The Jail House, Karl was visiting Wilona, Tucker just walked in.
Karl half grins half sneers back at Tucker, "Well, the office was empty so I just wandered in. Me and 'Lona, we had some business to discuss." He glances at Wilona.
Tucker scowls and confronts the Man, "Visiting hours are over Quintan. Perhaps you would like to join your dog Conner, for tresspassin."
In the second cell, Wilona looks away when Karl looks at her, her eyes on the floor.
Karl would normally be afronted, trespassing indeed, he built this jail. He leans against the bars to cell 2, indicating how quickly he intends to leave. "Well now, I'm here to drop the charges."
Tucker blinks. He speaks quietly, "Is that so...."
Karl nods, pulling a cigar from his pocket with his left hand. He nods, pausing with the cigar and offering it to Tucker instead, "I'm not an unreasonable man, Marshal."
Tucker completely ignores the poffered cigar. He looks back and forth between Wilona and Karl. He can bet exactly what is being dicussed here. The Saloon. He asks, amazingly humble, "Don't tell me... what made you decide upon dropping the charges?"
In the second cell, Wilona is not looking up at all, she swipes away at the tears on her cheeks but remains silent with her gaze averted.
Karl shrugs, taking the cigar for himself. He causally nips the end off with his teeth, spitting in in the corner then lights the cigar. "Well now, that is business between me and the lady."
Tucker does not like feeling helpless. Especially to the Man. And he knows very well, there is little he can do in the matter. So blunt honesty it is, "Don't tell me. She is gonna sell you the saloon?"
Karl looks surprised at the question. He chews on the end of his cigar chuckling softly. After a good deal of silence save for his chuckle, Karl inspects his cigar and states matter of factly. "She's gonna marry me."
Tucker gapes, much like a fish out of water.
In the second cell, Wilona winces at Karl's admission, but still says nothing. She doesn't even deny it.
Karl looks smug. He looks more then smug actually, cause he knows damn well that Wilona turned Tucker down. He wallows in this victory he percieves before pushing himself off the bars, "Well Marshal, guess ya best unlock the bars, this ain't no place for my bride to be."
Tucker closes his mouth with a resounding clap. He grinds his teeth together, eyeing the man with his usual look of pure hatred. Well, unfortunately, looks can't kill. He looks through the bars to Wilona, "Miss Jenkins.. you can't. Ain't no way you can do this. You might love yer life, but no one could love it enough to marry this swine."
Karl coughs, choking on his cigar smoke. The look of victory quickly vanishes. He snarls, "Come now, Marshal, let's not be a sore loser now. Just unlock the door."
In the second cell, Wilona doesn't even look up as Tucker addresses her, she's too busy fighting the tears and humiliation.
Tucker points at Karl with a long sword thrust, he growls, "You get the hell out of my jail, before I do arrest you for being here." Tucker takes one hostile step towards the man. He made a promise to Wilona Jenkins many months ago. A promise, that he will keep.
In the second cell, Wilona finally looks up, hearing the tone in Tucker's voice.
Karl raises his hands upwards, in mocking defense, taking a step backwards, "Easy Marshal, she's just a Saloon whore, ain't worth getting so worked up about. Sides, you got yersulf a new lady now." He takes another step back, glancing to Wilona, "Lona dear, tell the Marshal here bout how you agreed to be my wife."
Tucker draws the pistol in his right holster. He pulls the hammer back with his thumb and points it at Karl Quintan's chest. He growls out of the corner of his mouth, "This ain't no one shooter Quintan. It ken put a hole right through you, six if I feel like it." His eyes flash and burn, his voice deepens to a darker note, "Just make me repeat myself Karl.. just once more." Poor William Tucker, a gentle soul, who hates with a passion the deep color of dried blood.
In the second cell, Wilona stands, her voice a shrill call, "William, don't!"
Karl backs up more, but shows little fear in his eyes. They are calm in fact, his thoughts masked with his best poker face. "You gonna kill me, Marshal? Right here in front of Lona and Conner." A short chuckle, "Almost tempted to let ya, save then I wouldn't get to see ya hang."
Tucker is barely held in check. To describe the hatred William Tucker has for Karl Quintan would be attempting to describe why the sky is blue. Unfathomable, and stretches deeper than the known oceans. The gun never wavers, neither do his bloodshot eyes, "I ken't think of a man more deserving to die."
Karl glances at Wilona, as if expecting her to help him.
In the second cell, Wilona isn't helping Karl, she's helping Tucker. She moves over by the bars, speaking softly in her soothing tones, "William, he's not worth it. He's not worth giving up your career for...." I'm not worth it.
William Tucker's chest is rising and falling in heaving breathes. He manages to speak, "You have one minute Karl, to get the hell out of my jail. Ahrv never called you stupid.. but you stay here one second longer.. yer the dumbest man Ahrv ever killed."
Karl raises his brow, sensing that Tucker isn't bluffing. He reaches behind him for the handle of the oak door and nods, "I can wait at my ranch. She'll come." He opens the door, stepping backwards.
Tucker points the gun all the way, following Karl's movements with a dark metal barrel.
In the second cell, Wilona grips the bars till her knuckles start to whiten, afraid to even make a sound.
Karl steps out and heads to the saloon.
Kyle tries to fight back a yawn, but loses. He covers the yawn with his hand.
Karl strolls in and directly up to the bar, he hardly looks wounded.
Lanna walks off towards the stairs that lead upwards.
Above on the balcony, Lanna walks over from the saloon below.
Allard looks over at the door, and just barely suppresses a groan. Great.
Maggie nods, rather vaguely. "Is it...?" She stops, blinking at Karl.
Above on the balcony, Lanna hurries off towards the west hallway.
Webster looks mildly surprised to see Karl, but gives him a nod as he passes.
Karl announces to Al, "Round of drinks for the house on me, Al."
Allard refreshes his grip on the shotgun. Just making sure it's still here..
Al doesn't ask the occasion, he just starts pouring grumbling to himself about men with money making him have to work hard.
Both of Webster's eyebrows go up this time. Karl's buying a round. He's in a good mood. This seems ominous as all hell.
Allard closes his eyes briefly, then looks over again. Nope. Karl's still here, dammit.
Karl takes his drink, nodding curtly to Allard before turning to the saloon at large and clearing his throat a few times, the din in the room lowers a little, "Listen up, folks, I've got an announcement to make." He eyes look devilishly smug as he states this.
Kyle raises an eyebrow as he looks at the man.
Maggie looks at Mr. Quintan, frowning a bit.
Webster looks to Karl with a carefully indifferent expression.
Allard waits. What now. His eyes are narrowed.
Karl raises his glass to the room, announcing, "Wilona Jenkins has agreed to be my wife."
Allard rolls his eyes. Charming, really. Just lovely.
Maggie blinks, involuntarily shaking her head.
Webster's jaw sags a moment, then snaps shut.
Allard shrugs and decides to let lose a little recreational cruelty. Why the hell not? "She finally get over her aversion to pigs then, eh, Karl? Poor woman. Too bad she's still in love with Tucker." This is a shot in the dark, but hey.
Webster closes his eyes a moment. As there is no conceivable appropriate reaction to Allard's remark, he just opens them again and watches curiously. This ought to be good.
Karl knocks back his whiskey, all smiles. He jokes with one of the nearby ranch hands, obviously one of his own men before setting the empty glass down with a few dollar bills. Then he hears Allard. He stiffens, turning to reply through gritted teeth, "Did you ever find your little
Mexican, Richard? No? Pity really."
Maggie swallows. Don't say things like that while he's carrying that gun.
Webster glances at Maggie, then stands. "Pardon me a minute," he says to her quietly, then moves to the bar to collect his free drink, though he keeps a wary eye on Allard as he approaches.
Allard turns to face Karl squarely, smile bitter. "Oh, she's gone, Karl. She's dead, there's no doubt about that. I'm going to get my revenge on you, no doubt about that either. You've got a lot to lose, and I'm going to make sure you lose it all." He swings up the shotgun, easily, and points it at Karl, though his tone is still conversational.
Webster hesitates only the barest fraction before stepping up to the bar. Allard won't shoot Karl; that would be way too fast and easy.
Maggie freezes, hands clutching the edge of the table.
Greg comes back in from his extended trip to the outhouse.
Karl raises his brow, this is the second time a man has pointed a gun at him today. He makes no move for his own gun, staring Allard squarely in the eye, "Giving up are we? Or did we find the body." He tsks softly, keeping his gaze locked with Allard's.
Kyle notices Maggie's reaction. He moves to a position placing himself between Maggie and the confrontation at the bar.
Allard shakes his head sadly. "I know how much you'd like to keep me by the balls for the next year, hoping she'll come back, but I guess I'll just have to write her off. Business losses, you know." His voice is calm, his hands steady.
Karl nods once abruptly, but still doesn't drop his eyes to the gun, "Why don't you put that thing away Allard, we both know your not going to shoot me in front of all these people."
Allard grins abruptly. "And here I thought I would get to make a mess of your new bar-- oh, well. Maybe later." The gun lowers, and he turns to stride out. He stops at the door, looking back. "But don't think I can be controlled, Karl. Nothing's worth enough to me for that to happen." It's a baldfaced lie, but he's told worse ones. "My money keeps me warm."
Karl snorts, "If you say so Allard, but if Money could keep one warm, I wouldn't have just become a bridegroom now would I?" His lip curls into a satisfied sneer.
Maggie decides that this would be a good time to just close her eyes.
Allard laughs, then, in anticipation of his parting shot: "I just hope you don't mind being cuckolded, Karl. Tucker's not the type to keep his feelings to himself, I'm sure you've noticed. And Wilona's not much better. All the moral fortitude of a turnip, which has been amply demonstrated time and again. I hope you don't think she'll stay away from Tucker just because you've blackmailed her into _marrying_ her. If you do, you're dumber than you look."
Webster watches Allard with an expression that seems to show...respect, as much as anything. He makes a mental note _never_ to play poker with the man.
Greg feels his stomach turning as he realizes that he may be called upon to solemnize this travesty.
Karl's expression darkens, Allard hit a nerve. It takes a full minute for Karl to recover his cool, but his voice is restrained. "Wilona Jenkins is mine now, Richard. Unlike some people, I hold onto what is mine." He states this like she was a prize to be
won.
Allard laughs, and nods. "Even if you have to kill her to keep her faithful, right Karl?" He turns and steps out, lazily.
Karl curses to himself, turning to the bar and hastily ordering another whiskey, that's twice tonight he came close to feeling the sting of another bullet, one that most likely wouldn't have been an accident.
Webster picks up one of the drinks from the bar and takes a sip, looking breifly thoughtful. Nope. Not much point in asking any questions. Allard pretty much covered everything. He goes back to the table and rejoins Maggie.
Maggie tries opening her eyes again, experimentally. She doesn't let go of the table, though.
Greg looks to Kyle. "Do you still want to take a look at the Post Office?"
Kyle looks around the room and decides that the saloon has become safe for now. He nods to Greg, "Certainly"
Karl finishes his drink then storms out.