In another universe, before Lilith Nightbringer could dispose of Nidghogg's eyes, her little idiot of a goobbue sproutling thought they looked like a good snack.

There were...side effects.

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Yeehawgust Day 28: Heat Haze

Probably my one piece on time this year, but I had a vision that needed to be realized.

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Marshal just stood there, hands in the air as the small home slowly burned to the ground, a beacon of light in the desert night. All his hopes of finding any useful evidence on the gang that had temporarily used it as a safe house went up in smoke, too. Tack had hung back on the trek, and still was even after they arrived, not coming close to the flames. Very uncharacteristic, considering Tack's own beef with the gang and his love of all things...chaotic.

Day 6 - Fool's Gold

"Pyrite's metallic luster and pale brass-yellow hue give it a superficial resemblance to gold, hence the well-known nickname of fool's gold."

Sam knew that expensive clothes, cavalier charm, and gold mirrored sunglasses could only get him so far before people noticed the pale skin wasn't natural, the gray hair wasn't died, and those black eyes weren't just a trick of the light.

Sam knew that he'd been dealt a bad hand the second he crawled out of that hole and saw the sun for the first time, almost blinding him immediately. He wasn't a fool, despite what everyone back home liked to think. It took a little grit and a lot of luck, and a lot of counting cards and shady deals to get him where he was now, and he didn't regret it. Not really.

Sam also knew the late nights in saloons on the west end of the Basin were coming to an end, especially with the mistakes of his past nipping at his heels. So, East it was. Where no one knew his name - at least not yet. He grabbed a dart and an old, dilapidated map, letting luck decide his next move. The point landed right in the middle of the "E" in Fitzgerald.

Yeehawgust - Coyote Prowlin'

It wasn't every day that Fitzgerald got new visitors in town, so the young man wearing a crisp suit stood out amongst the more ragtag residents. Everyone was itching to introduce themselves, eager to see if his wallet went as deep as his clothes suggested, and then quickly drawn in by the easy charm the man exuded.

But Marshal wasn't fooled. He knew that the smile and dark shades hid a predator looking for its next easy victim, the next gullible fool. Dr. Mortimer hadn't been a fool. He'd seen through woolly hide to the beast hiding beneath, and now he was buried six feet deep in a hole Marshal had dug with his own hands.

Marshal stuck to the porch of his office, one hand on the Peacemaker, two optics on the man having a seemingly pleasant conversation with Mayor Scott. As long as the moving parts still whirled in his chest Marshal would make sure Jasper Kingston never hurt another living soul ever again.

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