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This was a prompt the lovely @boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore sent me.
High noon in the wild west town of Fairplains brings a shoot out to the new sheriff.
***
The hot sun blazed on the tiny, dusty town as Sherriff Bashir stepped out of the Fairplains Jail and into the street. His eyes caught briefly on a tumbleweed rolling in the wind, but no sound disturbed the silence that had reigned since dawn. The people of Fairplains moved quickly from building to building, going about their business with furtive glances towards the Jail, though none of the men came to his assistance, his call to arms last night, while passionate and compelling, ultimately wasted; he would have to face the Jameson Brothers by himself, and trust in his reflexes to get him through to sunset.
‘How had it come to this?’ he wondered.
He’d only been passing through the small town on his way out west to California, the gold rush there beckoning miners and businessmen alike. And after this was over, assuming he wasn’t the one to take residence in the coffin the undertaker had crafted in the hours since the challenge had been issued, he was planning on continuing on his way, settling down in one of the boom towns. Sure, he could have continued on his way when his outfit had left, but after seeing all the trouble Eddie Jameson and his brothers had caused to the townspeople, he just hadn’t been able to leave. Perhaps he should have. But no, he was too chivalrous for that; too stubborn too. Nor could he have lived with his conscience if he had left, only to hear news of the town’s decimation when he could have done something to prevent it.
So here he stood, having been appointed Sherriff by a mayor who was truly indifferent to how the fight would turn out. He was being paid by the outlaw to give them free rein in the town. And while there were protests, most of the townspeople were too old, or too young to give the outlaws any real challenge. The few hot-heads that might have had already fallen to Eddie’s quick draw.
The thundering of hooves brought Bashir out of his memories and sent the townsfolk scurrying for the shelter, as three cowboys raced their horses toward the center of town, shotguns perched on their hips. Bashir watched as Eddie pulled his horse up sharp, jumping off before the chestnut had even come to a full stop. Handing his shotgun off to one of his brothers (from here it was difficult to tell if it was Rich or Matt), Eddie stepped into the street.
Sherriff Bashir waited as long as he could, hoping against hope that he would not stand against the outlaws alone, but finally he too stepped into the street to stand quietly while both waited for the clock to ring noon; a second after that, one of them would be dead. Eyes shifted quickly to the clock, the long hand was just seconds away from sliding to noon. Bashir’s hands flexed by his gun; Eddie shook his hands, shifting his feet and cracked his neck.
BANG!BANG! BANG!
Three shots rang out as the minute hand slid into noon and the first bell tolled. Bashir drew his gun, but Eddie had already slumped to the ground, half his head missing; his gun never leaving its holster. His two brothers slid sideways off their horses, and lay unmoving. Screams came from the direction of the General Store but Bashir only sighed, holstering his gun and taking off his hat to glare up at a small window on the second floor of the saloon.
“Dammit Garak! You’re supposed to wait for the other two to join in the shoot-out, not headshot the lot!”
The tailor’s grey face popped out of the window, a completely unrepentant grin on his face.
“I do apologize, my dear doctor. I got swept up in the excitement of the moment. Shall we try again?”
Shaking his head, Dr. Julian Bashir wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, as Garak disappeared back into the room, shutting the window with a snap. He appeared at the doctor’s side in only a few moments, the grin still on his face. In spite of himself, Julian grinned back, before breaking into a chuckle.
“Computer, end program.” Bashir called out, as he slung an arm around Garak’s shoulders. “My dear Mr. Garak, while I’m upset with you for ruining the ending, I must say that was some impressive shooting. Is there much call for sharpshooters in the tailoring business?”
“Doctor, it’s one of the first skills we’re taught.” Garak grinned, his own arm wrapping around the doctor’s waist as they made their way out of the holosuite, leaving Fairplains and the Jameson Brothers behind.
This was a prompt the lovely @boldlygowherenodoghasgonebefore sent me.
High noon in the wild west town of Fairplains brings a shoot out to the new sheriff.
***
The hot sun blazed on the tiny, dusty town as Sherriff Bashir stepped out of the Fairplains Jail and into the street. His eyes caught briefly on a tumbleweed rolling in the wind, but no sound disturbed the silence that had reigned since dawn. The people of Fairplains moved quickly from building to building, going about their business with furtive glances towards the Jail, though none of the men came to his assistance, his call to arms last night, while passionate and compelling, ultimately wasted; he would have to face the Jameson Brothers by himself, and trust in his reflexes to get him through to sunset.
‘How had it come to this?’ he wondered.
He’d only been passing through the small town on his way out west to California, the gold rush there beckoning miners and businessmen alike. And after this was over, assuming he wasn’t the one to take residence in the coffin the undertaker had crafted in the hours since the challenge had been issued, he was planning on continuing on his way, settling down in one of the boom towns. Sure, he could have continued on his way when his outfit had left, but after seeing all the trouble Eddie Jameson and his brothers had caused to the townspeople, he just hadn’t been able to leave. Perhaps he should have. But no, he was too chivalrous for that; too stubborn too. Nor could he have lived with his conscience if he had left, only to hear news of the town’s decimation when he could have done something to prevent it.
So here he stood, having been appointed Sherriff by a mayor who was truly indifferent to how the fight would turn out. He was being paid by the outlaw to give them free rein in the town. And while there were protests, most of the townspeople were too old, or too young to give the outlaws any real challenge. The few hot-heads that might have had already fallen to Eddie’s quick draw.
The thundering of hooves brought Bashir out of his memories and sent the townsfolk scurrying for the shelter, as three cowboys raced their horses toward the center of town, shotguns perched on their hips. Bashir watched as Eddie pulled his horse up sharp, jumping off before the chestnut had even come to a full stop. Handing his shotgun off to one of his brothers (from here it was difficult to tell if it was Rich or Matt), Eddie stepped into the street.
Sherriff Bashir waited as long as he could, hoping against hope that he would not stand against the outlaws alone, but finally he too stepped into the street to stand quietly while both waited for the clock to ring noon; a second after that, one of them would be dead. Eyes shifted quickly to the clock, the long hand was just seconds away from sliding to noon. Bashir’s hands flexed by his gun; Eddie shook his hands, shifting his feet and cracked his neck.
BANG!BANG! BANG!
Three shots rang out as the minute hand slid into noon and the first bell tolled. Bashir drew his gun, but Eddie had already slumped to the ground, half his head missing; his gun never leaving its holster. His two brothers slid sideways off their horses, and lay unmoving. Screams came from the direction of the General Store but Bashir only sighed, holstering his gun and taking off his hat to glare up at a small window on the second floor of the saloon.
“Dammit Garak! You’re supposed to wait for the other two to join in the shoot-out, not headshot the lot!”
The tailor’s grey face popped out of the window, a completely unrepentant grin on his face.
“I do apologize, my dear doctor. I got swept up in the excitement of the moment. Shall we try again?”
Shaking his head, Dr. Julian Bashir wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, as Garak disappeared back into the room, shutting the window with a snap. He appeared at the doctor’s side in only a few moments, the grin still on his face. In spite of himself, Julian grinned back, before breaking into a chuckle.
“Computer, end program.” Bashir called out, as he slung an arm around Garak’s shoulders. “My dear Mr. Garak, while I’m upset with you for ruining the ending, I must say that was some impressive shooting. Is there much call for sharpshooters in the tailoring business?”
“Doctor, it’s one of the first skills we’re taught.” Garak grinned, his own arm wrapping around the doctor’s waist as they made their way out of the holosuite, leaving Fairplains and the Jameson Brothers behind.
