Bittersweet Candy Bowl

So a few suggested that Regulith and I team up to create a comic of sorts, and so we talked and decided we’d make a BCB-themed western. I’d be writing and he’d be the one that would do the art, and so we turn to you, dear forumgoers, to give us your ideas that we may or may not use, but credit you for.

A list of characters and their roles:

* Michael: Sheriff

* Paulo: Bandit Leader - still need a gang name

David: Bartender

* Paulo’s Dad: The Mayor - as why his son gets away with everything (Thanks Vincero!)

Daisy: Schoolteacher

Abbey: Pastor

McCain: Doctor

* Lucy: Toughened Showgirl - Still debated

Sue: Nurse - debated

Katie, Jessica, & Rachel: Showgirls

Tess: Daughter of wealthy banker

So feel free to suggest anything, like the name of David’s saloon or something that should happen, or a better role for most characters that don’t have a star by their name. If I didn’t list someone it’s either because I couldn’t find a role or think they’d fit in so if you could come up with something it’d be much appreciated. I’d like to hear the forum’s opinion on some things, and I’m also going to write the whole thing in novel form and show it after the comic is complete for those who would like to see it.

Coffee Juice Saloon

I’m fucking excited about this thread, you have no idea.

I demand that I be in the comic, drunk and hitting on David, or at least staring at him in a creepy fashion.

WTB Native Americans that are all amayas

You could call them Amayans.

You know, like the Mayans of South America…. amaya…. get it.

n___n bad pun is bad.

That’s clever, happehface.

And Grass, hell no.

……..volcanoes………plural form of moose………………and a giant whale fetus must be in this comic.

I don’t think I could stand seeing a whale fetus… I would throw up a lot.

What happehface said. “Amayans.” YES.

hahahah… oh man I would pay money to see you incorporate that into your comic.

It’s so corny… it has to be done. Has to.

Why aren’t some of the characters ranchers? It can’t be the Wild West without ranchers!

Someone has to be a bespeckled banker who gets robbed.

I vote abbey for the task!

Well, we really felt Abbey would be the town pastor but we could get one of Tess’ father’s employees to do it since he is the town’s banker and filthy rich because of it.

Then there could be a huge civil unrest because Paulo’s dad is the mayor and won’t punish his son, putting law enforcement (Michael) on the spotlight to decide the moral choice — help the townspeople or kill them.

Maybe Lucy could be the daughter of a local rancher. She’s tough, strong, and willing to take the law into her own hands.

I would also suggest Augustus as the leader of a group of outlaws. They could be meaner, nastier, and tougher than Paulo’s band and be a common enemy for the town (+Paulo) to rally against.

It would be ab epic fight.

I just imagined abbey in a monocle and a monopoly guy mustache xD his expressions are always so good.

So we’ve decided that Carter is the town drunk that favors Lucy, David’s saloon is named “Coffee Juice Saloon”, and Paulo’s gang is called “The Rough Riders.”

Also leaning towards making Lucy a rancher with a handy trigger finger and knack for cards, who’s favorite cow is named Yashy.

Augustus ought to be a top-hatted villain who makes Paulo look like the softy he really is.

Vicious, conniving, insidious, and deceptive, with a gang of really nasty escaped convicts to back him up.

He could also have a black cape.

I’m partial to capes.

Augustus could be the real problem behind everything in the small mining town of Roseville.

Lucy is now a rancher who’s land is being bought by the mayor — Paulo’s dad — who uses money from his son’s constant bank-train robbing to buy land.

Lucy leads the insurrection against the mayor with the support of Tess’ father — the banker — and threatens to shoot any “tin-star” who stands in her way.

Yashy is also her favorite cow.

I don’t think augustus needs to be a villain aaaaaall the time. He’s just smart and manipulative.

So that would make him the scheming railroad tycoon who wants to flatten the town to make way for his new train station?

That could be the main problem, yes.

Wow this is very fruitful.

If I had the time, I could write you out an entire novel about this.


But I don’t. And you probably want to write it yourself.

Few Ideas

Flower girl : Small time farmer, frequents town(davids obsession)

Molly: the grave keeper

Paulos gang not really the violent type as opposed to augustus?

Paulos team strikes me as the rough an’ tumble rancher boys who know a thing or two about fighting, but would prefer to settle things with booze and a few good pranks. You know, honest guys who know how to play ball when someone in town gets outta line.

Paulo may have a tough act, but I think it would really mess with him to actually kill someone even if it was for the safety of honest people. That’s just me though and this is a fanfic… not to mention it’s not like he’d grow up 100% the same in the midwest anyway. I’m just thinking about what would be most copasetic with the initial character design.

I want to see paulo’s dad in overalls, holding a shotgun and yelling “TARNATION” at the top a’ his lungs with a string o’ hay in his mouth. >w< He’d make such a great western farmer.

He has that air of no-nonsense, grunts in the face of danger old-gunslinger thing going on…

He is the old prospector. He doesn’t fight with guns, he fights with dynamite. Which is why everyone else gave up and made him Mayor.

Dynamite is too flashy… I would expect that from David if he took 900 steroids and passed an IQ test with a score that is actually a number. Not paulo’s dad.

He’s a no-nonsense construction worker in the comic, so it really does fit him.

And dynamite doesn’t have to be flashy, just explosive. I can totally picture him nonchalantly tossing a couple of sticks of dynamite at a group of bandits and watching them flee in terror without so much as blinking when they explode.

List of the only people i could see shooting anyone and how i think they would

Paulo (defensive)
Lucy (defensive)
David (accidental, likely to get gun taken away)
Tess (defevsive)
Augustus(agressive)
Paulos Dad (defensive, espically in defence of his son)
Carter (for lucy)
McCain (if it results in a logical outcome)
Abby (defensive, espically of daisy)
mabye some im forgetting…

confrontation cat would shoot his own infant son just to sleep in silence at night. You forgot him.

*Ninja (never, he throws Ninja stars)

Oh yea that guy, ehh just hang him lot easier… or perhaps part of augustus group? (hes to evil for paulos gang)

augustus hires him as some kind of outlaw merc to get the townsfolk to clear out or meet the sick disfiguring fate that lies before them when in the shadow of rapecat!

Makes sence to me but ultimatly its up to Susan.

Rapecat, haha.

No, the plot follows that Augustus has hired Paulo’s dad to secretly buy all the land in the mining town to flatten it for the Transcontinental Railroad, who gets his son to get the money by robbing the bank trains that are owned by Tess’ dad — doesn’t usually kill anyone.

Not rapecat.

as long as there are amayans, you can bet I will read every letter of it.

Yeah, they come across them during a Wagon Travel-type chapter.

This is the opening, tell me what you think.

After this I probably won’t be posting anything from the novelization until the comic is out of the way, I just wanted to get some opinions on some things.

—-

Michael sighed and climbed off his horse, taking it by the reigns and leading it to the nearby stable. He patted his trustworthy steed on the snout and stepped back to face the small white cottage that was his home. The sunlight glinted off his deputy’s badge and he smiled to himself as he approached the small abode, opening the screen door and stepping into the large house. The enticing smell of cooking meat filled his nostrils as his spurs clinked with every footstep, prompting him to remove his boots and place his hat and vest on the nearby coat rack. He breathed in the sweet aroma of lady’s perfume and called out to his wife.

“Sandra, I’m home!”

His wife’s petite figure emerged from the backroom, an apron laying over her long black skirt and a turquoise necklace around her neck, touching the collar of a stark white blouse. She walked over to her husband and kissed him, allowing him to take her in his arms.

“Welcome home, Maishul.” She said sweetly, breaking from his grasp and trotting back over to the stove, playing with the meat that she had placed upon it. Michael smiled at her back and walked over to the dining table, grabbing the already laid-out newspaper and taking his pair of spectacles. He shook the page and peered through his glasses to read the headlines.

‘Roseville Daily Press – July 12th, 1863.’

His eyes skimmed the black type as Sandy loving placed a mug of coffee beside him, following a quiet thank you from her husband. He gripped the mug and took as sip, continuing to read the new events that had transpired recently.

“A transcontinental railroad, eh?” He said aloud, flipping a page of the newspaper.

“Yes, it seems the government thinks it should help with shipping and the like.”

Michael lowered the paper to reach into his pocket and expose an ebony pipe, lighting the material within and puffing on its contents. He chewed the mouth end of his pipe.

“Darling, how was your appointment with Doc McCain?” He asked, nonchalantly turning yet another page of the paper.

Sandy slid the tender meat from the stove onto two china plates and carried the food over to the table, placing it before herself and Michael. She took a seat at the table and began to cut her food as Michael laid down his paper to do the same.

“The doctor believes that I am not with child.” She said, placing a piece of the meat in her mouth.

Michael grinned reassuringly at her. “I’m sure we’ll finally have a son one day, Lord willing.”

She returned the grin as he lovingly ate a spoonful of her mashed potatoes, savoring the taste. The two conversed a short while over their dinner, unaware of the sound of hoofbeats outside their home. The quaint dinner was interrupted as the screen door was forced open and three men walked into their home. Michael swore under his breath, noticing his Winchester lie worthlessly against the counter a mere few feet away. He rose from his seat as Sandy took cover behind him, shaking. The men were rather large and all wore dark clothing, each wearing a black bandana with a different colored symbol on it. Within an instant, three revolvers were on him and they forced him to drop his holstered revolver to the ground. The two shorter men walked into the home, eyeing for anything valuable as the first one at the door kept his gun trained on Michael and Sandy.

“Alright, ye varmints. Y’all don’t act up and no one gets shot.” He spoke with a gruff voice, hoarse and wizened. He nodded his head towards the medium sized man with a beetle on his bandana.

“Auggie.” He spoke. “Get yer hands on some good silverware.”

Michael’s eyes hurriedly searched the room for anything he could do, but it was fruitless. The two were totally at the mercy of these three strangers. The shortest of the three men approached Sandy, making some sort of growling sounds with his lips. She cowered as he took his gun barrel and lifted the gem of her necklace into the air.

“My my, little lady.” He said, panting. “This looks like quite a gem.”

She tore away from him and hid behind Michael one more.

“That was my grandma’s! You can’t have it.”

The man chuckled and twirled his revolver in his hands. “It’s not up to you what I get.”

He forced Michael away from her and he fell to the ground. He approached Sandy, backing her up to the wall and pressing the cold barrel of his weapon against her chest, running it down to the space between her breasts.

“You’re a cute one.” He said, sniffing her neck. “You smell purdy, too.”

She cowered as the man continued to advance on her, this time running his hand over her shoulders. His act was interrupted as Michael tackled him to the floor, instigating a response from the two other robbers. Before they had a chance to break the fighting men up, a gunshot run out through the house and the shortest bandit rolled over dead, his revolver the cause of his own death. The middle man with the beetle handkerchief pulled him off of the dead body of his friend as the tallest man fell to his knees, crying quietly.

“Cleetus! Cleetus!” He shouted, poking at his friend’s lifeless body. The middle man roared in anger and smacked Michael across the head with the butt of his revolver, placing his boot on his chest and aiming the barrel of his weapon at Michael’s forehead. Michael bit his lip as the man pulled the hammer back on the pistol, but a hand from the tallest man stopped him.

“No.” He said, taking his compatriot’s revolver. “Hold him there.”

The medium-sized man grinned down at Michael, exposing yellowed and worn teeth. The taller man pulled the hammer back on his own pistol and lunged at Sandy, placing the barrel of the weapon on the side of her head. He smiled insanely down at Michael as he struggled to rise from the floor.

“You took our brother, silly man.” He said, holding Sandy’s cowering body close.

“Now, Auggie mighta just shot y’all, but, I figured that I should take away something you love too.”

Michael shook his head as tears welled in his eyes, a few streaming down his cheeks and splattering against the wooden floor of the house.

“Please, no. Kill me instead! Please! Don’t take Sandra!”

The tallest man laughed insanely and pressed the barrel of his weapon harder against Sandy’s head.

“Oh don’t worry, we aren’t letting you get away scot-free.”

He pushed Sandy from his grip and she stumbled into the center of the room. Time seemed to slow as the first gunshot rang through the house, deafening Michael and drowning out the screams of his own agony. A second and third gunshot echoed, Sandy’s body contorting with each shot, blood spattering the once-clean kitchen counter and walls behind it. Soon after, the final three shots rang out and Sandy’s body collapsed to the floor, a shock and horror still present in her lifeless eyes, a steady stream of blood pouring from her mouth and six abdominal bullet wounds.

She was dead.

Michael lay speechless on the floor of his home, watching the bleeding corpse of his wife with a shocked and lost feeling, not knowing what to do next. Hot tears stained the sides of his face as the tallest man spun his revolver around on his finger, sliding it back into its waiting holster. He laughed cruelly as the middle man joined in his raucous laughter.

“That was fer Cleetus.” The tallest man said, kicking Michael in the ribcage. He coughed and sputtered as the two men continued to laugh.

“Let’s flay him within an inch of his life, pa.” The middle man said, grinning down at the Korat. His father nodded his head.

“Do the honors.” Michael watched as the man lifted his foot from his chest and sent if flying into his face.

Michael sat up in bed, panting. The sounds of his own beating rang in his ears as he lowered his head and buried his face in his hands, the tragic moments of that day coming back to him. He looked over to the side of his bed at the photograph of Sandy and him and sighed, rising from the all-too-empty double bed to approach the calendar that hung upon the wall.

“July 12th, 1867.”

The four year anniversary of that tragedy. Four years since Michael had ever loved a woman. He was unable to love anyone like he had loved Sandy, not even his friends. He had made so many, and Lucy – a simple rancher – was his closest, even if they rarely got along. He devoted his work to law enforcement after Sandy’s death, as if to avenge her, and became the town’s amiable sheriff, not sharing his tragic past with anyone except the oldest residents of the town that were there when it happened.

Michael slipped into his normal outfit and checked his pocket watch for the time. It was only five AM. He walked into the empty living area of the home and put his vest, this time bearing a sheriff’s badge, and hat on before walking out into the cold morning air of another morning in the small mining town of Roseville. He gazed out upon the rolling prairie before him, the faint shapes of the town in the distance. He tipped his hat and rounded the corner to find his horse eagerly waiting in the small stable. He patted the stallion’s snout and saddled it, climbing aboard and sending the horse galloping over the dusty fields that surrounded his home. He kept a vigilant watch on the horizon as the tall metal gates of the cemetery seemed to ethereally materialize. He dismounted his horse and walked through the nearby gate, walking through the rows of worn tombstones until he found the one he was looking for. Sandy’s tombstone.

He stared down at the large piece of marble and fell to his knees, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Sandra, it’s me again.” He said, wiping a few tears away with his sleeve. “I’ve come to visit you again. See how you two are doing with our dear Lord.”

For when Sandy was murdered so violently, another blow was struck to Michael. She was indeed with child at the time she was murdered, now forced to share her grave with their unborn son. Michael had lost everything that day, devoting his entire life only to law enforcement. He sniffled and clasped his hands together, staring up towards the heavens.

“Dear Lord, please take care of my wife and son.”

He spent the next few moments praying before rising from his knees and glaring back down at the tombstone. The wind whistled quietly around him as he tipped his hat, turning his back towards the grave and continuing down the cobblestone path towards his horse. As he mounted the stallion, he shot a final look back at the grave of his wife.

“I’ll make them pay for what they did to you, Sandra.” He said, an anger burning in his blood. “I’ll make every last one of those disgusting criminals pay.”

Im happy you’re using my idea,but it seems a little forced.

Maybe because I’m half asleep or something, it’d probably be better in the comic form.

It’ll take awhile, but I definitely look forward to illustrating this. I’ll also have to overcome my habit of procrastinating everything. :V

Needs moar death.

Not bad, Not bad. although i seem to think of Mike as John Marston now..

Rootin’ tootin’st tin-star this side o’ the Mississippi

I agree whit you Morlair

Thank you, Though i have one question.. since McCain is the doc, and western docs somtimes had a questionable reputation, Is he more of an honest doctor or a “snake oil” peddler?

I can’t wait for this to be finished

Paulo was a Confederate soldier who fought at Shiloh and Antietam, while Michael was a Union soldier who fought at Gettysburg and Savannah and was traumatized as he had to shoot a family of dogs — the black people of the times I guess — and is reluctant to admit it. David was a silly Confederate soldier and ended up screwing Lee over and Abbey deserted the ranks to join the priesthood.