001 - Audio
[Rooster has been aboard since late last night, exploring. Feel free to assume your character saw him at some point; however, he did a lot of ignoring and walking away.
His first entry is heralded by a feedback whine from the microphone. He’s apparently talking to himself at first.]
- can’t do nothing right. Everything’s got to be new and polished up and no one’s got any appreciation anymore for tried and trusted ways of doing things. Hello?
Okay.
[Now he's talking to you.]
My name is Reuben J. Cogburn, U.S. Federal Marshal, lately of Fort Smith, Arkansas. Most people call me "Rooster" if they know me personally.
You inmates don’t know me personally, so that’ll be Warden, Marshal, or Mister Cogburn to you. If you're in some kind of hurry, you can call me "Sir". I don't plan to answer you if you get a burr in your saddle and decide to call me by my given name.
Those of you men that are here like me as a warden have the professional courtesy of addressing me like you want to be addressed.
["Men" differentiating from "boys", as he isn't aware there are women here.]
Now, when I came aboard here and made an arrangement with the old Admiral for -
[He interrupts himself, and his tone changes from authoritative to thoughtful and bemused.]
Say, now, where is he, anyhow? I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since yesterday. I’ve got a few amendments to make on our agreement, and one of ‘em is for a horse. I don’t know how he did it, but this boat’s got a big grass field and I mean to go riding in it when the notion takes me. I don’t mean one of those piddling Texas sheep, either, that keel over and die on you after ten miles. I want a tall, sturdy horse that ain’t been gelded and can jump a four-post fence.
Besides that horse, I’m going to need two pounds of taffy, tobacco, rolling paper, matches, cartridges, whiskey, and if someone can manage it, I want a bed with slats. I can’t sleep on that damn Chinese rope bed anymore. My back doesn’t agree with it.
[Back to business.]
Where’s the criminal I’m supposed to improve and make fit for society?
His first entry is heralded by a feedback whine from the microphone. He’s apparently talking to himself at first.]
- can’t do nothing right. Everything’s got to be new and polished up and no one’s got any appreciation anymore for tried and trusted ways of doing things. Hello?
Okay.
[Now he's talking to you.]
My name is Reuben J. Cogburn, U.S. Federal Marshal, lately of Fort Smith, Arkansas. Most people call me "Rooster" if they know me personally.
You inmates don’t know me personally, so that’ll be Warden, Marshal, or Mister Cogburn to you. If you're in some kind of hurry, you can call me "Sir". I don't plan to answer you if you get a burr in your saddle and decide to call me by my given name.
Those of you men that are here like me as a warden have the professional courtesy of addressing me like you want to be addressed.
["Men" differentiating from "boys", as he isn't aware there are women here.]
Now, when I came aboard here and made an arrangement with the old Admiral for -
[He interrupts himself, and his tone changes from authoritative to thoughtful and bemused.]
Say, now, where is he, anyhow? I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since yesterday. I’ve got a few amendments to make on our agreement, and one of ‘em is for a horse. I don’t know how he did it, but this boat’s got a big grass field and I mean to go riding in it when the notion takes me. I don’t mean one of those piddling Texas sheep, either, that keel over and die on you after ten miles. I want a tall, sturdy horse that ain’t been gelded and can jump a four-post fence.
Besides that horse, I’m going to need two pounds of taffy, tobacco, rolling paper, matches, cartridges, whiskey, and if someone can manage it, I want a bed with slats. I can’t sleep on that damn Chinese rope bed anymore. My back doesn’t agree with it.
[Back to business.]
Where’s the criminal I’m supposed to improve and make fit for society?