Canon Hub » Aces And Eights » A Shoebill, a Gunman, and a Polypterid Walk Into a Bar
Written by MetalRavioli.
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The days were usually quiet.
There wasn’t much of anything south of Nevadas northeastern border. Miles upon miles of nothing but dirt, grass, and rabbits accompanied by the occasional ranch. Nothing worth attracting any noise. Which is what made it the perfect sanctuary.
But only a fool leaves a sanctuary unguarded. Those who hate and seek to destroy will find their way eventually.
Out on the prairie, far past any ranch sat a small tavern, home to this havens sole sentinel. The tavern was settled between the sanctuary itself and the closest hub of travel; the Oregon Trail. Rarely did anyone aside from sparse pioneers venture far out into the shrublands, but a good gunman always keeps a watchful eye.
And on one dry, summer morning, that watchful eye’s gaze met movement. A small, but bright figure moved on the horizon, approaching slowly but frantically. It was farther out than any sensible pioneer would venture alone.
Quickly, but collectedly, one gunman holstered his pistols, put out his cigarette, and stepped out into the prairie.
A watchful eye would soon turn into a confronting glare.
Out across the fields travelled two foreign fugitives, bizarre both in appearance and demeanor. Slowly walked a tropical shoebill stork, Axel. On his back he carried Arsenio, an air breathing bichir fish.
Having escaped captivity after being taken prisoner for a circus down south, the two outlaws had fled across the Great Basin, finding nothing but dirt and shrubs. Both dry as a bone, Axel tried to keep to conversation to stay distracted.
“So, if a drought is a severe or prolonged lack of water, what is the complete absence of water called?”
Arsenio sighed, his head hanging lazily off the side of Axel’s shoulder.
“A drought. It’s the same thing. It’s called a drought.”
Axel lifted his hat to scratch his head, puzzling in contemplation.
“Okay, but that’s a shortage of water, shouldn’t they have a word for a complete lack of it? It’s two different things.”
“I don’t bloody know.” Arsenio piped back, clearly fed up with Axel’s verbal antics. “Maybe they should. What do ya want me to do about it? Protest to the nearest constable?”
Axel guffawed. “Of course not! We’d go to the nearest saloon and gain support of the local drunkards. From there we’d-“
He stopped, halting in his tracks. His eyes stared out to the horizon as Arsenio looked up at him.
“And what? From there we’d what?”
Axels gaze remained locked. “Look.”
Arsenio felt his mild irritation turn into anxiety as he looked to the horizon. In the far distance, a single, dark figure had appeared. While too distant to clearly make out, both creatures could tell it was on the approach.
“What is it?” Arsenio asked, not ready nor in the mood for confrontation. Still, Axels stare persisted.
“I don’t know. Out here, nothing good.”
The two remained unmoving as the figure approached. The barren lands sharp, howling breeze whipped behind them, ruffling both of their rag scarfs in the wind. Only as the figure drew closer did Axel speak up.
“Slide down.”
Arsenio looked to his companion, who he now thoroughly believed had lost his mind.
“Are you serious, Axel? No. You don’t’ even know what you’re doing, you’re gonna get yourself killed!”
For just a moment, Axels gaze broke to make eye contact with the fish on his shoulder.
“Yeah, but maybe not.”
“Absolutely, actually, yes!” Arsenio piped back. “Are you a fucking idiot?? We’ll both be gunned down in cold blood!”
Axels gaze returned. “Well do you have any other suggestions?”
Arsenio went to speak, but stopped himself. He paused for a moment before sighing, and slowly sliding down the birds wing. As he slid off, he moved away and turned to axel, who he watched slowly walk forward.
“And c’mon, no one can beat a shoebill in a staredown.”
The stare of a shoebill does easily pierce most egos. But not only was Axel very easily distracted from a stare, he was also a moron.
Perhaps today was different though. The grey, almost steel blue bird contrasted hard against the horizon as he slowly approached, lifting and lowering his toes carefully which each step he took. While Axel was indeed a moron, he was not stupid. And in the dusty old west his bizarre, tropical complexion would unease most at first.
However, the figure hesitated not. It walked casually and with intent clear. As they neared each other the figures face and defined features became visible. As he came within shouting range, he put a slight sway in his step before stopping. Axel followed suite.
They stood silently for a moment. Then the figure spoke.
“This’n here land is protected. Turn back.”
Axel gave no response. He stood firm in his stance and glared down the gunman. Arsenio looked frantically back and forth between the two, awaiting a move.
The figures hand lowered over his holster.
“I suggest you get on. Now.”
Axel blinked.