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metriaaqua · 16 days ago

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In The Wild Wild West | 0

A Fateful Encounter

THIS CHAPTER: Two nights before the Steel Ball Run is scheduled, an experience in your father’s bar only further fuels your decision to participate. No matter what anyone thought or said, you’d be at that race.

WARNINGS: period-typical sexism. gyro sorta smells normal jumpscare (im COPING) (I PROMISE THAT MAN WILL BE STINKY LATER)

NOTE: STEEL BALL RUN IS REAL HELLOOOOOO!! after the stream i went outside and frolicked around in the beautiful sun and picked flowers. life is good. ALWAYS KEEP HOPE NO MATTER WHAT.…. still waiting on my diego.png. that announcement gave me enough motivation to finish this rewrite!! hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing this once more! this is only an intro, so it'll be a little shorter than normal, the rest of the chapters will be WAY longer!

$50,000,000.

That’s the prize for first place in the Steel Ball Run race. There are other prizes for the rest of the placements, but they pale in comparison to first place. You couldn’t believe it then and still couldn’t believe it now.

The thought of it brings a smile to your face as you clean a glass. Maybe about…42 more glasses to clean and you’d finally make enough actually to enter. The entry fee was $1,200 and unfortunately for you, you’ve got $710 right now, including quarters and nickels you’d find lying within the streets. Every little bit helps.

In order to get to your goal faster, you volunteered to work at your father’s saloon as a barmaid.

Of course, you omitted the reasoning as to why, so he probably thinks you’re just doing a good deed and helping the business. The only things you were really focused on was winning the race and becoming a full-fledged writer. Now that you think about it, when the race was said and done, what would you be buying for yourself?

Beautiful silk clothing like those rich girls around town would wear? Those pearl earrings you'd see on their ear? God, you wish.

Not only was writing your motivator, but occasionally seeing those upper-class women around town made you want to splurge. It’s their fault through and through.

They'd only really pass through town, yet you still find yourself looking at them anyway. When you wondered why you couldn't stop seeing them, you chalked it up to them wanting to rub their wealth in your face. The lives of the aristocrats are so much better than yours and each time they’d pass, the reminder was just a slap in the face.

Their tactics to make you jealous worked a little too well, and even if mother would gently remind you that it's all in your head, you found yourself wanting that life, too.

Everything’s going to be achieved once you win the Steel Ball Run. You just know it. Your aspiration. Your dreams—

“You know, you’ve been rubbing the same glass for about five minutes now. Are you okay?” A woman asked, watching as you suddenly clam up. “Should I call for help?”

"Oh, no,” You quickly apologize afterward, setting the glass down. This is your reality at the moment, the closing barmaid for the rest of the night at the saloon. There were still quite a few people in here even though the sun had started setting and it was about 45 minutes or so until close. After all, this is the saloon that never sleeps: Lucky Spur.

That is until it’s closed. Makes you giggle a little.

The air was thick with the scent of nicotine, alcohol, and now the faintest hint of perfume from this woman in your area. “Did you want something to drink?” You ask her.

“Just a water, but can you make something nice for that handsome man over there too?” She sticks a finger behind her to point in his direction. “Wanna try and get on his good side a bit before I charm him.”

Handsome, she says? You’ll just have to see for yourself. When you turn to look, you think you’re completely blinded by his radiance…

Well, that’s being overdramatic.

Hey, she was right though. The man was attractive. With long flowing blonde hair that reached far down his back, he had a sharp face with piercing emerald green eyes that almost sparkled even in the dim lighting of the saloon. He’s got a strange beard pattern on his chin, squares of blonde lining upward on his jaw. You might be seeing things, but it looked like he had some green lipstick on as well.

The way that he looks makes you ignore the strange getup he has on. Must be a cowboy, the way he’s got his hat perched up on his head and the cape that cascades down his back. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a cowboy dress that way, though.

He’s got an annoyed look on his face, one that scrunches up even more when he reaches a hand down to adjust his boot.

It’s no wonder this woman had been twirling her auburn hair on her fingers with a dreamy look in her eye. You’d probably be doing the same, had you not wondered how long he’d been here for. All he was doing was sit at the table idly and you don’t recall serving him. There’s no way your head was in the clouds for that long.

Maybe he had come earlier than you had, but if that was the case, he would’ve been sitting there for hours and still hadn’t ordered a damn thing.

When closing time comes, what then? You can only hope that you won’t have to be the one to shoo him away. Having to look him in the eye might make it a little too tempting to say he could stay as long as he wanted to. You can almost feel your face heating up, so you quickly fill a glass of water and place it in front of the woman.

Now, something that’ll impress this guy, maybe something that'll get his attention. Once again, you decide to take another look at him.

You'd always had an eye for those things, being able to roughly guess what kind of drinks a person would like. The women who came here often preferred something light on their stomachs in comparison to people who usually gamble here. They enjoyed a drink that would go down easy, as long as they could focus on their games. Something in the middle would suffice for them.

Based off this situation? This woman wanted his attention and she was going to get it because of you. There's a sudden pang of admiration that shoots through you, followed by envy shortly after. Even if he annoyed you a little bit by not ordering anything, you wish you had the chance to jump at him first.

The man's eyes eventually flicker over to you and nearly give you a heart attack, causing you to pick up another glass and wipe it over at least five times. You must've been staring at him for a little too long.

The woman at the counter eagerly turns to you. “He was looking at me! Did you see it?” She asks in excitement.

You don’t answer her at first.

They're customers. You should treat them as such and do your job. Instead of being jealous, maybe you should focus on getting money to enter. If you’re lucky, this woman would tip you after.

“Sure did. How could he not? You’re very beautiful!”

You can see her blush and press her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, you flatter me!”

Prayerfully, you’ll get a tip for your kindness.

Anyhow, Brandy would do him good, as his appearance made you lean towards something a little more on the harsh side. With only a sprinkle of sugar and an addition of bitters, you reach down and add a singular lemon to rest on its rim.

Simple. You set the glass on the wooden counter gently. “Here you go.” You say. “Hope that works.”

Once she takes it energetically, she bounces on over to where the man is. Whatever. To distract yourself from taking a look at them and driving yourself nuts for no reason, you snatch up the newspaper you’d been looking at earlier, burying your nose in it.

The newspapers just won’t stop talking about this race. No matter what date it was issued, it’s been the talk of the entire month of September. Not only would it start in two days, but this is the first cross-country horseback race.

This Steven Steel guy, the organizer of this race, what a crazy man. Where did he even get an idea like this from?

Sign-ups were on site thank goodness, but it wouldn’t mean anything if you didn’t have enough money. Your window of opportunity was steadily closing and you had to hurry things up if you wanted to make it in time.

Your horse, all of the practice, that’s all set. You’re fine in those departments. It’s the money part that’s holding you back. Though, you can’t help but smile at the thought of your horse.

Nirvana, the Friesian that would lead you clear across that finish line to victory. Another perfect reason to come here often was to visit a family friend, Miss Ava. She owned a large ranch near the end of town. You’d clean things up around the house and tend to some of the animals and she’d reward you with food or trinkets.

Her son, Liam was there too, you guess. The brother you never had—or wanted, honestly. You always believed he’d been jealous of you because you were so close to his mother. He eventually came around after you admitted your interest in horses. Even more so when you mentioned the race.

It was luck, fate even, when he told you he had been a jockey a few years ago. There was an agreement between you both that he’d let you borrow Nirvana for the race, though the promise he made you keep (one he made sure you linked pinkies for), was that when you get famous, you’d mention him at every so often. No matter what question was asked, you’d always shoehorn Liam into it. Vain, but if it’s something you have to do, fine.

Then he made it abundantly clear that just because you’re a woman, it didn’t mean you’d get the easy route when it came to riding. You’d be treated just like a man by him and he insisted that it’d be no different in the race.

There’d be a red target plastered right on your back. Anyone could take a shot at any time.

That part may have been scary, but what probably was scarier was all the injuries you'd get from falling off Nirvana every so often. Liam reckons you’re lucky that it’s only scratches and bruises and that Nirvana hasn’t kicked you with her hind legs yet and killed you.

Now that you think about him, you’re pretty sure you have to remember to meet him tomorrow afternoon. He asked you to see him as soon as you had woken up.

“Hey! You listenin'?!” Another patron calls, waving his hand in the air to get your attention. He waves a cigar in his hand, spreading the smoke in the air. It makes you fight the urge to pinch your nose. They seemed to be in the middle of a very serious poker game, but you were sure that if they didn't get their next round of drinks, they'd just die. “Didn’t you hear me?”

Setting it down gently, you come around from the bar to serve him, an apologetic look on your face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you too well. I was reading the paper. Could you repeat what you said earlier?”

Your voice is sweet, cutting through the boisterous laughter directed towards you by the men. It makes you feel like you’re the butt of a joke only they know about, and the way they eyed you like a piece of meat hadn’t helped.

“..What's a pretty girl like you doing reading the newspaper anyway? Shouldn't you be entertaining us?” One man asks, lowering his deck of cards. “It can't be that interesting, can it?”

“It is,” You nod. “They're talking about the horse-back race. I think I may even enter.” You feel proud as you say those words, putting your hands on your hips with a smile. But then the men fall into more howls of laughter. “Why're you all laughing? I'm serious.”

Once you say you’re serious, their laughter suddenly slows down and they look up at you. The irritated look on your face had confirmed that you were indeed serious. “Wait, you're for real?” One of them asked, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “A woman? Entering a horseback race?”

“You're kiddin'..” Another says. “A woman doesn't know the first thing about horseback racing. I'd be surprised if you could even work a bet.”

You move your hands from your hips to cross your arms. “They said that any gender can enter.”

Before you can open your mouth again, the slam of glass on the table startles you and the men at the table. It's the blonde man coming to stand from his stool, the legs of it scraping onto the dry wood floor. He gives a sparkly gold smile to the woman from earlier, before walking in your direction.

“Nice drink you made.” He compliments, stopping right next to you. The smell of leather and an earthy tone fill your nostrils. “Those hands of yours worked some magic, signorina.”

He beams, your eyes catching onto the golden shine of his teeth once again. It quickly fades, replaced by something colder and serious. ”If you know what's good for you, stay out of the race and stick to what you know.” He says it like he's doing you some kind of favor, offering an act of kindness even.

There's a lot you want to say to him—to curse him out, say something venomous back to him—but nothing comes out of your mouth.

A handsome man completely ruined by his nasty attitude.

“Should listen to what he said.” One of the men suggest. “Aw man, you're too cute to look upset. Come sit with us for a while. I'm sure you'll have much more fun with us than hanging around back there. C'mon, it'll be fun.”

He reaches his hand up to grab onto your wrist and you immediately snatch it away.

To say a woman doesn't know a thing about this. To tell you that you shouldn't enter the race. When you’ve been busting your ass for months trying to learn. You can feel yourself almost boiling from their doubt. With clenched fists, you leave the table and walk over towards the entrance to trail behind the man leaving.

Hopefully, the people inside would behave themselves. You may get chewed out for this later by your father, but you couldn’t care less. When you shove open the door, the soft breeze immediately hits you. Your feet drum down the steps as you catch up with him. “Why should I listen to anything you have to say?”

He’s still walking away, undeterred by your comment as he makes his way over to a horse tethered onto the hitching post, running his hand down its mane lightly.

…The Goddess of Victory herself must have been looking down on him for even having a woman this close to his horse. He looks over to you with those piercing eyes of his. “You shouldn’t get too close.”

It comes off as a warning and your breath hitches. You had half a mind to step forward anyway, but before you can ask why, he cuts you off before you can speak yet again.

“I think you’re a beautiful woman.” He admits, turning over to you fully. “It’d be a shame to see that face all bruised up in that race if you enter. Save yourself, save people their time.”

This time, you get a full view of him and his wacky outfit. No matter how handsome he may be to you, that comment really got under your skin.

His words makes you tighten your fist even more, fingers tucking themselves into the palm of your hand. “I don’t...” Yes, he had called you a beautiful woman, but you just knew the rest of his words were dripping with sarcasm. “I don’t need your advice. I don’t need a man to tell me what to do.” You sharply exhale, then point a finger to your face.

“This is a face you should remember well. You’ll remember me when you see me in the headlines. You or anyone else won’t be changing that.”

This time, you don’t even let him speak. You sharply turn on your heel and head right back into the bar.

Those men in the bar, that woman, and most importantly, him, they’ll all remember your name.

Even if you die trying.

#jjba imagine #jjba x reader #jojo imagines #jojo x reader #jojo part 7 #steel ball run x reader #johnny joestar x reader #gyro zeppeli x reader #diego brando x reader #hot pants x reader #sbr x reader

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