Put on the rope…
You knew this day was coming…
Say your prayers once more…
You are part of the hangman's body count.
Hangman's Body Count- Volbeat
…
Vexen Evans sat in the saloon of a town called Blackwater, pounding down whiskey like there was no tomorrow. Such an occurrence would be overlooked, but many knew that he was an outsider. True, he was from three counties away, from a town named Dogwood, nestled on the line separating the states of Arizona and Utah.
He didn't notice when someone took a seat on the stool next to his, and he didn't pay attention to what the man ordered to drink—he didn't care. However, when the man said, "A man only drinks this much when he likes a girl or is about to do something stupid," Vexen looked at the man talking to him, and saw what he deemed to be as a cowboy. Dressed for riding for long periods of time in the desert-like conditions of the surrounding land, with a dust coat, tough, mended pants, and leather gloves, the man tipped his hat. Vexen noted the odd dull pink color of his shoulder length hair before he continued, "So which is it?" Before slapping him on the back. A gun fell from his coat and onto the floor. "Ah…"
The man kneeled down and picked the gun up, examining it, and then putting it on the counter. "What do you need a gun like the Evans Repeater for?"
"None of your damn business," Vexen growled, his voice slightly slurred. The man smiled.
"I know you're about to do something that will kill you, friend, and I think the reason is interesting. Tell me, would your name happen to be…Vexen Evans?" Vexen's green eye twitched.
"How do you know that?" The man took a shot of bourbon before replying,
"My friend at the gun shop told me there was some outsider by the name of Vexen Evans looking for an Evans Repeater. And I see this one looks brand new."
The man turned his ocean eyes to Vexen. "That's you, isn't it?" Snorting, Vexen replied,
"Why do you care?"
"I'm just asking."
"Who are you, anyway?" The man smiled a little.
"Marluxia. Marluxia Masters," Vexen gasped, jumping from his stool only to fall onto his bum on the ground. Marluxia gave him an odd look.
"Y-you…you're an outlaw!" Vexen stuttered.
"Former outlaw," Marluxia corrected with a sneer. "I cleaned up my act, did some work for them lazy good-for-nothing lawmen…Former outlaw, Mr. Evans."
Marluxia stood and grabbed the Evans Repeater in the process. "Be careful out here, old man, especially if you plan to go anywhere near Bucktooth Gap. Those men don't take kindly to strangers." He tossed the gun down to Vexen, who awkwardly caught it. With a final tip of his hat, Marluxia walked out of the saloon and into the night. Vexen narrowed his eyes. Old man?
…
Zexion prayed and prayed and prayed, hoping that they would finally get some proof that he was innocent. He was only sixteen, how could he have done such a heinous crime? The short young man had a date with the gallows the following week, even though he had been falsely accused of the murder of a poor young woman and the trial he got wasn't much of a trial. Those damn lawmen just wanted to say they got the murderer to put the town at ease.
He wasn't able to sleep at all, seeing as his jail mate had been giving him a funny look ever since he arrived at the prison, and he had a feeling that if he dared sleep, he'd be regretting it. The only good thing that came from this was that the warden had allowed Zexion one book, his favorite book, and he could always pretend he was busy reading it. He didn't like going to the courtyard for lunch or for what he called recess, he didn't like sitting in a crowded theater with all the other inmates for some lecture on why they were in there, and he didn't like being whistled at whenever he walked down the corridors of the jail.
On this night, he sat on his crappy bed, his back against the wall and facing his jail mate's bed—so he could keep an eye on him—and reading. He and his jail mate hadn't spoken a single word to each other, and he was starting to get sick of the funny look he kept getting. "What?" Zexion growled. "Why are you staring at me?" His jail mate blinked, taking a second to reply.
"Well…I'm just surprised a boy your age is in here, that's all. I didn't mean nothing by it," He had a very deep voice, which unsettled Zexion, and his blue eyes narrowed.
"Oh?" His jail mate smiled.
"I don't like other men, boy. If you think I was staring at you because of that, you're wrong. I'm Lexaeus."
"Zexion."
Lexaeus sighed and lay back on his bed, shifting uncomfortably. "What are you in for?" He asked.
"I was falsely accused of murder," Zexion replied dryly. Lexaeus' blue eyes flickered over to him.
"Falsely accused?"
"Yes. I would never hurt anybody, especially the woman I've been accused of killing. She was pregnant, for God's sake, why would I kill her?" The big man sat up.
"She was pregnant?" Zexion nodded.
"I didn't do it. Those lawmen only said I did because they wanted everyone in Dogwood to calm down. I'm not a killer." He shut his book and threw it down his bed; it slammed against the metal bars of the cell and someone yelled,
"Pipe the fuck down!"
Growling, Zexion ran a hand through his slate colored hair. "But the only one who believes me is my father, and he can't do anything about it."
"Who's your father?"
"A local doctor. Vexen Evans," Lexaeus raised an auburn eyebrow.
"Dr. Evans? I heard he left town a few days ago," Zexion's eyes snapped up to Lexaeus.
"What?"
"Yeah. Apparently he went to look for someone who could help him. I didn't understand what for, but I think I know now; I think he's going to get help from a gunslinger to help break you out of here, or at least prove your innocence."
Zexion slumped against the wall, frowning. His father didn't know the first thing about dealing with criminals, or about using any kind of weaponry. He felt bad. Because of him, his father could be in some serious danger.
…