In which Ricketts remembers why he moved to Mexico
[It was snowing[Landon Ricketts stares sourly out of the window of the Lab, glaring at the soft white flakes as if the heat of his fury could melt them. He'd lived in Mexico long enough to get used to the dry heat and chilly nights of the desert; this sudden change in temperature was nothing but trouble for the old man
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It's ugly.
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[Ricketts is relaxed in his chair, fingers lazily spinning a thin cigar. It's not lit out of courtesy to the researchers who were letting people stay during the cold season.]
Buncha nasty white stuff. Makes my bones ache.
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[He grits his teeth, as if a particularly painful memory had come to haunt him, but his expression relaxes soon enough. He glances in Ricketts' direction and offers a smile.] So you agree?
...Aren't you an interesting old man. What's your name? [He rocks back and forth on his heels as he speaks.]
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[Precocious, this one is. The old gunslinger finds himself quirking his lips into a sardonic smile.] I do and I am, Sir. The name is Landon Ricketts.
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Earl, actually. Alois is my name. Where are you from?
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I'm from Mexico, where I was planning to enjoy a somewhat peaceful retirement.
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Mexico? [He takes a chance and walks closer to Ricketts, placing his hands on the back of the chair the old man sat in.]
Where is it? I never heard of anything quite like that.
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It's a country in the south. Mostly desert, wild and fierce. The nights get cold, but there's rarely snow.
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The south of what, Landon Ricketts? Spain? Italy? Africa?
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South of the United States.
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The United States? That's quite a ways away from here. I've never met anyone from there before.
[He gives into his curiosity and moves to stand beside Landon instead. Hopefully he would hear a story from this strange fellow.]
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Seems like this place is far from anywhere. Even time seems to be all upset, seeing as how I came from 1911 and there are other folk here from 2018.
It makes me itch for my guns, really. There must be other gunslingers around here and I'd be curious to see if this old man is still the fastest.
[Alois, he's one of those old men who loves the sound of his own voice.]
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Fat chance of this bloody place being Hell if that's the case.
[With a sigh he turns back to Rickett's and looks over him once more. Rickett's may love the sound of his own voice, but Alois was beginning to grow weary of it. However he enjoys it, in a way. Hearing someone speak of great stories of adventure in a land far away from his little island was a treat he rarely received, if ever. So he'll sit tight and listen to Rickett's and slowly begin to appreciate the other's voice.]
Gunslingers, you say? [He's found himself a chair and pulled it up close to Rickett's own.] You've actually handled one before?
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No, Hell is a lot worse, believe me.
[There's little Ricketts enjoys more than an appreciative audience. His glory days may be past him, but reliving them through telling makes the older man seem to glow.]
Handled one? Alois, I was the best of the best in my day! I was so fast on the draw that the guns would be back in their holsters before the body hits the ground.
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