An Alliance Forged in Blood

[Gildarts]

A smirk. The bartender honestly didn't expect the woman to have returned so quickly. He had heard the shrill pecking of gunshots, and he tied the link of violence to the still-warm weapon slung on her back. Christa offered him a cocky and antagonizing smile as she downed the blazing shot that was left waiting for her. Steadily, she held his stupefied eye contact in her own cold gaze. When Christa declared a dare with the raising of her glass, it was like she was challenging the whole bar. Her glance swept the straggling strangers though she knew they would never keep up. To her, it was all about the sport.

The sheer number of drinks they both downed was impressive, better still, the old man seemed to be able to keep up with her own unnatural immunity. She would see just how far he could take it and hopefully drink the bastard under the table. They both had something to bond over, and she didn't mean the cheap booze, but that the admirably quantity it took to swirl her thoughts, was equal to that of Issac's.

They bartered a little on the information they would trade until it seemed as though it was her turn. Christa was a master at this game. Tactics, subterfuge, and outright war all littered her mind. He stunk of the experience he admitted to, and Christa felt little triumph that she had been able to get him to admit it. The past made for a good story, but that was about it.

The woman should have mentioned to Issac that it would take a lot of booze – and an impossibly large tab – to get her plastered, but he would eventually figure it out. The stifled bartender could hardly keep up with the two and had to nearly empty bottles ready in both of his hands. Smitty was relieved when Christa turned away from him and offered a candid stare to Issac.

Instead of speaking, as her hanging jaw and parted lips would have first implied, Christa pulled the rifle from its slung spot on her shoulder and cleaned out the chamber. A littering rain of bullets fell from the opened stock and made a chiming sound as the hollowed shells reached the wooden floor. She liked to have a weapon in her hands, without it, or a full glass, she felt uncomfortably exposed. It was, perhaps, her 'tell' in this game so much like poker. The soldier loaded the bullets one by one and began a curt, yet honest, choice of words.

"Hmph. Damn bastard. Yeah, me and those shits have a history. And I may be a little biased," her icy eyes offered a flare of aroused anger before continuing, "But I want their blood."

The quaking words resounded in the bar, receiving a very open reception among the bandits and outlaws. Cheers were drowned by the sips of whiskey that the husky cowboys eagerly guzzled. Cautiously, Issac remarked, "You imply that they want yours."

"Damn right. Fucking greedy ass bastards can't even leave a girl alone." Her strong gaze seemed to flicker for a fraction of a second, so swiftly that someone not akin to reading people wouldn't have noticed. Issac listened for her mystery with an angled ear.

THWUMP!

She pounded the glass on the table, forgetting her own strength though the glass did not break, but bounced high in the air before angling in Issac's direction, who caught it with a slight of hand.

Christa's eyes slid to his readied grip, fingers still grasping the miniature glass. Had Issac not caught it, it would have slammed into his right eye. Had Christa not intentionally 'slipped' it in his direction, she wouldn't have known any extent of his capabilities aside from what she had witnessed in the alley. This was a contest, she determined, where neither of them were bluffing and both still seemed quite sober. The girl was almost able to pull it off as a woozy mistake, but her hands weren't shivering, and Issac carefully set the glass down with his suspicious eyes on her.

"What'd you do to get them after you?" Subtle conviction ebbed in his voice.

"Honestly?" The perceptive woman tilted her chin, "Not a damn thing." She paused for a moment, reflecting, "But that doesn't exactly stop fuckers from trying to get what they want. I only partially blame myself, for not killing them when I had the chance." It was peculiar, then, when she offered him a timeframe, for it seemed irrelevant, and yet so much had been left unsaid and the consequence in the tone of her voice was unrivaled. "When they least expected it and first started after me. That's when I could'a taken the shot. Even if I ended up missing. It would've been worth it."

THWUMP!

"Yes, they.. Do tend to do that." Issac could see her reasoning, but that didn't mean he agreed with her methods. He disregarded her last comment, as it seemed a little out of context and was sure she would bite back with a nasty remark.

While the woman didn't exactly expect the old man and her to see eye to eye, neither did she really bother to explain herself to the strangers who paid for her drinks. With her bold personality and stinging cut of words, anyone could tell that the action she took was her way of getting her opinion through to people. And her bullets did a pretty good job of that.

"They made a bad gamble. And I plan on making them pay." Issac sniffed out the hateful taste of revenge in her words. Bloody, bloody revenge.

It wasn't even the end of the night, nor had they even scratched the surface of motives, but Issac could immediately tell Christa's reality was incredibly simple. In her world, survival meant:

Kill or be killed.