The Wayfaring Stranger

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A young boy, dressed in a ragged gray duster, a brown leather cowboy hat, and combat boots with spurs on the back, wandered the deserts of Vacuo. His spurs clinked around as he walked, his footprints slowly being erased by the harsh wind and sand.

A bandana covered his mouth and nose, and a pair of sunglasses protected his eyes. He crested a sand dune, looking out into the distance. He saw what he was looking for. An oasis. A jump spot on his way further into the world. He sighed, and continued walking.

He arrived in the small town surrounding the oasis a few hours later. A scummy shanty town, from people afflicted from the rogue huntsman around the world to bandits looking for any scrap of coin they can get. The outlaws and perishable of the world.

The stranger entered a bar, his face still covered. Although he didn't look young, his age of 18 was reflected in his actions. He walked up to the bar, and slammed some change on the old wooden surface. The bartender glanced at it, and excused himself from his current conversation.

"What'dya want?" The Bartender asked.

"Hardest shit ya got.." The cowboy responded.

"Ya sure? It can make most people go blind."

"Dont care. I'm thirsty and need something."

"Alright." The bartender turned around, grabbed a bottle from the very bottom of the cabinet and poured it into a shot glass. "You want that doubled?" The kid just nodded. The bartender pulled out another shot glass and filled it.

The kid pulled down his scarf, revealing his patchy 5-o-clock shadow and a scar running down his cheek, halfway covered from his sunglasses. The kid took both shots simultaneously, lifted his hand from the lien, and left. No one paid him any mind.

As he wandered the town, he fiddled with his pistol. A six shooter, lined in gold but forged out of old gun metal, making it appear black. He gazed through the town. The streets were mostly cleared, the market stalls were closed. Some people were gathering water from the Oasis. That's when the man noticed his target.

A long haired, long bearded old man, seemingly appeared as if he'd fought in the great war 100 years ago. The cowboy didn't think for a second. He pulled out his repeating rifle, a silver plated and engraved rifle, with a wooden stock, and barrels colored black, similarly to his six-shooter.

He aimed down the sights, looking at the man, who was helping someone younger than him put water into a bucket, and pulled his finger back slowly.

The old man slumped over like a sack of potatoes. His brains and skullmatter painted the rocks behind him as his body tumbled into the only source of clean water in the town. The woman he was helping screamed loudly, drawing the attention of the oblivious town-goers. The man used his semblance to assist him getting out of there before he was caught by the town huntsman.

His semblance allowed him to change his appearance into someone he's bested in battle, or in other words, killed. He switched to a woman, not wearing the fashion of the town, and fled, running for a stable of tied up horses.

No one paid her any mind, luckily, they all were too focused on the body that now infected their only clean water source, and what the would do to remedy the situation.

The cowboy burst into the stable, cut the lead free, and took a horse. The horse was as black as the night, and it huffed as he made it run faster. Again, no one pursued him, but one can't be too careful.

(Cinder X Male Cowboy Vigilante reader) Wayfaring StrangerWhere stories live. Discover now