You and I in Unison

The Tale of Scroddie Oddie Vol 1

Where the wind cuts like defined steel and the sun glares like an interested woman, the good people of Tiny Town found a haven in the valley between mountains that shade from the heat-death of Sol. Smells of freshly sliced limes allure Scroddie Oddie to those saloon doors, just eager to be burst open by his boot. Teaming with cacophony from inside, sounds of laughter and vicious keys being played on the organ, Scroddie thirstily makes his way inside. Upon entry, a couple patrons had immediately shown fathom for the whiskers on Scroddie's snout. "is that mustache real?" drunkenly queried the beaver. "can I touch it" chirped his crony, an otter of equal stature. Scroddie kindly obliged, perhaps humorously or through sheer bewilderment to the situation. Awkwardly in first person, our now cross-eyed hero watches two full grown civilians twiddle his whiskers. "wow" blankly expresses the otter. "so cool" the beaver stumbles. Had enough, Scroddie quickly swats away the hands of these fans and tips his hat. A blonde was on the mind and this rat had enough of his whisker enthusiasts. Men gambled and women danced, together they sang and laughed and filled the hot night with every bit of soul Tiny Town had to offer. Scroddie found himself a cozy beckon from the open barstool that peaked from the crowd which filled the first floor. On his mosey our hero couldn’t help but notice the flush faces of townsfolk peering and swaying from the second floor railing. It was a night of leisure and the whole town had gathered to forget about their troubles from the day and cut loose. Scroddie’s liver grumbled for a beer from the tap and something had to be done lest he become someone’s DD. Squeaking past the footwork of his fellow drunken animals, at last Scroddie plants himself on the aforementioned stool and eagerly waits to meet the eyes of the now noticeable one-eyed ostrich tending bar. A sizeable scar ran down from his forehead to the cheek, an eyepatch covering the eye socket on this fruffled bird. A gesture from his wing gave Scroddie the assurance that an ice cold local blonde draft was putting on her makeup and almost ready to go. Scrodie eagerly awaits for his turn while some blusterous noise begins to blossom from behind; a fight! A badger confronts a local possum about his questionable poker hand. It appears the possum may have played fool. This, deeply upsets the badger. The air rings with the stomp of his spurs, calling “LIAR”. mirthfully, Scro leans into the table.

The Possum, displeased by the quarrel. Shines his silver. "Now what so funny rat boy?” spotting our hero's intrigued mirth. Scrodie freezes, barrel to his nose. A gulp, not a sqeuak. Scrodie begins, before being interrupted by.. the murder.

3 crows burst through the saloon doors. CAW CAW CAW they annoyed the patrons, CAW CAW CAW and everyone was staring. The Murder had arrived, and with them brought a festival of noise. Annoyingly, they approached the bar. Squawking and laughing. They truly owned the place. ‘CAW a gin and tonic CAW” a crow shouldered up next to scrodie, still patiently waiting for his drink. the ostrich seemed hurried. He began to pour the drinks for the gang, passing over scrodie’s order. After 2 drinks had been served Scro decided to squeak. “FF” he began before being served and old fashioned. The bartender gave a look of worry which scro completely dismissed. Up until his tail had brush up against one of the crow’s feathers. “HUH” said the crow. Gaining suspicion, his fellow murder began to circle scrodie. scro only had one sentence for them. “you spilled my drink.” he squeaked. “yeah? CAW and whats a rat gonna do about it?”

Squeak, scrodie proclaims. in the blink of an eye, scrodie clears leather. 5 shots rang. 5 shells emptied. 5 crows fell. A heartbeat, the final crow, stunned, realizes his predicament. CAW he begs. Scrodie fills leather with silver and lowers his brow towards the final crow. a moment passes between their eyes before our feathered foe decided to plea. “please, the bounty is only 15 dollars. We didn’t know things would become like this. Please have a hear-“ the silver sunset filled with the blaze of the 6th bullet. Fire toiled from the chamber when the hammer struck. Unremorseful, Scrodie claimed his final kiss from death, like he played with her hair on a picnic. One 44 magnum at eye level and a FFFF of his teeth. Saddled back in its holster scro deciced best not to finish his drink. he tipped his hat and squeaked, leaving his shocked bar mates in their situational prison. 6 dead crows and he barely was served.

ᵉˣᶜᵉʳᵖᵗˢ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵃⁿ ᵘⁿʷʳⁱᵗᵗᵉⁿ ᵇᵒᵒᵏ 𐙚