Something Pretty

by Florence of Arabia

A sort of epilogue to Deadwood that talks about everyone's reactions to the events of the final episode of Season Three. Chapter 1 recaps "Tell Him Something Pretty" and subsequent chapters will talk about what everyone is thinking, feeling, and doing that night. I own nothing. These people belong to history, to HBO and most of all to David Milch. Enjoy!

2. Chapter 2

MERRICK

Greetings ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to this next installment of "Something Pretty" a non-canonical narrative created by an enthusiast of the episodic series Deadwood produced for the "television" network, HBO.

AL

Or Deadwood fanfic to all you hoopleheads out there. Jesus Christ Merrick!

MERRICK

This chapter takes place directly after the last emission of the series "Tell Him Something Pretty" and the young lady who wrote this would like to reiterate that she is using the intellectual property of others as well as real people. This installment features many beloved personages from the program such as Al Swearengen, Seth Bullock, Sol Star, Trixie…um…excuse me Miss Trixie, I don't recall your last name

TRIXIE

Trixie the whore

MERRICK

Well, yes...quiet. Also making appearances are Mr. Blazanov…

AL

Do you not fucking know his first name? Aren't you two best friends?

MERRICK

That's just how we refer to each other. It will also feature E.B. Farnum, Lucretia Marchbanks, Richardson…my, this show does feature many beloved personages.

CY

What about me?

MERRICK

You, Mr. Tolliver are beloved by no one

DAN

Yeah I don't think the viewers'd stand you if you wasn't played by Powers Booth

MERRICK

Could we…um…keep actors out of this? I'd really appreciate that.

JANE

Oh for fuck's sake! Here's Chapter 2, cocksuckers! If you don't like it you and every other human being on this earth can drink mare's piss!

MERRICK

Miss Canary! I think it highly inconsiderate to insult our readers like that.

AL

You do it all the time by writing things they can't fucking understand and makin' em feel like idiots

JACK

I say! The nerve of the man for suggesting that parsimony is a virtue. But now dear readers Chapter 2! My you be transported an enthralled!

SOL

Heck I'd settle for mildly entertained…also a vigorous handholding would be nice

Chapter 2

"What Now E.B.?"

E.B. stood on the veranda of his hotel surveying the town for the first time. He had simply stepped through the hole that Hearst had smashed and now he stood above them all like the powerful man who had just left. He had left, he had left…and he, E.B. Farnum, was still standing and unscathed. He had weathered the storm, physically intact. He could say less of his dignity but he had never had much of that to begin with. He strutted around a little just to see what it felt like and then looked over at the Gem. He saw a dejected looking Seth walk towards the entrance along with a dejected looking Merrick.

He shouted down "May I safely assume that we should not expect assistance from the Sheriff for the next few days?"

Seth whirled around and gave E.B. such a glare that he had to remind himself that there was a thoroughfare, a flight of stairs, and a door between them before his heart resumed beating.

"I ain't the fucking Sheriff 'round here anymore!" He then proceeded into the saloon.

E.B. decided that baiting the journalist would be a safer occupation

"I shall also dare to presume that there won't be another newspaper for the next few days or you'll fill an issue tomorrow with drunken rantings. Either way no one will know the difference!"

"Fuck you Farnum! Also you're through with your ill deserved tenure as Mayor of this town! So the joke is on you, you…cocksucker!" The pleasure he felt at the departure of Hearst and the unhappiness of the two men down below him (hell, just having people "down below" him was nice).

"The pleasantry, whatever it may is on the people of this town who have instead of trusting in experience been bought out by a tentacle of the vast Jewish conspiracy…"

"Do not say another word against Mr. Star, he alone is worth about fifteen hundred of you! You should have never had that job in the first place you…asshole!" Merrick was clearly having fun with new swearwords "I was a much more qualified candidate, I organized the fucking trail! No one noticed or said thank you..or…but no, I refused to put my hand up, I was too chicken shit to try that…well I am through shutting up and being nice and not causing any commotion because…" E.B. burst out laughing

"Shut up? When did you ever shut the fuck up. Don't get me wrong, it's the best idea you have ever had but…"

"Don't make me come up there E.B.!" At this E.B. proceeded to laugh so hard he was finding it difficult to breath

"Fine, don't make me go into the Gem and get Sher… "

Once again the constant pervasive fear that defined the life of E.B. Farnum returned to replace the temporary elation. It was a shame too, because recently he had had a sense of what it was like to think for himself, to resist (even in a small way) the sublimation to another will. It had been nice, to engage in that little act of defiance, to realize that he still had a spine back there, or maybe that he could grow a new one. He retreated back into the Grand Central, into the decimated room. He descended the familiar stairs only to enter a lobby that wasn't really his either. He scoured the dining area but saw no one and so proceeded to the kitchen.

Where on earth was Richardson these days? Where was anyone? He remembered the early days where he'd felt like the Hotel was the center of the town but now he felt so far away from everything and everyone. It had seemed as though they all had either lived there or spent most of their time in the dining room. But now; Bullock had his own house, Star had his own house, the widow Ellsworth (formerly the widow Garret) had her own house. Well people still had to come to the Grand Central to eat. But that was none of his concern, its surge in popularity was due to the Marchbanks woman. Then there was the new hotel in town, Shaughnessey's shit box taking customers away from his shit box. People weren't coming for his food…fuck it wasn't even his shit box they were coming to in order to get not his food. It had been his place then it was Hearst's place and now…he glared at Aunt Lou who was getting ready for the first of the lunch crowd, as the sickening thought had dawned on him that the Grand Central now belonged to this woman.

"What now E.B.?" He said aloud to the almost empty room, which offered him no answer.

Aunt Lou pretended not to have heard him. It seemed to her that people in this town had an odd habit of talking to either themselves or to inanimate objects. She laid out the plates and cutlery in the absence of Richardson. She wondered what was keeping him. She'd heard that newspaperman yell something about Farnum's loosing the election so she supposed it was over. Hopefully he hadn't gotten lost or confused. Lucretia Marchbanks had always felt the desire to care for others, as much as it irked her sometimes. She often wished that she was more separate from the role she played, colder, less maternal. But maybe that would make it all the more difficult to maintain her façade. Well she didn't have to act so hard anymore. She'd just have put on her little show for her guests and there she'd have the satisfaction of knowing that that was simply part and parcel of keeping a boarding house. Knowing that George Hearst was at this moment somewhere in the Black Hills putting more and more distance between himself and her made even breathing come easier. Though she knew that there were burdens she would never cease to carry (one did not simply go from property to person without difficulty) to be on her own and doing what she did best was a blessing. She had been packing just the other day when he had come in her room (unannounced as usual) and asked her to stay on in camp and take charge of the hotel

"I want as many of my people to manage as many institutions here as possible. I also believe that…I am giving this hotel to you Aunt Lou, this is yours."

"You don't need to do that Mr. Hearst"

"But I want to. I mean, you do like it here don't you?"

"Yes I sure do Mr. Hearst, but don't you want me to be a commin back to San Francisco with you?" She looked at him and realized 'He knows I know about Odell'

"Of course I'd like that very much but…I feel like you might like a fresh start"

'He's trying to say sorry' she thought 'He's trying to make up, he doesn't want me to have to be around him and pretend to like him anymore'

What she ended up saying was "Well if you think so Mr. Hearst. You always know best I suppose. You go on then and make sure to give my best to Ms. Phoebe" he walked to the door, then turned back as if to say something. Lucretia tightened her mouth against the desire to yell at him. But he left and that was that.

She took out her irritation on some herbs she'd just decided to add to the stew, chopping them up as finely as possible with more force than necessary to bring out the flavor. Fucking George Hearst goes on and on about how much he hated people and every place on earth, how he cared for nothing but "the color" but it wasn't true. The reason he hated Deadwood was that he felt everyone's hatred of him and worse for him, had no respect for him. She felt that very deep down he cared for her but also that he would cease to do so if she ever ceased to behave in her usual submissive manor. He would never allow people to come to him as themselves, they had to come in subjugation. But of course he hated those people just as much. If a man came crawling to him singing his praises George Hearst hated him even more than if he had approached him with insults. Any kind of weakness he despised but he could not abide strength in another. She often wondered how the spirited Phoebe managed. Maybe it was the fact that she had so many good uses to put her husband's money too that she must have devised a secret to maintaining his affection in order to finance all her projects.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the return of Richardson.

"Where you been?"

"I voted. Why didn't you vote?"

"I can't I'm a woman. Why'd it take you so long?" she asked as she added the mangled leaves to the stew.

"There was a line. It was long. I voted for Star for Mayor and Bullock for Sheriff.

"And here you have a typical Sol Star supporter. In fact here you see the beauty of democracy the vote of that mongrel creature unable to think and somehow recently learned to speak, if you call his loathsome noises speech, and stand upright counts as much as mine" said E.B. who'd come into the kitchen without either of them having noticed. Richardson let out a squeaking noise and put his hands in front of his face. E.B. advanced clearly with a view towards continuing to berate Richardson or go on a lengthy speech about the failure of democracy but Aunt Lou wasn't in the mood for it.

"Richardson why don't you go see if anyone's arrived for lunch yet? And Mr. Farnum I been meaning to ask you for a while. When was the last time you got your self new carpets in this place? I've noticed bloodstains all over them hallway carpets in addition to more mud and horseshit than I thought there was in the whole world let alone this town. I don't think cleaning 'em is gonna do the trick" Richardson promptly did as she'd asked while the other man stood with his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. She waited for a moment prepared for what was coming next, her response already prepared.

"Now I've had about as much as I'm going to take. How dare you come into my place…" she decided to tell him now and spare herself whatever insult was coming and launched right in;

"It ain't your hotel, this here place belongs to Mr. Hearst and he done said it now belongs to me. Of course I'd be honored if you'd stay on here but if you don't want to feel free to go. If you are gonna stay though I'd be mighty pleased if you did as I told you and earned your keep."

"If you think I'll allow my self to be bossed by some ni…"

"Alright, I'll just head over to that nice Russian fella's office and send Mr. Hearst a telegram that he'll get when he gets back to his home in San Francisco. So you can do as you like for a little while but when he gets that he'll send one right back to the head of his people here and…" Though normally the misfortune of others wasn't something she particularly enjoyed, she couldn't help savoring look of terror in E.B. Farnum's pale eyes.

"Do you understand me, motherfucker?" How nice it was to find a white man so disliked by his own that she could talk to him like this and no one would care, well not that she planned on doing it in public.

"Yes mam, I understand you perfectly. I'll take a look at the carpets, anything else I can do for you?"

"Now that's what I want to hear! I'll think about it. See now Mr. Farnum this is gonna work out real nice, ain't it?" And she began slicing bread, more cheerful than she'd been in months as the hotel's former owner scuttled off to do her bidding.

Sol and Trixie returned to the hardware and Sol opened the doors to welcome in commerce. Trixie just stood there looking around. He couldn't read her expression but experience with Seth taught him how to cope with rage and guilt. Never like this granted, but the principle was the same; that of trying to help an emotional tinderbox moving itself too quickly towards an open flame…not that tinderboxes moved on their own but the image had come into his head once with Seth and he found it made him feel a little better. His relationship with Seth, back when it had just been the two of them had been sort of like a marriage in many ways…or maybe it was that a marriage was like a business partnership, instead of building and maintaining a store you were trying to keep your lives turning a profit. Although he had taken his place at the register Trixie still stood in the middle of the room looking around at everything.

"Do you think all the results from the election are in?" He hated when people said that it 'wasn't the time for small talk' of course there were times it was inappropriate but talking about something was always preferable to glum silence.

"It's a pity that Seth probably won't win Sheriff but Harry Manning in charge won't be the end of the world. Besides with Steve the Drunk out for the count I think we might see a decrease in the amount of angry mobs that need subduing." Trixie still stared around at the various pans, axes, and picks without speaking.

"What do you think of the general opinion in the camp? I mean I don't think it would be a display of hubris on my part to think myself more respected than Farnum but he does have what might be termed "The Goy Advantage" Still Trixie said nothing. Sol was casting around for what to say when a prospector, who mysteriously managed to keep buying tools despite his gold claims total lack of gold, came in and started complaining about a pair of boots.

"Trixie? Could you do me a favor and go over to Mr. Blazanov the telegraph operator and ask him if he knows how the election for mayor is going?" She nodded and left.

"I would like to propose a toast!"

"Shut up and drink Merrick"

"Well if you do not wish to, Dan, may I buy you a drink so you may join me?" Dan could tell this was going to be a long day.

"Sure thing, that's…uh…that's awful nice of you" As a bartender he was exceedingly accustomed to listening to drunks going on and on but Merrick had them all beat. One time when trade was slow he and Johnny had bet on how long Merrick could talk continuously when prompted. They had had to abandon the project after several hours when he showed no sign of stopping.

"I once felt that there were two ways for a man to live; either in fear or in faith. I always endeavored (sometimes with difficulty) to choose faith. Now I believe that to have been a false dichotomy. I forgot about one great organizing principle that I ought to grow up and accept: resentment. Gentlemen we live in resentment" Merrick failed to notice Seth glaring at him.

"Is that really a toast?" Asked Dan

"No not really…let me see…"

"Here's to seeing the back of George Hearst. Lest we forget that a fucking defeat means the end of the fucking war" Al had come up behind the two at the bar while the newspaperman had been fumbling for a toast. Dan poured him a shot and they all drank.

"Didn't I hear you yelling something about the hardware Jew beating E.B., Merrick?"

"Well yes but all the results are in…I…I acted rashly just there."

"Lets toast him anyways. I want an excuse to take a fucking second shot" was Al's answer. They all drank to Sol, all the while Al was thinking 'What the fuck am I going to do about these two?' he supposed for now he'd go back to cleaning up the bloodstain. He excused himself from the others. In a couple of hours he'd come back. It was Bullock he really worried about. Al had observed that Merrick's benders didn't usually last more than a couple of fucking days, three at most after which he'd swear off the stuff altogether…until his next disappointment of course. Al wondered if the man were really capable of realizing when he was on the edge of the precipice and pulling back or if it was that merely after a few days (drunk or sober) he came the conclusion that life goes on and his tenacious optimism reasserted itself. No, it was Bullock he worried about 'I've been worrying about Bullock a lot these past couple of years'. It wasn't about the camp anymore, it was about the young man himself, it was almost like Seth was his kid. God what a thought, Al was glad he kept a bottle in his desk.

Downstairs Bullock and Merrick had settled down into mutual silence and drowning of their frustration when Trixie walked in. Merrick stood up straight and tried to remove his hat, only to then grasp the fact that he had already removed it. Trixie eyed both of them.

"So what are you two cocksuckers doing? Standin' round feelin' sorry for yourselves I suppose."

"Al's upstairs. You want a drink?" Dan queried, hoping to hurry her to her purpose.

"No I don't fucking want to see Al, but I would like a fucking drink" as Dan poured it

and Trixie downed it as she looked around the saloon 'I don't feel at home either' she thought. 'I don't belong in that fucking hardware store, but I don't belong here neither' She gave the two men drinking dirty looks one of which was returned the other caused its recipient to turn away with a mixture of fear and embarrassment. She then walked over to the telegraph office and before the telegraph operator had time to ask her her business she blurted out;

"Do you want a quick blowjob?"

Mr. Blazanov wasn't sure what to say to that.

MERRICK

That concludes this particular episode, there will be another one along shortly. Al, I have the distinct impression that "Florence of Arabia" is not a real name

AL

And you'd be right, it's a fucking nickname

JANE

Like "Calamity Jane" or "Wild Bill"

CHARLIE

Or Colorado Charlie

EVERYONE

Who?

JOANIE

Anyhow that was Chapter Two…

RICHARDSON

It was purdy

JEWELL

We appreciate you takin' time out of your busy day to read it

BLAZANOV

Cheyenne and Black Hills Telegraph Company! Message for the readers: The author would very much appreciate your reviews. Thank you!