Travel is the frivolous part of serious lives, and the serious part of frivolous ones.
Who: Isabella Emerson, Edric Bell, Caden Walker What: Isabella comes to Daingerfield Where: The desert outside Daingerfield. When: 1st June, 1863 Warnings: TBD
The caravan was slow moving through the sands, and Isabella could feel each bump and jostle beneath her. She had bartered passage with the men in the last town, half now, half when they reached their destination. Where that was she wasn’t quite sure yet; she was going as far as they were headed, and perhaps, if the destination agreed with her, she might stay. If not, she would move on, simple as that. She had worked from city to city, state to state, and she didn’t much care where she called home.
The men weren’t customers; customers could rarely be counted upon for safe transportation, and money was the safest currency when it came to getting from place to place. They paid her little mind, and as the days had past she had spent most of her time asleep. The carriage had jolted her awake with a start as it came to an abrupt halt, and she could hear shouting outside the carriage. The two men not driving both rose with uncertain expressions, drawing pistols and motioning for her to keep put, to which she did not object.
As they exited the caravan she caught a glimpse of several armed men, and shortly after she was pulled out after them, the men on their knees in the sand. A great sand-ship cast a shadow over them, and Isabella eyed it with a weary expression as she was roughly shoved into place.
Up front the horses were being cut loose, and the luggage was being pulled down from the caravan, and as Isabella craned her neck she could see the shadow of a body on the ground, the sand stained red. Another shot rang out in the distance, the second driver, he must have run, and one of the men on his knees seemed to take this as his cue to fight back, lunging at the pirates and he was shot down before he was even properly to his feet.
Isabella could feel the small gun stowed safely in her garter pressing against her thigh, but she kept her gaze on the sand before, eyes unfocused, as though she weren’t all there. Her thoughts were running rampant, and slowly, as the bandits began yelling at the man on his knees, gesturing with their guns, and arguing amongst themselves, her eyes darted to the horizon. They were going to execute him. Best case they’d leave her be, worse case she’d earn the same fate, but really, to be abandoned in the desert, execution was almost the better of the two options, either meant death. At least the latter would be quick.
The pirates did not have that sort of mercy. They took their loot and left her to die; bullets were worth more than that. The worth of bullets so high, their deaths may not have been so tragic. By the time they were all dead and lost to the desert, their bodies were heavy with squandered riches.