Page 5 of 9

PostPosted: July 11th, 2012, 8:41 am
by Rev. Jordan T. Maxwell

Peter has to finish the Wu Yun/Professor crossover first, so that he gets stranded in the future and can intercede in the silver sun fish wars...

PostPosted: August 2nd, 2012, 10:23 am
by Rev. Jordan T. Maxwell
Wu-Yun! Wuuuuuuuu-Yuuuuuuuuuuun!!!

PostPosted: August 6th, 2012, 10:39 pm
by happywaffle

They honeymooned in Livingston. Not the finest city, but it would do. They could live like the privileged few there for a few precious days, before he had to report back to the army and help push the dirt-worshippers out of the Black Hills yet again. He paid for a room at the Murray Hotel. He took her to the Triumph Theatre. He made love to her thrice a day. And for 36 glorious hours, Hazel McCray was the center of Audie's universe.

Then he'd come back from a trip to the tobacconists'—how long had he been gone? An hour?—to find the hotel room empty. Not so much as a hairbrush had been disturbed. The street outside was quiet.

"You last saw the lady when?" asked the town marshall, scribbling absent-mindedly into a notebook. "I done told you that," Audie growled, grinding the unlit cigarillo to a stump in his teeth. "Around 2:00. I heard the church bells when I left the hotel."

"And you know nobody in this town who might have taken her in?"

"I'm based in Sheridan, I don't know anybody for a hundred miles." The marshall said nothing. "Look, I'm a sargeant. I can have half a regiment here in a few days…"

"And did she know anybody in this town?"

Audie misliked his tone, his look, the way he wore his gun and his hat, everything. He spat the cigarillo into the dirt. "No."

"That'd be the best place to start, sir, if she did have any acquaintances around these parts. Maybe a cousin. Maybe a gentleman friend…"

It was then that Audie launched at him. He remembered the sharp rap that then came to the back of his head. He remembered waking in a jail cell an hour later. He remembered the marshall staring down at him through the bars, the apparent nonchalance vanished, replaced by accusatory eyes.

"Woman goes missing in our town without a trace, ain't nowhere you need to look," he'd said, and spit tobacco in Audie's direction. "You know where she is. Maybe you'll tell us where to find her." And Audie had mashed his face to the floor and cried, his world turned upside down in the scant few hours between lunch and dinner.

That had been ten years ago. Audie had spent every day since then concocting elaborate conspiracy theories and fantastical stories in the dim hope of understanding where Hazel had gone. Over time, the stories had faded, been replaced in his mind by nothing but grim fatalism. He'd left the army, joined the federal marshalls, taken to bounty hunting. Being paid to hunt his sonofabitch brother Jesse was a treat; but that, too, had been turned on its head in a scant few hours.

And now, as Jesse screamed through surgery in the next room, Audie fingered the contents of that fateful package.

A Bible.

Her Bible.

The Bible that had been the only thing missing from their room at the Murray Hotel in Livingston.

He wouldn't let the doctor operate on his brother before he'd gleaned a few details about the artifact. Now he knew where Jesse had found the Bible, and who to ask about it.

But how the hell was Audie McCray going to get to San Francisco?

PostPosted: August 6th, 2012, 10:40 pm
by happywaffle

PostPosted: August 7th, 2012, 11:40 am
by Rev. Jordan T. Maxwell

(i think Kevin can officially be declared Lorekeeper of this saga at this point. ;) )

PostPosted: August 26th, 2012, 10:30 pm
by happywaffle
Did this thread seriously survive the "Every Imp Posts" day without a scratch?

PostPosted: September 11th, 2012, 9:54 am
by happywaffle
Bump! Anybody want to tackle the next chapter before Jordan or I get tired of waiting and do it?

PostPosted: September 11th, 2012, 5:40 pm
by Rev. Jordan T. Maxwell

It wasn't the smell that bothered him.

A few well placed dollars in the right hands (those callused hands that built these railroads, those proud hands that sailed to this country from the same shores as Wu Yun, those secretive hands who still honored and revered the old ways and were only too happy to help even if their countryman had some strangely dressed Gweilo in tow), and he had been able to secure an empty cattle car for the long trip to San Francisco. Along with some provisions for himself and Judge Dicks, and even some quality oats for Happy Beauty Pony. The surrounding cars, though, were packed close to full with heifers and herdsires and the pungent aroma of their collective musk, dung and piss wafted through the air. But it wasn't the smell. No, something else troubled the mind of Wu Yun. He just didn't know what. He pondered his unease as he reached into a sack cloth bag, produced an apple for himself, and tossed a slice of salted meat towards Dicks who stood obstinately in the alternate corner. He had not deigned to sit since they had boarded. He stared at the meat derisively, then returned his gaze out the window at the passing desert and approaching mountains around them.

Wu Yun realized what was bothering him the moment it was broken. The silence.

"Who is she to you?" Dicks asked, his steely gaze unmoving.

"For what the ask of you now?"

"The girl in the picture. Who is she to you? Awful lot of trouble you're going through. Awful lot of trouble you're stirring up. Wife? Girlfriend? She never mentioned any other man to me, friend, when we were..."

Wu Yun's knife made a rough noise as it was drawn from his belt. Dicks flinched and drew further back into his corner, his air of calm repose betrayed. Wu Yun couldn't help but smirk at this as he sliced one thin morsel of apple and pulled it to his mouth.


"Ah," Dicks said, managing to half unclench as he took a step away from the wall. "Ah. Well, she...uh, she never mentioned one of those either."

Another slice of apple. Wu Yun considered the edge of his knife intently.

"No," he said, as his mind drifted into memory. "Would she for not doing so..."


They had always been close growing up, with their own secret games as children and pranks as youths. If one was in trouble, it was guaranteed the other would already be right beside them or soon on their way to offer defense. So it surprised no one when Lien-Hua followed Wu Yun into exile across the sea (for, indeed, the incident in the temple that had besmirched his honor left its own unique stain upon hers as well). They cared for each other on the long voyage, and kept to themselves. Their arrival in San Francisco had been expected, and a family friend offered the kindness of lodging (though not spacious) and work (though not glamorous). It was a hard life, but a good one and those first months in America were harvest times indeed, filled with equal measures toil and celebration.

They had a habit of exploring the neighborhoods around them, long walks down twisting roads, taking random lefts and rights on the slightest of whims, discovering the city by getting lost and finding their way home again. The other denizens of Chinatown warned them not to stray beyond its protection, but neither had ever been much for rules or warnings. Perhaps if Wu Yun had taken it upon himself as the elder sibling to be more responsible, less reckless, they would never have crossed paths with the three men in their fine vests and bowler hats. They acted drunk (though no alcohol was on their breath) and stoned (though their eyes betrayed no loss of focus) as they hurled names at them, as they pawed at Lien Hua, as they shoved Wu Yun. But it was not until the first knife was drawn that the siblings fought back. They were both capable fighters, even then, but Wu Yun was soon pinned to the ground by two of the he saw the third slide his knife into the side of his sister. His memory of the next moments is patchwork, like small circles illuminated in a vast darkness. Her eyes, staring into his, not able to understand. The trickle of blood staining her linen blouse. The cruel eyes of her murderer. The strange markings on his ring. And then...she was dragged down an alley, into the darkness, the other attackers following after. By the time he could find the strength to stand, they were gone...

Of course he looked for her, but there was no sign. Of course he went to the police, but he spoke little English and there was little concern given to just another vanished Oriental girl. Of course he went to the elders of Chinatown, but they shook their heads and reminded him of their warnings. None would help him. And so he learned to help himself. It wasn't easy, hunting the three men down, in a strange land with no friends. But he remembered her eyes, those questioning eyes. Those eyes he could never answer...

The first he found in a stable on the outskirts of town. Wu Yun was clumsy with rage and surely would have failed in his revenge if the horse hadn't intervened and kicked his former owner (who had not been abusive, but certainly unkind) to his final rest. Wu Yun bridled and rode him away, naming him for those happier and more beautiful times...

The second he found in a saloon, laughing loud and drunkenly while cheating at cards. A horse entering a saloon is not as uncommon a sight as you might think, but it provided enough distraction for Wu Yun to disarm the man and wait just long enough for the look of recognition to pass over his face before shooting him with his own gun, which he holstered and named after his retribution...

The third, with his cruel eyes and sharp knife and strange ring, went unfound. The most Wu Yun could discover was that he had fled east upon hearing the fates of his companions. Wu Yun had learned much about the hunting of bad men in those days. And there was nothing left for him in that odd little city by the bay. So he rode east, to find his fortune in bringing others to justice, knowing his own hunt would never be over...


...and now, after all these years, it was bringing him back to where it started. He stared at the knife's edge and thought of his poor sweet sister, alone in the dark, scared and shivering, crying out for a brother who had given her up for dead, for salvation that had run away. Bleeding and abused and forced into the service of scum like Dicks. When in that five years, he wondered, did she give up hope and stop crying out for him? He thought of her questioning eyes, and knew he had much to answer for.

"Perhaps for the shutting of up best is now, please."

The silence fell again. But it didn't bother him now.

No, it wasn't the silence that bothered him...

PostPosted: September 20th, 2012, 12:55 pm
by Rev. Jordan T. Maxwell
i am officially kicking off the "Get Chuy To Write A Chapter Of Wu Yun" campaign!

CHUY! CHUYCHUYCHUY!!! come play with us, CHUY!

PostPosted: September 20th, 2012, 1:23 pm
by Chuy!

PostPosted: November 2nd, 2012, 3:48 pm
by Rev. Jordan T. Maxwell this is just the calm before the storm when EVERYONE starts writing chapters, one after the other, right?

PostPosted: November 3rd, 2012, 11:13 am
by happywaffle
Rev. Jordan T. Maxwell this is just the calm before the storm when EVERYONE starts writing chapters, one after the other, right?

Maybe THIS could be a NaNoWriMo story…

PostPosted: November 3rd, 2012, 11:21 pm
by jesspasc
I'm germinating.

PostPosted: November 5th, 2012, 10:02 am
by Rev. Jordan T. Maxwell
happywaffle wrote:
Rev. Jordan T. Maxwell this is just the calm before the storm when EVERYONE starts writing chapters, one after the other, right?

Maybe THIS could be a NaNoWriMo story…

is he related to Red Boy? :P

PostPosted: November 19th, 2012, 1:54 pm
by jesspasc
Chapter 54b

Cassandra didn't take Jesse's name. Their marriage wasn't a secret, per se, just not something they wanted to advertise. Jesse, for obvious reasons, didn't want his personal business plastered all over town. Cassandra had her own reasons for keeping Jesse quiet. Namely, her father.

You wouldn't've known it to look at her, but Cassandra had once been a fine lady with a fine house and fine servants. With a father like hers, she could not have been anything but. Her days were filled with trips to the dressmaker and long lunches of exotic foods served by exotic hands. Despite the finery, there was still something rough about Cleary family--something not quite genteel. Cassandra attended the right events, knew the right people--but still, she felt somewhat out of place with them. A certain disdain glazed their faces whenever they looked upon her.

With welcome like that, it was no wonder Cassandra fell in with the crowd she did. She had seen them and was drawn to them like Old Man Fitz to a bottle. The red and white tents were a beacon that she could not refuse. Within days she had found the kinship for which she had longed and she could no longer imagine her life without Marlene, whose stubbly chin hid a kind and open heart, Frank, who could lift a train car above his head but cradled kittens gently in the palm of his hand, and Lila, whose herd of white Arabians made Cassandra's head spin. It had barely taken any thought to trade her velvet dresses for a pair of pants and to tuck her long hair into a cap.

It had taken her father barely any thought either, when he found that she had left, to hire Jesse Calhoun.