Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25686329-20150806065755/@comment-25686329-20150813060557

((Well, IDK 'bout you lot, but I'm READY TO DO THIS SHIZ!!))

The Yankee was happy.

Well, happy wasn't really the right word for it. He was... content. Optimistically determined. Temporarily distracted long enough to forget about his current real life problems.

That said, he had killed no less than 21 people in the last 21 minutes, and he did so with a smile on his face, for the most part.

He had heard that some of the punks down in Fort Pew had taken to calling him 'Yankee the Kid'. He liked that... I mean, he hated to be called 'Kid', but he had heard about the original Billy the Kid, and the comparison was flattering, at least in these circumstances.

Heck, what the Yankee was wearing was a tribute to Billy himself.

He had killed 6 'Campus Sheriffs' since the game began, and he wore their badges like it was his birthright. Yankee wasn't sure why exactly they had appointed 'Campus Sheriffs' in the first place (they hunted, fled, chased like everybody else, and died like everybody else too), but as near as he could tell, they were selected for a sense of justice and an abundance of skill.

As far as he knew, there were still plenty of Campus Sheriffs left roaming the hallways and courtyards. Odds were they were out for his head, too. Rumor was there was a bounty, reward posters cropping up around the walls, something about his capture; you could now win a minor prize for smoking some of the self-proclaimed outlaws, as well as win the whole game.

Scary thought.

He knew that Ticktania was one of the remaining Sheriffs, as he had encountered her and exchanged words (and bullets) near the Nuetral Zone. He'd get her eventually.

Unless he was mistaken, his frenemy Scythe Sasin was a Campus Sheriff as well, no surprise there. That'd be a fun little meeting.

Yankee wasn't worried. He was packing enough heat to scare any punk that stepped against him, was travelling light enough to run when he was outgunned, and was (hopefully) charming enough to make a few allies along the way.

He smiled again and breathed out a semi-content sigh.

He should find Nix. Ah, the beautiful amount of butts they could kick if they fought alongisde each other.

Speaking of... he heard a faint jingle, familiar enough. Was that Nix's sword hangin' off her hip...?

His hand trailed to one of his holsters.

- - -

Fort Pew was BOOMING, and Fizz Pew loved every minute of it.

She had set it up right where she knew it would attract the most people; the Castleteria. She had converted it into her personal saloon in a matter of hours, complete with a drink bar, live music, and something that sorta could have been a dance hall... Fizz didn't know; her exact words to her workers were 'Set it up, make it kick arse.'

Either way, Fort Pew was a semi-sucessful safe haven, a rest stop for weary hunters. She didn't care about winning as much as she cared about making confirmable, tangible, hard cash, no questions asked.

There was no admission to get into the Fort, but the drinks and card games MORE than made up for that.

Techincally speaking, the official statement was that Fort Pew was a 'weapons free zone' -- leave your firepower at the door otherwise you'll be shot on sight by the guards -- however, everyone knew that wasn't really true.

Most people had been able to smuggle in small pistol or two, and everyone was sure that Fizz's staff was armed. Fizz blew out a puff of mint-scented air as she removed her peppermint stick from her mouth with two fingers, in that cigar-esk manner she always did.

She was sitting in her makeshift office, feet up on the table, and she could see the majority of the saloon-fort from where she sat.

She almost wished someone would approach her about an alliance, try to make a deal or ask to hire a hitman. She was a little bored, if she was honest, but still...

Life was good.