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
The next person who walked by seemed a little on the tipsy side. Still sharp though, but it did give the ghost an idea. He could probably blow some steam tonight. Mess with someone for a bit, the drunks were the easiest to take advantage of with so little resistance to possession. He wouldn't hurt anyone too badly though, of...course not. Not that kinda guy right? These people haven't done anything to him. Then again. Humanity had no right not to throw him so much as a glance, to disregard the tragedy of his case, to keep on living selfishly while refusing to acknowledge the error of their own past. Every one of them was guilty in their own way. He might have been unsurprised, but it made him sick. It also made him think of Alma. Of using a little girl to put a bullet between her eyes.
He was moving before he knew it, traveling the direction the last person came from and tracing it to the nearby saloon. He pushed through the doors unnoticed and stole a glance about the room. What a common scene; joyful people, groups, friends, the loners there to drown their troubles. He could probably leave his body out back and start a ruckus with one of these fellows. That seemed to be the direction his night was going to head in when he spotted the back of a familiar head at the bar.
He froze to the spot, like someone caught with a smoking gun in hand. But the deputy seemed to be...drinking? There was something surprising about that he couldn't quite place. Apollo didn't seem the type was all, but what did he know? Maybe his plans were about to be put on hold. He strolled his way to the bar, boots clapping against wood that seemed to fall on deaf ears, and reached a hand to place it on Apollo's shoulder.
"Deputy Justice," he stated, leaning over to try getting a look at his face over tinted spectacles. "...You're soaked, aintchya?"