Snake Skin | John Marston

By 1899, The Age Of Outlaws And Gunslingers

"There she is," the young woman whispered to herself as she entered Valentine from the West on top of her black mount, "I wonder if you missed me, dear Valentine..."

Slowly but surely making her way to the butcher's, the woman looked around at the buildings, remembering how she left them two years ago, back in 1897.
It was getting darker by the minute, meaning the drunks would be heading to the saloons, honorable ladies and gents would be on their way home and the law would be sloppy.

Once she made it to the butcher's table, she jumped down her mount and turned to face the carcass of the red deer that had been living on her mount's backside for at least four hours. Before giving it any thought, she cut the carcass free, letting it slide down into the mud.

"You gonna give it to me like that, Miss?" the butcher called out from behind her. She completely ignored his question and proceeded to pick the deer up. She threw it down on his table, letting the body cover it whole.

"That's a big catch, dear. Are you a hunter?" he asked, smiling as he inspected the carcass.

"How much?" she asked quite directly, not breaking eye contact.

"Considerin' you're a good shot, the most I can give you is 11 dollars, Mi-."

"15," she cut him off, offering her own price.

"Miss..." he cleared his throat.

"15," she repeated herself, sounding more irritated than before.

"13, I can't go higher. Red deer ain't popular no more,"

She sighed and took a step back, maintaining eye contact.
Quickly the man noticed her fingertips grazing the revolver that had been holstered around her waist, "T-that won't be necessary, Miss."

"Thank you, Sir," she flashed him a smile. Just then he pulled out a tiny chest with all his earnings and sighed. While the butcher was fishing out the money for her, she looked around. The sound of boots stepping on mud was irritating her. Never had a love for Valentine and it didn't have any love for her.

"15, Miss," the butcher snapped her out of her thoughts and he reached over with the money in his palm. She quickly grabbed the cash and counted it in front of him. Once she made sure it was all there, she shoved the money in her satchel and turned once more to her horse.

The young woman landed a soft pat on the horse's neck and proceeded to grab the reins, leading it with her. The thought of spending the night there wasn't that bad. So far, she ain't seen a single poster of her mug, name, and price of her head.
That was the bare minimum of a green flag for her.

Making her way to one of the Valentine saloons, she heard cheery singing, laughing, and occasionally objects and bottles being broken.
She sighed, looked down at the mud, and grinned, "Might as well get a drink while I'm here,"

The woman proceeded to tie her mount to a nearby pole. Once that was done, she went around back and entered through one of the doors. As soon as she did, she was greeted with loud noises, laughs, singing, and of course the piano. She slowly made her way to the bar.
Without any hesitation, she threw some coins the bartender's way, "Whatever you got, pal,"

The bartender nodded and wiped a shot glass for her, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and poured one for her. For a few seconds, she stared at the liquor, but her trance was interrupted by a larger man bumping into her from behind.
She quickly turned to him, glaring, "You got a death wi--",

Y/N was rudely interrupted by the same bearded man, "Miss, have you seen my friend?"

The woman just shook her head and turned back to her drink, one smooth move and it was down her throat. The burning feeling made her cough a bit, getting the attention of the bearded man once more.

"Have you seen Lenny-boy?" he asked as he leaned on the bar, trying to make eye contact. Y/N noticed his state instantly. Just another drunk idiot begging to be robbed, she thought.

"No, ya' shitbird, I have not," she quickly bit back.

"Hey, two more!" the man hollered as he tossed some money to the bartender. Y/N just stared at him.

"He's absolutely out of it..." she whispered to herself as she watched the bartenders' every move. But without any reluctance, she grabbed the glass and took the shot. So did the larger man. While he was distracted by the atmosphere, she took the chance to inspect him. Worn down hat, an old blue blouse...but most importantly the guns slung around his waist, just like hers.

Later one drink turned into two, and two turned into ten. Eventually, they found Lenny and went through a drunken adventure one can only wish to forget. Still, she had not learned his name.