| Wendy's Muse ~~~~~~~~~~~ |
| Texas Jackalope OW ~All Seven It was a cold, stormy night in late autumn when the seven peacekeepers from Four Corners settled down for the night around a roaring campfire. The lawmen had been out hunting down a notorious gang of outlaws who had been wreaking havoc in the territory. Judge Orrin Travis, their employer, had elicited their help in apprehending the gang. Vin Tanner, renowned tracker, had used his remarkable tracking skills to hunt down the gang at their hideout. A furious gun battle had ensued, lasting several hours, and leaving a large portion of the outlaws, dead or severely wounded. Through what Josiah Sanchez, ex-preacher, claimed as ‘divine intervention’ none of the seven men had been seriously injured. Flesh wounds, minor cuts, bruises, and one dislocated shoulder, coupled with overall weariness once they had turned their prisoners over to federal marshals, had led to the seven deciding to call it an early night instead of riding on into town. J.D. Dunne, the youngest of the seven was almost asleep when he became aware of the first strains of a melody drifting on the wind. “What is that?” “Cow hands singing to their cattle J.D.” Buck Wilmington told the younger man. “Where is it coming from though? We’re nowhere near any ranches out here.” “High range.” Vin Tanner’s quiet voice supplied through the darkness. “Cow hands singing to their herd, and the wind is carrying it down into the valley where we can hear it.” Another strain caught their attention this time from an opposite direction. It was a solitary tune and had a haunting quality to it. “You can’t tell me that is a cowhand singing to his cattle.” J.D. remarked, “It sounds downright eerie.” “Nope…that’s a jackalope.” Vin told him. “A jackalope? What in tarnation is that?” Buck exclaimed. “A jackalope is a small animal that resembles a jack rabbit, but has antlers growing out of its head.” Vin explained. “It’s repeating the cow hand’ s words back to them.” “You don’t really expect us to believe such a tall tale as that, do you Vin?” Nathan Jackson asked sleepily. “You can believe whatever you darn want to, Nathan. I was just telling you what I know it to be.” Vin said, his voice held an edge to it, the tracker not liking it being implied that he was lying. Chris Larabee had listened quietly to the exchange of words between his companion’s, smiling all the while as Vin explained what they were hearing. He knew that Vin was fond of bringing up stories that he had heard to get a rise out of his friends…especially J.D. before they caught onto it being false. This time was different though, and he had noted the edgy quality Vin’s voice had taken on. He had heard the melody and the explanation from Vin before, and although he wasn’t quite sure he believed it, he knew that Vin did, and that was good enough for him. “That’s enough talking for the night. Morning’s only a few hours off and we all need to get some sleep.” He said aloud in a voice that wouldn’t tolerate any arguments. The other men settled down onto their pallets around the fire, and soon were lulled fast asleep by the melodic strains of the Jackalope. The End |
Riot Act ATF ~ Chris, Vin Chris Larabee was NOT a happy camper as he strolled through the bullpen and into his office. It was bad enough that Nathan Jackson, the team medic, had just diagnosed them with laryngitis and ordered him not to speak for at least a week straight, but the rest of Team 7 seemed to think it was hilarious. He knew that he sometimes harped on them about getting their jobs done right, and was over protective to the point of smothering them at times, especially JD, but he wasn’t that bad of a boss. Was he? To top it off, instead of showing him some sympathy for his suffering, he had heard nothing but wisecracks as he entered the bullpen a few minutes earlier. He knew that they were only joking around, but he felt like crap, and was it too much for the rest of his teammates, his brothers, to give him a little slack. *Think any harder Larabee and your head is going to explode.* Vin’s voice in his head was filled with amusement. Chris could almost imagine Team 7’s sharpshooter sitting at his desk, long legs stretched out under his desk, arms folded across his chest and head resting comfortably on the back of his chair. *Then don’t listen in!* *C’mon cowboy, we were only having some fun…no sense getting your jeans in a twist.* *I’m not in the mood, Vin.* *When are you ever in the mood?* *That’s it! Nathan said not to speak aloud, he never said nothing about me speaking my mind!* *Now, Chris…* Vin had suddenly realized that aggravating Larabee even more than he had already been really hadn’t been a good idea. *Don’t you Chris, me!* Larabee snarled in his head, making the Texan wince. * You’ve just volunteered to be my sounding off board since I can’ t scream at everyone else! For starters, I deserve to have a little bit more sympathy around here from you and the rest of the kindergarten cops! If it wasn’t for all the asinine stunts that the lot of you pull, I wouldn’t have lost my ability to speak if I hadn’t spent all morning in Travis’ office arguing against his sending us all on some psychobabble retreat so that we can all get a better handle on our emotions!* *A retreat? Guess Travis really was mad over that prank, JD, Buck, and I played on that snippety assistant D.A, Benton Fields?* *Mad wasn’t the word for it! He was fit to be tied! He wants me to write a formal apology to that pencil pushing, whining weasel Fields and hand deliver the dang thing to him in person! * *Ah, hell, Chris…I’m sorry..* *Save it! * Larabee was on a roll and Tanner was the unwilling volunteer to listen to his continued tirade. Out in the bullpen, all manner of work slowly stopped as each of the five other members of Team 7 caught on to something not being quite right with Vin. The tracker’s earlier relaxed position in his chair had come to a halt, and now he sat almost rigid in it. Nerves twitched in the side of his neck, his jaw clenched, and from time to time he winced as if he was in pain, and yet he never said one word to indicate that there was anything going on at all. “What do you suppose is wrong with him?” JD whispered to Buck. “Don’t know.” Buck replied. “Maybe he’s having a fit of some kind.” “He certainly acts as if he is in some discomfort. “Ezra acknowledged as he studied the sharpshooter. “What do you think, Nathan?” Josiah asked their medic. “I don’t know.” Nathan replied, as he watched with the others as the sharpshooter continued experiencing the twitching, clenching and wincing for several moments more Finally, he couldn’t take watching any longer without finding out what was going on with Vin, so he rose from behind his desk and moved over to Vin’s desk. He squatted down in front of Tanner. “ Vin, are you all right?” “No…I’m not alright! I’ve got one pissed off Larabee reading me the riot act in my head and I can’t get him to shut up!” Tanner exclaimed. The rest of the team members burst into unsympathetic laughter much to Tanner’s chagrin. “Thanks a lot, boys.” The End |
| This site is for entertainment purposes only, based on the characters from “The Magnificent Seven.” I don’t own them, but if I did I would run away with ‘em and never be seen again. Disclaimer: CBS and Co., Trilogy Entertainment, and MGM had ‘em first and do not want to give ‘em away. I only play at this for fun and do not make any money doing it. The stories listed here are strictly fiction any references to locations or people are only for story use and is not intended to depict any real place or persons.I do not own any of the material - sound, video and photographic - that is found on my pages, the material is and stays the property of their original owners. No copyright infringement is intended. |
| 48 Hours ATF St. Joseph Hospital Denver , Colorado Critical Intensive Care Unit (C.I.C.U.) The rhythmic sounds of the mechanical apparatus aiding the injured Vin Tanner to breathe, as well as monitor his other bodily functions were comforting to the black clad man dozing in the chair beside the patient’s bed. To Chris Larabee the comforting ‘beeps’, ‘clicks’ and ‘swooshes’, were signals to him that the ATF Team Seven sharpshooter was still among the living. Chris didn’t know how things had turned bad so quickly. He, Vin, and the other five men who made up the “Magnificent Seven” had meticulously planned out their strategy for taking down the Italian crime family of Rambino, Scarpelli, and Angeletti. The trio was notorious throughout the United States for operating one of the most successful criminal empires in which smuggling of illegal drugs and arms, racketeering, prostitution, and embezzling were their means of making money. Ezra Standish, Team 7’s undercover specialist had entrenched himself so deeply into the organization that he had rose rapidly in the ranks of men, until he was soon in the trusted position as right hand man for Angelo Rambino. This position within the crime family gave him privileged access to secret meetings, special documents that included the listings of several locations of where the brothels were run, as well as the warehouses where armaments were kept and drugs were made. Soon he had gathered all the necessary evidence that they needed to take the operation down permanently. Team Seven set their plan into motion, each team member knowing his designated part in it, and every man resolved to execute it without any injuries to one of them. Everything was going according to their plan, when one of the captured men pulled a hidden weapon from his boot, and aimed it at Chris Larabee’s back. Vin, seeing the sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, anticipated what was about to happen, and shoved Chris out of the line of fire. Two shots sounded before the others could react. The first bullet slipped through the narrow gap in the side of Tanner’s Kevlar vest and lodged in his right lung, the other bullet grazed his temple. The shooter died instantly as the five other men fired rounds into him from their service revolvers. The sharpshooter was rushed to the hospital by ambulance and taken immediately into surgery. The damage to his lung was repaired, but Tanner had lost a lot of blood and the injury to his head was troublesome. Except for some minor bleeding and bruising around the area in which the bullet had grazed his head, there were no visible signs of swelling or blood clots preventing him from waking up, yet Vin still slumbered. Nearly forty-eight hours had passed since the injured man had come out of surgery, and while the doctors stated that his vitals were almost within their normal range, it was clear to the other six ATF agents that they were worried about whether the sharpshooter would ever wake up. Their diagnosis was unacceptable. They didn’t know what kind of a fighter Vin Tanner was, but he did. He had seen firsthand the kinds of obstacles that his best friend had overcome in his life, and he wasn’t about to give up on Vin now. Tanner would recover. Chris ran a hand through his unkempt blond hair, yawned, and leaned forward in the uncomfortable chair he had just spent the night in. He gazed down into the ashen face of the injured man and silently willed his best friend to wake up. *Don’t do this, Vin. Don’t give up. The boys need you. I need you.* There was no flicker of eyelid, nor any conscious thought, or smart mouth quip, nothing. If he hadn’t still felt the lingering presence in his mind along the quicksilver connection that the two men had forged between them, Larabee might have accepted the diagnosis the doctors had given to him and the others, but he did and until it faded totally away there was still a fighting chance for Vin. *Come on, Vin. I know you’re lost inside the corners of your mind and are trying to find your way back out. Listen to my voice and let me guide you out.* The rich aroma of steaming coffee and baked goods preceded Buck Wilmington’s quiet footsteps into the room. Buck handed Chris the cardboard tray holding the coffee cups and the bag of donuts on it, so that he could carry another chair over to where Larabee sat. He settled his large frame into the chair before taking the tray back, minus one cup of coffee and the bag of donuts. Wilmington took a sip of his coffee. “Any change?” “No.” “How much longer are you going to deny the possibility that Vin might never wake up?” Larabee glared at him. “Don’t bury him yet Buck.” “Damn it Chris, I’m not doing that and you know it! Vin’s my friend just as much as he is yours, and I don’t want to lose him either, but the doctors…” “The doctors don’t know Vin Tanner like we do! He isn’t a quitter and…” “Stop your yammering you’re giving me a headache.” It took a moment for the two arguing men to realize that a third voice had entered the room, and that it belonged to their injured friend. Larabee and Wilmington both turned their attention toward the bed in time to see Vin’s blue eyes flutter slowly open. A groan escaped from between chapped lips as one of the sharpshooter’ s hands rose to cup his forehead, and found a thick bandage instead. “Vin?” “That’s my name.” Chris and Buck exchanged relieved grins in response to Tanner’s words. If he was already quipping with them after having just woken up, then the outcome for Vin making a full recovery had definitely gotten better. “I’ll go get the doc.” Wilmington said and left the room. Vin shifted on the bed and let out another groan as pain shot through his head and his torso. “What the hell happened?” “You were shot. Don’t you remember?” Tanner considered Larabee’s words for a moment, straining to make his aching head recall what had happened to put him in such an incapacitated state. “A raid. We took down the Trio Crime Family and...” The injured sharpshooter’ s voice broke and his throat closed for a moment as he was seized by a coughing fit that had tears streaming down his face by the time that it ended. Chris poured water into a cup from the full pitcher on the bed tray and held it to Tanner’s lips so that Vin could take a sip through the straw. “Thanks.” Vin gasped out. Buck returned with the doctor just then and both ATF agents stepped aside so that he could examine their friend. They were soon joined by the other members of Team Seven who were thrilled to hear the news that their wounded teammate had finally woken up. All of them were anxious to hear the new diagnosis for their friend. They didn’t have long to wait. “Well, doc, how is he?” Chris questioned impatiently. “I would say that Mr. Tanner’s prognosis for making a full recovery has increased considerably now that he has awakened and seems cognizant of who he is, his surroundings, and what put him in his current state of injury.” The doctor told the waiting men. “All right”, “That’s good news”, “Yes!” “I never doubted,” “Don’t ever do that again” and “Amen” A chorus of six phrases rang out around him. Vin winced as his friends’ good natured shouts reverberated through his head like a herd of charging elephants. Chris, seeing the wince, quickly quieted his exuberant friends down. The doctor stayed a few moments longer, cautioning the six men not to tire his patient out, before he left the room. Josiah Sanchez, the oldest member of the team, suggested that they share a couple of moments of silence and the others agreed. Vin closed his eyes and soon fell back to sleep, but the other six men quietly contemplated the blessing of their seventh being returned to them. Team Seven was intact, and as soon as the injured sharpshooter had fully recovered, it would be stronger than ever. The End |
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