Sixes Wild: Winged
#3 of Sixes Wild
We find out what fate befalls our fruit bat sheriff!
Sixes Wild: Winged
by Tempe O'Kun
Morning sun lights a curl of smoke from Six's gun.
The outlaws stand, shocked as all hell. Two of them, cats, tense and look to their leader. The boar bandit's face is like stone. He doesn't move an inch.
The lynx laughs, rasping like a knife on stone. "You just did half our job for us, bunny." He levels his rifle at her. "Now, drop that iron 'fore you get any clever ideas."
Ears high and alert, the hare tosses her pistol at the feet of the fella she just shot.
The lynx jabs her with the barrel of his rifle. "Both guns, rabbit, unless you can't count that far."
Snickering rises from the pair of cats. The boar edges over, his own rifle trained on her too. Eyes on the bunny, he bends down to pick up her gun.
A whisper of leather.
Click.
He has just enough time to register that I snagged the gun from his holster.
Bang.
He squeals and clutches at the thigh I just put a bullet in, dropping to the dirt.
Pain blazes through my wing. It chases through my whole body. She only hit my wing membrane, but, even if I don't bleed out, that's a serious wound to a bat. I make myself breath. I'll still fly.
The lynx looks at what he thought was a dead bat. "What in tarnat--?!"
Six knocks the barrel of his rifle away and cracks him in the skull with a gun I didn't see her draw. Quick little thing. I'd admire her more if she hadn't just shot me.
The lynx snarls, but her arms are already around his neck. The hare's gun is level on his brainpan. She cocks back the hammer and smiles to the cats. "You boys fixin' to see how high I can count?"
With my other hindpaw I grab the gun she shot me with, training both weapons on the cats, still flat on my back. Most folk never expect me to use guns like this. Most folk are fools. What am I supposed to use? My wings? Damn it all, my wing hurts. Blood has trailed down the edge of my wing, collecting on my vest and gunbelt. My whole wing feels shattered and torn. Hot gouts of blood soak through my fur. I don't dare look at it.
The first tingle of dizziness finds me, but I shake it off. "You fellas are all under arrest. Drop your guns."
The cats look to each other.
Six shoots them both clean in the shoulder. They go down.
I try to call out, but these guns are getting mighty heavy and I'm winded as a frothing horse.
The hare turns and trains her gun on me.
She's going to shoot me. Again. I utter something that would make a weasel blush.
Bang.
I wince. The boar falls on top of me, clutching his rifle. He smells like blood and cheap whiskey.
My thief just grins.
* * * * *
It hurts.
The morning is gray and still. I feel like someone has jammed an iron poker through my wing and let it sit. It burns me something fierce, but the bleeding has stopped. I'll still fly, I keep telling myself. Over and over in time with the horse I'm propped up on. The hoof-beats clack along the packed earth of the trail.
The hare rides beside me. She looks me up and down. Grins like she's having a hog-killing time, regardless of putting a bullet in the boar. And me. I'll still fly.
I toe my pistol, ready to draw, fury igniting in my guts. "You shot me." My chest feels cold. My toes and wingtips are numb. I'll still fly.
"Don't be such an old croaker, lawbat." She hooks a thumb back at the outlaws, trussed up in a row on their horses, moaning against their gags. "You got your men. What have you got to be sour on?"
"Being shot, for one." I'll still fly.
"Had to make it look real! Weren't for me, you'd be half planted in the bone orchard by now. 'Sides, you stood the gaff fine..." She lowers her hat. "...'cept when I had to whiskey your wound. Way you holler, folk'd think yer a girl!"
I show all the teeth in my long muzzle. "Better than the reverse."
She eyes me a moment, then laughs hard. "Rich, lawbat! You are a gentleman a' the first water."
After a tick, I have a chuckle too, then move my wing and about die. Damn this bunny.
* * * * *
Nobody says much as Six helps carry me into Doc Richards' office. Not that I can make out. I am in a rough way by this point. That numbness has run from my wings to my legs. Things get a mite sketchy. Somebody shoving a rawhide bit in my mouth so I can't bite my tongue. Paws holding me down as I get stitched back up. And through it all, Six looking down on me. I start to get worried because, for once, she isn't smiling.
When they're done, they lay me down on a cot so Doc can see to the outlaws. Six is sitting across the room. I'm suspecting that gag was doped with something, since it didn't make me want to vomit like rawhide typically does. Time gets real funny. She takes hours to roll a cigarette then about a day to smoke it.
She doesn't say anything, just rolls the box of matches over her fingers. I look her over. I'd like to say that I can see now how she's a lady, but the plain truth is that hares all look a fair ways womanly to me. They're sleek, lean, delicate. This one's not so delicate, save for her ears. They dangle down low over the brim of her hat, giving the impression of ease, but from my cot I see her paws never leave her iron. No hint of her scent, just smoke.
Feels like a week passes, but finally I muster the will to speak. "The hell... are you doing here?"
She smiles. That cigarette is all but gone. She crushes the stub of it between her fingers. "Easy, lawbat. That doc stitched ya up. Assured me it'd heal proper."
I take a breath. I hate to admit it, but I had been terrified there was going to be a hole. I'd seen a Secession War scout once whose wings had been hit by rebel scatterfire. That living tatter still visits me in my less peaceful dreams.
Motivated by instinct, I turn to examine the wound and am rewarded by a fresh plume of pain. I yelp.
"Whoa there." Her paw settles on my shoulder, all light and careful. Her ears sway.
I get lightheaded and hit the pillow smiling. "Heh. You got fancy ears."
She lifts one of them, as if she didn't hear me right. "What?"
A fire blazes in my cheeks, burning away the fog in my brain. "Nothing. Those outlaws..."
"Are bein' seen to by that hound of yours and the doc." Her paw's got more strength than my entire body. I recognize the inside of Doc' office and I hear at least one person groaning. She's telling the truth, least as far as that goes. She pulls a blanket over me, careful of my wound. "Easy, Sheriff. You're goin' to be fine."
"Thank you, ma'-- mister." We meet eyes for a minute. Her blue ones widen just a touch. I cough up a laugh. "You're decent for a fella who shot me."
"Aw shucks." She winks, her smile coming back. "Ah am just a fool bunny." Her eyes dart to the window. It's powerful bright out; must be close to noon. The sun shines through the row of elixir bottles on display, lighting her face in the browns and greens of a forest canopy, her eyes glinting crisp blue like water in a mountain creek. Not much color out here in the Frontier, not compared with life back East. I hear a commotion outside. Her paws stroke the handles of her guns. "Gotta run, lawbat. Take care now. Don't let nobody else shoot ya."
She tucks the matchbook in her pocket and walks out the back door, casual as you please.
The next moment, Hayes roars into the office: "I demand to see them! Blake, the outlaws, and anybody else I have a mind to. I am within my rights to talk to anybody I please!"
Doc's wife, Charlotte, accosts him with a yap and a whap. "Get outta my clinic, Mister Hayes, or so help me I'll find you a way out!"
Hayes towers over the vixen. His claws extend for an instant, then slip back into his thick paws. "Doctor Richards." His voice is cordially chilled. "See to your wife."
Charlotte fumes, her rust-red tail lashing against the back of her old army nurse's smock.
Doc steps out from the other room, his paws bloody. "My wife isn't the one who's out of line." From my cot, I see his tail brush down hers. "You'd best leave, Hayes." His teeth bare a little on that last, as if it's a cuss word. "I have patients to attend to."
"Every moment we wait, my money could be getting further away!"
"And every moment you delay me, you put my patients at risk."
Haye's mane bristles. "They're outlaws!"
"They're patients." Doc snarls, pulling a needle and thread from his apron as he storms back to the triage room. "Deputy, this lion needs a breath of fresh air. See that he finds it."
Deputy Harding leads him out, but not before he gets a good look around the room I'm in. I lay still, so as not to tip my hand. He's in a foul temper for a man whose robbers just got bound by law, and gained a few ounces of lead in the process. Unless they were his robbers to begin with. That bunny might have been telling the truth.
After the fuss dies down, Doc Richards comes in and pulls off his bloodied smock, washing his paws in a basin. He checks my bandages with deft paws and smiles a tired vulpine smile. "You're going to be right as rain, Blake. Good thing that friend of yours got you here when he did." He looks around, his black ears cupped forward. "Where'd he get to?"
I shrug, then wince. "Had business, I suppose."
"Well, isn't that the way of it these days? Isn't slow like in the old days. Makes a fellow want a smoke." He pats down the pockets of his vest and trousers. "Say, have you seen my matchbox?"
* * * * *
Just about four weeks, and I'm well enough to sit at my desk, not to mention too stir-crazy to spend one more minute in bed. While I was too busy being shot, I left the outlaws there under the watchful eyes of a few trusted men and the vigilant nose of Deputy Harding. Doc is good; even the boar lived. Good. They have a long stretch in the calaboose to look forward too. Left on the train last week, under armed guard. Doc switched me over to a looser splint. He joked, said it was mostly to keep me from flying. I just grinned and bore it so he'd let me out of bed. Darn thing looks and feels just fine, aside from itching like a week making hay.
One of the grander things about being out in the middle of nowhere is the near absence of paperwork. Near. People still file complaints and reports come in the post every few months. I'm sorting through it. Harding is out and about. The office is cool and quiet.
My thief walks in.
"Six?" The pen slips from my hindpaw, splattering lakes and rivers of ink across the complaint I was cataloging.
"Sheriff." She touches the brim of her hat. "Nice to see scuttlebutt's true. Yer lookin' right as a trivet, if a touch less steady."
I swallow. "I didn't think you were comin' back."
"You sad it happened?"
"N-no."
One ear lifts. "That mean you aren't fixin' to arrest me?"
"Have a seat." I gestured to a chair. "We'll talk."
I hear a soft click as she locks the office door. Spurs ringing on the floor, she ambles up and sits, not cross-legged like a lady, but predatory and sly like a gunslinger. Right on my desk. Granted, she's dressed like a fella, but she's close enough that I swear I can make out the curve of her figure. She leans in and those ears droop. An amused little smile crosses her muzzle as she breathes down a single word to me: "Talk."
My heart chugs along like a steam engine. Her voice almost sounds like a girl's. I freeze.
She blushes, gets abashed for a second, then her face goes unreadable as iron. Once again I could believe I'm looking at a fella, if a tall, scrawny one. She leans back, shifting atop my papers. One of her holsters trails through the wet ink, carving channels through my neat little streams.
"No need to be offish." I find myself leaning forward just a bit. "I've just got some questions, is all."
"Then shoot, lawbat, or give up the gun." She laughs roughly. "We both got ears."
"That we do." My eyes flash to her ears before I can stop the darn things. I blink, then meet her gaze level and steady. "First off, what do you know about Hayes' unlawful ties?"
She gives me a smirk. "You reckon I care to cross him any more than I already have?"
"I don't think that's possible unless you stole his wife." I settle my wings against the back of my chair, the sling chaffing. "Or his money again."
"Well, his wife's ain't the breed I'm lookin' to buy. And I hear tell he's ponied up the cash for a better safe." Her eyes dare me to call her on that, then she fiddles with a claw. "I only caught wind of that fraud business a few days beforehand. Isn't quite simon-pure about how he runs that mining outfit either-- Is your wing alright?"
My mind flounders for a second, then catches the trail again. "Near as can be, considering. What's this have to do with Hayes?"
"Nothing. Ah just thought it fair I get to ask a question too."
"I see." I decide not to press her too hard on any one front. "Second, where'd you come by such fancy iron?"
"What's this got to do with the lion Hayes?"
"Nothing."
The bunny leans in a hair. Her muzzle is not four inches from mine, her paws not an inch from her iron. Her voice is steady, steady as her aim was when dealing with the outlaws. "You lookin' to return them to their rightful owner?"
"Never said it wasn't you."
She breathes. Her scent teases my nose. "They were my daddy's. The only thing of his I still got."
I nod. Something about her eyes makes me believe her.
"Can I..." She clears her throat. "...see your wing?"
"You plan to keep holstered this time?"
Her paws rise. "Just checkin' my handiwork."
I slip the sling off. She gets real close to look. Even on her knees, she's as tall as I am sitting. I can feel her breathing against the thin fur of my wing. It washes down over my wing like waves, slow and regular.
One paw comes up and she reaches for the pink scar, which is now almost flush against the surface. I wince. She freezes, paw curling back. I breath and let my wing down in front of her, spreading it the rest of the way. It feels tight and stiff, but that's to be expected. I know it can carry me.
The wound is close enough to the top of my wing that she is right up against me. Those floppy ears brush the side of my muzzle. Very gentle and slow, her paw traces up my wingbones to that scar. Her touch is like a safe air current, smooth and steady. She smooths my fur under her pawpads, feeling along the change in texture. The scar has no fur, naked as her pawpads. "This doesn't hurt ya?"
"Not a bit." Her scent is full and close now, heavy and warm like a thick blanket. The bunny turns my way, her blue eyes showing just a hint of regret. She says "sorry" so soft she starts to sound like a girl again.
Our muzzles bump, softly jostling.
"Ya really ought to arrest me." Her breath brushes hot against my ear.
"Why's that?"
"I shot you." Her paw touches my wing, ever so gently.
"And saved me from being shot."
"Ah am not keen on giving the money back."
"Six..." I took her by the shoulders. She feels so light in my wings, like she was air. "Bring it back and testify. I can protect you."
"Those fools weren't Hayes' only muscle. Ya can't keep me safe from every hard case he puts on the dime."
"I could if you were a deputy."
She backs up to look me in the eyes. "Deafness don't run in mah family, Blake, but I think my ears are startin' to go. Sounded like ya just said I should become a deputy."
I trace her ear carefully with one wing thumb. "That's good, 'cause I did."
"The heck would ah agree to that for? Hayes doesn't know a damn thing about me and--" Her ears slip back around the brim of her hat, her face darkening. "--and I've got the money. Bully for me. And ya want me to swap it all for the chance to break up tussles between lowlifes? What makes that a square trade?" She has a scoundrel's smile and an angel's eyes.
"Because I..." I stammer. I can feel my ears getting hot. I think about about her lips, how nice it would feel to...
She kisses me. Just takes me by the ears and plants one on my lips. I ought to have been shocked at such forward action by a lady. But, from the taste of her cigarettes to the way she presses in against me, Six isn't like any lady I ever knew. I find my wings curling around her.
After a moment, she eases back, leaving me leaning forward just a bit. Her hat is gone, knocked off by the force of the kiss. Her muzzle dips, and she starts blushing again. "Sorry. Ah didn't mean tah..."
"I-I liked it." I run a wing thumb under her chin, bringing her eyes level with mine. "Don't you go bein' sorry"
The hare narrows her blue eyes, saying silently she didn't quite believe me. "Ya look a touch pained."
I grimace, giving a nervous chuckle. "Your gunbelt is diggin' into my side."
"Oh." And just like that, she straddles my hips. The warmth of her crotch presses against mine. The bunny looks up at me like this is nothing compared to kissing me. "That better?"
"Umm..." I squirm.
Six glances around, skittish like I've never seen her. Tensing, her body pulls back against my wings. Her ears dangle free now; they brush against my chest, low as they can get.
I lean against her, nuzzling in close. We touch noses; she gasps. Her muzzle's shorter than mine, and her fur feels soft as cotton as I brush along her cheek. I want to touch those floppy ears, but if they're anything like mine they're delicate and ticklish something fierce. I wrap my wings tight against her back. She gives a quiet squeak. Even through her fur, she's blushing. We bump noses. My lips touch hers. I kiss her.
A sort of shudder runs through her. She hauls me to my feet and suddenly we're kissing against the wall of my office. Soft quick kisses, long lingering ones; she can't seem to make up her mind. I play with that little fluff of a tail, feeling the bowie knife she keeps beside it.
Part of me, perhaps the wiser part, demands to know what I'm doing kissing a lady outlaw, one who dresses like a man no less! But the rest of me soon hogties that voice and from there on it's all kisses and touches and her hips against mine. Our gun handles clatter together as she starts to grind up against me in a most unladylike fashion. I shiver, poking out of my sheath a little, rubbing against the inside of my undergarments. She's so hot against me. Her paws brush across my chest, pinning me against the wall. The rough wood tickles the backs of my ears. I kiss back at her, licking her lips, but she doesn't open her mouth. The kisses are very pleasing nonetheless. The leather of her vest runs smooth against my wings. I breathe harder, pausing in my attentions to recollect myself.
My thief is not to be dissuaded. Her lips find my cheek, my neck, my chest. She starts unbuttoning my vest. Her own breath is hot and fragrant, sweet as cider under the ghost of all that tobacco. Her scent is powerful and riles me considerably. I stroke her paw. "You-- you're in heat?"
She answers by pulling me toward the cell, out of sight of the small, barred window. I bump against the bars, then she pushes me back against the cot in the cell. One bunny paw reaches back around to touch my ears, while the other starts working along the front of my britches. That quick paw digs under my gunbelt, uncinching my regular belt.
I struggle to regain my breath, forcing a cool breeze of sanity into my lungs. "Hold off, Six. That office door don't lock-- Those are my trousers!"
"Possession ain't nothin' to a bunny in mah line a' work."
Her pawpads slip against the tip of my member. It's been years since a woman touched me there and even in wilder days they never took to it with such enthusiasm. She grips me like the pommel of a saddle, except I'm the one holdin' on for the ride. Desire burns in me. She pours kisses onto my lips, feeding the fire. I'm stiff as a railroad spike. Her paw is clumsily squeezing on my fully exposed shaft. I'm squeakin' like a prarie dog with each grope and, while I'm not quite jealous, it does feel nicer even than rubbing it against my wings. Her lips plant little panting kisses all over my muzzle, leaving tiny traces of wetness in my thin fur. I'm workin' up the gumption to call this shindig off when she freezes. Her powerful thighs crush in against me and, were it not for the cot, I believe she could have given me a hell of a bruise.
I brush her with my wing, one hindpaw ready to go for my gun. "Six, what--?"
'And then she's gone, springing off me and shutting the cell door behind her. It dawns on me after a heartbeat. She's got my damn britches in her paw! Before I can get to the bars, she's tried two keys on my belt and the third one clacks into place. She pulls it from the lock and glances at me, startled.
My wings can't fit through the bars in any meaningful way, so I reach with a hindpaw. The chill of iron against my manly bits makes me yelp. "Ah! Ooh! What in all hell're you doin', Six?"
The cell door rattles under my weight, but stays locked. She backpedals. "I'm real sorry, Blake. I-I'm just a mite skittish on these matters." She adjusts her clothes, snatching her hat from the floor. "I'll understand if you don't want nothing to do with--"
"Jordan."
"What?"
"Call me Jordan."
"Oh." She smiles. Her paws wring the leg of my confiscated garment.
I take a steadying breath. "Look, bunny. I'm not fixin' to make you do a thing you don't care to."
Her eyes slip down. To my horror, I find my pink trouser snake is sticking lewdly through the bars! My ears go down, realizing I'm dreadfully indecent. I cover up with my wings. "Just toss those britches back my way and we'll sort out the what's-what here."
"Honest? You ain't mad?"
"I am too damn naked to be mad!" It dawns on me that makes no kind of sense, so I add: "Please!"
She presses her lips together like she's trying not to laugh. Damn this bunny. I give her another desperate look and she balls up the trousers, pulls back to throw them, and--
Footsteps. My office door swings open.
Our gazes meet. The britches drop to the floor. They're only a few feet away, but they might as well be in a Chinaman's closet for all the good they do me. Six shoves her way out of the office, galloping down the hall and out the front door. I see her flash by the barred window, hat already on, muzzle grinning under its shadow.
I cuss. Then I look into the somewhat sad, very confused eyes of Deputy Harding.