Chapter Text
[V] Rest despite your reservations. ==>
The rest of the previous day was not notable enough for me to journal. I bought a horse with some of the money my beloved grandmother gave me for purchasing essentials. I shouldn’t need a wagon, but I may get one if the Sheriff joins me. Additionally, I had a pleasant lunch and dinner at the Mutini, giving me more opportunity to speak with Roxanne. As for the events of this morning, well, those are far more interesting. At the moment, I am seated on a cot located in Bonsea’s medical center (it has a shockingly low content of leeches). Half of my ear was taken off in a skirmish by an ill-mannered brute.
“Jacob. You’re supposed ta be holding the bandage on yer ear,” the sheriff deadpans, sighing in exasperation.
“I am writing! My journal is my ticket to history books of the future,” You argue, “I need to keep it updated with everything important that happens, lest I lose track of my exploits…” you mutter. A splatter of crimson blood plopped onto the page you are scribbling on. “Jiminy Crickets!!” Your hand shoots up to clamp the bloodied gauze over your ear. “Fine, I’ll take a break. Once this incessant bleeding stops, though, this journal is going to be updated to perfection.” Strider sighs and pulls a handful of clothes pins from his pocket. You can’t help but comment, “Why on earth do you have those on you?”
The sheriff ignores you and gestures for you to move your hand from your ear- you hesitantly oblige. The bandage is held in place by hopes in dreams without a hand there to support it. Strider holds the gauze in place and slides a clothing pin over it to clamp it to the ear. You wince and reach to feel at the pin. “Is this not going to hurt more than it already does?” you whine.
“Just about as much as it did to pinch it yerself, minus yer arm getting tired” Dirk responds.
You look back to your journal and scribble over part of your previous sentence to rewrite it.
--my ear was taken off in a well-mannered duel.
Dirk- the sheriff’s name as I’ve come to know- and I decided to spar a few hours ago. The sheriff came up with the idea, claiming a duel would be the best way to see how the two of us work with and against each other. I agreed, the idea was both creative and an efficient way to show our skill. I, of course, have my two flintlocks. Lara and Avatar have been my trusty arms for many years! They have never once failed me, and sit so perfectly in their holsters strapped to my thighs. Dirk, however, uses a unique weapon. Apparently, sheriffs do not always need firearms! This gentleman, as strange as it may be, carries a long (slightly curved) longsword. It is not even a typical sword he carries, it is thin and looks like it could easily break if swung the wrong way.
Despite his weapon being odd, it certainly works. As I mentioned before, a good portion of my right ear was sliced off. It took me a moment to realize what had happened. In fact, the pain set in AFTER I had already felt the warm blood trickling down my neck. How queer!
Dirk clears his throat.
“By the way, I only had those clips on me because I tinker with them sometimes. I don’t bother with ladies’ chores.”
You pause your writing to stare blankly at the sheriff. Your confusion is evident, because Dirk quickly moves to defend himself. “What? I wanted to specify just in case you got the wrong idea. I’m a sheriff, not a housewife!”
Pardon the random bout in the middle of my story about the duel, but the sheriff just said something incredibly strange. I understand some folk assign specific tasks as lady-like, but since I have grown up as an only child with my Grandmother, I fail to see significance in such stereotypes. We often shared chores or did whatever was easiest to us at the time. That is all- I just wanted a record of Dirk’s odd behavior. Perhaps it is normal for him, only time will tell. That is, if he joins me on my escapade.
But I digress, the sheriff is a mighty fine swordsman. I grazed him with one of my bullets at one point, but most of my focus was put into aiming away from his vital organs and anywhere that would be inconvenient for him in the long run. Alas, I suspect we both realized how much easier a weaponless brawl would’ve been AFTER we concluded the duel. He likely had the same strategy of playing it safe with his weapon as I, for he nary sliced a hair on my head. By jove, that man is talented! I am thrilled to possibly have a fellow who compares to myself in skill to help in this quest I plan.
With the current condition of my ear, I should easily be back to getting ready to set off in the next three hours. I tried insisting on leaving sooner, but the sheriff refused to let me pack my bindle before the bleeding stopped completely. Whatever the case, the rings I am searching for are much closer to my grasp than they were a mere week ago! Today should continue to be busy- I will try my best to write a decent entry tomorrow if I have the chance.
More news soon,
Jacob English
November 23nd, 1864
Return to the present moment ==>
Dirk sighs from over your shoulder, “You done?” You flinch and stand from the medical cot, yelping like a little boy,
“GAH! By the king’s beard, you startled me! Apologies, good fellow. I got too focused on my writing.” Strider crosses his arms and huffs, face remaining carefully neutral- as you’ve learned is typical for him. His heavily sun-bleached, hazel hair is spiked behind him as if he gelled it and rode incredibly fast on a horse until it hardened. How have you not noticed that until now? The sheriff mutters,
“Yeah, couldn't tell,” before raising his voice to a proper level. “That duel was productive. I’ve learned enough about you that I need to know in order ta decide if I’m gonna go with you or not.”
Dirk clears his throat and continues talking, his accent flattened and lacking any of the ‘western twang’ that was previously present- leaving behind a smooth, southern cadence that was present before but not as articulated. “You seem like an interesting guy. If you’d be willing to duel more in the future, I think it would be worth it for me to join your journey- whether the myth you believe in is true or not.” Your face lights up. He’s going to help you find the Queens’ Rings! What’s with the accent drop, though? Curiosity gets the best of you,
“Why did your accent suddenly change? By jove, are you not who you say you are? Why didn’t you say so?” No wonder he has such odd dress and the strange, triangular shades covering his eyes. You notice the way the man’s shoulders have tightened and how his hand is now covering his face. Oh, he’s tiredly shaking his head.
“That is possibly the worst response you could’ve chosen. Do you always jump to conclusions as ridiculous and unlikely as you just did?” You quickly shake your head, not caring that you are probably lying. Self awareness be damned, why would you admit to something ridiculous like that to a near stranger?
“Yeah, sure. We’ll see about that in the future, won’t we?” The sheriff mutters, not believing your quick denial. “Whatever the case, I don’t doubt I’ll be an important asset on your quest. Speaking of, we leave tomorrow morning. I need some time to pack and set my brother up to continue my duties in my stead.” Your thick eyebrows bunch together. Really? Why leave the role of the town’s sheriff to a preteen? You hurriedly voice your concern,
“Isn’t your brother hardly older than twelve or so? Why would you trust that little chap with such responsibility?” If the question came out harsher than intended, that wasn’t your fault. Strider was quick to respond, his voice a tad sharp,
“I have two brothers, ‘bro’. Dave’s barely thirteen, yeah. Hal, though; he’s only two years younger than me. He can handle sitting around all day and sometimes yelling at disruptive folks at Roxy’s saloon.”
The sheriff reaches to your injured ear and plucks off the clip. You flinch at the pain- Strider was not trying to be gentle in the slightest. He peels the gauze from the wound and inspects it. “Looks like the bleeding’s stopped. You’re fine to go about your business, just don’t pick at the scab. Mother nature’s bandage’ll fall off on its own when it’s ready.”
“Righty-o, good sir!” You give him a playful punch to the shoulder. He doesn’t move an inch when your large fist connects with his firm shoulder. By golly, what’s this guy’s problem? You hear him mutter something that definitely wasn’t in the queen’s English under his breath. Whatever the case, he said you were done being stuck in this strangely empty doctor’s office. It won’t be missed, that’s for sure. The emptiness of the building isn’t a problem, no. It just smells incredibly strong of chemicals and something else you can’t place. You grab the bandage from Strider’s hand and toss it into a bin across the room with impressive accuracy- not that it’s surprising to you, you’re well aware of your skills. As you walk out of the room and subsequent building as a whole, you can’t stop yourself from glancing back at Dirk to see if he at all reacted to your feat. Nope, as expected. His expression behind his dark glasses is just as it was moments ago; dull. Not that it matters, you think. Now it was time to make sure you had plenty of supplies and rations for two people since he gave a definite answer to your offer. Finally, you can look forward to a two-person escapade like you had dreamed of! Even if the sheriff doesn’t end up being entertaining company, he will surely be interesting.
Your name is Jacob Harley English, and you cannot wait to properly set off on your quest to find the mythical Queens’ Rings.