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Two Gun Gnaea Rides Again
By: Ronald Mikhail
Our anti-heroine, Gnaea Valeria
Wily Gnaea Valeria was ducking behind the bar. With each breath another half dozen rounds cut through the mess of glass that were once liquor bottles above her. Her revolvers were down to their last rounds and the bandoliers crossed over her chest and hips were empty.
She peeked over the bullet battered bar. Her gang was carpeting the establishment with their bodies. Two dozen lawmen were aiming the business end of their rifles her way. She looked at her handguns, scratched from scores of fights but always well maintained.
"This is the end my babies," she dropped the weapons. "I am coming our unarmed," she shouted then rose with her hands in the air.
The lawmen lowered their weapons. Their dusty faces showed they were glad not to have had to storm the bar to fight the legendary bandit queen.
The twilight of the sky colored the formation riding through the badlands. A dozen deputies surrounded Gnaea's horse where she rode with hands tied to the saddle horn. They were planets around her star, having no purpose but to orbit Gnaea.
Her horse's reins were held by the Sheriff Livia. The law woman wore Gnaea's revolvers on her waist, her gray eyes could not hide their victorious gleam when she watched the hunched bandit.
Gnaea's straight, brown hair framed her distraught face. Her angular features had lost some of their edge in defeat.
"I have made this whole province a better place," Livia began.
"Yeah sheriff, we finally caught this menace to law and order," added a sycophantic deputy.
"Uh huh," Gnaea whispered dismissively.
"My only regret is that I cannot process you in the city. The jails are filled with scum, no room for the queen of scum," Livia spit on the sun cracked earth. "This outpost will do."
Gnaea's lips turned into a sly smile. She consciously contorted her face to appear like a beaten woman.
"My nemesis, here in my hands," Livia leaned close to Gnaea. The rim of her once-white hat touched Gnaea's black hat. "My only
request to the propraetor will be to be the one that hangs you before the populace you tormented."
"I am sure the magistrate is too much of a weak bitch to do it himself anyway," Gnaea countered.
Livia met the bandit's defiance with a slap that nearly knocked off her hat. "Silence, scum. How dare a lowlife dog like you speak with such disrespect of a servant of the state?!"
Gnaea did not speak for the remainder of their journey to the desolate outpost. Her focus was on hiding her excitement from her face and keeping victory from gleaming in her viper-like green eyes.
Cornelius wore his inexperience in every gesture. Sheriff Livia did not bother dismounting to greet her subordinate. She delivered his orders, put Gnaea in her jail cell and rode into the night like a fearless goddess of law.
The outpost was minimalistic by virtue of its place in the middle of the great wide nothingness. A sheet metal shack built around the iron bars of Gnaea's cell. All illuminated by an oil lantern on Cornelius' desk.
The lantern light danced on the young deputy's strong-jawed face. The light did not find a wrinkle on his cheeks or forehead. There was not a hint of dull cynicism in his idealistic blue eyes. Strands of honey brown hair dangled onto his forehead from his pristine white hat. His strong shoulders kept his duster square on his back. While a tapered waist and well built limbs. The belt that secured the revolver was ill-fitting and his weapon was as untested as himself.
Gnaea sat on the bench in her cage. Her duster was folded under her rear as a makeshift cushion. Her hat rested next to her. She had her fingers interlocked just under her messy ponytail. The bandit was reclining against the wall. Her face told all. She was as unimpressed with her guard as a lethal rattlesnake is disdainful of the freshly hatched milk snake.
Her mouth curled into a predatory smile. She stood and Cornelius flinched, nearly falling out of his rickety chair in excitement.
"Come here deputy," her tone from someone accustomed to being obeyed.
The trend continued as Cornelius stood and approached Gnaea. He was a few footsteps away before he swallowed with the realization that she was the prisoner and he was the law.
"Yes Missus Gnaea," he answered.
"No need for such formality," she was gesturing with her hands. "Besides it makes me feel old, at most I could be your older sister.
So what is your name, my handsome deputy?" her tone had the proper amount of flirtatious venom to slip conscious notice.
"Cornelius," he answered. He took an unconscious step toward Gnaea.
"You come from a famous House," Gnaea made herself sound impressed. "Such dedication to our illustrious Republic."
Cornelius smiled with the innocence of his youth. Gnaea mirrored his expression. "Thank you, Gnaea. Service to the state is a proud tradition in my House."
"Indeed, and I am certain you serve faithfully," Gnaea panned her eyes over the shack. "It must be a waste to have you in this place."
"It had been. I think they are pushing me aside so I do not embarrass House Cornelia," he spoke mournfully. His stirrups clanked when he took another step. Gnaea's ear distinctly heard the jail's keys also announce themselves. "Really I am not a very good deputy. I fell off my horse on a routine patrol some months ago. I think I’m an embarrassment to my family," he hung his head.
Gnaea extended her hand between the bars. She caressed his smooth, olive tan cheek with the back of her fingers. "Not at all! When I look at you, Cornelius with your square shoulders and bright eyes. I see the Form of the lawman manifested. They pick on you due to your age or perhaps because the ladies look at you instead of their geriatric asses."
"Thank you, Gnaea. You are the only one to say anything nice to me in some time," he said before his eyes shot open upon noticing how close he was to the bandit. He stepped far enough that her hand hung in the air. "I was not supposed to speak to you. The Sheriff."
Gnaea interrupted him. "Sheriff Livia is a heifer's infected cunt," Gnaea returned. "She does not understand you. I too am not understood by people."
"I was told you were a blackhearted murdering villain. The newspapers said as much," Cornelius prepared to take another step backward.
Gnaea interrupted once more. "Have I been a blackhearted villain to you?"
"No you have been nice, but."
"They just exaggerate me to sell newspapers," Gnaea pulled her empty gun belt off her pants and tossed it at Cornelius' feet. Her pants fell slightly to reveal a thin strip of her lean abdominals. Cornelius noticed and Gnaea’s rattlesnake stare followed the young deputy's gaze. "My belt is as empty as my heart is wounded by your lack of faith."
"You are right, I am sorry Gnaea," he answered and stepped closer to the bars keeping him safe from the wily Gnaea.
"I understand. Really you are a sweet soul Cornelius," Gnaea batted her eyelashes in her best imitation of an infatuated schoolgirl. Cornelius smiled sheepishly, unsure of what he was supposed to do. "If only the gods had been kind to me and I had met you in my youth. Before this world had made me old and jaded."
Cornelius was a hair's breadth from the iron bars. "My apologies, Gnaea I did not intend to bring such bleak thoughts to your mind," he said with the formality typical for a nobleman.
Gnaea reached through the bars. Her movements slow and purposeful, once more she caressed his cheek. Cornelius returned the touch. Gnaea could have taken his unfired revolver with her free hand.
Instead she stared into his eyes. Her gray gaze was unblinking; she was a predator wordlessly informing her prey that it was in her clutches.
"Open the door," Gnaea's words left her lips as the most natural phrase she had ever spoken.
Cornelius was as helpless as a field mouse pumped full of a rattlesnake's venom. He fumbled for the keys and once more unleashed the terror upon the province.
Part two incoming:
By: Ronald Mikhail
Our anti-heroine, Gnaea Valeria
Wily Gnaea Valeria was ducking behind the bar. With each breath another half dozen rounds cut through the mess of glass that were once liquor bottles above her. Her revolvers were down to their last rounds and the bandoliers crossed over her chest and hips were empty.
She peeked over the bullet battered bar. Her gang was carpeting the establishment with their bodies. Two dozen lawmen were aiming the business end of their rifles her way. She looked at her handguns, scratched from scores of fights but always well maintained.
"This is the end my babies," she dropped the weapons. "I am coming our unarmed," she shouted then rose with her hands in the air.
The lawmen lowered their weapons. Their dusty faces showed they were glad not to have had to storm the bar to fight the legendary bandit queen.
The twilight of the sky colored the formation riding through the badlands. A dozen deputies surrounded Gnaea's horse where she rode with hands tied to the saddle horn. They were planets around her star, having no purpose but to orbit Gnaea.
Her horse's reins were held by the Sheriff Livia. The law woman wore Gnaea's revolvers on her waist, her gray eyes could not hide their victorious gleam when she watched the hunched bandit.
Gnaea's straight, brown hair framed her distraught face. Her angular features had lost some of their edge in defeat.
"I have made this whole province a better place," Livia began.
"Yeah sheriff, we finally caught this menace to law and order," added a sycophantic deputy.
"Uh huh," Gnaea whispered dismissively.
"My only regret is that I cannot process you in the city. The jails are filled with scum, no room for the queen of scum," Livia spit on the sun cracked earth. "This outpost will do."
Gnaea's lips turned into a sly smile. She consciously contorted her face to appear like a beaten woman.
"My nemesis, here in my hands," Livia leaned close to Gnaea. The rim of her once-white hat touched Gnaea's black hat. "My only
request to the propraetor will be to be the one that hangs you before the populace you tormented."
"I am sure the magistrate is too much of a weak bitch to do it himself anyway," Gnaea countered.
Livia met the bandit's defiance with a slap that nearly knocked off her hat. "Silence, scum. How dare a lowlife dog like you speak with such disrespect of a servant of the state?!"
Gnaea did not speak for the remainder of their journey to the desolate outpost. Her focus was on hiding her excitement from her face and keeping victory from gleaming in her viper-like green eyes.
Cornelius wore his inexperience in every gesture. Sheriff Livia did not bother dismounting to greet her subordinate. She delivered his orders, put Gnaea in her jail cell and rode into the night like a fearless goddess of law.
The outpost was minimalistic by virtue of its place in the middle of the great wide nothingness. A sheet metal shack built around the iron bars of Gnaea's cell. All illuminated by an oil lantern on Cornelius' desk.
The lantern light danced on the young deputy's strong-jawed face. The light did not find a wrinkle on his cheeks or forehead. There was not a hint of dull cynicism in his idealistic blue eyes. Strands of honey brown hair dangled onto his forehead from his pristine white hat. His strong shoulders kept his duster square on his back. While a tapered waist and well built limbs. The belt that secured the revolver was ill-fitting and his weapon was as untested as himself.
Gnaea sat on the bench in her cage. Her duster was folded under her rear as a makeshift cushion. Her hat rested next to her. She had her fingers interlocked just under her messy ponytail. The bandit was reclining against the wall. Her face told all. She was as unimpressed with her guard as a lethal rattlesnake is disdainful of the freshly hatched milk snake.
Her mouth curled into a predatory smile. She stood and Cornelius flinched, nearly falling out of his rickety chair in excitement.
"Come here deputy," her tone from someone accustomed to being obeyed.
The trend continued as Cornelius stood and approached Gnaea. He was a few footsteps away before he swallowed with the realization that she was the prisoner and he was the law.
"Yes Missus Gnaea," he answered.
"No need for such formality," she was gesturing with her hands. "Besides it makes me feel old, at most I could be your older sister.
So what is your name, my handsome deputy?" her tone had the proper amount of flirtatious venom to slip conscious notice.
"Cornelius," he answered. He took an unconscious step toward Gnaea.
"You come from a famous House," Gnaea made herself sound impressed. "Such dedication to our illustrious Republic."
Cornelius smiled with the innocence of his youth. Gnaea mirrored his expression. "Thank you, Gnaea. Service to the state is a proud tradition in my House."
"Indeed, and I am certain you serve faithfully," Gnaea panned her eyes over the shack. "It must be a waste to have you in this place."
"It had been. I think they are pushing me aside so I do not embarrass House Cornelia," he spoke mournfully. His stirrups clanked when he took another step. Gnaea's ear distinctly heard the jail's keys also announce themselves. "Really I am not a very good deputy. I fell off my horse on a routine patrol some months ago. I think I’m an embarrassment to my family," he hung his head.
Gnaea extended her hand between the bars. She caressed his smooth, olive tan cheek with the back of her fingers. "Not at all! When I look at you, Cornelius with your square shoulders and bright eyes. I see the Form of the lawman manifested. They pick on you due to your age or perhaps because the ladies look at you instead of their geriatric asses."
"Thank you, Gnaea. You are the only one to say anything nice to me in some time," he said before his eyes shot open upon noticing how close he was to the bandit. He stepped far enough that her hand hung in the air. "I was not supposed to speak to you. The Sheriff."
Gnaea interrupted him. "Sheriff Livia is a heifer's infected cunt," Gnaea returned. "She does not understand you. I too am not understood by people."
"I was told you were a blackhearted murdering villain. The newspapers said as much," Cornelius prepared to take another step backward.
Gnaea interrupted once more. "Have I been a blackhearted villain to you?"
"No you have been nice, but."
"They just exaggerate me to sell newspapers," Gnaea pulled her empty gun belt off her pants and tossed it at Cornelius' feet. Her pants fell slightly to reveal a thin strip of her lean abdominals. Cornelius noticed and Gnaea’s rattlesnake stare followed the young deputy's gaze. "My belt is as empty as my heart is wounded by your lack of faith."
"You are right, I am sorry Gnaea," he answered and stepped closer to the bars keeping him safe from the wily Gnaea.
"I understand. Really you are a sweet soul Cornelius," Gnaea batted her eyelashes in her best imitation of an infatuated schoolgirl. Cornelius smiled sheepishly, unsure of what he was supposed to do. "If only the gods had been kind to me and I had met you in my youth. Before this world had made me old and jaded."
Cornelius was a hair's breadth from the iron bars. "My apologies, Gnaea I did not intend to bring such bleak thoughts to your mind," he said with the formality typical for a nobleman.
Gnaea reached through the bars. Her movements slow and purposeful, once more she caressed his cheek. Cornelius returned the touch. Gnaea could have taken his unfired revolver with her free hand.
Instead she stared into his eyes. Her gray gaze was unblinking; she was a predator wordlessly informing her prey that it was in her clutches.
"Open the door," Gnaea's words left her lips as the most natural phrase she had ever spoken.
Cornelius was as helpless as a field mouse pumped full of a rattlesnake's venom. He fumbled for the keys and once more unleashed the terror upon the province.
Part two incoming: