AN: Yeah…I'm trying to get rid of a bunch of ideas so I can write my other stories, so here is another in my line of wild Victorious one-shots… Oh, who am I kidding this will be a short story, there will be a few more chapters if you guys want 'em. :{J
I apologize for the inauthentic feel of the Western you are about to r-e-a-d…yes, Slim, that is a word. ;{)
I'm also going to apologize for my terrible French, I really shouldn't butcher the language so horribly… but I want that feeling of a foreign tongue to add a little something. I formally apologize, and if you tell me how to write it properly I will amend it.
Disclaimer: Still don't own Victorious…or Viacom for that matter…that devil owes me my soul…eh, at least I don't have to ride a flaming horse. ;{)
Standing on the porch of a way station a lone figure in a long brown duster, wearing worn brown boots and a slightly ragged black Stetson, tapped the wooden boards impatiently. Between her lips was a long thin black cigar with smoke trailing off into the dry Oklahoma sky, without a cloud to be found. She applied more pressure to the smokable as her tapping increased. Agitation was starting to burn lines into her deeply sun-kissed face to match the deep scar across her left cheek and thin scar over her brow.
A boy stepped out of the station with her 1873 model Colt single action, only a few years old it had already seen a few scraps that left a couple permanent scratches on the grip and one long groove down the body. He hands it to her after feeling the weight one last time, "That sure is a fine gun, ma'am."
She rolls the cigar to the opposite side of her mouth with her tongue then speaks, "Yeah, cost me a fair bit so it damn well better be." Taking it with her right hand she barely inspects the weapon before holstering it on her left side, grip out. Patting her S&W model 3 on her right hip twice she then offers, "But it ain't so much the gun as the one firin' it ya' hear. You can have the best gun, special made for your hand and it won't be worth a dead horse in a fight if you don't know how to use it."
"Yes, ma'am." His stance and tone were as if he were speaking to a seasoned killer, despite her being barely past twenty.
After a few moments of silence he ventures to ask, "Why don't you ride a horse, ma'am?" It was a fair question, given that she looked like the type to do a lot of ridin' into places stages and trains were nowhere near.
She silently raises her head and looks up to the blue sky, squinting from the intensity of the noon sun. Pondering on the question for a spell she finally answers, "Because I love 'em too much to leave 'em behind when I travel back East." For this woman was a specialist working for the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, officially she wasn't on the payroll. But that didn't mean she didn't get a few 'contracts' sent her way…usually the ones that were a bit questionable…dead or alive, heavy on the dead. And she always went directly to her contact to retrieve the lists, which is why she had to travel back east across the Mississippi.
He accepted that as reasonable without prying into why she went east so often and left her to her thoughts as he disappeared back inside to resume his chores.
With her mind drifting back east she reaches into her vest pocket and pulls out a small palm sized book, she flips through a few dozen pages with each containing a name, description, crimes/charges, conditions for capture (if any), and finally a reward. Most had an 'X' across the page and a line through the name, but she stops at one yet unmarked, Marty Strong. She briefs the description and crimes and gets right to her favorite part the reward…$400. Having personally written everything in the book didn't dull the feeling of seeing what a tiny piece of lead could get her when she came upon this Mr. Strong. This little trick helped put her in better spirits as she placed the book back in her pocket and resumed waiting with a thin smile playing on her face.
The sun fell an hour from its perch before the telltale dust cloud in the distance marked the arrival of the stage. The extra plums of dust rolling up courtesy of several horsemen and the disturbing speed of the stage as it grew nearer were the signs of something less than pleasant. Shaking her head she grabs her damn near new Sharps target rifle. Remaining on the porch she looks through the scope and leads one of the riders four hundred yards out…then fires, sending the round near-dead center of his chest.
Reloading with a viper's grace she winged another in the left shoulder, sending him off his horse and crashing to the ground at a lethal speed. She reloads again, and again she drops another rider…with her last available round. As the distance between her and the two remaining riders closes she tosses the Sharps onto her satchel and grabs her Winchester repeater, loading only three rounds. Stepping out onto the parched soil she levels the rifle at one of the last riders and she drops him with a head shot. The other turns his horse and angles off into the wastes…after she puts both remaining rounds in his side.
The stage slows as it approaches. The guard was leaned back on the roof with a few holes in his chest, while the driver looked as if he'd been ridin' nonstop for days…which might not have been too far off given the sorry state of the near baked horses.
"You alright?" She tosses the words up to the older man with a white mustache.
He leans back breathing heavily, "Fine…just dog-tired."
She loosely motions to the coach with her rifle still in hand, "Passengers?"
The man props forward, then looks down and back toward the door, "Don't rightly know, they've been quite since that fellow stopped shooting."
At that she races to the door and slings it open. She finds a man wearing a grey suit lying just behind the door with a blood soaked bandage on his left arm. Helping him down she doesn't pay much attention to the other two she caught a glimpse of behind him.
The station master and his son were well aware that they'd be needed once the shooting started. However instead of going out to help the girl they had waited so that she could make sure there wasn't anyone in the coach to shoot at them…cowardly letting a woman do that, but she had the eyes of a gun-slinger so they let her. But now they rushed out to help get the man inside the station and to some very basic but necessary medical care.
With the man being helped inside and the driver catching his breath the gunslinger turns to check on the others, after leaning her rifle by the door. Both passengers had remained in the stage, not wishing to get in the way of the man receiving help.
Reopening the door the gunslinger was greeted by two young women wearing colorful long dresses. The first girl was a little on the short side with long deep red hair, a lightly tanned complexion, and a distressingly innocent face, which the riflewoman knew wouldn't last long out here. The other was a little taller and much paler with a full figure and long ebony hair, but what caught the markswoman's attention was the surprising strength in her eyes that told her that she'd last until the day the sun didn't rise again.
Clearing certain thoughts from her mind she asks them, "Are you two alright?" Her obviously female voice brought a little gracing of surprise on the girls' faces, but they recover quickly enough.
Then the taller one answers calmly, "Yes, we're uninjured."
Tossing her eyes over the pair she performs a little check only to confirm what the woman had said, satisfied she nods, "…That's good to hear, miss." The markswoman cracks a thin smile as she lets her eyes fall on the pale beauty.
The pale one offers in a very formal tone, "I am Jadaelyn West. And this is Caterina Valentine." The redhead nods slowly.
Removing her hat the gunslinger performs a little bow of her head, "Tori Vega, or Tombeur." (lady killer) She then winks at Jadaelyn as she brings her head back up and sets her hat back upon her skull.
Slightly taken aback by this display Jadaelyn inquires, "Do you know the meaning of that word, Miss Vega?"
Tori grins and then in the most elegant tone she can muster, which is surprisingly so, speaks, "Oui, en effet je fais, ma belle dame." (Yes, indeed I do, my fair lady.) This leaves Jadaelyn momentarily stunned, for when does a gunslinger have such eloquence…or such a mastery of the French tongue.
With a wide grin Tori adds, "And it's just Vega." Then winks once more at the pale woman.
Forcing her shock out of her mind, Jadaelyn offers with a little bite, "I believe there is something in your eye, Miss Vega, you seem to be blinking quite often." As she looks away with a little bit of color on her cheeks, which was made rather obvious given her naturally pale complexion.
Seeing her blush causes Vega to smile and speak in the same manner as before, "Seulement la lumière qui brille au loin d'un diamant à l'état sauvage." (Merely the light shining off of a diamond in the wild)
More blood flows through Jadaelyn's cheeks as she states curtly, "…I feel you have mistaken me for another." She refused to make eye contact with the woman…mostly out of fear of seeing another of those winks.
Despite the pale woman's words Vega resumes, "Il serait difficile pour un si beau d'être pris pour quelqu'un d'autre." (It would be hard for one so beautiful to be mistaken for anyone else.)
Unable to answer Jadaelyn remains silent. With the silence setting in Caterina finally speaks, "I fear your flattery has fallen upon the wrong woman."
Noting that she had already done what she intended, Vega decides to stand down, "Well, if that's how you see it…then I bid you adieu, miss." She tips her hat and spins on her heel, leaving them in the stage to their thoughts.
The homely sound of the gunslinger speaking more earnestly in her southern drawl causes Jadaelyn to turn to watch her leave, noting the confident swagger she employs as she walks into the station.
Following her gaze to the gunslinger, the redhead snaps her gaze back to her traveling companion and speaks crossly, "What was that, Jadaelyn?"
With Vega inside the station Jadaelyn turns to inquire, "What are you referring to, Caterina?" Somewhat shocked by the snappish expression on her friend's face.
Casting her eyes toward the station the redhead informs, "That display with…Vega." A light gracing of venom taints her words as she says the girl's name.
Jadaelyn innocently offers, "She obviously misunderstood my politeness for something more."
"Are you sure she wasn't just reading how flushed your cheeks were when she spoke to you?" Caterina cuts with a remarkably sharp tongue.
Bringing her hand to her chest abruptly Jadaelyn is taken aback by her insinuation, and rightly asks, "Are you implying that I enjoyed her…advances?" She struggled with the word that best described the markswoman's actions toward her.
The redhead sneers, "It seemed to me that you thoroughly savored them." Staring at her with an accusatory glare.
Complete shock fills her wide eyes as the pale girl tries to detest this unwarranted accusation, "You have no idea of what you're speaking." She turns her head away from her 'friend's' gaze.
Smirking Caterina counters, "But I do. Of course the real question is do you just want her to pursue you or do you wish for her to catch her prey?"
With flushed cheeks Jadaelyn snaps her head to look at the redhead as she shouts, "I would never!"
Not sure if the blushing was anger or embarrassment Caterina errs on the side of caution and nods, "As you say." Exhaling deeply, Jadaelyn calms herself.
As the gunslinger enters the station she immediately makes her way over to the kitchen, for its table now supporting the wounded man now without a spot of clothing on his torso as the station manager cleans the wound. The boy is holding the basin of water for him.
Stopping in the doorway she eyes the boy, "That had better be hot water. I doubt he wants an infection."
He nods sharply, "It is ma'am."
"Good…but maybe you should be attending to those poor horses out there, they look a bit worn." She tosses her thumb toward the entrance as she inclines her head the same way.
Handing the basin to the wounded gentleman he nods, "Yes, ma'am." And swiftly departs to attend to those poor dogged animals, careful to maneuver around her as he does.
Noticing how quickly he shot out, the wounded man cocks his head to peer through the opening, "You seem to command a little respect, miss."
Stepping forward she corrects him, "It's Vega…and he's just captivated by iron at the hip." As she pats her S&W then grins.
His gaze falls upon the gun, "Which you seem to have…in spades." Then migrates to the other on her opposite hip.
She chuckles, "It's easier to draw another gun than it is to reload."
Seeing the logic in that he shakes his head, "Wish I would've realized that earlier." Wincing as the station manager begins sewing up the wound. Vega remembers that feeling well as the scar on her left hip starts to itch a little.
Taking a look at the bloodied jacket on the floor she offers, "Somethin' tells me that a fella in a suit isn't keen on a lot a' shootin'." As she brings her gaze back up to meet his.
He smirks, "I do more than you might think…" Sighing he confess, "…But you're right I don't do a lot of shooting." At least nowhere near as much as her anyway.
With that she ventures a question, "And so what brings you out this way, Mister…Suit?" Not being formally introduced she picks a nickname to fit her first impression of the man…his suit.
Realizing that he had failed to make a proper introduction, notwithstanding the fact that he was recently wounded, he states, "Beckett Oliver."
"Well, I'd introduce myself, but I'm afraid I already did that." She grins coolly.
He chuckles a little, "Of course…Vega, correct?"
She nods, "Yep, or Tori to those I like."
He grins, "And how am I fairing?"
Her faces scrunches a bit as she considers him, "Not bad yet, you aren't crying from that wound…and you seem like a decent enough fella so far." At that moment the station manager pulls the line tight, causing Beckett to wince. So Vega adds, "But it'll take a bit more for ya' to call me Tori without getting my boot square in your backside." She slaps him on his left arm fairly hard to stress that she wasn't kidding.
Now feeling a little pain in both arms he nods, "Understood, Vega."
The station manager cleans up the wound and bandages it one last time as Vega laughs at the gracing of pain in his voice she asks, "Well, care to answer my question then, Mr. Oliver?"
It takes him a second to remember what her question was exactly, but once he does he agrees, "Of course." Considering his answer as not to reveal too much about the sensitive issue he bids, "Well, I'm escorting Miss West and Miss Valentine to Miss West's family home…her father recently passed." Pausing after finishing his work the station manager retrieves the basin and moves off to leave them to talk.
Exhaling deeply Vega offers, "Sorry to hear that, I'll have to give her my condolences."
After a respectful pause for the man, Beckett asks, "And you Vega?"
"A fella by the name of Mr. Strong decided to steal from the railroad after killin' a few good folks…" She then grins as a flash of her profession graces her eyes, "I aim to make sure that doesn't happen again."
"I understand." Beckett was already aware of the fact that she alone had killed the five bandits that tried to hold up the stage, so her intending to kill a desperado wasn't terribly surprising…in fact he had a idea, "…Vega…may I make a proposition?"
"That depends on the proposition, Oliver." She states with a cocked eyebrow, apprehensive of his offer.
"Since I'm a terrible shot with my left, would you mind escorting us to the ranch? I will pay for your trouble."
The offer was a little unexpected but far from reasonable, so she agrees, "…I reckon, since I suppose I'm headed in the general direction anyway. Besides, I'm sure Strong'll keep until I can catch up with 'em."
He nods extending his left hand, "Thank you, Vega."
She shakes it with an expectedly firm grip, "Again, it ain't much trouble…" Then swaggers out of the kitchen bound for the bench on the porch…and a little gun cleaning.
AN: So that was…something different right?
Definitely looking for input on this one…and I'll probably repost it to correct the inevitable errors I'll encounter while rereading it for the nth time…which is also why your opinions will be invaluable, so Review, please and thank you. :{)
And of course,
-May Dread watch over you- , Slick. ;{J