A good old fashioned shootout.

[One For Sorrow]

Spoiler: Rules

• Everybody starts out with one 6-shot revolver and 12 bullets. Extra bullets can be looted from bodies.
• site pvp rules apply
• the thread will be changed to ask and combat begins at 10 people.
• last cowboy (or cowgirl) standing wins.

Elias Cross walked into town, his horse had died of thirst a few miles back in the desert and he was damn thirsty.

He walked into the bar, wondering why noone was in the town at all for a moment before helping himself to a bottle of whiskey from behind the bar.

The silence was strange but kind of pleasant in a way, but Eli had a feeling ot wouldn't last.

 

[Brick]

Jake walked into the bar, and sat at the usual spot. Ordering the drink he was famous for, he scanned the crowd of energetic people, and saw a tired looking man walking into a booth. The bar was awfully quiet when the newcomer walked in. Hand on his revolver, Jake saw everyone was staring at this man in disbelief. The tired man had obviously not read the sign at the gate in the front that said newcomers had to pay a one time fee to the bartender. This man just thought he was at home since he went behind the bar and took a bottle of whiskey. Jake loved whiskey, but it seemed funny for a newcomer to take a whole bottle without even paying.

 

[Herrith]

Harvie Coburn leaned on the bar counter, enjoying a fine glass of whiskey. He'd just been paid for tracking down an outlaw, and was sure as hell willing to spend some of those nice dollars on a glass or three. His horse stood outside, a white mustang with tan spots along its body. Good, fast beast, that one was. The town had been quiet for a while. Oddly quiet. Like that feeling when something just isn't quite right. A gut instinct. Something was going to go down. It was way too silent around these parts.

OOC: I'm taking Clint Eastwood as a face claim. Fight me. Also don't mind the image fails. Oops.

 

[The Captain]

Samuel "Skinner" Dupree, having rode into town on his trusty mule 'Smokey' and turned in a fine selection of bounty scalps to the local warrant officer, decided to pop into the tavern for a quick drink. Scalps didn't pay nearly as well as live bodies, let alone dead ones, but they were so much more convenient than trying to lug a full human, liable to try and escape if still alive, back to town. Scraping the hide off of another man's head was just so efficient, it saved so much time and material. He didn't need to carry any bulk ropes or cuffs around, he didn't need to put any undue strain on his poor mule, and it was a currency accepted by not only bounty trackers, but local tribes and Mexican officers as well. The only issues were the smell, and the reputation he had developed as some kind of ruthless, barbaric lunatic. He wasn't some kind of mad killer, he was just practical. In any event, as he stood at the bar end of the bar, one shot of whiskey down already, Skinner had the strangest feeling that this evening was going to be more eventful than usual.

 

[René]

The man known only as the Rogue sat in a corner of the bar, his hat pulled low over his face as to conceal it from others. He held a glass of bourbon lightly in one hand, while his other rested atop the revolver at his waist. The town was unusually quiet, and a tense feeling of apprehension hung in the air. Another man walked in, tired-looking, and grabbed some whiskey from behind the bar without even bothering to pay. A sign of desperation. However, should something come of it, the Rogue wouldn't mind brining him in for some nice money.

"Hey kid, don't take what's not yours. Unless your willing to pay a price?" He called out, his voice a significant degree brighter sounding than he appeared, humorous even.

Spoiler: Face Claim ;)

Definitely taking Jensen Ackles as my face claim.;)