when death rides a horse — open.

[BROCK.]

[align=center][div style="width: 470px; text-align: justify; font-family: andale mono; font-size: 7pt; letter-spacing: 2.5px; word-spacing: 1px; line-height: 14px;"]It had been a blusterous day, the sun sitting askew within the sky as if the breeze had left it somewhat tilted. With a rigid, limping gait, Brock prowled down the main street of Alexandra, dust billowing as boots thumped across the dirt road. A mean scowl sat atop his lips, yet it was near impossible to deny the way his heart slammed against his chest. ❝ There’s a man and woman that say they’re looking for ya, Chief! ❞ A toothless rancher had announced through panted breaths only a few minutes prior as he ran to the Chief’s quaint farmhouse on the other side of the ghost town. ❝ A lad and lass named Layne and Gemma. You know them? ❞ Brock’s breath had hitched in the back of his throat, dark eyes sternly darting towards the rancher as he glowered his way.

❝ Sorry, Chief. I just thought, y’know— ❞ ❝ Where are they? ❞ ❝ just thought that you maybe— ❞ ❝ Boy. Where are they? ❞ ❝ It just seems like maybe they ain’t good people if you look so worried ‘n’ all, maybe I should’ve brought them with me and— ❞ ❝ My God, it feels as if it’s Groundhog Day ‘cause I keep having to ask you the same goddamn question. Where the hell are they?! ❞ The rancher grimaced, his awkward fumbling earning a glare from Brock as he pulled himself up onto his feet with a grunt. ❝ By the saloon, Sir! Sorry about that! Y’know what it’s like when there’s so much happenin’ and it’s such a quiet town, it’s just a bit overwh— ❞

With a short sigh and shake of his head, Brock walked away from the conversation, exasperated and on edge as he anticipated trouble. Calloused hands felt for the two pistols that sat on either side of his hips as he turned the corner, and then his arms fell to his side again upon noticing Layne and Gemma in his town, the blond man peering into the saloon through its window. ❝ How are you doing today, Miss? ❞ Brock greeted Gemma with a tense glower, keeping some distance away from the pair. The blond man lifted his head to look over towards Brock, closed lips giving Brock a hint of a sneering smile before he asked, ❝ So, how are the goods you stole off me? ❞ 

Straight to it. At least they wouldn’t have to settle for any artificial formalities beforehand. ❝ Which one? ❞ Brock returned with a fake, toothy grin. Just daring to provoke the duo. Layne’s lip twitched with a great level of self-restraint, glancing towards Gemma before looking back towards Brock. ❝ My livestock. ❞ ❝ Oh, why do you have to make this all about you? Look around you, we’re living in the New World. It’s changing, it’s evolving; I’m just changing with it. So what are you going to say now? ❞ Layne grimaced and after a couple of seconds of thought he murmured, ❝ My father is as good as dead because of you. You’ve ruined everything for him. Everything for me. ❞ Layne shook his head with contempt, eyes like daggers as they stared across at the man in the dark coat who had taken everything from him.

Brock scoffed. ❝ No, what I don’t think you understand is that you seem to think that, in the New World, everyone gets to live and everyone gets to win. Don’t get me wrong, that’s one hell of a cute mindset… But it’s a lie, isn’t that right, Gemma? It’s a dog eat dog world out there. You’d know a lot about that, yeah? ❞ He provoked, waiting to see how long it would take before one of them would crack. After all, practicing self-restraint in the midst of the lion's den showed great strength. If either of them were to make any extreme moves, Brock was certain that his people would stand up for him in an instant. ❝ So tell me... The hell are you doing here on my land? ❞