Manifest Destiny

[SKILORD]

That which i hoped to convey in the story Atop the World has proved more than that story could convey. It is my honor to alter the vessle therefore, and the new version begins 50 years preceding the first, and chronicles the rise to conflict as well as providing a vivid description of the world that i created.

-

In the far north few trees dare mar the icy perfection of the tundra. Such animals as there are cling desperately to these and are left without help the further they dare from them.
Man is more than an animal though, and needs no comfort from the meager northern woods. Fort Prince of Wales was conceived in this harsh landscape, an insult to the territorry that sought mankinds imprisonment to the south. It is far from a large city, Fort Charles to the south outdoes it in that respect easily, but it holds a mystical aura that it's citzenry finds inescapable. That palace of stone atop the ice, their ancestors had dared the snow to destroy their masterpeices, the winter had yet to respond.
Which is not to say that there had not been attempts on the city's existance by nature, Blizzards often laid waste to the plans of inhabitants. The city never submitted, it was the eternal echoe of the indomitable will of one man.
In any other nation it would have been an insignificant city, even in the Hudson Republic it could easily have been forgotten. Priceless perhaps to those who wherein resided, but meaningless to tax collectors and the cold beuracrats of the nation. but Fort Prince, as it was called for shortness sake, was the epicenter, the very heart of the empire the first ina long line of settlements by a people who were not daunted by any obstacle the tundra may place before them.

Samuel Watson lived here, he was an unremarkable citizen in a barely remarkable town, he stalked the booths of the marketplace he had no job anymore freeing hos mornings to watch the great flame in the sky rise victorious above the ice as he cruised the shops, selling and buying at maddening rates, some places sold paper at lower prices than others could match, he bought the goods at their cheapest and sold them where those with more expensive prices reigned. He made little profit this way, but he stayed alive, which was more than he could ask from a beggars life. He noticed a shop with a long sheet draped over the front. It piqued his imagination and he quickly found himself within it. Behind a long table, stacked with luxuries from afar stood a man, his skin the dark color of the far south, a Cuban Watson surmised. The black man smiled at his first customer.
"How may i interest you?" the Cuban guestured at his table, moving his palm back and forth, indicating the prizes he sold. Sam couldn't remember the last Cuban in port.
The merchant noticed a cigar, the Confederate flag printed as a trademark on the wrapping. He lifted one of his own, which bore no mark.
"Put that crap away," he indicated Watson's cigar," try this, when you like it you may buy the box."
Watson took the cigar, offering it to the Cuban to light, a chance not squandered. He inhaled some of the greatest smoke he had ever dreamed of.
He remembered the price of the Confederate cigars, that seemed ashes in his mouth compared to the Cuban, he inquired the price.
"Three shillings a box," to Samuel's shocked expression he replied," to be honest they cost only one in Cuba."
The money was gladly from his purse, and Samuel began to inspect the table anew.
"Perchance an orange?" the Cuban asked, after Watson had searched for a while, removing an orangish ball from under the table, 'I have oranges the likes of which will make you wish never had before tasted one, for those before blasphemed the taste mine presented."
Samuel had never tasted such a fruit before, and he smelled it cautiously, noting the odd scent. There were those who would kill their customers and loot their meager belongings he thought, his eyes glancing towards the sheet over the front, he took the fruit and bit.
"You are clever with words," he noted to the merchant.
"I should hope so, i spent my youth perfecting them on the continent."
Samuel had never left his home city.
"Where have you been?"
"Mostly the United States and Texas, but a magical foray into Quebec and a disaster in the Confederacy."
"What happened in the south?" as soon as the last word left his lips and he saw the look on the Cuban's face, he wished the words back.
"I was mistaken for a runaway," he rolled up his robe's majestic sleeve, revealing a well muscled bicep and a group of scars that seemed to continue well into the robes.
Stunned, Samuel found no words. he finally changed the subject,
"You have your own ship?"
"Yes," and to the question asked only by Watson's dream taken eyes, "you will have to earn your keep."

A promise later Samuel Watson stood on the brink of a brave new world.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Definitely improved and a very interesting start, this looks like being a real corker of a story.

[SKILORD]

Oh my lored!

reereading it i find such a flurry of typos that cannot be matched merely upon the earth.

I shall fix these.

[Jeremy 2.0]

I'll issue a plea to add a hard return at the end of each paragraph. I want to read your stories, Ski, but I cannot with the current formatting.

Thanks!

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Yes SKI put a few more spaces between paragraphs, Please!

[jdd2007]

very good, skilord.

i dont read many stories here, but when i read this it made me want to read more...

(and yes, you desperately need paragrahs)

[SKILORD]

Alright, i shall so do.

[unscratchedfoot]

I wanna see what kinduv trouble that Samuel dude gets into in his adventure. Bring on the goods.

[SKILORD]

I don't understand your post scratch.... but i'll continue writing asap, but don't expect much over Christmas (in case you did)

[unscratchedfoot]

I fixed-up my last post. Sorry, I was delirious with sleepiness at the time of writing.

Dude, c'mon! Christmas is the best time to write stories. While mom's cooking up the turkey and dad's cleaning up the ripped-up wrapping paper, you can be working on your story! I'm thinking of doing one more short Christmas story in my Bush adventure series about Powell's Christmas party.

[SKILORD]

I'll see what i can do.....

[SKILORD]

The valiant ship sat chained to the Docks of Trois Rivieres, it's freedom vanquished, it looked longingly out to the sea it had dominated days before.

Samuel Watson was free though, free and entranced. Trois Rivieres was a bustling city, far larger than Fort Prince or any of the small canadian fishin villages they had stopped at on their way. The cities were a stark representative of their nation's place in the world, Cities under Charles Bayley seemed prosperous, those in Canada were filfthy and utilitarian, Quebec's were palaces built for the masses.

Sam's furs remained on board. Pedro, his benafactor, had advised him to try those goods in the United States where such things were less common, and thereby more expensive. He found a great many things worth his time in Trois Rivieres though, and had set out to make a tidy sum there. Two Cuban Cigars, sold for outrageous prices, and his box of Confederate's for a likewise sum. Tobacco was not unknown to the men of Quebec, but was hateful to the soil. In return the market had provided him with Quebecois Dyes, linen, and an assortment of gems and gold that would bring ample funds to support a lavish lifestyle for years to come.

A fellow crewman of his was training in the arts of goldsmithery, assuming that it was indeed the other man's work that he had been shown the jewelry would fetch plenty to purchase their own ship, when they reached New York.

Pedro awaited him, a disapointed look on his face as he watched Watson walk proudly up the steps.

"How much did I sell you those Cigars for?"

"Three Shi---"

Pedro cut him off,"Three shillins was a fair price, i made my profit, why did you feel inclined to sell two of them for Twenty apeice?"

"They were bought! the people thought that not too unjust a price."

"You are a second rate merchant my freind, you have no ethics."

Samuel didn't understand him, what ethics were there but those imposed by the system of Capitailism? These lofty ideals caught Watson entirely off gaurd. His look suggested such, Pedro didn't understand his ignorance of ethics.

"You will leave my ship, but for the weather and time of year it would be now, as it stands you, and that stinking worthless helmsman of mine, will be ejected from the ship in New York."

Samuel smiled gratefully,"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas indeed..." pedro replied, he alone could see that the other man had the potental to be a great merchant, thy would part in New York, he knew, but they would never truely part.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Interesting very interesting, you got me wondering where this is going. Great work SKILORD please keep it coming and Merry Xmas

[SKILORD]

It has me, frankly, wondering where it will go. Pedro and Sam haven't disclosed their futures yet.

[SKILORD]

The ship from whence they had come floated gracefully south, most likely to Cuba once more. Hernando and Sam sat idly on the docks, they had nowhere to go, and were frankly a bit shocked at their ejection. They had seperated from Pedro a few days ago, and though Pedro had met sam's eyes a few times, though those eyes were full of disaproval, they hadn't spoken since.

"Why have we been abandoned?" Hernando finally found to ask.

"Doesn't matter, we would've left here anyway."

"I know, and it doesn't bother me that we don't keep Pedro company anymore, but that he forced us away...."

"We would've left anyways."

The night was spent on the docks, they had little to eat, but their purses were full, having sold a good deal of Dye and Fur to the citizens of New York. Morning came gently, to men who had no sleep during the hours of dark. Fishermen kept them company then, muscled men who tossed great beasts of the sea onto the harbor, packed them in melting ice and hauled them away with either cart, or a few noisy horseless carriages. The wealthy men who posessed the later often claimed

"The way of the future, aye, soon horses will be vanquished from the docks."

To the melody of a city awakening, though it had never really slept, in the sense that Fort Prince or Trois Rivieres did. The two men fortified themselves with quickly chugged milk and a stolen crumb of bread, the store remembered for when they were wealthy Sam had promised himself to pay them back, disliking that he was now literally a theif, as Pedro had often called him.

The jewelers equipment was fround in a run down smithy, and purchased for a price that was fair, after intense haggling. A small shop was found for sale near the harbor as well, and quickly purchased. In their new home and workplace the two men unloaded their gold and jewels hastily, hiding them from those who would never have beleived that two men who looked so rough held such gems, let alone purchased them legally. Sam strolled through the streets through the afternoon, headed for the local courthouse, where he was to register 'International Jewelers of New York' for taxes.

The officer looked lopsided at the bedraggeled man.

"A jewler?" he asked, almost shocked.

"Actually the salesman, as i am only now registering, I assume it would be fair to say we haven't had any business yet."

"I need the other fellow's signature." Sam promised to send Hernando by to sign it, and the other man promised to keep it until Hernando arrived." Don't forget to keep accurate records my freind, you steal from the government you steal from us all."

Again that word, steal, Sam was tired of hearing it.

-

The ship graced the waters, barely touching them as it floated past port after port. It was not allowed in any of them, the CSA had placed a ban on Cuban goods and ships. The men sat lazily at the edges of the ship, poles placed forth, beseeching the water to provide a supper.

It had been a legendary catch thus far, tonight it seemed they would dine on Tuna, among other exotic fish the ocean had produced for them. A handful of shrimp and lobster, bought in the US, already say above the small cooking fire, which was mistrusted even as small as it was, necesarry.

"Coconuts my freind, Bannanas, all is ours when we reach home. God i've missed Coconut milk." One of the oldest members of Pedro's crew tried to rouse his spirits, but to little avail, the Captain seemed callouse even to the promise of feast.

"Do you think we shall ever have the misfortune of seeing that man again?"

His shipmate knew of whom he spoke by instinct, Pedro had spoken of little else since he regained his ship," I hope not, i fear so, that boy has the seeds of greatness in him."

"How long until he perverts those seeds to bring forth the grapes of wrath?" pedro wondered aloud, the other man sat silent, not understanding."We will see him every time we return to New York I fear, he planned to open a jewelry shop. Which will become profitable under him, i have seen Hernando's plans for bracelets and rings, they are sufficient to fuel the fire of merchant within Sam, i swear that man was born to sell."

"We could avoid New York."

Pedro shot him a murderous look," New York is one of our most profitable stops, if the Confederacy ever reopens to us, maybe, but until then we must return. We have no choice but to see him again."

It was at that moment that the Frigate chose to appear from the mist. Cannons laid heavy metal balls at the feet of the ship, the captain called over to the merchant ship, which soon boarded and unloaded of it's goods.

"You can't do this!" Pedro protested.

"Damn n*****, " the other man said, strking Pedro. ( Author's note: I named him poorly),"Welcome to the CSA, get beneath deck."

Pedro moved for his ship's storage.

"Of my ship, you're now property of the Confederate States of America."

-

The banker's arms were rainsed high, the pistol in the other man's hand only held one shot, but he would rather not have that shot be the last noise he heard. The robber held a bag filled with the bills that had once belonged in the bank of San Fransisco's coffers, but the other man owned it now.

The sundance kid smiled, as he backed into the dusty street, smiled until a gun was pressed against his back outside the door.

"I knew you'd be back, don't ask me how, but i did." the voice was familiar, it belonged to the sheriff, Billy the Kid.

"Thought you were dead Billy."

"'parrent not,"

"Remember to load the gun this time?" The Sundance kid laughed. and listlened to the expletive behind him as a gun swung to hit him like a club, but Sundance was faster and he spun to frighten the other man, a bullet was fired from the outlaw's gun.

Now one must understand that Muskets are rarely accurate, this holds doubly true for pistols of that kind. In addition the Sundance kid never intended to strike Bily with the bullet, only intended to frighten him, to expedite his escape.

The bullet struck the other man's shoulder, and Billy went down, panicing and dropping his own pistol, every eye in the crowded street found it's way to the man who hadn't wanted to hurt anyone physically, only financially. The dark bandanna that coverred much of his face began to slip, and Sundance ran, dodging through street after street, hiding for hours at a time before fleeing again.

In the street he abandoned a wounded man vowed revenge.

-

Fire can be a beautiful thing, unless it chooses your home as fuel. Such was the spectacle that the world offered the eyes of Henry Caliber, who had once ranched in Texas, until said ranch surrendered to an inferno, to be honest Henry had barely escaped himself. He came home to find his family laying in his bed, faces drained of blood, much of which he had found on the sheets of the bed. He had barely realised this when shouting announced the presence of those who had picked his house clean of posessions, the flames likewise announced it. He had crawled out a window, noone had seen him, he had seen the Confederate flags on their carriages and realised at once that this was an actionagainst abolitionists, who ruled the border town he lived nearby, the escaped slaves who he had hidden in his basement, though by pact the Texas had made with the Confederates such was not to be done, were most likely recaptured, he pitied them, and they likely pitied him.

The bleating of helpless cattle, trapped inside the barn brought him to tears, as he lay in the trees near his burning home. He slept their, plauged by nightmares.

The next morning found him in Dalas, pleading his case to the local governor, he found only pity, the government could not ask to extradite these men, who could not be recognised and would likely never be found. He turned East, and without a shred of evidence or a clue, prepared for his crusade against the CSA.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

You can really feel the tension mounting nicely written SKILORD

[SKILORD]

Thanx Chris

[SKILORD]

Sitting in the cafe two of the newest initiates in the New York social elite looked at each other, a newspaper between them.

Crisis escalates, Cubans demand return of Merchants while Confederacy refuses. Bayley and Oakley vow to support allies

"Blows may decide," Hernando noted, that was a frame of mind all to common recently, the realization of the conflict on the horizon was the acceptance of the world, only a few had seen it before the Merchant crisis had escalated it such.

"I'm going to save him." Sam spoke assuradely, defying the world to oppose him.

"You were the one who said we would have left him anyways, leave him. He didn't much like you anyway."

The cafe owner walked over to them beaming, they had entered his life mysteriously a few months ago, paying for half a loaf of bread they claimed to have stolen months before that, "Anything you need sirs?" They had been a blessing, the patronship of such rising stars had brought the cafe to notriety, it rose with equal leaps and bounds as International Jewlers.

"No, thank you," Hernando waved him away politely," Besides, who will sell if you leave?"

"The name my freind," Sam grasped his partner's shoulder, "I don't sell in Pensylvania, or Quebec City, or even Cincinatti."

"True,"Hernando conceded, with this he admitted defeat," please don't die," he begged.

Sam smiled," Never."

He was condescending, Hernando hated that about him, he was never condescending to the customers, most of them loved him. Hernando felt little for the other man, few freindly emotions ever graced the Cuban's soul. He accepted that he needed Sam as much as Sam needed him, maybe more.

"Go, pack and go, liberate the b*stard who abandoned us."

Sam smiled, picked up his coat, made by his private tailor, and smiled as he left for the shop, where both men still lived and worked.

-

Henry Caliber was already in the Confederacy, not that he especially wanted to be.

He hired out as an enforcer of the slaveholder's whims, as an overseer. Under such a guise he had helped a dozen slave families to freedom, he took their slavery upon himself, but he was enslaved to his task, not another man. His family had burnt that theirs might go free, he wondered how many of the men he freed were worthy ro be exchanged at such high rates.

He wasn't alone in his task, several men on the very same plantation he worked. One of them grabbed him gently as he left the line, having received his dinner. He pointed to a lonely table, a ways from any prying ears.

As they sat the other man wispered," Hank i know yer as tough as they come, but are you afraid of anything? Could the Slavers do anything to disuade you from a task?"

"I'm afraid of fire.... nothing else."

"Well then it shouldn't be too tough a job," the other abolitionist grinned slyly,"Anything you wouldn'y do for the cause."

"Sure,"Henry leaned back," Wouldn't burn a house, or kill a woman or child."

"That's alright," the other overseer was smiling wholesale now,"President Davis is neither."

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Nice SKILORD, youre doing a fine job with this.

[SKILORD]

Wait till you see the assasination scene, i'm very excited about that, it's one of the few scenes i've written that isn't up.

[SKILORD]

Rusted chains held them down, but they didn;'t force their heads down, the cubans did that on their own. Tears were shed in the prison over a lost home, blood was left to drown these tears, as the merchants were beaten for answering questions wrong, how could they know how Cuba was defended, having been so long at sea?

Every now and again, while the jailers rested their weary arms, Pedro would lift one or another crewmate's head and wisper:

"Coconut Milk, hold onto that hope."

Dirt, Salt all united with their wounds, creating a concerto of firey pain not to be forgotten. Pedro had been their before, he was the vetran of another strinke by the South, but this did not make him calloused to their assaults. It made them worse, because he knew what came next.

The jailer came in, a rare grin crowned his scarred, angry face. He pointed at two men who had served Pedro since he began his voyages, men Pedro had been raised with. He served them their final sentance.

"Runaways." Pedro shook his head, it could not be, he had known those men since childhood. They had gone to school together, played as babes. The gaurd now pointed at Pedro as the other men were hustled away to a plantation.

"For attempting to help runaways in the escape of the Confederate States of America, you have been sentanced to death, by firing squad, in one week."

Blood drained from his face, as he looked upon his mortality, and realised how little he meant in the grand scheme of things.

-

"What would you want with them?" the man seemed shocked that Sam had asked.

"I'm a reporter, looking to report on how well they are cared for."

The other man was shocked, in his dull fashion. Sam swore he had never seen so stupid a beast before in his life. The gray eyes held no spark that placed man above the animals, that gave him the ability to accomplish such things as building Fort Prince of Wales.

"well... uh, there's an political prison on embassy drive, that might be it..."

Such a man would not find such a thing as a political prison absurd, it occured to Sam, were all Southerners so dumb?

Screams echoed from the halls of the Richmond Political prison, that meant there were more than one he realised. He knocked politely on the great wooden door, which opened, revealing a weary old man behind a desk, and the beast that opened the door.

Sam estimated that he was seven feet tall, wide as an ox, probably strong to boot. His hand dropped to his revolver, which laid within his coat, he wondered how many shots the man could take, probably a few, giving the old man time to shoot him, he didn't like the odds.

"I'd like to see the captain and crew of the merchant vessle, the Padre." He announced confidently.

The other men stared, shocked, until a grin spread across the old man's lips and laughter took the room by force.

"I don't see the humor."

"You expect us to allow visitors, to political prisoners?" The old man wiped a tear from his cheek, the smile remained," There is no way there is a nation so naieve as to allow that."

"Let me in now." Sam said firmly. The old man didn't flinch, the monster moved closer.

"No, it cannot be done," the old man began to lift his gun.

Sam was the faster draw, and a bullet soon peirced the old man's chest.He slumped into his chair for the last time.

The giant looked, shocked upon the corpse," Da...Da..."

It was absurd that such a beast was the spawn of the tiny man now bleeding his last behind the desk. Sam looked, bewildered as the beast turned to him.

The realization came quickly as the giant charged, Sam lept out of the way, though not quickly enough and he lost his revolver to the sheer force of the beast, it slid across the floor, coming to rest safely out of the way.

A scream escaped the giant lips as he charged again. Sam picked up a large plank and slapped it viciously across the charging face. The wood broke harmlessly, though the man did damage himself when he hit the concrete wall. Sam lunged for the gun, rolling on the ground at it, avoiding the great feet that shot his way. The gun was raised at the angry monster. One, Two, three shots rang out. before the giant made his way over to sam, swatting the gun from his hand, out the window. Sam couldn't follow it now, and he was left to dodge punches. His strikes did little, and the ballet of destruction was lead, most definately, by the giant gaurd. A punch landed on Sam's face, tearing the skin and knocking Sam behind the desk, where he almost lost conciousness. His hand laid to rest across a long metal pipe.

The Rifle.

Sam jumped up as the giant lumbered across the room. Three rifle shots felled him, Watson left the rifle at his feet. As he took the keys from the first corpse, and made his way to the cells, where he was greeted by frightened stares.

"Come now, you're goin to pose as my slaves, we're going to my ship."

As he held the chains and lead the Cubans out of the jail, to the harbor Pedro looked at him.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Sam smiled back," Shut up slave."

[SKILORD]

Henry sat at the bar, listening to the stories of glory the men beside him chose to tell.

"So we made our way after that slave, ah mean, how could ee escape? We treated him good, right?"

Hank nodded, little choice here but to agree.

"We found him across the border, in texas. Well a few of the boys wanted to call it off there, but i remembered readin' summear that they couldn't help the slaves go. So we marched in 'der and took what was ours.

Henry's interest was piqued," what'd you do from the stealin' basterd?"

"Well, he were'nt there. So we took his woman and kids and," time froze as the last moments of his family were told him by a drunk, in a bar a nation away from his home. Anger pounded his vains, here was the master, here was the goal that he was enslved to. His hand dropped to his pistol.

He couldn't, he had another job. The other abolitionists had made him swear not to leave Richmond without killing the president, he was so close, having found the play that Davis would attend next, Jefferson loved the theater, and purchasing tickets near the president's. If he submitted here he would never make it. He couldn't give up now.

Listening to the tragedy told as a grand victory Henry Caliber held back tears, held back his gun. As his virtue made him the villain in the grand story of southern slavery he kept his calm. He piled beer after beer before him, paying it all in the nearly matchless funds the abolitionists had gotten from other nations. Drunk, sobbing, he fell asleep in a pile of garbage, in a street without a name.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

I applaud thee oh SKILORD, keep it coming .

[SKILORD]

Is there anyone else out there reading this?

[SKILORD]

Hiawatha was a classic play, it told the story of a Iriquois general, from times before the world began counting. Primarily the man died in the end, which Henry found appropriate.

He took his soft, cushioned seat, and the stranger next to him extended a hand and a smile.

"'ello chap," the stranger said.

"ummm, hello, you would be?"

"Call me Booth, John Wilkes Booth."

"It's a pleasure," Henry finally returned the smile. This man might be trouble. Hank sat to watch the play.

"I love the theater," Booth mentioned as the lights began to dim," have you seen We American Cousins? it's quite good."

Henry shook his head,"I've not. Do you live here, watching every play?"

"I'm an actor, i've got an off night tonight, and decided to see a play for a change," Booth laughed at his own joke. Henry didn't and looked at this absurd man. The play began.

Hiawatha was returning from great conquests of the tribes, returning in victory to Salamnaca, the capitail of the ancient empire. henry watched entranced, the play was excelent, and it occured to him that it had travelled as far as he, having originated in Fort Charles, where Shakespear had composed it.

A warrior, his body painted in classic Iriquois style turned to his general,

"Remember sir, thou art mortal."

Henry almost laughed, what appropriate advice. Another leader would do well to remember this, he turned to look at the President, who smiled at his assasin. The assasin smiled back, biding his time.

As Hiawatha was assasinated, by a group including his once freind Squanto, Hank turned back to look discreetly. Jefferson was entranced.

The play came to an end. Henry stood,m a knot in his stomache, he lifted his revolver to a panicked face. the president of the Confederacy shouted as the bullet entered his heart, death was coming, there was no avoiding it.

"Sic Semper Tyrrannis!" Henry shouted, holding the smoking gun high.

As he ran from the scene he realized that he would be remembered forever, his name found in every history book, written in the blood of Jefferson Davis.

As the assasin fled John Wilkes Booth stood up and with fury in his eyes shouted to the world.

"Dammit that's my line!"

-

The city was buzzing while the murderer was searched for. Samuel Watson wished the best of luck to the man as he returned to his carriage. He was going to return to the North. he found a man huddled in his carriage, outside the theater.

"And who will you be?" Sam wasn't frightened, he was incapable of such, having defeated the giant.

"Where are you going?" the other man spoke with a Texan's accent, Sam shrugged he'd give him a chance.

"I'm on my way home, to New York. Why is it so important that you know?"

"Take me with you, i'm wanted here, i won't be wanted there...." the man seemed on the edge of things.

Recognition dawned on Samuel's face," You, You," he pointed at the theater.

"We're still in the CSA," Henry reminded him.

Sam nodded, and sat in the driver's seat, prodding the horses to make their way to the border.

-

"Yippi-kayey Mothef***er" Billy wispered, it was his personal chant, he used it to psyche himself into a rage, or to taunt his defeated foes. He hadn't used it much for the latter, and wasn't now. He squatted frightened outside the saloon. Sundance was inside.

Walking confidently to the door Billy lifted his revolver and shouted,

"This is the sheriff, I call for the surrender of the Sundance Kid, come out with yer hands raised."

Noone stirred. he pushed to door open.

"Oh, my, I see, i'll be going then." The rifles at his face didn't respond, for which he was thankful. They parted, and he went in, wondering where his sanity went. Sundance sat upon a chair above the rest, the King of Theives.

The pistol was up, pointing at the Kid.

"git down."

Sundance laughed at him, "look around, my freind, the rifles haven't fallen. Surrender. We'll probably only torture you for the next week. Then we'll let you gop, humiliated."

Billy threw his gun down.

"Sh*t," he kicked the floor as he eyed it. his head bowed," I knew i shoulda been a balletrina, but daddy said No, it wouldn't be manly. Well Sh*t! Is this manly?!"

Sundance laughed again.

"I can't torture a balletrina." he hopped down and indicated to the riflemen around him and shrugged.

"Shoot 'im"

While the blood drained through the floorboards Sundance began.

"War's come boys. Yesterday We declared war on the Hudson Bay Republic, Cuba and the US for their attacks on the Confederacy. Oregon in turn declared war on us, along with Quebec, but that doesn't matter. I have a plan boys. I don't want this war so here;'s what i say we should do. Rise Up! We have received a nice sum," he indicated a heap of currency," from assorted nations, to destroy Oakley's factories, and do such to disrupt the western war effort. I've accepted the deal, of course. Well let's get to it!"

A plauge left the saloon a great mass of men all wearing the signature bkllack bandannas of the VeryVeryBadMen Gang.

[SKILORD]

i don't like the last section. Sundance turned from a niceguy bank robber to a cold blooded murderer. it was out of character, and i shouldn't have done that.

Can't be helped now, i'll keep it up.

Unless this has been deemed unsavory by my audience.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Its fine SKI in fact tame by the standards of some of the stories here.

I honestly think more people are reading this than me but there seems to be a lot of regulars not active and of course the old problem of not giving feedback.

I say keep writing and soon enough the feedback will arise.

[Chingis Khan]

Originally posted by SKILORD
"Sic Semper Tyrrannis!" Henry shouted, holding the smoking gun high.

As he ran from the scene he realized that he would be remembered forever, his name found in every history book, written in the blood of Jefferson Davis.

As the assasin fled John Wilkes Booth stood up and with fury in his eyes shouted to the world.

"Dammit that's my line!"

Good story! Keep it up.

[SKILORD]

I don't mind the fact that billy got killed, i don't mind killing him. That Sundance is acting to calloussed bothers me.

Skilord shrugs. I'll make it work, he'll end up battling scizofrenia.

[gooberboob]

ahh a good schizo story, I'll keep readin'



"THAT'S MY LINE!"