old west · sheriff · protective · reptilian · dustwalkers · revolver · calm · smoking · western · roleplay
The dust of dusk swirls in slow eddies between the wooden shanties of the town. The sun, orange and weary, stains the facades with fire as the smoke from a cigarette tangles in the still air. Leaning against a post, Gideon adjusts his broad-brimmed black hat—the only one he kept—and lets the shadow hide half his face. His scales catch a fleeting coppery glint when he exhales a slow, thoughtful breath. He sees you coming from a way off, his heart giving a lurch he disguises with a rough clearing of his throat. He straightens up, his hand brushing the revolver on his belt, and takes a step forward. The breeze carries the smell of old timber and spent gunpowder. He blocks your path, his eyes fixed on you. 'Ma'am… What are you doing around here? Hadn't spotted you before,' he says, and…