Entry tags:

The Good, The Bad and The AU

Old West AU

Welcome to Dry River. You're a long way from home partner. It’s the mid 1800s and this dusty little frontier town isn’t much of a landmark but the local color might make your stay interesting.

Cut some cards at the rowdy saloon. Stay at the inn and pay for a little company. Or take a job as a farmhand if you just need to make a quick buck and buy your ticket out of here.

Keep your nose clean though. Train robbers, card cheats and bandits have been known to pass through these parts. But you wouldn’t know nothin’ about that, would you?

It’s a Wild West AU. Establish yourself as a local or a stranger and rustle up some adventure or romance.

Top Level

with your western AU scene and see what kind of trouble darkens your door. Check out some old timey professions and their associated tropes if you need to.

Comment

with your western AU characters and make yourself less of a stranger ‘round these parts.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Shame," she said, referring to both.

She stepped back a moment, as if assessing.

"Tell you what. How 'bout you give me a ride up to do my business - and in return, I'll get her back to the way she was the day she came out of the sheds. Better, even."

"Seems like an unfair trade," Betty said slowly, her smile betraying her - she wanted to be adequately suspicious, but the excitement of having her baby back was too tempting.

"What else would you be after?"

"That's only if you don't know how much I enjoy kicking the ass of the restless dead," she replied, hefting her weapon. Which ought to be the first hint about just how mad tonight is going to get.

And oooh, that was a pretty, pretty smile. The kind you'd like to see in the morning, with tousled hair and...focus, Jillian.

"Secondary and tertiary objectives after that," she said, carefully clamping up what had, for a moment, been an face obviously interested in something other than machinery.

"Besides, getting my hands on a lady like this would be a privilege."

There she went, goddamn blushing again. She spared a smirk, though. That was definitely the future.

"I think I'm going to enjoy watching this," she decided, and offered a hand to shake on the deal. "You need to get your stuff, then?"

She shook, eagerly, getting a little closer than she strictly had to, because eyes like that bore a careful examination. But then she practically danced back at the reminder.

"You definitely will," she said, making finger guns. "Gimme half an hour. Get the lady ready, slip on your dancing shoes, and if you want to get even more gorgeous, why not...because we're going to have ourselves a party tonight."

And as she practically skipped towards the door, she reflected that she was definitely bringing the pretty colors.

Betty watched her leave with a faint glimmer of exhilarated shock still coursing thtough her. It took a few seconds for her to regain her composure.

But she managed it eventually: set about pulling her machine out to the field at the back of the shed, carefully dusting out and extending the wings, filling up the balloon overhead, and dusting out all the controls.

By the time Holtzmann returned, she'd cleaned out the machine a lot more thoroughly than herself - but she had conceded to switch a shirt out for one whose pinned sleeve was much more carefully sealed - no loose parts to catch on machinery - and a leather vest for warmth.

But the furnace was starting and her own goggles were firmly in place as she peered towards the town.

It was short work to get to her equipment, but longer to select what she'd need. Betty added a new variable to the equation. She might have a glimmering of an idea of what was up there, but nothing could quite prepare a first-timer for the reality of it.

So she took up a carpet bag and started to add to it. A small backpack went into it, attached by a cord to what had once been a revolver, but now had an elongated barrel, reinforcing supporting rings around it - to hold it together - and where the revolver-y bits had been (she'd never bothered to learn gun names) here was an electrical relay capacitor.

Then the modified Ketchum Grenades - which at last she'd probably be familiar with. Probably not with the effect, though. They'd knock out normal humans just fine - but they'd be a real pain to the spectral helpers she was certain the ol' Dead Boss would have on-hand.

And just as she was about to leave, she hurried back to pull the bottle of whiskey out of her case, wrapping it in some newspaper and stowing that, too. Just in case, for later.

When she came back, she positively clanked.

"You sound heavy," Betty said dryly. At this point she had a thick leather strap around her waist and attached to the inside of the cabin so she could lean out without needing to use her only hand to steady herself.

She used it now, offering that hand to her new companion to either help her in or take the bag, whichever it was used for.

"What is all this crap?"

"Mother's little helpers," she said, taking the hand to help pull her up inside. Once there, she patted the carpet bag.

"Look, you seem to know how to handle things, but...it's going to get weird up there, so I better give you some basics."

She paused, putting her hands together in front of her mouth.

"So, ghosts are real, most of the occult is based in some form of reality, I swear I'm not crazy, we're going to go blow up a ghost today, you're probably going to want to help, which is great, and I don't have the time to explain the entirety of spectral physics and paranormal engagement technology to you, so basically just leave it at 'I kill ghosts' and also you're very pretty and I think you're fun so just getting that out of the way and making 100% sure I'm reading this whole 'we should maybe try kissing after' feeling going on."

She stopped for a breath and beamed. "So. Questions?"

Edited 2021-03-24 12:50 (UTC)

"Some questions."

Betty points very firmly at a leather seat built into the wall, between two levers, the inclination being get there and leave me to pilot. The same finger she used to point then gets held up to start counting. Three questions, each with the appropriate space between them for the answer.

"Did you bring me a weapon?"

And (more of a comment):

"Pretty sure you are crazy."

And:

"Just kissing?"

She slipped into the seat indicated, thunking her bag down next to her. Then, reassessing, sliding it opposite for better weight distribution.

"Of course I did, and it's my new baby, she'll treat you well."

She smiled.

"Maybe a little, but it's fun."

A bit of a grin.

"No, I just said that to be polite."

A considerable grin.

Betty grinned back, almost as wide, exhaling in a breathy laugh. Yeah, she's pretty sure this lady is crazy, and yes, she's flying her up there anyway for whatever crazy scheme she's got planned.

It'd be fun.

"Okay, I'll get her in the air and you're going to show me this weapon."

She turned back to the controls and, operating with one hand as smoothly and skillfully as any horseman with two hands on the reins, and the machine responded as smoothly as a horse would, huffing gas deeply into its silk lungs, roaring hotly, and shaking out its leather wing as they ascended up into the blue afternoon.

She waited for a moment, watching that takeoff, leaning her head on her hand. It was smooth. And her first airship ride. And she grinned. It was always nice to see a professional work. And such skill meant that her other thinking regarding Betty was more than justified.

And more than a little bit of a turn-on, really.

Once they were in a slow ascent, though, she leaned forward to pull the revolver and it's small capacitor backpack out of her bag.

"I call this," she said, putting it on her lap with one hand and gesturing in a 'ta-da' manner with the other, "the Ghost Colt. Fires a dense plasma shell that's actually a bit too large for the barrel which I redesigned to taper, so it squeezes, see, which gives it extra velocity and excites the mixture so the rounds only go live as they leave the barrel. It will pump holes into anything up to a Class Four spectre or free-floating vapor; though it doesn't dissipate them as much as my rifle does. Then, there's the grenades..."

She went on to describe them, too. Throw them at a wall, you might as well be splattering paint - but it would create no-go zones phantasms couldn't cross - to say nothing about if the detonation hit them. Blasting and herding, in one easy package.

"...it's kinda like a mobile, explosive salt circle," she finished.

Betty's eyes widened t the revolver, and a hungry smile flashed. The backpack got a skeptical look, but it could be adjusted and pinned around her armless shoulder, she figured. That or slung across like a bandoleer.

As for the grenades - she nods to a few hatches spaced evenly around the fuselage.

"I think we can manage to get those in convenient locations for our purpose," she said.

She is, in fact, already starting to work on that, casting looks over to eyeball measurements. It hadn't been designed with Betty in mind, but it soon will be.

"Shiny," she responds, and once she's made the necessary changes - a temporary pinning and she'll be thinking what a belt could do as well - she gets up and starts distributing them, tying strings to their activators.

"Aerial bombardment. The first air-to-spectre aerial bombardment. You really have a ridiculously attractive brain."

Half an eye on what Holtzmann was doing, and Betty was satisfied that she's thinking along the right lines. And beginning to feel mutually about the attractive brain.

"Hey, you made the Ketchums. I just have the equipment for them," she said, busy as she was with her flying, hand sliding easily from lever to rope, leaning into her strap like she was part of the machine herself.

But she has a moment to flick a grin in Holtzmann's direction. "Show me how attractive later."

"Promise," she replied, and then got down to business.

Once the Ketchums were ready, there was the matter of explaining the weapon. It could fire without the backpack, but that was what provided a steady supply of the plasma every time a new set of ammunition was inserted. And how it pulled to the left because of the structural reinforcements.

And that there were two replacement barrels in the backpack itself, because after about fifty to sixty shots, the barrel would be red-hot and on the verge of failure. Literally squeezing rounds had, alas, a cost.

"Help me out, then."

While cruising along, Betty took a moment to reach for the backpack, haul it over her head and adjust the strap. Much of it she could do herself after years of practice, but it always helps to have a whole pair of hands to assist.

The replacement barrels also had to be found a new home where she could reach them, but this was all relatively easy - albeit with a couple of breaks to get back to flying.

Once done, Betty had the revolver in her holster, having tried the grip and liking it so far. She wouldn't know exactly how it fired until they get there, but she was keen to find out.

She nodded out into the yellowing afternoon light at the rock formations ahead of them.

"His hideout was always around there."

Hands that may take just a little longer to do that than strictly necessary, but nothing outside the realm of double checking. She then checks over her own rifle, humming a half-remembered tune. And pulling out the last item from her own bag - a box with a handle, switch - and unidentifiable components.

She leaned in close to the pilot's seat, looking out into that.

"Ugh, so dramatic. What a shmuck. Probably only got worse when he got dead."

"Is that a thing that happens?"

She was genuinely interested, having never really encountered actual ghosts herself. Not in the literal sense anyway. "You die and suddenly get a taste for the melodrama?"

"Right, so, ghost primer," she said, folding hands in front of her face as she thought of what to include and drop.

"They're, like, a magnification of whoever you were in life? No friggin' clue why some people don't just cross over but there's a sort of...stripping away. Like, if you were cruel but tried to hide it, all the masks don't migrate over with you."

She sighed. "So this putz was likely already a dramatic sod in life - and now that he's dead..."

"Way I heard it he didn't try and hide his cruelty in life," Betty remarks. "NowI can buy him as a dramatic idiot though.

"Alright, sweetheart, where am I dropping these bombshells?"

"Then you're gonna be seeing some things today," she replied, with just a hint of grimness to her voice, "because it all shows in the appearance, too."

As for the rest...

"Honestly? I didn't know I'd have aerial dropping capacity. Maybe clear us a nice landing area? Somewhere we can fall back to that won't be filled with ghost if we need."

She pauses.

"Oh, and when we're down there...if I say duck? Do it fast."

"I seen things," Betty said with a touch more grimness herself. "Ain't nothing dead that can scare me."

Bold words, she knew, but she figured they were likely true.

As they approached she eyeballed a good flat area, and swung the machine around, dropping the grenades around in a perimeter. There were a few left, so she headed up to the peaks as well, dropped a few around to keep the ghosts within the area, if the Ketchums did as promised. Then she retreated down to the landing site.

She grinned as each grenade hit.

She pats her on the shoulder. It's what people always say, before they encounter mobile, hideous proof of the existence of an afterlife. It's not a matter of bravery or experience, more it's something that tends to read past down all a human being's defenses to something deep, and dark, and primal.

Something that came with human kind since they huddled around the fire at night, looking for glowing eyes in the dark. In short, she'll be more than a little surprised if she maintains that level-headedness the entire way.

But that sort of precision, given their altitude, and wind-speed.

"Well shit," she said, "you're even better than I thought." She leaned in, whispering in Betty's ear. "Yeah, I'm gonna do so much more than kissing."

Machinery, professionalism, a beautiful and clever lady? Tick off every box she has why don't you.

Old West AU

Top Level

Comment

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject