Bloody Sun Rising (IC)

[AmenRa]

McCoy

Her smile was soft, making her eyes glitter in the dim light of the cabin. "John McCoy. You call me Red Deer." Dyani tilted the kettle carefully, filling the cup with the fragrant, steaming tea, and handed him the cup, their fingers brushing. A tingle burned in her hand at the meeting of skin to skin, her energy and his mingling, tasting each other's tenor.

McCoy smiled at her as she passed him the cup. He took the cup from her, and he felt the slightest of her touch. He stared into the cup for a long moment, allowing the aroma to pass into him, as was taught him so long ago. He continued his smile for a minute longer, relishing the feeling she left when her finger had touched his. Presently, he looked up at her.

Her eyes searched his. "To do a thing like that..." her voice also had fallen to a whisper. The quiet of the cabin, the subject matter seemed to demand it. "you are good man, John McCoy."

He slowly shook his head. "It's just a job," he told her. Then he thought for a moment as he gazed into her eyes. "No, that's not true," he admitted. She seemed to know him already, and she would see that the facade of the tougher than nails undead bounty hunter was just that....a facade. Sure, yeah, he was tough. He was quick, powerful, good with any weapon or with his hands. But, making money wasn't the real reason he did what he did. She probably knew that. "It's the right thing to do. I believe that, Red Deer. After living with my parents in Europe, and seeing what these things do to people, I believe it is the right thing to do."

She blew across the rim of the cup, her breath carrying the steam away in whorls. She sipped, as if steeling herself.

"Yes...yes, I will help you."

She set the cup down, and touched his arm and once again feeling the tingle of contact. She smiled, breaking the tension.

"We cannot do this on empty stomach. Supper will be ready soon."

"Thank you," he said as she touched him again. He reached for her hand, then he stopped as she smiled, and he smiled a half-smile back at her. "And that's a good thing, then, because I'm hungry."

He would eat with her, and when that was finished, he planned to collect a few silver nuggets from his belongings at Opal's and give them to the gunsmith. He carried twenty-four of the .44/40 rounds in his belt, and five in his revolver (always kept an empty chamber lest a tussle or fall forced the hammer's firing pin into a live round's primer), but he had a feeling he would need more.

 

[Avellan13]

Pavel Millers Jackson

The group reached their destination outside of an establishment called, "The New Hope Saloon" They dismounted and tied up their horses to a nearby post. Pavel sighed and looked at the building. He hadn't been inside of the building before, despite the fact that he had been around the town for a while now.

While the others of his group wandered around to do their various tasks, Pavel opened the doors and walked inside.

 

[AmenRa]

The sun dipped low in the horizon, casting the sky red above the distant mountains.

The Native Americans called it "the bloody sun".

If it arose the next day with the sky as red, blood had been spilled the night before.

So it would be this night, as the sun slipped into dusk and the lights of the town came on as lanterns and lamps.

The smells of evening meals cooking wafted through the small houses in and around New Hope. On the outskirts, at MacFarlane's Ranch, the cowhands finished moving the cattle from pasture to the corrals, and they themselves longed for an evening meal.

And, in the woods just above MacFarlanes, in the very foothills of the mountains, there sat the mouth of an old, abandoned mine, one that had played out long ago in the first days of New Hope. And, in this mine, sensing the setting of the sun, something stirred.

 

[satindesire]

Distant knocking. Was it real? The dream held her fast, not wanting to let her push through to the other side. Pounding, louder.

The door.

"Red Deer! RED DEER! PLEASE!" Someone was calling, voice ragged, frightened. Pounding on the door. She sat bolt upright out of the bed, sweat droplets cold as they trailed down her skin. She reached for a robe, one of her few nods to Western fashion, pulling it on as she ran through the darkness of her cabin.

"Coming! I coming!" She cried, but the words were lost under the frantic beat of terrified hands on the door.

"RED DEER!" She managed the chain lock and yanked the cabin door open, not knowing what to expect.

Dwayne Carpenter stood there, his breath coming in shallow gasps, covered from head to foot in gleaming crimson blood.

"Oh no..." She said, pulling him in by his arm. His sleeve was sticky, thick and wet. Thankfully it was dark, the dimness washed some of the color and vividness out of the horrible sight, making it easier to digest. In daylight, it would have been unbearable to look at.

"My...my son..." he stuttered, shaking like a defeathered sparrow. He was stiff and unresponsive, so she physically manhandled him down onto the chair. The blood would stain the cushion, but stains be damned...this man needed help.

"My son...! I...I don't..." Dyani shushed him, lighting an oil lamp and turning it's flame onto high. The soft golden light pushed the shadows of the cabin back like a hand, illuminating the concerned planes of her face.

"Tell me what happen. Slow. I help you, yes? You trust me, okay?" She crouched down in front of him, modesty be damned, putting a comforting hand on his knee.

She needed John. He should be here for this.

 

[AmenRa]

McCoy

After leaving dinner with Red Deer, McCoy had gone back to the livery behind Opal's and brushed out Shadow. This had taken longer than he usual, because his mind, his thoughts, kept wandering to her.

Her eyes. Her dark hair. Her mouth. Her smile.

She hadn't given him the herbs he needed, yet, but she would. She said she would, and he trusted her. Odd, that. He didn't hand out trust very easily, but for some reason he found himself trusting her. And, there was that fellow he met at Cogburn's earlier, too, Mr. Jackson. For some reason, John thought maybe he could trust him, too.

McCoy was able to get by Chandler's just before the gunsmith had bolted his door. When John dropped off the silver nuggets from his saddle bag, Mr. Chandler had raised an eyebrow, but took the nuggets and said he would make the bullets. Cailbers .44/40 and .45/70, John had ordered. They would be ready tomorrow afternoon.

The horse knew John McCoy's thoughts wandered, and several times during the brushing Shadow sought to step on John's booted feet.

After the brushing, John went upstairs to his room. He prepared for bed, but prior to laying down, he removed the items in his saddle bag and checked each one.

Small vials of holy water. Sharpened stakes made of ash, their tips hardened by flame. A few cloves of crushed garlic, but he would need more. And, about 30 rounds of silver bullets for his revolver and Winchester rifle.

It wouldn't be enough.