Young Writers Society

Looks good! I've got someone to RP the Sheriff, so once that profile is up we're going to start. I'll PM everyone as a reminder.

Name: Randy McKinney.

Age: 40.

Gender: Male.

Occupation: Sheriff.

Appearance: Tall, lacking hair, crooked teeth and the hair that he does have being strawberry blonde says it all. Mean.

Randy isn't intimidating in natural appearance, although his clothes and personality beg to differ. In fact, Randy rather resembles a hobo; a begger living in the slums so desperately longing for at least a crumb. But this interpretation would be wrong. Dead on wrong. Randy is rich. Filthy rich. Quite fat; overfeeds himself. And his clothes - there's literally nothing about them you wouldn't want in the West. They are, in the eyes of Western folk, beautiful. Luxurious. The envy of most. And two replica pistols; one loaded and the other for provokation, top off his outfit - although he hasn't got the steadyest of hands.

But then again, the above makes Randy seem perfect. This could be partly true; but then again, some of Randy's flaws include his ears. Huge. But even so, Randy has fairly poor hearing. And another of his flaws would be his several scars and glass eye. It doesn't impair his vision that much, in fact, it has made his vision slightly better than it should be at his age.

Overall, Randy is average for a man of his wealth. He has his own unique features of course, but nothing too dramatic.



Personality: Is there really any mystery to it? Randy is greedy, mean, spiteful, you name it. He looks out for number one, and we all know who that is in his mind. And to top it off, Randi is sadistic and takes pleasure in murders; commited by him or his law enforcers of course. But then again, a murder by somebody else, by an outlaw perhaps, simply thrills Randy because he knows there's a crook out there with the rope as their demise.

History: Randi's grandfather, Scalper Graves, was sheriff, and also Randi's rolemodel. He was far worse than Randi; ten times stricter and at least a hundred times more savage and brutal. And although Randi's father was a soft-touch farrier, it was Randi's dream to become the next sheriff, or at least somewhere in the law hierarchy, and fortunately, his hellish dreams of total power have come true.

Weapon of choice: Like previously stated, a replica pistol.



Up for love?: Sort of; I'm willing to negotiate through the PM system though

Other: Not mentioned in his history, mainly because it is rather a personal secret that hopefully shall never find out, was why he hated the outlaws with such a vengence. Notice his mother wasn't mentioned in his history?; brutally slaughtered by the crooks that ventured into the once fairly peaceful land. And also, he has a Shire stallion, who was taken into his care as a youth after his mother was captured and broken. It proved to be a struggle to break the Shire horse in; but in the end it was worth is for such a beautiful specimen.

Horse - Gamble:

Hurrah! Can we start soon?

Sure, I'm going to PM the others and remind them as well. ^^

*blinks*

Would anyone like to start? I've got a bit of a block going on ._. That sounds majorly pathetic.. xD

I sat at the bar, holding onto my whiskey as if it was my gun. The bar was full of pretty girls and handsome fella's, but I didn't take notice of any of 'em. I was waiting 'til the rest of 'em got here; Us outlaws. They told Sherrif we weren't gonna be no trouble, I told him nothing. Nothing at all. I took a swig from my glass and slammed it down on the bar. Frank came over and poured me another glass. The piano called out in dulsit tones and the smell of Jack's tobacco hung in the air. Outside you could hear a horse rear up, and a female by the sounds of it. They were here. We were gonna save Curley no matter what. I finished of my drink and placed it on the bar as the doors swung open.

(Hope this is okay, I will change it otherwise!)

Jadie

I walked into the saloon, fixing my skirts as I walked up behind the bar. Frank shot me a disapproving look, and I hung my head ashamed.

"Yer late," he stated, spitting to the side.

I nodded apologetically. He motioned towards the bar and the waiting costumers. I nodded and got to work pooring, and spilling alcohol all over for the customers. It was humiliating, but it was a living. I needed the money to get home. I wanted to go back to the city with my family.

One of the usuals was there, staring at me and making me feel awkward. The smell of raunchy beer breath hung heavily in the air. I despised this one horse town.

Randy McKinney | Town Hall Office

Within the corner of Randy's irises twinkled his golden spurs. Each scale upon his glazen eyeballs were caressed with an ochre hue, but Randy had something else on his mind. A more pressing matter.

Outlaws.

Those who didn't respect his authority. Randy began to grit his crooked, yellow, teeth, coated with plaque, then savagely grate them across each other as his own voice began to constantly ring in his own mind. Repeating the same thing, over and over again; they're gonna' murder you... They have it out for you... They're all against you... Randy himself knew that if he told somebody about this voice that they'd class him as mental - not fit for the job. And see, Randy loves his job, and even though the previous may not be so true, and as a matter of fact by telling somebody he could gain help, he is so paranoid that thoughts of losing his job in such an idiotic way occur in his mind 24/7.

"SHERIFF!" Hollered a familiar, yet anxious voice, breaking Randy out of his trance. "There's an outlaw, all by 'imself. Folk say he's bin' piercin' barrels and stealin' some. Howsabout' we go pierce his barrel?" Obviously, Graves, the person who had came to alert Randy, was drunk. His voice was more slurred than normal and he seemed to walk into the room in a sloppy fashion. But, outlaws were outlaws - and most definately had t' be dealt with.

Pulling out his reliable pistol and motioning his finger in a circle so that it spun a few times, Randy then pushed his chair back with his legs and walked calmly towards his door.

This outlaw has to go... He's the first of them... Them! The ones who are out to get you... Everyone wants you dead... All against you...

Sammy 'Maniac' Magee

How nostalgic. The town looked exactly how she had remembered it, looming in the distance and sagging into the dusty landscape that surrounded it for miles. Sammy smirked and gave Sinbad his head, and the gelding stretched out his neck with a pleased snort and flung himself into full gallop at a nudge of her heels. Great billowing plumes of dust roared behind them, and Sammy threw back her head and laughed rapturously. Poor little Last Legs, slowly self destructing in its on self induced decay, lost in time and perpetually caught in the past.

She wondered if they'd recognise her as part of the posse that had torn the pitiful town in two just a few years ago. Ha! Things had changed since then, but obviously not for Last Legs. Today was the day that the most nefarious outlaw gang would reform, twice in number and double in hatred for those that hid within Last Leg's dejected wooden buildings.

"Whoa, son," Sammy uttered softly, pulling the gelding up by the town's livery yard. Sinbad snorted and flared his nostrils, his ears swivelling upwards as he tossed about his head. She swung her leg out from his side and landed on the dirt with a dismal thunk. She hitched her horse and tipped her stetson to anyone who passed as she made her way to the saloon.

The doors groaned as she pushed through them, swinging slowly back into place with a reluctant whine of squeaky hinges. She slid into a seat by the bar, turning to the man who was seated next to her with a grin. "Well mister, you wanna buy this lady a drink or not?"

*That would be Isaac ;D*

Hm, okay, I really would like to join this. Maybe I'll get the hang of it after a while and I won't be so confused. Is it too late???

Not at all, Dreamer. :3 Feel free to join. As for the other guys, post!

Sorry for slowness D:

~Isaac~

Isaac blinked in surprise, turning his head slightly to see who had spoken. A young woman sat to his side, a slight smirk visible on her face. He hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flickering across his face, and the woman shifted impatiently, one eyebrow quirking upwards. "Well?"

A soft laugh escaped Isaac, and he gestured to the barman, hardly believing his own actions. "A drink for the lady," he called out, watching the woman out of the corner of his eye. She didn't exactly appear ... ladylike, he considered, gaze quickly taking in the typically male attire of a cowboy. Probably she had just come in from another; Isaac certainly hadn't heard of any in Last Legs that would dare to wear such things.

"So what's your name, stranger?" The voice dragged him out of his musings, and he jumped a little at the unexpected sound.

"Isaac. And you?" he replied after a moment's pause, deciding not to comment on the sheer speed with which she had managed to down the pint of beer only handed to her, what, 30 seconds ago? Maybe it was best to forget it, Isaac concluded firmly.

"Me? Some people call me ... Maniac. But I guess you can call me Sammy."

What spots are available for me???

I think either the Bounty Hunter or a gang member are the available spots; not sure about gender ratio though