Chapter 35: Wildie and Rons Bounty Bar
They rode north towards the slums of the City where the streets were narrow and dark; filled with the frail beggars, druggies, wenches, and homeless.
Krix stared outward, shifting his eyes into the gloom
while the wagon bounced over mud-watered and pothole riddled streets, dodging many of the weary residents, covered in torn and dirt-stained rags; they stretched out their bony limbs towards them hollering and screaming.
"Please," a woman yelled, holding her limp baby in her arms. "Help my child!" Her cries were drowned by the screams and moans of the others.
Krix turned his head; the stench of decay and shit finding his nostrils. He gagged.
"Sad…" Brugar said, wiping a tear before it could leave his eye.
The boy turned an ear and raised an eyebrow. "Y'all are a bunch of odd Bounty Hunters…concerned for the beggars and bums."
"We're purse collectors...not heartless killers." Krix said. "Sure we do our fair share of killin, but only to those who've earned the bounty on their heads."
The boy, "whatever makes you sleep at night."
They turned west onto Lowbottom Street as Krix's eyes grew; several small bodies raced through the gloom, their faces dark and covered in soot.
Brugar mumbled "What is that—"
Krix watched children race towards the wagon, giggling and holding out empty hands.
"Please," one cried, "anything will do!"
Brugar swallowed, "surely we have some extra coin…"
"We ain't got nothin'," Krix whispered harshly; "Or have you forgotten? Just keep your trap shut and eyes forward."
The kids chased for several blocks only stopping once they realized defeat.
It was a quiet ride the rest of the way, and another twenty minutes before they came to a street just as gloomy yet silent; deprived of scavenger life. Torch lamps flickered away the darkness while the wagon screeched to a halt.
"Why is it so quiet here?"
The coach boy turned back, grinning. "The bounty hunters keep the beggars away; that'll be five Goppies," he reaches out a hand.
Krix lowered his pointed chin and raised his wicked eyes. "You'll be paid in good time."
"No free rides here..."
"When I know there's work, you'll get yours."
"I says," the boy stared down at his seat, "there's no free rides here—"
"Don't tempt me, you little shit." Krix bared his teeth. "You grab for that pistol and your brain will be left on the backs of your horses."
The boy hesitated and rubbed his chin."Ten Goppers next I see you..."
Krix snickered and reached out a hand, "Deal." he said. The boy spat in his hand and gave him a firm shake. Krix pulled away, removing a handkerchief, and wiping his palm clean.
Brugar and Krix opened the doors and slid out of the wagon to find themselves under a looming, black wooden building with an extended balcony and porch attached to the front.
Brugar squinted and slowly read, "Wildie Rons," in bold glowing lettering.
Krix turned towards the coach, "you have balls, boy." He smirked. "Watch that tongue of yours or it may get you caught."
"Hasn't just yet," he smiled.
"What's your name?"
"Quincy O'donovan," he remarked. "How will I find you, Mr.?"
"Grimm'gar… Krix Grimm'gar And I'll find you."
The boy titled his hat and whipped his horses into a gallop.
Krix smiled unable to help his fondness for the mouthy boy. He turned on his boots and walked towards the swinging doors. "Remember...Keep your—"
"Eyes peeled and mouth shut." Rynan said. "I got it…"
Krix nodded. They walked through the swinging doors.
He looked around the establishment curiously, glaring at a wall filled with posters then to a bar that sat many hunters: small, hooded figures who drank glowing shots; two leathery armored women sharpening knives; and two finely dressed men with rolling mustaches and eyes like ice.
Behind the bar was a thin man with a missing ear, spitting into mugs then wiping them clean. "You new here?"
The man turned to a burly man with a face full of unnatural wrinkles; his feet up on a table, flipping cards into a pile on the table.
Krix nodded. "How does one get work?"
"Spades pays the most...Diamonds pays the least."
Krix raises an eyebrow, "I don't follow..."
The man flipped a card with a green serpent on the face. "Son of a bitch," he griped. With a whip of his hands, he slid all the cards from the table back into his palms, shuffled, then began piling them once more. He lifted his chin. "There on the wall...the posters are marked."
Krix turned towards the wall that glimmered in candlelight: the posters hung in four rows; diamonds, clovers, hearts, and spades; the rows narrowing towards the top all stamped with images of wild and angry-faced outlaws.
"Colt and Clairous?" He read, at the top. A pairs whose posters were marked by question marks.
"what you paying for them?"
"Much more than the board…"
Krix's ears perked. "We'll take the Nightingales—"
"Nope..." The man shook his head. "Need to see what yer made've first."
"Made've?"
"Do three diamonds, two clubs, and a heart and we'll let you go after the Nightgales."
Krix lip furrowed, "that'll take months…"
"How you earn a living round here…"
Krix shook his head, "you've heard of Strawthorn and Clout, rigt?" The man hesitated before dropping his next card. "Ya, you've heard of us...We don't do cheap work… Leave that to the amatuers."
The man leaned forward in his chair and shifted uneasily. "Don't give a damn who you boys are;. Three diamonds, two clubs, and a heart—"
Krix slammed his hand on the table, down upon the cards. "We're here for a scads bounties."
"Take your hand off the table..."
Krix shook his head.
"I said take it from the table..."
Krix leaned closer, "make me."
For a minute they stand frozen holding glares, waiting for the first to strike.
The man spat. "If I hadn't made a vow to my wife, that arm of yers would've been torn from your body and shoved up your ass," he grunted. "Now... Remove. Your. Hand."
"Enough, " said a woman stood a hefty woman gowned in a black dress with eyes cold and face twisted. "You have to be a fool to threaten the man who's paying their bounties." She pointed to the group at the bar, standing with their hands on their guns. Eyes narrowed. Lips turned.
Krix glared at the man, "you're Wildie Ron Copperworth?"
"I'm Wildie and he's Ron," she said. "If you're looking to make some coin then you've come to the right place—"
"I'm looking to make coin or two tickets into the Iron Alchemist Tournament."
Krix pulls his hand from the table; Ron slapped a card down, resuming as if he hadn't been interrupted.
"We ain't here for feeble coins," Krix said."We are trained professionals."
"You've got papers?" The woman asked.
"I was unaware bounty hunters kept papers..."
"Precisely," Wildie said. "Your names mean nothin' here... Three diamonds, two clubs, and a heart. You get them bounties and we'll let you have a run at NightNgales."
Krix lowered his head.
"Take the deal, " a man said, from against the wall across from them. He was an older man, with hair as black as his eyes, and three large claw marks across his face. "It only took me a week." He smirked, sliding off the wall then through the swinging doors.
Krix stood there for a moment than nodded. "We'll do it. Burger find us a couple petty bounties to collect."
"Yes, master," Brugar replied, watching the man run out the swinging doors.
Krix stopped under the gloom to find the man smoking a strong stinking tobacci.
"Mitch "the Bull" Horn," Krix said, "What kinda shit bed did you roll out've?"
Mitch took another drag, "the same one as you..."
"Looks to me like you've acquired a few scars since last I saw of you; them Cyoakian woman up north are a handful.
They laughed.
This wasn't done by no bear-wench cunt...But by a cowardly general."
Krix raised an eyebrow. "You lookin' for an entry ticket?"
"Same as you…"
Krix laughed, pulling out a cigar and placing it to his lips, "then may the best man win…"
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
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