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Watch your six: Seth is prone to throw punches first, ask qustions later.
Seth Bullock sat on the ground, his hat in his hands. Squinting from the harsh sunlight, he placed the hat on his head, tugging the brim down to give his eyes the reprieve he needed from the sun's brightness. Only then did he look around, and realise he had no idea where he was. Never mind he didn't know how he came to be on the ground, nothing around him looked at all familiar.
He hauled himself to his feet, dusted off the back of his trousers as he scanned the horizon. He'd been heading home, the last he remembered he was about to step onto the footbridge across the creek that ran through the yard. And now, he was...where? Not the thoroughfare through the town of Deadwood, that was for sure.
Something fluttered in the air and landed at his feet. He pushed it with the toe of his boot. "What the fuck?" he muttered, bending to pick up the paper. Before he could read it, a low growl distracted him, and his gaze darted toward where it came from as he righted himself to fully standing. Finding himself face to face with what looked to be some kind of prehistoric creature, Seth lurched back a step, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the creature as he could.
"The fuck?" he said again, right hand curling into a fist at his side. He knew logically that attacking the creature was a bad idea, and yet the fact he was here at all to face such a beast was so impossible to him, and he couldn't be sure this wasn't all a dream. Maybe he was lying face down in the thoroughfare. Maybe he was laid out on a table at Doc's. Or sleeping beside Martha in their cold communal bed. Whatever it was, this creature wasn't real and Seth wasn't really here, and his instinct to fight first and ask questions later (if at all) was telling him to launch an assault sooner rather than later. Seth was not the sort to stand around and wait for the conflict to come to him.