A flicker of light danced across the face of a nameless gunslinger as he lit his bent and broken cigarillo. Inhaling deeply, he wondered at the starry, beautiful sky above Mazatlan. The stench of cheap tequila wafting on his breath, the bandit cursed god angrily at the hand he has been dealt.
-3 Days Earlier-
It had been a two pair, kings and aces, but unfortunately his luck had ran short. The dusty mariachi across from him grinned as he laid his cards down. Ace, king, queen, jack, and a 10, all hearts. Without warning, the gunman, in the flash of an eye, had his revolver squarely pointed at the musician's chest. Eyes locked, a bead of sweat dropped down the mariachis brow. A twitch on his face, first towards the case on the table, then back to the gun pointed at his midesection was all the gunslinger needed. With an ear splitting percussion, and an acrid scent of gunpowder, the mariachi lay back in his chair, a hole where his heart had been nestled.
All eyes in the cantina turned toward the remaining figure at the back of the bar. He quickly grabbed the handle of the now bloodied case, and pulled out a smoke. Never taking his gaze off the myriad of characters remaining rising to their feet, the outlaw whipped out his pack of matches while simultaneously igniting a stick. A haze of smoke drifted intently towards the ceiling as he inhaled his first drag. There was a palpable tension in the room, hands moving towards holsters and brows being lowered.
Quickly, and without warning, the desperado leaped laterally through the dusty window next to him rupturing the glass and sending a shrill fracas into the alleyways around the building. With the alleyway thin as a Columnar Cactus, he was able to leap and jump, foot to wall, foot to wall, til he could grasp the ledge of the teracotta dwelling. Hearing the galloping of the lawmen riding to the cantina he turned and ran leaping roof to roof over chicos and chicas leaning out their windows. Finally coming to the end of the settlements, he saw a giant pile of hay he gently launched himself upon. Running into the barn accompanying the hay stack, he found a horse locked in a stable. Kicking the pen open, he lept up on the horse and spurred it to run forward, east to Mazatlan. He had finally accomplished it. He had finally reclaimed his birthright.