[ Bonus Update Progress: 19/20]
Chapter 33: Polite Society
[Ding! Host detected in the Eastern City. Main Quest 3 has been issued. Please complete it as soon as possible!]
[Main Quest 3: Nobody or Somebody? Choose one of the two paths, Host!]
[Complete Quest 1: Work incognito on a farm for 100 days.]
[Reward: One Golden Pitchfork]
———————————————
[Complete Quest 2: Wander the world and build a name for yourself.]
[Reward: Magical Item – Swallow Eagle's Trench-coat – tap for details]
(•̀へ •́ ╮ ) I'm not Bill; of course I know which to pick! Frantically clicking (˃ ⌑ ˂ഃ )
[Magical Item – Swallow Eagle's Trench-coat]
[perks: ① While worn, bullets can't penetrate the coat until its durability is depleted. ② Total durability: 100; can be stowed in system space to slowly repair, recovering 1 point every 24 h.]
"Holy crap, isn't this straight-up Iron-Bucket Bro Pro Max in Armed Call-to-Arms mode?" Gotta grab it!!
Arthur was browsing goods with Uncle when he glanced back and spotted young Johnny standing by the shelves.
The kid stared fixedly at the premium cigarette tins, a silly grin plastered on his face.
"Hey, Johnny! You're creeping me out. Those cigarette packs got some kind of spell on 'em?
If you're short on cash, just say so—I can spare fifty cents for a tin."
As he spoke, Arthur reached into his satchel for two shiny quarters.
Just then Johnny snapped out of his daze, shot out a hand like he'd been electrocuted, and blocked Arthur's arm.
"Ah, Arthur, no need! I'm not broke—I just remembered something hilarious!"
Meanwhile Uncle had chosen an amber bottle of whiskey. He paid, twisted the cap, and took a long pull.
The burn earned a satisfied sigh, and he launched into a spirited tale of how he'd once earned the fearsome nickname "One-Shot."
His booming voice painted a vivid picture of those glory days.
Arthur, however, couldn't care less.
He frowned slightly, eyes wandering as he ignored Uncle completely.
Instead he focused on selecting chewing tobacco, sniffing a pack, setting it back, hunting for the perfect flavor.
"Arthur! I know you love me—hopelessly!"
"You're my favorite parasite-uncle! No, wait, ringworm's my fave; you're second."
"Kidding! Ringworm first, black-plague rats second, then maybe you, Uncle!"
Used to Arthur's banter, Johnny picked several tins of premium cigarettes and asked the shopkeeper if he knew a carpenter—he needed a bed and wardrobe.
"Absolutely, sir. Truth be told, I'm on very good terms with the man!
I'll take you over myself in a bit and we'll look at styles.
Rest assured, I'll make sure you're delighted!"
The owner beamed, thinking:
When these three Cowboy-dressed fellows walked in he'd figured they were penniless drifters.
Turns out he'd misjudged—big fish hiding among minnows.
In these parts most folks build their own furniture and wives sew the clothes!
"Little Johnny, go shop. Arthur and I will wait for the girls." Johnny started to answer
when Uncle, mid-sentence, began bragging again about almost marrying a rich girl years ago. Johnny bolted.
The man could talk the hide off a buffalo; even a veteran like Johnny couldn't take it.
Minutes later Johnny reached the carpenter's shop.
After warm greetings the carpenter measured his height, weight, every dimension.
Finally he slapped his chest: "Friend, with these specs I'll build a rock-solid double bed.
No matter how wild the romp, that frame won't budge an inch!" The chat stayed light; Johnny looked forward to the finished piece.
A while later
as Johnny headed back to the general store he saw Tilly in the grip of a tall black man.
Johnny's heart lurched; he sprinted forward.
His right hand brushed his holster, but at the last instant he remembered:
This wasn't a game—waving a gun here would bring the law down hard.
He let go of the pistol and closed in unarmed, shouting:
"Hey! Let her go or you'll regret it! Get your sweet ass away from her, you sour radish—don't even think about it!"
The man glanced back, puzzled.
In a flash Johnny sprang like a leopard and smashed a lightning fist into the man's eye.
A dull thud—and the kidnapper dropped like a sack, asleep before he hit the ground.
Johnny dusted off his hands as if he'd swatted a fly.
He turned toward Arthur: "Done. Over to you guys!"
Without another word he dashed toward the gunsmith.
Inside, he chose an especially heavy weapon case.
After haggling he paid, hefted the box,
its weight giving him a solid sense of security.
Meanwhile Arthur hoisted the unconscious Anthony Foreman and dumped him in a pile of horse manure for a fragrant nap.
Then Arthur strode to the nearby hotel to find their companion, Karen.