Seven men, all with the same destiny - undoubtedly to receive terrible wounds or die horrible deaths at the hands of fanfic writers - stood on the boardwalk in front of the saloon.
They formed a huddle, speaking quietly amongst themselves and looking around worriedly every once in a while.
"Did the telegram say when this man'd be here?" Josiah looked over at Chris.
"No, just that he was on his way and that he was looking to take me down."
"So what's this guy's beef with ya?" Buck twirled the end of his black mustache in his fingers.
"Did you poke his eye out too, Chris?" JD looked up wide-eyed at his gun-toting, whiskey-swilling, morality-spouting - 'you don't shoot no one in the back...you shoot 'em in the knee and then when you get in front of 'em...then ya shoot 'em' - hero.
Larabee slowly looked sideways at JD. "For the last time, JD, I didn't poke Top Hat Bob's eye out." He rolled his eyes and looked towards the sky.
JD put his hands up, palms out. "Ok...ok. Sorry! I just wondered if ya poked his eye out is all - didn't mean to make you waste one of yer 'glares' on me." He threw his hands down and with his best 'puppy that just got run over by a stage coach look' walked towards the jail.
"What's his problem?" Vin furrowed his brow as he watched JD walk away.
Buck glanced at JD's retreating back, then looked at his comrades. He shook his head and sighed. "Prairie Farms stopped furnishing the saloon and hotel with milk."
"No!" Josiah hissed out.
Nathan sat down hard. "Those Bastards!"
Ezra lowered his head, the shadow from the brim of his hat covering his eyes. "It's a sad day indeed."
Larabee stood, mouth open, staring at his men.
He glanced towards Vin. The tracker was leaning against one of the posts. His feet were at least five feet away from the bottom of the post, but somehow he managed to have his shoulders resting on the wooden pole. He seemed to almost float sideways in the air, and look damn comfortable to boot. 'How in the HELL does he do that?' Chris shook his head and glanced towards the Clarion.
Mary was in front, standing on the boardwalk, engaged in conversation with an unknown cowboy. Suddenly she bent towards him, wrapped her arms around his waist, tilted her head to the side and kissed him! And kissed him...And kissed him.
The seven... (er...wait...JD's in the jail, isn't he) The six lawmen watched, mesmerized. Slowly, five of them started backing away from their leader.
Chris actually turned red. Steam didn't just come out of his ears, it came out of his nose, his mouth, his...well, anyway...there was steam! He glared at the unknown cowboy who was kissing his Mary. He glared at him with that icy blue, green, hazel stare. Glared. (Did I mention he was glaring?)
Neither Mary nor her amorous cowboy noticed him.
He kept glaring. Finally he couldn't take it any more. "HEY!" he yelled towards the two.
The cowboy stopped kissing Mary long enough to glance his way. Their eyes met and the cowboy's eyes widened when he saw the look in the black clothed gunslinger's eyes.
Suddenly, without warning, out of the blue the cowboy - EXPLODED!
Blood and body parts flew everywhere, covering Mary and most of the boardwalk in front of the Clarion.
Chris's mouth dropped open. He glanced around, trying to see if anyone had noticed anything. Looking innocent, he faced his six (JD was back) friends. "What?"
They stood, gaping openmouthed at him.
"Um...er.," Chris stammered, "I had my glare turned up too high."
"Uh...yeeahh." Buck said slowly.
"Okaaayyy." Vin turned his head, but kept his eyes on his best friend.
"I am not cleaning that up." JD was still looking at the mess across the street.
Ezra started shaking. The lawmen turned towards him, concern etched on their faces.
Nathan was suddenly next to him. "Ezra? You ok? Talk to me."
Standish had a terrified expression on his face as he stared at Larabee.
"I...I...he...he glares at me. Constantly glares at me. I...he could have blown me up at any time." Ezra knew he was babbling and not making any sense, but he was in shock and the moment called for him to lose his two hundred and thirty million-dollar words. "All this time I've been playing with fire, bucking the odds, messing with dyna-"
"Ezra." Vin raised his eyebrows at the southerner. "You're a gambler. That's - what - you - do."
"It is?" Ezra visibly shuddered. "Good Lord, I need a new job." He turned and ran for the laundry.
Chris shook his head as he looked the six... (no, wait...JD's back, but Ezra's over at the laundry begging for a safe job ironing clothes...ok, start over...)
Chris shook his head as he looked the five men in the eye. (Too much math. There's five. No, one's gone so there's four, but one came back and then two went on patrol so there's...aggggghhhhhhh!).
Chris tried his best Bogey impression. "Of all the men...in all the cowtowns...in all the West...I had to get the lot of you." He shook his head and turned to walk away only to come face to face with an extremely upset, blood-and-stuff-covered Mary. She stood with her hands on her hips; they'd slide off every so often, so she'd have to put them back up there.
"Mr. Larabee, may I have a word with you?"
Chris sighed. "Yes, Mary." He started walking with her but turned one last time to narrow his eyes at the laughing lawmen.
"Ouch." Vin grinned. "That's gotta hurt."
The (counting on fingers) five lawmen laughed even harder, then turned in the direction of the laundry when they heard a decidedly southern yell.
"DAMMIT! I burned my hand! SAFE? My foot!!"
The End
