Rory's Side Stories - 1

Hello, Azulblade here. I've come to the decision to add additional chapters that don't necessarily change the story. Think of them more as filler content, showing how a certain Irish fox got from point A to point B and everything inbetween. This way, the main story isn't bogged down and you get a little extra spice to the experience...I hope. Thank you for giving this branch a read and I hope you enjoy.

Now then, Let's Begin.

<~>

Earlier…

“Thank ye kindly. Da picture will be ready in a few days. Have a grand one!” Rory spoke with a smile.

He waved as the sheep couple left his store. They had come in to take a picture for their anniversary next week. The fox had asked what brought them out here: ‘Chasing the frontier dream’.

Rory chuckled as he looked around. The stone placement on the interior walls may have made the place feel like a cave and a tad smaller, but it reminded him of home. Various pictures and paintings hung from the walls or stood on easels. He looked down into the store’s front case: lockets, necklaces and small frames with other pictures laid inside it.

Glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner, it was close in the afternoon. Business has been a little slow since he opened but he’s made a few sales. He especially appreciated that cute vixen that came in yesterday. Said her name was April Briggs, deputy and partner to the sheriff, one Texas Stanton.

“I’ll have to meet her once. If dat vixen is such a beor, wonder what da sheriff is like?” He wondered.

Seeing as it was another slow one, he decided that another stroll through town would suffice. Grabbing his cane, a satchel and, instead of his cloak, his bowler hat from the back, he flipped the sign to close, walked out the door, locked it and began his stroll.

The town of Gold Springs was a small one with the mountains to its back and the mine not too far from it, but it had its charm. The folk were nice enough, everything was close by and provided plenty of inspiration for him. That one pub he visited was a nice little joint, the owner was a nice fella. Although, he did warn him of the constant trouble that plagued the town.

Rory had heard this town had a rather infamous reputation as being a den of thieves. Crooks, bandits, and everything between them made this place an overstuffed powder keg just waiting for the match. And the only thing standing between them, and full-blown chaos, was the lone sheriff. A woman that's been stomped, squished, gassed, chewed, and every other thing under the sun, but she always stood right back. Even when her former deputy turned on her, she still refused to give in.

“Gal’s got stones on her, give her dat much.” He muttered. He walked for a bit before stopping at his destination.

The sound of rough housing, general banter and the underlying unidentified stench came from the building. One of the things the other bar owner mentioned was to steer clear of The Crushed Weasel. Named by the owner, a cow named Annabelle, to the embarrassment of the sheriff. Most of the patrons were those that Ms. Texas had put behind bars, but always got back out. And as he stood at the entrance, he thought back to the warning and gave a small grin.

“Nothin’ ventured, nothin’ gained. And what’s life without a little danger.” Twirling his cane, he pushed the doors open and stepped inside.

As soon as he stepped in, the stark contrast between here and the other saloon was very apparent. Instead of a charming, normal-sized pub with general friendliness. This place was larger, had a more hostile vibe and everyone was either drinking or arguing. His ears perked at something and glanced left to see some patrons throwing darts at what could only be a very crude drawing of a weasel with a badge.

Not the most flatterin’ image. Looking straight ahead, he saw the counter and the very large woman behind it, wiping down a glass. Target in sight, he went further into the building.

His arrival didn’t go unnoticed, most of the patrons watched his movements while some followed behind him. Annabelle herself watched this clean-looking fox make his way confidently up to the counter and sitting down on an empty stool. Eyebrow raised, she looked down to see a smile on his face as he stared up at her.

“How are ye! Am I right in assumin’ yer da owner of dis fine place?” Rory nonchalantly asked, taking his hat off.

“Ah am. And who might you be, stranger?” The cow asked.

“Rory Gilligan, at yer service.” He replied, sticking his hand out. “I was just strolling by and thought I introduce meself.”

Annabelle looked at the offered hand for a moment before grasping it, her hand easily eclipsing his. She may have applied a bit of pressure to the handshake, but the fox didn’t seem to notice it.

“Rory Gilligan? Ah’ve heard that name, you’re the newest resident of this town, right?” Annabelle questioned.

“Emerald Horizons, dat be its name. You won’t find a finer place for pictures and paintings.” The handshake ended and Rory couldn’t resist. “If yer interested, I’d be more than happy makin' ye a picture or portrait. Ye make for quite da image.”

A small smirk appeared on the cow’s face as she crossed her arms under her massive bust and pushed them up, humoring him. “Sure you can handle all of this? Ain’t a man in this town that can handle a woman of my stature.”

Rory responded with that same grin. “Dat just means there’s more appreciation. And I always did enjoy a nice challenge.”

This one’s plenty cocky. Her smirk grew a bit as she leaned forward. “Fun as this is, ah’m running a business. So, you can either order something or leave.”

“Fair enough. I am feeling parched, so I’ll take a glass of whiskey. On da rocks if ye have it?”

Annabelle nodded before turning around, giving a generous sight of her massive backside as she grabbed the bottle. A loud grunt drew Rory’s attention as he turned in his seat to see some of the bar’s patrons had gathered around him.

“Who’s the pansy?”

“You see him flirt with Annabelle?”

“Cocky, little bastard, ain’t he?”

“We’ll see how long that lasts.”

The fox looked at the gathered crowd with curiosity. There really was every species under the sun in this town, there was even a pygmy elephant he’s only heard about in the back!

“Well now, seems I’ve become da center of attention. What can I do for ye, lads?”

Amongst the crowd, a large, brutish looking bull with a wide set of horns and a nose ring stepped out and plopped down with a thud in the seat next to him.

“So, you’re this fancy ‘artist’ that moved in? Don’t look like one to me.” The bull spoke, red eyes boring into green.

“Well, ye know da sayin’: grand things from small packages.” Rory responded.

“Emphasis on ‘small’.” The bull chuckled which spread to the others. “Ah hear you Irish don’t do anything cept drink and fight. Didn’t think any of you were smart enough to know which end you use to brush?”

The crowd jeered and laughed at the foxes’ expense. Rory’s smile dipped a bit but didn’t fully disappear.

“I’ll admit, I may not be da most well versed in da field. But I feel like I’ve carved out me own path.” The Irish fox leaned right to gesture at the crudely drawn dart board. “I can certainly say I’m far better than whatever poor soul made dat. Not da most flattering portrayal.”

The bull snorted. “Like that uppity do-gooder deserves a picture. She needs a reality check on not ruining fun or flattened under someone’s backend.”

The crowd agreed and offered their own suggestions of what the sheriff deserves. Some are more humiliating or disgusting than the last.

“I take it Ms. Sheriff isn’t da most well liked around these parts.”

*Clack* “Oh, she is. Just not in the ways she enjoys.” Annabelle chimed in. Rory looked back to see the saloon owner place his drink on the counter. “Thing’s would be better if Ms. ‘law and order’ Texas Stanton wasn’t such a nuisance.”

“Well, nuisance or not, ye gotta respect her spirit. Dealing with all dat and keep going, admirable where I’m from.” Rory responded, reaching for his drink-

Only for a rough, calloused hand to snatch it away. The fox blinked and looked left in time for the bull to down the liquid in one gulp. The crowd laughed as he slammed the glass back, a smug smirk on his face as he took his hand away, only to knock the bowler hat to the ground.

“Oh, my apologies boyo. Here, let me get that for ye.” The bull spoke, trying to imitate an irish accent. He got up, bent down to pick it up, only to have his hand squash the headpiece flat. The crowd laughed again as the bull placed the now flattened hat on Rory’s head. “There ye go, all nice like and ready for the town.”

The saloon patrons laughed even harder with the bull joining in. For his part, Rory didn’t say anything. He merely took the former hat off and inspected it in his hands. Turning it in his hands, the fox felt a rough pressure on his left shoulder.

“Admirable don’t mean spit in this town. Sooner you realize, maybe you’ll last longer. As for Texas, she’d look better as an imprint on my boot.” The bull stated, with the crowd agreeing in response.

“Is dat right?” Rory said flatly as his head turned. The bull’s smug smirk turned into a confused frown as he saw two things: that ever-present smile on the fox’s face was gone, replaced with a thin line.

And those green eyes of his seemed to glow.

“Well, thank ye kindly for da advice.” The fox stood up from his seat, despite the hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, but what’s yer name? I feel it rude we had dis craic and we barely know each other. I’m Rory Gilligan.”

The bull blinked at the sudden shift in the foxes’ tone and narrowed his eyes. “Carson Longhorn.”

“Is it now? Well, Mr. Longhorn please, let me advise ye in a few things from back home.” Rory said, hand reaching up and patting Carson on the back. “Apologizes in advance, lad.”

“What are y-”

*CRACK*

Quicker than anyone could see or react, Rory grabbed Carson’s nose ring and pulled the bull face first into the bar’s counter. The **** was enough to cause cracks in the polished hard wood.

“FUUUCCCKKK!!!” The crowd jumped back as Carson reared back, howling in pain as his hands covered his nose. “You little piss ant! you’re de-Ooph!”

Again, Carson was cut off as something heavy slammed into his gut with enough **** that he was lifted off the ground. The massive bull was sent flying into the air for a few seconds-

*CRASH*

-only to come crashing down onto a table, breaking it upon impact. All noise ceased in the saloon as the patrons looked in shock as the massive bull was laid out atop a broken pile of scrap. All eyes slowly turned back to the red fox who was examining something in his right hand before flicking it at Carson. A soft tinking noise was heard as the bull’s nose ring bounced across the floor and stopped as it hit his foot.

“Ye don’t steal a man’s drink.” Rory’s head tilted to the side. “And ye damn sure don’t mess with his hat, boyo.”