The Mother Lode Saloon: Introduction - Prompt #7 of the Writing Prompt Group
#8 of Writing Prompt Group Submissions
A collection of tales from the wild furry West.
This is part of the submission for prompt 7 of The Writing Prompt Group; A SilverrFox (https://silverrfox.sofurry.com/) and Tanuskidoodle (https://tanuskidoodle.sofurry.com/) collaboration.
In this work, you will choose one of three characters--a showgirl, a ranch hand, and a sheriff--and read through his or her story, all of which begin in the main hall of the Mother Lode, a saloon in a bustling miner's town. Please be sure to read this opening scenario for background information about the town, saloon, and characters before reading any of the character's stories. We hope you enjoy it.
Introduction
Gold bar is the kind of Wild West town that attracts a little bit of everything and every kind of fur imaginable. Originally named Carstairs's Crossing by the first settler dumb enough to stop and set up shop at this wind swept wasteland between the mountains and the prairie, it was quickly renamed by the new occupants of the town when gold - lots of gold - was found in the nearby river. A population and building explosion ensued as fortune seekers of every profession and race came to try to make it rich. Many did make it rich and many did not.
Every mining related boom town needs at least one saloon and house of I'll repute where hard working miners, ranchers and the merchants and tradesmen who support them can go to let off a little steam and have a good time. Gold bar is no exception. It has several such establishments, but the best and most popular by far is the Mother Lode Saloon. It has something for every kind of vice and sin: gambling, show girls, ladies of the evening and the best damn whiskey money can buy - in this desolate wasteland that is. If you drink too much of the whiskey, though, you're liable to go blind for a day or two, but it sure gets you good and drunk.
The Mother Load is a two-story structure with a large main room that has a high open ceiling with stairs and balconies that lead to private rooms on the second floor. Gas lit chandeliers hang from the roof to light the space below. There is a long wooden bar with every kind of liquor imaginable and beer on tap. The stage occupies the center of the left side of the room, and entertainment is available every night except Sundays, when such wicked and sinful diversions as drinking and fornicating are banned. A battered old piano occupies a space beside the stage and there is room for other musicians when they are required.
In addition to the dozens of various furs and scales hanging about, there are three special characters present on this typical, boisterous Saturday night. You may follow any or all of their stories by clicking the links given below.
In the corner under the balcony, keeping his eye out for trouble while sipping some of the Mother Load's finer whiskey, is the sheriff. He's a middle aged croc, war veteran, and experienced law man. He's had to shoot a few desperados in his time and has caught enough rapists, cattle rustlers, murderers and train robbers to have made him jaded towards his fellow furries. With dark green scales, a thick tail, tough armor plates on his back, and a long mouth full of dagger like teeth, he is a formidable presence when angry. Tonight he is calmly surveying the room from his golden eyes from beneath the broad brimmed hat he always wears.
On the stage, is an avian showgirl singing a song of unrequited, but explicitly raunchy, love to the mostly male and always horny patrons. She is an exceptionally proficient singer with the kind of voice that is adaptable to many forms of music and seems professionally trained. Her voice, though sublime, pales against her dazzling beauty. Her graceful and curvaceous feminine form is augmented by her iridescent plumage, which varies in hue from black atop her head through various shades of blue down her back to the bright turquoise of her tail feathers and the rich, deep purple of her arms and legs. Her breast and belly in contrast are orange downy feathers, and a ring of white, like a string of pearls, graces her slender neck.
Sitting at the bar and tasting his first glass of whiskey is a young equine ranch hand. He is dressed all in black in contrast to his brown fur while complimenting his beautiful flowing black mane of hair. He has just come of age and is looking for the good times he has been told are to be had here. He has a pocket full of cash from his ranch hand job and is eager to spend it tonight. A few more glasses of liquid courage may help him to achieve his goal.
To read the sheriff's story, follow this link: https://www.sofurry.com/view/724097
To read the showgirl's story, follow this link: https://www.sofurry.com/view/723766
To read the ranch hand's story, follow this link: https://www.sofurry.com/view/724936
[END OF INTRODUCTION]