Red Dead's such a cool game :U
These characters don't belong to me, but to Rock Star
xxxxxxxxxxx
Miranda's whole body was trembling with relief and adrenaline. Her godparents glanced up from the boat, waving ecstatically, and she quickly returned the gesture.
"Gracias a Dios! We made it in time. Thank you for everything!" Miranda cried happily, resisting the urge to hug the man to death. "Will I see you when I return?"
The man, John Marston as her sister had called him, looked uncomfortable and relieved. "Not likely. I ain't planning on stayin' very long."
Miranda nodded lightly, wondering what was going to become of this man. What his story was, what he was achieving. But time was out, and they both had places to go.
"In some other life, then."
John Marston leaned back against the driver's seat. "Maybe. You should get going. Travel safely." Miranda didn't need to be told twice as she swung her legs over the side of the carriage, hopped off, and ran like a madman to her godparents. Once she reached them she turned around and smiled at him, and he nodded in return.
The blistering heat of the New Austin sun made Miranda's head go through a haze for a moment before a calloused hand shoved her foreword. "Now do as I said or a bullet will be in your skull," snarled the owner of said calloused hands. He wasn't particularly handsome, actually far from it. He had dull, brown eyes that made his iris look black, scars from previous battles that were either from gunfights or acne, and a beard that looked as if Burnside was his muse. Miranda fought the urge to roll her eyes or make some biting comment, but even she had enough common sense to keep her mouth shut.
Taking a few steps foreword, she glanced back at the three bandits behind her. She had to admit, the scene looked pretty believable. Two dead horses lay in front of the battered carriage, a dead man who was probably the driver was strewn across the passenger's seat. The bandits were crouched behind carriage, ready to pounce.
The plan was simple really. Beckon over some rich looking fellow, because who wouldn't want to help a damsel is distress? Once he got close enough, they would pop out from behind and shoot him dead, loot him, and she'd go free. Miranda wasn't really sure how she got into this mess. Well, yes she did actually. Smart mouthing a Bollard's Twin gang member probably wasn't one of her best ideas. Calling his mother a whore probably didn't help either. To make a long story short, the gang member snagged her up and forced her to do this shindig with them. In the back of her mind she was grateful as hell that that was all he wanted, but even farther back in her mind she told herself that this man was probably too stupid to even consider that option.
A locust from somewhere far off made a loud, chirping noise and a hawk perched on a saguaro started down at her curiously. Miranda inhaled lightly before looking down at her body. The prostitute outfit was a bit much in her opinion, but she wasn't really in a position to argue. Exhaling, she looked up and put her game face on.
For twenty minutes nothing happened. The three bandits behind her were grumbling in irritation and Miranda's legs were getting a bit sore from standing around. Thirty minutes. Forty minutes. The ring leader, Mr. Burnside-wannabe, swore loudly. "Jesus, Theodore, you said this was a busy spot!"
Theodore stuttered in reply, "It is! Maybe everyone's at work."
"Maybe you're just a dumb ass who can't read a map," replied the third member, who Miranda thought was named Greg or Craig or something of the sort.
"Fuck you!" growled Theodore, and Miranda heard some scuffling.
"Everything alright back there?" she called out after it was silent for a few seconds.
"Shut up!" shouted Burnside-wannabe, whose name Miranda quickly learned in their little fight was Eustace. What an unfortunate name, Miranda thought, must be why he's so pissed off all the time. Miranda bit her lip to stop herself from going off at him. Silence settled around them, and another twenty minutes passed. The heat was making the horses stink, and Miranda had to scrunch up her nose to block the offending smell.
Faint whinnies in the distance could be heard, and excitement buzzed around their little group quickly. Sadly, it turned out to just be a bunch of wild mustangs enjoying their freedom. The three horses that belonged to the bandits whined lightly in envy. Miranda silently whined with them.
"Maybe we should go, I'm getting leg cramps," complained Theodore, and she thought she heard Greg-Craig mumble, "Pussy."
"If you two don't shut the hell up, I'm gunna- what was that?" Eustace asked, perking his ears up. Everyone went dead silent, save for the hawk which was oddly still there, making some sort of whistling noise. Hoof beats in the distance filled the air, and everyone drew a collective breath.
Miranda squinted her eyes, and just over the hill on the horizon she could see a rider, perhaps a cowboy, trotting along. She waited for a bit for him to get closer to get a good look at him. Judging by his clothes he looked rich, as he was wearing a beige jacket that was clean cut, well tailored pants, boots probably made by some obscure Parisian leather, and a shirt that was outstandingly white. Even his horse looked expensive; completely black and shining in the sun, probably due to sweat. The only thing that looked out of place was his hat, which was tattered and had a chunk missing out of the brim. Oh well, she thought. Eustace coughed to let her know that her role was to begin.
"Excuse me!' she shouted, her thick Spanish accent carrying over the prairie. The rider looked up, startled. "Can you help me?" she asked, trying her best to make her voice hopeless yet seductive. It must have been working, because the cowboy led his horse over to her direction.
"Uh… sure. What's wrong?" he asked, but his question was answered as he glanced at the dead horses and driver. His voice held the distinctive Southern twang that Miranda was becoming so accustomed to these days. "Ah. Bandits, I presume?" he asked, locking eyes with her. Meeting his face stirred some raw form of nostalgia in Miranda's stomach, but she quickly suppressed the feeling.
"Sí, came out of no where and attacked the wagon." Miranda subtly glanced over towards where the bandits were stationed at. Through the carriage's underside she could see Eustace motioning for her to keep it up. "So, could I get a ride to the nearest town, por favor?"
The cowboy's eyes furrowed and then without warning snapped his attention towards her right. "God damn it!" he snarled as he pulled out a Bolt Action Rifle and fired blindly at the bandits' direction. It was probably a tactic to scare them, as all three of them stupidly scrambled from their hiding place and pulled put their pistols. Miranda hurtled sideways and dove behind a conveniently placed rock to avoid the firefight.
Peeking over it, she watched as Theodore finally grew a pair and charged straight towards the cowboy, but was knocked either unconscious or dead as he was introduced to the butt of the man's rifle. Greg-Craig aimed for the black stallion's hind leg, something that did not go unnoticed by the cowboy. He quickly whipped the horse around, and almost as if it was planned, the horse reared up and slammed it's hoof right in Greg-Craig's forehead.
Eustace swore loudly again before turning his heel and practically hopping like a Gazelle to his horse. Miranda had to admit, although he was ugly as hell, he had grace. Eustace only had his fingers wrapped around his horse's reins before a loud bang was heard, and he slumped to the ground, blood draining out of his head.
It was silent for a second before the cowboy angrily snapped his head back towards Miranda's position. He held up his rifle threateningly, his horse walking towards her menacingly.
Miranda could only feel absolute fear and stuttered hopelessly. The hawk, bless it's little scavenger heart, was still sitting on the saguaro. It squawked loudly, distracting the cowboy for a second and letting Miranda to finally gain her bearings.
"Please!" she blurted out, making the cowboy lower his gun for a second. "Jesus, please don't kill me!" Miranda wasn't one to cry, but there was the undeniable prickle in her eyes.
"Why not?" he growled, and the hawk squawked again. "Shut up!" he roared at the hawk, but the bird only hissed in return. Did birds hiss? Miranda's head was too jumbled to really care.
"I've got all this dinero!" she wailed, clawing at the satchel Eustace left on the ground next to her. The cowboy's face dropped it's angry expression.
"Dinner? What?" he asked stupidly. Miranda stared dumbly at him.
"Dinero," Miranda stated again. Judging by his blank face, she was going to have to elaborate. "You know… oh how do you say it in this country? Er… cash? Is that how you Americans put it?"
The cowboy's face suddenly lightened and then he laughed. She was having a hard time keeping up with his emotions. He glanced down at his gun, which was still aimed at her, and frowned. "You know, Pa wouldn't approve of this. Somethin' about killin' an unarmed person, a woman especially, doesn't settle right." He glanced up at her again and then holstered the rifle on his back. The hawk cooed lightly.
"Sorry about that… just a…. just a rough day," he explained, glancing down at the three bandits. She nodded understandingly. Theodore's head was bleeding, which confirmed he was dead. Miranda's hyperactive nerves were beginning to settle.
"You and me, both," Miranda sighed, running a trembling hand through her sweaty hair. The cowboy chuckled.
"I can see that. So uh, despite the obvious ploy to get me killed, do you still need a ride?"
It was Miranda's turn to laugh. Well, it was more of a bark of laugher that leaned on the hysterical side. But still, it was a laugh. "Sí, just to the nearest town, if that's not too much trouble."
"Not at all… you're not going to try and kill me, are you?"
Miranda chuckled to herself. "No, believe me, I've been through enough criminal acts for a lifetime. Do you still want the uh… cash?" she asked, feeling the awkward word roll off her tongue. The cowboy smiled wide, like they just formed some inside joke.
"Nah, you keep it." He held down his hand for her, and she quickly clasped it. "C'mon, you can tell me all about your day and convince me I'm doing the right thing."
He hefted her up on the stallion so she was sitting sidesaddle behind him. "And you can tell me all about your day and convince me you're not a crazy cowboy," Miranda said as she wrapped her arms around his torso for support. She felt his chest shake with laughter.
"Will do."
"I'm Miranda. Miranda Fortuna," she explained, reaching around his body to grasp his right hand for a handshake.
"Jack Marston," he replied, shaking her hand. Again, the name made her feel nostalgic, but that was a conversation for another time.
With a kick of his spurs, the black stallion began with a slow trot, and Miranda glanced behind her at the hawk. It was still sitting there, calm and collected, staring right back at her. She didn't know why she felt compelled to smile at it, but she did. The hawk did, in a way, save her life. The bird nodded in return. Wait… what? She blinked several times at the animal, but it began to stretch it's impressive wingspan for flight. Ah well, it was a long day, she'd been twice traumatized, and it was 101 degrees outside. She could have easily been seeing things.
"Hold on!" Jack said, kicking his spurs again, and Miranda tightened her arms around him so she didn't fly off. In seconds, the horse sped off like a bullet, leaving the hawk sitting alone on the saguaro.
The creature only stayed for a few more seconds before it flapped it's wings a few times to become airborne and then flew off into the desert horizon, never to be seen again.
In some other life, then.