Brian Coltrane

*hears Doc's voice, soft and quiet and soothing....* *and something in own criminal instinct takes that as a warning. One brown eye creaks open suspiciously, getting a drowsy bead on something thin, shiny, and sharp in Doc's hand. Most of all, sharp. Pointy.* Oh no. Doc, ah hate shots.... *with one wrist handcuffed to the medical table, and pain disallowing any sitting up, there's nowhere to go*

*dozing, but stirring a little at the touch to the ribs, groaning in complaint...trying not to wake up for anything else that hurts*

We keep each other in stiches, yeah. *clasps Alex's hand, smiling, eyes shutting....fatigue stealing in, the pain enough to wear anybody out. Intends to say something else, but just like that, conciousness slips back under. The grasp of Alex's hand weakens, then slackens altogether.*

*nods to both Dukes, turning face towards Alex* I definately owe him one, don't I. *goes to offer a handshake to Alex, but the handcuffed wrist is caught up short and gives a metallic rattle*

Sounded like he's got a clean-through wound, no lead stuck in 'em. He lost a lotta blood tho'. Ah'm just thinkin' he's gonna wake up with a whole lotta hatred for all thangs Coltrane, and we're probably on the verge of a helluva fued.

*answering Alex* I know, ah'm sorry. Alex, this thang didn't go accordin' to plan at all, and ah'm wishin' we'd just stayed in jail. The wages of sin make a pretty lousy paycheck. *turns head to meet Lukas's grin* You'll nevah be rid of a Coltrane that easy. *chuckles, wincing a little at the pain, and face quickly becomes serious* I don't know what you all heard, but you know me well enuff to know ah'd nevah shoot an unarmed man in cold blood. I don't know what Garrett's gonna think, though.

Hey now! What --- *protests as MaryAnne neatly clasps a handcuff around one wrist and attaches the other loop to the rail of the medical table. Thus shackled, watches MaryAnne give a behave-yerself look , which is not without affection, as she leaves the clinic to check on county business. * Guess ah'm not goin' anywhere, Alex. You handy with a bedpan?

But what Chet did, was no accident. *the Atlantan drawl is still weak, but gaining a rougher edge with this pronouncement*

*closes eyes briefly in relief that Garrett is alive. Then looks to MaryAnne as she speaks, murmuring agreement* Ah nevah meant to shoot him. Ah swear. Mah only thought...was to flush Chet outta hidin'. *pauses* Worked like a voodoo charm, too. Worked too damn well.

*gives MaryAnne a chance to sort herself out, smiling at her 'thick head' remark. Looks from her to Alex, nodding, and then abruptly thinks of something, own expression falling* ....What about Garrett? I remember mah gun went off....when I got hit. Is he....

*feels moisture sting own eyes, at this, and clutches MaryAnne's hand in return* ...Ah'm sorry, cousin.... *ragged drawl full of remorse* ...ah'm sorry. Don't fuss now, ah'm fine... *tries to sit up, but feels pain rake sharply through body. Lays self back down, carefully, and offers a weak smile* ...awright, ah'm not fine, but it hurts too damn much to die.

*the layers of conciousness are thick with pain...and so it was with good reason that one Coltrane remained safely beneath awareness. Yet the urgency and grief in MaryAnne's voice is audible, as is the emotion from Alex. So long is there is life in this body, however battered, there is will.....* *...and with a slogging, determined effort, the mind breaches the surface, awareness bringing searing, sharp pain along with it. Coughs once, expression tightening with pain, left hand weakly reaching up to pull off the oxygen mask. Gasps an unsteady breath without it, eyes flickering open....and as focus returns to vision, sees the worried faces staring back. At the tears in MaryAnne's eyes and the striken look in Alex's face, can only murmur an effort at reassurance* ....hush, now.....it can't be all that bad......

*the touch to the hand doesn't bring any outward reaction...the inert Coltrane showing no signs of life, save for the shallow, slow breathing that is almost undectectable. The absolute stillness is a sharp contrast to the spirit of the person lying here....and one can only wonder, what remains of him.*

*there's no response from the wounded Coltrane...no movement. The tuft of brown hair that hangs over the forehead shows evidence of dried blood, though the face has been cleaned. Early signs of bruising are evident on the face as well. Clearly, there was a price paid for taking the chance at freedom....and the exact cost still isn't known. Was it pride, that caused this conflict? Could a title, a bragging right, mean so much? * *And was such a thing worth dying for? Killing for?* *would MaryAnne ever get an answer? Or was there more to the injuries than meets the eye....*

The Deputy has spoken! And havin' considered the laws of probability involved here, and my own "no reset button, play at your own risk" code... I think we'll carry on right where we left off. I'm gonna suggest that Alex is the next post, to set things back into motion. ( Note, we're not gonna "cue" specific people in this thang, because then if somebody can't be online at that time, it can hold things up. ) Alex, if you'd do the honors.... Chet, I'd suggest posting after him to show your arrival, and we'll fall into sync from there.

It's true that anything is still possible, I just wasn't sure if this had gone too far and then went straight over the edge. There's opinion to be had from a certain party who hasn't weighed in on this yet. But for the rest of ya'll it sounds like The Show Must Go On, as long as it's not a Series Finale of sorts. And now I'll hush and await that certain party's thoughts.

( Moderator's Note: This thing took a turn for the worse and I was going to delete the thread. Before MaryAnne saw it. Seriously. We were trying to keep it lighthearted, but given the nature with this kind of potlock writing, things can go in any direction. And they did. ) ( I suppose it's appropriate, given the 'bad guy' stuff in this thread, that a couple characters are now mortally wounded, one from each side. None of this was planned, so it's kind of a poetic irony. ) ( In the "round robin" stories of years gone by, often the same thing would happen. Start out great, then...eventually a train wreck occurs where the story can go no further, or just dies off on it's own. ) (But, there was somebody wishing for a train wreck, early on in this thing. Roger, didja get your money's worth?) (Anyway, I was going to delete the thread, but people are still reading it. Maybe we will continue, or maybe in the interest of good taste we'll shelve it and pretend it never happened, and carry on with business from there as usual. )

*out cold, oblivious, injuries unknown.... having no idea that own life hangs in the balance with Garrett's.... both wounded men dependent now on the ability of Alex and Chet to work together under truce...* *..which is to say, ya'll, that the odds ain't that good...* ( We'll pause here to give a chance for others to catch up)

*having been plowed into by a horse, is in no condition to offer aid... or take blame. Lays still on the pavement, face down. What happens from here is up to Alex and Chet... if they can work together... or finish each other off....*

( that's a cheat - post disallowed. You've been shot. Chet pulled a risky, ill-thought move, that either wounded you or caused death. You decide..)

*as the horse charges and makes contact, the gun goes off....and it was aimed at Garrett* ( chet, you're an idiot...)

*gets out of Diablo and faces Garrett* ...but ah'll accept your surrender just the same. Right after this. *SLAP!* *gives Garrett a heavy backhanded smack in the face, sending his cigarette flying. Own demeanor suddenly becomes all business and deadly serious* Ah've had enuff of your struttin' and spewin', man. Git in the back seat of the car. We're goin' for a little ride. *with this, pulls gun from inner jacket pocket, showing that no further debate will be allowed on this point*

*hits the brakes as Garrett walks towards Diablo. Puts it in park and listens to Garrett's speech. Grins halfway through it* You're a man of few words, Garrett....

Ah always did have a talent for speechifyin'. *pulls Diablo away from the curb, crusing the town square and then taking the street towards the clinic. Checks the mirrors, having a funny feeling of being watched...*

Shut up and git in the car.