[A/N: Yes, yes, I said not to expect anything until after exams, and I haven't even had my first one yet – but this would not go away so I had to scribble it by the iPod light until 2am…|:
Blame 3:10 To Yuma, The Man from Laramie and hype for Red Dead Redemption. So into the Western zone at the moment! Hopefully RDR will be on the birthday list so I can fulfil this need!
PS: ARGH FF . NET FORMATTING YOU SUCK
There's meant to be divides – either they work now or I'm trying to make them do so! Sorry!
Enjoy~!]
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It was a speck of a town, hardly anything to speak of in this country of small towns. Nestled into the curve of a soft incline on either side, it consisted of a few ramshackle wooden buildings shored up with sun-bleached planks and faded signs, names branded onto the walls like the brands on the haze of cattle herds munching bare grass in the distance. The town's only inhabitants seemed to be the shuffling horses tethered to lurching rails coming half out of the ground in the one main street.
The air was arid and stuck in the throat, as always in these blasting summers. There was nothing but an unrestricted expanse of eggshell blue firmament soaring in every direction – from the jagged ochre mountains back the way they had come to the sparse grassland beyond this little place that called itself Nibelheim.
An eagle's mourning cry rang out from the same sky, startling the redhead out of his reverie. Tilting back his head, he looked past the brim of a pristine black Stetson to see the bird circling overhead, sending out its calls intermittently while the lowing of the cattle carried across the land. It was urging him. Demanding that he continue.
With no word, he swung out of the saddle and landed with a jingle of spurs and a thud on hard-packed ground, a battered red coat swirling behind his calves. Dust whirled away in translucent eddies from his impact; carried by the same wind that fanned the eight horsemen and kept the furious sun from defeating them under layers of cotton and leather. He sank down to his haunches and lowered his hand to the ground; rubbed a snatch of golden coarse soil between gloved fingers.
"Are we doing this, Genesis?"
The redhead let the dirt blow away and paused a long moment before rising up, setting one hand on the pistol at his hip as if he hadn't heard the question. But then he turned his back on the town he had been watching and pulled the scarf at his throat over his mouth, his men following suit. The crimson material concealed a smile, a slow lazy smile as capricious as the breeze.
"Let's go."
.
Life was never any different to normal in this town, and it looked like today was set to be just the same as always. Not that Sephiroth minded, of course.
"Normal" meant no trouble: no outlaws, bandits or natives raiding; no fistfights with broken glasses breaking out over who owed who the next shot; no irate ranchers shooting their mouths off with accusations of cattle rustlers when really their own incompetence was to blame. "Normal" was safe, and as the sheriff of this godforsaken patch of dirt, "normal" was perfectly acceptable for Sephiroth.
"Mornin', sheriff." The boy who hovered in the doorway waiting for a greeting, hat in hand, was one Sephiroth knew well.
"Good morning, Mr. Strife."
The blond youth settled quickly behind the clerk's desk, a smaller one than Sephiroth's and set just outside his office door. There was comfortable silence for a little while – Strife had found out by now that his superior was a man of few words – and Sephiroth returned to his work calculating the cost of Hollander's lost herd so he could levy the payment from that old thief, Hojo. The two ranchers, though of advanced years, were still both fighting each other tooth and nail. With adjoining lands and a stubborn refusal to brand either of their cattle stock, not a week went by without one or the other storming in and accusing his enemy of stealing at the top of his scrawny voice.
"Mighty fine weather, ain't it sir?"
"Yes, Mr. Strife." Sephiroth refused to let himself pick up the slovenly speech patterns prevalent in this country. The difference in accent made him stand out, yes – but the silver hair that he never cut, his one vanity, would have made sure he could not fit in with the hordes of squat, bearded men with their black cunning eyes and hard faces anyway. Strangers here either had to make a reputation and earn respect for themselves or be trampled on, and after three years, Sephiroth hoped he had done the former.
Calm did not last long. It was barely minutes before clunky boots thudded up the veranda to the office and a slim, roughly dressed man burst in, apprehension making his movements sharp and his voice loud.
"Riders incoming, sir!"
Sephiroth stood, planting both hands on the desk firmly and exuding authority enough to calm the man.
"How many, Mr. McEvan?"
"Nine, sir. Armed to the teeth, it looked like. Only a mile or so out, I'd wager, and comin' in fast."
Strife's face was pale as he stared in at Sephiroth from behind the other man. "Do you think…"
"Rhapsodos?" The sheriff's eyes were cold. "I'm certain of it."
.
There was nothing like the feel of a good horse and firm dirt under you as you led your boys in a storming charge to an unprepared town, Genesis thought, galloping at full tilt towards the settlement. His guns were comforting weights in their lacquered holsters; his men were spread behind him, the rumble of their hoofbeats a dirge for the inhabitants they bore down on. Tack tinkled and leather creaked, the taste of the sun was on his tongue and in his eyes, and he could see now the first people running inside their houses or dropping their work to fetch weapons.
"They're gonna be ready, Gen!" came the shout from just behind and to his left, a voice he would always relish hearing in the thick of the fight.
"Let them be!" They were close now, close enough to see the hasty cover being constructed by crates dragged onto verandas, men crouching behind them with their guns and their hope. Genesis pulled out his right pistol and fired it twice into the air in exultation, his horse sounding alarm but never breaking its stride, and he heard Angeal's answering laugh as the enemy bullets began to fly.
.
Cracks rang out with the first shots, but it was difficult to ascertain who had fired. In minutes, Nibelheim had transformed from a sleepy outback town into a shooting gallery – though how well it could be defended was yet to be tested this time.
So much for a normal day, Sephiroth thought bitterly as he sent Strife to the next building – the saloon, where there would be most non-combatants to protect and calm – and began setting about the job of guarding what he needed to. The paperwork and the weapons cache, and most importantly, the safe. That could be the only reason that Rhapsodos and his gang were coming in – there was nothing else here to attract the notorious outlaw, and even then his motivation could only be boredom or a lack of funds.
Or perhaps a mixture of both.
In any case, Sephiroth knew it was his job and duty to stop the hard-earned taxes and fines from being propositioned by one man who thought himself above the law. The safe was a heavy iron box fastened into the right side of the desk, three turning dials mounted on the front to slow down thieves. But protected and unwieldy as it was, it could not be foolproof, and with determination it would be broken open. So Sephiroth would not give anyone the chance.
The gunshots were sounding from closer now as the gang advanced, and he knew they had reached the town proper. There were cries and grunts of pain and exertion, and one voice that carried above them all, shouting orders and insults with an enthusiasm that sounded joyful, as if its owner was glad to be killing. It could only be Rhapsodos, though Sephiroth had never met the man. And it made him sick, but only hardened his resolve.
Sinking down behind the desk, he loaded the rifle and waited.
.
One by one the defenders of the town fell, most with disabling rather than mortal wounds from bullets spat out of steel barrels. Genesis did not consider himself a cruel man; rather, he preferred to play with his victims before eliminating them, if necessary, and a corpse was no fun at all.
Eventually, the only guns left on the street were his own and his men's. Reining in his prancing mount, Genesis scanned the area and saw what he wanted immediately. In a town so small, it was hardly difficult – the sheriff's office was often the centre of the street, accessible to all and close enough to the usual dangers to be effective.
"Angeal, split the boys between you and Zack. One of you take a ride, check for others, you know. The others disarm this lot and make sure they don't fight back."
"Yessir." His raven-haired friend ducked his head and spurred the grey horse off, calling the others to order with harsh barked shouts. Satisfied, Genesis walked his horse to the sheriff's office, dismounted, and loosely hooked the reins over the hitching rail. Strange, he thought as he pulled down the bandana and sauntered in with one pistol cocked and the other waiting under his hand, it was so easy it almost felt like giving himself up.
A deserted office was precisely what Genesis had wanted, and even allowed himself to expect. A small backwater town like this; the sheriff was, in his mind, the standard fat oldtimer with little thought for his people and all too much for himself. He'd be long gone, or hiding, terrified, somewhere, or perhaps even outside – no use to anyone, either way.
But there was always a chance. Genesis had not built his reputation over all the other two-bit bandits with reputations here by being a careless man. So he kept his gun ready and checked every corner, kicking open the two adjunct doors before reaching the biggest office.
"Now, come on, you have to be here somewhere…"
He could just smell the cash; unlikely to be much, but a good material gain to be gotten out of this raid born from lassitude. No sign of a safe anywhere; but he heard, under his own voice, the distinct and unmistakeable snick of a rifle loading.
.
The pistol shot took out the corner of the desk, spraying splinters of mahogany over Sephiroth but fortunately not injuring him. His heart was racing, adrenaline coursing wildly – he had not expected Rhapsodos to hear, lost in his search as the man seemed to be. He should have primed the gun before the outlaw came in. Damn.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are…"
He heard the singsong voice and his eyes narrowed. He would not be played with, a helpless piece of prey under a cat's paw before he was disposed of – he had too much pride for that. No. He would show the cocky bastard who was in charge of this town.
For a second as he rolled out from under the desk and stood, Rhapsodos' back was to him – but as soon as the redhead heard the scuffle of his movement he twisted, whipping out a second thin-barrelled pistol and snapping it back before aiming both dead at his chest. Eyes Sephiroth had not expected to be the colour of the sky behind him were framed by fiery auburn hair; they stared, slightly wide, and then hard. Confident.
"G'mornin', sheriff. Didn't see you there."
.
This was certainly a different man to the one Genesis had envisaged. Tall, slim but muscled, the shining star of office pinned to a smartly fitted waistcoat; immaculate pinstripe trousers and gleaming white shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, the crook of one of which cradled a gleaming ebony and silver rifle. Silver that matched that hair; hair like nothing Genesis had ever seen before.
"Well, well," he smirked, ambling a few steps closer before the twitch of the barrel aimed at his face halted him. "What have we here…"
The man's expression was cold with no sign of fear, a little unsettling in contrast to the boiling rage he usually provoked. He said nothing, just stood there so still with that gun Genesis could tell he knew how to use.
"Not in a talkative mood, then. Shame." If the other would not respond, there wasn't much fun to be had. Genesis found himself growing tired of this with every silent second. "Just step aside and let me have your cash then, and I'll be on my way."
.
"No."
Sephiroth could tell it had been a mistake to speak when he saw the smug smile widen, twisting what otherwise might – would – be a beautiful face. Rhapsodos shifted and Sephiroth gripped the rifle ever harder, warning him; the trigger was warm under his finger, the butt cool on his cheek. But Rhapsodos didn't come any closer; instead, black heeled boots clunked on the boards to the side and the signature red coat flared out behind him as the man began to pace.
"You not from these parts?" That detail appeared to be of interest, and Rhapsodos seemed to want to talk. Maybe it would slow him down. "Your hair gave that away, rather than your accent. Where're you from?"
.
Still no answer, and the interest that had been piqued was fading a little now. But Genesis was curious; he had not seen a stranger who wasn't a native or an Oriental for years now. Always hungry for knowledge, he wanted to find out more about this man.
"Up north? It's mighty cold up there and you do look like you made of ice."
If it amused the man he didn't show it. Genesis sighed. "If you don't talk to me I'll just have to get the boys in here and take our money."
"Your money?" the man spat; that got a reaction. "It has never been, and never will be, your money. So leave."
.
That's mighty inhospitable of you, sir," Rhapsodos drawled, pausing for a second in his movement but with those two pistols still trained directly onto him. "If I were a sensitive man, I might get plain offended."
"And are you a sensitive man?" Sephiroth asked, and cursed himself for it. Sucked into conversation with a murderer…
Rhapsodos grinned. "I wouldn't say so. But neither am I an unfair man, and I seem to have two guns while you got just the one."
He dropped the bullets out of the pistol in his left hand and put it away, holding up the free hand while the other remained unmoving. "So now I've shown you I'm reasonable, why don't you just step aside?"
Clever as well as charming. A strange man he was turning out to be! Sephiroth could not make sense of him , nor fathom his aim in making himself more vulnerable – and that disturbed him.
"I will not."
Rhapsodos sighed and a flicker of irritation crossed his pretty face. Then an idea appeared to occur to him and that smirk was back.
"Then how about I get a different reward?"
"What?"
"Look." He crouched to lay his second gun on the floor and pulled out a hunting knife to lie next to it. "I'm unarmed."
"Yes…?" Sephiroth did not like this at all, and he shifted the rifle in his arms to be more comfortable and its aim steadier on Rhapsodos' head.
"So let me come over there and I can show you what I want."
"Why should I?"
Rhapsodos was annoyed now. "Because otherwise I will call the boys in and we will tear this place apart to find our prize. And you will be dead. And I don't much want that to happen."
Sephiroth laughed, short and humourless. "Because you're not an unfair man."
"Exactly." The redhead's grin was back, mischievous and somehow irresistible. "You're catchin' on now, sheriff. So why don't you put that gun down?"
Sephiroth had no idea why, but something in that tone – that voice, those eyes – made him lower the rifle and lean it against the corner of the broken desk. And before he could register what Rhapsodos was doing, he was there around the side of the table and next to him, and then his hands were on Sephiroth's waistcoat and pulling him closer and it was all happening too fast to follow. And then their lips met, hard, deep, and for some reason, some damnable reason, Sephiroth was letting him do it.
.
Genesis hadn't expected acceptance – he was prepared for rejection, disgust, an attack, and had another knife in his jacket for that very eventuality, though it would have been a shame to kill this beauty with the starspun hair and the mouth that tasted like fresh mint.
It didn't last long. He wouldn't let it, even though he wanted to explore more of that mouth and hear it cry his name, wanted to see more of the warm body under his hands, wanted to… no, it couldn't last long. He pulled away with a light laugh and walked back swiftly, scooping up his abandoned weapons and loading the pistol again, slipping it back into its holster. He couldn't help but be amused by the stunned look he left behind, and hoped that the same couldn't be traced on his own face.
"Thankin' you, mister…" He left it hanging to coax the man's name from him.
"Crescent," came the reply, and Genesis could not help but think that appropriate – the crescent of the moon, for a man of his colouring and looks. What fate had brought this to him!
"What was that for?" The other was recovering fast, though he hadn't reached for the rifle again. Genesis kept his hand near his hip in case he saw the flicker of movement; no matter how nice he was to kiss, he would not hesitate to kill the man.
"That was my reward." He didn't mention that he had only gone there to see where the safe was, and to get close enough to shank the other with minimal risk to himself. Something he could not explain had changed his mind; it was an odd feeling, but he didn't dwell on it. "One kiss from a desert rose."
Tipping his hat with a grin, he pulled the bandana back over his face and left without another word. The boys were starting to regroup in the main street with the townspeople tied and restrained in the shade, defeated. Angeal rode over to him as he exited the office, dark blue eyes a shadow under his hat.
"Where's the cash?"
"They got nothing," Genesis replied offhandedly, throwing the reins over his horse's head and mounting quickly. "Should've expected it."
"They have a saloon—"
"Not worth it. Let's move on."
With a shrug, Angeal moved his horse to allow Genesis' to turn and canter out, leading the rest of the horsemen with him. The redhead turned back for a mere second to see a slim figure framed in the doorway; smiling to himself and looking ahead to the expanse of free land laid open for him, Genesis wondered if this was what it was like to be the good guy.