again, and moved forward to finish the fight.

But ... it was Vance who finished it. With a punch that the big man never saw coming, the vampire crushed a dozen bones in the front of Goliath's throat. His eyes bulged and his hands rose quickly to his neck. With another flash, Vance's foot came up into the man's crotch so hard that -- despite his better than 280 pound weight -- lifted the man's feet off the hardwood an inch before he fell forward to his knees.

Vance paused to look up to Gregor, who was now on his feet looking down at the sudden outrage. Without taking his eyes off the Russian, Vance reared back and threw a punch to Goliath's face that crushed or cracked every bone from his nose bridge to his jaw. A second punch in roughly the same spot sent a bone fragment back into the man's brain, and as he fell backward to crash upon the floor, his brain was already ceasing operation and his heart was a beat away from being just as worthless.

The crowd went suddenly quiet -- well, not entirely, but very noticeably not as it had been -- as the realization of what had transpired here hit them all. Then, with a growing volume, the fight enthusiasts began cheering again: "Vance...! Vance...! Vance...! Vance...!"

Vance wasn't interested in any fanfare, though. It hadn't gone unnoticed to him that Pavel had disappeared from Gregor's side. Vance scanned the main floor, the mezzanine, the second floor landing, and the third floor landing in less than six seconds without satisfaction.

Then, horror struck: the Stewarts were missing as well. Vance looked up to find a smiling Gregor disappearing back into the dark of the mezzanine. He rushed the Russian's direction, jumped onto the handrail of a staircase, and launched himself up and over the crowd, only half of which was paying enough attention to have noticed the beyond-human feat. Some of the Iron Club men on the mezzanine had noticed though: six of them pulled firearms or big knives, and three seconds later all six of them were either dead, dying, or incapacitated.

Vance continued into the dark hallway, taking out another gang member, then another before finding Gregor face to face with Pavel, who had Vance's Colt out and pressed to Johnathan's back. Vance was calculating an attack scenario, knowing that he might be able to get Gregor or Pavel or both ... but probably not before Johnathan was killed.

Then some more Iron Club gang members stepped into view ... holding guns to Lillian, Jenny, and Maxwell.

 

[SandS13]

Lillian was holding her breath as the fight began. All eyes were on the battle so none of the Stewart's were prepared when guns were pushed into their backs and hands led them away from their viewing perch.

Lillian wasn't surprised. She wondered how much a man with such a reputation could be trusted to keep a bargain.

Johnathan looked defeated just ahead of her. Maxwell walked with his arm in Jenny's holding her tight.

"How dare they. This won't stand. The nerve of them to-"

"Shut up Jenny." Johnathan's voice was tight.

She wanted to argue, lash out at her brother in law but Maxwell held her back by keeping her arm tightly engaged with his. "Now is not the time." It was all Maxwell had to say on the matter.

Johnathan was the first to see Vance. He shook his head slightly at the man as if to say it was no use. There was no stopping these men. They would always want something.

Jenny huddled against Maxwell's side, her eyes on Vance as they were pulled out for him to see. She wanted to make a deal but Maxwell's grip was his signal for her to be quiet.

Lillian was pale but her face did not give away what she was feeling. The gun on her wasn't steady as if the man were distracted by the rest of the events rather than her. He likely assumed she was not a threat.

Maxwell cleared his throat. "Surely we can settle this without guns."

Laughter was the reply.

"This has nothing to do with them. Let my brother, his wife and cousin go." Johnathan hoped he could at least bargain for them.

 

[DeadManTyping]

Johnathan's surrender to the situation didn't surprise Vance. The man's activities were, of course, the source of this mess. Vance could see that he was ready to give himself over to Gregor's punishment, looking to the crime boss as he said with hope...

"Surely we can settle this without guns."

Laughter from the Iron Club thugs was the reply. All except from Gregor. He was studying Vance with wide eyes, his mind probably filled with questions about how in the hell this man who'd nearly been beaten to death and -- a moment ago -- could hardly stand had made it past a half dozen or more of his men to now be here, in the back of The Red Russian, the safe center of Gregor's universe

Knowing that Gregor was thinking that or something close to it, and knowing that Pavel's mind would be coming across that same thought soon enough, Vance let his body begin to wobble a bit as he reached one hand to his bruised side and another to his face, pulling it back to look to the mess of blood now upon it.

He heard the ever valiant Johnathan continue...

"This has nothing to do with them. Let my brother, his wife and cousin go."

In a flash, Pavel lifted Vance's Colt high and brought it down upon Johnathan's skull. The strike hadn't been enough to knock him out or even disorient him, but it had caused a sharp and short cry to sneak from the man's mouth as his eyes began to water from the pain.

"Gregor, we had a deal," Vance said as he teetered in the direction of the gathering of people. "If I survived ... if I lived..."

He hesitated, looking to Lillian as he continued, "You made a lot of money betting on me tonight ... with your money and mine."

Vance wasn't about to mention the great sum of cash that Mister Bowers would profit from his last minute bet on the surely defeated new guy in Willow Springs. It would more than make up for what Vance had surrendered to Gregor earlier in the evening, and the two men would split it as appropriate some day in the near future.

Assuming Vance survived the post-fight violence that was certain to come.

Vance studied the Stewart Family members for a short moment, particularly Lillian. He caught her glancing down at one point to the gun being held on her. Or, not on her. The man who had his second hand grasping her by the elbow wasn't necessarily pointing his weapon at Lillian but was instead simply brandishing it.

He looked back to Gregor, whose expression was beginning to alter from shock at Vance's presence to homicidal rage about it. Someone was going to pay for what the fuck had happened and was happening in his House tonight.

"Our deal was..." Vance continued, knowing that he likely had only seconds before Gregor ordered people to be killed, "...was that you would make money ... you would forgive--"

"Deal no more," Gregor cut in.

He turned to give Pavel a knowing look, then turned again to suddenly disappear into a dark hallway. Vance knew it was probably the man's inner sanctum, and for Vance to get to Gregor now would mean first getting past Pavel and the other gang members, then getting past more gang members, then finding Gregor in what was likely a labyrinth of halls and stairs and rooms. Vance had dealt with such men in the past, and the way they survived as Gregor had -- aside from having an army of men surrounding them -- was to always have a way out of a sticky situation.

As Gregor's attention had been shifting to Pavel, Vance's had shifted back to the Stewarts and again back to Lillian. He caught her looking to him again, and surprisingly he found more confidence and strength in her expression than he did in either of her relatives. He looked to the gun that was and wasn't on her, widened his eyes, and nodded just barely perceptibly toward it. He fisted his own gun hand as if carrying his Colt, then grasped it with the other hand.

He couldn't be certain whether or not Lillian would understand that which he was suggesting. And even if she did understand, did she have the courage to do it? Vance wished he'd had more time to silently imply actions, but the horror was about to begin.

"Deal no more," Pavel quoted his boss, quickly raising the .45 away from Johnathan's side to point directly at Vance's head. "Time to pay your debts."

The hammer was back and all Pavel needed do was pull the trigger. And yet the fraction of a second necessary to do that wasn't enough. The gun fired, and the bullet flew true ... right to where Vance's head had been. Pavel's eyes opened in surprise to see his intended target off to one side ... and coming quickly at him!

As a shocked Johnathan simply watched in shock, Pavel pulled the hammer back again and -- with Vance only feet away -- pulled the trigger. Again, Vance leaned, though this time the bullet creased the skin of his temple enough that that side of his head -- until almost the only part of his skull not covered in blood -- would soon be flooded with red.

Vance snatched at the gun, twisting it in Pavel's hand. The man's finger broke neatly between two knuckles, causing yet another scream from an Iron Clubber. Vance ripped the gun from Pavel's hand as he simultaneously grasped the man and launched him into the darkness of the hallway down which Gregor had disappeared.

Mayhem broke loose in the hallway, with men and women both moving, either in attack or flight. There was no gunfire: it was all hand to hand fighting, deflecting, grasping, pushing, and more as the Iron Club men tried to contain their prisoners and the prisons either fought or fled.

More gang members had been coming down the halls from which the Stewarts or Vance had arrived, and Vance found himself fanning the Colt to gun four of them down, then throwing it with great ferocity at a final gunman to crack the front of his skull and drop him to the ground where he would eventually and slowly find death.

Then, as he turned to look in the direction of the Stewarts ... a gun went off.

 

[SandS13]

Jenny gasped as the man hit Johnathan with the gun. They were such brutes.

It was as Lillian had thought. There was no honour with these men. For a moment the hall was quiet with anticipation. One man, the man who seemed in charge, fled. Her eyes were on Vance though. He looked down quickly to the gun the man beside her held. He too noticed how he was distracted. She watched his hands move. It took a moment for her to understand what he was implying. He wanted her to grab the gun. She wondered if she could manage it. Her eyes moved around the hall. It was clear that no one else was in a situation to help.

One shot. Jenny screamed and Maxwell pushed her into a doorway. He pressed his body over hers to protect her. The shot, aimed at Vance’s head hit the wall.

It was in that moment that Lillian reached for the gun. The man beside her was shocked to feel her attempt to wrestle the weapon from his hand. For a moment it gave her an advantage. She managed to twist it away, out of his grip but he came to his senses and began to wrestle it back from her.

As Lillian struggled with the man there was chaos in the hallway.

Eventually Johnathan was able to force himself to move. He darted to where Maxwell and Jenny were. He tried to get them down the hall but figures got in the way. Maxwell grappled with one man as Jenny tried to help, smacking at him.

Gunshots went off and gang members fell. Soon most had gone running leaving bodies, three Stewart’s and Vance in the hallway.

As her cousins fought Lillian was struggling with the man. He managed to lift the gun so it was between them and she used both of her hands to keep it aimed upwards as they struggled for control. He sneered at her. Lillian brought up a knee and despite the layers of her skirt she made contact with his thigh.

It was enough. She felt his grip loosen a little and her hands wrapped around the hilt and trigger. He noticed but it was too late. In a half panic Lillian tilted the barrel at him and fired the gun.The force pushed her backwards into the wall that she was, thankfully already pressed against.

She jumped, splattered with his blood and tissue. He fell to her feet and she stood there completely shocked.

Jenny screamed and started to faint, though she was being far more dramatic than was necessary. Maxwell held her up.

Johnathan put a hand to his head. “We need to get out of here.”

 

[DeadManTyping]

Vance had seen a great deal of death in his centuries of life ... or, more accurately, after-life; and a great deal of that death he'd caused himself; and great deal of that death had been bloody, brutal, and shocking.

But Lillian hadn't. And the shocked on her face verified that to Vance.

The man had been packing a Colt Army Model 1860, the same type gun Johnathan had been shooting out back of the Stewart ranch house that first day Vance visited. The .44 caliber bullet had penetrated his neck just above his Adam's Apple, moving upwards at almost 1000 feet a second through the bottom of his skull and into his brain, where it split into several pieces and where the force of the bullet had no where to go but outward.

So, essentially, before the sound of the explosion of the paper-wrapped round had reached Lillian's ears, the blood and other softer body fluids and tissues of the man's brain and face were already splattering upon her clothes and face.

Vance studied her for just an instant -- he wanted to hurry to her with haste -- but then instead surveyed their surroundings instead. The Iron Club members who'd responded to the incident in the hall were either all dead, incapacitated, or gone. Pavel was gone as well: Vance had seen him rush off down the hall after Gregor, followed by two of his men. Vance could have gone after either of the Russians, but -- right now! -- his only concern was Lillian. Oh, and the other Stewarts, too.

He stepped over in front of Lillian, blocking her view of the mutilated head of the man she'd kille and taking the gun from her at the same time, which he stuffed into the waist of his pants at the small of his back. He grasped Lillian's face in both hands and forced her to look at him.

"Your safe! It's over!" he reassured her aloud while at the same time he was using Dream in an attempt to help support his assurances to her. "You're safe! With me!

Vance knew he couldn't make the last seconds or minutes fade wholly from Lillian's memory: his ability wasn't that powerful, particularly on a person as intelligent and sharp as Lillian Stewart. But all Vance really wanted right now was to prevent her from shutting down in shock and becoming totally worthless in what he knew they had to do now: escape!

Johnathan was feeling and thinking the same thing and told them all...

“We need to get out of here.”

Vance spoke quietly to Lillian for another short moment, using voice and thought, but at the continued urgings from her brother-in-law, Vance grasped her by a hand and turned toward the hall through which the Stewarts had arrived.

"Follow me! Keep close!" he told them as he hurried back the way they'd come. He leaned to snatch his empty pistol from the ground, noting the smear of blood from the nearly dead man's face. They almost immediately came upon a pair of Iron Clubbers, who Vance took out with punches and kicks. One of the men fell from backwards over the railing onto the crowd below. He glanced back to the Stewarts, ensuring all were still with him and repeated, "Keep close! I'll get you out of here!"

And he did.

In less than a minute, they'd found an outside door, descended a stair case, and headed off through the dispersing fight crowd which -- knowing that Vance's fight was surely the final one of the evening -- had begun flooding out the doors and into the streets. Vance had still been clasping Lillian's hand tightly, but when they collided with some pedestrians and Lillian stumbled to the ground, he easily scooped her up into arms and continued hurrying through the streets as if she weighed little more than a week old lamb.

They arrived at the carriage, and without any instructions from Vance, the other three began boarding immediately. Vance lowered Lillian to her feet and held her hands in his as he looked into her eyes.

"Get home to the ranch, now!" he told her, his tone a combination of demand and concern. He wanted so badly to embrace her somehow, to reassure her that all was well. But he was still practically a stranger to her, and she was still a respectable woman in mourning. He squeezed her hands tighter and finished, "Stay there until I come to find you. Stay there, Lilly. I'll come to you. I promise!"

 

[SandS13]

Her ears were ringing. Her face was wet. Something slipped down along her neck. She made no noise, too stunned from what had happened.

There was someone in front of her, the gun was taken from her hands. Hands took her face and for a moment she couldn’t focus, the world felt like everything was happening through cotton.

Then the world cleared out and Vance’s face came into focus. He was talking to her. She was safe, he was there with her.

Maxwell made Jenny straighten up and the pair joined Johnathan as they tried to leave. “Let’s go!” The three took off but were passed by Vance who was pulling Lillian along behind him.

It was good that they followed him. Others came out and Vance stopped the obstacles before it became and issue. They were outside, down stairs and through the crowd. Some paused seeing the bloody pair that led the group. Others paid them no mind at all.

Lillian felt someone hit her and she fell. Quickly she was in Vance’s arms. He was carrying her as he had after the incident at the ranch.

Johnathan, Maxwell and Jenny were in self preservation mode. All three were in the carriage and ready to go before looking back to see Vance carrying Lillian. Jenny was wiping her face, Maxwell was holding her close. Johnathan was tending to his head.

She nodded slowly but didn’t really register what he was saying. All she could focus on was his eyes.
Could smell the blood and death on her body. For a moment she didn’t know what to do but she nodded again and started to back up to the carriage. It was like she was in another world without him.

“Get in! We have to go!” Maxwell’s voice broke the fog. “Jenny needs to get home, she is faint.”

Lillian moved away from Vance and climbed into the carriage. The carriage moved away and Lillian stared out at Vance.

“I think we should get Lillian cleaned up before we let her into the ranch. There will be too many questions.” Johnathan looked at his cousin, covered in a dead man’s blood.

Maxwell sighed. “We can leave her at Cottage House, she can clean up there.”

“And clothes? What about that?” Johnathan was irked at his younger brother.

“We will figure something out.” Maxwell quipped back.

They rode back to the ranch. In the end Johnathan won out and Lillian was snuck into the house and upstairs without waking anyone. They did get Tilly though who helped the woman change, bathe and get into her nightdress.

She brushed Lillian’s hair before leaving her.

Johnathan had his wound tended to. Maxwell and Jenny headed off to bed. No one spoke to each other.

Lillian stood and stared out her window. She needed to see Vance. She needed to know he was back and alright.

 

[DeadManTyping]

(OOC: Skipping what happened in town. Will flash back to it. On my phone with only 10 minutes to write.)

“Lillian.”

The word was spoken so softly -- not in whisper but close -- that the woman at the window might have thought she was only imagining Vance’s voice. But she did turn to find him standing in the open door of her bedroom.

Over an hour had passed between when Lillian had first stepped up to the glass to look for Vance and when he finally arrived at the ranch. He’d slipped into the house and up the stairs so quietly that the dogs hadn’t even detected him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, taking just a single step into her room. “Are you hurt?”

Despite all that had happened to and between them, his being here in her room was still considered improper, so he waited for an indication from her as to whether he should enter further.

He hadn’t cleaned up between the fight’s end and now. His face and neck were dark with dried blood, left there to cover the fact that most of his cuts and bruises were already beginning to heal. He would need to feed to make all the damage disappear, but right now he wanted Lillian to believe him hurt … to believe him a normal human being.

A shirt he’d gotten through interesting means hid most of the already repaired damage, where the four men -- well, three actually -- had beat his so intensely that he’d suffered bruises over his entire torso, as well as four broken ribs.

 

[SandS13]

She thought she was hearing things. Her name drifting softly to her ears. Out of habit she looked around though she knew she would not find him. She hadn’t seen him ride up the road in the distance or to the ranch. Lillian had no reason to expect him to be here, now.

Vance stood in her doorway. For a moment she thought this too was trick of her mind. Then he stepped in, just a single step into her room as he asked if she was okay.

She was bathed, changed. He had dried blood on his face and neck. Yet Vance was asking if she was okay.

Lillian ran to him. Her arms moving around his middle and her face pressed into his chest. Tears fell silently onto his shirt. She tried not to hug him too tightly, fearing he might have damage to his body.

“You are here.”

She looked up at him before pulling him gently into her room. Lillian glanced into the hall, saw no one and closed her door behind her. She didn’t want anyone to know he was here. It wasn’t proper but she was damned if she was going to let him walk out of here until she knew for certain he was alright.

Lillian turned. “Here, the pitcher has water for you to wash up. How badly are you hurt?”

She moved to the dressing table to the pitcher and bowl that sat there. Its purpose was for her to use in the morning to wash her face but it didn’t matter now. She moved them for him to use but then quickly was at his side.

She wasn’t ready to pretend he was just washing dust off. Her arms went around him again and she pressed herself against him. “I was scared. I have never- And you were beaten up- And the guns were so loud- "

Words were failing her. She didn't know how to explain that she thought he was going to die and the idea of him not being in her life was devastating.

 

[DeadManTyping]

An hour earlier:

Vance watched the Stewart coach hurry away down Territorial Road. There was movement all about him in the streets: most of it was the expected dispersal of fight fans heading for their homes or for the town's saloons, brothels, and other sinful dens of inequity; but some of it was non-fight related, just the typical night time wanderings of people not ready to call an end to the day.

Aware of everything around him whether by sight, sound, or smell, Vance realized that there was one thing missing that he would have expected on the streets of Willow Springs after dark and, particularly, after a fight at which there had been a constant flashing of coin and paper money: the Iron Club Gang thugs who typically would be following and subsequently mugging a handful of fight attendees who'd made out well were totally absent from the streets.

Vance knew where they were, of course: inside The Red Russian, protecting Gregor. With haste, the fight's victor headed away from hotel within which he'd gotten himself pummeled prior to dispatching his opponents, and didn't slow down until he was at the back door of Willow Spring's Office of the Territorial Marshall.

He checked the door, finding it expectedly locked. With a bit of skillfully applied force, Vance quietly opened it and headed inside. There was no one around, which again was expected. The Marshall had been enjoying the fight from the second deck railing, almost directly above the Stewarts, with a bosomy whore on one arm. Right now, his cock was likely balls deep inside one of the woman's holes in The Red Russian's brothel.

Vance had seen the lawman in one of the more upper scale restaurants on his first day in Willow Springs, and despite having never gotten closer to the man than 25 feet, Vance had seen what the man carried on his hip. Now, in the Marshall's office, Vance easily found that for which he was looking: a backup Colt Peacemaker in a holster slung over the back of a chair and a shelving drawer filled with boxes of .45 caliber ammunition.

Vance slung the holster around his waist, swapped the guns so that his own was strapped across his waist, then stuck the second Peacemaker at the small of his back. The feel of the cold steel against his skin reminded Vance that he was still walking about town in nothing but his pants, now blooded and ripped all about one leg. He looked about the office for something to wear and found a closet full of clothes. But as he feared after remembering that the Marshall was six inches shorter than him and at least 60 pounds lighter, nothing of the lawman's was going to fit him.

Then Vance turned at the sounds of snoring that, until now, he'd been ignoring. Ten minutes later, Vance headed back out the office's back door, fully dressed though seriously smelling of old whiskey, while behind him in the jail cell the Marshall's prisoner lay there still passed out, unaware that he was now wearing nothing but his long underwear.

Vance made his way through the streets and back alleys until he was looking at The Red Russian. As he'd expected, the place was defended like a European castle during wartime. There were men on the packed dirt streets, the perimeter boardwalk, the roof, and in the windows. Vance counted at least 15 but he knew there would be at least that many more either outside and unseen or inside awaiting him.



Inside The Red Russian:

Gregor was no idiot. He'd presumed Vance would strike back for the betrayal he'd committed. This night was not over, and -- despite not showing it to the men around him -- Gregor was actually truly concerned about whether or not he would see another dawn.

He had two safe rooms in his headquarters: the 4th floor and the basement.

The 4th floor was Gregor's home, per se. Almost three quarters of the floor was occupied by his quarters: bedroom, lounge, office, foyer (for greeting the few who'd ever been up that high in the building) and more. It had been renovated after he'd taken over the building, such that the 5 of the 8 rooms -- previously for nightly or short term rent to mostly upper class travelers on their way to or from California and Texas -- were now just one big home for the crime boss. Of the other rooms, 2 were Pavel's and the last was what amounted to an armory.

But it was in the other safe room that Gregor was now hiding. There weren't a great many men in Willow Springs -- in Arizona or anywhere in the Southwest -- who would come after Gregor in the way he feared this stranger who'd beaten, disabled, or killed so many tonight might. Fire was one of the greatest fears Gregor had, and the last thing he wanted was to be in the top of a wooden building when this madman from out of town returned with a torch in his hand to eradicate Gregor from Willow Springs and from life itself.

The basement had a tunnel that passed under the roads and connected it to saloon to the west and the store to the east, both of which Gregor owned. If necessary, the Iron Club's founder and leader could flee to safety while his men on the street and in The Red Russian fought off this seemingly invisible man.

Even down here in the basement, Gregor heard the fire fight begin above. There was a single shot, then some return fire. He could hear frightened people running away, their screams and calls to others fading away until there was nothing more from them. Occasionally, a single weapon would fire a number of shots. To Gregor it sounded like the Colt Model 1873 Peacemaker that he himself had now on his own hip. The shots would be followed by his own men's shooting, seemingly from all around the hotel. And then there would be silence.

Six more rounds of pistol fire answered by pistols and rifles covered the next half hour or so before there was a long silence, followed by a coded knock at the basement door. One of the men opened to Pavel's sign, and Gregor's right hand man entered with a concerned look on his face. Pavel gestured the men guarding their boss out of the room, waiting until they were all cleared before turning back to Gregor.

"He's out there," Pavel said, speaking obviously about the victorious fighter who had been willing to give his life for that insignificant gambler and his ranching family. When Gregor only stared with wide, fearful eyes at his oldest still living friend, Pavel added, "He's waiting ... in the street ... for you. He wants to talk to you ... you alone."

"He think me crazy?" Gregor asked, beginning to pace the large, dark, open room. He looked to Pavel. "He gun me down in street."

"He says he won't," Pavel said.

Gregor hollered back at his friend, "And you belief?"

Pavel hesitated before he added a fact Gregor couldn't know. "They're all dead."

Gregor heard the words but they didn't register as his fear and panic occupied his thoughts. Then, looking to Pavel, he asked, "What you say?"

"They're all dead," the second-in-charge repeated. "Our men. He's killed them. Rest, they leave. Flee."

"Cowards," Gregor mumbled, forgetting that fact that he was hiding in a dirt floor basement of a building with flight tunnels to other locations. He paced to and fro for a long moment before finally looking to Pavel. "You go second floor. Bedroom on end. You know? You wait me get him into street. Then..."

Pavel knew the room. And he knew the reason for which Gregor was speaking of it. He nodded, snatched up one of the Henry rifles leaning against the wall, turned and headed off toward the destination that would give him the best shot at the fighter in the street.

Gregor waited a moment, trying to screw up his courage. He checked the Colt on his hip, grabbed a second Colt Army after finding it ready for use, drew and exhaled several deep breaths ... then headed for the first floor and The Red Russian's main entrance. He hesitated just inside the open doors, surveying what he could see of the street.

Vance was already there. The fighter -- now cleanly dressed but dark about his face from dried blood -- stood casually in the middle of the intersection of the cobblestone paved Territorial Road and Railroad Drive. He seemed to have not a care in the world. Gregor watched the man for a long moment, giving Pavel time to get to the second floor sniper's nest. Then, with his left hand -- trembling -- gripping the Army tightly and the right hand -- also with a tremor -- resting upon the handle of the Peacemaker, he made his way slowly out onto the porch of The Red Russian where he hoped to momentarily see the object of his fear gunned down.

(OOC: Response to your post above coming on my lunch in 3 hours. )