midpointsaloon | Another Day, Another Dollar (post-round mingle)

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Another Day, Another Dollar (post-round mingle)

PLAYERS: Everyone!
LOCATION: Midpoint, and anywhere else people want to explore
GOAL: Time to relax after some hard-won rounds.
WARNINGS: None
OTHER: The setting post for those who want to explore

The stagecoach reaches the Ranch... and the cargo isn’t with it. A large, feathery dinosaur reaches the Ranch a little later, with only some of their cargo, having been hit mid-route and between transformations by the bandits.

“Well, we’ll take what we can get,” Lee says sourly at what’s left after the bandits’ raiding - maybe half of the empty crates. He hollers at his ranch hands, “Come get 'em, boys!” Between him and the other workers, and any of the remaining driver team able to be pressed into service (which is mostly just Groot), the crates are unloaded and stacked and filled with supplies for the next train out. Looks like they were useful, after all.

At the end of the day, Lee sends the drivers on their way back to Midpoint, and the bandits can do what they will with their portion of the cargo. Got any use for sturdy wooden crates, friends?

In Tycoon Depot, Tiffany Jamesson has spent a(n enjoyable) day and a half in hiding with Inara, Daylight, and Irene, peppering Daylight with questions and flirting demurely with Inara and Irene, presumably out of boredom. The hand-off with her father goes pretty smoothly, with only Fuwa on the outside - he might be furious, but he's not willing to interrupt and risk the target’s life in a firefight.

Exchange made, kidnappers and bodyguards are free to head back to Midpoint.

In the saloon, North has laid out a buffet of everyone’s favorite foods to choose from, with beer and wine on the house for two days only: the traditional post-round congratulations-or-consolations feast. There’s someone on the piano almost all night providing music, and extra hot water for baths whenever people finally retires to their rooms. Most Players make good use of the additional free food and drink for as long as it lasts; whether for enjoyment, self-medication, or to stave off boredom is their own call.

The dead don't remain so for long, and wake up in jail cells - the same ones they started their round at - at the edges of the game arena around the same time as the round ends, ready to be collected by friends - if there’s anyone who wants to come get them.

The next week and a half belong to the Players to do with what they please, be it sleep all day, spend their hard-earned points on more alcohol, ask lots of questions, or explore the arena. There are no events planned, nothing to steal, no one to murder (unless you really want to, anyway), and plenty of things to learn about and try to get to the bottom of, for any Players not too jaded to try and search. Good luck with that, anyway.

Oh - did you want to know if you won, or how badly you lost? Gonna have to ask North or Booker for your points totals, because there’s nobody who actually announces whether you won or lost...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I. Dead Man's Doorstep Prison (Closed to Misty)

Soldat has done this a couple times, now. Not as often as some people, but often enough. The game makers dumped them in the worst prison, of course, so they spend the night huddled under the single available blanket in the freezing cell, and hope to hell somebody comes to pick them (and their horse) up before it gets too hot during the day.

Whoever does come get them, it's clear who's inside, because the giant draft mare is waiting outside, and whinnies hopefully at the approaching horse, anxious for company and bored out of her tiny little mind.

II. At the Saloon

Riding wearily back into Midpoint, Soldat isn't trying to hide their presence. They hand off their bay mare to Soap, disappear upstairs for an hour to get clean and changed into more comfortable clothes than the repaired tac vest and not-repaired, half-shredded flannel and jeans. Then they return downstairs, whether to be checked on by team members and rare couple of friends, confronted by rival team members, or just to devour as much of the buffet as North will let them.

Which is a lot of the buffet. North just cheerfully makes more.

But they make themselves stay downstairs for a couple of hours, even though it's clearly getting more and more stressful as the night progresses. But they're trying, okay.

III. Daily Grind,

In their downtime between missions, Soldat has a routine. For years, it was the same: practice, clean, tend the horse; patrol the entire arena for a few days, come back to the Saloon and practice and clean and tend the horse some more; meticulously fold paper in the privacy of their suite when the feelings get too bad.

Now there are people to check on. They still spend a few days out in the dust, riding a circuit all the way around the arena, and can be found anywhere along the route by other intrepid explorers. When in town, they still practice out at the shooting gallery to the north of the central street, still spend time cleaning and maintaining their weapons, but... it's less.

Because they have to fit in a prowl around town to check on people, multiple people, a couple times a day. Have to fit in lunch and dinner out in public instead of in the safety of the suite upstairs. Have to actually... socialize. Or, as is more common, sit in the back and listen to people while they play cards, nurse a single whiskey all night, or create a small horde of little animals out of paper around the table.

Tenterhooks is at his best without a match looming overhead. Maybe needing to divert less energy to attending him makes Misty a better rider, maybe the laxness is easy to pick up on, who knows; but he's faster and surer, and they're afforded the benefit of a beeline free of traps. Setting out immediately upon noting his absence, the trip is made in fine time - he's no racehorse, but he makes up for it in stamina. Tying him is a frantic process, undertaken as if a second wasted on that step might result in the cell being empty once she's reached it.

All but flying down the stairs, she'll be greeted by Soldat in whatever position he's in by early morning. The door is swung aside with visible relief. A canteen is offered reflexively.

"What happened?"

Between their horse greeting hers, and the hurry of footsteps, Soldat is sitting up and looking hopefully at the door by the time she's at the bottom of the stairs. "Misty," they say with clear relief. It could have been any number of people, up to and including Fuwa coming to put another bullet in their head. And even if it is Misty, she's probably not going to be happy.

The canteen is absolutely accepted, though today there's no clinging or hugs, just a hesitant hand reached over to touch her hair, as if making sure it's really her, before unscrewing the cap for a drink.

"Mission success," they explain. "Only because I took out Hajime and distracted Fuwa long enough after." If by "distracted" one means "gets beat on and then shot by", anyway.

Slight as it is, she looks pleased for the contact at least. Less so about the rest. The conflict is quite clear in her expression, all soft eyes and pinched frown.

"That's a hell of a way to phrase it, here I was hearing you'd died." Not good for her, not good for others, even worse for him. She's livid she couldn't be of use, but wrestling with the...grim inevitability of it. The uselessness of a grudge.

He's okay. Better focus. "How are you feeling? Are you alright?"

Well, they did die, but dying is only really a problem if you don't come back. And the game makers have been very clear they're not letting Soldat go any time soon. "I'm tired. Hungry, but what's new, I'm always hungry." They have another few gulps of the canteen before handing it back. "Not looking forward to going back to Midpoint after that. Hajime's poor companion spent the whole fight crying."

Try saying that one to her face, Soldat.

A wave; the canteen is his. She resurges thirsty and even if it isn't universal, she feels better knowing he's got it on him. "Back there, you eat, and I don't see you out of bed or off the couch unless there's been some hours in between."

A beat, and then as they approach the door: "Tell me you weren't mean to that poor mantis--"

"I shot his person in the head," Soldat says, a little sadly, but they keep the canteen, maybe even hold it against their chest a little, as if clearly grateful for it and a little uncertain they deserve it. After all, they did make a shape-shifted mantis child cry. "I think that probably counts as mean."

But they do scoop up their lantern to sling over one shoulder, and collect their rifle and plethora of knives from the shelf outside before climbing the stairs after her. "And I promise. I will eat a lot."

It's at least a more concerned frown, now. A pang of sympathy that need not be hidden in his company. "I'm sorry it must have come to that, I-- liked him, he seems nice." The pair of them, actually. Good people. Terrible they've endured that, and that Soldat had to deal a blow.

"You feeling okay around it? Gonna need a minute to destress or fold before you fill up and crash?"

"I played poker with him before the mission start," Soldat agrees, adding their hat on top of their head (damn thing, they used to hate it so much, but they're used to it now) and stepping out into the sun. "Ryo kept stealing the peanuts we were using to bet. And reading off Hajime's cards. Doubt they'll want to do that again."

The draft mare perks her ears up at them and snorts, stamping impatiently for them to come and let her scratch her face on their chest again. "I need a bath. Is what I need. And a lot of food. I'm. I'm trying to be more social. To get to know the other players. I don't know anymore how I did it, before. How I made. Actual friends. But can't do it in my room."

Bucky/Soldat | OTA

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