A secondary sim within the matrix, Friday
Jul. 31st, 2015 05:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vdistinctive"What in fucking tarnation is going on out here?" Eliot had stepped out to go find the doctor and see about procuring some headache powder, or anything else (anything else that wasn't an opiate, which, well, good fucking luck) that might help Kathy with what was sure to be a fucking tremendous hangover (Eliot's was no joke, so hers had to be terrible). Only to find the street in utter chaos as wagons and men on horseback rushed every which way. Someone fired a rifle in the air, and everyone on the street screamed and started looking around -- not for the shooter, but towards the hills in the distance outside of the camp. An enterprising gentleman who normally sold "soap with a prize!" was offering discount boards and "genuINE injin dream frighteners, guaranteed to keep the red man from entering your domicile or place of business!" Eliot had to resist the urge to strangle the man then and there.
"Ain't you been payin attention?" Swearengen, who was observing the whole show from the door of his saloon, stepped up next to Eliot. "The Sioux were spotted this morning circulatin' around the fucking camp. We're about to get raided by savages."
Eliot scowled. "The hell we are. First off, the Sioux are too fucking smart to try and come into town where every white cocksucker and whore's got themselves a peashooter at fucking minimum. And second, natives aren't fucking savages, you son of a goat-fucker. We're the invading fucking aliens in this narrative and what's more every thinkin' man in this camp knows that for a goddamn fucking fact."
"'Invading aliens!'" Swearengen gave him a startled and amused look. "More of that Jules Verne crap you been peddling since you first fucking showed up here, huh? I were you I'd keep that sort of talk close to your chest, Spencer, if you don't wanna get stripped of that nice shiny piece of tin and run out of town on a rail with that piece of sideways pussy of yours to face those dirt-worshipping cocksuckers you love so much. See how noble and fucking sweet they seem when they're scalping those gorgeous locks from your fucking heads."
Eliot's response was cut off by a fucking Hollywood war whoop echoing through the hills around the camp, sending the townspeople into even more of a tizzy. By the time he managed to make sure he wasn't going to get swept up in the resulting panicked stampede, Swearengen had gone again, probably to go figure out how to turn a fucking "Indian raid" into a profit.
[ooc: open for anyone who wants to come play cowboys and indians.
Content note: really blatant old school racism. Like, I feel dirty typing it. Here there be stereotypes (and even more cursing).]
"Ain't you been payin attention?" Swearengen, who was observing the whole show from the door of his saloon, stepped up next to Eliot. "The Sioux were spotted this morning circulatin' around the fucking camp. We're about to get raided by savages."
Eliot scowled. "The hell we are. First off, the Sioux are too fucking smart to try and come into town where every white cocksucker and whore's got themselves a peashooter at fucking minimum. And second, natives aren't fucking savages, you son of a goat-fucker. We're the invading fucking aliens in this narrative and what's more every thinkin' man in this camp knows that for a goddamn fucking fact."
"'Invading aliens!'" Swearengen gave him a startled and amused look. "More of that Jules Verne crap you been peddling since you first fucking showed up here, huh? I were you I'd keep that sort of talk close to your chest, Spencer, if you don't wanna get stripped of that nice shiny piece of tin and run out of town on a rail with that piece of sideways pussy of yours to face those dirt-worshipping cocksuckers you love so much. See how noble and fucking sweet they seem when they're scalping those gorgeous locks from your fucking heads."
Eliot's response was cut off by a fucking Hollywood war whoop echoing through the hills around the camp, sending the townspeople into even more of a tizzy. By the time he managed to make sure he wasn't going to get swept up in the resulting panicked stampede, Swearengen had gone again, probably to go figure out how to turn a fucking "Indian raid" into a profit.
[ooc: open for anyone who wants to come play cowboys and indians.
Content note: really blatant old school racism. Like, I feel dirty typing it. Here there be stereotypes (and even more cursing).]
(no subject)
Date: 2015-08-03 02:39 pm (UTC)When he saw the arrow in Kathy's chest, he froze. Just long enough for the gunfire. Just long enough to watch her get torn apart and collapse --
"KATHY!" The world seemed to have shifted into slow-motion (and let's be honest, it probably had, not that Eliot was in any shape to realize that). When he finally reached her -- she'd vanished.
Eliot knelt on the floor, his palms flat on the boards where she'd laid. The world had gone silent but for the roar in his ears. Nothing moved. Nothing exploded through the windows or doors. The sunlight had shifted, mid-morning already gone to dusk. Eliot had no idea how long he stayed there before he rose back to his feet and rushed the door with a roar.
At first he thought the streets were empty. The camp had developed a particular sort of silence he instinctively recognized; his blood would have gone cold if it weren't already ice. Just past the boardwalk (the front boardwalk -- which door had he run through?) the road through town was littered with bodies, a few in chaps or skirts, most wearing buckskin and paint.
"Well fuck me sideways," Al Swearengen said, from where he leaned against the exterior of Eliot's shop. "Looks like we fucking won." He looked at Eliot and smiled. "You do not want to be a dirt-worshipping heathen from this fucking point forward."
Eliot punched him in the face.