The meeting with Judge had just ended. Rends was glad to have the beginnings of a plan in the works, and even more glad to be getting some scouting done for Roarin' Jack, but mostly he was glad he'd soon have another chance to test himself against the Skin Rippers. . He smiled to himself as he pulled open the doors to the ramshackle shack. Sure they'd been easy enough to kill, but he always hungered for a challenge, some new way to improve himself, and last time he'd completely lost his head. That wouldn't happen again. He hadn't yet met a challenge he couldn't beat, and he wouldn't start failing now.
It was dry out; brown and pale green grassland stretched into infinity beyond the town's barely established border. Rends took in the scent of dust and grass and distant corn being harvested. Rends spat, thinking of home as he brought out a piece of jerky, watching the nearby area for trouble as his pack left the shack, going off on their own business. Taking a big bite, his eye was drawn to a slight figure slowly walking down the road towards the edge of town. Rends recognized the young European woman who had left the shack when the meeting really started.
What was her name again? Lara, right.
Against his better judgement, Rends let his gaze linger. Thin and with long brunette hair, she was pretty enough. More, she smelled like gunpowder, and Rends had noticed her calloused hands as she'd left. She wasn't some city flower waiting to be plucked. Here was a strong, independent woman who don't need no man.
'Specially one like you. You cain't even get a whore right.
Rends grimaced, pulling his hat down at the memory of his first failed attempt at romance in New Orleans. He was a proud man, and the fact that he'd been taken for a ride without even getting what he'd paid for galled him still. Taking another big bite of jerky, he looked over to the side to distract himself and saw Mocks the Night sitting in a chair, drinking from his flask and looking smug as a mouse when the cat's out. Rends felt a pang of jealousy for his packmate.
He ain't got no problems with women. Hell, I don't even know if Harriet knew his name when they got together. But he cain't fight worth a lick for all his enthusiasm and tyin'. What's he got that I don't?
He looked up again, eyes resting on Lara as she walked up to a wagon just up the road. The wagon was open, displaying several old muskets and newer shotguns along with a musket pistol or two. She climbed in, sitting on a stool and polishing a shotgun with a dirty rag. Rends watched her for a time, considering.
Maybe it's practice. I done lots of fightin' afore I got real good at it, and Mocks used ta live in a bar. I bet he used to practice all the time.
He scratched at his chin, waving to his friend.
"Hey Mocks, c'mere. I need ya help."
Curious, Mocks got up.
"I'll say ya do, Rends. But there ain't no helpin' that face. That scar's just unfortunate."
Rends ignored the quip, suddenly fidgeting.
"So, uh, remember when I agreed ta teach ya ta fight? You said you'd learn me my letters, but ya also said you'd help me with somethin' else. Gettin' girls."
Rends scratched at the back of his neck.
"See I ain't good with women. Dunnow why, I can kill anything they like. But they never seems ta like me. So I figure we got a day or two a down time, so why not get some practice in?"
He points a big finger at the distant figure in the wagon.
"So, help me out here. How do I get me a girl like that?"
Home 
