Roaming Water |•| Female |•| Gang Leader |•| 21 Years |•| Saloon
Mentions: Poker Table

The evening clamor of the saloon was only further accented by the strong, sour stench of alcohol wafting in and out of the noses and mouths of hazy patrons. Every few seconds, the sound of beer taps harmonized with the words of men and giggles of women, filling the atmosphere with banter. In a dingier portion of the room, a poker game interrupted into chaos, the clicks of guns silencing the patrons' voices all at once. A sigh adjourned the now taut tension that permeated the air and an individual stood, taking their caramel arm from around a woman's shoulders. The figure spoke, dressed in men's clothing, as they stepped towards the poker table. The individual took the hat from their head, unleasing a long ebony braid. Quiet voices, almost like the soft flutter of moth wings against a lampshade, found shelter underneath the blanket of tension. She was Roaming Waters, infamous across the state and wanted for murder, assault, grand larceny, horse theft, and many more she hasn't quite bothered to remember. "Men," she cooed, placing her hat against her chest and adopting a visage much like a stern mother, "Do not quarrel over cards; there are much more important matters to kill a man over. Though, if you do wish to end someone's life this evening, do our dear, dear bartender a favor and dirty up the streets outside instead of his bar."

:: Jayne Parrish :: Male :: 17 :: Location- Saloon:: Mentions- Roaming Water, Aston, Kate, Poker Table ::

Jayne watched the exchange from the bar, perched still as a statue on his stool. His eyes, however, were anything but, flicking around the crowded room restlessly. He had taken up a seat in a darker corner that commanded a decent view of the goings-on without making him too conspicuous. He liked to fancy that he looked mighty mysterious, his hair falling into his face and shrouding his eyes. To most other eyes though, he looked like what he was- a skinny boy trying to make himself seem like a man. The bandana around his neck itched in the warm saloon.

He took a sip of his beer, the taste bitter on his tongue. He preferred not to dwell on how difficult it had been for him to convince the barkeep that he was old enough to drink. Not so much a lie as an exaggeration. He would be eighteen soon enough. In the meantime, he was old enough. He was a man grown.

Jayne perked up when he saw Roaming Water enter, his heartbeat quickening in anticipation. His hand shifted towards his switchblade and he pictured his shotgun. He could see in his mind's eye exactly where it was- just outside lashed to Stitch's saddle. He could be out of this stupid saloon and back with it in less than five heartbeats if a fight broke out. Then he'd prove he was more than just a stupid boy. He stood and prowled closer to the poker table, lurking in the shadows. He pictured himself as a lion stalking its prey, ready to pounce at a moment's notice. He could have his blade out and in the neck of the nearest man as fast as he could blink if he wanted to. Jayne's expression morphed into a wolfish smirk as the men backed down at Aston's smooth words and he let out a mocking chuckle. He looked to Kate, curious if she shared his amusement. They had no idea how close they had come to a swift death at the hands of his companions.