[Moosh da Outlaw]

Chapter 7

It was dawn.
Rumbling torrents of water crashed down from the side of the Autumn Falls less than a mile behind the Outlaw camp, churning and sloshing before being dumped into the Mongo river. A fall down these treacherous waters would surely kill a man, and it had already claimed the lives of countless dozens, clakkers and outlaws alike.
A single ledge jutted out of the cliff at the side of the waterfall and tall figure leaned against a tall oak tree growing from its middle, patiently waiting. This was Willie Royalle, Buckner's son. He had bored, half-closed eyes and was wearing a white, heavily stained shirt with unmatching pants and sandals. He inhaled deeply from the four cigars at the side of his mouth that were held together with a rubber band; he was a very, very heavy smoker.
What the hell is taking that little bastard so long? He wondered, sneering. As if on cue a short, hunched figure hobbled onto the ledge, moving painfully slow.
"What took so damn long?!" Willie demanded, standing up to his full height- 12'5. Like Buckner, Willie had the temper of a rabid wolf. On steroids.
The hunched figure peeked up at him with small, jewel-like eyes. "I'm not as young as I was before." He reminded him.
"Yeah, whatever." Willie yawned, glairing down at him.
The outlaw elder's name was Johnathan. He was one of the oldest members of Buckner's gang, and was known for being an expert on outlaw politics. During his youth Johnathan had been well-renown as a professional assassin, but now he spent his days as Buckner's personal advisor. He had unusually small eyes that flashed like gems in the sunlight and an evil smile that sent chills down Willie's spine.
Johnathan flexed his fingers against his oak cane that he kept with him at all times. "I have been thinking about what you said," He said in his queer musical voice, "And I have a solution to your problem."
"What?!" Willie asked eagerly, taking another deep breath from his cigars.
"First," he said, "you'll have to kill Clyde. You can't have any competition."
Willie nodded; killing his brother would be easy. "Consider it done. Then what?"
"This is what."
Johnathan reached in his pocket with a bony, wrinkled hand and produced a tiny glass vile. Inside was a milky grey liquid. "Two days after you kill your oaf-of-a-brother, pour this in Buckner's drink. He'll be dead before he even lowers his glass."
Willie snatched the vile from the elder's grasp and slipped it in his own pocket. "Now I suppose you'll want something in return?" He asked dully. He couldin't think of anything Johnathan would want, but he knew that the old geezer wouldnt've helped him for free.
"Oh, you know," Johnathan shrugged carelessly. "Second-in-command, half the loot, and," he added quietly, "Charlotte's head."
There was a pause. Willie leaned against the tree again, deep in thought. He had wanted to be the one to have sold Charlotte's head; many outlaws hated her because Buckner treated her better than everyone else, and she always ended up with more moolah. Win some lose some, Willie thought.
"Deal."

---

Charlotte opened an eye.
"..."
Then she opened the other.
She was dimly aware that she was moving; more specifically, being dragged. Soft morning sunshine shone through the oak leaves swaying rhythmically above and gleamed in her eye, causing her to squint painfully.
"What the fvck?" She groaned as she felt a throbbing pain steadily building in her forehead that reminded her of a hangover. "Did I get drunk last night? And what the hell is going on?"
"Hmm." Somebody chuckled behind her. She turned her head and caught a glimse of a tall man in a cowboy hat and poncho dragging her along by a thick strand of bolamite webbing. Her memories came back in a flash.
"Let me go, you jerk!" She screamed, thrashing violently. The more she thrashed, the more she realised just how much trouble she was in. She couldin't move her arms or legs- she could only wiggle and squirm her body like a fish out of water. She was also being dragged towards the town of Fowlsburgh by a Bounty hunter, and she had a pretty good idea why.
"What the hell! This ain't how you treat a lady!" She howled like a wounded bear. "I have rights! I HAVE RIGHTS, DAMMIT!"
"For Odd's sake, shut up!" Stranger yelled, haulting. "I don't care about your oddamn rights! And your an outlaw, you don't have rights to respect anyway! Now shut yer mouth!"
Charlotte took his advice and closed her mouth, looking pissed and defeated at the same time.
A few uneventful minutes past.
"Did you hear that?" Charlotte asked, eyes wide.
"I ain't falling for any tricks." Stranger growled.
"No, i'm serious. Wait! Did you hear that?" She turned her head the other way. "There! In the bushes!"
"There's nothing there." Stranger sighed.
"A spyider! In the bushes!" She cried.
"What, like a bolamite?"
"Not s-p-i-d-e-r," She said, reciting each letter, "s-p-y-i-d-e-r. There's one in the bushes! It'll eat us alive!"
Charlotte started thrashing and panting, her eyes growing wider each second.
"Stop gettin' all upset over nothin'. I don't even know what a spyider is." Stranger said, scratching his head.
"Waah!" Charlotte screamed.
Stranger almost screamed himself out of suprise.
At that second a huge eel-like head supported by a neck as thick as a tree's trunk burst from the bushes, hissing and spitting with rows of small, sharp, and numerous teeth.
"Spyider! SPYIDER! Look what you did, smartass! You've condemned us both to death!" Charlotte wailed...