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Howdy all! You can call me Flint or Her Royal Highness or, of course, the ever popular Magnum PI, but if you can’t remember all that, I still answer to Tens :). I started writing when I was young but it wasn’t until my college years that I discovered RP. Yeah, never looked back, haha. I adore characters and plot lines and have way too many of them, if I’m being honest, but the heart wants what the heart thinks it wants! I play mainly males, finding them to be more comfortable in my mind, but I have my odd princess and I’m always ready to play! I do some graphic work for the site, advertising, and canon writing, and I can always help any of you with app and sizing issues, so just holler!
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Shooter has been writing with her fellow admins for up to five years! In 2014 she earned her degree in graphic design and now uses her skills to edit images for the site as well as design the maps for the area. Think of her as Heart of the West's personal cartographer and unqualified city planner. Fun fact; The Devil's Cradle Saloon used to be called The Blue Larkspur, this is the name of a plant as well as a race horse, a sport Shooter follows closely. Blue Larkspur raced for a stable called Idle Hour, which is the name of the hotel in Woodhurst. Every place on the maps has its own story!
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Additionally, Blue is one of those weird math and science people who also enjoys writing, and she has been writing for over ten years. She loves good plotting, character development, and is always a sucker for a happy ending.


 
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 Not So Silent Night, Open!
Sasha Bellamy
 Posted: May 21 2017, 05:50 PM
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December 24th, 1868
Marketplace
Evening


Sasha wasn’t so sure why people put so much stock into Christmas. Sure, a child was born so long ago that no one could ever say it happened, outside of the bible, but there was a lot of things in the bible that he didn’t really take as fact. A whale swallowing a man? He’d seen whales and he’d seen men, and he wasn’t about to hold his breath on that one.

Still, the town went a bit off its rocker with holiday cheer and when his employer had oh so subtly suggested that he make himself available to lead carols and even perform, he had very tight-lippedly accepted the invitation. Lord, how did people survive these things before alcohol? He was already half a bottle of wine in before he’d even arrived and that liquid courage had been enough to at least get him that far. He’d gotten the carollers going on a couple easy tunes, all annoying songs mind you, but the people were happy and Sasha was maintaining his smile, so hopefully he could get through it without too much hassle.

Thankfully, there was a break for the band to start and Sasha took the opportunity to make his way through the market to where there was someone selling booze. Thank god. Or Jesus. Or Saint Nicholas. He wasn’t all that picky. He’d slapped a coin down and accepted the spiced alcohol, wrinkling his nose a bit at that addition to perfectly good alcohol.

“Down the hatch, Bellamy,” he offered lightly, taking a long sip and breathing deep around the burn. Oh, someone was getting coal in their stocking this year.

Rubbing at his temple, Sasha glanced to the person next to him and felt like sighing. Well, back went on his performance face once more.

“Well, it looks like the whole town turned out tonight.”

Notes: Word count: 314 tagged: Open!
Created by Blitzy of Caution 2.0

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Jack Skinner
 Posted: Jun 12 2017, 07:14 PM
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December 24th, 1868
Marketplace
Evening


Lawful business had been slim for a while now, courtesy of the winter storms and freezing cold, and for most of his men this holiday was not a source of elation and roasting venison but rather self-loathing and meagre rations. Those who had not had traditions for this growing up viewed the upcoming festivities with trepidation and a healthy dose of scepticism, and Jack commended this outlook. Though his life arguably lacked in conventional traditions, Christmas had always been observed on the plantations and it had been an enlightening occasion for them all. While it depended largely on the hospitability of the owner, it was not unheard of for all individuals working the land to be granted temporary amnesty, allowing all colours to celebrate together, and this seasonal benevolence divided the actual employees.

Comparing the Tabor & Hurst men to slaves did neither party any service, but it was still not an entirely unjustified analogy.

Seemingly scrambling for status as a shining beacon of light to the world’s fortunates and unfortunates alike, Coalchapel mirrored a similar selfless intention and aspired for joy, meaning there was a bona fide itinerary detailing the numerous ways in which the town meant to ward off dread in favour of cheer – no matter how temporary. Apparently the need for purpose and unity superseded logic. Dangling carrots when there were no carrot patches around? Illusion only lasted for so long.

But today, he’d let them have it. Being given something beautiful and then having it taken away? Most effective.

After the tree had been properly decorated, no thanks to his encouragements, the foreman carried on with the actual festivity: The one in his inner pocket. Despite having had to still his whip at similar hours of the year before, this whole shebang stank of wholesome family entertainment and Jack stuck out like a sore thumb. Though that in itself didn’t bother him much, too used to it by now, his type of fun did not come written on an itinerary and it was merely a question of time before he had to create his own. In the meantime he could put up a front just like all these vendors, selling shit just like them.

A lady on the corner was clearly either strongly influenced by beverage or a clever actress; in spite of her fashionable coat and bearing her steps seemed to break wherever she thread, hence keeping not only him amused for a good minute but a fair collection surrounding him until he caught the whiff of something spicier, in addition to somebody referring to him as ‘Bellamy’. Turning on his heel to fix this fellow with an expression conveying confusion, for the most part, Jack narrowed his eyes. “Ain’t no Bellamy here.” There might very well be – he did not know the name of all the parishioners milling about; Bellamy had been a fairly common name down south – but he wasn’t about to do a role call.

Still, common courtesy wouldn’t have the man drink alone. Jack had a generous sip of his flask, content with his sociable excuse, and nodded after a quick glance around, though his dark eyes rapidly returned to this newfound conversation partner. “It does, don’t it? Sure is nice.

Notes: Gently taking this, slowly getting into the groove.
Word count: 540 Tagged: @Sasha Bellamy
Created by Blitzy of Caution 2.0
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Sasha Bellamy
 Posted: Jun 13 2017, 08:48 PM
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December 24th, 1868
Marketplace
Evening


Sasha glanced at the man next to him. His eyes were narrowed, which was a sure sign that Sasha had stepped in it again. Oh well, it was the price of doing business sometimes. He turned so that he was more fully facing the man and shrugged.

“I am afraid that I have the bad habit of taking to myself,” he offered, thinking it wasn’t a bad habit to have at all – after all, he was the best conversationalist that he knew. But in this case it had just been more of a companionship issue. He had no one to commune with but himself, even if this man seemed to think he’d been addressed. “Bellamy, at your service.”

He tipped his hat a bit, frowning as some snow he’d let one of the girls decorate the thing with spilled off onto the scarf he was donning. He looked very impressive, he was sure. Still, the secret of acting was to not let anything get to you, so he smiled instead of tossing it across the market and growling about having to get dressed up for a town event.

“And you are?” he asked, always believing that knowing who you were talking to was more important than what you said, especially when you were Sasha and prone to just rambling, potentially about that person unknowingly.

He was busy studying the man, noting he was smart enough to have a flask on him instead of being at the whim of the people serving Christmas themed alcohol. He’d considered it, but with his luck, he’d end up losing the thing on stage for the entire town to see. The only thing he was happy about was that his employer was in the church for the nativity where his baby was the star. The blonde devil was pleased with herself for popping it out before Christmas, he was sure. He was a bit bitter, but he’d live. There was alcohol in his hand, after all.

Sasha held in a huff of amusement. He did think that the entire town had shown up for the event, but nice wasn’t the word he’d use for it. Annoying, claustrophobic, crowded, unwanted...he could come up with several words that would suffice. Still, that wasn’t all that polite.

“I’m sure that it is nice for the town,” he offered mildly. “I think we should do this every Tuesday, right after happy hour.”

He took a sip of his drink, grinning a bit at his own comment. Oh, that would be quite the feat, he was sure. This little shindig took a lot of work to pull off once a year, let alone every week.

“I haven’t seen you around. Are you from here or just passing through?”

Notes: Word count: 465 tagged: @Jack Skinner Open!
Created by Blitzy of Caution 2.0


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Jack Skinner
 Posted: Jun 14 2017, 02:51 PM
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Miners

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December 24th, 1868
Marketplace
Evening


Bellamy, as it turned out, was not a reference to anybody but Bellamy himself. Oh, Jack had heard folks talking to themselves enough to know better than judge that particular trait, though he did indulge a wry smile. The man before him looked healthier than those he'd witnessed doing the same before, yet what a person looked like and what they were like often differed greatly. “I'm guessin’ you manage to keep from the worst arguments then.” In many ways it was perhaps a healthier approach to living than what he himself had a tendency towards. ‘Loud-mouthin' will only get you so far!’ his mother had scolded him once but wasn't he further away than ever? So he added, for good measure, “But, y'know, the primary reason to talk out loud is to communicate with others,” and winked.

Wasn't he a sociable fellow? The thought alone had his merriment up another notch, and when he introduced himself it was with an air of camaraderie not often afforded random strangers. “Jack Skinner, of Tabor & Hurst fame.” ‘Fame’ might be a bit presumptuous of him, but it was not presumptuous to believe most had heard of the company – and, by extension, him.

No matter how friendly the inflection of his introduction he did not tip his hat with the same enthusiasm though; not because he feared a similar downpour but because he, quite frankly, saw no need. He did bump it lazily from below with the knuckles of his non-occupied hand though, with ought be effort enough.

The amused expression remained on his face as Bellamy gently evaded outright agreeing that the festivities were, in his words, ‘nice’. If he wasn’t careful he might end up with a favourable opinion of this young one, no matter how short he was. They all were short, after all. “If you’re able to convince O’Shaughnesssy to sell his wares cheap, that might just be the best idea I ever heard.” It wasn’t quite though, because it’d be bad for business having his miners stumbling around in the dark even more literally. But at the same time spirits tended to lift spirits. He was fairly certain there was a reason why it was called ‘happy hour’.

Happy Hour might pull him into delightful conversations more often, which wasn’t necessarily beneficial to any party. “You haven’t? I walk around often enough, but you’ll have more luck findin’ me by the mines in the regular season.” Tilting his head, he pointed to Bellamy and commented, his smile turning less indolent and more impish, “If you know where that even is. You don’t look like you’ve done an honest day’s work in your life.

Word count: 446 Tagged: @Sasha Bellamy
Created by Blitzy of Caution 2.0
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Sasha Bellamy
 Posted: Jun 25 2017, 02:46 PM
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December 24th, 1868
Marketplace
Evening


Sasha was surprised to get a small smile from what the man said about his arguments. Oh, he was a quick one.

“You would think, but sometimes it can be much worse. At least you can walk away from others when they refuse to budge – you’re rather stuck with yourself.”

Oh and how often he would have liked to have walked away from himself in some of his darker moments. He supposed that was one thing that people had to just deal with in their lives. Thank god he was an actor, otherwise he would have been in the quite the state and everyone would have known about it. Still, he did understand where the other man was coming from about conversation. He found himself orating to others often for that reason.

“Well, there is that, though I find a well timed middle finger gesture can say more than a Shakespearean sonnet,” he offered with a wink of his own. He used to use that as part of his comedy routine, actually. It was far more memorable than “adieu and goodnight.”

Jack Skinner was not a name he knew. That wasn’t to say that the man wasn’t well known, that was just another indication that he didn’t spend a lot of time getting to know the people in Coalchapel, still thinking of himself as a drifter in this small town. He’d heard mention of Tabor and Hurst from the girls over at the Rose, mostly how sweaty they were and how terrible they were about tipping. He had to admit, this man did clean up nicely, and he looked like a tipper, so perhaps he hadn’t been introduced to the girls properly.

“A pleasure, Mr. Skinner,” he offered congenially, not indicating one way or the other whether he knew of the man. He found people who introduced themselves with fame didn’t want it any other way. “It’s lovely to have a real representative from the mine at the festivities.”

After all, that was something nice he could manage to say, he supposed. And by representative, he didn’t mean the fat cat who owned it, because they were rather annoying and tended to remind everyone that they had been responsible for parts of the festivities. He’d already run into those people tonight and he wasn’t all that interested in spending time with people who were hoping to carry on with that thread of conversation.

He did smirk when Skinner suggested that he should get the ball rolling on that weekly Tuesday night party. “Oh, Teague and I have a special relationship. I think we could come to an accord.”

By special relationship, he meant that when he chose to drink in the saloon, he also chose to entertain there, and it either went well or the man was taking a shot at him. He often didn’t remember unless he woke up with bruises the next morning. He was sure he could get some form of a deal, even if Teague was just trying to get him to shut up.

“I’m afraid I don’t venture out much,” he offered, taking another sip of the foul drink he’d been given. After all, why would he wander from his drinks and his whores? He worked hard not to let his face change expressions when the man suggested he’d never done a hard day of work. Oh, if only he knew. Sasha doubted this man would survive a week doing some of the things Sasha had forced himself to do. But this wasn’t a pissing contest.

“I do know where it is, but I have no urge to give up my life of leisure to hide under ground all day. It sounds like work much more suited for a mole,” he offered with a shrug to his shoulders. “But I suppose it’s alright for someone in your position. You yell all the orders, right?”

Notes: Sorry for the wait! Life got away from me!! Word count: 658 tagged: @Jack Skinner!
Created by Blitzy of Caution 2.0


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