What happened

By the time three o'clock rolled around on Friday afternoon, Max had thoroughly cased the joint. She knew the ins, the outs, where the cameras were… and absolutely nothing about what any of her teachers had said. Physics? Calculus? Shakespeare? Foreign to her by the end of the day.

Other than learning the easiest escape route out of the school, Max's mind was occupied with worrying. She wanted to know right then and there, in last period English class, whether Alfred had walked Ace or let him out to run yet. If he had, Max was going to be absolutely crushed when she got home. If Ace was too tired to go out then she was going to have to figure out another reason to head down into the city and see Jesse. The dogs were the easiest excuse, if she went down alone and met him that got very possibly awkward. And likely taken the wrong way by both parties and anyone who saw them, including Babs and Bruce's numerous cameras.

Plus, the thought of meeting Jesse alone made her nervous. It was a good nervous for the most part, but nervousness none the less. They'd agreed, or at least she assumed they'd agreed, to wait five months but she was kind of scared of her own self control. (If Max had interpreted the whole thing correctly… maybe he'd just been joking with her? Sure he could think she was pretty, but would he really want to date her, even at eighteen? When he could have an actual woman instead of a pink haired girl still in highschool. And so the anxiety began.) She gulped, completely ignoring the teacher in the front of the room. She probably didn't need to worry. She'd be too scared to actually act on her temptation anyway. She always was when it came to guys.
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The sun was just breaking over the horizon when the figure appeared. And it did just appear. Nothing dramatic. No falling from the sky. No confusion. As if this being, unlike other citizens, knew where it was, and why it was there.

It was out of place, despite the understanding. The clothes it wore, something from the old west when such things were commonplace, were old. Not tattered, but well worn.

The skin, if one could have gotten close enough to see it, was leathery. That of somebody who'd spent life in the sun. Working. A hard skin for a hard being. Tough and impossible to break through. And the eyes spoke of Hell and horrors commited without the bat of an eyelash.

As the sun rose and spilled onto the face of the figure, it could be clearly seen that the tall, imposing body belonged to a man. If there had been any doubt.

He looked at his surroundings for a long while, one hand pushing back his long coat to rest on his belt, inadvertantly revealing one of his twin Walker Colts. Guns made from the sword of the Angel of Death. Guns that had never, and would never, fail him.

A cigar hung from his teeth, unlit for now. He grimiced into the burning sun, as if it would flinch away from the staring contest before he would. And maybe, if it'd had a choice, it would have.

He was here for one man.
One purpose.

But there was The City itself calling to him, taunting him with new things and new faces. And a power there that made his jaw clinch. Something that shouldn't exist because he existed. Something that pissed him off and caused him to bite through his cigar.

He spit out the paper and tobacco and set off in search of that power.

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