Victoria

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Victoria Deiux Desrosiers || 26 Yrs || Female || Gang Leader || Mentions: NPC, Gang

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In one of the darker alley-ways of the town, a pair of figures could be seen walking down, deeper and deeper into the darkness. One, a woman. The other, a large and intimidating man. The woman was walking behind him, forcing him forward. To many, that would be appaling, as she was only 5'8, and this guy had to be 6'2 and three times the size of her. However, looking closer, she was holding a blade to his back, forcing him to walk on, poking the narrow knife deeper into his skin with every step.

He grunted, "You won't get away with this you bit- ARGH!"

The woman was silent, stopping in her tracks and jabbing the blade into his back, barely missing the spinal bones. "Now, what did I say about speaking? Last time I checked, dogs don't speak." He almost fell to his knees, jerking forward as he felt the pressure and pain shooting up and down his spine. Without a word or hesitation, she began to walk around him with small and easy steps. Firmly, she held the blade in place, and begun to drag it through his fat flesh. To her surprise, the man was still standing, but she could see that he'd fall to his knees sooner or later. He was yelling in pain, but she placed her hand firmly over his mouth, giving him a dangerous stare. Stopping directly infront of the man, the blade was still in her hand, but now it was infront of his stomach, barely penetrating his insides. She could see how his jaws were quivering, sweat trickling down his rough and course skin. "Now, sit." The raven-haired woman tore the serrated-blade out from his skin, causing him to cry in pain before falling to his knees. "Shh, shh.. now, I'm holdin' up a very important meeting because of you, and I don' wish to be any later than what I already will be," she tilted her head to the side, loose strands of hair following her lead, "Now you may Speak. But, the truth." As she spoke, she held the knife loosely up to his chin, tilting his head upwards to look at the sky. He was silent, unable to speak as his bodily fluids spewed slowly from his wounds. Victoria urged him on, pressing the blade into the bone of his chin, only then did he speak. But he no longer was quivering in pain or fear, he had a smile on his face."Just wanted to know what a darlin' like you-" before he could finish his sentence, she jerked the blade into his bottom jaw, swaying it side to side before viciously tearing it out of him, watching his body fall with a loud thud.

"Nobody calls me "Darlin'"."

With a disgusted expression, she shook the bloodied blade side-to-side before leaning down and wiping the serrated-knife on his trousers, giving it a nice and fresh look. With a swift move of her hand, she twirled the knife in her hands before setting it into the sheath that was tied to her belt on her left-side. While looking at the lifeless corpse, her insides churned. "Disgusting," she muttered underneath her breath. She was about to look away, but a shine of silver caught her eye. Looking downwards, her eyes fixated onto a silver ring on the man's index finger. Leaning down with a quick swoop, she grabbed the ring, and slipped it off his finger, and sliding it onto her pinky. "Thanks."

Walking out from the alley, she was walking along a few porches on the side of the dirt-road. Her pace was quick, as she was in a hurry to get back to the camp. She was late to her own meeting, lovely. Sighing, she grabbed a lighter out from her back pocket, while simultaneously yanking a pack of cigarette's off of some poor saps porch chair and lighting one. As she lit the cigarette, a large black stallion came into view at the very end of the road, fully tacked up, and nickering towards his owner, stamping his hooves impatiently. "My beautiful boy," she smiled faintly, "Miss me?"

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Thundering hoofbeats could be heard from outside the camp, growing closer and closer. The beats were slowing down by the minute until a black stallion emerged, carrying Victoria on his back.

Stroking the horse's neck as they entered the camp, Victoria whispered, "That's my boy." She led her horse, Church, over towards the hitching post near some of the other horses, and hopped down quickly, tying him up to the post. She could see his eyes focused on her, waiting. "I'll settle you down after I'm finished, alright bud? It's won't take long." She patted his shoulder, before dusting herself off, tucking her shirt back into his pants and making herself look presentable. As it was a very warm morning already, she was wearing the appropriate attire.

For a shirt, she wore a black buttonup long-sleeve, her sleeves rolled up neatly just below her elbows. As for her trousers, they were tight, and a smoky-black color, held up by a silver & black belt around her waist, the bottom of her shirt tucked into said-belt. She was also wearing a pair of black riding boots with thick heels. Gosh, looks like she was just at a funeral. But no, this is something she wears quite often. It's easier to piece things together to make them all pretty when they are all one color, specifically black. Originally, her hair was loose, but before her ride back, to avoid hair whipping her face, she pulled it into a high pony-tail, leaving a few locks on the sides of her head. After finishing dusting herself off, she used her thumb to wipe off her scarred lip, feeling a dried yet sticky substance. Pulling her hand back, she saw that there was dried blood now on her thumb. "Bastard," she muttered.

Walking into camp, she had her arms crossed over her chest, her spurs clinking her boots as she walked. "Now," she spoke loudly, "When I'm standing in the middle of this damned camp, I better see everyone's battered asses there," Vic announced sternly.

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22 | Male | Lone Rider | Mentions : NPCs, Ryder

"Now, you listen to me Alexander, " the soft spoken voice of Florence came out, unusually aggressive - and not to mention how close he was to the person he was talking to. If anything they were so close - the smaller male was is in what could be called " kissing distance " . He was very adamant about what he was saying, " I spent three months tracking this mark down, and I don't need you mucking things up. And I swear if you do - I will have your head." He hissed while rather aggressively stabbing at his chest - hands on his hips in a sassy manner, with a no-nonsense look on his face as he looked up at his taller male companion. " Now, follow me, " he spoke as he turned on his heels, his long inky tresses whipping behind him as he moved. The long hair being in a long and neat French braid with a hat on top of it. Their was a sway in his hips as he confidently strode to his mark ; The Lazy Mule Saloon, or better know as the hide-away for Jack, The Butcher - a rather shady businessman and serial killer. There was quite a nice bounty of $9,000 on his head, apparently he had made the mistake of killing some paramour to a big-time Italian Mobster who was bigger than him in the crime scene. And Florence, or as his moniker was, The Lotus , had been personally asked to take on this mission. And the quicker he got it done - he was promised a bonus if he did it earlier than expected, and not to mention even more money for bringing any files for black mail, and then ownership of the territory he would be stealing after the death of this crime boss. It seemed like a pretty sweet deal for him and his gang.

" Now what do you want, little lady ? " came a gruff and teasing masculine voice, of one of the guards at the door, the man casually lit his cigar - yet, his eyes were still trained on Florence. Florence had to suppress an angry growl at the jab, just because he was pretty didn't mean he was a lady. And he didn't take kindly to the jab.

"Well sir, I was hoping to get an audience with your boss, Jack - The Butcher . " he said rather boldly, and he pulled out a hidden gun - and fiddled with it, " and another thing - I ain't no lady, so how's about it? You gon' tell your boss I'm here or will I haff' to announce myself!" He said tilting his head, his eyes big and innocent - yet there was an underlying danger there. Something telling you that you should tread lightly when dealing with him.

The creaking of the old seat the man was sitting could be heard as he stood, a sly grin on his face - his brown eyes looking more interested in Florence than he'd like. " Well with that face of yours - not to mention, that bo-" before he could finish that sentence Florence shot a warning shot . . . right through the top of his hat.

"Try again."

" What I mean is. You're such a pretty boy, shouldn't you be doing some other type of work . More like putting that pretty mouth of yours to good use. " the male said with a sneer, yet it was replaced with a yelp as a second bullet was fired - this time grazing his skull.

" You're on your second strike. Three strikes and you're out. "

" What the hell is goin' on out here Jonas." Came a displeased shout, yet it had more class than whatever the brown-eyed man, named Jonas was talking. And a burly man in a suit came out, followed by three other men. From the steam pressed suit - the oil-slicked hair, and the many precious jeweled rings on his finger ; this was no doubt Jack, The Butcher. The stern man adjusted his tie, and then fixated his gaze on Florence who was looking a bit annoyed at the moment at the antics of Jonas.

" What seems to be the problem, er, uh- sir? " Jack said placing his hands together, his ringed fingers glimmering in the sunlight.

Before Florence could even respond - Jonas was talking, "This little pansy think he's man enough to enter your saloon, boss." And he gave a scoff, "he's such a feminine little cunt, how about you make him like one of your girls. I'm sure you'd bring in a killing for how many people would pay for a time with a pretty thing like hi-" However, his words were cut short as Florence now fully done with his bullshit didn't think twice about shooting him between the eyes. The males body going limp and falling over the railing he had been leaning on.

"You should really choose better underlings, " he said in that soft voice of his as he softly blew away the smoke that softly came from the muzzle of his gun. " They're highly dispensable." And he then noticed the look of shock turn to one of interest. The man rubbing his chin and the he snapped his finger as if getting an idea.

"How'se about this, you beat my men and I'll get you a seat in my saloon." He proposed, " The only reason I'm doing this is because I think you'd be a great addition for my . . . endeavors." Only if you live long enough, Florence thought as he gave a falsely charming smile.

" I'm game " was all he said, "now is this me knocking them out or do I have to kill them?"

"Knocking them out is all that's needed." Came the simple response and Florence gave a nod as the three guys walked down, and he shoved his gun in Ryder's hands. " Hold this " he said a bit forcefully as he walked to where the fight would occur.

The man he was fighting looked to be about 6'4 and he had a well-built stature. It was obvious he didn't skip out on his physical fitness - and Florence got into a stance as he narrowed his eyes at the man - before Florence could make a move , the man let out an ungodly scream before charging him. Florence matched his energy and charged but once close enough, he quickly dove down, and using his legs - wrapped around him like a python , knocking him off balance - and then using his legs to firmly secure his position - he had even managed nick the hidden knife from his boot and hold it dangerously close to his eye as a threat. And then he pressed the blade near his neck. A soft hum coming from him as he tilted his head.

" Naughty boy. " he chided, " hiding weapons - thinking I wouldn't find them. Too bad you lost so quickly, you might have been able to use it. Buy now you can't." He murmured softly as he removed himself from him. The man only gave a defeated sat beside his grandparents.

" Here's another one who's be willing to fight you. "

This time it was a guy about his size, possibly an inch or so taller. And he was also well-built, but more on the leaner side like Florence. Florence have a small nod of acknowledgment to him ; and the fight began. The other was quick to get in Florence's face, trying to trip him with a sweeping kick - but Florence used the momentum to flip over him, and twirl and aimed his leg high and was aiming for the head but make moved before he could get that hit. And Florence landed on his feet rather dissatisfied with the lack of contact. Then he was thrown for a loop when punches where being thrown - and so Florence matched his tempo ; blocking and striking as he could and then he notice a loose pice of fabric and he took advantage of it and grabbed in and wrapped his hands around it Al- the strings pulling the male closer and Florence gives a cocky smile, "Hi." He teased before harshly kneeing him in the stomach. Causing the male to groan, and Florence elegantly sidestepped him and let him hit the ground face down .

Florence raised a brow and put his hands on his his in a taunting manner. "Anyone else's have the guts to be find their faces on the ground ? " his voice sweet and menacing as he leaned forward - as if taunting, no begging someone to try him. His eyes would appear like molten gold in the rays of sunlight as he coyly giggles - and he could see the men step away at the sight, looking at their boss for answers. And he swayed slightly on his feet and hummed bored as he awaited a response .

"Does this mean we can come in?" He said with a bit of a flirtatious and cocky smile - and he moved towards Ryder and grabbed his arm and drug him towards the stairs and to the awaiting doors . And he stopped in front Jack, and gave him a look as if awaiting permission

"Well I never caugh your name, jewel. " Jack said, his full attention on Florence. And Florence could only give a flirtatious grin and hold held his hand out, and Jack took it and placed a kiss on it.

"The name is Sage, darling. Don't you forget it." He said said with a wink and then moved to walk inside the bar. The chatter was loud and incomprehensible - and he went to the bar. And he ordered himself a Shirley Temple. And he comfortably went to the back of the bar. And he sat on a chair that was maybe just a tad bit too tall for him, but he sat in it anyway and sipped his drink. The drink tasted odd to him, but he ignored it because it didn't seem that important.

However, and hour later he was starting to feel warm. He unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt and fanned himself slightly, not to mention the slight sweat forming on his forehead. And his vision was being distorted slightly. Fuck, had he been spiked? He couldn't help but notice how pretty Ryder looked. "It's so hot in here." He murmured as he leaned on the table a soft huff coming from him. And he could feel his throat getting dry, and he practically guzzled down the water he was having. And he kept using his hand to fan himself.

Selova

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24 | Female | Lone Rider | Member | Mentions: NPCs

"Flush!"

"Full House!"

"Four of a Kind!"

The three men practically hollered, greedily wanting the $2000 jackpot waiting for them in the middle of the table. Eyes of green, brown, and grey stared at each other with hostility, their fingers twitching as they itched for the trigger of their pistols. The tension at the poker table was high. The entire saloon felt it as they quietly murmured amongst themselves, and the pianist ceased his playing. Awkward coughs happen here and there, nervous glances moving to the table that's hosting the game. One wrong move could ignite the flames, so it would be best if someone is strong enough to smother it before it erupts.

Selova wasn't that kind of person. She would happily toss a match after pouring oil and sprinkling a bit of flammable fabric into the mixture of chaos. The corner of her lips twitched as she nearly smiled, yet one of the men noticed it. "Something funny, lass," his tone heavy with a Scottish accent as he questioned the woman, drumming his fingers on the table to give his fingers something to do. The other two turned their heads toward her, the grey-eyed man huffing as he angrily sipped from his glass of whiskey, "She shouldn't be laughing, considering she's been on a constant losing streak these past three rounds." The third man nodded in agreement, throwing Selova a smug grin. She's not bothered by their antics, only finding it amusing and fueling her childish ideals further. "I suggest you shush with your comments before you regret it," she lightly replied, tapping her cards against the table with a devilish gleam in her eyes of Artic blue as they glared at her suspiciously.

Sel tossed her cards carelessly on the table, revealing her deck, and gradually leaned into her seat. They gazed at the cards, their mouths agape, and their complexation paled. She had an Ace, King, Queen, Joker, and Ten. That means she has a "-Royal Flush." Selova had been purposely throwing the game to prolong it, making the cocky and all too eager to toss their money for a chance of winning big. They played into her hands all too well, but she wasn't pleased with such a result. She found it all too easy, considering they were arrogant, drunk, and addictive gamblers: such easy prey with extravagant rewards. Sel hungrily shoves the cash into an empty potato sack, ensuring to tie it up tightly so it doesn't bust open.

The man with the brown orbs sighed in defeat before standing up, reaching his hand over the table to offer a handshake. "I'll be damned. Well played," he wasn't thrilled with his loss but was showing excellent sportsmanship. Selova smiled in response, placing her hand on his head. "Thank you for such a compliment. You know how to make a lady blush." As they shook their conjoined hands, a bunch of cards poured from her sleeves, and the entire bar went deathly silent as the patrons' eyes turned to them. The three men's gaze was fixated on the pile of cards that escaped their prison. Meanwhile, Selova cleared her throat, giving them a strained smile, ignoring the sudden existence of the cards she tucked away, "How did they get in there?"

As her eyes were settled on them, she noticed them reaching for the guns on their hips, and she sighed as she knew where it was going. Sel flips the table with a hand, the furniture landing on the three men, and she whips out her pistol. As the three were distracted trying to get the table off, she shot them between the eyes. With her actions, the saloon consisted of screams of surprise and anger, causing Selova to wince in annoyance. When the bartender reached for his gun behind the counter, she shot him in the chest, then ducked behind the flipped poker table. She was facing the window with her back pressed against the table, listening to gunfire and dodging bullets that came her way. "This isn't how I planned my night," her eyes dart around for a way to escape until they rested on the window. She grabbed one of the men's guns, then tossed the gun over the table. Her aim was pristine as she hit someone in the head and knocked them unconscious. With most of them distracted by the man's unconsciousness, Selova moved from behind cover and leaped out the window while covering her face with the filled sack.

She landed on top of the broken glass, a pained groan leaving her lips, and she rolled to her side to face the saloon. Pieces of glass shards sliced her clothes and skin, and the wounds stung like Hell. Her abdomen screamed at her for the pain she caused while blood steadily crept from her new injuries. When she gazed back at the building to see who else was coming, the woman angrily slammed the glass-covered floor in self-loathing, cutting the skin on her hand, "Fucking damn it, Selova! You dumbass!" The entrance to the salon was a few inches from the window. She could've run out the damn doors instead of pulling that stunt. Sel staggered to her feet and dashed off to the spot where she left her steed.

She was shot at more, a few bullets grazing her attire and skin. Selova whistled sharply, summoning her loyal mount to escape from this situation. "Blackjack! Come!" She shouted, her eyes darting around the area for her horse. Disappointed anger riddled her mind with the disappearance of her companion, "Cursed horse," she hissed, ducking into an alleyway to find some cover from her pursuers. Selova hunkers behind a barrel full of water, squishing herself against the wall of the general store. "Well, if I die. At least I die with the money." She chuckled at her poor joke, checking out her gun's condition.

"Four bullets left, and I left the ammo in the saddle bags. Ugh," she hissed at her poor decisions, "nice job Selova." She was about to continue with her rambling when a voice called out to her, "I see you, you lying bitch! Get out here!" Sel groans, then raises her hands above her head to show she has surrendered. "Get up and drop the gun before I blast you!" The woman got to her feet and dropped the gun on the ground, keeping her hands in the air. "Alright. You got me." She replied casually, her face holding no hint of fear or regret. "Arrest me. Shoot me. I don't care," she shrugged, which surprised the man holding a shotgun. "Um...alright?" As he moved closer to Seloca, a shadowy figure appeared behind him. Recognizing the being, the woman smiled joyously. "Hello, Blackjack," she replied sweetly to the thing standing behind the man, who then turned around to see who she was talking to.

"Get him." The horse lunged at the man, knocking him down using his chest, then used his hooves to stomp on him until he stopped moving. Selova rushes to her horse, mounting her steed quickly after picking up her gun, and gives his neck a few loving pats. "Thank you, boy. I'll give you fresh carrots and hay as a reward." Sel glares at the man on the ground with disgust, "Geesh. You nearly turned that poor lad into wine. Remind me not to get on your bad side." Sel tugged on the reins and rode out of the alley with the sack over her shoulder. Many people have guard dogs to protect them, while a few have an attack horses. Sel was one of the few; honestly, she was grateful to have such a fearsome, violent beast as a companion, even though he's a jerk sometimes. "Now, time for me to turn in this cash to my beloved valkyrie."

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Mentions: Vega (ind.) and Victoria (dir.)

Selova awoke with a jolt when she heard her girlfriend summoning the gang to a meeting. The blonde-haired woman groaned in annoyance, still exhausted and in pain from last night. "Let me sleep, damn it!" She shouted back to her boss, dropping her head back into the pillow. Selova smothered herself with the pillow and mumbled into it before lifting her head to take a whiff of fresh, horse-dung air. She got up from her bed, knowing Victoria would thrash her if she didn't get out of bed, using her fingers to push her messy hair back out of her eyes, "I'm not the one scooping the horses' shit either!" Selova had already untasked herself from one of the camp's chores, something she usually does.

Her body ached as it was covered in bruises and fresh stitches, which she handled herself. Selova was deadbeat tired from last night that she tossed her shoes and pants to the side and then slept in her tattered shirt. Not wanting to look like a hot mess, she slipped on clean pair of blue and brown saddle pants, then took off her shirt from yesterday. Lazily throwing on a t-strapped white shirt, grey socks, and black worn-down boots with haggard spurs. She ignored her black gambler hat on the bedside table and hurried out of the tent to see what the meeting was about. Selova noticed Vega approaching their leader and gave her a curt nod to greet her while her legs carried her to Vic.

"Hello, my little star," her tone rich with lust and adoration as she was fixated on the raven-haired woman, "missed me so?" Her hands went around the woman's waist and pulled her towards her, kissing her on the temple, then tailed it down to her neck. Selova nipped the surface of her skin, not too hard to cause much pain but enough to leave a mark before pulling back. "That's your punishment for taking forever to return to me," She whispered mischievously in her ear before reaching one of her hands around to tug the hair tie out, watching as her locks fell elegantly past her shoulders.

She grabs a small strand of her girlfriend's hair, then presses it against her lips to give it small yet loving kisses, "No one gave you too much trouble, my beloved?" She questioned, twirling Vic's hair around her index finger, gently tugging it. Without waiting for a response, she leaned forward and settled a brief, passionate kiss on her lips. "I'll quit distracting you for right now. Go ahead with the meeting." She gave her a mocking bow before going over to a table to sit. Selova rested her back against the chair, crossing her legs together as she settled them on the table.

Santos

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26 | Male | Cops | Member | Mentions: NPC Gang Member (dir.) and Estella (ind.)

Santos sat across the table from another man, his eyes of seemingly charcoal fixated on the other, his face heavy and solemn while his eyes were empty like an abyss. The entire house was grimly dark, with only a lantern being the only light source. He had his hands under the table, tracing the serrated blade as he listened to the man's rambles. "I told you already. I don't know anything." When Santos lifted his head slightly, the flames from the lantern reflected off them, making it seem that he had flames in his eyes. The unnamed man's face was bloodied and bruised, showing definite signs that he had been hit in the face a few times. His arms and legs were tied hog-tie style with a wet cloth around his neck. An indication that he had been gagged prior. His clothes were covered in dirt and dust, disheveled in appearance.

That wasn't the answer he wanted, and it showed slightly. His lips twitched in displeasure over the lack of information, and his entire body stiffened. Santos was eerily still as he locked eyes with the badly bruised man, internally debating what to do with him. "Amigo," his voice lacked liveliness, yet it made him all too intimidating, "I have little desire to prolong such a conversation." When he brought his hands onto the table, his knuckles were red on the skin, though it was unclear if it was from the other's blood or the consistent contact of his fists meeting the man's head. "Give me a proper answer, and I'll let you leave. Simple, yes?"

His comment made the other groan in pain and impatience, "I've told you. I don't know anything." The man's tone was hostile, snapping at Santos despite being the one at his mercy. Santos sat quietly for a few minutes, tilting his head as he examined his forced companion. He slowly got up, a sigh in the form of a huffed left from his nose. Santos stalked over to the man bounded in the chair, tossing the dagger and catching it repeatedly. He cut the ropes to his wrists and listened as the other fellow thanked him. "Thank you for showing mercy. I'll do whatever you say," he constantly repeated, but hearing the words repeated made Santos' anger bubble under his stoic face. His jaw clenching, teeth pressed together, and he grinds them frustratedly.

He grabs one of his wrists, ignoring the tied ankles, and holds it down on the table. The stranger expressed confusion about what he was doing, holding himself back from conversing further. Without warning, he plunged the saw-tooth blade deep into the hand, the sharpened blade breaching through the table. Santos ignored the man's screams of agony as he twisted the knife in a different direction with one swift motion. He didn't flinch when he heard bones and flesh break and tear, not even when the other hollered in anguish. "I've paid you to be my eyes," he twisted the knife again, "I've paid for your honest words," then again, "I've paid for you to enjoy yourself," and twisted it once more, "and you spat at my generosity."

The screams had gotten louder, his hand shredding at the spot where the weapon was, with his blood pouring like a river of crimson. His screams turned into quiet sobs, constantly calling Santos a bastard under his breath. Santos side-glared him, one hand on the hilt while the other rests by his hips where a glass vile of yellow liquid rests. "Bastard am I? Over such a small thing like this?" He clicked the roof of his tongue, leaning closer to the man in the chair, the fire in his eyes growing, "This is minimum on what I'm going to do to you." His remark was replied to with a bloodied spit to the face, Santos rearing back in disgust and wiping his face clean with his shirt. Santos didn't mention it, as his actions would tell how outraged he was towards his lack of mannerisms.

Santos grabbed the small vital and pulled out the cork after checking to see if the hand would remain in place. "Tell me, what do you know about venom." He coldly commented, examining the small glass between his fingers before hovering it over the injured hand. Everyone has different experiences and reactions to it, but," he tipped the bottle to where the liquid was dangerously close to spilling, "they all suffered immense torment." He could see his arm quiver beneath him, realizing the man was shaking in fear. "Mr. McCoy. The more you quiver, the faster it'll spread throughout your body. I suggest holding still." Although, it's unclear if he was telling the truth or not. The way he said it made it seem believable to his poor former intel as he forced himself to remain firm. Finally, he poured the entire body over the open wound.

"You won't experience anything at first, considering it'll take 15 to 30 minutes," with the glass drained, he carelessly tossed it to the side, but no sound of it impacting the ground was heard, only a soft thump. Santos went over to his seat and sat down, crossing his legs together as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He lit it up using the lantern and took one huff before blowing out the smoke, "Give me my desired information, and I'll give you the cure. If you keep hesitating, you're a dead man, Mr. McCoy. The clock is ticking." He crossed his legs and slacked in his chair, drumming his fingers along the table to create a rhythm while he hummed along, mocking the man in distress. Mr. McCoy's eyes went to his hand where the knife was embedded, and the venom poured, a gulp in his throat, bobbing his Adam's Apple. "Alright, I'll give you everything that you wanted. All I'm asking is for me to go free." Intrigued, Santos leaned forward and ceased his melody, fully concentrating on Mr. McCoy.

The more he talked, his face twisted in misery as the venom steadily crept into action, their conversation lasting around 19 minutes until he finished spilling everything. "No-now," he meekly said, the strength in his voice weak as he struggled to breathe. Meanwhile, his hand started to look swollen, with more blood dripping. Santos peeked at his face, noticing how puffier they'd gotten at the mouth and throat. Only then did he smirk in brisk amusement before offering him a smile. "Indeed I shall. It's your reward for telling me." It was starting to get hard for Mr. McCoy to keep his head up as he felt light and drool leaking from his lips as he thanked him again.

Santos got up again, placing a hand behind his back as he approached, "I give you my full gratitude and loyalty. You have my word." His head drooped, and Santos nodded, "Most certainly. I take your word for it," he commented before pulling a machine pistol from his back and shooting him on the side of his head. As he went completely slumped and unmoving, Santos pulled the knife from its temporary sheath and wiped it clean using the dead man's shirt. "Thank you for your cooperation." He mumbled, checking how clean his knife was, and tucked it back into his belt loop. He grabbed a whiskey bottle from a shelf beside him and poured it over the body. "See you in the future in eternal rest," he tossed the lantern at the man and watched it shatter, flames greedily consuming his body, making the room brighter. Dead bodies of Mr. McCoy's fellow gang members scattered the floors and furniture, all shot by the only living person in the room. The small vital he threw rested on the back of a man face down on the floor.

As the inferno spread, Santos took his leave from the former gang's hideout, still smoking his cigarette as he left through the front door. After moving a safe distance away, he flicked the butt into the house, allowing the flames to consume it too. Santos whistled sharply to call his horse, which it did as it obediently walked over to him. He mounted up and kicked its side gently as he tugged the reins. He galloped away from the house and the scattered tents outside it. He was deathly quiet as he made it to the town where the other cops were, his attitude colder than before. Santos dropped his horse off at the town stables and walked to the hotel he was staying in until his job steered him elsewhere. He cleaned himself up from a hot bath and dressed in fresh clothes.

A simple blue long-sleeved button-up shirt, black jeans, and dark leather boots. He didn't bother to put on sleep clothes since his adrenaline was still coursing through him, so he wanted something to drain it. Santos left the hotel, the night sky hovering above him, staring at him with disdain. Santos was about to pop another cigarette as he listed his choices until his eyes met a familiar face in the dimly lit street. Estella. Well, if it can't be something, it can be someone. Santos put his smoke away into the case and chased after the woman to have a civil conversation with her.

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Mentions: Estella and Ghazi (ind.), then Estella, Ghazi, and other cops (dir.)

Santos woke in a bed, no, an entire room that wasn't his. The man's vision was blurry, and his head felt strangely lighter. He remained in bed, the blankets covering his hips and somewhat his upper legs, leaving the rest of his bother exposed to the elements. He slung an arm partially over his head, one of his eyes uncovered as he stared at the ceiling, trying to recollect what the fuck happened yesterday night. He squinted his eyelids as the events slowly came back. Murder, torture, murder again, and then, well, that and with his boss.

Santos wasn't the type to pursue such relationships with anyone, and it's been years since he slept with someone, but something overcame him last night. He groaned, turning in bed, the blanket dangerously close to slipping off. The man's chest and back are covered in what seemingly appear to be claw marks. Tiny bruises that were intense in pigmentation nearly dotted the entirety of his neck. Damn, that woman didn't just lunge at him. She practically treated him like a lavish meal. Santos now was a cross between a tiger and a leopard with his stripes and spots, and he had Estella to thank. Huh, who knew a woman who appeared to be innocent on the inside had such fervor?

His fingers traced the stitch cards on his right side, shutting his eyes as he debated whether to attend the meeting or skip it. The second option sounds more pleasing, but knowing the two higher-ups, they will have his head for missing something important. Santos turned and rested on his back again, raising both brows, "I could always skip it and blackmail Estella to shut up about it," he suggested, sitting up in the woman's bed and checking out his clothes on the floor. "Hmph, probably let me get away with certain things to keep what we did hushed. Knowing Ghazi," he climbed out of bed to put on his clothes, "he would notice our behavior and attitude." He defeatedly sighed and got dressed for the day. He was about to head out the door when he noticed a coffee tin on the kitchen table, begging him to take it. Santos stood there for a moment, checking to see if the lid had been removed, as it could've been tampered with if it was.

Well, his decision was seemingly final as he walked to Estella's office with a mug of fresh coffee and sipped the hot drink as he entered the room with the others. His eyes went to the sheriff, silently daring her to say anything about the coffee and decorative mug that belonged to her, then to Ghazi as he hid a few files from the already stressed woman. "Sparing her from grey hairs?" It wasn't teasing, and the volume of his words made that clear. Santos was serious when he made such a comment before taking a seat at a desk. Santos sipped again but made it louder to taunt the head honcho that he gets a nice beverage while she was left empty-handed. "Boss," his gaze focused on the woman, "I'm battered from last night and desire a day off. As you can see," he used a free hand to gesture to his marked neck, "a wild animal attacked him last night."