Agent Maria Hill (by_the_book) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2015-04-26 23:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, maria hill (mcu) |
Who: Maria Hill
When: (Backdated) Friday Night
Where: Dreamland
What: Wildfire Hill
Rating: PG-13 for violence, language and Hill’s legs
On December 19, 1854, Jonathan R. Davis single-handedly killed eleven armed outlaws at Rocky Canyon near Sacramento, California using only two Colt revolvers and a Bowie knife. It became known as one of the deadliest small arms engagements in American history that involved one man against many. Avid collectors will go to great lengths to gain possession of weapons used in famous “showdowns”. Maria and her partner had been hired to retrieve Davis’ Bowie knife.
October 26, 1875, Virginia City, Nevada. Mining town that stank of too many horses, too many people and a touch of nitroglycerin. They had ridden into town after sundown looking for a man named Matthew “Sly” Collins. Word had it he was in possession of the knife. Used it to up the ante at the poker tables of a bar with the friendly name of Hell’s Gate. He hadn’t lost it yet, and ain’t no one been able to catch him cheating. With the plan they had in mind, weren’t no one going to be able to catch them neither.
It had all started out as planned. They’d found Collins at the poker tables in Hell’s Gate, and Maria’s partner had gotten himself dealt in. She’d perched herself on his knee as his “good luck charm”, but the rest of the men gathered ‘round only gave her a cursory look. After all, there were plenty of showgirls present, and she was obviously taken for the night. Might have been a few pairs of eyes that lingered on her décolletage which was the whole point of the dark blue and black striped corset. So long as she kept inhaling just right, it kept any of them from noticing her slipping marked cards to her partner under the table, and tucking away the cards they replaced into a slit cut in the black satin lining of the thigh length panel of her skirt.
Their cards were cleverly done, professional. You’d have to know what to look for to catch the marks. The more hands that went by, the more of their cards went into the deck. Her partner lost just enough to be believable, but that knife weren’t put into play yet. Least ways, not until he played his bluff of wanting out of the game before he lost his pants. Collins spotted a sucker, upped the stakes by producing the knife and a word of mark for authenticity. Maria’s partner put on the show of being hesitant, but an obviously fixed game of High/Low brought him back to the table, as if they was really going to leave without that knife. That was when the game got real interesting.
All of what led up to this moment went through Maria’s mind as she watched the final hand. Her arm was draped behind her partner’s neck, her lacquered fingernails toying with the ends of his hair, causing a tickle at strategic moments when she spotted a tell on Sly Collins. A scratch meant a whole other thing, and a flat out tug meant they needed to get the hell out of there. Things went south faster than she expected.
Her partner had won the hand and with a grin, made to collect the Davis Bowie knife, except Collins called him out as a cheat. Strong words led to shouting. Threats led to the table being overturned and that led to Maria being dumped on her bustled backside on the floor as her partner surged to his feet. Didn’t take much more to start a whole bar brawl as Maria found out when she peeked over the edge of the table. Everyone was throwing punches, including the show and saloon girls. Soon enough furniture was being busted from being thrown or used as weapons. No pistols yet, thank god.
She spied her partner throwing down with Collins and that knife was being kicked around by their boots. Maria scrambled to her feet to dart around the overturned table with the eagle inlay she’d been using as a shield, and made a grab for the knife. It got kicked from her reach, and she damn near got her fingers mashed for her trouble, but she ignored the rest of the fight to follow the blade. Finding herself smack up against the bar Maria grinned in triumph as her fingers wrapped around the hilt. She took a moment to look at it before she jammed it into the sheath held in place on a bare thigh by a leather garter. Now all she had to do was disengage her partner from his fight then get the hell gone.
Two things happened then. Someone knocked over an oil lamp spraying the flammable stuff across a wooden floor soaked with even more flammable stuff that got sold in shot glasses at the bar. The flames from the lamp took like lightning over the desert just as her partner took a bottle to the head. Son of a bitch, Maria spat between clenched teeth, but that was all the time she wasted. Then, as her partner staggered back half bent over, she pulled the Derringer from that décolletage and surged into action.
She planted a hand on her partner’s back as she leap frogged over him. The long ruffled train of her skirt flared out behind her to expose her bare legs even more. Her eyes were hardened steel as she shot Sly Collins dead in the face. It was kind of satisfying to see that look of shock on him when he realized in that split second before the slug took him that he’d been killed by a damned woman.