The Current Members Of The Town Of Brenton

[Colten Reming]

Name: Jasper Warren

Age: 18

Gender: Male

Job Wanted: N/A

(If previous is N/A) Other Position wanted: Vigilante

Description(Prefered a detailed description):
Worn brown wide-brimmed hat adorned this furre's head, covering greased back dirty blonde hair caked with dust of the western wind. The furre on his face was dusted lightly with the airborn bits that were carried by the gentle winds of the un-tamed frontier. His eyes were a deep brown, hidden slightly by the brim of his hat. This one wore a simple off-white button-up collar shirt with the sleeves rolled up for easy access to the wooden grip of his .45 Colt holstered in a brown leather side-holster belt that hung against his right side. Suspended by brown leather suspenders were a pair of simple dark green button-fly trousers. Crowing this furre's feet were a pair of simple blac riding boots.

Example of RP(Preferably a RP log from previous RPs, otherwise make it up.): Jasper sat at a table in the back of the saloon near the bar, his boots kicked up onto the table, propping his chair back on two legs as he sighed with boredom. He looked around the room only to find that it was a rather slow day, there was only about two people other then him and the barkeep and one of them was asleep while the other was downing a mug of rotgut. Jasper sighed again as he fiddled with a playing card he has picked up off the floor. He would toss the card onto the table in boredom and retrieve a bullet from his belt and fiddle with that a moment. The thud of the drunken man falling over off of his chair startled him a bit, but he showed no exterior sign of it, merely looking over at the man and smirking a bit at his drunkenness, wondering if perhaps later that could evolve into some fun for him.

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Name: Gathero

Age: 27

Gender: Male

Job Wanted: Doctor

(If previous is N/A) Other Position wanted: Gun Smith

Description(Preferred a detailed description):

Furc desc:
Scruffy looking fella who looked like he was tired of spending the life on the road, a toothy grin ever lingering on his travel-worn face. Upon his head sits a brown cowboy hat, with a bullet hole through its rim, a souvenir from his travels. Well used leather boots equipped with spurs cover his feet. Slung onto his back is a Winchester rifle. On the side of his belt, a holster containing a Volcanic pistol. A coyote from the west, he's seen his share of adventures.

Example of RP(Preferably a RP log from previous RPs, otherwise make it up.):

Gathero sighed. One town after another, he had been traveling and staying but people just seemed to move off. First it was Fool's Gold City, then Dodge City, it seemed like he would never find a place to settle down. "Well come on Sally, we'd best get a-going" he said as he took the reins of his mount as he helped unload her from one of the carriages. "Maybe this town might be more promising than the others though I'd wouldn't get me hopes up too high. At least there would be some food and water here." A pat was given to old Sally as he made his way through the streets, carrying his luggage. It wasn't much, just a bunch of regular herbs and such along with some bandages. He'd stop by the General Store to sell off some of the items he had brought from the previous towns to earn some extra cash. "Got to find a job and a place to stay and keep ya warm girl." The coyote would slowly make his way through the town as he began his search.

Other info:
Weapons:
1 Volcanic Pistol
1 Winchester rifle
Both are marked with the letter G

Skills:
He had some medical training but spent the next few years after his training was complete as a trader, traveling from town to town to earn enough to open up his own practice.

On his shooting skills:
Gathero has a good aim although he isn't exactly the fastest draw in the West. If he has a steady shot, he can pretty much hit his target and is proficient in defending himself and Sally. He favours the rifle more than his pistol.

Companion:
Sally is a palomino mare of an unknown breed who has been with him throughout his travels. Branded with the letter G.
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Name: Hartford

Age: 19

Gender: Female

Job Wanted: N/A

(If previous is N/A) Other Position wanted: Towns person

Description(Prefered a detailed description):
The tomboyish feline had a sturdy and toned figure, though her face held an endearing and feminine charm. Her rust colored hair was tied into two tight, messy braids that fell to her shoulders, her choppy bangs reaching just above her bright jade eyes. Her dark gray fur was marred in few spots by silver markings, most distinguishingly the mock-freckles that dotted her muzzle and cheeks. The sleeves of her fiery plaid shirt were often rolled up, a faded brown vest nicely hugging her torso as well. Snug black trousers gave her legs their long, silhouetting appearance, the ends tucked into worn brown boots.

Example of RP(Preferably a RP log from previous RPs, otherwise make it up.):
Hartford stood stiffly and watched as her train lurched away, leaving her standing on the platform of Brenton's train station. She resisted the urge to chase after it, letting out a quiet sigh as she relaxed her shoulders and allowed her bag to drop to the floor with a little thump. Her mind was busy with thoughts of her home, of her family and their suffering farm, of her little brothers still too young to work. So she had been sent to this unfamiliar place, to seek employment, to save the family farm. All this was too much pressure.. Her eyes drifted across the landscape as she tried to adjust herself to these new surroundings. She hesitantly took a step into this new world, falling into a slow stride and searching the walls of local shops for 'help wanted' posters.
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Name: Jean-Pierre Dulapor

Age:30

Gender: Male

Job Wanted: vigilante

(If previous is N/A) Other Position wanted: Townsfolk

Description(Prefered a detailed description):
Dusty white fur was covered by a large tan canvas duster, his bright orange hair tuffed under a black coachman's hat. His clothes were regal: a pure white collared shirt, a black cravat, black button-fly trousers with black suspenders. He wore a scarlet waistcoat with a golden chain of a time piece stretching between pockets. In a shoulder holster, he had an old, almost ornate dueling pistol, and on his low hanging gunbelt he kept a .45 and a row of bullets. His black, square fronted boots were actually covered by spats. He sticks out in the old west, but he's not one to be played with. He first landed on the continent with his parents, Jean-Claude and Veronique DuLapor, natives of France. Somehow or another, he's made his way all the way down here from Canada.

Example of RP(Preferably a RP log from previous RPs, otherwise make it up.):
Jean-Pierre looked over the railing of the train station at the bustling town, admiring the houses, families, and people going about town. He liked it, and could tell he was going to stay a while. He looked to the saloon, watching as a drunkard stumbled his way out, falling flat on the dust. Laughing a little to himself, he stepped off the platform and into the town.
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ame:Jason Verg

Age:20

Gender:Male

Job Wanted:Deputy

(If previous is N/A) Other Position wanted:

Description(Prefered a detailed description):A young man who initialy started out cattle driving with his dad who spent alot of time teaching him the art and trade of the gunfighter. Through those rugged travels he learned much of the way of the west first hand through many different types of encounters with both rugged terrain and those looking for trouble. It was at this time that he really began to practice his gunman skills. He spent mounths at a time during the moments that he and his father had practicing the art of the quick draw and how to fire with both hands. It took him five years to prefect this through trial and error and violent encounters which nearly killed him and his dad through this behavior but by the time it was over he could draw and fire as quick as a blink of the eye with both hands. It is a skill that he prides himself in as most gunfighters would but still he was not a killer born nor a killer by nature and this sometimes leads to a imbalance of power when he faces men who are true cold blooded killers. Even during the times when him and his father had there bad meetings with ruslters and outlaws of the various kind he would always take a aim for shots that would render them helpless while his dad would aim to finish them off. Still he manages to hold his own. When he turned twenty his dad passed away after their last cattle drove his father passed away due to tuberculosis. After that Jason set his eyes on a different life. After seeing so much on the prarie he has grown to respect the law of the wast and have a dessire to help clean it up. He spent the last of the cash his dad had earned equiping himself with some more expensive fire arms such has his matching peacemakers and his winchester 44. aswell as his daranger. His hessatence to kill has gone away yet still he does not have the heart of a gunman who is all to willing to gun down his opponent.

Example of RP(Preferably a RP log from previous RPs, otherwise make it up.):Stepped along the dirt road of the town with his hands resting at his sides. The sun was beating down heavily and he was feeling a bit tired from his long walk around the town. It was time for him to meet the town sheriff. From what he understood there was only a town Marshal and that was it. That meant that there might of been a better chance of him being deputized. He wondered what the town Sheriff be like or if he was looking for any more deputies. Still this was his last and final stop and he did not plan on leaving for another town. Either it was the job he hoped for or he would have to look for another place to earn his nickel. The wind blew into him causing his coat to fly back. It seemed like a pretty peacefull town all in all from what he could tell but out here nothing really was truly without violence and dissorder.
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Name: Chosovi, a Hopi name meaning 'bluebird'

Age: 18

Gender: Female

Job Wanted: Entertainer/Prostitute at Brothel

Description:
The native was tall and willowy, an unmistakable beauty. Her angular face was painted in striking hues to mimic that of a bluebird, the rest of her body painted haphazardly with blue and bleach designs. She moved with the grace of a dancer; her glossy ebon hair and the indigo tassels affixed to her costume would swirl around her with each elegant step. Her demeanor was cool and conniving, though like any good entertainer, she knew how to turn on her exquisite charm.

Example of RP:
Chosovi stalked down the unfamiliar streets of Brenton. Unlike most others, she had not arrived by train, so it may have been shocking for the townsfolk to spot this exotic new creature. To any who managed to catch her discriminating attention, her pursed lips would twist into an appealing smile and her smoldering eyes would narrow into a 'come hither' sort of look. This was all, however; they had not yet bought her time, and so she only offered them a taste of what she had to offer.
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[Colten Reming]

Cont.
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Name: Blackskin

Age:38

Gender:Male

Job Wanted:Outlaw

(If previous is N/A) Other Position wanted:Deputy

Description(Preferred a detailed description):
Draped by a warn leather trench coat and his head covered by a dusty black round hat, tipped to the front of his eyes. His hair, musky brown and lathered by the dust in the desert breeze, his only being held by ripped Poteeka Skin, stringed to the bottom with weird looking shaped symbols and crystal-rock beads of all shapes and colors. His coat, open just enough to notice the belt strapped around his waste, and two holsters as though he is holding loaded weapons. A bulge in his back under his coat, looking like a long sort of weapon attached. Looking further, you see warn cargany pants, musky and dirty by the sand he walks on. The pants covers his black torn down boots, held together by metal braces; and, in the back is strapped a three star spikes on each boot.


Example of RP(Preferably a RP log from previous RPs, otherwise make it up.):
Blackskin glances up in the sky, barely able to see the beautiful color as the desert sun beats down on his drenched coat of fur. Leaning against the wall, he glances around on the dirty streets, watching as the crowd goes by on their daily business. His head tips up a bit as he hears a slight 'thump' on the floor behind him. As soon as the sound was made, he looks over, watching as two drunken furres fall through the swinging doors. Grinning a bit as he turns his head facing the crowd again and whispers to himself, 'Another normal day.'

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Name: Lyleamarie (pronounced lilly-marie)

Age: 22

Gender: Female

Job Wanted: Outlaw, sharp shooter

(If previous is N/A) Other Position wanted: Bartender

Description(Prefered a detailed description):

She has long curly red hair, stormy grey eyes. She's 5'2", curvy, yet thin. She wears men's clothing for now because she's in hiding from the law. They're looking for a woman, not a man. She always carries a hickok revolver, her favorite gun.

Example of RP(Preferably a RP log from previous RPs, otherwise make it up.):

"looked nervously at the wanted posters, but let go a sigh of releif when she saw her face wasn't on them. She was on the run from the law ever since she got involved with the wrong crowd. Her clothing was that of a man's, and she wore an old hat that held up her hair. She was disguised as a man, for the law was looking for a woman. But she had a feeling it wasn't working very well, because she had very obvious womanly features. This sort of disguise only worked in crowded bars and from a distance. And so far it had payed off."
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Name: Sofiya Elderwood (Prefers Sofie)

Age: 27

Gender: Female

Job Wanted: Boarding House Owner

(If previous is N/A) Other Position wanted: Outlaw

Description(Preferred a detailed description): Neither quite a tomboy or a respectable woman, the young lady wears on a daily basis a pair much-washed leggings, boots, and a blouse. A wide-brimmed hat or a kerchief is often in her possession to keep her unruly, mouse-brown hair under control; even when tied in a braid or pony-tail, loose strands will always be seen falling into her light gray eyes. The eyes in particular are unusual, sometimes looking blue in strong light, and framed by dark shadows. Her fur is a sandy-brown color, vaguely lined with blond along her face, arms, and legs. Her height is short, and her figure sturdy, and she has a certain air of orderliness and temper about her.

Example of RP(Preferably a RP log from previous RPs, otherwise make it up.): (From a medieval RP)
Ayisha stared out through the falling snow, her brown eyes calm with the ease of repeating the task many times before. Working as a hostler came naturally to her, and she enjoyed it every moment. It was only slightly hampered by the fact that she couldn't speak. The girl brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. She was squinting now, trying to see if anyone was coming. It was doubtful, in this weather, but in the keep this far up in the mountains, you could never be sure when someone would appear out of nowhere. there was a downside to being in her state; her job was the one she enjoyed more than anything else, but it could get rather tedious on the long winter nights, and so, Ayisha sighed with her shoulders, letting them droop, eyes slowly watching the snow making complex patterns in the darkening sky.
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Name: Ralph "Mumbles" Newman

Age: 19

Gender: Male

Job Wanted: Drifter/Outlaw

(If previous is N/A) Other Position wanted:

Description(Prefered a detailed description):

Mumbles is one of the tall, dark, and quiet types- quiet because he was born mute. Because of his inability to talk, he's gotten into a few scrapes that could have been avoided with a little more communication and less ignorant, more patient folk. His life was never easy- always had people trying to take advantage of him, trying to start things with him, and in the worst case, trying to capture him for the bounty on his head after he'd decided to fight back against these.

This led Mumbles into a life of drifting, forever dodging those after what appeared to be quick and easy money. The most up to date description on him is a tall gray wolf, black hair, brown eyes- a scar being over the left one, sporting a dark hat and trenchcoat. He is considered to be armed and dangerous, and is wanted dead or alive under the charges of murder, arson, and robbery. In spite of this his bounty, for some reason, it remarkably low.

Example of RP(Preferably a RP log from previous RPs, otherwise make it up.):

Ralph fixed his hat as he stepped off the train and took a small look around. Yet another small town he'd be passing through. It was going to take about a week for the next train going his way to come in, so as usual, he intended to do something constructive with his time. The wolf would sneeze lightly as a bit of dust crept up his nose and shake out a few wrinkles in his trenchcoat that came from having to sit so long on his last trip. After taking one last look about at the surroundings, he'd then start up on a little trek about the area to see if he could find any "HELP WANTED" flyers. Hopefully the people here could tolerate somebody who couldn't speak...
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Name: Sarah Jensen

Age: 18

Gender: Female

Job Wanted: Bar Maid / Bar Tender.

Other Position wanted: N/A

Description: The curvy vixen stood there at 5'10", holding a wooden platter under her arm against her body, smiling toward you, her emerald eyes glimmering. Her wavy hair fell to her shoulders, ears standing high through it. Her fur was orange, with white and black patches, much like a fox's would be. She wore a light green top, a leather corset around her stomach, and a emerald green skirt. Around her neck was a cyan amulet, and earing in her left ear, no shoes seen on her foot paws. She was very shy looking, but willing on serving whomever needed a drink or two.

Example of RP: Sarah Jensen would walk through the noisy and busy saloon, holding two wooden platters of empty and full glasses, serving out the full glasses of whiskey to the customers, taking the empty glasses, and headed back to the bar, placing them on the counter, careful not to run into anyone and lose her balance, or the balance of the plates. She'd yell to the Bartender that they needed five more mugs of whiskey, watching him quickly fill up five mugs and place them onto one of her platters, heading back out, hearing laughter of some of the smashed gentlemen in the back playing poker, and also over heard some men whispering about the vixen bar maid.. but she would ignore it for now, taking the mugs and carefully placing them down for the five poker players, getting away quickly... knowing how violent some of those games could get.
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Name: Seth Rikard

Age: 23

Gender: Male

Job Wanted: Sheriff

Other Position wanted: Vigilante (Bounty Hunter)

Description: Locks of sunflower yellow hair peek from beneath brown leather Texian hat. Light blue eyes set in attractive Aryan features that contrast with sun kissed skin and tawny fur. His riding leathers and vest are haggard and well worn, an obvious traveler seen on the back of his chestnut Friesian stud. A 'Duke' combo speed belt rests on his hips, a 1851 Navy .45 and a rarely seen Colt .50 Peacemaker in either holster, a useless looking flintlock shoved into the navy blue sash worn with it. A common bowie ring knife on a hide sheath. He was nothing out of the ordinary, but he carried himself with a certain dignity, this <i>Gunslinger</i>.

Example of RP: Seth Rikard's hard brown boots met soft earth. His Friesian nickered and nuzzled him. " Hedwei, Ventus." he whispered, patting the horse in thanks. He covered the hide weapons roll behind the saddle with a wool blanket and squatted, twisting and flexing the muscles in his legs. It'd been a long ride from.. nowhere he wanted to remember. -- His boots made a Chink-clunk as the spurs rung when his feet met the hard wood. His eyes studied the saloon.. noone around.. it was pretty early.. most folks were asleep or working around town.. probably fixing the damage he'd heard about. That's what brought him here after all~
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Name: Jackson

Age: Forty-eight

Gender: Male

Height: 6'4

Weight: Around 200lbs.

Job Wanted: N/A

(If previous is N/A) Other Position wanted: Drifter

Description: The seasoned gunslinger and mountainman, scarred facial features defining his character. A rugged, unshaven complexion about him; well-crafted buckskins and a battered duster coat cover a powerful, muscular build and broad shoulders. Rawhide gunbelt resting loosely about waist, dual holsters containing what could only be described as handcannons, accentuated with blackened steel barrels and ebony grips; a vorpal-edged Sheffield bowie sheathed alongside. Greying brown hair grew freely from scalp, his faded blue eyes gazing with a predator's ferocity.

Example of RP: The Gunslinger occupies a table separate from the other saloon patrons, hat tipped downwards upon crown, a veil of shadow concealing scarred facial features; icy eyes piercing through the darkness are perpetually situated upon the doorway, the man's back habitually to a wall. Hand extends forth as gloved digits grasp the shot glass before him, the brim of such brought to chapped lips and tipped upwards, he'd savour the distinct warming as the rotgut slips down his throat and stirs within his gut. The empty glass is flipped over and firmly planted upon the table's surface, hand rising to absentmindedly stroke the grizzled stubble collected upon jaw.
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Name: Virginia Borne

Age: 20

Gender: Female

Job Wanted: N/A

(If previous is N/A) Other Position wanted: Drifter

Description(Prefered a detailed description): This lynx may have been small, but her body was certainly well-toned. Sandy fur blotched with dark markings covered her muscular frame, while long black hair cascaded over her shoulders. She was dressed in a small white collared shirt buttoned once near the middle, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, along with a pair of frayed trousers and timeworn cowboy boots. A leather belt rested loosely on her hips; the holster on her right thigh bearing a single action revolver. She wore a tattered bandanna around her neck, while long, pointed ears obtruded from under a broad-brimmed hat.

Example of RP(Preferably a RP log from previous RPs, otherwise make it up.): Virginia Borne strode quietly through the doors leading to the saloon wearing a subtle smirk on her face, her tail swinging casually. She inspected others in the room anxiously before taking a seat near the bar, her posture somewhat unsightly. "Ah," she said, directly her speech at no person in particular, "Lovely day." Crossing her legs, she turned to lean against the bar, propping her elbows against it. She bent her neck back slightly, so that she was gazing at the wooden ceiling. Her jaws widened as a yawn escaped her lips, her tongue momentarily reaching out before it snapped back.
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Name: Jacob Steps-High (original name Ayawamat Heammawihio, literally meaning "one who serves, steps highly")

Age: 12

Gender: Male

Job Wanted: Shop Boy

Other Position wanted: Bucket Boy

Description: > An Indian boy with unbridled black hair stands against the easterly winds, shimmering locks whipping into chocolate-brown eyes. A single feather hangs from the hair at the nape of his neck, landing just at the raised collar of a skin vest. Pants of a matching hide cover long legs, which are muscled from years of riding and running across plains of unending grasses. An equally muscled stomach in concealed by a gray shirt which is slightly stained by dust. A belt holds a single skinning knife to the boy's waist, a single remnant to the life of a twelve-year-old boy stolen from tribal life to live in the West.

Example of RP:

Jacob Steps-High sat against the building, his brand-new bowler hat tipped over his eyes. It hid his feather, which had been a symbol of manhood; now a symbol of race and alieniation among the white men. He sighed a deep sigh, the overlarge hat falling off over his nose. With a grunt and a bend, the hat was plucked out of the sandy lane, its top marred by reddish-brown soot. "Poor hat," Jacob murmured jokingly, brushing the residue off. That was better. Mr. Miller would be calling him in for sweeping to be done soon. He ought to rest some more, or perhaps go down to the river side to feel Mother Earth's majesty. The boy no longer felt like a child, though only twelve.
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Name: Jazzy Bell

Age: 11

Gender: Female (Tomboy)

Job Wanted: None at the moment.
(If previous is N/A) Other Position wanted: Well, she's a run away, so I'll say drifter... This will change once I get some RP in.

Description(Prefered a detailed description): > What would have been a pretty face... was an eleven year old "boy" hidden under a dusty brown cap where butter-cup yellow hair lay short-cropped with light blue eyes peering out with an attempted rebel-esque reflection. Attire consisted only of dirty browns and a filthy white-collared shirt that was clearly several sizes too big. Brown coat draped delicate shoulders, and long; baggy brown pants fell to ankles as torn and frayed, showing off dainty bare feet. Believe it or not this little boy was actually a run-away girl with a passion for horses. Jazzy carries a fling-shot and a pet weasel with her at all times.


Example of RP(Preferably a RP log from previous RPs, otherwise make it up.): Jazzy trudged into the town as she would any other town she had wandered into through out her life. The first place she headed was the stable, stalking silently with fling-shot in hand, lowered to her side but at the ready if need be. No one seen, the 'girl' hurried inside, to the corner and plopped down into the hay, surely hidden by other bales. This would be where she spent the night, and perhaps many nights ahead! (Ah, sucky... but I haven't RP'ed this one yet... so that will explain it.)
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Name:
Kishi Quidel

Age:
20-ish

Gender:
Male

Job Wanted:
Deputy in the town of Brenton

Description:
A tall man with sun weathered and very tan skin due in part to his being Native American, black hair smooth as silk and shoulder-length which is decorated with various beads and feathers. Ontop of his head sat a cowboy hat made of straw with a leather band about it and with three turquiose jewels set infront. On his body was a button-up, long-sleeve tan shirt with bead art sewn into each breast along with a pair of tan jeans on his legs, ending with a pair of moccasins on his feet. Holster on his left hip held a Colt 1855 Sidehammer while the right held a Colt 1851 Navy revolver, a stock yoke for the Navy strapped to the front of his right thigh. His back held onto a criss-crossed set of Colt 1878 Hammer Shotgun and a Winchester Model 1873 .44 WCF. Sheathed in the front of his pants was a bowie knife for close-range situations.

Example of RP:
Kishi Quidel made his way down the main street of the town while his hands busied themselves with a bit of wood and his bowie knife, carefully carving into bit of agricultural product to make a proxy of a person into it. The person would not have a face or any certain characteristics due to the fact he was not thinking of a certain person at that period in time. After he was finished he flicked the wooden creation into the air then quickly drew up his Colt Navy from his right hip, left hand pulling back to draw the hammer back as he aimed only to pull the trigger with a loud bang emitting as the bit of metal propelled from the end of the barrel. A grin formed over his face as he spun the revolver on his index fingertip then let it slip back into the holster, looking down a few moments later when the wooden figurine landed on the ground a few yards away with the blank head missing. The only words that would emit from his lips afterwards would be through a wide grin in his deep, resonating voice, "White Devil...."
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Name: Rosalie Ericson

Alias: Rose/Rosie/Rosa

Age: 17

Gender: Female

Job Wanted: Part Time worker at the Boarding House and/or a teacher.

(If previous is N/A) Other Position wanted:

Description(Preferred a detailed description):Young feline stood approximately 5’5, her body was slim but still soft and round. Long dark hair cascaded around slight shoulders; liquid brown eyes were surprisingly bright with gold dust riming the irises. She was wearing a long white blouse with flowing sleeves that trailed gracefully with every movement of her arms. A crimson vest was laced tightly across her midsection and sides, and several brightly colored scarves were tied around her waist. Hanging loosely from her hips was a slim white skirt flowing down to flutter at her ankles where bare feet poked out.

Example of RP(Preferably a RP log from previous RPs, otherwise make it up.): Rosalie Ericson sat down on the dusty western ground, her legs neatly folded under a loose fitting white skirt. Her long brown hair was pulled over her right shoulder where she absent-mindedly twirled it with her fingers. Sighing she tilted her head back to peer at the scorching sun, one of her pale hands movie to block the light from her eyes. She seemed almost sad, but she would never say so. Her liquid brown eyes glared at the scorching sun, trying to force it to stop beating down on her shoulders.

Extra Info: Rosalie was born in a small country town in the south of France. She has a strong accent and has a friendly enough attitude, but has a more darker side due to childhood abuse from her father.
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Name: Katie O'Kelleigh

Age: 17

Gender: Female

Job Wanted: Prostitute (I don't know if there can be more than one?)

Other Position wanted: Goddess of Time and Eternity (Just kidding. If I can't be the above, I'll just be Drifter, or maybe a Seamstress.)

Description: Katie, or 'Kitty', if you're an intimate of hers, is a cream colored feline of some longhaired variety. Slender and modestly figured, she keeps a mane of brilliant red hair in some kind of order and vivd green eyes. Naturally, her irish heritage speaks for itself. Her favorite outfit is a silk viridian dress with a black corset and black lace trim, but doesn't bother with fancy stockings or boots.

Example of RP:
"That was... really something." He said,looking shyly to her in the dim lamplight. Through the lace curtains of the rooom, pale streaks of rose and gold painted the horizon, warning that dawn was coming. Katie had to struggle to hide her smirk. "and to be sure, you look like you had a grand time." She remarked softly. He paused for a moment and then offered her a gold coin. A tip, you might say. Katie smiled sweetly and captured his hand in her own, gently closing it around the coin. "Na, my lad. There's no need for that this time. Come and see me any time. Now you'd better get going- morning's on it's way and your father will be wondering what's became of you." The boy, nodded and got dressed. Katie saw him on his way, then made her way to the kitchen for breakfast. The cook saw her coming and handed her a cup of good strong coffee. "Morning to you, miz Katie. Your boy sure looked happy on his way out. His father was pleased, too." "Thank you," Katie said simply, plopping down in a kitchen chair and picking up a biscuit. "First timers are always a wee bit of a challenge. But I'm of a mind that we'll be seeing more of Mr. Connolly and son."
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Name: Min Chang

Age: 23

Gender: Female

Job Wanted: N/A for now.

Other Position wanted: Drifter/Outlaw

Description: The young woman had disguised herself as a man -- she wore dusty old trousers, a pale shirt with a dark waistcoat, and a long brown coat over. The thick belt that slung around her near frail waist carried two pistols. Her straight black hair was rarely let down and out from under her hat. She was short, and looked thin to the point of being malnourished. The feline's body was tan and covered with exotic brown and cream colored markings that lined her face, limbs, and chest. Her intense eyes, almost too red in color to be considered brown, were cold and demanded respect.

Example of RP:

Min licked her dry, cracked lips and gripped the leather reigns tighter as she tied the horse to the post. Her eyes darted down the dirt road and past those on the street to fall on the dark train tracks at the edge of town. She swallowed, and set her jaw, then pulled her hat lower on her head. After straightening her back, she reached up and ran her paw over the horse's neck. Min muttered short words to the mare, then pivoted away to enter the saloon. She didn't know how long she'd be staying here, but figured something would come up that would be worth her time and patience.
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Name: Orlena Narisma

Age: Mid 20's, roughly 26

Gender: Female

Job Wanted: Stable owner, Horse breeder, Veterinarian

Other Position wanted: Townsperson until opportunity with horses arises.

Description: Lashes in mimic of butterfly wings, the color of gold seemingly sculpted from the Aztec temples; the meshing colors of green within her eye, outreached to the shade of indigo etching her iris, oh how it was too uncanny for the blades of rare green offering praise to the night sky, forever instilled within her gleaming orbs. Dark fur seemed to be molded from the red stained earth, hands of an apache designer careful to form every soft strand, hinting them with the lighter shades beheld in the brightest rays of the sun, the shades that marked her for the foreign heritage across the Atlantic. But those conquistadores claimed her as their own with the non too subtle mass of thick curls, waves, and solid ringlets all enriched by the fair traits of her European half. The color was too inspiring for those greedy by the shaped coin, a dazzling prism when the sun brushed its luminous lips across her strands. Golden waves swept freely behind her back, tied up by an exotic piece of turquoise worked by the hands of her father’s people. The stiff black hat shielded the rays from praising her hair, shrouding the beautiful woman in a veil of utter mystery. Black duster danced behind her pristine step, the sound of her boots’ heels and golden spurs narrated the agile sway of rounded hips cloaked. When left to stand without the comfort of her sweeping garment, a crème colored blouse of cotton was tucked into a pair of high rise breeches, a sash of the prairie’s colors adorning her hip in shield of her bowie and small revolver fitted to the small paws of the femme. Chaps of black leather hugged her hips, clinging tightly to the Latin curves to put an envious glimmer of green amongst the pail women. Her stature was tall, rising about five feet and eight inches, but her beauty and physical being could not tell anything of the mestiza that she emitted with an upward tilt of her chin and nonchalant grin.

Example of RP:

Jazzy Bell had made it through a painstakingly boring day and was still suffering. Jazzy sat near the Saloon fiddling with her fling-shot. Sarah - her little ferret - was curled up in the 'girl's' lap asleep... she too quite bored. A little rumble erupted from Jazzy's tummy and she'd huff a sigh, hungry and bored out of her mind!

Ralph "Mumbles" Newman came by the saloon to pick up a meal for the evening - for both him and his friend who was still laid up in Gathero's home while he healed. Pay from the doctor wasn't too bad. He was slowly saving up enough for two train tickets, was able to eat every day now, and even had something to do to keep him off the streets most of the day, which was the last place he wanted to be. Things...had gotten a little complicated for the mutie over the past few days.

Jazzy Bell glanced up when she spotted Ralph, a face she'd seen occasionally during her wandering around town. A little smirk formed as she tapped Sarah and nodded. The ferret got the message and scrambled up, prancing on over to the wolf as a distraction mechanism. If it worked; Jazzy pulled out a pebble from her pocket and swiftly readied it, aiming and firing in the wolf's direction, near the leg to be specific. If at all sucessful, Jazzy giggled and took to her feet, bolting to the other side of the Saloon; Sarah immediately following.

Orlena Narsima: The grunt of the palomino was a lonely sound for one coming in from the expanse of dust and sculpted rock. Heavy thumps of its hooves marked the earth, adding to the steps made aforetime by the bustling townsfolk and their simple beasts. Her eyes were high for each building, framed by lashes of a metallic shade. Nose wrinkled some but onward she ventured above the steed. The golden ringlets bounced ever so lightly against sculpted, slanted cheekbones covered in the soft ruddy fur. Shadows veiled away her face, leaving only the feminine shape and glimpses of her coloring to wavering eyes.

Ralph "Mumbles" Newman blinked once when he spotted the critter running up to him, noticing who she belonged to almost instantly. Honestly, how many people in town owned ferrets? The distraction worked quite well too, as the wolf would stood down to try picking Sarah up, only to jump lightly in surprise and let out a silent yipe when he was "shot". Acting on instinct, Ralph swiftly pulled a revolver from his side and cocked the hammer, whirling about to where he heard the sound of retreating footsteps. Blinking when he saw Jazzy taking off, he huffed and put the gun away. Dang kids...Ralph liked them and all, but not when they were taking practice shots at him. Especially with things how they were...

Jazzy Bell peeked over at Ralph from the side of the building and stuck out her tongue at him in mocking. Sarah joined Jazzy and stuck her tongue out as well. She giggled before catching site of the palomino near by. Yes, the palomino first, hardly paying enough attention to notice the woman mounted. That grumpy old doctor had one of those palomino's as well, and they simply mesmorized the poor girl.

Orlena Narsima's head turned to the commotion of the two, a neutral observance of the child's play and the quick draw of the male. For a coyote, her presence was almost catlike; an invocation of the surname that marked her father's clan, 'lions amongst men'. The golden spurs glistened along the cream colored hide, dark heels gave a gentle flat-tap along the flanks and the horse raised its head with a pride unbeaten by the arrogant Spaniards. He pulled his glistening coat, flickering his tail behind to sweep the dust from beneath his gleaming presence. As though he knew the eyes of an admirer were present, how the beast walked on, drawing the attention while its rider did nothing but hold the leather reins, guiding him to the post stationed before the Saloon.

Ralph "Mumbles" Newman did something any other adult probably wouldn't have been caught dead doing - he stuck his tongue out right back at Jazzy and her pet. That quickly ended when he followed the sudden turn of her gaze to the woman that was watching them. Swiftly letting his tongue retreat back into his muzzle, Ralph would reach up with his free paw to tip his hat in greeting, shifting a little out of embarrassment. That was certainly a little awkward...

Jazzy Bell bit her lip as she watched the horse, not the woman. She didn't give a care about the woman. Forgetting her usual tough demeanor, Jazzy walked towards the palomino slowly, eyes bright with amazement. If she wasn't stopped or anything, she extended a little hand towards the end of the velvety muzzle of the horse to let it get her scent.

Orlena Narsima threw a casual glance at the male, etching his imagery into her mind before returning a curt nod for politeness' sake. The green pair caressed by indigo lowered onto the approaching child, the neutrality leaving her a still figure but the glisten told otherwise. The horse lowered it head, jutting forth the muzzle to meet the hand, deep inhales made quite audible passing through the nostrils. A grunt he'd manage, thrusting long nose against the smaller hand in play. Left leg of the woman raised and swung over, her dismount smooth and clean. Spurs chimed when the force of boots made contact with the dusty ground, the shuffling sound of her step as she walked forward towards the tomboy. Reigns were pulled over and offered to the girl, "Can you tie him?" she inquired, the smooth sound of her voice hinting combined lineage able to master both that of which ran through her veins.
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Name: Cassie Reicher

Age: 19

Gender: Female

Job Wanted: None

(If previous is N/A) Other Position wanted: Drifter.

Description(Prefered a detailed description):
The fiery young canine looked to be around nineteen, wearing things a lady wasn't particularly seen in in these days. Brown trousers clung to her hips, and a white shirt clung to her upper bodice, topped off by a black jacket. A gun holster was strapped to her upper thigh, sometimes a rifle slung over her slim shoulder. A hat tipped over her head, fire-red hair spilling from under it as it hid the pretty face under it. She looked respectable enough, although oddly dressed for a lady. She seemed wild and uncontrollable, although not particularly dangerous unless you were staring down the barrel of her gun. Cowboy boots kicked up dust most of the time from her rather trotting sort of walk, an odd one for sure.


Example of RP(Preferably a RP log from previous RPs, otherwise make it up.):

Cassie Reicher's figure first appeared while they were talking, and now she was walking up. Her hand was grasping reigns of the horse she was leading, a pretty black spotted mare. Her hat lay on the saddle horn, revealing her long firey red hair as she walked slowly toward the group. When she got up to them, she paused, blue eyes looking around. "Hello." She ought to draw some attention to herself, 'lest someone thinks she was sneaking up. Her pants were somewhat mud-splattered, as were her horses, and it was fresh too. She'd trudged through a river to get here, not too long ago, although long enough for the mud to dry. Her boots were smudged, but her face wasn't all that dusty, remarkably. She and her mare showed signs of having traveled for a long while to get here, but otherwise she didn't look all too different.
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Name: "Whitey" Johansson (first name unknown)

Age: A little under 30.

Gender: Male

Job Wanted: Gold! Or, failing that, something related to carpentry.

Description:
Is this shifty-eyed albino Swede chasing his American dream, or running from the law in his mother country? No one knows. Heck, no one so much as knows his first name, 'cept maybe his mother. The mud on his boots and the dust on his back suggest he ain't puttin' down roots anytime soon, yet he ain't goin' anywhere fast either. You know that old expression, 'dumb as an ox?' Well he might fit that description at first, but the way his pink eyes slowly scan from side to side, you can tell he weighs every little detail before coming to even the smallest decision. His few possessions are carried in a burlap sack apart from a large knife at his hip.



Example of RP:
"Whitey" Johansson's broad shoulders were bent forward to the task as he rapidly carved a spindle of wood; every now and then he shot a furtive glance in various directions, but never skipped a beat with the blade. All of a sudden the ox stopped, looked up and grunted.
"Whitey" Johansson appears to look through you for a second or two before looking you straight in the eye and chiming "Good day, ya?"
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Name: Halberd

Age: 16

Gender: Male

Job Wanted: Already 'employed' by Jason as scout. Town courier.
Previous 'employment': Crowley's Courier Co.

Description(Prefered a detailed description): Don't shoot the messenger! A rather scruffy, lanky teenage fur, couldn't be much older than sixteen. Unkempt hair was silver with a slight sheen, some semblance of tidiness maintained via a ponytail in the back. Aviator goggles concealed hazel eyes, the glass tinted grey, black 'hawk feather tucked behind an ear. A long-sleeved, button-up, navy colored jacket - back mostly missing to accomodate fluffy wings - served as his shirt, insignia of an envelope with a black and white Scarhawk wing stretching out at either side embroidered upon sleeves of jacket. Pants were tied in place with a link of chains about his hips, faded-brown leather boots upon feet. A dusty satchel was worn protectively over one shoulder, many pockets along the outside showing rolled up maps, envelopes and small packages.

Example of RP(Preferably a RP log from previous RPs, otherwise make it up.): Halberd nearly dive-bombed square into the ground, quick as a bolt of blue lightning flashed down from the heavens. Well. Maybe not quite so quick, but flowery metaphors were so fine. Ending up not crashing mere inches from the ground, the Berd-brained featherkitty ended up fluttering right behind Jason and Cassie - having managed to purchase an outfit almost identical to the one in his description with their assistance. "Um. Nothing to report today! I.. did see a few cacti that looked like outlaws if I squinted a bit, however, I.. think they pose little problem. And.." Fluttering stopped as he perched feet upon the ground, turning to face Cassie, ".. I've a.. bit.. of change left over. Should I return it to you--" Featherkitty cut himself off there, as it seemed there was a scene occuring. My, best not to interrupt further!