Post by marooned on May 18, 2009 23:03:27 GMT -5
He is not the hero, he is not the one who saves the day, he is the bad guy, the villain. Here to cause chaos, and mayhem. He is here to make you run away when you see him coming. Death rides on his shoulder, Death comes with him, and hell comes with him. Fear him and you will survive. He is the man we all love to hate. Do not cross him and you will live, do not make him made and you will live. There are little things in this world he fears, and many things he hates, and your probably one of the things he hates. If I where you, I’d stay on his good side.
Can you survive his hatred? Or can you warm a cold heart? Or will you be among the many that have fallen? Give it a try, what’s the worst that could happen?
D.E.A.T.H
____________________________________________________
Jesse James;
The male sat atop his mount, looking across the flat prairie. Following the dirt road was easy enough, it was worn down, wheel marks and good marks could easily be seen, the tall brown grass lingering on both side of the road. The few trees splattered around in random places. To him, it looked like any other prairie he’d been in, like any other rode to town he’d traveled on. Though he normally tended to stay away from the main roads this time he decided it wouldn’t hurt to ride along it, what’s the worst that could happen? Blue voids scanned the area around him, body twisting in the saddle to look behind him. Still nothing, that was good for him. Muscled arms held the equine back from galloping, the jigging and the tossing of it’s head was getting on his nerves though he was past used to it by now, it was normal for the equine, and it was normal for it’s rider to threaten to put a bullet in his head everyday, though he never would. He liked the sassy horse to much. A sigh escaped the lips of him, this was boring terrain, nothing new to look at but tall brown grass and a few trees, who ever said being a outlaw was acting was mistaken, badly, the only time it got interesting was when you where either robbing something, blowing something up or being chased. Otherwise it was just boring. But hell he loved this, and well he never could see himself farming and it’s not like he could just stop and go into farming, it was unlikely. For once this male traveled alone, normally he had a group of six to nine men with him, this time he wanted to be by himself, see if he could do it, of course he knew he could it just wasn’t normal. He didn’t even have his brother with him, the one human he trusted other then himself, his brother who was pissed at him. It hurt him a little to know that he and his brother where not on talking terms at the moment. Then there was Cole Younger, his second cousin, He hated the man for all it was worth, they fought none stop, arguing and bickering. If it wasn’t for him being Franks friend Cole would have been dead a long time ago. Another deep breath escaped his lungs and left his dry lips. The twenty four year old nudged the grulla equine into a lope down the road, no use in wasting time Port Barrows was hours away. One hand held the reigns of the equine while the other rested on one of the pistols he wore around his hips, Yes he had two six shooters around his waist that where always loaded and ready to go, along with a riffle tied to his horse, and a few knifes scattered around his body, But his favorite weapon was the pistols, and dynamite, he had a, obsession with dynamite. His clothing was one of normal outlaw fashion; Denim jeans covered his legs, a loose fitting cotton shirt, and the normal cowpoke hat. Though this was badly dressed for him, but he normally looked more like a business man then a bandit on most days, wearing a gray pin stripped suit, actually it helped him blend in, oddly enough. Ebony locks where slicked back under his hat which was normal. Two saddle bags that held more bullets, but they also used to stash money in. A bed roll rolled up and tied to the back of his saddle along with a rain coat, a canteen tied to the front of the saddle. Clearing his throat he looked around again, the landscape didn’t change much. He glanced around him once again, making sure no one was followed, and he didn’t see anyone. Another sigh escaped his lips “Easy” he spoke to the horse who he slowed back to a walk, the equine jigging once again not wanting to walk.
____________________________________________________
Malargo;
The pelt of the grulla equine shimmered in the sunlight of the hot day, a layer of sweat covering the horse, due to his own fault. Dome tucked to his chest mane flowing beautifully back and forth with the horses jigging motion. This equine was always a hot mount, never wanted to do a flat footed walk, always wanting to run, of course no matter how many times its rider let him go, he never would want to stop, and he could run for miles, he was the perfect outlaw’s horse. And that was just what he was. His rider being one of the most feared outlaws in the history of the west.
____________________________________________________
Pictures:
Jesse; s303.photobucket.com/albums/nn146/Horselandsmarooned/?action=view¤t=colin_farrell_98.jpg
Malargo; s303.photobucket.com/albums/nn146/Horselandsmarooned/?action=view¤t=mustang.jpg
Can you survive his hatred? Or can you warm a cold heart? Or will you be among the many that have fallen? Give it a try, what’s the worst that could happen?
D.E.A.T.H
____________________________________________________
Jesse James;
The male sat atop his mount, looking across the flat prairie. Following the dirt road was easy enough, it was worn down, wheel marks and good marks could easily be seen, the tall brown grass lingering on both side of the road. The few trees splattered around in random places. To him, it looked like any other prairie he’d been in, like any other rode to town he’d traveled on. Though he normally tended to stay away from the main roads this time he decided it wouldn’t hurt to ride along it, what’s the worst that could happen? Blue voids scanned the area around him, body twisting in the saddle to look behind him. Still nothing, that was good for him. Muscled arms held the equine back from galloping, the jigging and the tossing of it’s head was getting on his nerves though he was past used to it by now, it was normal for the equine, and it was normal for it’s rider to threaten to put a bullet in his head everyday, though he never would. He liked the sassy horse to much. A sigh escaped the lips of him, this was boring terrain, nothing new to look at but tall brown grass and a few trees, who ever said being a outlaw was acting was mistaken, badly, the only time it got interesting was when you where either robbing something, blowing something up or being chased. Otherwise it was just boring. But hell he loved this, and well he never could see himself farming and it’s not like he could just stop and go into farming, it was unlikely. For once this male traveled alone, normally he had a group of six to nine men with him, this time he wanted to be by himself, see if he could do it, of course he knew he could it just wasn’t normal. He didn’t even have his brother with him, the one human he trusted other then himself, his brother who was pissed at him. It hurt him a little to know that he and his brother where not on talking terms at the moment. Then there was Cole Younger, his second cousin, He hated the man for all it was worth, they fought none stop, arguing and bickering. If it wasn’t for him being Franks friend Cole would have been dead a long time ago. Another deep breath escaped his lungs and left his dry lips. The twenty four year old nudged the grulla equine into a lope down the road, no use in wasting time Port Barrows was hours away. One hand held the reigns of the equine while the other rested on one of the pistols he wore around his hips, Yes he had two six shooters around his waist that where always loaded and ready to go, along with a riffle tied to his horse, and a few knifes scattered around his body, But his favorite weapon was the pistols, and dynamite, he had a, obsession with dynamite. His clothing was one of normal outlaw fashion; Denim jeans covered his legs, a loose fitting cotton shirt, and the normal cowpoke hat. Though this was badly dressed for him, but he normally looked more like a business man then a bandit on most days, wearing a gray pin stripped suit, actually it helped him blend in, oddly enough. Ebony locks where slicked back under his hat which was normal. Two saddle bags that held more bullets, but they also used to stash money in. A bed roll rolled up and tied to the back of his saddle along with a rain coat, a canteen tied to the front of the saddle. Clearing his throat he looked around again, the landscape didn’t change much. He glanced around him once again, making sure no one was followed, and he didn’t see anyone. Another sigh escaped his lips “Easy” he spoke to the horse who he slowed back to a walk, the equine jigging once again not wanting to walk.
____________________________________________________
Malargo;
The pelt of the grulla equine shimmered in the sunlight of the hot day, a layer of sweat covering the horse, due to his own fault. Dome tucked to his chest mane flowing beautifully back and forth with the horses jigging motion. This equine was always a hot mount, never wanted to do a flat footed walk, always wanting to run, of course no matter how many times its rider let him go, he never would want to stop, and he could run for miles, he was the perfect outlaw’s horse. And that was just what he was. His rider being one of the most feared outlaws in the history of the west.
____________________________________________________
Pictures:
Jesse; s303.photobucket.com/albums/nn146/Horselandsmarooned/?action=view¤t=colin_farrell_98.jpg
Malargo; s303.photobucket.com/albums/nn146/Horselandsmarooned/?action=view¤t=mustang.jpg