championoftime | [Audio]

[Filtered to his Friends]

[Feel free to include yourself on this filter if you were a saloon regular and might be the type that would have known him.]

After some long consideration, and seeing the trouble that's been overwhelming our quaint town, I've decided to put my life back together. This town is going to need an adequate doctor if this is going to persist and... Well, I believe I have the motivation to stand up to my brother.

So, tonight I'll buy everyone else a drink and spare myself. It's high time that I put my life in order. [Knowing voice, now!] And you, Mr. Rex, I'll see to it you have some decent flowers to put out. [The teasing. It is relentless.]

[And after he's responded to his friends.]

[Fake Private | Public, but filtered away from everyone so it's only visible to Narvin]

Ladies and gentlemen, I have for you here in my hand evidence [the rustling of papers] that my brother, your beloved Mayor, is attempting to run off the ranchers that helped establish this town. Whose parents helped build the very buildings you reside in, and in his lust for progress and wealth he's only invited in those that would wish to take it against our wills. Not stopping to preserve the people we love and care for, not sharing that wealth with our sheriff's department outside of bribing the unscrupulous deputy or two, and wantonly placing us in danger.

Is that worth the price of this railroad? Is it?!

[And he hopes that Narvin doesn't notice that tricky filter and just thinks it's public. He's wanting to confront him but he wants him to know what a dangerous situation he's placed himself in, too. Especially if he's getting to the point he's making townspeople fearful. Also, he's not going to be showing up at the saloon tonight like he promised.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sir, I am drunk, and intend to stay drunk for as long as I can manage. But I can still tell when a man's showing a lotta courage. Hat's off to you.

Thank you, sir. I will be missing it, but it's probably for the best in my case.

She wouldn't have wanted you to do that for her, though.

...

...

She?

[Oh God, had he been so obvious, coming up to the coffin and putting the little brooch in with her? Had he somehow given himself away while profusely drunk? Or had someone talked?]

[It didn't matter anymore. She was gone.]

This? This, my good man, is anesthesia. It is what happens when a man of action is restricted from acting.

If I am making a tribute, it is with that inaction. I ain't raising any Hell. And believe me, it's not because I don't want to.

[A lucky guess. They had all been put out thanks to Mercy.] That she would appreciate, my good man. That she would.

[If he'd kept his head, thought things through, and read the message carefully a few times, he might have noticed that very odd filter. As it is, James Narvin did not.

In a fit of utter, thoughtless panic, he threw down the communicator without giving it a second glance, absently grabbed his pistol out of his desk drawer and rushed to where his brother was, the only thought in his mind was that he *had* to keep that evidence--whatever it was--from getting to the public.]

[He slipped the journal back onto his bookshelf with all of his other books, pretty much the only evidence there would really be of this. But he took the papers, ready to push them out at Narvin and reveal them to be blank. And then he would give him that good talking to. He paced his room as he waited.]

[He burst into the room without knocking, pale, wild-eyed, and shaking with rage. When he spoke, the words were choked out in a raspy voice.]

You've ruined me. If those papers are released, they'll run me out of town, or lynch me in front of my own courthouse. You've destroyed me.

[He raised the pistol and cocked it, ready to fire.]

[He sees the gun and freezes, eyes wide behind his glasses. He... really doesn't know what to make of what he's seeing.] James! I'm trying to stop you from doing something that will get you killed. [He took a step away from him, so shocked that his own brother, the same one that used to look out for him, would wave a pistol at him that he can't even think to point out what he's holding has nothing on it.] I didn't- I didn't think you were this far gone.

Shut up! [He fires once. He's not thinking about what he's saying or doing, or the irrationality that's taken hold.] I? I? Going too far? [And shoots again.] I'm not the one who sold out my kin. [And shoots another four rounds until the cartridge is empty.]

[Problem with being human, you couldn't recover from that many bullets whether a defibrillator got in the way or not. He fell back with each shot until he was against the wall. And it hurt, oh how his chest and his whole body hurt. His legs, he was pretty sure he couldn't feel those.

He slid down into a sitting position, slumped forward slightly because he couldn't sit up.] No I didn't. Nobody saw [wince] but you. [Choked out quietly.]

James, I'm sc- [The rest of "scared" died with a ragged breath.]

[He just stood, gun still raised, and stared for a minute at his brother's corpse. Sylveste's words slowly sunk in. James dropped the pistol from a suddenly limp hand and staggered to the body. Papers were scattered around it, papers that Sylveste had said contained evidence of the mayor's misdeeds. Blank papers, save for the fresh blood stains. They were a greater indictment of his crimes now than anything that might have been written on them.

He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth to cover the horrified whine.

He'd killed his brother, his baby brother whom he'd helped teach to read and write and sit on a horse, all for the sake of a few empty pieces of paper. He sat heavily on the floor, heedless of the blood marring his trousers and tailcoat and didn't even realize he was crying, that the awful, keening, yowl was coming from his throat until his nose was so stuffed up with mucus and tears that he had to pause to gasp for air.

He'd gone from one extreme emotion to the other so quickly that he felt light headed and empty of thought. He didn't know whether he should run, stay and try to cover his crime, turn himself in, or just sit on the floor and wait for someone to find him and arrest him. So he did nothing at all except stare down at his brother's body with empty eyes.]

Thanks, uh, I, um-- I just think they brighten up the place, Doc.

They do! They compliment the ladies dresses very well. You pick them with a keen eye. [Complimentary teasing.]

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