High Noonish
Who: Edward Elric and Forte Stollen
Where: A dusty cattle town somewhere in the Old West
When: Yesterday. High Noon.
What: The hunt for the 'bounty' on the Fullmetal Alchemist takes Forte to the Old West. Antics ensue.
Mundane Sector - The Old West
The Old West is a rough place, lawless and yet to be tamed by ages of development and metropolitan sprawl. Here, the frontier stretches out for miles of scorched desert land, and here, countless people struggle to start a new life for themselves. Indian raids are still a problem, as are bandit attacks and robberies, thanks to the poor equipment and coverage of the local settlements' sheriffs, often leaving justice up to a simple shootout between lawman or vigilante and wrongdoer. Hard work and simple values are popular among the people here, though farther out west, there's also the occasional gold prospector out to hit a lucky vein and strike it rich in one quick moment. For everyone here, though, the living is hard, and those who venture out into it had best carry their six-shooter close.
Bored and looking for something different from the usual Angel Brigade shenanigans, Forte decided to do something rare and actually attempt to earn her IPA paycheck. So, with Vetinari's wanted list in hand, she's hot on the trail of her first fugitive: The Fullmetal Alchemist. Some investigative work and judicious use of her riding crop later, she's tracked Edward down to an anonymous cattle town somewhere in the Old West. In a tilted stetson, cotton cloak, and dusty boots for the full Clint Eastwood look, the soldier hikes casually into town. Just another dritfin' wrangler, albeit one with fire red hair and vaguely Oriental features. Over a shoulder, she carries her 'belongings' in a sack, with pieces of metal clanging against each other.
Of course, right now it would have to be high noon...
Hah. Funny, that. Then again it was about that time, considering Edward had come this way to find some lunch for himself. Unfortunately, he must have been thinking of more modernized settings when he had thought to seek out a good barbeque.
Forte won't have to look hard nor long for her quarry as suddenly flying through the swinging doors of the local saloon come several cowpokes, at least one of them lucky enough to land in the watering trough just outside. Being the least dazed of the three although soaked from hat to chaps, the man clambers out of the trough as the horses parked there glare at him for disturbing their peaceful drink, all the while muttering something about crazy half-pint no good kids runnin' roun' like the think they own th' place.
Target acquired. The corner of Forte's lips curl upwards into a confident grin and she makes the last few steps for the swinging doors, right past assorted dizzied rustlers.
"Hey Clem, lookit' the gams on that gal~"
Rewind the animation back a few frames. Insert an off-screen gunshot, and a cry of "My handlebar mustache!"
Fast-forward back to the saloon doors, where the red-haired gunslinger unassumingly passes through the doors. Her hat is tipped low, a shadow hiding her eyes as they pass across the room and keep a look out for any more incoming cowpokes.
The patrons this fine day are all huddled at their tables suddenly finding their drinks or cards veeery interesting. Over at the bar counter, it's like the parting of the Red Sea what with everyone jammed around either side of it save for the middle...
...where sits a young man with blonde hair in a braid, wearing a red hooded jacket with a snakelike figure entwined about a black cross, his back towards the saloon doors. He seems to radiate 'Don't mess with me,' likely the cause of the flying cowboys but seconds ago. And he's currently sipping on a sarsaparilla.
This moment is perfectly setup for Forte to stand by the doors and go "Imma callin' ya out, ya hornswagglin' hornytoad horse rustler!" She has half a mind to do that, just 'cause it's something she always wanted to do. Maybe later, for when she's actually up against a hornswagglin' hornytoad horse rustler and not some kid with a penchant for chucking men into watering troughs. No, this calls for a more delicate approach.
Yes, I know this is Forte. Trust me, she can do this.
Unfazed and undaunted, the cowgirl jingles all the way to the seat next to Edward at the bar. Not from her spurs - too tacky - but from whatever's in that sack she still has over her shoulder. "Hey, bartender! A shot of whiskey!", she chimes with a raised finger. A pause to look down at Ed's choice of drink. "And another one for my friend here. Root beer? Oi!"
Now might also be a good time to mention that the woman sounds almost exactly like like a certain shapeshifting pain-in-the-automail. Only more hot blooded.
Edward continues to sip down the rest of his drink despite the obvious presence that's chosen to settle herself there beside him. Hey, so long as she didn't make any cracks about his height, it was all good. In response to the slightly familiar voice? - a brow is arched, but Edward doesn't look at Forte until the somewhat nervous bartender slides the shot down the way to her, catching a glimpse of the woman out of the corner of his eye. He still says nothing, but as the second mug of root beer is slid down towards him he simply moves his hand to bring it to a halt.
She should've mentioned to the bartender that the second shot was going to be of whiskey too. Ah well, Forte can introduce the alchemist to the joys of hard liquor some other time. Her voice is muted now, more serious but not flatly so. Motherly, perhaps. "If I was a wanted woman, I wouldn't be trying to draw this much attention to myself. Even if it was in the middle of nowhere." The whiskey is downed in a single gulp. "Oi. Now I know why you went for the root beer."
Just what the world needs, a gripey alchemist in a bad mood with a hangover. Pushing his empty mug away from him, Edward pulls over the refill, looking down at the liquid. He snorts lightly at Forte's words, closing his eyes as he shrugs his shoulders. "I wasn't trying anything. And whatever happened to anyone's their own fault," he replies, lifting the mug to sip. Still holding it in his hands, he finally turns his head to look at Forte, arching a brow. "...'wanted' though..?"
"You didn't know?" Forte places a folded slip of paper on the bar between the two. Scribbled on it are assorted names and bounties. There are names Ed would know, such as Lezard wanted for $1k, Lust and Envy at $500, and down at the bottom: Edward Elric - $50. (No bonus if dead.) "Its not much, but I guess the IPA's interested enough to spend a few credits to bring you in."
Taking the paper, Edward reads it over as he takes another swig of his root beer- and promptly spews it out as his eyes get to his name.
"Fifty bucks!?" he sputters, ramming down the mug so he can grasp the paper with both his hands- like that'd make it change any. His brow begins to twitch as he crumples it up and then tosses it back at Forte. "I last heard there was a warrant out for my arrest, but never any stupid bounty. And THAT is hardly a bounty!" It's hard to figure if he's upset at being on a wanted list at all, or about the measly amount he's apparently worth.
Forte doesn't flinch as the paper goes sailing over her shoulder. "That's what I said," she concurs with a nod, "That Aizen guy has an army of undead at his command, and they're only offering two grand for him? It wouldn't even cover the cost of ammo!" Not that she hasn't thought about it. Two grand can also buy a lot of yakitori. Now if there was only a way to get the Happy Trigger into Hueco Mondo...
Oh, right. "Anyways, a warrant's a warrant," the cowgirl shrugs, "Though if they want you alive, I guess they just want to ask questions. It couldn't hurt to at least talk to someone from the IPA, and just your luck you have an agent right here."
"Feh. The IPA must be on a budget with those numbers they're offering," Edward says flatly, suddenly not feeling very thirsty. He drops his chin into his left palm, flicking golden eyes back at Forte. "If all they want to do is ask questions, then why put a price on my head at all?" he counters, turning his nose up as he closes his eyes again. "I've already talked to someone in the IPA- in fact it was her that told me about the intial warrant for my arrest, but I haven't heard anything of that since- although I haven't gotten the chance to talk to her since then either." The boy smirks faintly. "And then there's the question of why you'd go through so much trouble to track me down yourself. Don't tell me you're that desperate for some cash!" Although heck, if anyone other than IPA-affils could claim the reward, Edward would have turned himself in just to have some pocket cash.
Straightening from the counter, he sets both his hands upon it before he swivels his seat around and stands. "If the IPA wants to talk to me so bad, then they should just send someone to do so instead of going in such a round-about way," the young alchemist continues, waving a hand back at Forte as he starts towards the door.
"To be honest? I was bored." And she doesn't know the way to Hueco Mondo. Forte stays in her seat as the alchemist gets up from his chair, and she doesn't seem to be in any hurry to stop him. "I'll pass on the message, but I can't be sure if the next officer that comes along will be as friendly. If you need someone official on your side sometime, just look me up. My name's Forte, I'm with the Black Sheep and the Angel Brigade."
"Ya sure are as pretty as an ange-" Ka-chik. "Nevermind."
Something settles with a jangle in her sack as Forte re-holsters her revolver, which brings a flash of realization to the soldier's eyes. Hmm. It /would/ be nice to have her poor Enfield back in one piece, but in the alchemist's current mood... Nah. Later.
The young alchemist pauses at the entryway. "Forte, huh? I'll remember that." He nods, neither having turned nor cast any final glances around the saloon on his way out, and soon the room breathes a collective sigh as the last flash of red disappears through the swinging doors.
The rest of the barflies haven't taken the opportunity to spread out just yet, however. The lady was one to be wary of, it seemed. The bartender hesitantly comes over towards her, gulping. "Um... miss, beg pardon? Seein' as how you'n him seem on good terms, an' well- he up an' fergot to pay....."
What. Forte crumples in her seat as an oversized sweatdrop threatens to drag the stetson off of her head. "Maybe I should've gone for the bounty," she mutters.
The bartender does get his pay, though. And a tip. All of which will be added to Ed's bounty, if Forte has anything to say about it.
Meanwhile, outside there comes some shouting. Edward will be found standing out on the main road in typical showdown fashion, with those several men he tossed out earlier... plus half a score more. Seems they weren't about to let some fresh-faced kid throwing them around their own town. A warm breeze blows through, sending Edward's hair and coat billowing behind him. A tumbleweed bounces on past.
MuttermutterlunchmoneyhavetoaskRanphatocook... Forte's grumbling and stalking for the exit just as J. Random Townsfolk dashes in to announce, "It's a showdown!" As everyone else races for the door and windows, she puts two and two together and gets a loss of fifty dollars. Not to fear, for she came prepared for just an eventuality! The sack is dropped onto the ground with a heavy clunk, and the cowgirl reaches inside just as we cut back to the street...
Freya Crescent says, "Hmm.. quite night tonight."
Forte Stollen chunkclankkachik. "Not really..."
Freya Crescent notices sounds. "Doing repairs on armor?"
Forte Stollen shak-shik. "Locking and loading."
"Tha's right ya varmint! Goin' roun' tossin' people like no one's business! What all we do ta deserve that, righ' fell'rs?"
The chorus of yeah's and other generally boisterous shouting is completely interrupted by Edward's shout in response. "You did TOO deserve it! All those cracks about my height- you're lucky you guys got out in one piece!" he growls, pointing a finger at them accusingly.
It seems to have stunned them for a moment- before someone begins to whisper in the back - "Sure's got a set'a lungs fer a speck'o a thing like tha--" *POW*
All others stare in horror as their man goes down by a watering trough. Those horses sure are getting peeved at all this.
"H-hey!! No fair jumpin' the gun! We ain't even started this!!" shouts the ringleader of the ragtag band of vaqueros, flailing as he points back at Edward. What kind of uppity kid..!?
Freya Crescent says, "Ah, fire weaponry. I prefer the old ways, luv."
Forte Stollen says, "Where I'm from," ka-chik, "These are the old ways."
Freya Crescent says, "I suppose. I do hope you've been practicing your hand-to-hand techniques, however."
Suddenly, ther's an ominous mechanical sound coming from the direction of the saloon doors. *CHUNK-CHUNK*
Forte's still in her Woman With No Name Outfit, only now accented with a pair of bandoliers strapped across her chest and a locked and loaded M-60 machinegun levelled Rambo-like at her hip. She's armed and ready for a shootout - that hasn't quite started yet. "What the-" An incredulous look is given to the cowpokes, Edward, and even the water trough. "Hey! I thought this was the wild west! Where's everyone's guns!?"
Everyone, including Edward gapes at the overloaded woman. *cough* "W-we was gettin' to that part!" sputters the leader, and on that note there's a wave of multiple firearms clicking into locked and loaded positions.
Edward continues to just stand there, staring at Forte. "Uh...." Nope, not asking.
Cowdude #1 interrupts anyway. "This 'ere's between us and the half-pint!" he shouts, gesturing at the alchemist, oblivious to the dangerously twitching brow that disappears as Edward lowers his head a certain angle, shadows obscuring most of his face. For the moment he's forgotten as the rest of the band of gunslingers yell their agreement, hoisting guns and fists into the air in tandem.
"Much better~", Forte chimes approvingly. And then she starts to fire.
Over the cowpokes' heads. She's not /that/ crazy!
*budabudabudabuda* "Sorry, boys-" *budabudabudabuda* "He's my bounty-" *budabudabudauda* "I'm takin' him in-" *budabudabudabud-* *click* *clickclickclick* "ARGH! Of all the times to jam..."
The boys all duck and cover, some scrambling for better cover than they have out in the middle of the street. "Crazy spitfire!" #1 curses, peering out from beneath the ever handy horse trough. But lo, even though the worst seems to be over.... well of course, it's only just begun.
The Fullmetal Alchemist, still standing where he had been, still trembling at cowpoke's earlier words, finally rears his ANGRY head and slaps his hands together, blue sparks flashing.
"HOW DARE YOU CALL ME A SQUATTY HALF-PINT THAT DOESN'T NEED TO DUCK TO GET THROUGH THE DOORWAY!?!?" And with that, hands are plunged towards the earth, and the ground heaves as blue light dances across it, and the huge form of... no, not a cannon- but an enormous pistol extrudes its way above the street, aimed right at the group of insult-slinging cowboys. The whole place might have went down a couple of inches in the process, but who's counting?
Not Forte! The Angel stands slackjawed and stunned, staring straight at Edward - no, not Edward. His handiwork. The giant earthen revolver that just grew right out of the ground. There's a long looooooong moment of silence from her before she exclaims, "The stories /were/ true!"
Cute: Check.
Hard: He's taking on an army of rustlers on his own. Check.
Likes (Making) Guns: Check.
Age: 17, right? That's only a five years difference, nothing to worry about there!
A single solitary heart flutters out from underneath the brim of Forte's hat. "... I think I'm in love."
Unfortunately it seems that Forte is the only one that is appreciative of Edward's mad alchemy skills. Even when he's nothing but he intent of blowing these guys to kingdom come, it seems he's found enough time to make sure this thing has some rather nice detailing- even if it is a bit on the gothy side.
"Well shave my legs and call me Betsy- that there's somethin' ya don't see every day." "Won't be seein' much sooner-!!" "AAAAH, we're gonna DIE!" "Everyman for himself!" Chaos and pandemonium takes over, cowboys and bystanders alike running over themselves trying to get clear of the streets.
Not long after, the place seems to have been transformed into an instant ghost town- at least for the moment, the only souls on the street being the Fullmetal Kid and the Angel Gunslinger. Oh, and there's that tumbleweed again.
Edward Elric breathes out a sigh, then with a twisted grin he leans a hand against the enormous handle of the transmuted pistol, chuckling. "Heh heh heh..."
Now, if this was Ranpha, Ed would find himself with a girl wrapped around his chest. Forte, on the other hand, is a more sensible and practical Angel who's far more in control of her emotions.
"THAT WAS AMAZING!" The cowgirl flash-steps straight to the giant pistol, examining it from all angels with sparkly puppy-dog eyes. "An Amestrian Model 1885 Standard Issue! I've been hunting all over for one, and you magically made a replica!" More hearts flutter out from her fire-red hair as she clutches her hands to her own heart, "Can you make more? Can you make a real one?"
Edward Elric has learned a new transmutation: Fangirl!
Buh!? Oh, Edward had almost completely forgotten that she was still here. The alchemist blinks, looking over at the approaching Forte, watching as she oogles the giant stone gun. "Eh.... yeah, if I had the right stuff to work with. This one won't shoot a thing though since it's pretty much just rock." He grins lopsidedly, knocking on the surface of it with his right fist, resulting in a harder sound than it would have with flesh and bone. "...I should probably get rid of this thing though, it'll be a hassle going through here with it smack in the middle of things." Waving Forte aside, Edward turns to face the monstrosity, bringing his hands together before flattening palms against the rock. That familiar flash of light, that blink of space and the quaking of the ground below, and soon the street is returned to its normal boring self. "Tch.... what a waste of time," the boy mutters, scratching the back of his head. "Didn't find lunch yet either."
Awwwwww. As Forte gazes longingly at the ground where the pistol once stood, one may or may not make out a single solitary tear running down her cheek. "It was so magnificent..." Sniffle.
Oh well, what's gone is gone, and there are more important matters to deal with. "So as long as you have the material you can do it?" Hey, since when did Forte sprout cat-whiskers? If she can keep him out of prison... "Edward, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendsip." There's a ping and a gleam of metal in the air, then a coin winds up in the alchemist's direction. "Here's for lunch. I'll be in touch."
Reflexively, Edward snatches the coin out of the air, blinking as he looks at it in his hand. "Huh?" He lifts his head, looking back at Forte, confused, but then who can blame him? He was certain he'd only just earlier heard the woman say he was her bounty. Pocketing the coin, Edward slowly turns to be off on his own way, figuring it best to be gone before those people find out they weren't going to be blown away. He decides not to worry about whatever Forte was getting on about.
There are some things money can't buy. Like alchemists who can transmute any gun Forte could ever wish for. Bounty? What bounty?
Where: A dusty cattle town somewhere in the Old West
When: Yesterday. High Noon.
What: The hunt for the 'bounty' on the Fullmetal Alchemist takes Forte to the Old West. Antics ensue.
Mundane Sector - The Old West
The Old West is a rough place, lawless and yet to be tamed by ages of development and metropolitan sprawl. Here, the frontier stretches out for miles of scorched desert land, and here, countless people struggle to start a new life for themselves. Indian raids are still a problem, as are bandit attacks and robberies, thanks to the poor equipment and coverage of the local settlements' sheriffs, often leaving justice up to a simple shootout between lawman or vigilante and wrongdoer. Hard work and simple values are popular among the people here, though farther out west, there's also the occasional gold prospector out to hit a lucky vein and strike it rich in one quick moment. For everyone here, though, the living is hard, and those who venture out into it had best carry their six-shooter close.
Bored and looking for something different from the usual Angel Brigade shenanigans, Forte decided to do something rare and actually attempt to earn her IPA paycheck. So, with Vetinari's wanted list in hand, she's hot on the trail of her first fugitive: The Fullmetal Alchemist. Some investigative work and judicious use of her riding crop later, she's tracked Edward down to an anonymous cattle town somewhere in the Old West. In a tilted stetson, cotton cloak, and dusty boots for the full Clint Eastwood look, the soldier hikes casually into town. Just another dritfin' wrangler, albeit one with fire red hair and vaguely Oriental features. Over a shoulder, she carries her 'belongings' in a sack, with pieces of metal clanging against each other.
Of course, right now it would have to be high noon...
Hah. Funny, that. Then again it was about that time, considering Edward had come this way to find some lunch for himself. Unfortunately, he must have been thinking of more modernized settings when he had thought to seek out a good barbeque.
Forte won't have to look hard nor long for her quarry as suddenly flying through the swinging doors of the local saloon come several cowpokes, at least one of them lucky enough to land in the watering trough just outside. Being the least dazed of the three although soaked from hat to chaps, the man clambers out of the trough as the horses parked there glare at him for disturbing their peaceful drink, all the while muttering something about crazy half-pint no good kids runnin' roun' like the think they own th' place.
Target acquired. The corner of Forte's lips curl upwards into a confident grin and she makes the last few steps for the swinging doors, right past assorted dizzied rustlers.
"Hey Clem, lookit' the gams on that gal~"
Rewind the animation back a few frames. Insert an off-screen gunshot, and a cry of "My handlebar mustache!"
Fast-forward back to the saloon doors, where the red-haired gunslinger unassumingly passes through the doors. Her hat is tipped low, a shadow hiding her eyes as they pass across the room and keep a look out for any more incoming cowpokes.
The patrons this fine day are all huddled at their tables suddenly finding their drinks or cards veeery interesting. Over at the bar counter, it's like the parting of the Red Sea what with everyone jammed around either side of it save for the middle...
...where sits a young man with blonde hair in a braid, wearing a red hooded jacket with a snakelike figure entwined about a black cross, his back towards the saloon doors. He seems to radiate 'Don't mess with me,' likely the cause of the flying cowboys but seconds ago. And he's currently sipping on a sarsaparilla.
This moment is perfectly setup for Forte to stand by the doors and go "Imma callin' ya out, ya hornswagglin' hornytoad horse rustler!" She has half a mind to do that, just 'cause it's something she always wanted to do. Maybe later, for when she's actually up against a hornswagglin' hornytoad horse rustler and not some kid with a penchant for chucking men into watering troughs. No, this calls for a more delicate approach.
Yes, I know this is Forte. Trust me, she can do this.
Unfazed and undaunted, the cowgirl jingles all the way to the seat next to Edward at the bar. Not from her spurs - too tacky - but from whatever's in that sack she still has over her shoulder. "Hey, bartender! A shot of whiskey!", she chimes with a raised finger. A pause to look down at Ed's choice of drink. "And another one for my friend here. Root beer? Oi!"
Now might also be a good time to mention that the woman sounds almost exactly like like a certain shapeshifting pain-in-the-automail. Only more hot blooded.
Edward continues to sip down the rest of his drink despite the obvious presence that's chosen to settle herself there beside him. Hey, so long as she didn't make any cracks about his height, it was all good. In response to the slightly familiar voice? - a brow is arched, but Edward doesn't look at Forte until the somewhat nervous bartender slides the shot down the way to her, catching a glimpse of the woman out of the corner of his eye. He still says nothing, but as the second mug of root beer is slid down towards him he simply moves his hand to bring it to a halt.
She should've mentioned to the bartender that the second shot was going to be of whiskey too. Ah well, Forte can introduce the alchemist to the joys of hard liquor some other time. Her voice is muted now, more serious but not flatly so. Motherly, perhaps. "If I was a wanted woman, I wouldn't be trying to draw this much attention to myself. Even if it was in the middle of nowhere." The whiskey is downed in a single gulp. "Oi. Now I know why you went for the root beer."
Just what the world needs, a gripey alchemist in a bad mood with a hangover. Pushing his empty mug away from him, Edward pulls over the refill, looking down at the liquid. He snorts lightly at Forte's words, closing his eyes as he shrugs his shoulders. "I wasn't trying anything. And whatever happened to anyone's their own fault," he replies, lifting the mug to sip. Still holding it in his hands, he finally turns his head to look at Forte, arching a brow. "...'wanted' though..?"
"You didn't know?" Forte places a folded slip of paper on the bar between the two. Scribbled on it are assorted names and bounties. There are names Ed would know, such as Lezard wanted for $1k, Lust and Envy at $500, and down at the bottom: Edward Elric - $50. (No bonus if dead.) "Its not much, but I guess the IPA's interested enough to spend a few credits to bring you in."
Taking the paper, Edward reads it over as he takes another swig of his root beer- and promptly spews it out as his eyes get to his name.
"Fifty bucks!?" he sputters, ramming down the mug so he can grasp the paper with both his hands- like that'd make it change any. His brow begins to twitch as he crumples it up and then tosses it back at Forte. "I last heard there was a warrant out for my arrest, but never any stupid bounty. And THAT is hardly a bounty!" It's hard to figure if he's upset at being on a wanted list at all, or about the measly amount he's apparently worth.
Forte doesn't flinch as the paper goes sailing over her shoulder. "That's what I said," she concurs with a nod, "That Aizen guy has an army of undead at his command, and they're only offering two grand for him? It wouldn't even cover the cost of ammo!" Not that she hasn't thought about it. Two grand can also buy a lot of yakitori. Now if there was only a way to get the Happy Trigger into Hueco Mondo...
Oh, right. "Anyways, a warrant's a warrant," the cowgirl shrugs, "Though if they want you alive, I guess they just want to ask questions. It couldn't hurt to at least talk to someone from the IPA, and just your luck you have an agent right here."
"Feh. The IPA must be on a budget with those numbers they're offering," Edward says flatly, suddenly not feeling very thirsty. He drops his chin into his left palm, flicking golden eyes back at Forte. "If all they want to do is ask questions, then why put a price on my head at all?" he counters, turning his nose up as he closes his eyes again. "I've already talked to someone in the IPA- in fact it was her that told me about the intial warrant for my arrest, but I haven't heard anything of that since- although I haven't gotten the chance to talk to her since then either." The boy smirks faintly. "And then there's the question of why you'd go through so much trouble to track me down yourself. Don't tell me you're that desperate for some cash!" Although heck, if anyone other than IPA-affils could claim the reward, Edward would have turned himself in just to have some pocket cash.
Straightening from the counter, he sets both his hands upon it before he swivels his seat around and stands. "If the IPA wants to talk to me so bad, then they should just send someone to do so instead of going in such a round-about way," the young alchemist continues, waving a hand back at Forte as he starts towards the door.
"To be honest? I was bored." And she doesn't know the way to Hueco Mondo. Forte stays in her seat as the alchemist gets up from his chair, and she doesn't seem to be in any hurry to stop him. "I'll pass on the message, but I can't be sure if the next officer that comes along will be as friendly. If you need someone official on your side sometime, just look me up. My name's Forte, I'm with the Black Sheep and the Angel Brigade."
"Ya sure are as pretty as an ange-" Ka-chik. "Nevermind."
Something settles with a jangle in her sack as Forte re-holsters her revolver, which brings a flash of realization to the soldier's eyes. Hmm. It /would/ be nice to have her poor Enfield back in one piece, but in the alchemist's current mood... Nah. Later.
The young alchemist pauses at the entryway. "Forte, huh? I'll remember that." He nods, neither having turned nor cast any final glances around the saloon on his way out, and soon the room breathes a collective sigh as the last flash of red disappears through the swinging doors.
The rest of the barflies haven't taken the opportunity to spread out just yet, however. The lady was one to be wary of, it seemed. The bartender hesitantly comes over towards her, gulping. "Um... miss, beg pardon? Seein' as how you'n him seem on good terms, an' well- he up an' fergot to pay....."
What. Forte crumples in her seat as an oversized sweatdrop threatens to drag the stetson off of her head. "Maybe I should've gone for the bounty," she mutters.
The bartender does get his pay, though. And a tip. All of which will be added to Ed's bounty, if Forte has anything to say about it.
Meanwhile, outside there comes some shouting. Edward will be found standing out on the main road in typical showdown fashion, with those several men he tossed out earlier... plus half a score more. Seems they weren't about to let some fresh-faced kid throwing them around their own town. A warm breeze blows through, sending Edward's hair and coat billowing behind him. A tumbleweed bounces on past.
MuttermutterlunchmoneyhavetoaskRanphatocook... Forte's grumbling and stalking for the exit just as J. Random Townsfolk dashes in to announce, "It's a showdown!" As everyone else races for the door and windows, she puts two and two together and gets a loss of fifty dollars. Not to fear, for she came prepared for just an eventuality! The sack is dropped onto the ground with a heavy clunk, and the cowgirl reaches inside just as we cut back to the street...
Freya Crescent says, "Hmm.. quite night tonight."
Forte Stollen chunkclankkachik. "Not really..."
Freya Crescent notices sounds. "Doing repairs on armor?"
Forte Stollen shak-shik. "Locking and loading."
"Tha's right ya varmint! Goin' roun' tossin' people like no one's business! What all we do ta deserve that, righ' fell'rs?"
The chorus of yeah's and other generally boisterous shouting is completely interrupted by Edward's shout in response. "You did TOO deserve it! All those cracks about my height- you're lucky you guys got out in one piece!" he growls, pointing a finger at them accusingly.
It seems to have stunned them for a moment- before someone begins to whisper in the back - "Sure's got a set'a lungs fer a speck'o a thing like tha--" *POW*
All others stare in horror as their man goes down by a watering trough. Those horses sure are getting peeved at all this.
"H-hey!! No fair jumpin' the gun! We ain't even started this!!" shouts the ringleader of the ragtag band of vaqueros, flailing as he points back at Edward. What kind of uppity kid..!?
Freya Crescent says, "Ah, fire weaponry. I prefer the old ways, luv."
Forte Stollen says, "Where I'm from," ka-chik, "These are the old ways."
Freya Crescent says, "I suppose. I do hope you've been practicing your hand-to-hand techniques, however."
Suddenly, ther's an ominous mechanical sound coming from the direction of the saloon doors. *CHUNK-CHUNK*
Forte's still in her Woman With No Name Outfit, only now accented with a pair of bandoliers strapped across her chest and a locked and loaded M-60 machinegun levelled Rambo-like at her hip. She's armed and ready for a shootout - that hasn't quite started yet. "What the-" An incredulous look is given to the cowpokes, Edward, and even the water trough. "Hey! I thought this was the wild west! Where's everyone's guns!?"
Everyone, including Edward gapes at the overloaded woman. *cough* "W-we was gettin' to that part!" sputters the leader, and on that note there's a wave of multiple firearms clicking into locked and loaded positions.
Edward continues to just stand there, staring at Forte. "Uh...." Nope, not asking.
Cowdude #1 interrupts anyway. "This 'ere's between us and the half-pint!" he shouts, gesturing at the alchemist, oblivious to the dangerously twitching brow that disappears as Edward lowers his head a certain angle, shadows obscuring most of his face. For the moment he's forgotten as the rest of the band of gunslingers yell their agreement, hoisting guns and fists into the air in tandem.
"Much better~", Forte chimes approvingly. And then she starts to fire.
Over the cowpokes' heads. She's not /that/ crazy!
*budabudabudabuda* "Sorry, boys-" *budabudabudabuda* "He's my bounty-" *budabudabudauda* "I'm takin' him in-" *budabudabudabud-* *click* *clickclickclick* "ARGH! Of all the times to jam..."
The boys all duck and cover, some scrambling for better cover than they have out in the middle of the street. "Crazy spitfire!" #1 curses, peering out from beneath the ever handy horse trough. But lo, even though the worst seems to be over.... well of course, it's only just begun.
The Fullmetal Alchemist, still standing where he had been, still trembling at cowpoke's earlier words, finally rears his ANGRY head and slaps his hands together, blue sparks flashing.
"HOW DARE YOU CALL ME A SQUATTY HALF-PINT THAT DOESN'T NEED TO DUCK TO GET THROUGH THE DOORWAY!?!?" And with that, hands are plunged towards the earth, and the ground heaves as blue light dances across it, and the huge form of... no, not a cannon- but an enormous pistol extrudes its way above the street, aimed right at the group of insult-slinging cowboys. The whole place might have went down a couple of inches in the process, but who's counting?
Not Forte! The Angel stands slackjawed and stunned, staring straight at Edward - no, not Edward. His handiwork. The giant earthen revolver that just grew right out of the ground. There's a long looooooong moment of silence from her before she exclaims, "The stories /were/ true!"
Cute: Check.
Hard: He's taking on an army of rustlers on his own. Check.
Likes (Making) Guns: Check.
Age: 17, right? That's only a five years difference, nothing to worry about there!
A single solitary heart flutters out from underneath the brim of Forte's hat. "... I think I'm in love."
Unfortunately it seems that Forte is the only one that is appreciative of Edward's mad alchemy skills. Even when he's nothing but he intent of blowing these guys to kingdom come, it seems he's found enough time to make sure this thing has some rather nice detailing- even if it is a bit on the gothy side.
"Well shave my legs and call me Betsy- that there's somethin' ya don't see every day." "Won't be seein' much sooner-!!" "AAAAH, we're gonna DIE!" "Everyman for himself!" Chaos and pandemonium takes over, cowboys and bystanders alike running over themselves trying to get clear of the streets.
Not long after, the place seems to have been transformed into an instant ghost town- at least for the moment, the only souls on the street being the Fullmetal Kid and the Angel Gunslinger. Oh, and there's that tumbleweed again.
Edward Elric breathes out a sigh, then with a twisted grin he leans a hand against the enormous handle of the transmuted pistol, chuckling. "Heh heh heh..."
Now, if this was Ranpha, Ed would find himself with a girl wrapped around his chest. Forte, on the other hand, is a more sensible and practical Angel who's far more in control of her emotions.
"THAT WAS AMAZING!" The cowgirl flash-steps straight to the giant pistol, examining it from all angels with sparkly puppy-dog eyes. "An Amestrian Model 1885 Standard Issue! I've been hunting all over for one, and you magically made a replica!" More hearts flutter out from her fire-red hair as she clutches her hands to her own heart, "Can you make more? Can you make a real one?"
Edward Elric has learned a new transmutation: Fangirl!
Buh!? Oh, Edward had almost completely forgotten that she was still here. The alchemist blinks, looking over at the approaching Forte, watching as she oogles the giant stone gun. "Eh.... yeah, if I had the right stuff to work with. This one won't shoot a thing though since it's pretty much just rock." He grins lopsidedly, knocking on the surface of it with his right fist, resulting in a harder sound than it would have with flesh and bone. "...I should probably get rid of this thing though, it'll be a hassle going through here with it smack in the middle of things." Waving Forte aside, Edward turns to face the monstrosity, bringing his hands together before flattening palms against the rock. That familiar flash of light, that blink of space and the quaking of the ground below, and soon the street is returned to its normal boring self. "Tch.... what a waste of time," the boy mutters, scratching the back of his head. "Didn't find lunch yet either."
Awwwwww. As Forte gazes longingly at the ground where the pistol once stood, one may or may not make out a single solitary tear running down her cheek. "It was so magnificent..." Sniffle.
Oh well, what's gone is gone, and there are more important matters to deal with. "So as long as you have the material you can do it?" Hey, since when did Forte sprout cat-whiskers? If she can keep him out of prison... "Edward, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendsip." There's a ping and a gleam of metal in the air, then a coin winds up in the alchemist's direction. "Here's for lunch. I'll be in touch."
Reflexively, Edward snatches the coin out of the air, blinking as he looks at it in his hand. "Huh?" He lifts his head, looking back at Forte, confused, but then who can blame him? He was certain he'd only just earlier heard the woman say he was her bounty. Pocketing the coin, Edward slowly turns to be off on his own way, figuring it best to be gone before those people find out they weren't going to be blown away. He decides not to worry about whatever Forte was getting on about.
There are some things money can't buy. Like alchemists who can transmute any gun Forte could ever wish for. Bounty? What bounty?