Kathy's night had been...interesting. The hotel's proprietor had not wanted to rent her a room due to her 'ethnic' persuasion, citing how uncomfortable his upstanding white patrons would be, knowing that someone of her 'complexion' had slept in the same bed they paid full-price for. She'd sealed her removal from his establishment first by suggesting they'd have less of a problem with it if he washed his fucking sheets once in awhile and then by throwing up the last of her whiskey onto his boots. Eliot had hauled her away after that, but she was pretty sure he was more proud of her than annoyed at the difficulty of getting her squared away
( ... )
"Kathy, darlin'." Eliot put out an arm to keep her from trying to step any further out into the town. "I mightily suggest that further antagonizin' these here cocksuckers with your currently colorful vocabulary is perhaps not the most appropriate fucking response this morning. Also, keepin' your voice down might help your head."
A ululating cry echoed off the surrounding hills, followed by the pounding of drums. Eliot pressed his face into his hands. "Oh for fuck sake."
"My head currently feels like a rotten melon on top of a toothpick and I hope that every single one of these motherfuckers drinks tainted water and dies in a shit slurry," Kathy growled, rubbing at her temples.
The residents of Deadwood had not endeared themselves to her, no. She was almost awestruck by the number of ways different people had managed to insult her race and gender.
"The fuck is that noise?" she asked. "I didn't think my fucking headache needed a dubstep score."
"Yeahno, this is entirely not my genre of choice," Kathy said flatly. "At best, I might check out frontier space cowboys and then be fucking disappointed when a society that is half founded by China can still miraculously have no fucking Asians in it."
She looked up at the arrow buried in the post and frowned even harder. "Are--are we bein' attacked by Native Americans?" she asked, appalled. "That's so fuckin' stupid. They'll be out-fuckin-gunned and out-fuckin-numbered. Who the fuck thinks this is a good fucking idea? They should be skirmishers, not the goddamn cavalry!"
One of the grimier prospectors carrying a sharp looking shovel stopped in front of Eliot and Kathy. "Sheriff! Ain't you gonna do somethin' about them goddamn savages?" He spotted Kathy and his eyes went wide.
Eliot grabbed him by the shirt front before he could say another word. "You say one goddamn thing to slight my friend here and I will jam that shovel so far up your ass it'll find sunlight," he spat, then shoved the man away again.
The man clutched his hat to his head and looked rapidly between the two of them. "T-traitor. THE SHERIFF'S A GODDAMN TRAITOR! I knew it. I knew you had red in you. Shoulda made you report your blood quantum before we ever elected you." He shook his fist up at Eliot even as he backed into the rushing crowd. "Traitor! TRAITOR!"
Him running away wasn't going to stop Kathy from yelling after him. "You should report your blood quantum so we can finally figure out whether your momma fucked a pig or a fuckin' billy goat before shitting your ugly ass out!" she hollered. "Lookin' at your build and general hygiene, my money's on pig, but the smell makes a good argument for goat!"
She was like a chihuahua: a tiny ball of incandescent rage and aggression.
There were rather a lot of townspeople staring at them now. Eliot was -- for the first time in a very, very long time -- regretting not having a firearm on his person. "The hell're all of you still doin' out here? Get in your fucking homes! Don't you hear those war drums?"
Fortunately the star he wore still had power for most of the town, and the people on the street started scrambling even faster, the "traitor!" shouts getting lost in the hubbub. Eliot reached over to grab the back of Kathy's fancy get up and haul her off the boardwalk, if necessary.
"As for you, let's get you some goddamn headache powder already and try not to get us both strung up or shot."
Another arrow thocked into the boardwalk by his foot. Eliot snapped his head up in time to see a man in a war bonnet and not much else howl into his flattened hand and go leaping off around the corner of the building.
"Motherfuck me!" Kathy said, darting back out of the way--and ending up clinging to the rail at the end of the porch. Her expression of fear transformed into joy, even as she wobbled on the wood. "Eliot! Eliot! Did you see that? My bouncing is back!"
Her balance wasn't and she still felt like she was moving through molasses, but she was bouncing again! That was something, wasn't it?
More of the horrifyingly cliche "Indians" had invaded the camp, as evidenced by the silhouettes of single feathers standing straight upright from the tops of walls and around the sides of buildings. "That's great, darlin', how's about you fucking bounce somewhere that ain't about to become --"
The end of his sentence got lost when the street erupted into gunfire.
Kathy flung herself off the railing, hitting first the floor and then bouncing up to the ceiling, clinging tightly to the beams. "This is fucking ridiculous," she yelped. "Are we really shooting bullets and arrows at one another? For no reason?! Other than stupidity and bigotry and--what are we gonna fuckin do about this, Eliot? We can't just let it stand!"
"We're two people in the middle of two armies, Kathy," Eliot said grimly. He backed towards the door to his shop. A shot ricocheted off the sign above him and he ducked reflexively. "All we can do by now is get the fuck out of the cocksuckers' way."
"But people are going to die!" Kathy protested, swinging into the building after him. She might have forgotten it was just a sim. "For no reason! They'll just die!"
"I know," Eliot ground out through clenched teeth. He wanted nothing more than to throw himself out there and start throwing punches, disarming people left and right -- but all that would do would be to get him shot as a traitor. Or worse. So instead he just closed the door behind her and looked for something to bar it with. "The history of the goddamn world is people dying for no fucking reason, Kathy. You gotta choose your battles if you want to survive it."
The glass in window shattered, and a clay pot full of nails sitting next to it exploded.
Kathy shrieked and ducked away from the window. "This is fucking insane!" she shouted, covering her head with her arms. "We're supposed to stop this! I don't fuckin care what the rest of the world is like or not like! This is wrong! I thought your whole job is to stop things like this!"
"To prevent them!" Eliot shouted back. More bullets riddled the front of the shop, and a few arrows flew in through the holes. It was as if they'd all teamed up to come at Eliot and Kathy specifically. "You can't stop a train by yourself, Kathy, the best you can do is fucking damage control! And right now that means I'm fucking focused on keepin' us alive!"
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A ululating cry echoed off the surrounding hills, followed by the pounding of drums. Eliot pressed his face into his hands. "Oh for fuck sake."
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The residents of Deadwood had not endeared themselves to her, no. She was almost awestruck by the number of ways different people had managed to insult her race and gender.
"The fuck is that noise?" she asked. "I didn't think my fucking headache needed a dubstep score."
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A fancifully fletched arrow thwocked into the post above Eliot's hand and he flinched back.
"Goddammit. There ain't a fucking bow made could make a shot like that from that fucking distance!"
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She looked up at the arrow buried in the post and frowned even harder. "Are--are we bein' attacked by Native Americans?" she asked, appalled. "That's so fuckin' stupid. They'll be out-fuckin-gunned and out-fuckin-numbered. Who the fuck thinks this is a good fucking idea? They should be skirmishers, not the goddamn cavalry!"
Reply
One of the grimier prospectors carrying a sharp looking shovel stopped in front of Eliot and Kathy. "Sheriff! Ain't you gonna do somethin' about them goddamn savages?" He spotted Kathy and his eyes went wide.
Eliot grabbed him by the shirt front before he could say another word. "You say one goddamn thing to slight my friend here and I will jam that shovel so far up your ass it'll find sunlight," he spat, then shoved the man away again.
The man clutched his hat to his head and looked rapidly between the two of them. "T-traitor. THE SHERIFF'S A GODDAMN TRAITOR! I knew it. I knew you had red in you. Shoulda made you report your blood quantum before we ever elected you." He shook his fist up at Eliot even as he backed into the rushing crowd. "Traitor! TRAITOR!"
"Well," said Eliot. "This just got uglier."
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She was like a chihuahua: a tiny ball of incandescent rage and aggression.
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Fortunately the star he wore still had power for most of the town, and the people on the street started scrambling even faster, the "traitor!" shouts getting lost in the hubbub. Eliot reached over to grab the back of Kathy's fancy get up and haul her off the boardwalk, if necessary.
"As for you, let's get you some goddamn headache powder already and try not to get us both strung up or shot."
Another arrow thocked into the boardwalk by his foot. Eliot snapped his head up in time to see a man in a war bonnet and not much else howl into his flattened hand and go leaping off around the corner of the building.
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Her balance wasn't and she still felt like she was moving through molasses, but she was bouncing again! That was something, wasn't it?
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The end of his sentence got lost when the street erupted into gunfire.
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The glass in window shattered, and a clay pot full of nails sitting next to it exploded.
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