Character Creation Contest #24

I've been telling myself that if I ever won one of these contests again, I was going to do vampires, because we haven't officially covered them yet, and I thought it would be cool to get it out of the way. But along came the last contest, wanting a P.I. Horror story, and the vampire I'd had in mind just happened to be a P.I., so it fit too perfectly for that request. So you don't get vampires this time. Instead, you get the...

And a gunfighter needs a foe, right? So...

We can never play this straight though, right? Why should this be any exception? So...

Yeah, I could have given you much cooler pictures for something Weird West, but I didn't want to fixate anyone (me) on the picture given. If you're not sure what Weird West is, do a Google search and check out the wikipedia entry.

No word limit.

The only rules are:

• The Gunfighter!
• The Villain!
• It has to be Weird West!
• It has to be ALL ORIGINAL!
• NAME YOUR CHARACTERS!

The time is currently 7:07am GMT, March 19th. The deadline is April 2nd (no April foolin'), 8am GMT.

If you need to check the GMT, do a Google search for "what is gmt now," and it'll pop right up.

I hope you folks like it, and I hope to see some cool stuff. See you in two weeks. -cb

@the_poet or @razzatazz, can you please pin this and unpin the CCC 23 voting thread? Thanks. -cb

Cool. :-)

@impurestcheese: Let's hope it brings entries. :}

A fistful of good, bad & ugly dynamite!

@4donkeyjohnson: Does that mean you'll be entering?

A Western....okay. Where did I put my Sergio Leone music?

Did somebody say "Music to write by?" :)

How about this' :-) Uber Tense

Yes I've gone insane but don't worry have MRI next week on Thursday

@impurestcheese: You really come out of left field sometimes. :/

@cbishop: Well try counting thousands of these for five days

@impurestcheese: Okay, tell us about it in one of your blogs. :) ...I am curious how you know you're not counting the same bird more than once.

@cbishop: That's the point they won't stay still and then whenever I go outside they start chasing me. One, Two hell even fifteen I could beat in a fight not the 482 my notes say there is. Also the guy shooting his gun in the next field is not helping

Wikipedia tells me 'Weird West' is another genre crossed with western. I'll probably be doing occultism crossed with western using @cbishops great music of course as my backing track

What fortuitous circumstance be this?? A large portion of North America in in my Earth 27 is west-y.

@wildvine: As long as your Earth 27 is all original - i.e. no Marvel, DC etc. - it is fortuitous indeed.

@cbishop: Here you go

Santo Barker

“I’ve been to Hollow Mountain, Tiny Town, Tombstone and Gallowwalker County,” declared the man at the bar loudly “And I aint never seen a town full of pitiful drunken inbred scum than you lot!”

The piano player in the corner abruptly stopped and the Trigun Taverna went quiet. All eyes turned to the man with long black hair in his brown coat who smoked at the bar. He looked around for any credible threat but there was none. He puckered his lips and spat a glob of saliva onto the floor.

“That’s what I thought.” He spun and slapped a hand on the bar “Bar keep!”

The pudgy man with the bow tie and the chequered rag glided down the bar like he was on wheels, which he was being a cyborg from the waist down. “Yessir?”

“Tequila!”

The bartender pulled up a bottle, spun it for effect and placed it down in front of him “How many glasses?”

The man sneered “You think I’m gonna share that?” He threw a handful of gold bitcoins onto the bar as he snatched up the bottle yanking the cork out with his teeth spitting it with great accuracy onto a table where they were playing cards before he’d started flapping his gums.

“Deal me in!”

Slowly the tavern resumed normal noise and the piano player cranked out a lively tune.

“It’s five card sabbac,” said the dealer as he shuffled the seventy-six cards between his cybernetic fingers at blinding speed. “Closes…”

“I know how to play you varmint!” he snarled as he threw into the pot in the middle and took a swig from his bottle.

“My name is Br…” The gun was out of the holster and jammed into the players mouth at light speed

“Didn’t ask!” Smiled the man looking deep into the player on his lefts eyes “Don’t care neither! Only words I want to hear from any of you nerf herders is call, shift, draw, fold or sabbac. Y’hear?”

The player whimpered yes with a mouthful of cold steel and the other five players grunted in agreement. The dealer flicked out the cards and the game began.

**

Joe Manco-Blondie got off his horse at the edge of town. It was just what he did, as he’d been told by Sister Sara at the orphanage where he grew up, a man walks into town. Now parts of him weren’t quite human anymore, and he’d done things that would take something demonic to think them up but he always walked into town.

“Come on Coogan.” He tugged the reins and led his pale horse, the corpses of six headless cannibals slung over its back. Wasn’t a good day but the bounty should pay for a few drinks at Trigun.

The sound of glass breaking followed by gunfire as a man flew out of the Taverna window, followed by another man firing shot after shot into him, finally bringing down the jetpacking fugitive.

“CALL ME A CHEAT WILL YA!” Several more rounds went into the man.

Joe shook his head as he approached the scene.

“What you looking at?” snarled the man.

Joe stopped. “Are you talking to me?”

“Nobody else out here, ya damn fool!”

Joe looked at the man noting his choice of weapon; a DL-44 heavy blaster. “Son…calling me names will only get yourself killed.”

“I aint your son!” growled the man as he moved towards Joe “I got a prick of a father already!”

Joe’s hand shot up and smashed the man’s nose across his face. He quickly grabbed the weapon hand as he kicked the feet out from under him. In an eye blink the man was looking up at his own weapon.

“Name!” said Joe as he cocked the blaster.

“Richard.” Panted the man “Richard Lansdale”

Joe lowered the blaster “You’re Joe Lansdale’s son?”

The man smiled “Yup. You wait til I tell my father about this.”

BLAM!

“He might be waiting awhile.” Joe tossed the pistol onto the corpse of Richard, a large bore hole through his forehead leaking blood and brains into the dirt and manure. Joe tugged on Coogan’s reins and headed towards the sheriff’s office.

**

Joe Manco-Blondie looked at the sheriff in disbelief “Three hundred?”

“Word came in from Sirius that the price on cannibals is now fifty bits, effective as of yesterday,” said Sheriff Gladewater as he rocked in his pleather rocker, feet on the desk. “Sorry Joe.”

Joe shook his head “Hardly worth the effort.”

“But still a great service,” said Gladewater as he tossed a sack to Joe “Now I heard some shots and terse words in the street…”

“Lansdale’s boy mouthed off at me,” replied Joe weight the sack in his hand “Put him in his rightful place?”

Sheriff Gladewater nearly fell out of his chair “You didn’t?!?”

Joe nodded “Warned him, but you know the Lansdale’s.”

“JOE! ARE YOU MAD? JOE LANSDALE OWNS MOST EVERYTHING AROUND HERE!”

“Then he’ll have somewhere to bury his kid.” Joe tipped his hat and left.

**

“Richard done got himself killed”

“WHAT?” roared Joe Lansdale with a mouthful of spaghetti as he sat with his gang of brigands in the valley of Gwangi. He looked at the young cyber-apache who relayed the news. “Where?”

“Santo Barker”

Joe tossed his plate into the fire as he stood, his gang following suit. He wiped his mouth and then slapped it on the back of the young man who told him the news. “You’ve done well son. What is your name?”

“It’s…”

“IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT YOUR NAME IS!” screamed Joe as he grabbed the boy with his hands and snapped his neck with a sickening crack. The cyber-apache lay convulsing on the ground, incapacitated but not dead. “I hate bad news.”

“What shall we do with him boss?” asked Guapo, Lansdale’s right hand hybrid lizardman.

“Maybe a stir fry,” suggested Lansdale.

**

“You can’t leave!” pleaded Sheriff Gladewater “You caused the mess, you clean it up!”

“It’s been three days,” said Joe as he walked towards the edge of town, Coogan in tow. “If Lansdale actually cared about…” Joe stopped as he saw a cloud on the horizon heading their way “Speak of the devil. Sheriff, best you make tracks.”

**

Joe Lansdale and his Sundowners rode into Santo Barker like a tornado. Guns blazing, yelling and screaming.

“YOU FIND ME THAT SON OF A MOTHERLESS GOAT WHO KILLED MY BOY!” bellowed Lansdale as his horse reared “BURN THIS TURD CAMP TO THE GROUND IF YOU HAVE TOO!”

“You looking for me?”

Lansdale turned his horse to the voice to see Joe Manco-Blondie standing in the street, poncho flapping in the breeze.

“You killed my son.”

“Your son called me names, disrespected me. Warned him, like I’ll warn you; calling me names will get you killed.”

“Is that so?” remarked Lansdale “Sundowners! Kills this yellow bellied mother f...”

BLAM!

Lansdale’ head exploded. Joe blew the smoke off the end of the barrel. “Warned you. Now, I got no quarrel with any of you…yet.”

The shocked group of thieves and bandits didn’t know what to do. Guapo drew his gun “KILL HIM! KILL HIM DEAD!”

Bullets and lasers erupted at Joe who calmly stood there. After a solid minute of certain death they stopped firing. Joe looked at all of them, sneered and pulled his poncho aside.

“A McGrew force field generator!” gasped Guapo looking at the bulky contraption strapped to the gunfighter.

Joe nodded in acknowledgement and returned fire. Each shot was deadly. An eye exploding here, jugular puncture there. And when he rang out of bullets he drew his second pistol and fired left handed until that was empty too. The main street of Santo Barker resembled an abattoir. Joe surveyed the scene making sure they were all dead before holstering his guns. Sheriff Gladewater emerged from his hiding hole to survey the scene.

“I quit!” he plucked the badge off his shirt and thrust it towards Joe. Joe eyed the badge and pushed it back towards the nervous sheriff.

“I aint no lawman. I’m a gunfighter who don’t take to name calling is all.” And with that he unclipped the generator cords that led to Coogan who carried the force field battery and headed towards the Taverna.

“Sonofabitch!” muttered Gladewater kicking the dirt.

CLICK!

Gladewater looked up to see Joe pointing a gun right at him. The Sheriff gulped as a puddle appeared in the front of his white pants.

“Hope that wasn’t directed at me Sheriff.”

The end

Notes:

@batkevin74: Great story and fantastic first entry. Sabbac and the DL-44 are flirting with the "all original" rule though. I wonder if the card game was reference to the Marvel Family villain?

Its totes original boss.

@batkevin74 love it!

@wildvine: Hmm is it now. Why did it have to be a westen, the only one I've seen is Maverick. :-). Also forgot to mention Villain's Tale #11 is missing from the library as well.

I dunno, just the way I imagined it.

@wildvine: Cool Beans

I've really got to learn what "totes" means and where it came from. (It sucks getting old and out of the pop culture loop)

@cbishop:

@cbishop: If I hadn't included it in the notes, nobody would've even known. Besides nothing is original, just my spin on a thing that has been done over and over again in different guises.

And I'm totes devo you don't know what totes means! OMG you make me awk LOL :)

@batkevin74: That might be so, but you did include it in the notes. I recognized the blaster though. ;)

@wildvine: Thanks.

@cbishop: Well the entire story is a Weird Western homage, good blaster spotting though :)

@batkevin74: Bah he speaks in tongues. On holiday today (Oestra) so will start on mine in between eating choclate

@cbishop@batkevin74@impurestcheese@wildvine@4donkeyjohnson

Xeno

Xeno wandered through the ranch with his trademark look of silent arrogance. It was a look he perfected long ago to go with his character. smug, confident, smart. Xeno.

His long black cloak billowed with every step he took giving the illusion that he was bigger than he really was. The red cross fastened around his neck could suggest many things, perhaps he was religious? Or perhaps the red signified that he opposed religion? The effect was just what Xeno wanted; yet more mystique to shroud around his person. No definite answer made him seem even more frightening.

He was recovering from the malicious adrenaline that had seconds ago surged through his body. He enjoyed the fleeting moments of elation, it reinforced the idea he could do anything. It kept his passion alive.

He felt no guilt in the fact that he was far too calm to say he had just killed twenty men, the type of calm only a self titled psychopath could be. Xeno had no illusions about his mental state in fact he welcomed the title of psycho it gave him a sense of horror and above all it made people afraid. Very afraid.

Xeno sniffed at the stench that lingered in the air. Contrary to popular belief he didn’t enjoy the smell of corpses in fact it repelled him like everyone else. He encouraged the rumors nevertheless, it wasn’t in his ethos to be viewed as normal. It never was, and it never will be.

The scene around him was another matter, he truly did enjoy that. The horror stricken looks on the faces of the redneck cowboys delighted Xeno like a small child at Christmas. He enjoyed the way the bodies were bent unnaturally out of shape and skewed around as if they had been mashed together and then hastily reassembled. He loved the way black blood slowly trickled of the bar and tables to form small puddles in the cracks of the floor panels. He found real beauty in the way the furniture was completely destroyed and dotted all over the room as if an invisible hand had swept it aside with a flick of its wrist. These were the sort of things Xeno enjoyed. Creating chaotic scenes was one of his favourite pastimes.

He’d been lingering on the scene of his massacre for at least fifteen minutes lost in the beauty of destruction when his train of thought was abruptly shattered by the saloon doors being rudely kicked open. Xeno’s face became a mask of fury, he hated being interrupted; especially by gunfighters. Xeno despised the idea of guns, they were in his eyes a very boring unimaginative way to kill a man. What Xeno lacked in morality he made up for in imagination.

“Get out of there now or I’ll shoot, you filthy charlatan!” Screamed the angry cowboy.

“My dear boy, where are your manners, if you aim to kill me, challenge me to a duel. to shoot me in the back would be a cowardly way to kill a charlatan. For surely a charlatan has no real powers and therefore you have nothing to fear?” Xeno spoke in his quiet British tone putting contempt into into every word.

“You’ll do as I ask you, come out with your hands up!” His stupid southern american accent had a slight quaver to it which led Xeno to believe the cowboy doubted whether he was really devoid of power.

“Ah you see I have no intention of going anywhere with you and I am fine with where my hands currently are. Your only alternative is to overpower me, and drag me to your petty sheriff I urge you try” Xeno crowed, injecting all the mocking he could muster into his voice.

"I'm not gonna drag you; you're gonna come willingly" stuttered the vagabond in a last ditch attempt at intimidation.

"My dear boy, I grow tired of this game; you know as well as I do that I am not going to come with you unless the ocean dries up. So why must we entertain the notion at all?" Xeno enjoyed toying with the simple folk. He liked to watch their outer exterior crumble like bread. It was like tearing down a boring work of art.

"Look...maybe I'm not gonna do anything, but if Cassidy comes down here you're dead meat, so I suggest you leave now!" Xeno was not afraid of any cowboy this attempt at scaring him failed dismally. The boy seemed to know it.

"Look here, the whole town is gonna blow you apart if you don't leave now" blurted out the scared youth.

"Oh you underestimate my abilities" smirked Xeno.

"What the hell is wrong with you! Do you seriously think you can win a hundred to one fight when we've got guns and you're unarmed?" The cowboy was not only frightened, he was now perplexed.

"Oh my dear boy" whispered Xeno "I'm anything but unarmed"

"What-"

A blinding flash of light illuminated the saloon for a split second coupled with a deafening bang and the sound of the late cowboy's screams. Tables flew through the air to land twenty meters away with a crunch. And the saloon doors blew away to crash through the opposite buildings windows. The thatched roof tore away from the walls of the complex and toppled backwards into the beer garden. The walls caved inwards demolishing any evidence of a bar. The bear bottles smashed on the floor providing fuel for a fire that had sprung up on one of the corpses. The debris lit alight with the flame in seconds causing complete and utter destruction of the building.

Xeno stood in the heart of the fire enjoying the chaos he'd created. He did not feel the immense heat or cough from the thick black smoke. He just opened his arms wide and laughed as the flames roared around him. Xeno danced in the middle of his creation. He reveled in the feeling of immense power. And thanked the gods for letting him discover wormholes. Especially this one.

@frangipan: Another nice entry. Only a minor complaint: the villain you described is not the villain in the OP. You write well though.

@cbishop Glad you like it

Here's my attempt. Not my thing but I tried. :-)

The Compass of Souls

1938 - Hunter’s Bluff, Nevada, USA

Laird Angelman. the lovable town drunk stumbled out of the Eastward Arrow Salon humming a tune and waving the half full bottle of whiskey around wildly. Not that anyone minded Laird wasn't dangerous, during the day he was known for being a dentist, amazingly a sober one at that too, and one of the friendliest men in town and perhaps the only one not to own a pistol. Reaching the scrub at the edge of the frontier town of Hunter’s Bluff he stopped and felt the wind begin to whip up as the sound of thunder filled the sky.

“Thar’s not a cloud a round in the sky.” He spluttered. Whilst drunk Laird was right and what he saw next would have made him swear of liquor for life if he’d been left with any after that night. Descending from the sky was what looked like a massive metal dragon, wind whipping around its immobile wings and light beaming from its burning eyes. Laird hadn’t read in the paper about Professor Heinrich Focke’s recent unveiling of his magnificent flying machine known as the helicopter and with the reputation of Hunter's Bluff such an assumption wasn't that far fetched. And he wouldn't find out either as a man descended out of the ‘dragon’s belly’ dressed in a leather jerkin reinforced by steel, trousers with a woven steel underlay and a broad razor edged metal hat. “You…came outta dragon?” Laird asked. “You a knight or something?”

“Don't be preposterous I am to be a god.” The man snorted as he waved for the helicopter to depart. “Are you a tracker?”

“Nah I'm a dentist.” Laird hiccupped. “You want Kara and Evan Carter, oh god you're Vo…” Before he could finish the man grabbed Laird by the throat and removed his pistol, an Apache Revolver equipped with a black blade, and slashed open the skin on Laird’s lower jaw down to the throat.

“Nothing personal it’s just my employer wants me to make haste. Something about a war coming and my work being mighty useful to his campaign.” The murder stated coldly as he removed the blade and whipped it before heading off to the other end of town.

**

Evan woke from his slumber as the sun rose over the hill only to find that he had once again been handcuffed to the bed. “Kara you have to stop doing this.” He groaned before looking over the edge of the bed to see a key inserted blade down into the floorboards. Moving as far as the cuffs would allow he leant over and grabbed the key in his mouth only to choke and spit it out. “Chili Powder on the key. You're getting devious.” He sighed before sitting back in the bed and banging his head on the backboard. For a few seconds there was nothing before a crash of a man falling out of bed sounded next door, the door creaking open a minute later as a bespectacled Mexican man wearing nothing but thick socks walked in his hands rubbing his head. “Hey Pedro do you mind.” Evan asked as he rattled the hand cuffs.

“You will learn one day. You’re wife needs to be caged or she'll run off with strange men in the night.” Pedro groaned as he went back into the other room and returned with an apron, hammer and chisel. Sitting on the bed he got to work and quickly removed the handcuffs shaking his head at every strike. “You know this counts as cheating as set out by the terms of your marriage.”

“Nah she said any resource in the house. By offering the town’s locksmith board you are in the house and perfectly viable to use.” Evan stated. “Besides I'm not a trained escapologist like she is.” He groaned as he pulled on a pair of buckskin trousers, vest and a wide brimmed sexton. “I’m the gunslinger. So tell me who did she run off with this time?”

“He came late at night while you slept. Had an accent, European I think.” Pedro replied. “She left a note in the one place you wouldn't look.”

“Right I know where that is.” Evan sighed before heading into the closet and removing a box. Inside was a skull with a pentacle carved into the cranium. Crossing himself Evan removed the bones and picked up a scrap of paper. “Why she had to keep my mother in law with us I don't know.”

“You know I can hear you? Grandmother Spider hears all the unclean things you do to my beautiful Karla” The skull chattered as Evan dropped the bones back in the box and kicked it into the closet. “Ever since that Necromancer came to town and cursed me she’s never shut up.” He added coyly. “Oh Karla no.”

“What’s wrong?” Pedro asked.

“She’s taking Baron Wolfric von Malus to the City of Stone.” Evan hissed. “You remember him.”

“Yeah I do.” Pedro snarled as the pair of them walked to the window and looked over at the rotten forest of gallows each supporting a decomposed body from the yard arms.

**

‘Stone City’ Anasi Ruins

The light was fading as Evan reached the ruins of the cliff dweller city. While majestic the place was cursed land and guarded by creatures known as Formers, Men and Women transformed by contagious living fluid into wretched creatures caught between life and death. Evan and Karla had been here before searching for the fabled sun dagger and had been partially transformed themselves. It was only the blade's healing powers that had offset the final mutations leaving both of them with a valid dislike for the place. Evan couldn't imagine what Malus had offered Karla to return but it was clear from the butchered remains of their horses that the Formers had been waiting for them. Crossing himself once again Evan walked up to the ruins and climbed the wooden ladder to the first stage of the city. Ducking inside the building he followed the smell of decomposing flesh into the heart of the cliff before emerging into one of the fabled treasure rooms, evident from the archaeological loot piled up into mounds, each one claimed by a Former before they turned. Tipping his hat in respect Evan crossed the room only to hear the sound of claws on stone and turned to see a mottled grey skinned figure limp towards him, its eyes glowing like fire as did the Anasi Curse of Unlife etched onto it’s arms and chest. Drawing his pistol Evan fired a shot into the Former’s skull, the bullet sending it thudding to the floor only to get to it’s feet again and spasm and twist into a hideous beast.

“Forgot about that ‘Death makes you Stronger’ Clause.” Evan spat as the Former’s fingers became hooked talons and its body grew a thin layer of armour plating over the face and arms. It’s metamorphosis finished the Former cocked his head and sprinted off deeper into the cave as if called by an unknown master. Cocking his head Evan followed and after what seemed like an age moving through a maze of tunnels and galleries, his repulsive guide emerged in a large room with a stone circle engraved on the floor. Arranged around the perimeter were eight second stage Formers, their bodies convulsing as beams of amber energy streamed into the centre of the circle and climbing up a golden arrow. “The Compass of Souls.” Evan whispered as he saw Malus drag a blonde woman dressed in nothing but a leather bra and thong into the middle and chained her to the arrow. “Karla!!” Evan yelled as he dropped down into the room.

“Evan?!” Karla answered, “Evan stop please.” She pleaded as Malus turned and drew his Apache pistol. “No blood can be spilled here.”

“The old legend. The Compass of Soul’s will change a man into a god when encircled by eight.” Evan hissed. “So Malus I know why your back? But why my wife?”

“Because Evan my old friend. I have learned so much from the Thule Society back in Germany about ‘the clean’.” Malus answered. “Only an Aryan, one whose genetics are pure can become benevolent. It is as my employer says; only the worthy can be free.”

“You're insane.” Karla hissed. “You are being led astray by the words of a madman!!”

“There was nothing to lead astray, the townspeople still remember the construction of Hangman’s Forest when you and Dead Alice tried to activate the Eye of the West.” Evan snarled. “How you sacrificed hundreds to bring about the dust-storm of the century and plunge America into famine. There are no allies here.” He added as the spire glowed and Karla’s body became wracked with golden energy. “Now release my wife."

“Your wife is no longer here.” Malus stated. “She is ascending, becoming the vanguard of my employer’s army. She is proof of concept that my employers dream is true.” He added as Karla was released from the arrow, no change apparent to her body. “What why hasn't it worked. What did you do?”

“Nothing.” Evan stated as Karla ran to where her pile of discarded clothing lay. “Nothing’s stopping me from pulling the trigger now Baron!” He spat before firing a shot at Malus only to see the bullet bounce off his chest-plate and strike one of the Formers standing sentinel around the edge.

“Too bad.” Malus stated. “Still the Thule Society has other projects in ‘the West’. Such as…” He stopped as all eight of the formers disintegrated save for their skulls, each one changing to gold with a compass etched into the cranium. “Of course, the points were the ones who supplied the energy.” The Baron gasped as he picked up the nearest skull. “They are the souls.” He added as he looked into the eye sockets at the golden spark that lay within. “Yes I feel stronger, this is where the power is!!” He yelled before seeing his own body wither away leaving his skull behind. “I am a God! I know everything, see everything; people will bow at my feet and worship me!!”

“One problem.” Karla yelled at the floating skull as she pulled on a pair of cotton trousers. “You have no feet.” Picking up her own gun she shot at Malus’s skull only to see it bounce off with no apparent effect,

“Idiot I can’t be slain!!” Malus roared before charging at Evan only for the skull to phase through him and shatter on the wall before reforming by the arrow. “What devilry is this?” He asked as Evan levelled his own pistol at the floating head.

“Not devilry, witchcraft. The golden council would be locked in here to guide the Anasi. According to the legend they couldn't leave this room for any reason and no normal weapon could kill them. And while they were capable of imagining evil they couldn't do any physical harm.” Evan explained as Karla buttoned up her blouse and slipped her own hat on. “Have fun being redundant.” He added.

“You'll pay gunslinger, the west will burn at the hands of Herr Hitler and his righteous armies!!” Malus bellowed causing Evan to turn around and fire a bullet into Malus’s head, the round exploding on impact and stabbing tiny amber darts of light into the bone.

“Sun Dagger shard bullet.” Evan stated as Malus burned to ash and the light of the compass arrow went out. “You had it coming.”

@frangipan: Actually, just after reading it, I saw this commercial and thought of your story. :)

@impurestcheese: There seems to be a few words missing here and there, but I liked the story. :)

@cbishop: OK will look into it.

@cbishop: Yep we Brits are always villains. Even their adorable red headed fan-fic writers are evil masterminds :-)

@impurestcheese: Diabolical, possibly. Egomaniacal, certainly. But evil masterminds? I'll have to see your elaborate death traps and world domination plans before I can certify that.

@cbishop: He he. I'm more of a chemical warfare girl. Snake Venom, Yew Toxins, Rhododendron Leaf Smoke Bombs etc. Hmm I may have said too much...

@impurestcheese: Mild mannered ecologist by day, ecological terror by night!

@wildvine: @cbishop: Sounds right. Stuck at Guildford station at the moment. Have been for a few hours still on the bright side there are no Pewits and no Snow :-)

@cbishop hahahaha can see why. Brit power, ALL THE WAY!!!!

@wildvine: I'm not her type. ;)

@impurestcheese: Enjoy your lack of Pewits.

@frangipan: lol. ;)

Going to see if I can get an entry in tonight

@4donkeyjohnson: Sweet! Looking forward to it. Still mulling mine over.

@cbishop: You'll be fine, it's your contest after all :)

@4donkeyjohnson: Oh, I definitely have the idea, I'm just trying to find the time to write it (and I need to figure out the whole story). Most of the time since I posted the contest, if I'm on the site, it's while inbetween calls at work. Can't really write a good story while doing that.

I forgot all about this, I'm gonna have to rush.

@cbishop: Just wondering, do the protag and villain have to be from the wild west? Can they just be dressed up as such?

@youngjustice: Gunfighter and Villain in the Weird West- accept no substitutes. (And yeah, I've got to get mine written too.)