Wynslo set the cloth and glass down on the back counter behind him and quickly went to fill both their glasses. He figured it would be best to leave the bottle there. If they really wanted to steal it, it wouldn't be much of a loss seeing how there was less han half the bottle left. Wynslo went to do his rounds quickly and cleared some of the empty cups left on the bar. He reserved a few who asked before walking back to the gentlemen. "Excuse me while I grab some bottles from the back f'er y'all."

He went to the back room through a narrow door. The room was dark and damp but slightly cooler than the main area. The only light came from behind him and the tiny window near the ceiling on the side. He looked at his supplies, pressing his lips. He took inventory of what he had only to come to the realization that he'd run out in a few days if the group planned to stay. Normally he stocked up before the ranchers road through just before the monsoons, but they wouldn't be here for a few more months. He'd have to take a trip in the next day or two if he wanted to keep serving while the money was here. He grabbed two bottles from the shelf and walked back through the worn out door. Under the counter he counted up what he had in full bottles. "If y'all are looking for money. I can't say you'll find much here. We don't get much trouble and we don't have much to protect. Hell, most us go to the next town over f'er supply," he commented.

If he could thwart the newcomers, maybe they'd leave sooner. He didn't know who this Sylvia character was, but the fact that she hadn't come in from the heat with the men was enough to be questionable. the group was clearly not in a rush to be anywhere nor run from anything if they were stopping, but the last thing Wynslo needed was for his new customers to get comfortable by bringing their own troubles. It would mean the end of his most profitable and predictable business agreement.

He'd be willing to listen to their their sell and stories, but he wouldn't be inclined much to take action on it. He could protect what was his easy enough. "'Sides," he peered over the counter to look at who he assumed was the leader seeing as how he was giving orders. His train of thought was cut off momentarily when he saw the large paint walking across the street through the doors that had been propped open. "I assume you and your men will be needin' action with those "trigger happy men" you got. 'N you won't find that here." He watched the two toned stallion as he spoke. He stood from behind the counter and went back to polishing and washing glasses. As he was looking down, glanced every now and then back to outside. She was heading up the street. Out of town. Why was she in such a hurry to leave? Were these men one of the many looking for her? He had no clue how such a small girl rode that tall horse, but he supposed it suited her. Just like her weapons her saddle was clearly made with money and detail in mind. Even he could see that from where he stood and the grim that covered in from her travels.

~~~

Puck walked Bollin up the street. She would've picked up the pace, but she didn't want to seem to be in a hurry to move. She didn't bother glancing at the man or girl she'd seen chained earlier. The less eyes she drew the better off she'd be. Something rubbed her the wrong way about this group. Not to say she trusted any group, but seeing that woman chained up made her sick. It reminded her of her own deal and maybe that's why she disliked seeing it. Not to mention, the fact that she couldn't recognize any of the members was concerning. She thought she knew about all the gangs and riding groups that traveled between towns. It didn't matter much to her if they were view as good or bad, she avoided all of them. Until she recieved a task to target one specifically.

She kept her hood up and stared forward. Once out of town she'd hurry to the next town. She leaned back nonchalantly in her saddle. The leather rubbed together making a fmailiar squeak. She'd have to clean and oil it when she got out of there. Hopefully she could settle for a few days before going to pick up her next contract. That would give her time to let Bollin rest and get her tools cleaned. She could use the down time herself, too.

Sylvia took in a deep breath, the relief the small bar brought from the heat was welcoming and she would play her role well if it meant staying inside even a moment longer. The room was dark and she squinted for a second, picking out the only man she didn't know. Her smile broadened. At least it was a man, more often than not they were easier to work on. Sylvia kept her steps short and measured, careful not to give away the chain that was holding her ankles together beneath her dress.

"Hello, sir!" She beamed brightly, releasing herself from Montague's arm and walked up to the bar between Rackham's stool and Montague's abandonned one. "I've heard that you wanted to hear my praises for these men. Oh, yes, yes. They're angels really, not men. Saved me they did." Sylvia's words felt like hot lava in her mouth, tasted like a rotting corpse. She turned and looked at Rackham, smiling sweetly at him, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. When he gaze rose to the bar keep, she kept herself steady, remembering what would become of her if she got something wrong.

"I was being kept by these aweful men, locked me up in a stagecoach with four other women for days! No food, no water, nothin'." She shook her head, raising her hand to her chest and scrunched up her features in feigned pain. "Then they came, old Rackham and his wolves. My God, they saved me. Me and those other women. Took us in and nursed us all back to health and we're sticking around for good now. They treat us so well, can't be safer with anyone else but them, ya' see?" Sylvia leaned in slightly towards the bar, removing her hand from Rackham's shoulder and perched her hands upon the bar, tilting her head innocently.

Whilst Sylvia span her tale, Montague hung close by, waiting to eventually escort her out and likely away from the bar. That was when his leader caught his eye, a hard stare. Montague twitched his brow, what was it? Rackham carried his gaze from Montague, out the door to where a small figure on a large horse was slowly making their way down the town road. Why on earth was he calling attention to that?

Then Montague looked to the bar keep, he couldn't miss the small flicker of his eyes towards the door and what he could only assume, that rider. Clearing his throat, he pulled the cigarette from his lips, carrying it in his hand as he turned to walk back out of the door. He dropped the half-used cigarette onto the floor and stomped it out with his boot.

Freesia lifted her large head, huffing at seeing her owner. Montague began releasing her from the post, adjusting the saddle. He glanced up over his shoulder at the retreating figure as they steadily trotted further down the road.

In hopes of keeping his attention, Sylvia swiftly took a seat at the bar, crossing her hands over the other on the wooden surface. "So, they come highly recommended." She hardened her tone, trying to give away the smallest hint that this poor man should either comply or get himself out of here. His penance may not come today, but it always came for those who didn't do what Rackham wanted. They would likely try the hotel next, if that didn't work, oh she hoped these people had fast horses. Her fingers tapped idly on the counter top, keeping her gaze steady as she waited to see how this played out.

Wynslo listened patiently. Sylvia didn't seem to be bruised or poorly treated as far as he could tell. Then again she was wearing a dress which could hide anything else easily enough. Her dark hair covered some of her neck, so he couldn't see there either. What she was hiding, she knew how to well. She seemed to grateful to be traveling with a group of gangly men. Then again, what the heck did he know about women.

He knew he'd give away Puck, but he didn't react any further. Sorry, he thought to himself. He continued cleaning glasses and refilling those who had emptied their's as she talked. He thought about what she said. He didn't doubt that it was untrue, but he didn't believe it was the full truth either. He glanced around his bar, not seeing another woman in sight. Either they were all outside like she had been or they hadn't stuck around like Sylvia said. Either way he kept a cool expression and only listened.

He tone towards the end changed ever so slightly. Even if he did want the ruffians around, it wasn't entirely his decision. The town had to agree. "Well, little lady, I'm mighty glad these fellers came to your rescue, but the decision ain't up to me. It's a vote by the whole town. So you'll need the rest of them to approve your "protection plan" so to speak." Wynslo stuck a toothpick in his mouth to chew on. "Get all them on your side and I'd be happy to oblige ya' on yer' offer here," he finished pointedly. He didn't want them around. He wanted them gone, but he couldn't have them burning everything to the ground and leave the town with nothing.

"Can I get you a drink, little lady?" he offered. He figured, he'd try to keep some amount of conversation going. Wolves. He'd heard of some group name calling themselves wolves somethin'. He hadn't stuck around to listen to the rest, now he wish he had. "Now, sir," he looked to the man next to her. The other had walked off outside, but Wynslo made sure not draw attention to that. He'd have to be careful around this group. "You said you'd provide this service for a fee, ain't that right? Is that for the whole town, or just those who pay it? And what happens when ya'll decide to leave? You said you were sayin' for a short time?" he spewed out his questions, moving the pick to the other side of his mouth. he turned his back to them, glancing in the mirror to see their response, as he set the glasses on the shelf.

Outside, Puck was nearly out of the town limits, or what was assumed the town limits. She kicked Bollin into a steady trot. His walk was too slow for her liking and her annoyance at that had bothered her more than drawing attention. She dropped her reins, having the bar and troop of men behind her now. She fidgetted with her sleeve trying to find a comfortable spot on her arm for it to rest at. She moved to the other sleeve, pushing it all the way up her arm to readjust the straps that held her knife sheath in place.

When she was satisfied she took out the blade and inspected the designs and edge further in the light. He'd done a good job just like always. She put it back in it's rightful place and rolled her sleeve all the way down to keep it hidden from plain view. Bollin lurched beneath, showing his impatience at the trot she had him in. She clicked her tongue once, letting him know "no". As good as a horse as he was, he was either completely lazy or impatient as a filly. He held his pace as she continued a steady bounce in her seat. The sun's heat was already beginning to be too much for Puck, as she untied the top laces of her shirt, just enough to let some breeze touch her skin. She knew it wouldn't happen, but she internally hoped for a slight tan over her pale skin.

She would have to make it to Boulder Creek before sundown if she wanted to reach the hotel in time. It was an odd pace with a checkin curfew and an overbearing owner. She didn't like him much, but they bothered her little and let her be while she stayed there. The lady at the desk was overbearing with most customers from what Puck had overheard in her coming and goings. Luckily their first interaction had been rocky and led to very little, bitter conversation for her, so she knew not ask or talk much around Puck. Only problem was, she had no coin to pay her tab like she said she would on her next visit. This visit. Puck gritted her teeth at the anticipated arguement to come.

Sylvia's eyes watched the bar keep carefully, praying he would say the right thing, her nails dug slightly into the palm of her hand, stopping their idle tapping. From the corner of her eye, she could see Rackham watching closely. His eyes teeming with anticipation. Anticipation for a shoot-out or money, she didn't know and it didn't matter, either way these townspeople would be in trouble. The Black Wolves fees were not cheap and they were not consistent. Money, goods, women, they claimed whatever they liked. Some of the men were gentle, but she could see that they were being slowly twisted into shadows of their leader.

Sylvia was drawn out from her thoughts as she was spoken to. "Oh, ah. Just water for me, thank you sir." Her eye twitched, little lady...She cast a glance over her shoulder at some of the men occupying the tables in the bar, chatting quietly amongst themselves. A few at one table caught her eye, their lips split into devillous grins and they waved towards her. Her stomach turned. Disgusting.

Snapping her head back around to the bar. She would kill for a real drink, but water was good. Water was needed, she was lucky to get water. The poor women in the wagon were stiffling in there and she had the opportunity to be in the cool with water. Rackham's prized lap dog.

Then the man began to ask questions. Questions were not good. As he progressed, Sylvia watched in silence, keeping up her stary-eyed facade. He did not ask anything too peculiar.

"Ah, that depends my boy." Rackham tapped his hand on his forearm. "If the town is in agreement, then we can work out a deal that works for everyone." His smile was smooth as he spoke, swirling the dreggs of his whiskey in the glass. Sylvia looked back to the bar keep, change the topic.

"Say," She leaned forward in her chair. "I never caught your name, darlin'. Sylvia Painton, pleasure to meet you." Her hand stretched out across the bar, palm down. She was never raised to be a gentle woman, demure, dresses, kisses on hands. It felt like she was wearing the skin of someone else.

Freesia shook out her mane as Montague hitched himself up onto her. Giving his beauty a solid pat on her shoulder before he pulled the reins and span her around to follow the new quarry. They were far in the distance now, but he knew how to track. The scent of dirt, fire and stone lingered in their wake. Freesia trotted down the street, her rider ignoring the looks from the inhabitants, they weren't worth his time.

Maintaining a safe distance, he would follow her. As long as she didn't go too far, perhaps a day or twos ride would be acceptable. But, from how that bar man was looking out of the door, it seemed this mystery horseman visited often and he knew they'd come back eventually.

Montague pulled up the small black bandana that was tied around his neck, covering everything below his eyes. The sun scorched his skin, but it was always like that in the droughts. Nothing him and Freesia hadn't faced before.

(If you would like, you can skip time to when they arrive / after my lot have gone to set up camp near by if there's not much to continue here :) )

He mulled over the man's response. Vague. He didn't like vague. If the town was going to agree on this, he wanted to know exactly what he was getting him and the town into. If it was a contract that required too much coin, they'd never be able to afford it. If it required more than coin, agreements were out of the question. Wynslo knew about everyone in this town, even if he kept to himself most the time. Even then, he'd taken the role of being in the know about everything and everyone there. It was typically easy enough to do when he ran half the shops there. These Wolves characters were gonne be trouble in some way. Depending on which way that went, he'd have to get the town to agree to the better option somehow. He silently wished Puck was still there so he could ask her about their new friends.

Sylvia was quick to change the topic, but Wynslo wanted to know more. Her small talk and questioning wasn't gonna stop him from trying to get more information. He made sure to keep her glass full. He shifted his weight to the side leaning on his hip while placing his elbow on the counter, he offered her a smile in greeting. "Wynslo," he replied. "Nice to meet ya Sylvia Painton." He turned his attention to the gentleman beside her again. He wanted answers. "I'm sure a smart man like yourself has a plan already in mind for our little abode here. Care to clue in the one who may be payin' ya? I just want to know how well I can rest at night for once."

~~~

With a heavy sigh, she nudged Bollin. He responded immediately, nealry bucking into a gallop. After riding for so long the previous days, she would have thought he wanted to keep the pace slow. Bollin took off without hesitation, flattening his ears to his head. She released the reins slightly letting him stride out into a pace comfortable for him. She pressed her leg into his left side to steer him to the south east. Her hood flew back with the billowing wind. Puck didn't bother putting it back on, knowing full well that it would blow back again everytime. The saddle bags thumped on the stallions sides as they continued on their way. If he kept the pace, which she highly doubted, they'd make it a few hours before sundown. She didn't bank on it, though. Bollin would run out of steam eventually after starting such a hard ride so suddenly.

(Yeah gonna time jump Puck a little later.)

Sylvia admired his smile for a moment. It wasn't often she got to see one that didn't have a lingering sense of malice or hunger. Then she was ripped out of that thought as Wynslo went straight back to questioning Rackham. Her throat bobbed and her skin prickled. His question also intrigued her, surely the red coats from Red Springs wouldn't follow them all the way over here. It was at least three days travel, at least that's what she guessed. Her and the other women were cooped up in the wagon for the majority of the journey, and windows were not allowed to be opened.

Rackham cocked his head, a beat of silence. Then a loud, booming laugh. He leaned back in his chair. "Paying me?" Another short laugh. "Paying me..Son, I'm the one that does the paying." He grinned, downing the remainder of his whiskey and discarding the glass to the side.

"We don't go running around like mutts carrying out are master's commands." He gestured behind him, but didn't look. Sylvia blinked. Her hand that was lifting her water to her lips paused. "We're solo out here, anyone who wants in proves themselves and they're welcomed with open arms." He continued.

Sylvia carefully rose to her feet, Rackham didn't even glance her way. Well trained lap dog.

"Name's Cameron Rackham, and these lot are my black wolves." The men behind him gave a small murmur of agreement, clearly preoccupied with their whiskey glasses. "On that note," Rackham reached his extended hand into his pocket and began to thumb through a money clip. "Let me get this tab sorted before my lot drink this place dry." He smiled, looking up at Wynslo.

Sylvia had moved to the tables with the rest of the wolves, some looked up at her, others more interested than the rest. She spotted a table where a chair was left unoccupied, half turned to face the bar. Perfect. She gracefully descended into the chair, placing her glass of water beside her on the table and crossed her legs. Her skirt hitched up slightly at the movement, leaving one ankle exposed beneath the table and behind Rackham's back. She had tried similar moves in the past, but most didn't seem to care. Captive women were not unheard of, in fact very common. With the population was low as it was, if you could collect a harem, you could build an army with your own children. Some had tried to help and they ended up with the deadly end of a shotgun pointed at the place their head once was.

The light from the window caught on the jewelled chain, sparking for a second as she settled into her new chair. Her hazel eyes narrowed, a sharpness taking over her expression as she raised her glass to take a large mouthful before swallowing greedily.

Montague strained to see the rider in front, then out of nowhere the horse bolted. He sat up straight in the saddle, turning his head to follow them as their veered away. Their hood had blown back but he couldn't make out their features. The scent didn't change. That was all that mattered. He nudged the sides of Freesia, who without complaint, raised her pace to a canter. He did not want to gain ground on this rider, just keep close enough to maintain track of their scent. He had no idea how long that animal could dart away like that, likely not the entire time he would be tracking them.

He hooked the reins around one hand, using the other to pull a canteen from the side of his saddle. The worn leather case had seen better days, raising it he gulped down a good portion before setting it back in its place.

Wynslo frowned slightly at the man as he burst out laughing. Obediantly, Wynslo collected the glass and placed it to the side to be cleaned. He made sure to bring a smile back to his face as he said his name and went to flip through his money. Wynslo turned to behind him and grabbed a slip of paper that held the drink count of the men. "Well, sir. Pleasure to meet you and your wolves. Hopefully, we can do some business a little later." He placed it in front of Cameron and left him to it.

While Cameron counted out the tab, Wynslo went around the bar collecting empty glasses and bottles. He saw the flash of something shiny out of the corner of his eye. Without turning his head, he side-eyed whatever had caught his attention. Sylvia. She was perched on a chair keeping her innocent look about her. He stepped back around the bar and scanned the room, pretending to look for more bottles. He'd left a few on the tables on purpose. He saw the chains then. He went back to grab the bottles picking his way through the men. He made sure not to look at Sylvia or draw any attention to his chores.

He'd seen it. That was enough to tell him this whole thing was a charade. Wynslo wasn't sure if he'd be able to do anything about it, but he knew these men had to go. And soon. He made sure to remember Cameron and his "Black Wolves" to later ask around in Boulder Creek about them. He'd leave tomorrow to go buy supplies and dig out some information.

~~~

"Lourren?" a shrill voice echoed through the halls. "Lourren? Where di you run off to? I need you to get these bags."

"Coming, Cee." He stood from his chair and stretched. He'd been bent over those books for hours it'd seem and still there was no solution to growing negative numbers. He slicked his black hair back and retied the knot before heading out the door. The carpeted wood beneath him creaked slightly under his weight. He gently shut the door to his office and strode down the hall towards the stairwell. His long legs let him skip every other step with ease. he could hear his sister before he saw her. Always chatting. This is why he would never be able to marry her off.

"Good afternoon sir. What room?" he spoke in a clear voice, smoothed with his years of serving customers. He glanced at his sister. Her dark hair was pinned up in an abundance of curls, letting the sun create a soft halo of reddish brown along the edges. Her porcelain skin beamed with her too joyful smile. Her eyes and nose crinkled a bit around the edges with a smile that just didn't fit the occassion. She wore a light yellow dress with frills on the sleeves that tappered wide around her elbows. The bust was adorned with ribbons lacing through the center leading up to the sheer bow at the top. He internally rolled his eyes at her, as he picked up the luggage.

"Room 32!" she shrilled out again. He nodded and turned back up the stairs. He thumbed through the keys and opened the door to the small room. It had a desk and a bed just large enough for two people. It was fitted in a royal blue sheet with gold trimming. He set the bags done inside and stepped out of the room allowing the guest to wander inside. "Is there anything, sir."

"That'll be all," he respoonded. Lourren shut the door and headed back down the stairs. Celine was in front of the desk waiting with her hands clasped together infront of her chest.

"He said he's staying for a week!" she squeaked. She immediately started fussing over his vest and sleeves. "And you look horrendous." Lourren sighed. and pushed her hands away.

"When are you going to learn to not be so much?" he said to her with a frown.

Sylvia slowly drank her water, savouring the relief it brought to her parched throat. Clean and heavenly. She watched as Wynslo picked his way through the tables, turning her head to track him. The men around her wouldn't care, they paid no mind to her, a tamed creature chained up, ready to do as it was commanded. She caught his play, he'd seen it. Good. Sylvia pointed her toe in its kitten heel and flicked her leg back down, uncrossing them. Covering the chain once more. Maybe it meant the man would die, maybe it meant he'd run. At least he knew the infomation he was trying to pry out of Rackham now.

Once her glass had emptied, she rose to the feet. The majority of the men were already headed for the door, chuckling and chatting amongst themselves. Their buzz would last until they reached a new camp site and then the women would be forced to set up, it was the same everytime they moved.

Rackham cleared his throat, plucking out the exact change for the items on the paper before him. He double checked his count before placing the money on top of the paper.

"Here you go, to the penny." He smiled, nodding his head towards Wynslo. "We'll be back to chat after the storm our Samson made settles. We'll talk deals then." The tall man dipped his head in goodbye.

Sylvia was walking to the bar, her footsteps poised, not too far apart to conceal the chain and its restriction on her movement. Rackham glanced her way before grunting in her direction as they passed each other. Hurry up. That was what he was telling her. She placed the glass on the counter top gently, barely making a sound. Sylvia's eyes rose up to the bar keep, heavy lidded.

"Thank you, kind sir." She smiled slowly, dipping her head towards him, her fingers lingered on the glass as she turned to walk away and out the door back to her stifiling wagon.

Montague had lost complete site of this rider, he could see the tracks and smell them but they had sped away over the small rises in the barren dirt too fast. Freesia was a strong horse, percherons were war and work horses, they were not meant to go fast for long. Instead, they steadily cantered along, as the sun began to descend below the horizon. The red light illuminated the dry earth, giving an almost unearthly glow. The sounds of night creatures began to coo across the hills.

He shrugged his shoulders, a shiver had ran down his spine and it wouldn't stop. Running his tongue along his teeth before he clicked it. Freesia would have to endure this. "Hup." He grumbled out, and the mare leapt forward breaking into a gallop. Her heavy feathered hooves crashed into the ground.

________________________________________________________

From his hotel room, he could hear the desk woman hollering. It was a noise the young man had become accustomed to over the past two days. The walls were thin even if the furnishings were luxurious. He stared into the mirror in the bathroom, hands gripping the edge of the sink so tight the whites of his knuckles showed.

His hair was cropped short, a few stray tufts he had missed towards the back, but nothing he couldn't hack off with a knife. His own deep brown eyes stared back at him, wide and bloodshot. His skin was tinged with pink from the effort it was taking to stay still. His toes curled in his shoes. He didn't think it would be this bad. It had barely been a week since he last streaked across the hills, wind ruffling through him, chilling his skin. Now it felt like his body was cooking from the inside out.

Wynslo took his time cleaning up the bar area after the crowd had left. He took a clean rag from behind the counter and began wiping away the spilled liquor and sweat rings from left over glasses. He carefully stacked the clean cups and realigned them infront of the mirror. He made sure the glasses were spotless and without smudges. He went out to the few small tables and wiped them down as well. He tucked the rag into his back pocket and went to the back room to grab the broom. It was battered and in need of being replaced.

Wynslo didn't care much about his flooring though, So as long as the presence of dirt was obvious, he'd be satisified with the job the poor broom did. He made his way around the shop and swept the dirt out the front door and to the side. Tracking in rocks and dirt was inevitable, but the place needed to look somewhat maintained. When he was done sweeping he put everything back the way it was. Grabbing a napkin and writing a few numbers on it to keep track of what he needed to get, he headed back out the front door. He made sure to lock the place up since he'd be gone for a little while getting supplies. He turned left once off his bar porch and stepped into the side alley Puck and himself had hid behind earlier.

Her horse was gone of course, but he still expected to have her come out of the shadows. She didn't. He slipped into the darkness of his smithing shop and went to one of the side benches on the far wall. He threw his shirt over his head and tossed it there. Another shirt, cleaner this time, was folded neatly on the opposite side. He pulled that one over his head. It was a pale forest green and contrasted against his tanned skin. Wynslo ran a hand through his short cut hair brushing the strands from his view. He rubbed the bridge of his nose in thought. "I gotta find Puck. We don't know these folks. And Sylvia.." he trailed off outloud. He had no clue where Puck went when she disappeared. He could take an educated guess, and he supposed that would have to be enough for now. He went to go pack his bags and gather his small amount of savings. Eitherway, he'd need to get supplies and that would serve well enough as a guise for his sudden departure.

~~~

Celine was fidgeting with the ruffles of her skirt in Lourren's study as he continued working through the paperwork. She sat there quietly. Lourren was hunched over the desk again leaning on his elbow with a frustrated expression. His jet balck hair had fallen out again of it's tie and fan over his hand as he leaned into it with his cheek.

"Celine. How many open rooms do we have currently?"

She brought her thin pale finger to her lips in thought. "I think we only have three rooms taken currently."

"We need more customers. Those outlaws and bandits keep the money away. I'll have to pull from your account soon if we don't get more traffic in here."

He heard her stand and he heeled shoes thudded against the flooring in a muffled thump as she went to stand behind him. "But that's for me when I finally marry. You can't touch that." she whined.

"I don't have a choice, Celine."

"Well doesn't that one customer owe us a bunch of money from the past month. Her tab is still open. Just demand it from her." Lourren glanced up at her. He arms were crossed over her chest and thin lips were pressed into an attempt at a pout.

"I suppose you're right." Their mystery guest always came in with a new name. She did owe them over a month's worth. But they'd made an arrangement many years ago when they first began business. Lourren did remember much about her appearence. Just that she was short and dressed in dark clothes. Her horse on the other hand always stood out. It was large paint with bold coloring and the most intriguing face. The stallion didn't take to strangers kindly and made it difficult to care for him in the stables. The mysterious woman, never came regularly so it wasn't much to rely on. She would owe a full tab balance of 275 coin next time she came. He could demand it then, assuming that would be soon.

Lourren leaned back in his chair, letting his head fall back with the rest of him as he stared at his sister. "Next time she comes in, we demand the payment before we give her a room."

Celine smiled suddenly. Proud of herself for thinking of the idea. Lourren normally would've pointed out it was his plan, but he'd let her take the credit tonight since she thought of the person. "Well then, dearest brother, I'm off to bed. Don't forget to lock up for the night and make sure you sleep. You look dreadful anymore." Her dress swished around her as she suantered out of the room.

"Right," he mumbled. He pushed away from the desk and tucked the papers into a drawer. He rolled the sleeves of his cream button up and headed back downstairs. He sat himself in the too small chair by the front desk and waited for any stragglers of the night to come through the door.

His eyes were glazed over and his mind dull and foggy when he heard the hinges squeak softly as the door opened. He blinked away his tiredness and tried to focus on the new guest. To his surprise it was the woman with a thousand names.

"You?" he said quietly. He opened his mouth to start stating the terms of the visit, but she cut him off quickly when she held up her hand.

In a low voice she said, "I have no money for you. But if you don't stay quiet, you'll become part of a conflict you want no intrest in." Lourren swallowed, anger flaring into his eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"I won't be staying here tonight, but my horse is in your stables. I'll bring all I owe tomorrow. But you will not say anything about my comings and goings to anyone if they ask. Unless you wish harm on your precious hotel and sister." Lourren gritted his teeth but didn't say anything. The hooded woman sneared under the shadows of her cloak. He understood what she meant and he'd keep his word, but only until the end of the day tomorrow. He had an idea that perhaps, her real name would be worth enough if his hunch was correct.

Puck slipped back out the door and siftly made her way down the street. She'd stopped on her ride to let her horse rest a moment and that's when she'd seen him. Nothing more than a speck on the horizon, blurred with the heat waves emminating from the earth. But it was enough of an indication to alert her. She was being tracked or so she assumed. Her nerves were on edge as she'd stepped into the town. Boulder Creek was much larger and had much more foot traffic. If she could disappear for a few days here, she hoped who ever was following her would move on. Puck would have to be careful and keep her distance from the towns people. She figured she could resort to common theiviery to feed herself and collect some money to pay the Clarenings. But for now, she needed to disappear.

Syvlia looked up to the wagon where Rackham was waiting for her, hands wrapped loosely around the reins. He did not look at her as she made her way up the small steps to sit beside him, and he made no move to chain her back to the wagon. Too many people nearby, especially if that barkeep were to glance out of the window. Not that her captor knew that Wynlso was already privvy to that little tid bit of information.

"I don't think your spiel worked, girl." Rackham grunted out as he kicked the horses up into a canter to haul the wagon along the dirt path, towards the main gate. Of course it didn't work, she thought, that man had more than two braincells.

"I'm sorry, sir." Sylvia kept her head down, hands placed in her lap. The less she said the better here.

"You will go back out into that town and sniff out some work for us, put yourself to work for once." He sniffed, gripping the reins in one hand, placing the other on his knee. Work? She was the only one that did any damn work. Sylvia said nothing, simply dipping her head in acknowledgement of her order.

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Montague sighed as he finally saw the town come into view, his legs were getting still and Freesia was tired, he could feel it in each step she took. He had lost sight of his quarry early on and had barely caught a small glimpse of them again, dismounted before they took off again. Possibly he'd been made, he couldn't be sure.

The town was quiet, but not deserted as he walked Freesia in through the gates. This place looked far better for potential jobs, he would have to tell Rackham. Montague scanned across the buildings, he would happily sit outside the whole night on a bench watching and waiting, but he would not subject Freesia to another night without a nice stable. Not that it would be very successful to sit out here, there were too many scents, intertwining and dispersed throughout each other. He couldn't make out hide nor hair of this rider.

A little ways down, he caught sight of a hotel, a small swinging sign with stable scrawled across it. Montague clicked his tongue and turned Freesia towards it, hitching her up just beneath the sign before he slipped from her back. He turned and gave his horse a pat on her neck, to which she knocked her nose into his shoulder. "I'll be back." He murmured before turning and heading for the door to the hotel. Perhaps a nice hotel night for himself wouldn't be so bad, that would depend on the price though.

Montague pushed his way through the door, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the lights inside. He saw a man seated at the front desk, not so easy to charm a discount then. He cleared his throat and approached the desk.

"Evening." He reached to retrieve his hat from his head, holding it to his side. "I've got a horse that needs boardin' for the night, any chance you've got a free stable?" As he waited for the man's response, he twitched his head slightly as a familiar smell drifted for a moment through the air. Then a small thump from somewhere in the building, shortly followed by a louder one. Montague lifted his head a little, he couldn't quite tell where it was coming from.

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The man's skin felt like it was going to sizzle off, this was hell. Curse that damn witch, how dare she do this. He had to flee from his family, from his riches, now he was here, dying.

He managed to tear himself away from the bathroom sink and towards the rooms sole window, he grabbed at the frame and ripped the glass open. He leaned his body out from the window, gasping at the relief the cool breeze brought his skin. She'd killed his horse too, the horrid creature, left that poor animal in a ditch.

His eyes moved across the view before him, there was a black horse at the entrance to the hotel. No owner to be seen nearbv. Perhaps...Then his skin flared again, he let out a strangled sound, bowing over the window frame, slamming his hand onto the wall to keep himself from falling out.