Starfox Alternative: A Fine Day
**Hey everyone!
To break up the monotony of the smut I usually write, I thought I would re-upload this story I had originally published on fanfiction.net. I wrote this some time ago, as the result of what I thought at the time was a semi-interesting idea. The idea was that I would write a series of Starfox fics, each one based on a different movie genre. This one is a western, uses the Starfox characters, but not the setting, and is inspired by the song 'Big Iron' by Marty Robins. You're probably familiar with it if you've played Fallout New Vegas. Anyway, it's in three parts. Hope you enjoy!**
The Fox's eyes shot upwards, as did his six shooter, wrenched from its holster in a single, lightning quick action.
The water's edge was still, save for the gentle swaying of the burrograss in the early morning breeze. The Fox slowly panned his vision along the opposite bank of the creek where he had stopped to rest, his eyes rapidly darting about, affixing to the slightest sign of movement. Something had spooked him, and without the benefit of a sound understanding of the lay of the land, nor of its fauna, he was unwilling to take any risks. More than once he had settled down at an unassuming waterhole or steam to enjoy a rare few hours of downtime, only to be set upon by cougars or bears, they themselves intending to make the locale theirs for the evening.
A slight rustle sounded to his right, just out of his field of view.
The Fox knew better than to jump or otherwise move quickly at the provocation. As slowly as he dared, the orange-furred vulpine eased himself to a standing position, all the while keeping the oversized revolver trained upon the source of the sound. A few deft paces and he had put some ten feet between him and the burbling creek. Best case scenario would see him make it safely to his horse, with whatever critter he had just disturbed content to go about its business.
The crack of a dried branch underfoot promptly laid to rest any such intentions.
With a deliberate motion, The Fox assumed a side-on firing stance, facing the direction of his potential assailant. Arm outstretched, his paw firmly grasped about his weapon, he spoke, summoning what vestiges of authority he could.
"Alright, friend, you come one out nice and slow like."
A body shifted in the undergrowth, the crunching of the grass betraying its position to The Fox.
"Don't make me do something we're both going to regret later." continued The Fox, his voice slightly too high in pitch as to be properly intimidating. "I might not have the best shot on your over there, but making such as rukus as you are, I've no doubt I could put one right between your eyes and not have to worry about wasting my brass."
The reply came, meek and timid.
"Ok, ok, don' shoot! Was juss gettin' m'self some water, that's all!"
The previously vague motions became more and more apparent to The Fox until a figure appeared. It was a frog, short and squat, wearing a ragged pair of loosely fitting denim overalls, feet bare and pawss clutching at a waterskin.
"I don't know of many folks who need to skulk about in the grass like they got something to hide just to collect some water." Said The Fox, his weapon trained squarely upon the frog. "Unless of course they do got something to hide."
"No sir, not me! Was just getting some water for my Pa up there on the ridge. We is out hunting bighorns and as you might be guessing we get mighty parched spending all that time in the sun."
The Fox cocked his head ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing, maintaining focus down the barrel and at the frog.
"Thought you said you were getting water for yourself?" he quipped.
"W-well, we both be needing to drink, sir!" came the reply, a note of panic rising in his voice. "Please, I don't mean no disrespect, why don't you just let me go and I'll tell no-one you was here, swear I won't!"
It was apparent to The Fox that the young frog posed to threat, even insofar that he might let the township aware of his arrival before he was able to make himself known. It was unfortunate to have to treat him in such a way, but a decade of ranger service had taught him, among many other lessons, to never let his guard down.
The Fox replaced his revolver in its holster and stooped back down to the water's edge.
"What's your name, froggy?"
"Slippy." replied the frog, a wave of relief washing over him. "Everyone calls me slip-up, but, uh, my name is Slippy."
"Well, Slippy." continued the Fox. "I've got some business up in Agua Fria, and I dare say I'm a little lost. Perhaps you could point me in the right direction and we can put this little misunderstanding behind us."
The frogs eyes briefly glanced at the revolver, still prominently displayed beneath The Fox's duster.
"Uh, sir." he said, more cautiously this time. "That business might not have anything to do with that big iron hanging off your hip there?"
The Fox's right paw instinctive brushed over his weapon at its mention.
"I might well." He answer. "But I can assure you, friend, that if that business concerned you, you would be knowing about it right about now. Dare I say perhaps a little sooner."
"Well alright then, sir, guess I can help you out."
The frog paced up the creek several yards, his eyes still flitting towards The Fox every few steps. Coming to a stop under a low hanging cottonwood, one of the few that dotted the landscape, he motioned up and over the rise with his webbed hand.
"Head north sir, along the ridge and past the Pepper homestead. You maybe got yourself about fifteen miles to cover, should be less than an hour if you're a good rider.
The Fox strode over to his horse and placed his right foot into the stirrup. With a heave, he gracefully swung himself up and over the beast, depositing himself in the saddle. Straightening his overcoat, he turned once more towards the frog, bringing the animal around in the process.
"My thanks, Slippy. You and your father have yourselves a good day now."
The Fox slowly began to trot away,
"Sir!" yelled the frog, his voice carrying up the small gully. "I never did catch your name."
Pausing briefly, The Fox responded, turning the lapel of his duster over to reveal a small, star-shaped leather patch.
"Fox McCloud." He said. "Arizona Rangers."
By any measure it was a fine day, one of the finest that Fox had experienced since he set foot in this state. The sun, having properly crested the distant mesa's some half hour prior, now shone warmly upon the vulpine as he picked his way along the ridgeline. Despite the temperature now sitting on the warm side of eighty-five, the early morning breeze had persisted, cooling both Fox and his horse as they trekked onward.
True to his word, a lone homestead loomed ahead, just where the frog said it would be, as the ridge gave way to the flat, desolate plains of New Mexico proper. With a kick, Fox urged his horse forward. Their meandering pace increased to a brisk trot, weaving in and out of cactii and the occasional mesquite tree, as they came upon the homestead.
"Stop right there, sonny."
The thunderous report of a shotgun nearly saw Fox thrown to the ground as his horse bucked and kicked at the fracas. With both paws required to bring the beast under control, he had few reprisal options should his assailant choose to follow up his first shot with a second.
The second shot never came.
A few more jolts and the horse was calm. Wheeling it about, Fox finally came to face the source of the attack. An ageing, weathered old dog sat calmly in a chair on the front porch of the homestead, cradling a smoking shotgun in his paws. Fox instinctively reached for his own weapon.
"You done given me a right scare there, old timer." he spoke, cautiously eying the canine and he slowly rocked back and forth. "You make a habit of shooting at passers by?"
"Kid." the dog snorted. "If I meant you to be full of holes you'd be lying in the dirt. My eyes ain't so bad that I'd miss at ten paces."
"Then pray tell why you feel the need to let loose at me with one of them two barrels you got there."
Rather than respond, the old dog adjusted his aim slightly and fired the second barrel. Fox flinched as the pellets zipped past, impacting the ground some ten feet behind him.
"Doggone jackrabbits gettin' at my shoepeg." he said, returning to his steady rocking. "I send 'em scampering off but they're always coming back."
Fox dismounted his horse. The homestead was in a sorry shape. Window shutters banged and clattered freely in the breeze, some hanging from a single hinge, and a good portion of the tiling was missing from the roof. Repair of the building looked far beyond the aging dog sitting at its front.
"Seems you might be needing some trappers, friend." he said.
"You offering?"
"I would be." continued Fox. "But I got other matters to attend to."
"Then you best be getting to them." said the old dog. "No sense in wasting your time up here. You just leave old Pepper be."
Fox cocked his head. "Pepper? Am I to presume that there is a 'General' in front of that name."
The dog snorted. "Maybe once, but those days long since past, same as the country that put those stars on my shoulder. What's it to a Yankee like you, anyway?"
"I ain't no Yankee." retorted Fox, doing little to hide the indignation in his voice. "My father served in that army of yours, didn't see the other side of the war."
"A lot of folks didn't. If those matters you were referring to are some manner of revenge mission against a down and out general, take your shot."
"Those matters may well involve taking a shot, but not at you, sir."
The dogs wrinkled, weathered face cracked into a sad smile. Though it brought painful memories flooding back, memories that he'd spend the better part of the past twenty years trying to lose at the bottom of a bottle, to be addressed as such warmed his heart in a way. He craned his neck upward, straining his eyes against the early morning sun as he struggled to focus on the young vulpine standing before him.
"What's your name, sonny?" he asked.
"Fox McCloud, sir."
"McCloud? You're not James' boy, are you?"
"I am indeed, sir." replied Fox. "The one and only."
"I remember your father." continued Pepper. "The finest rider I had under my command; charged into the Yankee lines on some two dozen occasions and came out without a scratch. Trusted his instincts, he did. Sorry about what happened to him."
"It's not your fault, General. You can't be held accountable for the actions of every yellow-bellied turncoat that chose coin over honour."
"Sonny, if the dead could talk, I'd venture that you'd find yourself alone in that opinion."
With the mood turning markedly dour, Fox made his way back to his patiently waiting horse.
"It's been a pleasure, General." he said, planting his boots into the stirrups and hoisting himself onto the saddle. "But I must be off. Like you said, matters to attend to."
"You be watching yourself down in Agua Fria." replied Pepper. "Between the Yankee sympathisers and bandits, you'll be lucky to find an honest man among them. You might be needing that honking great chunk of iron you done so poorly a job of hiding under your duster sooner than you think."
"My thanks for the words, but I won't be long in town, I'm just after one man."
Business at the Lone Falcon was at an all time low. With deliveries of whiskey and beer drying up as interstate taxation and corruption took its tool, providing the town with refreshments, much needed after a hard day's ranching or trapping, was becoming increasingly difficult. The new sherif, a real hard-nose by any measure, was doing all he could to make a difficult situation worse. Fair to say, gambling was illegal, but to shut down a harmless poker game which brought the saloon some much needed coin was pushing the boundaries of civil behavior.
Or at least that is what Falco Lombardi thought.
The blue avian threw the pen down in resignation. He had spent the night engrossed in his financial ledger, adjusting and notarising so as to minimise his dues to the state. Not entirely legal, but with the correct pockets lined, the likelihood of being caught was low. He was yet to sleep, and with a full day of business ahead, he was unlikely to for the next twelve hours.
"Krystal!"
Falco looked at the slowly ticking clock on his desk. It was past his opening time, yet his barmaid was nowhere to be seen. Pushing back from his desk, he sauntered out into the saloon proper, stretching his wings above his head. He briefly considering changing into a fresh suit, but pushed the idea away when he saw the work that still needed doing.
"Krystal, where you at?"
No response. For the next half hour, Falco paced wearily about the saloon floor, pulling chairs off tabletops and laying out bottles of spirits behind the bar. The usual gaggle of alcoholics were already gathering outside, keen to start their day's drinking as soon as was permissible. Down-and-outs, the type that Falco would rather evict from his establishment, but whose patronage was unfortunately essential.
"Scum..."
Falco had very nearly completed the day's setup work when the saloon doors swung inward. A blue vixen, panting slightly, as if she had run the length of the town, stumbled in.
"About time you showed up." shot Falco. "You were off galavanting with that no-good black cat, were you?"
"I thought I told you!" replied the vixen. "There ain't nothing between Panther and myself!
"Yeah? Well that don't stop him coming calling for you every other day. You tell him should you see him, that he's not welcome here. If I see his smug face around town one more time, I'm putting that creep on ice."
"Sure thing, boss."
"Anyway." said Falco, changing the subject. "Why do you feel the need to show up for work a good hour after you was supposed to start?"
"Sorry, boss." said Krystal. "But there was a bit of a commotion over on the south side. Seems we got a visitor in town."
"Uh huh. And who might this visitor be that you decided work was second on your list of priorities? Are they the sort that might be want to spend a few dollars refreshing themselves?"
"No, boss, but people are talking!" replied the Vixen. "Folks are steering clear on account of the mighty big six shooter he's carting about. Don't think he's here to do us any good."
"Great, last thing we need is another lowlife. Suspect Grey might have something to say about it. No matter, you just get your tail behind the bar, we've got customers."
"Sure thing, boss."
The sign on outskirts may have indicated Agua Fria's population as being some 500, but from what Fox could see as entered the town, there were barely a quarter of that. No-one greeted or spoke to him as he made his way past abandoned houses and run-down stores that dotted the road into the centre of town. The few the were to be found on the streets gave him a wide berth, steering well clear or, at the very least, avoiding eye contact.
"Seems like the sort of place he's hole himself up in."
A small placard, indicating the direction to a saloon by the name of the 'Lone Falcon', was all that he had to go on at this point. Saloons were more often than not his first port of call when arriving in a town on business matters. A dollar or shot of whiskey here and there would loosen a tongue or two, and it was a damn sight easier than dealing with the local authorities.
As Fox was soon to find out.
The approach to the saloon was blocked by five figures on horseback, clearly sporting a range of repeater rifles and shotguns. The four either side of the centre figure had a distinctively disheveled look about them, with faded overcoats and greasy, dirty fur. The figure on the middle horse, however, was well presented, wearing a fine canvas vest and matching hat. The star pinned to his breast immediately identified him as the local sheriff.
"Here we go."
Fox pulled his horse to a stop a dozen yards short of the posse. He had received receptions such as these more than a few times in the past, it was not unusual for the local law enforcement to take issue with outside interference. Still, outside his home state, Fox was simply a private citizen, entitled to travel as he pleased.
The weapons aimed at him suggested that he and the sheriff might not see eye to eye on that issue.
"Long journey there, fella?" said the dog, his paws hovering over his holstered revolver. "Where you headed to, maybe I can point you in the right direction?"
"No thank you, friend." replied Fox. "I'm not here to trouble the fine folk, I've just got some business to take care of. You could do me a service and tell me where I might find myself some lodgings."
"I don't think you'd be wanting to stay here, fella, nasty place. I'm sure a fine travelling fox like yourself could do better up in Santa Fe. Should be able to reach by nightfall if you hurry."
It was usual, expected. He had grown weary of such welcomes, and had little patience for those who would turn him away.
"Don't be like that." he said. "I'm not here to cause trouble, just want to place to stay for the night and a hot meal. Some fairer company wouldn't go astray either. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be out of your way."
"Perhaps you're not the type to respond well to polite requests." spat the dog. "Whatever you think you're doing here, we don't want it. Got enough trouble as it is. Now get on outta here before I throw you in the lockup."
Fox's paw slowly reached for his revolver.
"Seems like we're at an impasse here, gentlemen." he said, eyes darting between his targets. "Perhaps it's providence that I got five chambers in this pistol of mine and there be five you standing here before me. How much trust might you be putting in this rabble you've got here, friend? Are we gunna find out?"
The posse before him clutched their weapons tightly. It was a fight Fox would rather avoid; five against one was hardly promising odds. The dog quickly waved his deputies down, urging them to shoulder their arms.
"Well I'll be, seems we got ourselves a real go-getter here. Tell you what, why don't we pretend like we never met. I advise you take this kindness of mine as an opportunity to scoot your tail on outta here. If you be inclined to stay, though, then you best be watching your back; if I hear so much as peep from you, or if any of these fine folk take issue with yourself being here, then we might just be finding out if five chambers is enough for you."
"Many thanks, friend."
The posse turned tail and galloped away, the deputies leaving Fox with a few choice curses as they disappeared in a cloud of dust.
"Yankees."
"Well, look what we got ourselves here."
As she paced about the saloon, delivering drinks and plates of food to tables, the approaching Fox caught her eye, dismounting his horse in the street outside.
"Krystal, please, there ain't no time for you to be gawking at every passer by like they might be looking to warm your bed tonight!"
"Aw, come on, boss.' said the Vixen, flashing the saloon's proprietor a sultry smile. "Don't talk like you've never had the thought yourself."
Falco blushed. True enough, he had only hired the otherwise unreliable vixen for her looks; a sizeable portion of the saloon's clientele only frequented the establishment to gape at her ample bosom and shapely rear. Their relationship had, of course, been purely professional, yet temptation was never far away.
"Though I certainly wouldn't mind seeing what this one's packing." she continued, staring out the windows at the fox, now tying his horse up at the provided water trough.
"Jeez louise, girl, get back to work!
For the next few minutes she continued with her duties, suffering the occasional snide remark from the drunkards sitting in the booths lining the walls. Falco remained behind the bar, serving up the occasional glass of cheap whiskey and attending to matters less savory with a select few of the patrons.
"He'll get himself locked up if he continues with that gambling nonsense."
Krystal was returning to the kitchen with a stack of dirty plates when the saloon doors were flung open. Eyes around the bar shot to the entrance. The fox she had eyed up previously was standing in the doorway, clad in a thick, leather duster and sporting the largest pistol she had ever seen from a holster on his hip. He keen hearing picked up the murmur of whispers that spread across the saloon.
"He's an outlaw for sure, loose and running..."
"Bad news, that one, I can tell from his eyes."
"He's walkin' heavy."
The fox strode confidently through the doorway, making a beeline for Krystal.
"Can I help you, handsome?"
As he had intended, Fox had found his way to the saloon. The Lone Falcon, the sole point of sale for alcohol in the area. The town had little to otherwise offer, a general store, telegraph office, a few bootmakers and tanners along with a gunsmith were the only establishments of note. The saloon at least offered him the prospect of a bed for the night, along with a meal. While it was information that he sought, along with a discussion with residents of the town, it was a certain blue-furred vixen that ultimately drew him through the doors.
"Can I help you, handsome?"
Fox stood speechless. In his experience, members of his species were few and far between out here in the western territories, with those that he came across often destitute vagrants. Truthfully, he neither knew nor thought to ask why this was the case; simply taking his relatively good fortune in stride.
The sight before him, however, momentarily pushed any thoughts as to the purpose of his travel to the town from his mind in a most complete manner. She was gorgeous, angelic in her perfection. Her blue fur cascading down the curves of a body tucked tightly into a dress that showed more than an appropriate level of cleavage. Her turquoise eyes stared intently into his own, eyelids fluttering slightly as she smiled.
"Oh...hi there." Stammered Fox, his voice momentarily caught in his throat. "I'm uh...after a room, can you do me one for the night?"
"Sure can!" replied the vixen. "Two dollars for your own room with a bath. For an extra fifty cents we'll even throw in breakfast for you. You'll be wanting to head over and speak to Mr Lombardi, he'll get you sorted out."
"Much obliged, ma'am."
The vixen flashed a final smile over her shoulder as she returned to her work, sensually swishing her tail at Fox. The vulpine stood motionless for a few seconds as his heart pounded in his chest.
"...damn."
His composure still fleeting, Fox strode past the patrons, catching a few weary glances, yet no words as he walked. The avian, Mr Lombardi if the vixen's words were to be believe, stood behind the bar, eyes locked on Fox. He was dressed in finery, passable even by city standards, and certainly more than adequate for the owner of a backwater saloon in the middle of nowhere.
"Can I help you, sir?" he said, his New England accent sharp and biting compared to the drawls typical of the area.
"I do hope you can.' replied Fox. "That pretty little thing over there said you might have some rooms available. Just looking for one night then I'll be gone, don't plan on sticking around all that long."
"I do believe I can, sir. Two dollars plus another half if you want breakfast. I'll just be needing a name."
"Fox McCloud."
"Thank you kindly, and what might you be doing in Agua Fria, Mr McCloud?"
"Actually, I was just about to mention something to that effect." said Fox. "But before I do, I was wondering if you knew yourself a dependable gunsmith, or at least someone who might be able to sell me some ammunition."
"I see, that's your play, is it? Can't say I'm all that surprised, we seem to be attracting less savoury folk quite a bit recently. Far be it from me to tell a man his own business, just make sure you do whatever you need to do out of line of sight of my establishment, and don't go getting Krystal involved, I seen you eyeing her up."
"I might ask that you refrain from such assumptions, friend. My intentions will be well known soon enough."
"Sorry to offend, sir." replied Falco, his voice coy. "Can't be too careful these days. If you're wanting for a gunny, your best choice is old Peppy across the way, he'll sort you out. Another word of advice, steer clear of Bill Grey; sheriffs got it in for folks that don't look like they belong here."
"Bill Grey?" asked Fox. "Wouldn't be him and his posse I came across on my way in."
"The one and the same I suspect. Anything else you might need? We got good whiskey here if you're thirsty."
"No thank you, but buy a round for the bar, on me, I'd like to make an announcement if it don't bother you too much." said Fox.
"Be my guest."
Reaching into his duster and turning around to face the patrons of the saloon, Fox pulled out a letter, as thick as his thumb and sealed with wax.
"Ladies and Gentlefolk." he began, his voice not quite deep enough to carry beyond the last row of booths. "My name is Fox McCloud, and I don't mean to take up too much of your time. I've been sent on behalf of the fine folk of the Territory of Arizona to apprehend an individual suspected to be hiding out in these parts. The outlaw Wolf O'Donnell is wanted, dead or alive, and to that effect the Arizona Territorial Legislature has authorised me to provide payment of forty dollars to whomever provides information leading to his arrest or capture. If you should..."
"You got a death wish there, boy?"
One of the patrons, an elderly ape sitting quite near to Fox, had interrupted.
"Is something the matter there, sir?" asked Fox.
"Nothing the matter, less you count wanting to have your head blown off. Think you're the first one to go after the O'Donnell gang? You'd be number twenty one by my count. The other twenty, well, you'll be needing a shovel and a desire to dig through six feet of dirt if you want to talk to them."
"All the more reason someone needs to take him." replied Fox. "Might you be knowing where I could find him?"
"Hell, I'll take your forty dollars." said the ape. "You'll be wanting to head out to the old Sargasso mine, hear that's where they be holding out these days. Don't count on you returning though, you'll slip just like the rest of them and end up as just another notch on his pistol."
"Don't you worry about that, you'll have your money should he be in that mine you mentioned and no-one else finds it in them to help me out."
"We'll see."
"Yes we will."