Post by Jackson on Jun 7, 2008 16:06:01 GMT -5
Jackson reclines awake beside the dim glow of smoldering embers, brooding beneath the glimmering stars and bone-white moon, moonlight cast upon the man's face accentuates heavily scarred, weathered features; a frown situated upon chapped lips as icy gaze settles upon the dull silhouette of the abandoned wagon, after a few moments of silent contemplation, the fellow rises from his position upon the ground and trudges in the direction of before mentioned scene. Hawk-like eyes perceptively survey the situation, marking every dark, almost black splotch of blood staining the prairie grass, sensitive nose twitching as he receives a whiff of rancid, rotting flesh, robust form hunkering beside one of the animal-ravaged corpses as gloved hand extends to rummage within the dead man's coat; nimble digits remove an overlooked object, he'd study such for a time, identifying the deceased as Pinkerton's. Lips purse as Jack lets loose a stream of spit, such instantly absorbed by the dust underfoot, a clear sign of his disdain for the Agency, looted object is discarded into the nearby river without so much as a thought of turning it in to authorities; a minute splash marking his success.
The Gunslinger buries the detective's remains within a mass, unmarked grave about a mile or so west of town, afterwards, he'd once again go over the wagon, scrutinizing every object and piece of scrap for anything potentially useful.
(Actually occurred last night, just didn't get around to posting it.)
The Gunslinger buries the detective's remains within a mass, unmarked grave about a mile or so west of town, afterwards, he'd once again go over the wagon, scrutinizing every object and piece of scrap for anything potentially useful.
(Actually occurred last night, just didn't get around to posting it.)