Players:
NPCs:
* None.
Summary: In the midsts of a blizzard, Wayde and Kathryn arrive in Silver Springs.
Date: March 15, 2009
Blizzard Brings Newcomers
Division Street, Boarding House
The winters up in the Rockies were worse than what Wayde had ever seen back in Boston and a few other places though winter in Tokyo was rather beautiful. Carrying Kathryn on his back like a small child wanting a pony ride, a thick barlap horse blanket is covering the both of them, making them appear like one massive, two-headed, hunchback monstrousity. "Come on…K-K-K-Kathryn…We're in t-t-town now…" Wayde mutters in a half-frozen irish tone as the both of them have walked through the night during a blizzard when their stagecoach had gotten stuck. "I-I-I-I promise we'll go get m-m-m-mum when it stops snowing…I think my nethers dun f-f-froze to the inside of my leg…" Wayde pushes through gritted teeth as he continues to make his way up the main street of the small town, hoping to find a hotel or saloon to get warm.
Kathryn just barely nods her head. "I-i-i c-c-can wa-walk, W-wayde…" she stutters, her teeth chattering hard in the freezing cold as she clings on her brother's back like a baby monkey would it's mother. She'd be rather pretty if her hands weren't nearly frozen and her lips blue. She slowly closes her eyes. "W-w-wanna sl-sleep…" she whispers weakly.
Matthew walks by, teeth chattering while he sticks his hands together. He blows his hands, trying to warm his hands. It's one of the coldest days he's felt sense he left New York. He glances at the two people as they freeze. He sighs and shakes his head. He takes off his jacket and tosses it to the girl. "Right, you two follow me then. I know a place where you can warm up."
"Don't y-y-you fa-l-l-l asleep on m-m-m-me, dammit!" Wayde barks out in a harsh irish tone, trying to keep Kathryn awake long enough to get them to a warm spot, his feet feel like lead weights as he drags his partially frozen Irish-cicle arse down the center of the street. At first, he wasn't sure if he was hearing things and his body was succumbing to the cold or if it was someone real but the burly irishman turns his bald head towards the source of the voice, sleepy steely orbs fall upon a powerful-built man who displays a moustache of Tom Selleck or Burt Reynolds worthy. "Sweet M-m-mary Moth-h-her of G-g-god…Than-n-n-k you, sir." Wayde is able to psh out through ice-blue lips as he turns to follow the man while he continues to carry Kathryn on his back, one hand pinches her calf hard enough to help keep her awake and alert.
"Ow, W-w-wayde, y-you p-p-pinched m-m-me…" Kathryn half-way wines, but her grip stops loosening up, and she seems alert enough to take the coat from the stranger and tries to put most of it on her brother with one arm and hanging onto Wayde from behind with the other.
The 'breed hardly moves as a horse clops up, intent on rolling a cigarette with somewhat shaky fingers. His leg is stretched out before him, wrapped up in a bluky splint, and a pair of cutches leans next to his chair.
Matthew walks down the street, guiding the frozen pair towards the boarding house. As he's walking over, he notices Marlowe on the porch, smoking. He shakes his head. "Jesus Marlowe, it's cold out here. Is there any coffee left? These two have about had it.
Following in tow behind the friendly moustached-man, Wayde continues to carry his near-frozen sister on his back as he pushes himself along with every step. As Kathryn begins to slowly slip into that deep sleep of hypothermia, Wayde pinches her calf harder and shifts his anaconda-like arms to shake her a bit on his back. "D-d-d-don't fall asleep!" A worried tinge hangs in the irish brogue as Wayde fights to keep her awake while trying to keep the urge from falling asleep himself. Tired steely orbs peer towards the smoking man at the boarding house, his posture slumped a bit as Wayde makes his way up onto the porch. "P-p-please, mister…I-I-I think my sis-s-s is dying…S-s-s-soooo cooooold…." His irish tone is barely above a whisper as he speaks to the injured man who is content on smoking his coffin nail.
Looking up, with a sour scowl, Marlowe licks the paper of the smoke, sealing it and sticking the quirly in his mouth. Speaking around the smoke, he jerks one thumb over his shoulder while digging for a match, "Orta be, reckon ya know whar it air. Dun wake up Chiane, she's feelin' purty puny uv late, since the joo-gal taken off to git hitched."
A match scratches on the arm of the chair, "An' dun 'spect me ta be gittin' up no tahm soon." He lights the cigarette and looks over the pair with the soldier. "Iffen ya see Pablito, tell 'im numero tres, iffen ya 'spect 'em to stay heah." His face remains impassively set in it's usual grimace.
Matthew just blinks. Obviously he has yet to figure out how to understand the 'breed. He merely blinks then nods his head. "Right, I'm just going to get these folks something warm to drink. I'll leave some money on the counter." He starts walking towards the door and lets the frozen pair go into the warmth first. After watching them walk in, he turns back to Marlowe. "Glad to see you not standing around and resting." He tips his hat and walks in.
"h-huh?" Is about all that Kathryn can reply, her green eyes going dull. She had indeed fallen asleep, and now is just barely here at all, her breath weak and shallow. "M-m-ma s-says w-we n-n-need t-to…" she mumbles and starts to drift off again.
Matthew nods as he walks in. "Right, Either of you hurt?" He moves over to the kitchen, looking for a pot. He makes some coffee and after awhile he comes out with three cups. He notices Marlowe then goes back and gets a fourth. He sets them on a table and looks over the two that are thawing.
Pablito was, indeed, in the living room, playing at war with a set of tin soldiers, the paint chipped off several of the older ones, and, as the cold strangers walk in, looks up, "Papa, him say OK you here?" He stops his play and follows the people into the dining room, "Me get coffee, whiskey all gone, Papa him throw out."
He returns in moments, lugging a coffeepot and three thick mugs in his young hands. "You see mi Papa?" he asks the bluecoat as he sets the pot and cups down, suspiciously.
Once again, the moustached man is to the rescue and takes charge of the moment while Wayde is still trying to figure out what that man had said. It was an odd dialect and even if the burly irishman's head wasn't frozen, he would still have a hard time trying to decipher it. "W-w-was that man dru-u-u-unk out there?" Wayde asks in low irish brogue as he drags his feet with every step as they enter into the warm boarding house, the subtle warmth feels like fire upon his icy skin. As Kathryn seems to be slipping deeper into hypothermia, Wayde lets out a guttural growl and pushes himself harder to move, looking for a place to sit her down. When he enters the dining room, Wayde staggers over towards one of the many chairs and stop to pull one out and turns to plop his sister down in it. Even though she was light as a feather, it felt as if he had removed a mule off his back and the stout irishman crumples to one knee. "K-k-kat! Wake up!" Wayde yells with what little strength he has and leans forward, placing his beefy mitts on either shoulder to give her a stern shake.
As the coffee is brought by the young boy, Wayde turns his bald head towards him and offers a polite nod before turning his attention towards the moustached man and shakes his head in response. "No…Stagecoach got stuck outside of Denver…Heading to Oregon but blizzard locked us in….Driver said that this town was out here….Mum didn't make it…"
Matthew kneels down next to the boy. "Aye, your father is out on the Porch. I talked to him and he said it's ok. These two need warming up ok? Do you have any blankets?
"Hmmm?" Kathryn responds, her green eyes just barely opening. "B-b-brother? Wh-where's m-m-ma?" she asks, looking around in confusion, the cold sapping most of her strength and possibly some of her mind, as her body is shaken hard back and forth by Wayde.
Pablito stares at Wayde, wide eyed and blurts, "Papa, him scalp you too?" His brown eyes big and round, he takes a step away from the man, getting closer to the soldier, then jerks away at the touch of the man's hands on his shoulders. "Mucho blankets, si, mi generale" and darts off, making a wide loop around the newvcomers.
Looking back to his little sister with hopefully steel blue eyes, moving his hands up to cup her lovely face and rubs his thumbs across her cheeks to help warm them. "Shhh…Just be quiet…Save your strength…Relax but don't fall asleep…" Wayde tells Kathryn in a tender irish accent, leaning forward to place a kiss on her forehead. He couldn't tell her what happened to their mother just yet for fear of the shock would overwhelm her and he couldn't afford to lose the rest of his family in one day. Then what the small boy says to Wayde causes him to perk a honey-blonde brow towards him and shakes his head before responding. "Are you daft or something? Scalped? What are you bleeding talking about?" Unsure of what to make of the boy's words, Wayde dismisses them as some sort of crazy babble like the man smoking outside on the porch.
Matthew grins as the spanish speaking youth takes off to find blankets for the thawing people. He turns to the fellow, "He's not drunk. It is merely his accent. Obviously you've never been down South, or ever meet an indian." He shakes his head in dis-taste. "He means your hair."
Kathryn nods her red-haired covered head, but his tone to the young man makes her frown. "W-wayde." slips from her bluish lips weakly, but in a warning tone for him to mind his manners. She then looks at Pablito. "Bl-blankets, pl-please…"
From the parlor, Marlowe's grating voice can be heard over the stumping of the crutches, "He dun called ya whut? Wal, ya nevahmahnd whut thet furriner sed, jest git the blankets, pronto."
The 'breed backs into the dining room, using his butt to open the swinging doors, and fixes Matthew with a one-eyed glare, "Whut the heyll gots Pablito spooked? He air skeert to come back in heah."
His attention is directed at the moustached man, answering his questions that seemed to have puzzled him since their arrival. "Oh….I've never been down 'south' but I have seen an indian before. Those dime-store novels are full of piss I think. Savages my arse…." The burly irishman replies, his body starting to warm up and the thick corded muscles start to burn with exhaustion as the feeling comes back. Reaching out to pull another chair towards himself, Wayde grunts a bit under his breath as he pulls his mammoth frame into the seat and lays there like a broken marionette.
Peering over at Kathryn with a sideways glance, Wayde just nods as he tends to forget that he tends to speak his mind a little too much for some people's liking. "Aye, love…" He mutters in a soft tone before shooting his steely gaze back towards the moustached man. "I shave my head to keep from people pulling it in a fight. Kind of wished I had some on my head now to keep me warm…" No sooner than he finishes his words, the smoking man makes his entrance and a curious expression crosses his visage, shrugging his massive shoulders in response.
Matthew , knowing what tends to happen when the 'breed is angry, subconsisely drops his hand to his pistol. "Easy Marlowe. The man's just in shock, calm yourself."
The red-haired young woman nods to Wayde and slowly starts to lean on him, her eyes closing. "W-we sh-should h-h-have g-g-gone b-b-back t-t-to B-boston…" Kathryn says weakly.
The 'breed's eye narrows as he stares back at Matthew for a long moment, and he raises one of the crutches to point at Wayde, saying evenly, "Mistah, iffen yore gonna 'spect to stay healthy out heah, reckon ya got some larnin' to take in. Ah git off these heah sticks, you an me gonna palavar a mite."
The crutch falls back to the floor and he bellows, 'Boy! Git in heah with them blankets..cain't hev these furriners dyin' in heah." Pablito peers around the corner and slinks to the table to drop the gblankets before retreating beind Marlowe.
Matthew nods slowly. "Thank you Pablito." He smiles at the boy then turns back to the two people. "Here" He tosses the blankets towards the man. He grabs two chairs and brings them to the table. "Here Marlowe, you and your boy sit down." He takes a drink of his coffee and sits down in his own chair.
Normally, this particular irishman would be a bit heated when someone tends to talk to him in such a manner as the man on the crutches is but Wayde was in his home, nearly frozen and in no mood to feel like slapping around a cripple. "If I said something to upset the wee lad, I meant nothing by it. I didn't think I said anything bad in the first place. Thought I was behaving actually…" His irish tone is light and pleasent as Wayde lifts a burly hand to rub the tip of his chin. Peering over towards his sister then back towards the fellow offering to give him a good-sized country arse-beating behind the woodshed, Wayde nods in agreement and says in a smooth irish tone. "I'm pretty good right now…Just make sure my sister is good and warm…" Reaching out with one hand, Wayde plucks up his cup of coffee and lifts it to his thin lips to take a gentle sip. The hot liquid burns like a torrid fire in his mouth and down the back of his throat, wincing a bit as he might of swallowed too quickly. "It's good but it's missing a bit of whiskey."
Kathryn gently takes one of the blankets and as she starts to become a bit more alive, she wraps it around herself, tucking it up under her arms so her hands are free. "Th-thank you…" she whispers to Marlowe and Pablito before putting her delicate hands on the cup before her. She doesn't drink yet, just savoring the warmth on her hands.
Standing in place for a moment, the 'breed continues to look hard at the big, bald Irishman, then stumps around the chair Matthew pulled out, and sinks into it, "Boy, go git me one uv them cups, an' one fer yerse'f." He looks over at Wayde as Pablito goes to the kitchen for the cups, "Mistah, we dun 'low no whiskey in this house no' mo'. Whut we got ain't good 'nuff fer ya, reckon thar's the HO-tel, or a stable fer ya."
The thought of no whiskey kept in this place was a bit of a queer thing to imagine since whiskey was a mainstay in any irish household. Some rumors were true afterall but Wayde nods softly towards the injured man, clutching his cup with two hands while using the heat to get the feeling back in his digits. "I'll be quite fine here, sir. I thank you for your kindness. Just never been this far up in the mountans before." Wayde says in a low irish tone, taking sips of his coffee every so often.
Realization hits Kathryn, and slow tears roll down her face. she doesn't break out into loud crying sobs though, she just sits there, staring down at the coffee as she silently cries.
Marlowe pours himself a cup of coffee, and glowers silently at the pair as he drinks half the scalding brew, "Y'all come out heah alone, an' with no' more'n thet on? Dayamed shore shot thru with luck to git heah." he turns to the boy and says, "Andale, sopa pollo, caliente." He grins, a wicked lopsided smile, "Y mas chiles, si?"
With a low chuckle, he sits back and comments, "The boy'll hev ya some chicken soup out in a minute, jest gotta heat it up a mite."
"Luck had nothing to do with it. God wanted just to be here for some strange reason. Don't know why and I don't question Him. I just hope my nethers are still working to snuff. It got so cold that instead of shrinking, it grew a few more inches to hide in my backside for the warmth." A hearty chuckles rolls out past Wayde's thin lips as he is feeling in better spirits, almost forgetting the cold and the recent loss of their mother but it seems it had just hit Kathryn. Her sobbing makes his heart ache with the pain of a thousand angels losing their wings, taking a moment to scoot his chair next ot his sister and wraps a massive arm around her slender shoulder to pull her close. "It's alright, Kat…She's with God now…"
Matthew watches the girl cry. After a few moments, he looks away. He drinks some of his coffee and looks back toward Marlowe, trying to ignore the girl's sobbing. "How does the leg go Marlowe?"
The younger sister leans into Wayde once more, letting go of the cup. "We… we should go get her body, brother. She needs a proper burial, like any good Christian." Kathryn says stubbornly.
"Reckon it air comin' long jest fahn." He slugs down more coffee, "Ah dun reckon, iffen ya left sumone daid out thar, they gonna be much to git..Wolves an' coyotes prolly dun bin at it already, afore it got cold." He speaks matter of factly, and watches the boy narrowly as he dishes up a thick soup of chicken, dumplings and thin slices of a green vegetable to the pair of frozen wastrels.
As much as he wanted to go get their mother's corpse but with it snowing as hard as it is and how they barely make it here, it would be a truly God-like feat to retrieve it. Also the mention of of the wolves and coyotes were a factor as well, letting a deep sigh. "When the snow dies down, we can go look. We are in no condition to go back out there, sis." Wayde tells Kathryn in a soft irish tone, giving her a tender hug. The smell of food entices the burly irishman and the arm slips from around his sister and plucks up the bowl of food as if starving. Well…Wayde was always starving. "Thank you for the meal, sir." He tells the injured man then turns his attentiong back to Kathryn. "Eat, Kat, Get your strength back."
Her green eyes go wide at this bit of information. "W-wolves?" she asks, and looks like she is ready to get up and bolt out into the cruel weather to save her mother's corpse from such an ill fate. Anything that her brother said to her goes in one ear and out the other as she starts to rise wobbly from her chair.
Marlowe's cold glittery eye watches the burly Irishman as he spoons the pepper laden soup to his mouth, and he turns to Matthew, "You gonna tell 'em or not?"
Pablito's brown eyes get big and round again, and he heads for safer environs, quickly.
Matthew glances at Marlowe and moves slightly closer, out of ear shot of the two. "Tell them what?"
Marlowe shrugs and pours himself another cup of coffee, remarking, "Shore air a sight ta see, when them easterner's fust bite into a chile..fust thang, their face gits red, an' they staht ta pant lahk a windblowed hoss..then they staht dryin' ta put the fahr out with watah, an' thet's the blamedest thang..the fahr gits hottah."
He smirks, and drinks some of the coffee. "Best thang, though," he allows, "to thaw out the innards an' grow hair on yer chest."
Kathryn gets up from her seat and starts walking for the door, her legs just barely keeping her upright. "Have… to get… mother…"
The 'breed barks, "Siddown! yu go out thar, yore fer shore gonna end up daid too." he looks out of the window,' Dark nohows, yu'd git lost."
A tiny, scared squeak comes from the red-headed girl, and she does, indeed, stop in her tracks. Doesn't stop Kathryn from staring out the windows into the dark of night. Her bottom lip trembles and she starts to sway hard as if her legs are about to give out on her.
Marlowe relents a bit, "Look heah, gal. Jest you sit thar an' eat thet soup..dun eat the green thangs, they air peppahs an' take yore tongue raht off. Iffen yore Ma air daid, tain;t nuthin' ya kin do nohows."
Kathryn nods her head, looking out the window once more before slowly walking back to her seat. Taking care to avoid the little bits of green, she nibbles at the soup. "What… what town is this?" she asks weakly.
"Silver Creek", he grunts, "Lotta Creek, ain't much silver heah." Pablito's brown eyes peer around the kitchen door, and Marlowe thumps on the coffeepot, "Gittin' low thar boy." His gaze travels over the woman, then her brother. "Got lost in the blizzard, didja?"
"We were heading for Denver from Kansas City… and the blizzard…" Kathryn replies and her bottom lip starts to quiver again. "The stagecoach got stuck… the driver… froze to death in his seat… mother and Wayde and I… we had to walk… and after a few hours, mother fell over, and I couldn't feel my feet all that good…"
"Thet dayamed Frenchman nevah hed a lick uv sense nohows." Marlowe mutters into his cup, "Shore an ya like as not got the chilblains or sumpin, them thin eastern shoes ya wearin'" He hollers towards the kitchen, "Bile up sum watah, boy, an' put in a washpan fer this gal's feet. Not too hot."
"We thank you so much for your kindness, sir. As soon as we are able to go back to the coach and retrieve our things, I will surely repay you for your hospitality." Kathryn says and then looks at her brother for a moment before putting her green eyes back on Marlowe. "I apologize if my brother said anything to offend you. He means well, but tends to hang with a bit rougher crowd than I."
Marlowe's face remains impassive and immobile, "Ya ain't gotta pay me nuthin'. Mah wahf maht hev othah ideers, iffen ya stay on." The glacial eye moves to the big man, "Fur as the bigt feller goes..we gots accounts ta settle, come springtahm."
Kathryn sighs. "I will not interfere if he agrees. But if you kill my brother, you had best be prepared to kill me as well, /sir/." She pointedly tells him before taking another bite of soup. "He's the only family I have left, and I have already very nearly lost him too many times than I care to repeat."
Pablito slinks in with a pan of water, setting it on the floor near the woman's feet, then scuttles behind Marlowe, sayiong sotto voce, "Papa, you no more fight, you make promise Mama. No fight, no drink," scolding the 'breed, and getting cuffed for his trouble.
The red-haired young woman just barely dared a smile. "If only my brother could promise the same, but I fear it is in the blood. Our father died before I was born in a fist fight, and I fear that Wayde my very well end up dying the same way." Kathryn states, and the smile quickly fades into sadness once more.
"Man's gotta do whut a man's gotta do, Ah reckon." the 'breed grunts, and heaves himself up with the aid of the crutches, "Reckon thet goes fer daymed fool tenderfeet too." Using a crutch, he pushes the chair in. 'Room three air to the top uv the stairs, y'all need ennythang, pestah Pablito heah fer it."
"Thank you very much sir." Kathryn says as she carefully pulls her lady boots off and slowly sinks them into the pan of water with a wince and then a sigh of relief. "We will try to stay as much out of the way as possible, and as soon as it is safe, I fully intend to go back for our things and to make sure the bodies get a proper Christian burial." Kathryn looks at Wayde with a /and we will/ look.
With the warmth of the food in his belly and no longer in the bone-chilling cold, Wayde had taken the time to catch a quick cat-nap during all of it and an occasional snore rolls out of the depths of his throat. The empty bowl nestled in his lap begins to tip forward and the spoon slips out, hitting the floor with a clunk and nearly startling the brutish irishman awake. Steely eyes dart open in a quick motion as he jumps slightly in his seat, sitting up as a quizzical expression forms on his visage. "Huh? Where we…" As his eyes slip about his surroundings, then Kathryn and finally the injured man, Wayde lets out a soft sigh and double-blinks slowly. "Oh…How long have I been asleep? His irish tone soft and husky as he bends over to pick up the spoon then sets his bowl on the table. Peering over towards the young lad, Wayde lifts a strong hand and rubs the back of his thick neck. "Sorry if I scared you earlier. I'm not mean at all, just a bit under the weather is all. I didn't get 'scalped'. I just shave my head because I like it and it keeps it from being pulled in a fight."
Pablito just looks at the big man with round eyes and says nothing until Marlowe cuffs him again, lightly, "Wal, boy dun jest stand thar, tell 'im ya ain't skeered no mo'" The boy nods, then hangs his head, "Me sorry." he mumbles, and ducks back behind the 'breed. "Lahk AH said, iffen ya need ennythang, ax the boy..he air a good boy. jest skittish."
Clumping towards the door, "Ah gotta git on ta bed, dun been on mah feet too much today, an' the DOc'll fer shore make me stay down fer a week."
Kathryn sighs and looks at her brother. "You need to rest, Wayde. The gentleman said that we could stay the night here, in room three upstairs. I'll see how the weather looks come morning, and see if it's safe to go retrieve our things, alright?"
— Fade to Black —
