wild-cryptid
Free as a Bird
James "Jim" Lynnith
Not that a lot of the places Jim visited were huge, but Ranger was small, even for him. A saloon, a mail house, and what seemed to be a general store was all the town really had to it's name. He doubted there was an inn hidden among the small houses that lined the only street, and he doubted even more that there was a sheriff's office. There would be no work here, no wanted criminals for the state, but the next town was still a day and a half away, and he really didn't want to sleep on the ground another night. Really, he was getting too old for this.
He made his way to the saloon, tying his up his horse- a white-spotted, grey saddlebred named Storm. Jim hadn't named the recalcitrant beast, that had been the work of his late wife Grace- the only person the damned horse listened to. But Grace had loved the creature, so by extension he loved it too he guessed, even if the stallion wasn't friendly all the time back.
Like most small towns he visited, Jim figured the bar keep ran the town more or less, meaning he would know if there was someone that would be willing to take the bounty hunter in for just a night. There was a 50/50 shot at it, and usually, he found that if someone in town wasn't willing, the bar keep would put him up for the night for a few extra cents. Jim pushed open the saloon doors to find a quiet place, not much surprise there, but not a soul but the bar tender looked at him when he entered. The people were too engrossed in their drinks, or in one case, their whores, to pay much mind. The sandy-haired bounty hunter removed his hat as he entered; his old formalities of ‘no hats inside’ still holding strong after all those years, and he found a spot at the bar, two seats down from a sickly-looking man, much older than Jim himself, and much thinner. The bar tender, a sturdy bloke with a thick black mustache and equally thick black hair, raised his eyebrows and sat an empty glass in front of the newcomer.
"Scotch, please. It's been a long trip." Jim said, offering a reply to the silent question. He dropped a quarter on the counter in front of the bar tender, who merely smiled lightly in response, and reached behind him to retrieve the drink.
"We don't get many visitors out here, Mr., ah..."
"James. James Lynnith, Jim, please." The bartender nodded and poured the scotch into the empty glass that sat in front of Jim.
"Well, Jim, I'm Kyle. If you need anything, just ask, I help run things around here." Thought so, Jim mused to himself, smiling in response to the man. "So, what's brought you here to Ranger? Surely not sight-seeing?"
"Well, I'm actually looking for some work. I was hoping to find a sheriff's place around here, but it seems you folks don't have one. So now I guess I'm looking for a place to stay. Is there an inn here, or somewhere for a weary traveler to crash?" Kyle frowned at the man, studying him for a second before answering.
"I suppose you're one of them 'bounty hunters' then?" James felt himself tense, ready to fight. Not everyone liked what he did, on account of the other 'hunters' than ran wild across the US, not caring who they hurt as long as they got their money. Jim, at least, tried to do things the right way, make sure he had the right guy the first time. After a long moment, Kyle just nodded again, and picked up a glass to clean, his face lightening up again. "Well, I don't know about an 'inn' but I can run by Mrs. Margaret's house after the saloon closes and see if she has a spot to stay. She's always welcoming to the few strangers we get around here."
Jim physically relaxed, grinning at the keep. "If it's not too much trouble, that would be a huge help."
- age: 24
- height: 6'
- appearance: thin but lean, sandy blonde/brown hair, grey eyes. he has scars scattered all over him from fights, and a permanent chip out of his left ear
- personality: Jim is kind of serious, no-nonsense, although he seems relaxed, very calm in any situation
- weapons: twin pistols on his hips and a hunting knife tucked into his back
- clothes: a brown/tan, long-sleeve button up, white-grey pants and a brown cowboy hat, black boots
Not that a lot of the places Jim visited were huge, but Ranger was small, even for him. A saloon, a mail house, and what seemed to be a general store was all the town really had to it's name. He doubted there was an inn hidden among the small houses that lined the only street, and he doubted even more that there was a sheriff's office. There would be no work here, no wanted criminals for the state, but the next town was still a day and a half away, and he really didn't want to sleep on the ground another night. Really, he was getting too old for this.
He made his way to the saloon, tying his up his horse- a white-spotted, grey saddlebred named Storm. Jim hadn't named the recalcitrant beast, that had been the work of his late wife Grace- the only person the damned horse listened to. But Grace had loved the creature, so by extension he loved it too he guessed, even if the stallion wasn't friendly all the time back.
Like most small towns he visited, Jim figured the bar keep ran the town more or less, meaning he would know if there was someone that would be willing to take the bounty hunter in for just a night. There was a 50/50 shot at it, and usually, he found that if someone in town wasn't willing, the bar keep would put him up for the night for a few extra cents. Jim pushed open the saloon doors to find a quiet place, not much surprise there, but not a soul but the bar tender looked at him when he entered. The people were too engrossed in their drinks, or in one case, their whores, to pay much mind. The sandy-haired bounty hunter removed his hat as he entered; his old formalities of ‘no hats inside’ still holding strong after all those years, and he found a spot at the bar, two seats down from a sickly-looking man, much older than Jim himself, and much thinner. The bar tender, a sturdy bloke with a thick black mustache and equally thick black hair, raised his eyebrows and sat an empty glass in front of the newcomer.
"Scotch, please. It's been a long trip." Jim said, offering a reply to the silent question. He dropped a quarter on the counter in front of the bar tender, who merely smiled lightly in response, and reached behind him to retrieve the drink.
"We don't get many visitors out here, Mr., ah..."
"James. James Lynnith, Jim, please." The bartender nodded and poured the scotch into the empty glass that sat in front of Jim.
"Well, Jim, I'm Kyle. If you need anything, just ask, I help run things around here." Thought so, Jim mused to himself, smiling in response to the man. "So, what's brought you here to Ranger? Surely not sight-seeing?"
"Well, I'm actually looking for some work. I was hoping to find a sheriff's place around here, but it seems you folks don't have one. So now I guess I'm looking for a place to stay. Is there an inn here, or somewhere for a weary traveler to crash?" Kyle frowned at the man, studying him for a second before answering.
"I suppose you're one of them 'bounty hunters' then?" James felt himself tense, ready to fight. Not everyone liked what he did, on account of the other 'hunters' than ran wild across the US, not caring who they hurt as long as they got their money. Jim, at least, tried to do things the right way, make sure he had the right guy the first time. After a long moment, Kyle just nodded again, and picked up a glass to clean, his face lightening up again. "Well, I don't know about an 'inn' but I can run by Mrs. Margaret's house after the saloon closes and see if she has a spot to stay. She's always welcoming to the few strangers we get around here."
Jim physically relaxed, grinning at the keep. "If it's not too much trouble, that would be a huge help."