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2011-04-16T15:14:51Z

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Red Dead Re: Drei.

2011-04-11T03:15:33Z

crematorium Clarence had left the saloon that night with a very distinct sway in his step. It was without a doubt one of his peculiarities; he had a bit of a fondness for alcohol, yet had an embarrassingly low amount of tolerance for it. It probably hadn’t taken him long to loosen up, seated near Jack and speaking quietly of things that weren’t likely to bring about any sort of anxiety… he felt safe enough. And so long as the doctor continued to catch the attention of the barkeep—there was no way he’d let Jack buy him any more than the one drink—it would have been just as proper to assume that over time, he would have gladly spoken more. About anything—everything—random things that somehow made sense. And without having been asked, which had been his ‘norm’ thus far. He hadn’t gone so far as to believe himself entertaining, but it was obvious to think that if Jack was eating, it would be difficult for him to speak.

The silence had been a gap in need of filling as far as Clarence was concerned, and the alcohol had simply given him the ability to forget some of his shyness in doing so. He still stumbled about his words, perhaps not quite in the typical newborn deer style he seemed to maintain, but rather because he was… excited? Somewhat ‘buzzed’? Perhaps both. He had chattered about New York; he’d likely wanted to ever since Jack had mentioned that it was a place he had always hoped to see. And though he initially spoke with intentions of only describing what it was like living there—his tone mostly neutral with occasional hints of positivity when stumbling over a personally favoured detail—it didn’t exactly bother him when mention of one building (or another) trailed into rambling about education, and eventually… In his slightly intoxicated state, Clarence didn’t hesitate to inform Jack that his family had supplied most of the inspiration he’d needed to leave New York. He seemed to mellow significantly after that, though, and spent the rest of his time ensuring that Jack finished his meal, if only to insist that he hurry straight to bed directly after the plate had been whisked away.

The next few weeks saw to it that the doctor retired to the small office cot each night as exhausted as possible. There were several instances wherein the man—unable to immediately find sleep’s embrace however worn out he may have been—attempted to consider the days’ events, only to find himself thinking about Jack. His thoughts were never quite the same when they revolved around him (with the exception of his inclusion, of course); there was always a minor difference in each one, whether it be focused on his safety, his whereabouts, his family or a brief mental pause when the offer Jack had made in the saloon came to mind. It wasn’t all that long before Clarence grew used to Jack’s residence in his head… it was almost nice, in a way, to be reminded of the one patient he’d had that actually made him feel worthy of his title. He didn’t think of himself as perpetually lonely after having encountered Jack, because that alone had been proof that he was capable of getting along with another living (…) human being.

There was probably a handful of grateful people living in Armadillo, not counting the whores, but for one reason or another, he hardly saw any of them. Surely the blacksmiths accumulated burns… did they have their own remedial ways of soothing them? And what about the horse… trainers? Breakers? He didn’t even know what to call them. Clarence had seen one get kicked once, and then simply get up like he’d tripped over his own feet. Had living in these harsh environments conditioned these people to be close to invincible? It was something the doctor wanted to ponder, but apparently there was a never ending supply of ruffians to tend to… not to mention the poor bastards that always seemed to be losing duels. (Thankfully he only had to pronounce them dead, well, unless they weren’t.)

He almost preferred the tediousness of bullet retrieval over dealing with rowdy criminals at gunpoint. Clarence would never sacrifice a proper procedure in favour of speed. Never. It went without saying that those were the situations in which he found himself in a position to be roughed up quite significantly. He’d experienced it once before, and wasn’t so much afraid of it as he was irritated by it. The second time it’d happened, no tears were shed. He simply finished his job and locked up for the day, not even bothering to tend to his own wounds before collapsing into bed. The third time, however? He exploded, physically forcing his patient (and/or assailant) out of the office and onto the street, not caring whether the injured person was twice as likely to be trampled by a parade of war horses in his bold outburst. Clarence didn’t plan on sticking around to deal with this sort of behaviour any more—he explained that much in the letter he’d written as he hurriedly stuffed his things into their appropriate bags and trunks.

Though he paused to delicately tuck his collection of books away beneath his clothing, it didn’t take him long to completely empty the office of his belongings. He didn’t know how far away Blackwater was, but it’d be nice to finally get there. At this point, it didn’t matter how, though he’d probably leave the decision making up to the options available to him.

naga Jack, ever the lover of stories of any kind, had happily listened to Clarence’s talks of New York, education, the reasonings for his moving, and anything and everything else the man felt content to divulge. It had been somewhat amusing to note, however, how quickly the man seemed to succumb to the alcohol he drank. Jack’s own tendencies towards drinking were frequently limited to bursts of depression, where he would drink as much as possible and simply pass out without a care in the world. Otherwise he frequently kept away from the stuff other than the odd drink here or there. His tolerance seemed about average regardless, and he could only attribute that to his heritage rather than old school practice. Being descended from thieves and whores seemed to do the trick well enough for him.

The rest of that evening, after being shooed off once he’d finally completed his much needed meal, went by rather horribly. The pain in his shoulder doubled the instant he wasn’t distracted by danger, company, or food. Unable to sleep, he tossed and turned throughout the night and barely managed to grab a couple of hours of shuteye before the sun’s light woke him up all over again. Used to running on little to no sleep, he got himself and his various things together and returned to Ava’s side, saddled her up, and left town before the majority of Armadillo’s residents had stirred from their early morning dozing.

Heading further west, Jack surveyed familiar lands from the stories his father had told him about before he died; Fort Mercer was the first and Jack recalled vividly his own memories of the man… gruff, untidy, and poorly educated. It was alarming to think that a man such as that rose to become the leader of the second most feared gang in this part of the local territory. So dangerous, in fact, that the government had kidnapped him and his mother to ensure that John Marston hunted down and killed him. Jack spit on the ground in front of the fort before heading off again, onwards and southwards to Mexico. He distinctly avoided a particular place that was still too fresh in his memory and eventually made it to Chuparosa, there he was able to sell a few skins and the like from Tall Trees that had more worth down here. Unfortunately for him, his father’s legacy still haunted Mexico as well, and the moment he prepared to leave the town, a man called out to him, challenging him to a duel.

Still too sore and far too tired to deal with such matters, Jack quickly got onto Ava and ran out of town before the man could follow. A string of colourful Spanish curses (or so he assumed, thanks to his pathetic grasp on the language) came after him, but nothing else. He camped out in the nowhere that was Perdido for the night, only to return northwards well into the next day. Passing through Armadillo, he stopped off briefly to get food and water before heading right back off again, this time back up north to MacFarlane’s Ranch. It never hurt to stop by there too often—Bonnie MacFarlane’s company was good enough, and if it hadn’t been for them he would’ve trashed everything his father had worked so hard to set up for him. Despite the fact that he never wanted any of it, he was wracked with guilt at the prospect, and the rest (as they say) was history.

His visit to the ranch was brief, and he was soon off to Thieves’ Landing, there he found himself succumbing to another fit of depression, a frequent enough occurrence, and he ended up spending the next week or so drinking, gambling, and making a complete and utter mess of himself. Some people knew who he was and left him alone, others knew who he was and picked fights—some of those fights he won, some he lost. The last one he lost so poorly that he swiftly packed up his things and fled north, all the way back up to Beecher’s Hope where he promptly collapsed in his home and didn’t bother leaving until well into the next week.

Now two weeks since last meeting the good doctor, when his shoulder was finally mended well enough that it didn’t ache at every move, Jack considered returning to the man to show the progress and ask how things were. With his own personal troubles well and truly buried after letting the demons out to play for long enough, he figured it would be safe enough. After travelling down to Cholla Springs, however, he soon found himself being chased off by Walton’s Gang and otherwise distracted for the next few days. He did manage to get into Armadillo a few times during that week, but he caught no sight of the other man. Either it was too late to be knocking, or he simply couldn’t find the other and assumed he must be treating someone elsewhere. It was a shame—that last conversation he’d had with the doctor was the most decent one he’d had in months.

A couple more days of wandering passed before he found himself in that small little town again, but this time there was enough of a commotion to warrant sticking around. A man was throwing a fit in the street, cursing something awful about his wounds not being treated. Assuming what that matter was all about, Jack milled about and observed, taking shelter from the sun beside Herbert Moon’s general store. It wasn’t until the angry man seemed to storm off toward the saloon that he opted to go ask the source what all the trouble was about.

Knocking on the door softly before daring to step into the doctor’s office, he peeked his head in first before stepping in properly. “Clarence, you in here? That was one hell of a storm you had kicking around outside…” A storm that could return at any minute quite frankly—not a comforting notion.

crematorium “Well,” he began hotly, not even bothering to risk a glance over his shoulder to confirm the identity of his newest intruder—there was nothing unfamiliar about that voice. Its owner wasn’t a threat, not by any means. “I’m quite sick of all the unhappy little rainclouds that seem to enjoy wandering in here! If they want to gang up and make believe they’re a storm, well, that’s just touching…” Clarence paused, at first only to look over the things—mainly medical supplies, which had only just recently been unpacked—he had gathered, wrapped up in supplies that could easily be replaced (like cheap linens and other tattered bandage material) and packed away. But it wasn’t long before his gaze fell upon Jack. The doctor was glad to see him alive and well, really, it’d just been something of an inconvenient time… though that much had been indicated by now. “I’d just… I just don’t… I-…”

However frustrating it may have been, by the time Clarence realised that he’d lost sight of his anger (and of the little rainclouds), he’d already been facing Jack, stuttering stupidly for several seconds. He was an absolute mess—his usually neatly combed hair was ruffled about and generally looking tousled; his lip had been split at one point, though by now it looked like a bit of an older injury; his clothes held the dusty evidence of the ‘storm’ that’d taken place outside, in which he may or may not have acquired a fancy (but relatively small) cut just along his left cheekbone. “I’m leaving,” he said quietly, turning back to be sure he’d gathered the last of his things. “I’m leaving Armadillo, anyway.”

Being able to hear the words as they left his mouth had been something of a shock to him. He’d been driven all the way to Armadillo by the emotions he’d collected over time—over years—and now he was about to begin the cycle anew. The doctor may have sheepishly admitted that it felt wonderful to strike out at someone attempting to take advantage of his [status, size, role in the community, whatever], but he wouldn’t—couldn’t—ignore the fact that he didn’t feel right in doing so. He didn’t know anything about fighting, save for the kind that could be done verbally, and even then he didn’t count for much. The point was simple: he didn’t want to be violent. If he gave in and acted just as uncivilised as everyone else, then what point was there in even being a doctor? He was supposed to help people, not harm them!

“I’ve… been wondering, Mist… Ja… about what you said,” Clarence turned around again, this time to lean cautiously against the desk he’d set his things upon. He was slightly calmer now, and didn’t hesitate to focus more of his attention on Jack, if only to converse more politely. He still intended to leave, but there wasn’t much he could do at the moment—the train hadn’t arrived yet, and frankly, he had no idea when it was supposed to. “In the saloon, I mean.”

Trust wasn’t something the doctor had ever thrown about too carelessly. He wasn’t as open a person as he may have let on, and considering as much, it’d always been difficult for him to engage in serious, ‘man-to-man’ conversations of secret ambitions or general childish fantasies. Although it could be said that Clarence felt an odd obligation to believe anything—and everything—Jack said in its entirety (which, considering the contents of their original discussion, wasn’t all that odd, really), he still had to be sure the other hadn’t been teasing. That the memory he had of the other’s brief mention of Blackwater hadn’t just been a dream. Still, the notion that he was outwardly expressing his doubt by inquiring was enough to wreak havoc on his nerves. “I think I m-might possibly be headed to Blackwater, and… I don’t want to be a burden—I know you’re a very busy man, of course—but whenever you happen to be in town, it wouldn’t be all that unpleasant to see a familiar face.”

Who was he kidding? He didn’t even know if he’d find work in Blackwater! After all, it’d been a while since he’d heard of the Mess That Came From Yale… perhaps someone else had shown up already.

naga Jack remained where he was, just a step inside the door. Clarence had obviously been pushed a little past his limit and didn’t need his space to be invaded any more at the moment. He could respect that and give the man the room he would need to calm down. Thankfully it didn’t seem to take much time, and after a few moments of obviously attempting to grasp the words to explain his predicament or his mood concerning what just happened, the anger seemed to dissipate and leave him looking and sounding a bit more like himself. Or how Jack assumed he usually sounded like; anger didn’t seem the other man’s usual temperament, which was just as well—it didn’t suit him either.

Something else that didn’t suit him was his current state in general. Hair messed up, cuts and scraps from obvious scuffles, and dust and grime from the grubby hands of unscrupulous characters trying to get a hold of the man and rough him up further. It blew his mind how people could try and pick on those who obviously were not built for fighting, as Clarence obviously was not. Beyond his profession standing for the exact opposite, nothing about his build or demeanour said he was willing or able to fight in the least bit. Up until the last few years Jack himself had been in such a place… but life had ways of making fools of them all, it seemed.

“Leaving?” Jack repeated thoughtfully as he hooked his thumbs in his pockets and mulled it over. Seemed like a good choice if Armadillo was treating him so very poorly. He hoped the other man wasn’t heading back east, however, because it seemed like he had many more reasons to leave New York then than to leave Armadillo now. Then the man clarified somewhat and Jack nodded his head and considered more. Perhaps it would be for the better. Perhaps he had thought about the matter of going to Blackwater—it would suit him far better. It was still likely ‘rough country’ in comparison to New York City or any modern city along the eastern shore of the country, but it was a hell of a lot bigger and more… civilised? one might say, than Armadillo.

Then the topic came up more specifically! Their conversation concerning Blackwater, that is. Stepping in a bit more now that Clarence seemed calmer, easier to focus and seemingly get a bit nervous about something or another. Nervous was too strong a word though, but Jack couldn’t put his finger on it exactly. Empathy wasn’t exactly his strong point, which was yet another thing he knew he should work on but never got around to—what was the point? Either way, Clarence soon confided that he was considering heading northward to Blackwater and Jack finally managed a smile. Said smile only continued to grow when the other man went on about being busy and stopping by and all that noise.

“Don’t be silly,” Jack began quickly, happy to brush away any notion of being a ‘busy man’ and focus on the more immediate of things, “I’ll help see you there myself. It’s been a few days and I should likely head back to what little business I have to tend to, but stopping off in Blackwater’s always a useful journey to make, and I can show you to where they’re looking for skilled and educated men like yourself.” And after making sure his tone and stance clearly indicated that he wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer, he quickly added for good measure, “You need any help collecting all your things? The train ought to be around in the next half hour or so, I can get you all loaded up and meet you in Blackwater shortly after.” Making the journey by horse was somewhat slower, obviously, but he’d be going fast enough through Thieves’ Landing to make sure he didn’t get into any trouble… yeah, that ought to work just fine!

Besides, the faster Clarence got out of here, the less likely of a chance there was for his most recent patient to come back in an even worse mood… or with a group of friends to add to the mess.

crematorium Clarence stared, almost stupidly in the other’s direction. He certainly hadn’t been expecting a response of that magnitude from Jack. Maybe the past few weeks and each increasingly dramatic series of events had tainted his opinion of the public… Sometimes he felt like he was losing touch with himself, like his professional life was consuming his identity; his sense of emotion was being gobbled up by the cold, calculating nothingness that doctors were made of. And then there was his anxiety. If it weren’t for the minorly embarrassing flaws that plagued him, he probably would have lost his grip on everything. “You mean that?” The words had been whispered, uttered loud enough to not necessarily be heard, but just so that he could be sure he’d actually said them. Immediately, the doctor was behind the desk, carefully picking through a suitcase he hadn’t yet closed, probably to retrieve something.

“You mentioned having wanted to read the second part,” he may have mumbled a book title in the middle of his searching, but the majority of the syllables had—again—been intended for his own comfort. Though he knew Jack had without a doubt spoken of Les Voyages Extraordinaires with him, there was something in his mind—a nagging voice of thought, if you would—that just wouldn’t allow him the confidence to continue without confirmation… even if it went unheard. “I stumbled upon it a while ago while unpacking. I would very much like for you to have it.” The book was set on the desk for the short while it took the doctor to place everything his searching had caused him to remove, and then immediately it was gathered up, with absolutely no intention of staying in his possession.

He approached Jack with an outstretched hand, offering a delicately used copy of Around the Moon to the other—not because he felt it was his turn to put something up for grabs as a means of re-payment, but because they both shared a love for Jules Verne and his many works. He’d obviously read most of the books in the collection—picking through what he could manage of the ones available only in French—whereas Jack had just the one he carried. It hadn’t sounded as though he’d been bent out of shape or feeling sore about such matters, but Clarence had always thought of it as the duty of the literate to seek out and share beautiful literature with one another. Lending if it wasn’t commonly owned; gifting if one wished to do so. It wasn’t proper for Jack to go on dreaming of one day reading a book that Clarence had sitting around with little to no purpose anymore, other than being a pleasant, but distant part of his past. “I’m sure you have something of a library of your own, but if you ever want to borrow anything… or when you finish that, for example, I have others that you are more than welcome to,”

It was difficult to avoid wondering about the ranch Jack had mentioned (the one he had, but apparently didn’t care all that much for) from time to time. When the other had suggested that he’d had a place for the doctor to stay until he got himself back on his feet, he’d made it sound as though it was in an entirely different location. Clarence didn’t suppose it would be entirely logical to keep a ranch within stumbling distance of a town, but so far, there wasn’t much he could see in favour of logic in the first place. Either way, Clarence had already made up his mind that it wouldn’t have been appropriate to ask about it at the moment; it was likely a personal matter.

“My things? Oh, everything’s been accounted for. Well, everything that belongs to me, anyway. It probably wouldn’t hurt to double-check, but at this point, I should probably be thankful I’m not lugging a house around with me. Like a sort of turtle, I suppose… a self-sufficient one. Of course, I suppose that wouldn’t entirely be true… it makes it sound a bit like a turtle with lettuce—or carrots or whatever it is that turtles eat—growing out of its shell. Sounds a bit awkward, I th-… Sorry,” after realising he had started to ramble, Clarence politely interrupted himself and—with a furious blush spreading across his cheeks to his ears, where it ended—became quite silent. Knowing him, the period of silence wasn’t bound to last for long.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather take the train as well?” The doctor couldn’t exactly explain what possessed him to ask such a thing, but he figured it was better than his previous urge to hand the other money, simply because he wasn’t quite convinced that his consistant whining didn’t burden the man. Clarence had never in his life heard of someone traveling somewhere on a whim to keep someone company simply because they’d, well, not even asked (his attempt at asking hadn’t even qualified as poor, quite honestly).

naga

Red Dead Re: Deaux.

2011-01-20T19:14:38Z

naga Bounty hunting? That had Jack chuckling again, though this time he managed a bit more of a real laugh than before. “Oh no, I’m no bounty hunter. I just try and help people who need the help, rather than do the dirty work for the lawmen who are too lazy to do anything themselves.” He could go on about how their laziness obviously brewed and created corruption unlike anything else in this world, but he would stop himself there. If given a chance to rant, he would rant and get so emotionally involved in said rant that he’d likely just fall apart right there in his anger! So best to avoid it from the very beginning.

But Clarence’s next statement took Jack completely aback and distracted him almost entirely from the matter in a heartbeat. The sudden turn in tone and the sheer confidence and passion he had behind the words… it was strange—in a good way. He didn’t stutter, didn’t hesitate, just said what he thought and felt. And he was right. At first all he could do was blink as he looked at the other man, watching him as he seemed to mentally and emotionally step back a bit after his first statement, returning to a more calm and polite demeanour. Again, he was right, but… Jack didn’t know what it was, but he hadn’t managed to write anything since the day his father died. Not only because from that day forth he was busy, hopelessly busy… burying his father and Uncle, then taking care of his mother and the ranch… but beyond that he simply didn’t have the heart to any more.

Yes, you could write anywhere. You could write without being taught how to. If you had the desire, it could be done as simple as that. And Jack knew he had plenty to write about, both fiction and non. But he just couldn’t.

Nodding, Jack was able to admit one thing, “You’re right Mr. MacKinnon, you are. I suppose I just haven’t had much of a mind for writing lately.” That was all he could really say about it. And with that, with his shoulder stitched up, bandaged, and set to start healing, he stood and grabbed his shirt, hastily putting it back on and not minding the quickly drying bloodstains. He’d try and take care of that tonight, but for now he needed to get dressed to get somewhere so he could find some food before he passed out.

“Lucky me I met you after you had those years of experience,” he said with another smile, content to simply move away from the more personal of topics on his end. He just flat out wasn’t good at them! How was he supposed to explain anything about himself without waxing poetic about his stupid life and the horrid circumstances that surrounded it thanks to the interference of government and law officials? “You should see the gnarled scar on my leg—I definitely must’ve spaced the stitches wrong or something, because it sure as hell didn’t heal pretty.” Smirking, he grabbed his duster and hastily put it back on, grabbing his bandolier and snapping that back over his shoulder along with the holster for his rifle.

Somewhere to stay. Sighing, Jack considered a moment as he holstered the rifle and picked up his hat. “I’m sure the saloon has a spare room I can stay in.” Shrugging, he turned the hat over in his hands, looking over the worn material with all its scuffs and marks from the years of use and abuse by his father’s, and now his own, hands. “How much do I owe you for the help?” He looked back up from the hat with another small smile. “I’d gladly treat you to a drink too, if you were interested. It’s been a hell of a long time since anyone’s listened to me ramble on for God alone knows how long like this.” It was nice for a change.

crematorium Clarence could handle being corrected—he knew he couldn’t possibly be right about things all the time. But when Jack explained that being a bounty hunter wasn’t something he really dreamed of and then threw a laugh in for good measure? It would have been an understatement to say that he was ‘just slightly embarrassed’. (He knew he wasn’t being mocked; it was simply the fact that he hadn’t caught on in the first place that made him feel as though he should have been [mocked]… Which in turn, brought on the regret he felt for having spoken.) He’d never really had time to contemplate what the existence of bounty hunters actually meant in reference to the quality of the law enforcement scattered about the country—it certainly was an awfully disgusting thought, though! Personally, he thought it a[n even larger] shame that a nice boy like Jack was running around doing work that two entirely different people had the opportunity to do, and was getting injured in their place because of it! “Oh… I didn’t mean to imply—I’m sorry,” was about all he was able to say after that.

“For the help?” He looked up (as he’d eventually moved on to busy himself with tidying the area up after Jack began to dress) curiously, as though he’d heard something ridiculously outlandish yet interesting enough to question. “Please,” and he would have snorted, had he not had the mind to keep himself under a general amount of control… besides, he was of the opinion that he was at least capable of maintaining a somewhat decent reputation—he’d rather not ruin that by making rude noises at inopportune moments. “It isn’t necessary—payment, I mean. I do find it amusing that you feel up to drinks, however.”

Drinks. At the same saloon that was crawling with whores and good-for-nothing ruffians? Yes, indeed. Clarence didn’t exactly qualify as a barfly, but he’d been inside the place once or twice since he’d been in town… never for a drink, though. But then, he wasn’t quite sure he’d ever had a drink in his life.

“If I may, sir… exactly what constitutes a ‘drink’?”

naga “Oh don’t worry about it,” Jack brushed off any and all apology quickly. Clarence wasn’t being rude or stepping out of line or doing anything other than assuming and conversing based off of what little information he was being given. That was quite all right in his book! People had assumed much worse simply because of his name, and thankfully, thus far at least, Clarence had made no note of his name and what it could possibly mean. Hopefully that meant he’d truly come across someone who honestly knew nothing of the infamous John Marston, someone with whom he could actually build a real rapport with… someone he didn’t have to be completely on the guard with. It was kind of a nice notion. “I’m not exactly being the most forthcoming with what I say, so really, you don’t have to apologise for anything.” And that was that.

But then came the notion of not actually paying a doctor for his work and that actually struck Jack for a moment. He’d never come across something like this before. People were always quick to snatch up money wherever they could here. No one did anything for free! Beyond that, however, he’d feel wrong not offering something for the man’s time and effort, at the very least. Not to mention the conversation and the brief moment to humour the notion that there honesty were other people in this world that read books and actually enjoyed them. It was a rarity out here—too rare.

Grinning at the notion of drinking already, Jack nodded and admitted with a bit of amusement in his own tone, “Well, I’d probably get to drinking after I’ve had something substantial to eat, of course.” He’d been getting better at holding his liquor lately—too much practice—and he figured he could probably handle something or another just to celebrate the social occasion of meeting someone more interesting than a mound of dirt. Not to mention the whole not dying today thing.

“What constitutes a drink?” Jack repeated with a bit of a chuckle. “Well, whatever poison you prefer: gin, whiskey, rum… it’d be my treat, seein’ as how you’ve been too kind to me already. But if you’re more of a Temperance Movement kind of guy, then that’s fine too, I’m sure I could treat you to at least something for your trouble?” He couldn’t help but insist.

crematorium “And it’s likely you have a decent reason for it, Mr. Marston,” Clarence had probably [unknowingly] read bits and pieces about John Marston’s death, but to say that the news had lost a bit of its original detail in traveling from West Elizabeth to the East Coast would have been making light of the situation. In 1911, he’d been significantly preoccupied with being nearly finished with his studies and simply didn’t have time to worry about vaguely described deaths. Truthfully, it wasn’t his business to begin with! Not only were they not living in the days when surnames made the man, but he was just a doctor—whether or not his patients were the children of famous heroic villains made no difference in their overall health… unless, of course, they were Jack. But unfortunately for him, Clarence hadn’t devoted that much of his time debating between psychology and medicine.

“No, no, that’s quite fine. I was just beginning to worry you were one of those men, you know, the ones that wake up beside bottles instead of… women… wives… what-have-you.” As Jack finished dressing and he finished putting the various materials (unused bandages, water, scissors, the tincture of iodine, etc.) back in their appropriate places, it was inevitable that they’d soon approach the front door in an effort to head toward the saloon. “I could have sworn I had a sign tacked up here earlier—before you came by… I suppose I must have forgotten to put it up.” But it had long since tumbled its way out of town.

“New York has been involved in that nonsense for… oh, I don’t know,” he paused briefly, though only long enough to do the math. “Every bit of 106 years now; it’s ridiculous, mostly. I agree with moderation, sure—but taking it away entirely only makes the people more willing to… to fight for it.” Though the topic of choice was distilled beverages, the general idea could have applied to anything of sentimental value. And even if it hadn’t blossomed into a discussion—simply because at that point, going through the motions would’ve been somewhere along the lines of akin to beating a dead horse… Well, it was easy to imagine Jack being the sort of guy to have no qualms about breaking a law (not for another few years in terms of alcohol, though) if it related to his doing something good in the long run. And really, Clarence couldn’t find a single strand of evidence to help pose as proof that it was ‘the improper’ way to go about things.

As they left the doctor’s building—Clarence having already extinguished all indoor lighting, hastily locked the door and pocketed the key, not wanting to forget it (that would be embarrassing)—he suddenly remembered something from their earlier discussion. “Is that Ava?” Being that there was only one horse hitched right out front, he figured the risk in sounding stupid wasn’t as prevalent.

naga It was all Jack could do but shrug at Clarence’s statement. Sure, he might have a reason every now and then, but he was never consistent enough in what he told and didn’t tell to really make any lick of sense. Some people he dared to trust too much and it was thrown back in his face, others he didn’t trust at all when he was certain now they would have been good people to have around still in his life. Maybe being raised around a bunch of criminals like his father, Bill, and Dutch gave him a bad eye for character. Or maybe it was the years of next to no socialisation at all that followed that gave him such a bad eye for this kind of stuff. He didn’t know. Either way, he probably sounded like a bleeding heart to one man and was a stone wall for another. He couldn’t seem to make up his mind on what to do with Clarence yet.

One of those men. That set up for another laugh on Jack’s end as he rolled his eyes at the thought. “No, you got nothing to worry about there.” While he could imagine himself getting that lost somewhere down the line of his life, he wasn’t even close to it now. After all, he got drunk way too quickly for that! But Clarence truly didn’t have to worry about any and all forms of drinking. Though he didn’t exactly fit the instead of part either. Jack certainly didn’t have a wife and, well, he didn’t really know what to do about that whole aspect of life yet. He sure as hell didn’t pay any mind to the prostitutes that hung around most saloons anyway! The thought gave him the shivers.

Glancing at the door with the missing sign that Clarence spoke of, he wondered if Jack would have even paid it any mind even if it had been there. Likely not. He’d been feeling too sick and too dizzy after losing blood and riding a few miles on a horse with a passenger to really care about reading much of anything. He was still feeling sick, but at least he could walk straight and carry himself properly now. All the way to get something to eat and drink. Then he’d feel even better! “Not sure I would’ve paid it any mind anyway, with the state of mind I was stuck in.”

But yeah, moderation. Moderation was always a key to living a life in balance. Too much of anything was bad—even doing too much good was a bad thing, theoretically. Jack tried to strike that balance every single day, and usually managed to fail miserably at it. But it was still a good theory to aim for. “It’s only just started to make any real noise around here. Up in Blackwater a man was preaching it recently… nearly got shot for it too.” Jack remembered that incident all too well. Someone had coerced him into an alley somewhere and, knowing his name and name only, asked him to kill the protester himself! Yeah right. He told that poor bastard to get out of town as soon as possible. And now he was charged an arm and a leg for drinks in Blackwater. Oh well.

Once outside, he headed straight for his horse. Not only to give her a much deserved pat on the neck and an apple, but because he was going to need to take her saddle off and get her to the barn if he was going to be staying overnight. “Yeah, this is her,” he said proudly, running his hand over her neck and brushing a bit of hair from her eyes. “I need to get her to the stables before I go anywhere else. She’s probably tired as hell.” Poor girl. Jack smiled at his horse before taking her reigns from the hitch and leading her towards the saloon and, eventually, back behind it if Clarence cared to join. “I can’t count how many times this horse has saved my life in the last few months,” he commented idly along the way, keeping his eyes on the horse and checking how she walked to make sure she wasn’t in any pain. So far so good.

crematorium “I’d just put it there to make it known I was out of the office. But it’s not so important when a majority of the people can’t read what it says in the first place.”

The doctor observed the brief but tender interaction between the two and, after tottering on his heels—whether it was an absentminded action made no difference—resumed his duties as resident tag-along. It took him a moment to decide where exactly he should walk, but after skittering anxiously from the front step of the building, he had no trouble falling into step just slightly behind but mostly to Jack’s side. He wouldn’t want to be accidentally kicked or trod upon by Ava, who was… “She’s real pretty,” by the way. Still, he couldn’t get over the horse’s immense size—clearly, the animal was built to be powerful! He’d noticed as much in several other near-accidents, wherein his own occasionally oblivious nature turned out to be a rather dangerous habit of his… but being able to stand so closely to a horse like this? Naturally, he found the animal’s structure to be intriguing. The long legs, the ironically meaty body, and sensibly thick neck… He found the ears and eyes to be most amusing, however—always so expressive, or gentle (in reference to the eyes, anyway, which upon closer inspection, resembled those of a goat) for such a large creature.

Clarence didn’t hesitate to follow Ava and Jack all the way to the stables. Initially, he’d suggested that he would simply wait for Jack near the saloon, but the moment he was approached by a woman (if that was even an appropriate title, though he hadn’t taken the time to assess her outfit… or lack thereof), he literally ran in the direction he’d seen the other going. “I’m just going to… Let me know if I’m in your way,” he didn’t want to attract too much attention to himself upon suddenly appearing in the stables with the familiar horse-and-handler duo, so he kept his voice lowered to a murmur and curiously inched his way up beside Ava’s head. He hoped she wasn’t fond of biting… of course, after having that particular discussion with Jack, he figured the other would have given him some sort of warning if she was. Plus he was nervous to begin with, and he’d always been told that animals had their own special way of recognising that—he had his own ideas about how it worked, but that didn’t exactly matter right now.

Quite frankly, he really wasn’t sure how to act around a horse. Though obviously, he wasn’t in need of any reminders to use an indoor voice so as to not spook them—he was quiet to begin with. And he wasn’t about to be rough or intimidating, though he doubted that at 5’4” and 100-and-some-odd pounds he’d really be capable of injuring a horse in any way other than psychologically, he also opted to doubt that even that would be possible due to his own personality. Seeing as Jack was quite busy removing her saddle, Clarence figured it would be okay to at least allow the horse to decide whether or not he was a decent person—that was what you were supposed to do before touching a dog… which wasn’t terribly similar. Hesitantly, he lifted his hand toward her nose (god, was he even doing this right?) and prepared himself for something intense. But when nothing happened, at least nothing more than what might have been a horse’s version of sniffing (the poor animal had probably been convinced he had a treat for her), the doctor couldn’t help but smile softly.

He hadn’t necessarily been expecting the horse to hurt him—he was just more shocked by its sheer size than anything. And after tackling such a nerve-wracking introduction, it wasn’t long before he found himself stroking her nose. Of course, after considering that it might be awkward to do such a thing, the doctor shifted so that he could scratch at the area behind her ear—careful to avoid both the ear (they seemed to be extremely sensitive to sound and sensation, so he wouldn’t want to supply an irritation) and her hair… mane? He knew it could be a source of pride for many women, so why should Ava be any different?

naga Jack couldn’t help but smile at the compliment paid to Ava. He had felt lucky as hell when he found her almost two years ago now. She’d been beautiful, running around with a group of plain brown horses and some with an appaloosa colouring. But Ava? She was a classic paint and he thought she was absolutely beautiful. “Isn’t she?” He commented contently, grinning as he looked her patterning over—truly remarkable. “Paints are my favourite. I’ve noticed a trend, because I love cats and dogs with the same kind of colouring too, but send any dog my way and I’ll love them anyway.” Honestly, he couldn’t help himself when it came to dogs and horses, even the ugly, flea bitten ones of both kind. They could always be nursed back to health! And that was exactly what he did. He’d managed to find a half-starved horse in Mexico a few years back, bought it for a pittance and brought it back to his ranch and got it back to health. Now it was a gorgeous grey stallion that ran around happily without a care in the world!

Chuckling when Clarence followed him into the stables, he brushed off the man’s worry with a simple, “It’s all right. Just don’t move too quickly, and if you go near her hind legs, just keep a hand on her so she knows where you are.” After all, it was more likely that Clarence would be in Ava’s way than his own. And at that he began the process of taking her saddle off and setting everything aside, taking his satchel from the saddle itself—all he had in terms of basic food, water, medicine, and most importantly, his book were in there. He was keeping that with him, thank you very much. If he was going to be staying the night, he was going to need something or another to read.

At that he moved to take out some basic supplies he had for taking care of Ava herself, giving the area where the saddle had been a basic brush over to get the dirt out of her hair, then moving down to her legs to check her hooves for compacted dirt—not to mention double checking her shoes (all whilst keeping a hand on her at all times). He’d gotten a hell of a lot better at shoeing horses, but it didn’t hurt to check. After snagging a pick and cleaning out said hooves, however, he was pretty much set. She seemed to be in good health and happy enough—there was plenty of water and hay in the shaded stable, and it was a damn sight warmer in here than it was becoming outside… yeah. She ought to be fine.

As he stood, he saw Clarence petting her nose and moving to pet behind one of her big, twitchy ears. The sight had him grinning as he grabbed an apple from his pack and rested against the horse’s shoulder a bit, watching the two have a moment. “If you really wanted to get on her good side, you could feed her this apple if you wanted.” He still had to take her bridle off, but he always used bit-less bridles, so she could eat it now without the fuss. This seemed of greater importance anyway—it seemed like Clarence probably had too little experience around horses, and it’d probably do him a bit of good to become a bit more familiar with them. At least if he intended on sticking around here then it would be a good thing for him! “She’d probably be your best friend if you did,” he added with a smile. It was true though, Ava had always been very good around people, never too harsh or extreme. It was only around large crowds that she had any trouble.

crematorium The attention he paid to the horse was far from clinical. In a way, it was much more curious and childlike, but it didn’t stop him from looking over at Jack every now and then. The doctor may not have had any idea what the other was doing or how exactly to interpret it, but he had sense enough to make due with what details the actions gave to him. It was while he stood beside the animal’s head, still scratching softly behind her ear, that he first noted Jack’s absence—or what he had initially labeled an absence—of course, it wasn’t long before the short, well-practiced movements of the pick caught his eye and he located the other. What on earth was he doing? Horse-maintenance, of course! Naturally, he couldn’t imagine anything much more than dirt firmed to perfection feeling comfortable to a horse… they had odd feet (he’d read once that it was rather like shoving five separate digits into a shoe and calling it one large finger made for walking upon). Not wanting to be the one to cause trouble, Clarence was extra careful (or considerate enough, perhaps) to move over to the side opposite the one Jack had begun to work with… but mostly he wanted to secure his own safety from the horse’s brute strength.

And he would have been amazed watching this exchange of trust between the two, had he doubted the extent of their bond (that wasn’t to say he thought of it as being anything short of amazing), but somehow it just seemed to fit that a reckless—or something like it—but good-natured man would have a horse for a nanny. Well, really… the doctor’s mind wanted to argue, but he quickly put an end to it, seeing as how Jack had stopped messing about with Ava’s shoes and was now speaking to him…

“Really?” Clarence had immediately felt several things upon being offered the apple, and it took him a short period of seconds to sort through them properly. He knew he must have looked like a fool, standing there gaping at the other man in surprise. It was just an apple, for Chrissake! But really, if Ava loved them so much, then giving them to her must have been a special… ‘thing’ of sorts. A treat. A special moment Jack was able to share with her in between his dangerous adventures here and there. The doctor didn’t want to steal it away all because he’d been caught exploring a fear! The smallest of things could up-end his entire world, it seemed, but he had no problem keeping it together when faced with the most stomach-churning examples of gore. Such a queer fellow.

“If you’re sure. I mean, if you think it’s a good idea. …how do I do this? She would probably rather you give it to her, I think. Oh dear…” Clarence had ended up holding the apple out for Ava, but by the time he realised that the horse was actually going to eat it, he’d started to panic. While the larger majority of his body was still facing Ava, the need to look away had grown more or less irresistible the closer her mouth came to his hand. He wasn’t about to pull away completely from her, but he wasn’t going to watch a horse devour his hand along with an apple, either!

naga If Clarence ever wondered about the curiosity of maintaining a horse’s hooves, Jack could tell him just about all the ins and outs of it. Hell, he knew how to treat horses and their conditions almost as well as Clarence might know how to treat a humans! Perhaps not as detailed as the good doctor, but that was the matter of schooling that was supporting him, whereas Jack had nothing but hands on experience as well as the help of a few books and the experience lent to him by the MacFarlane’s. But all in all, he liked to think he knew his stuff, and he knew well enough that he could tell Ava was in good spirits. Tired, but in good spirits. He muscles weren’t twitching, she was responding well to the attentions being given to her by both himself and Clarence… yeah, she was just fine.

The tiredness was also another reason why he was certain that now was as good a time as ever for the doctor to get used to the company of a horse. She was too tired to be jumpy and wasn’t anxious at all… the petting was now being reinforced by the good and proper feeling of having her hooves tended to, and if she was given a treat, then that would be even more positive reinforcement for the future: she would always associate Clarence’s presence as a good thing—something that brought good feeling and treats on top of that. It was just like training a dog, really. Just a very, very big dog.

Jack couldn’t help but chuckle when the other man seemed to have mixed feelings about feeding Ava the apple. It was almost possible to see all the wheels churning in his head as he mulled it over. He supposed there might be various pros and cons to doing so, more pros than cons, but this might just be the first close encounter Clarence had ever had with a horse, so he might be over thinking any cons that could possibly come into play. Like Ava getting spooked somehow and trampling him. But that wouldn’t be the apple’s fault! It was just an apple and she was just a horse. A tired horse who was already looking at the apple with a twinkle in her eye. She wanted it and she probably wouldn’t care who gave it to her so long as they held it right.

Grinning when the other man finally took the apple, he watched as he held it out and seemed to get very nervous about it. “Here, relax,” he said simply, taking hold of Clarence’s wrist to help balance it and make him hold the apple right, so the biggest part of it would be chomped on by Ava first. “Just let her take a couple bites with you holding it, so she doesn’t try to take the whole thing, then when she’s gotten that far, let her take it from your hand entirely, core and all.” And with that, the horse did in fact lean her head in to take a big first bite from the apple, chomping quickly before nibbling again for a second bite, having made quick work of nearly half the apple. From there Jack tilted Clarence’s hand so there was an easy way for Ava to take the rest of the apple, which she did, and began to munch on the rest of it contently.

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Jack grinned as he released the other’s wrist, offering him a kerchief from his jacket’s pocket. “Sorry if you got any juice or horse spit on your hand though. That’s always the trickiest part.”

crematorium He hadn’t stopped to think about it, and it was likely that he wouldn’t be concerned with the particular thought that night… But being that he’d succeeded in rousing such a strong level of anxiety in himself over the fact that Jack had presented him with the chance to hand-feed Ava, and was then in turn left with the residual, unfulfilled feelings hanging over his head like some sort of lost raincloud. It was unlikely that he’d see the underlining purpose in all of it to begin with. Sure, everyone had to start somewhere—he hadn’t woken up one morning with a head full of medical terminologies and a mind for the general well-being of others—for some it was somewhere near the first page, and for others it was alongside another, preferably with more experience. Most people were lucky to ‘master’ one thing, but there were those that grew to certain levels of familiarity with multiple trades—really, there were no limits.

Unfortunately, some people simply weren’t cut out to do various tasks. A man like Clarence, for example, would make an incredible joke out of the things that Jack spent his time doing. Of course, there wasn’t much wrong with that for the same reason a person could choose between chocolate and vanilla (just to be difficult, though, it would be specified that neither was preferred in this instance). Perhaps his lack of expertise in the field (on the field, with the field, whatever!) was to blame for his sad excuse for an approach, but that wasn’t to say he exactly expected Jack to intervene (not that he had a problem with his doing as much). ‘Here’ and ‘relax’ were the words that had initially caught his attention, but it wasn’t much more than a moment later and he could feel a hand on his wrist.

Though he still hadn’t turned his head to watch as Ava nibbled at the apple, the doctor managed to glance questioningly at Jack as he spoke. Clarence wasn’t disturbed by the contact—at least not in any way that might seem obvious—per se, but it did force him to realise how foolish he’d been acting up until that point. The only sign that he was feeling any sort of embarrassment was the soft, red coloring that crept its way across his typically pale face. He could feel his ears burning, but even as Jack walked him through the process—even as he felt the apple disappear from his hand—he found it to be too difficult to look elsewhere.

“No… no. Though it seems I should be the one asking you,” he wasn’t too quick to accept the kerchief, but once he realised exactly how sticky his hand had become, it would have been foolish to turn it down. “Thank you… is Ava set for the night, then?”

naga Jack honestly knew he was terrible at reading other people, but he knew Clarence had worked himself up tight over feeding a horse, something that was obviously a completely foreign act for him. Maybe he’d pushed it, but it was important for this man to get at least somewhat comfortable with the creatures if he was going to remain out here. The quickest and easiest form of travel was a stagecoach and while, yes, one could remain somewhat far away from the horses pulling the buggy, one still often had to walk past them or sometimes help the driver tend to them on long distance journeys. This doctor might never have to be subjected to that, but Hell, if he was going to have horses hitched in front of his office on any given day, it’d do him a world of good not to fear the things every time he walked past them.

Partially shrugging off Clarence’s first comment, it was all he could do to admit the truth of the matter, “You did fine. I know horses can be intimidating creatures, but it’d do you a world of good to know that they’re gentle creatures at heart. Just big, dumb, gentle creatures who sometimes forget how big and strong they are. You’re more likely to be hurt by a friendly looking dog than a horse.” People only got hurt by horses unless they were just as dumb, if not dumber. Walking behind them without giving them warning would get a man kicked, running in front of them when they were spooked or running for some other reason would get them trampled, spooking a horse in any other loud, stupid way that would startle any other human would likely do the same for a horse and cause them to freak out a little. The only people who got hurt by horses were the idiots and the ones who broke them to begin with. Jack was a little bit of both.

“But yeah, she’s all set now. Thanks for the company and the help,” he said with a grin, patting the other man on the back as he grabbed his pack once more and headed back to the saloon. He needed some food, and soon. Jack just hoped beyond hope that he wouldn’t see any of those Walton’s Gang bastards hanging in the saloon tonight. Hopefully they were all still back at Twin Rocks, milling about and wondering how and why some random asshole came around and took away their ticket to a quick and easy ransom—not to mention what else they planned on doing to that poor girl. But even if there were men there and they recognised him? So be it. Jack wasn’t going to run away from scum like that.

He’d have to watch his back for Clarence though, just in case being near him caused him to get caught up in any kind of mess. Fortunately for the both of them, once he pushed open the saloon’s doors, he saw no sign of the top-hatted men and the place was completely at peace. All except for the scantily clad women milling about, propositioning the occasional man. One of them being him. Of course.

Rolling his eyes and strolling right past after holding the door open for Clarence, he muttered a quick and simple, “I’ll pay for it when I’m old, lady,” before heading right back to the bar to get food for himself and order a drink for Clarence. “So what can I get you, MacKinnon?” He said with a smile as he looked back to the other man. “Any drink of your choice for the good work on my shoulder today.”

crematorium Had he known that a task ordinarily described as simple, such as walking through a doorway and gaining entry to a building would be so utterly disastrous, he would have refused to tag along in the first place. The entire situation back at the barn had been his own fault; he hadn’t exactly seen it coming (… ‘there is a nervous breakdown in your future’; ‘try again later’; ‘yes’…). It sounded ridiculous, and there were certain occasions that the doctor could be brought to admit that, ‘yes (er… no. How am I supposed to answer this!’), it was pointless to plan out detailed conclusions to situations just to be prepared with an appropriate reaction. Usually things never turned out as he imagined and usually he never reacted as he would have hoped. Ultimately, he held no ill will against Jack or Ava—nor anybody, for that matter—though he did wish, and he wished furiously that he could be more calm. More composed. Doctor-like; not so jittery and nervous! He couldn’t count the times he’d made a fool of himself in the presence of another… of course, most often his foolishness was cast away without so much as an odd look. It was even worse to go unjudged for odd behaviour! Clarence didn’t want to be thought of as always acting in such a manner… he could relax without another’s guidance. Without some sort of assistance, however? That was something he doubted.

But he tried to keep his thoughts clear for the first several seconds they occupied the saloon (surely any longer than that and he’d be breaking a new record). The place constantly managed to disgust, amaze and confuse him all at the same time—which was typically reason enough for him to avoid its boundaries in general. Being in the company of another (in this case it was Jack) didn’t give him a phony sense of courage or strength that it sometimes gave others (he’d never been much of a fighter, but he still understood that this wasn’t enough to ensure a ‘flawless victory’), but it did make him feel safer about being in such a questionable place to begin with. As usual, he didn’t opt out of glancing around at the other people bustling about, but he made sure to stay close to his companion.

Clarence may have had his doubts about accepting the offered drink earlier, but after an impromptu surgery on top of everything else he’d gone through (or accomplished, perhaps) that day? Honestly, a drink was beginning to sound nice. “Well, if you absolutely must,” although he’d been using his best ‘you’re twisting my arm and it really hurts so I’m just going to have to accept your offer’ voice, his expression suggested that he was guilty of nothing more than playing around—gasp! “Gin sounds just fine, Mr. Marston.”

naga The saloon seemed to be in its slowest hour of the day. With no rowdy sorts and none of the clearly affiliated gangs rustling about either, it seemed like the only type of people in the place were the harmless ones. One man was seated at the back, entertaining one of the so-called ‘ladies of the evening’ with a bright grin on his face as they whispered sweet nothings to each other for a dollar an hour (maybe more, maybe less, Jack stayed well clear of such types and didn’t exactly know ‘prices’), and at one of the tables there were three men with their feet kicked up and resting after what appeared to be a good haul: they were filthy from head to toe and were throwing around their money like it was going out of style. Treasure hunters. Jack rolled his eyes at them—it was an obsession he never quite understood. Though he didn’t throw away the one treasure map he had either, so perhaps he might give that whole style of life a try sometime. Maybe tomorrow.

Otherwise the place was calm. Around back a poker game could be heard, with the occasional man yelling about cheating or cursing for his losses, but Jack pointedly ignored the sounds. He’d gotten his ass handed to him one too many times for gambling in the past. Not to mention the fact that he often cheated… that fact ensured he got into even more duels than he wanted to. Every time that sort of mess happened he thanked whatever God might exist that he was able to learn enough from his father to be able to disarm a man before he had to take another life over something as stupid as poker winnings or a challenge of honour. It seemed so pointless to get yourself killed over something so petty. Then again, he supposed that was all some people had. He could hear it now, his mother whispering in her ear that he was the lucky sort—so lucky that he’d gotten a high fallutin’ attitude to match.

When Clarence accepted the offer for a drink, Jack smiled and offered the money for the gin and a bit of food for himself. Yeah, food first, then he might chase it with a bit of whiskey. Couldn’t hurt too bad, right? It might numb the throbbing pain coming from his shoulder anyhow, so in the end it would be a beneficial choice. One thing was for damned sure though, the moment he heard Mr. Marston come out of the other man’s mouth, he couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head, “Please, just call me Jack.” It would be too typical to say the old and overused phrase of Mr. Marston was my father, but in the end it was more that he didn’t want to over-say the name. Or let anyone else get the chance to hear it too much either. It was still well too known in these parts, for better and for worse. It all depended upon the man or woman who heard it.

With the drink served to Clarence and his own food being prepared, Jack turned and eyed the other man with a curious glance. “If you don’t mind my askin’, why’d you come out here anyway? Seems a strange choice of town to settle in. I figured a city man like yourself would at least try Blackwater first, seein’ as how that’s the closest we got to a city round here.” He couldn’t help but ask! Why anyone would choose to live out here astounded him, let alone picking Armadillo of all places.

crematorium “Ah, I apologise, Mi- …Jack,” if he thought hard enough, he’d probably be able to recall that he’d been informed of existing preferences—as far as names were concerned. But it was just something that never sat right with him, no matter what the situation consisted of (though if any time had been appropriate for given-name references, it might as well be now). And then his drink was set in front of him. Clarence couldn’t help but think it’d be rude—both in manner and gesture—to begin without Jack, but the moment he looked up from the glass (it probably hadn’t been the exact moment, but a mere coincidence), he could hear the other’s voice forming questions. Did he mind?

“Oh! No, not at all! It’s something I often ask myself, actually,” he wouldn’t bore the other with his typical speech (not that he had one in the first place). He wouldn’t say that he’d had enough of the city and felt it was time for a change of scenery, mostly because it wasn’t something one expected to hear from the mouth of a doctor… especially one so unfit for rural living conditions. “I didn’t leave the city expecting to settle down here, really; I’m not much of a wanderer, but I can’t stay where I can’t provide for myself.” It didn’t take him long to empty his glass of its gin; though he’d clearly established that doing so before Jack received his [meal] would be wrong, his mind just wasn’t on the same level (playing field, continent, planet, whatever the preferred term happened to be). This was a question Clarence had no idea how to answer, at least not without sounding like an ungrateful snob.

“I don’t mind it here all that much. It’s even managed to be somewhat decent when my patients refrain from manhandling me. As far as Blackwater is concerned… I’m not entirely sure what to tell you, but if it’s half as dusty as this ‘town’, I’d consider leaving half of what I own in that building and leaving tonight. On foot.” Of course, being the considerate person that he was, if such a ridiculous thing were to occur, he’d want to leave a note explaining his disappearance to anyone that happened to notice. Namely the ill or those that were meant to fall ill in the future.

naga “Hey, no need to apologise. It’s just… the title doesn’t really suit me, is all.” It was a lame excuse, and while it was certainly true, he didn’t feel all right with admitting the fact that the name Marston sometimes meant something either amazingly good, or remarkably bad. Jack wished he could know beforehand, whether people thought of his father as a criminal or a saint. But in the end he simply wasn’t that good at reading people, let alone paying that much attention to his surroundings. His mother always said his head was stuck somewhere up in the clouds… now was not unlike one of those times. Half of him was thinking idly on long journeys across the country, very similar to the one Clarence had recently made, while the other half of him was indeed listening to the man’s story as to why he made that journey to begin with.

He couldn’t stay where he couldn’t provide for himself. Was New York a hard place to live and work? Strange, Jack would’ve thought the opposite, but he obviously was no expert on such a matter. Nodding slowly, he accepted that bit of an answer and let it be. He didn’t want to pry too far, but he still had no concept of why someone might choose this place to live, of all places, unless he or she was a rancher or treasure hunter of some kind. Or, hell, someone looking for a lawless place to live where you could get away with more than one could in Blackwater. Yeah, maybe Clarence would like Blackwater a little more—sounded like a lot of his patients weren’t the nicest of folk in Armadillo.

“Oh it’s half as dusty all right,” Jack said with a grin, thinking on the town a bit more. “It’s waterside, so the fresh air from the lake blows all the dust out and actually makes the place seem clean and presentable.” Leaning on the bar a bit more as he felt another rush of dizziness hit him (damn blood loss), he considered Blackwater a bit more. “They’ve had back luck holding onto their doctors though. Last one I knew of ducked out of the city a few years back… went back to Yale and completely lost his mind after using too much cocaine.” At that he could only shrug—he never knew the man, but he had a feeling his father had known him. “You might like it there, you’d be treated better, I’m certain about that. If you ever wanted a tour of the place, I live nearby and wouldn’t mind showing you around and offering a place to stay in case you wanted to make a day of the decision.”

It was worth offering, right? He knew it would be polite, and honestly, it might be good for Clarence to get out of a rough place like this and try to help him get set up in the somewhat more civilised Blackwater. It wouldn’t give him as much of a shock to go to work each day in a place that actually had paved roads… if he was coming in from New York, after all, then he could only imagine that the difference was staggering every single day he woke up in Armadillo.