9 O'clock on a Saturday (Open)

Sureshot cast a sideways glance to the scruffy pegasus, and drew a wry smile, his right eye widening.

"You must forgive my concomitant accomplice, Wesson-san. He gets rather shy when contemplating his history."

Sureshot poured a drink out of the bottle into each glass. He wondered when the old fuzzy feeling would finally begin.

"I suppose it's understandable, though. If I had abandoned a close group of highly talented mercenaries, on the wrong side of a Neighponese revolution, taking their pay for the job with me, I would be a little...apprehensive...of telling about it."

Sureshot slammed the dark swirly liquid in the glass down his thoat, and set the glass back down. He eased his chair away from the table, his left eye thinly gazing, his right open wide.

"And I'm positive I wouldn't want anypony hearing about some botched honorable fratricide. That's something about which I should hope nopony learns."

Rozencratz walked back towards his bar. Now he knew something was up between the ponies, but they knew not to start anything. Not unless they wanted a bloodthirsty predator at their throats, that is. Deciding not to walk around, he let his wings out and flew over the top of his bar, landing on the other side. He looked down at his halberd that lay there, the designs on the handle and blade reminding him of his past life. A more complicated time.

One of the ponies said something that also reminded him of his past. "Talented group of mercenaries eh?" He said quietly, in his northern language. "Be they weren't as good as us, he White Scars." He said, chuckling silently. Although he heard about this Neighponese revolution. One of his former team-mates fought in the revolution. It was, as he heard, quite violent. He looked up at the group, keeping his eyes on the ponies.

Smith Wesson was quite good with a poker face, staying unmoved by most of the explanation, but upon hearing the word 'fratricide,' his eyes widened a little.

The more he heard about the pony beside him, the more he seemed so familiar. War, murder, stealing...
It suddenly clicked in his mind where Wesson had seen him before; a wanted poster. The details and name escaped him at the moment but he recognised the face.

Suddenly, he noticed his close proximity to the pony and mentally cursed. He couldn't move away without alerting suspicion and seeing how fast the pegasus was with his blade, Wesson doubted even his own gunslinging abilities.

Holding his glass, Smith Wesson spoke to him.
"Ya know, Ah think I seen your face around town. And from what your compadre here just told, Ah reckon you got some explainin' to do. So why don't ya start talkin'..."

Glass shattered over the floor as Silver's glass seemed to half fall, half project itself from Silver as he turned to face Sureshot. For a moment, his teeth grinded, teeth baring and eyes narrowed. But the moment quickly passed before he drooped his head down under his hat.

Again, Silver offered no explanation to Wesson. With the growing silence of the moment, he laid back and reached slowly to his vest. To any pony, it was as if he was slowly reaching for a weapon underneath, but what was underneath was no more than a simple harmonica. The beaten and aged instrument was tethered to a cord that was around his neck under the vest, keeping it secure to him like a treasure. Head still lowered, he brought it to his mouth and played a simple tune to himself in his silence.

Sureshot got up slowly from his seat, leaving his glass and deftly walked behind Silver as he played his song. He knew this tune well.

As he walked, he addressed Smith. "Wesson-san, I'm going to be nice enough to tell you this now." He shot a quick glance back at the bushpony over his shoulder.

"Run. This pony has seen war, death and hatred like you'll be incapable of fathoming. Most of it by his own hoof. The Neighponese revolution was simply one of a few chapters of mine in it."

He adjusted the brim of his cap and straightened his duster. "This pony you're thinking, I'm sure, of trying to take in is worth quadruple his bounty. The fact that that he killed his own blood, why, that's hardly the crowning jewel. I helped this crusty pegasus run a slaving train. 34 lawcolts and mares died the day they tried to stop our second shipment. There were newspapers published about the the bank robbery a decade ago. The one where the tellers were bandaged with bombs? That was my brainchild. Oh, but he gave it such flawless execution. We barely escaped, our haul was so heavy from that one."

He turned, adjusting his weapon under its drapes. "We were a force stronger than a dust storm, more ruinous than drought. He never thought to name us, but after a little while, the towns simply knew us as the Bloody Stampede. Slavers, extortionists, assassins and thieves without equal."

"There were plenty of jobs, plenty of rewards, and we reaped all of them. And before the dust cloud, well, there was this colt. But when we took us all down to Neighpon to help defend the town, something changed. He left us, HIS OWN GANG, holding the bag to become a samurai! To "restore" his honor! As if there was any hope of it left to him. He killed his cousin, ran off with our compensation, and left us to pay for his negligence."

He walked over to the griffon behind the bar, and dropped a bag overly heavy with bits on the iridescent knotty surface.

"For the drinks, and the damage." he said to the scarred eagle-faced creature.

He looked back at Silver, finishing out the last few bars of his song. "Between your cousin, that crazed ex-lover of yours, and you, I'm not sure which is better off dead."

Smith Wesson merely sat in silence the whole time, listening to the unicorn. The tales he recounted actually resurfaced memories of Wesson hearing about such news in the past. He had never really noted the details but now he was being told them again, he remembered perfectly.
And the ponies to blame for it all were right in front of him.

Wesson was conflicted inside. Half of him wanted to attempt to take both of them in to the sheriff, but knowing just how skilled and deadly they both were, he was unsure if he could take one in, let alone two.
The other half wanted to leave, to 'run,' just as had been suggested to him. But Wesson was a stallion who prided himself on doing justice whenever he could. Leaving would mean going against his self-set moral code.

He cast one last sour look at the unicorn and the pegasus, before he slowly stood up from his seat and spoke gravely.

"Ah'm sure we all know where we stand with this. Let me tell ya; I'll be seeing both of you again. Until then, try not to cause trouble in Appleloosa. These ponies don't need none of it."

Then Smith Wesson tilted his stetson in a gesture of farewell, before leaving the bar.

Rozencratz looked with his eagle eyed gaze as one of the ponies left his bar. Confident that the bits that was given to him was more than enough to cover all of their drinks, he did not react in the slightest. He reached for a rag and began to mindlessly clean drinking glasses.

His attention, however, was still on the two ponies. After what had transpired, he knew these were two ponies one would not want to mess with. Too bad, neither was he. He contemplated doing something about those two. He slowly reached down for his halberd, but decided against it. He moved to Equestria to leave his violent life behind, not start a new one. Besides, he had done his fair share of dirty deeds, and knew there might probably be a big bounty on his head back home. Still, he focussed on them, if anything just to make sure that they did not cause any more trouble.

As Silver finished his playing, he let the harmonica fall to his chest, hooves slowly lowering to the ground. What limited amount of his face that was show was unreadable. He gradually sat up, paying little care for Wesson's leave. He was relived that there was one less pony in the picture.

"What do you want?" Silver said, turning to Sureshot sharply. Clearly agitated by the story telling session.

Outside, a shuffling of a number of hooves could be heard. A small crowd was gathering.

Sureshot continued to stare at Silver. Unable to read his face, Sureshot could read the tone of the grey pegasus well enough. The taunting was not going to pull Silver out of his shell, but the recollection of his history had piqued him well enough. Now it was time to get down to business.

Sureshot trotted over to the table, ignoring the growing crowd outside. Taking hold of the half empty bottle, he stared at Silver's hidden face. "I want you to pay for it. You left us hanging, a couple quite literally. No amount of shiny bits is going to make up for what you did to us, though."

"Eye for eye, you don't have enough to give. And the task at hand was never completed." He opened the bottle with his magic and took a swig. "What I want, is for you to help finish the job. You opened a can of worms, and ran away. The project is much bigger now, too."

Sureshot took another swig and eyed around the room. The card players were collecting their winnings, and the other two were beginning to laugh at some joke. A shame, he thought. He hunkered down in front of Silver, dangerously close. "You're coming back with me to Neighpon, and you're going to finish the job. The blood of those colts we ran with is on your hooves."

Rozen continued his duties, checking over everything he had behind the bar. His chef was now seated and a table near the bar, the large earth only munching away at a sandwich. The griffon's icy cold glare looked out towards the door, where a large crowd was growing. Why the crowd was gathering was beyond Rozencratz's guess, but it did pique his curiosity.

He wanted to walk to the door to see exactly what was happening. But his common sense stopped him. The tension between the two ponies seemed to be growing again. He definitely did not want to leave two armed ponies who want to kill each other alone in his saloon. Instead, he continued to wipe down his bar and keep and eye on the two.

Silver stared back at Sureshot as he would any pony he hated but would not kill. He stared with the brim of his hat tilted down, hiding any readable eyes. The stallion kept himself as unreadable and unnoticeable as possible whenever possible. Only one thing he did was an exception to that.

Several angry looking ponies came into the saloon. They looked greedy and anxious as they scanned the place before setting eyes on Silver and Sureshot.

"There! There is that wanted pony! He must have killed the lawpony. I think that bounty just went up a little more. " Said one.

Sureshot snapped his glance to the approaching group. With a slow smile, Shotshot looked back to Silver.

"Well well! Normally, this would be a perfect opportunity for me to escape, but I happen to need you." Sureshot rose quickly, cantering back around the table. "Don't leave me doing all the work now, Old Mare. You'll need me too."

Sureshot took the half-empty whiskey bottle in hoof, and flung it toward the face of the closest posse pony, while he drew up his rifle from under his duster and leveled it at the speaking pony.

Rozencratz was immediately on this. He knew there was going to be a fight, no matter what, so there was no use just yelling. He quickly lifted up the trap door that was under his feet. This was no ordinary storage room, this is where he kept the memories of his past.

Rozencratz emerged seconds later, used to getting ready in a hurry. Clutched in his claws was his trusty halberd, and hanging by his side was a shortsword. He did not wear his armour, although he knew the master crafted scales would have protected him, he did not have the time to don them. Instead he had to trust in his speed and skill to protect him. He did, however, have his helmet on. The helmet was modelled after the head of a dragon, it's face contorted in a permanent snarl to intimidate his enemies. He walked over to the commotion and leveled his halberd. "Alright, you all get out of my tavern, or else!" He said.

The crowd of trouble making ponies instantly were roused to act at the throwing of the bottle and the rifle being raised. Their attention on Sureshot. That was the moment for Silver to act.

The backdoor may or may not be locked. Escape through the front door would involve fighting, and if he went to the back first, he would lose Sureshot in all likely hood and only corner himself in a worse spot than before.

In one fluid motion, Silver turned his head and grasped his sword, drawing it out quick and hurling it at the pony whom would have been the quickest to draw his weapon. His sword impaled in him, Silver let his wings spring with his hooves and power him toward the edge of the group nearest him. A quick pivot before before impacting with a pony ensured his spurs tore through a significant portion of his neck. Now next to the first fallen pony, he reclaimed his sword and spun around with assistance of his wings to slice at the next pony in range, throwing a red mess into the air. Despite the seemingly reckless killing, his eyes were always on the search for who could be the most immediate threat. Speed was his weapon, and none of these ponies would be able to react in time with the bodies piling up faster than they could get around them.

With certain coolness, Sureshot's right eye widened. His hoof pulled back on the trigger with calculated ease. A boom resonated through the bar, rattling the chandeliers. The formerly-speaking pony fell backwards into a rapidly expanding pool of blood; a hole in his head gushed. "One," Sureshot stated, matter-of-factly.

Sureshot lurched forward. He took the stock of his weapon away from his shoulder swung it toward the next posse pony, behind the colt whose neck had just been spurred. Bones crunched as Sureshot brought the wood down onto the side of his face. A blank stare entered the face of the adversary, and he went limp. "Two," he said, cycling his rifle.

Sureshot spun in place, clockwise but away from the melee. He tried to catch Rosencratz's eye. Failing that, he just shouted over the row. "We're not leaving with these wheat-worms, griffon! So either help us out or go get the law! I'm just getting started, either way!"

A buck caught Sureshot on the back of his head unexpectedly. He swirled clockwise again, and shouldered his rifle into a fuzzy field of view. "Nuts and shoes," Sureshot muttered.

Rozencratz gazed and took in the scene. He assumed that the ponies running for their lives were going to get the authorities. He then closed his eyes slightly and sighed. He was not going to let his tavern go unguarded. Then again, he probably won't get business for days, if not weeks, after this incident. But he could not side with the outlaws, or he would be arrested as well. But he couldn't join the mob, they seemed to be attacking anything that moved. In order to keep himself safe, he would fight indiscriminately, just a business owner protecting his business. He also wouldn't go for any kill shots. He did not want any more blood on him. Simple thrusts with his halberd's tip to take down the assailants.

Rozencratz lowered the visor to his helmet. Gripping his halberd tight, he jabbed at the closest pony's leg, hoping to knock him down and keep him down. A pony who isn't a threat should be attacked by the two outlaws. He jabbed at the next closest pony, the sword wielding bandit, trying to get a jab into his flank and take him down.

Silver was fluid. He kept moving, and simply slid beyond where Rozen's jab was. In the process, he elegantly twirled with the assistance of his wings, striking the pony whom Rozen had knocked down earlier, ensuring his demise. A pony who wasn't a threat now could be in just a few moments.

It didn't take too much more before the ponies started to run, routing in fear as most of their comrades had fallen. Silver wasted little time as he swung his blade clean of blood and sheathed it. And just like that, he trotted on outside. Blood smattering across him from his foes. He seemed to care little. His blood soaked hooves left a trail till they hit the dust outside. Ponies quickly dispersed the presence of him and Sureshot.

This was not going to help his bounty record.

As his vision fused back into clarity, Sureshot recapped his situation. Two down, the posse fleeing, a bloody mess on the floor, a lump on his head and some pony that caused it. He pointed his rifle at the last pony running out of the door and fired. "Three," he groaned, as the retreating pony slumped lifelessly down.

He slung his weapon back under his duster. "We've left a mess, griffon. I trust what I left in the bag should be enough to cover damages. Do feel free to try and find us if you get bored cleaning this place." He touched the brim of his cap and turned to Silver.

"We should get moving, old mare. We have a boat ride to arrange." Sureshot pivoted and sauntered out the door into the main street.

Rozencratz put his weapon and helmet away in its hiding spot, in case the authorities mistook him for the murderer. He sat at a table, looking at the pile of the dead, as he heard the authorities begin to approach his tavern. Hot tears began to flow down his face as he looked at the dead ponies on the floor of his tavern. He looked up, his eyes narrow and angry. "Those two just angered a predator." he said to himself, "I am not taking this disregard for life so easily. If I ever find them, I will kill them."