temsikspirit (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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westerntrick2013-05-05 09:04 pm
temsikspirit) wrote in westerntrick2013-05-05 09:04 pm
June 22nd, 1894
It was a particularly dark evening, one without any moon to cast its glow. The streets downtown at least were lit well enough for pedestrians still straggling home but it was of no concern to the man in the overcoat. Not when a simple slip into the world of the dead would negate the need for light at all.
Nor is he on his way to any particular place. For the moment, he's contented himself with leaning back against a wall, watching the occasional person stroll down the street. To them he might as well not be there at all. Today would have been just as uneventful as any other were it not for his earlier meeting with a couple acquaintances of the blue-skinned variety. Weren't many of them around here and they sure stuck out like a sore thumb but the influx of immigrants lately brings many surprises to this land of opportunity. The thought alone would make him smirk had he less motor control.
It was business as usual, more discussions, more requests of proof. Yomiel was happy to oblige but it was starting to feel like they were making him go through the mill for this. It was going to take them a heck of a lot longer to make arrangements at this pace but the truth was...he could wait, if he had to. It'd all pan out in the end.
The thought strikes him that he should probably head home soon but there isn't much reason for it. There's no urgency to his existence, hardly a reason for any adherence to time save for a horse who might need him. The queerness of that thought immediately turns his mood for worse. Maybe he'll drop his body and possess some sap tonight for fun.
Nor is he on his way to any particular place. For the moment, he's contented himself with leaning back against a wall, watching the occasional person stroll down the street. To them he might as well not be there at all. Today would have been just as uneventful as any other were it not for his earlier meeting with a couple acquaintances of the blue-skinned variety. Weren't many of them around here and they sure stuck out like a sore thumb but the influx of immigrants lately brings many surprises to this land of opportunity. The thought alone would make him smirk had he less motor control.
It was business as usual, more discussions, more requests of proof. Yomiel was happy to oblige but it was starting to feel like they were making him go through the mill for this. It was going to take them a heck of a lot longer to make arrangements at this pace but the truth was...he could wait, if he had to. It'd all pan out in the end.
The thought strikes him that he should probably head home soon but there isn't much reason for it. There's no urgency to his existence, hardly a reason for any adherence to time save for a horse who might need him. The queerness of that thought immediately turns his mood for worse. Maybe he'll drop his body and possess some sap tonight for fun.
no subject
Yesterday night, a man had been murdered at that Russian saloon, the Borscht Bowl. It was where Phoenix Wright played poker most nights, and that was just who'd been accused of the crime. Deputy Gavin'd been the first to show up to the scene, and Apollo investigated with him because that was standard procedure, but -
But after talking to the former legend, and hearing the hints he dropped, well... that seed of doubt had been planted in him. It seemed like Deputy Gavin knew too much about the murder, things that weren't apparent from the scene no matter how hard Apollo thought about it.
So earlier today, he'd made sure to confront Deputy Gavin about it, right in front of Wright and Sheriff Cabanela.
It'd been tough to corner him, but with Wright's help, he'd done it. Deputy Gavin's replies got more and more suspicious, but he didn't walk away. Maybe it was his pride, or his confidence that made him stay put, but once Cabanela joined in with the questions and Apollo got a mysterious delivery of the one piece of evidence that'd been missing... well, Deputy Gavin broke down so thoroughly there was no question he'd committed the murder. He was arrested on the spot.
Then Apollo found out the evidence he'd been given, that bloody ace in the hole, was a fake. He'd punched Wright right in the face and walked off of patrol duty for the rest of the day. Apollo had been so angry he couldn't see straight.
Somehow or other, he'd ended up in one of the smaller, less rowdy saloons. Normally he wasn't a drinking man, not when he didn't much fancy getting stupid drunk like most folks did, but tonight he'd quickly gone from beer to throwing back shots of bourbon. At first he could hardly stand the taste, but now it was almost good, and his throat wasn't even burning anymore.
Whether by luck or because they had a deputy hunched over at the bar, there hadn't been much more than a couple loud tables happening tonight. No Lynne had shown up to drag him off, either. They were small favors, but he was grateful for them all the same. Apollo was already drunk, and all he wanted to do was keep drinking, until he forgot about being manipulated and his vision going all strange and red and his mentor murdering an unarmed man in cold blood.