1910. It's early in the century and things are already looking up industrially, scientifically, economically, etc. And although it is ever shrinking, the "Wild West" still exists. Enter Hargrave.

A moderately sized town in between Salt Lake City and San Francisco, It boasts a "Large" population (around 19,000 in the settlements around the city.) It features a paved main street that, every once in a while, a Model T would go bouncing down. With lots of buildings and side streets, and a train station. The houses on the edge of town are beginning to spring up faster than the town itself can expand, which is excellent for the businesses within.

Even though civilization was spreading rapidly, the West was still wild from there until San Francisco, and some of the wildest of men called Hargrave their home.

The city was plagued by the rule of crooked, corrupt men. Sheriff Bohannon was the worst of them, making his money by collecting "protection" money from the settlers, shop owners and whatnot, to protect them from the likes of the Clifton gang, the Red boys, the Johnny rebels and the Banditos. Who, in turn, paid the Sheriff to turn a blind eye to most of the heinous acts they committed. A vicious cycle never broken.

Until three ex-outlaws show up.

OoC// Alright! Welcome to another one of my roleplays! Some rules to cover!

[Spoiler= Rules]
1.) Normal Subeta rules apply, don't get us in trouble here.
2.) Violence is a must, language will be present, especially from me, romance is encouraged. It IS a western, after all!
3.)Semi-lit and up. I understand perfectly writers block and whatnot, but a paragraph a post is easy. [/spoiler] 

[Spoiler= Characters!] Characters here! I expect at least a skeleton with a paragraph on history. But, if you'd like to introduce your character in a much better way, go for it! I'll deduce what I can from it, pull the information that is needed and make a skeleton and post it here! My characters will be introduced in this fashion later! [/spoiler]

[spoiler= plot] This will be filled as we go, so people who want to join late rp can read this for a quick run down. [/spoiler]

@Jack_in_the_box @xAvarice @Vintage888 @Goldy @Rii @shylarah @TheMinorFall @Spikedheart #written

(( Not really my scene, but thanks for the invite.))

I'll give it a shot, never done a western (or non fantasy) before, no skelly tonight though, I have a killer headache

((I will be introducing a character later - I will definitely join :) ))

(( I am in of course I am! But I'll wait for someone else's introduction post so I can figure out who to play))

OoC// Yeah, I didn't start my characters because it was late, and I was drunk lol.

Neat! Glad you're sticking around! Introducing my characters now.

Also, there's two points in time that you can introduce your characters at. This scene on the train will take place about a week before the start of our story. You can introduce your characters here on the train, or in Hargrave. I'll post a few posts to set the tempo of this RP.

Steam filled the platform as the train came screeching to a halt, the clouds hanging around momentarily in the chilly February air. Three men stood close to each other, eyeballing the train as they spoke, scarves covering their faces just like everyone else around. They each wore a suit, all different colors, with a different kind of hat to match. The shortest, yet stoutest, man spoke first.

"Alright, Sarah said in her letter that our horses and gear will be near the 52 mile marker outside of Dallas, near a tree. That's where we make our play." The tan suited Brian McMinn said with a heavy, HEAVY Irish accent, his emerald green eyes continued to scan the train and each of its passengers. He was far shorter than both his brothers, standing at 5'2. But he was 5'2 wide (not literally, but he was STOUT.) with wide, heavy hands and big, thick arms. He was the brawler of the brothers, the one who enjoyed fist fighting the most. Don't get the brothers wrong, though. They all enjoyed a good fisticuff every now and then. The tan flat cap he had covering his intensely red, curly hair had a razor blade sewn into the bill, so he could headbutt his foes. Thick mutton chops adorned his face, complementing the crooked, repeatedly broken nose. He was the middle brother, at age 24, and he had a sawn off double-barreled shotgun slung on his back, and a Schofield model revolver on his side.

"Right. There are a few armed guards towards the back, ran by two Pinkertons, making their numbers eight. And, of course, this is Louisiana, and we ARE heading west, so everybody on this train will probably have a gun. Most won't try to be a hero, though." Replied Patrick McMinn with an accent just as heavy, the youngest of the McMinn brothers at the age of 19, his piercing blue eyes scanning the caboose of the train. He smoothed out his grey suit, repeatedly touching the handles of the two colt Single action army revolvers he had on his belt. He was one of the show-offy gunslingers, who would twirl and juggle the two black-handled revolvers like a circus act, smiling and laughing as he did. He was a handsome young man, whose smooth talk and winking could woo even the toughest of women. He sported no facial hair, and the mousey brown hair under the bowler hat he wore was parted and swept to the right. He was of average height and weight at 5'8.

"Eight men. Easy. This will be our last heist. After this we will be honest men." Said Ruarc McMinn, the eldest and tallest brother, at 28 and 6'3. He was skinny as a rail, but tough as nails. You couldn't tell by his quiet demeanor, his choice to remain silent in most situations, but he was the meanest of the three. Cold, calculating, and one of the quickest and most accurate men with a fire arm of any sort, especially with the ivory handled Schofield he had strapped to his lower thigh. A green four leaf clover carved into the ivory, he could clear leather, shoot you, and have it holstered again before your corpse could hit the ground. And he was silently proud of this fact, and the quickest to jump straight to shooting someone. His brown eyes looked sideways, eyeballing some man who were walking onto the train, his shoulder length black hair blew slightly in the breeze, his black top hat holding it down, tilted to the right to make a statement, a statement of "I don't give a shit." He had a narrow nose, a narrow face, and a narrow mustache. "We will need different names after this. McMinn is already on every lip around here, it'll be worse for us out there. Let's go." He said, and they boarded the train.

OoC// I'll post the second half of the intro after someone else posts theirs.


@Jack_in_the_box @xAvarice @Vintage888 @TheMinorFall @Spikedheart #written

ooc: Drinks sound reeeeallllly nice right now. Kinda wish I had one. I'm not too into realistic-styled roleplay and prefer the fantasy-genre <3 thanks though :)

Just in front of the three gentleman was a pretty young woman carrying a large traveling case and small rucksack. She stopped just inside the car to get her bearings - which would hold up those behind her - and take off the wide-brimmed hat she wore; sun-bleached blond hair tumbled down to her shoulders. She was a little short, maybe around 5'1, but by no means small. In fact, it looked like she did some sort of physical labor as a living. Probably some sort of ranch hand, judging by the heeled boots she wore. She wasn't in a dress, either, but rather in a leather vest over a white long-sleeved, button-down shirt and khaki, straight-legged pants. After a moment, she seemed to realize what she was doing, and glanced at the men behind her with an apologetic smile.

"Pardon me, gentlemen, I didn't mean to hold y'all up." She pulled her ticket out of a pocket. The closest brother would be able to read her name over her shoulder: Alice Wolfe. She quickly swung her clunky case into one of the day carriages that were near the door, and then up onto the carriage rack. Finally, she was going home! No more relatives and dealing with questions and (wrong) accusations... Sighing heavily, she reached into her rucksack and pulled out a Sherlock Holmes book to reread again so that the time would go quicker. Luckily she had a few other books with her, including a sketchbook and a pen if she saw anything particularly eventful. Maybe those three men from earlier? Smiling, she quickly stuffed the book back into the bag in favor of the sketchbook and pen, and quickly got to doodling them down. She made sure to leave blank space on either side to include a story about the three if it struck her; they had all been a very interesting-looking bunch, after all, and it was fun to imagine ordinary strangers in extraordinary situations.

OoC// Aw, alright. This post was one I needed, though, to continue introducing the McMinns.

As they boarded the train, they passed 3 wanted posters nailed to the wall, all with their likenesses on the front. "Wanted!" Above, and "Dead or Alive" Below their faces. Each one had their own crimes listed underneath, but they all had two in common. Murder and Train Robbery of multiple accounts. The prize? $10,000 apiece. Ruarc grinned under his scarf. It had gone up two grand since he last checked.

The brothers never kept too much of the money or loot they stole from the trains. They viewed themselves as modern day Robin Hoods, stealing from the rich and giving to the Irish immigrant community in the Five Points in New York, where they called home for 6 years. But instead of slinging arrows, they were slinging bullets.

Patrick sat down first, tilting his head down to hide his face further, and the other brothers continued to the next car. Brian sat down next, taking this opportunity to catch a quick nap. Ruarc continued on to the last car before the caboose. He noted that this is where the soldiers and Pinkertons were sitting. He sat down, facing the door, and looked out the window. He opened his pocket watch. In a few hours is when they would strike.

The train rode straight through Dallas, and soon, the 57 mile marker streaked by. Patrick got up and made his way towards the back. As he passed Brian, he kicked his brother's boot. Brian woke with a start, and got up to follow. The other folks on the train watched as the two suited men strode by, faces covered, guns shining in the light. They stepped through the last few sets of doors, and the soldiers and Pinkertons looked up as Ruarc stood. There was a tense moment of silence as the soldiers assessed the men. The McMinns drew their pistols.

In an instant, the Soldiers and Pinkertons died in a hail of bullets from the three experienced killers, none even clearing their holsters before they died. Patrick turned around in the doorway, pulling on the handle to de-link the car from the rest of the train, men in the other car standing to see what was happening. Patrick waved and grinned as the train began to pull away, Ruarc pulling the other handle, the emergency brakes for the car. Brian chuckled as he stepped over the pile of corpses in the middle of the isle. "Poor bastards didn't even know what THE HELL." He shouted as another man sprung from the caboose, a Bowie knife in hand. Brian struggled with the man, punching him with his meaty fists before throwing the man over his shoulder, he made to stab the man with his own knife before another shot rang out. Ruarc stood, pistol barrel smoking. He popped the pistol open, the empty casings flying everywhere. He reloaded quickly, closing the pistol shut. He spun it around his finger once as he holstered the pistol. Brian scowled. [B]"I had it under control, ya arsehole!"[/b] He shouted, and Ruarc eyed him coolly."Obviously. Let's get this money and get outta here. We have a long ride ahead to Utah. Got the TnT?"

Patrick stepped into the caboose, which had a safe and some covered crates. He stuck a stick of TnT in between the handle and the door of the safe, and lit the fuze with a match. Brian backed out of the caboose, accidentally pulling a tarp away from the crates, which were marked "TNT!" The three men looked at the lettering, each other, then the door. They scrambled for the exit, tripping over corpses and each other. They jumped from the train car and hauled ass towards some rocks, which they all dove behind.

There was a deafening boom as the caboose disappeared in a shower of splinters, and the three men watched as the safe sailed through the air towards the very tree they needed to be at, money raining from the now cracked hunk of metal. Patrick looked over the rocks, and laughed. "That's one way ta do it, I guess!" He snatched bills floating from the air, and started picking them up off the ground. The other brothers followed suit. Brian let out his bellowing laugh, and Ruarc grinned. They were done with this life style for good. Onward to Hargrave, where their names (although they wouldn't go by McMinn anymore) were surely never spoken of. It would take them a week to get there, by then, word had spread of their heist.

-d-

@Jack_in_the_box  @Vintage888 @TheMinorFall @Spikedheart  @Goldy @Rii

(( methinks...my character will be introduced in the city, although they will have just arrived and started settling in NOW, the same time as this train robbery. So they will be new to the city too.))

((I'm really interested in this RP, and I'll probably post my character in the morning. I'm probably not gonna get into the TT RP though, since I'm not a fan of canon character RP's))

OoC//

Sounds good! Interested in who you'll be bringing into this RP.

Excellent! Also, your opinion on the TT rp seems to be the concensus on it, might make it TT/ DC universe rp by name only. The theme AND locations are there, people with superpowers and whatnot. Will edit all that stuff later

A number of fancily dressed men shuffled in their seats, put off by the curious sight before them. A young Chinese-American man casually sat in his seat, reading a newspaper. He was used to the sideways looks he would get, and didn't pay much attention to the richer folk. He scanned his papers with his hazel-brown eyes, looking for anything of interest. Large bounties would occasionally pop up in the papers, which would usually catch his attention. He idly swept away the shaggy raven black hair on the edge of his vision as he continued to look for any articles of interest. He stood at about 5'10" with a muscular, albeit slim frame. A shiny Springfield m1903 adorned his back, equipped with a WM Malcolm scope that was mounted from the bolt to just before the end of the barrel. On his side gleamed a S&W revolver that saved his life a countless number of times. On his left thigh was a curved oriental knife, sheathed in a fitted piece of bamboo.

Bounty hunting wasn't the heroic life Shen imagined it would be. Sure, he'd get a large sum of money for a few months, but bounties that could actually sustain him for that long were too rare or too dangerous to keep up with. Most of these bounties weren't even on actual criminals either, just honest folk that usually got in the way of some rich folks' way. He constantly found himself needing to turn in multiple small bounties, and then still wouldn't have enough cash left to buy himself lunch and sometimes dinner. He supposed that was on the account of not being able to spend his money well, however.

The train stopped as Shen's eyes came across an enormous bounty in the papers. Three Irish men, each by the last name of McMinn had ten thousand dollars on their heads. With that kind of money, Shen could buy a house, an automobile, and still have cash left over! He decided to tear the bounty out, fold it up, and put it in his leather vest's pocket. He'd have to ask around once he got to Hargrave. That being said, a mob of new train-goers entered, and the man could've sworn he saw one of the brothers, but he assured himself it was just the excitement of getting a new bounty.

Once the train was on its way, two suited men entered Shen's car. Their faces were hidden, so he couldn't exactly make out any of their features. They looked sketchy, but the young man didn't make anything of it. Not many people these days wanted to be recognized anyways. Nevertheless, Shen decided to follow them, making sure to keep one train car in between him and the two men. It wasn't long until he could faintly see the two of them stop in a car full of soldier. Next thing he knew, Shen heard gunshots ring out, and only three men were still standing. He rushed through the train car in front of him, pushing past the men oggling at the scene before them as more distance seperated the two cars.

Shen slammed the door open and upholstered his Springfield. He had one shot to kill one of the men. He lined it up with the tallest of the men, and just as he pulled the trigger, the train bounced as it crossed a new track. Shen's bullet deflected off the top right corner of the seperated train car. "Damn it!" The Chinese-American man shouted. He knew that this was his only chance to catch the brothers, and he blew it. But then again, he couldn't exactly just jump off the train to confirm the man's death. Shen took out the bounty from his pocket and ripped it up.

[ill be posting soon, after conferring with you.]

Des boarded the train solemnly. He made no moves to stand out, nor to go unnoticed. To the untrained eye, he was just a normal citizen of Lousiana. If anything, his clothes and cleanliness might give him attention, but hopefully only that of the beggars. He maintained a neat appearance always as his father had taught him. The man was in the army too long and raised Des as such. Now he wore his father's clothes. Those in the ground have no need of them. They were quite nice at one time, but a few years of wear gave them an unavoidable worn look. He was conscious of this always, smoothing and adjusting his white shirt after draping his charcoal-colored longcoat upon the empty seat next to him. He straightened and smoothed his black, leather vest, and dusted off slacks. They were slightly tight on his legs, but he liked the fit. Plenty of mobility without extra cloth to get in the way. He was just a bit more muscular than his lanky father, but the clothes were practically made for him. As was the modified Colt SAA that lay strapped to his right thigh in a holster designed to hide all but the carved, ironwood grip. It too was his father's.

If the old man could see was Des had become or the reputation he had gained, the man might have turned in his grave. But times were hard. A man had to make a living.

Des put thoughts of his father out of his mind. A task lay before him, and reminiscing was distracting. He took in as much as he could. Many of the passengers were armed, but some were more blessed than others. A Chinese man with a rifle, and three men with hidden faces that could only be criminals by the look. They were dressed too nicely to be hiding their identity, and one was too thick in stature not to be a fighter. It was only a hunch, but Des was not often wrong about such things.

He noticed the Chinese man pouring over news papers. He was scanning too quickly to be simply seeking knowledge of the world. That coupled with his dress and weapon, Des deduced he was a bounty hunter. The removal of wanted prints from his papers solidified this observation.

Des found himself intrigued by the man, and chose to watch him closely in addition to surveying the car.

When shots rang out and the man had moved, Des followed ever so quietly, despite the heeled Lester shoes he wore. Unlike many mercenaries, he kept himself devoid of excess items that might jingle or otherwise reveal his movement or position. Takashi had taught him this, among other things while he was in the orient. After the Marksman's mark was not met, Des approached, allowing his footfalls to be heard.

"Reckon they got away from that one. C'mon back. I venture to say you'll have yerself another chance at a later occasion. Until then, let's have us a whiskey." He said, a Tennessee accent burdening his speech. It was a farce, another measure to conceal his already well-hidden, true identity. Such an identity would only be revealed at the drawing of his pistol; a well known arm by the name of "Last Word" to those familiar with the tale of the Demon of the West.

Alice had drawn a good portion of her picture already, pretty quick with a pen, and was just starting to consider what their legs should look like when she heard the gun shots. Her pen flew across the cabin and her sketchbook clattered to the floor as she jumped up; she didn't have any guns herself, but that didn't stop her from bolting down the hallways.

She quickly made her way through the cars until she saw the two who must've seen what happened. Which was exactly what she asked them: "What the hell happened?"

Suddenly, the man in the black vest registered in her mind. She'd been looking up when he passed by her... Was he part of this? Probably not, given neither of them actually looked like they knew what happened. She made mental notes of both of them, nonetheless, to be added to the sketchbook. It didn't cross her mind that the three men she had just been drawing might've been the ones behind the gunshots.

OoC// Going to jump forward a week as soon as everyone makes a post or two, whether it's introducing your character, or answering a post you already have.

Des peered at the girl with interest. His crystal blue eyes locked on her hands, they were smudged by ink. This was an inevitable mark of an artist, but she was strong. He could see she had put work in somewhere. It was likely she was looking for work, but equally likely she was running from it.

"Seems the train's been robbed." He said matter-of-factly as he walked past her. Once in the next car, he pulled his best down taught, and gave his hair a quick palpating. His head had be seen a haircut in a few months, but his straight, thin, black locks were clean and neat. He didn't bother to comb or style it. There was no need. He returned to his seat with or without the Asian marksman and hailed on of the train attendants who were walking around with a trolley of goods that most of the passengers couldn't afford.

"Yes, Mr. Lloyd?" The man asked through a thick, bushy mustache.

"Please, call me Des. I'll have three whiskeys." He replied. If the others didn't follow, he would have to drink them all by himself. He smiled, not offended by such a notion in the least. Perhaps he might catch a nap on this train. The sun was too bright, despite the February clouds.

ooc/ I will wait until they're in town, I've been busy with work and car searching

Shen was still reeling a with the thought of losing thirty thousand dollars. It wasn't often that the half-Chinese man missed, coming down to about a one in one thousand chance under normal circumstances. He sighed, pulled the bolt back, loaded a new round in next to the others, and slammed the bolt back with a little more vigor than he intended. Closing the door, he proceeded holster his Springfield, get up from his kneeling position, and brush off his white shirt and denim pants.

At this point, a well-suited gentleman spoke behind Shen, assuring him he'd get another chance at the thirty thousand dollars, as well as offering a drink. The young marksman nodded as another individual arrived, asking what happened, in addition to all the other men and women asking the same question. The darkly-dressed gentleman gave the most simple answer, announcing the train was robbed. "I was robbed of three thousand dollars, more like." The young man muttered under his breath. The woman was strangely dressed, as she was wearing a cowboy's outfit rather than a dress. Shen wasn't exactly the one to talk, however, considering you didn't see many Chinese men wearing a white man's outfit. Nevertheless, he followed the suited man, too upset to turn down the offer of alcohol.

Robbed... The though tumbled around in Alice's head as she watched the two men go past her, and listened as the one ordered three whiskeys. Obviously one was for the Chinese man next to her, but the other must've been... for her? She had been the first on the scene after all. She stepped into the room after them, starting to get a little excited.

"So y'all must've seen what they looked like, right? The robbers? Holy hell, fellas..." She sat herself beside the window, sitting across from the man in the suit. This was by far the most interesting thing that had happened to her! What an interesting story to tell her family when she got home! And one that would probably sound a lot better with some embellishments; she pulled a pen and small pad of paper out of one of her vest pockets, quickly starting to scribble already. "Pardon me for writing, but I can be a tad forgetful..." she mumbled as she wrote.