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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.

June 12th, 1894

Nearly a week later, and Apollo finally had himself a real arrest to make! Once he found the low-down scoundrel that was killing off all those sheep, anyway. As Deputy Gavin had told it to him, the Ibarra ranchers were having some trouble with their livestock getting killed off. They were Basque sheep ranchers that had been living outside of Los Angeles for decades, using what was now public grazing lands for all their sheep. But now, someone was outright shooting at their livestock, killing off handfuls every night.

Apollo already had a theory for it - the cowboys that handled cattle never liked the shepherds; they could hardly share land without getting at each other's throats. Then again, it could easily be the result of a feud turning nasty. He wouldn't know until he caught up with the shooter and hauled him in for questioning.

That's why Apollo was just off to the side of the road leading east and out of town, sitting there on his bicycle as he better adjusts all the gear he's carrying. He's got a pack slung over one shoulder, his revolver on his left hip and rope and handcuffs hanging off his belt on the right. He's got plenty of what he needs to get this done, even if going at this alone made him a little nervous. Well, it had to be some sorta good sign of trust that Deputy Gavin had let him handle it on his lonesome. It wasn't like he couldn't, anyhow.

June 6th, 1894

It was a fine Wednesday afternoon, only the gathering heat of the day a blemish on what would've been a perfect day for the outdoors. There was hardly a breeze and not quite enough clouds for any relief from the sun, which is why one Deputy Apollo Justice was forced to don his hat as he trekked further and further from the city center. He would've taken more notice of the day had he not been in a hurry, and grumbling under his breath besides.

His bicycle had been stolen again. He'd had it chained up behind the sheriff's office, but some scoundrel had pried a link apart and taken the goods, leaving only the cheap chain there in the dust. Lucky for Apollo, there'd been a couple of witnesses; the only problem with that was his thief had covered his head and his face, making real identification a tough prospect.

Apollo used what he'd heard to follow the trail, so to speak. His path lead down to the river, not further into town but heading out of it, towards where crops were grown using the water diverted from it. There were less people out here to be questioning, so he kept his eyes peeled instead, looking for a flash of metal -

And when he found it, it was on a river bank, half-submerged and stuck in the mud. Muttering a curse, Apollo shoved his gloves on his hands before sliding the short way down the bank, his boots leaving tracks in the mud behind him.

"Damn! It'll start to rust at this rate..."