oom: dodge city, kansas
It doesn't take Doc long to get his things in order in Liberty and head west across Kansas for the Colorado border. He'd left bar without telling many people he was going, thanks to a promise from her that she'd 'make it quick as she could'. Nova's in good shape, and he can cover just under fifty miles a day, depending on the terrain and the weather.
He's only out a week, before the weather turns sour.
Doc wakes up to see the weather outside his hotel room starting to get iffy looking, but it's not snowing just yet. Dodge City is only a half-day, and past that is Cimarron if he can make it that far before it goes to hell. Nova gets saddled up early and he sets out after a hot breakfast, scarf wrapped around his neck and hat pulled down low over his eyes as he leaves Larned.
It's about ten miles from Dodge City that he hits the rain, and about five miles out when he hits the snow. Two miles from town the sun starts to set and the temperature drops to somewhere below freezing, and by that point he doesn't care where the hell he ends up, so long as it's someplace warm.
There's a hotel with a livery on the east end of town, and he stops there to stable his horse, leaving the man in charge with Nova and normally he would take care of him himself, but at the moment he's just too damn cold. He needs a room for the night and a hot bath.
The long walk around the backside of the building to the front of the hotel does nothing more to assist in warming himself up. Instead, it only freezes him even more. There's ice coating his hat and snow sticking to his clothes, and his beard feels like it's frozen to his face.
(That's because it is.)
Of course you end up in Dodge City half-frozen to death. Out of all the places in Kansas, you end up in Dodge fuckin' City. The one town that probably has more outlaws in it than lawmen. Great fuckin' choice.
Of course, if he's looking to put a new outfit together...
You know someone who could'a run the gang? Yeah, I know someone who could'a run the gang. Me. I could'a run the gang.
He barely hears his footsteps as he slogs his way through the snow, and under that, mud, his boots are practically soaked clear through the thick leather hide.
(He's pretty sure his socks are wet, but he's too cold to tell.)
Why the hell is this building so damn huge? Should have a back door to the damn hotel.
He walks past busy saloons (even an ice storm can't shut this town down, apparently) and a rooming establishment (or the whorehouses, given the lights on upstairs and the activity in the parlor) and another saloon (someone is singing, badly, and it makes him smirk despite the fact that his face is numb) with warm windows.
He doesn't want a drink.
I want a hot bath and a bed that ain't straw-tick.
He doesn't want a woman.
I want a certain woman but she ain't here.
He doesn't want a meal.
I want to sleep.
For some reason, he stops walking and stands in the space between two buildings, ignoring the sleet that's soaking his clothes even more every second he stays outdoors.
There's a lawman walking down the boardwalk.
Boots echoing on the ground (boots on a stairwell and he's half expecting to hear glass shatter and the boys to scream) as they get closer.
I could have run the Regulators and we would've done things proper.
There's a gun at his hip, heavy and cold, but his gloves are too wet, his hands are too cold...
We would've done things proper.
"Evenin'," the man says.
"Evenin', sir."
The man looks at him and Doc looks back.
Holy shit it's James Masterson.
"You're gonna catch your death, son, standin' out here like that," the deputy says, patting him on the shoulder with a gloved hand as he continues on past. "Go on, now, and get yourself inside."
Doc nods and then keeps walking, turning only once to glance over his shoulder.
Habit.
(Never turn your back on a lawman.)
He's only out a week, before the weather turns sour.
Doc wakes up to see the weather outside his hotel room starting to get iffy looking, but it's not snowing just yet. Dodge City is only a half-day, and past that is Cimarron if he can make it that far before it goes to hell. Nova gets saddled up early and he sets out after a hot breakfast, scarf wrapped around his neck and hat pulled down low over his eyes as he leaves Larned.
It's about ten miles from Dodge City that he hits the rain, and about five miles out when he hits the snow. Two miles from town the sun starts to set and the temperature drops to somewhere below freezing, and by that point he doesn't care where the hell he ends up, so long as it's someplace warm.
There's a hotel with a livery on the east end of town, and he stops there to stable his horse, leaving the man in charge with Nova and normally he would take care of him himself, but at the moment he's just too damn cold. He needs a room for the night and a hot bath.
The long walk around the backside of the building to the front of the hotel does nothing more to assist in warming himself up. Instead, it only freezes him even more. There's ice coating his hat and snow sticking to his clothes, and his beard feels like it's frozen to his face.
(That's because it is.)
Of course you end up in Dodge City half-frozen to death. Out of all the places in Kansas, you end up in Dodge fuckin' City. The one town that probably has more outlaws in it than lawmen. Great fuckin' choice.
Of course, if he's looking to put a new outfit together...
You know someone who could'a run the gang? Yeah, I know someone who could'a run the gang. Me. I could'a run the gang.
He barely hears his footsteps as he slogs his way through the snow, and under that, mud, his boots are practically soaked clear through the thick leather hide.
(He's pretty sure his socks are wet, but he's too cold to tell.)
Why the hell is this building so damn huge? Should have a back door to the damn hotel.
He walks past busy saloons (even an ice storm can't shut this town down, apparently) and a rooming establishment (or the whorehouses, given the lights on upstairs and the activity in the parlor) and another saloon (someone is singing, badly, and it makes him smirk despite the fact that his face is numb) with warm windows.
He doesn't want a drink.
I want a hot bath and a bed that ain't straw-tick.
He doesn't want a woman.
I want a certain woman but she ain't here.
He doesn't want a meal.
I want to sleep.
For some reason, he stops walking and stands in the space between two buildings, ignoring the sleet that's soaking his clothes even more every second he stays outdoors.
There's a lawman walking down the boardwalk.
Boots echoing on the ground (boots on a stairwell and he's half expecting to hear glass shatter and the boys to scream) as they get closer.
I could have run the Regulators and we would've done things proper.
There's a gun at his hip, heavy and cold, but his gloves are too wet, his hands are too cold...
We would've done things proper.
"Evenin'," the man says.
"Evenin', sir."
The man looks at him and Doc looks back.
Holy shit it's James Masterson.
"You're gonna catch your death, son, standin' out here like that," the deputy says, patting him on the shoulder with a gloved hand as he continues on past. "Go on, now, and get yourself inside."
Doc nods and then keeps walking, turning only once to glance over his shoulder.
Habit.
(Never turn your back on a lawman.)