There is very little editing on this one, and for that I apologize. It's an idea I've been wanting to do for a very long time and I finally decided to just go with a different style and accept whatever came of it. I'm not sure if there will be other chapters, but there is the possibility. Anyway, please enjoy and let me know what you think!
Leonard Church. Everyone has to admit, the boy is brilliant. A bit of an ass and filled with too much sarcasm for anyone's good, but brilliant. Hell of a mind for computers. Had a lot of schools in the colony begging him to choose them. Most offered scholarships, though they couldn't cover the full price of his degree (war time economy hit them hard).
Unfortunately, partial scholarships wouldn't do it for him. His family had no money and jobs weren't exactly easy to come by. If it weren't for the guitar on his back he'd probably be eating dirt. So school is out of the question, at least for the moment.
Leonard hates this colony world. Hates it with a passion. There's nothing particularly wrong with it, either. It's just... nothing. There's nothing there. Nothing special about the planet to bring people in, and nothing bad enough to send them all away. It's just patches of mediocre farms with bars in between so people could get drunk and pretend they were on a better planet.
That's where Leonard is, now. There's an open guitar case in front of him and his last five dollars just went to bribing the bar tender into letting him stay and play some music. The goal was to save up tips until he could buy a ticket off this rock. Now he'd be happy to be able to afford a meal, or maybe a room at the motel across the street. He's getting tired of sleeping in his pickup.
He's made about 35 cents and is considering packing up and calling it a night when someone new enters the bar. The first thing he notices is the blond hair falling over slim shoulders. The second is a pair of hips, swaying confidently with a gun hugging each. The third thing, and the one that sends a chill down his spine, is the tattoo. Right between her shoulder blades is a plain black star.
It's the tattoo that Leonard recognizes. Everyone has heard the warnings. Texas, the mercenary/bounty hunter/assassin/general all around badass who's been whispered about in every back alley has been seen in their area. Local law enforcement has been told to keep an eye out for her, and of course civilians are supposed to report any sightings.
But damn, none of the things he'd heard about her had prepared Leonard for this. They'd said she was deadly, but not elegant. They'd said she was cool under pressure, but not hot. They'd said she could kill, but not that the death would come from a goddess.
Leonard realizes he's staring about the same time those piercing brown eyes lock with his. He looks away quickly, beginning to strum on his guitar and try to remember a song to distract himself. This thought process is derailed when Texas speaks. She asks something, and it takes some work to push through the blood rushing in his ears for him to realize it was about the guitar.
She isn't looking at him. She isn't looking at anything, really. But the question is unmistakably directed at Leonard and his mind scrambles as he tries to think of how to answer.
He never gets the chance. Someone else, a rather large man with a sizable gut and arms that look like he could lift a truck, enters the bar. His dark eyes immediately fix on Texas before flicking toward Leonard and a smirk crosses his face. He makes a comment about her being too good for him before stepping toward the blonde.
Leonard sees the gun on the man's belt. And he sees the new alertness that's settled over Texas. He has no doubt these two are here for each other, and he begins to wonder if he could pack up and get out before the bullets start flying.
Texas speaks next, telling the man to leave the kid alone. It's a free colony and he can talk to whoever he wants.
Leonard sees the man reach for his gun. He almost shouts, almost warns Texas, before he sees her own hand disappeared from view. He remembers the guns on her hips, and knows she's reached for one.
The man draws first, but Texas is quick to fire. Two shots ring out in the bar. The man falls, a circle of red beginning to drip blood from his forehead. Texas simply holds a hand to her side, allowing only the smallest bit of blood past her fingers.
Leonard watches with wide eyes as she jumps down from the stool she'd been sat on. Her eyes lock to his for a moment, halfway out of the bar, and she stops. The hand not holding her still reddening side fishes in her pocket. She pulls out a wad of crumpled bills and tosses them in his guitar case.
She tells him to write her a song.
Leonard doesn't bother to watch her leave. He's too stunned. Too shocked by what happened. There's a dead man on the floor and more money in his possession than he's had in months.
Leonard doesn't question good fortune. He packs up his guitar, pockets the cash, and leaves. Speeds off in his truck to another motel down the road.
What Texas gave isn't enough to get him off planet. That much is easy to see once he's somewhere safe and counting out the money. It's not enough to leave, but it's a start.
He hums to himself as he finishes counting. It's been years since he last tried to write a song. Been years since he had anything worth singing about, too. But Texas sticks in his head, bright hair and lonely star and quiet confidence resonating with him until the hum turns into a tapping foot. It's not long before he's fished an old notebook out of the back of his truck and begins writing down lyrics and cords and notes.
Texas has a story. It's a story that's been questioned many times in his little pocket of the galaxy. And he thinks, excitement building as he continues to scribble, that it's time for that story to be told.