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Whiskeys saloon was buzzing with chatter, and it didn’t take a psychic to know they were all yappin’ about me - Sheriff Crimson. I could hear the wild rumors spilling out before I even hit the door.

“I heard Sheriff Crimson once pissed a hole clean through a steel wall - didn’t even notice till the wind whistled through,” some grizzled old-timer muttered into his mug. Another voice, younger, piped up, “No way! My uncle swears the Sheriff can fart thunder and shit lightning. They say he once used a lightning bolt to light his cigar!”

I grinned. These folks had no idea what they were in for. Showtime. I kicked open the saloon doors, the light from the wasteland framing me like I was some kind of twisted, divine revelation. The place went silent, all eyes on me.just how I like it. Then, I hit ‘em with the moonwalk, gliding backward across the floor, spurs jingling in rhythm as I let out a smooth, high-pitched “Hee-hee!” The whole crowd was gobsmacked, jaws hitting the floor like I was selling ‘em snake oil that actually worked.

As I hit the bar, I spun on my heel and tipped my hat, flashing my most dazzling grin. “Evening, folks! Did ya miss me? Of course, you did. I’m the best damn thing to happen to this wasteland since irradiated beer!”

I leaned on the bar, eyeing the bartender, who looked like he’d just seen a ghost. “What’s the matter? are you all just basking in the sheer magnificence of my entrance?” I paused for effect, then winked. “Don’t worry, it happens to everyone. I’ve been known to make grown men wet themselves just by flexing my left pinky. It’s a curse, really.”

Finally, that old prospector who’d been flapping his gums earlier found his voice. “Sh-Sheriff Crimson? Is it true you eat bullets for breakfast?”

I grinned wider, digging into my pocket and pulling out a handful of bullet casings. I tossed one into my mouth like it was a peanut. “Breakfast? Nah, these are more like breath mints. Freshens the breath and leaves you with a nice metallic aftertaste. Plus, they keep the syphilis at bay!”

A wide-eyed kid piped up next, “Can you really jump over buildings?”

“Buildings?” I scoffed. “Kid, I use skyscrapers as stepping stones to scratch my ass. Helps me maintain this 28-inch waist  Hell, I once jumped so high I had to dodge a satellite, signed an autograph for an alien, and was back down in time to win a limbo contest. The secret? A balanced breakfast of gunpowder and jumping beans.

I turned back to the bartender, who was still staring at me like I’d sprouted a second cock “Now, how about a whiskey? And don’t worry about the glass - I’ll drink it out of the barrel. Saves time, and time’s more precious than a virgin in the Brotherhood!”

Just as the saloon started to come to life again, some burly bastard pushed his way through the crowd. The clatter of his spurs on the wooden floor sent a murmur through the room.

This guy was a big one, scarred and ugly as a baboons ass, with a mouthful of gold teeth. He wasn’t about to let my entrance go unchallenged. He swaggered up to the bar, towering over me like he thought he was intimidating.

“I’ve heard about you, Crimson,” he growled. “But all I see is a loudmouth who ain’t half the legend he claims to be.”

I didn’t miss a beat. Grinning up at him, I let the sarcasm drip from my voice. “Well, well, if it isn’t Fag Dog McGee himself. They say you’re a real tough son of a bitch, but I’m just not seein’ it. Maybe the desert sun’s messin’ with my eyes, or maybe you’re just all bark and no balls.”

His hand started drifting toward his gun, but I was having too much fun to stop now. “Now listen here, Fido,” I leaned in real close, close enough that I could’ve licked the sweat off his nose if I’d wanted to - which I didn’t, by the way. “If you so much as think about drawing that pea-shooter, I’ll blow a hole through you so big, you’ll be pissing silver, shitting gold, and cumming pure platinum for the rest of your miserable life.”

Fag Dog’s eyes narrowed. “You think you’re quick enough, Sheriff?”

I chuckled, wagging my finger like he was some dumb schoolkid who’d just wet himself in front of the class. “Quick enough? Son, I’m so fast I can shoot a fly off a man’s balls from across town, and trust me, I’ve done it. Twice. I’ll shoot you so full of holes, your mama’s gonna think she birthed Swiss cheese.”

Fag Dog’s face was turning redder by the second, his hand twitching near his holster. But I wasn’t done yet. I leaned back, adopting a mock-serious tone as I continued. “And if you really get on my nerves, I’ll shoot you right up the  ” I paused, making sure everyone was listening, “  up the asshole and out through your cockhole. You’ll be pissing streams of molten lead so bright, the next wasteland over will think it’s a goddamn fireworks show!”

The entire saloon erupted into laughter, drinks spilling as folks doubled over in laughter. Fag Dog, his face as red as a boiled lobster, was shaking with rage, but even he didn’t have a comeback for that one.

Still grinning, I turned my back on him and addressed the bartender. “I’ll take that whiskey now. And make it a double - my shooting hand needs a little extra lubrication before I start sending folks to the afterlife with a smile.”

Fag Dog stormed out of the saloon, those doors flapping behind him like they couldn’t wait to be rid of him. I downed my whiskey, tipping my hat to the crowd. “Another day, another dickhead dodged. Who’s up for a game of cards?”

minus points!?!?! This shit would smash in the thunderdome. 

Which fucking faction are you even playing

Sheriff crimson is a wasteland gag character, a free spirit, a conman, a charlatan. He possesses no allegiances except to his own ego and status. With that being said, he's currently masquerading as a sheriff for the regulator faction, as we will find out with the next story installment. 

This is a hanging offense.

I've decided that I believe it may be time for our favourite gay cowboy to be killed off. As part of the grand finale, I was wondering if sheriff mizal and her partner would like to be the ones to capture and execute "sheriff" Crimson? 

 

(Thank your the commendation) 

Go gag on my cock you imbecile piece of shit and get the fuck out of this thread

The president is a closeted homosexual? I'm sure there will be some Chinese whisper rumors going around about that one in the next roleplay. That will be a good character arc for you. 

 

I don't understand how this fits in with the game. And it's pretty gay. So I'm glad it earned negative points.

Moishe has always been a nice but simple minded mensch. Sure, he’s no surgeon but he knows basic first aid, he can change a tire, and he’s the best driver COTBA has ever had. At least, that’s what his cousin said. Before the apocalypse, Moishe drove an ambulance for a local Hatzalah organization. A simple volunteer helping people of every creed, color, and religion free of charge. Things haven’t changed much for Moishe. Sure, he crossed out ‘Hatzalah’ from the side of the ambulance and wrote ‘COTBA’ instead. Then he realized that it’s basically the same thing so he crossed out ‘COTBA’ and painted on ‘Hatzalah’ again. Of course nobody knew what Hatzalah was anymore so he had to cross that out and once again paint ‘COTBA’ on it. The side of the ambulance is a mess but if you squint hard enough, people can generally understand that he’s there to help.

Other than the constant painting, he spends his time driving from town to town. A small specialized crew from COTBA often accompanies him and they provide medical attention to those in need. He used to be a huge fan of KSUI radio but not having a comms tower means there’s nothing to tune into on the ambulance radio. Though Moishe does occasionally roll down his window and listen to Orison Lech scream out his broadcast. If he closes his eyes, it’s just like old times.

I'm impressed at how much of the character you established here in such a small space. And the last line got a chuckle.

There's a lot Moishe doesn't understand. Why did COTBA team up with a group of meshugeners? Being part of a medic team, Moishe has cleaned up after the Steel Brigade more times than he can count and every time, he grows sicker of them. 

"Why did we leave them to protect a settlement? They're the ones the settlement needs protection from!"

His cousin, Yosef, lays on the couch, throwing a ball in the air and catching it over and over again. "Who? What are you talking about?" 

"The Steel Brigade! Didn't you hear about-"

"How slow are you? The Steel Brigade is dead."

Moishe's mouth falls open. "What?"

Sighing, Yosef sits up on the couch to look him in the eyes. "The Federalists picked 'em off. Now stop yapping, I'm trying to think. Something you wouldn't know anything about." 

"What about the settlement? I knew those no-good Brigaders wouldn't be able to protect them. I mean, oy vey, Lech said they were so irradiated, they were practically falling over." 

Yosef shrugs, "that's the least of our troubles, Moishe. Didn't you catch the latest," he uses air quotes, "radio announcement." 

He shakes his head. "I was up near the well. Another kid grew a third arm." 

"A war is brewing and we're mobilizing troops."

"We're...? The Coalition?!" 

Yosef nods. "I don't think we stand a chance against the Federalists but the-"

Moishe jumps to his feet. "A war?! We can't have a war!"

"Last I checked, you aren't the one that decides things like that. Besides, who knows what the Federalists will do next? They already attacked one of our towns." 

"We need to fix this." 

"And how do you propose we do that?"

"Come on, Yossi. We've cleaned up after dozens of raids. If we can heal the injured, bury the dead, fix up the buildings, maybe this whole thing will blow over." 

"You're a shmendrick." Yosef rolls his eyes, but there's something playful in it. Moishe's inability to take bad news poorly has always been a point of fascination among those that know him. His undying, idiotic optimism is something not commonly seen after the apocalypse. "But I'd rather do something than sit around here waiting for worse news. Let's go."

An hour later, the ambulance is packed with supplies they "borrowed" from COTBA's storage facilities. It's not enough to be noticed but certainly enough to make it to the settlement. With a full tank of gas, the sound of Yosef noshing on dried turnips, and the beautiful sight of the open road, Moishe puts the petal to the metal.  

They’re only a few miles from Iowa City when they spot a vehicle on the side of the road billowing with smoke. Without hesitation, Moishe pulls up behind it. 

“Something’s off.” Yosef says. “They’re close enough to walk into town for help. Why are they just waiting out here?”

Moishe grabs the gun from under his seat. “That’s what this is for. Just in case.”

“Oh come on, what are you gonna do with that thing?” He scoffs, “you couldn’t even kill a pig with snouts for legs.” 

“And why should I? Did he not deserve to live?”

“He begged you, in perfect Hebrew, to put him out of his misery.”

“I think it was just a hallucination.”

Yosef throws up his hands. “The whole minyan heard it!” 

Before Moishe can defend his own bleeding heart, a rapping comes from the window. Their eyes widen in shock as they look out at a mammoth of a man tapping the tip of his rifle on the ambulance window. Not wanting to be impolite, Moishe rolls it down to talk face-to-face.

“What seems to be the problem, officer?”

Yosef hisses from the passenger seat, “you idiot, he’s not a cop!”

The man speaks in a gruff voice, “put down the gun, boy. I know you Coalition cowards are too pussy to use those things anyway.”

“Coalition?” Yosef’s voice squeaks.

“Cowards?” Moishe breathes, shocked at such a word being associated with COTBA. 

The man reaches inside the window and opens the door. “Get out.” He orders.

It’s not unheard of for outlaws and other, as Moishe puts it so eloquently, “bad men” to pretend to be distressed so they can lure in Coalition members and rob them. Though sometimes it’s not just a simple robbery. Good men and women have lost their lives simply trying to help those in need.

“We’re not Coalition!” Yosef cries out.

“You’re not?”

“We’re not?” Moishe asks.

Glaring at his cousin, Yosef continues. “We’re Hatzalah.”

The man steps back and eyes the side of the ambulance. “It says COTBA right… well, I guess… I- what does it say? Hat something?”

“Hatzalah,” they say in unison.

The man chuckles, “don’t tell me you stole one of their ambulances. I’ve never heard of your faction. Hatzbah?”

“Close enough.” 

“Ha! Well I’ll be damned.” The three of them laugh uncomfortably for a while before the man continues. “I’m still gonna rob you though.”

As an act of good faith for a small faction, the man allows them to keep their lives and the now gutted ambulance. He did however take the engine so Moishe and Yosef have to put it in neutral and push it all the way back to Iowa City. 

"Do you think we'll get in trouble for stealing supplies?" Moishe asks as they reach the city border.

Yosef wipes at the sweat pouring from his temple. "Forget the supplies. We're gonna be in trouble for going on an unsanctioned unsuccessful mission." He kicks a loose rock on the road. "This thing weighs a ton!"

"At least it's lighter without its engine." 

"If I weren't so exhausted, I'd punch you. Do you realize how ridiculous this is?"

Moishe, still catching his breath, looks at the horizon, the sun falling behind Iowa City's skyline. "Better ridiculous than dead, Yossi. And he didn't get everything." He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small, battered package of bandages and some antiseptic wipes. "At least we saved these."

Yosef shoots him a look, incredulous. "Oh, great. A first aid kit. That’ll totally make up for the fact that we got robbed by some asshole who thinks we’re in a gang called ‘Hatzbah.’"

Moishe offers a weak smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, at least he was polite about it. Could’ve been worse. He could’ve left us without our clothes."

"Or our lives" Yosef mutters, but then his expression softens as he looks at his cousin. "You know, you really are something else, Moishe. We’re in the middle of an apocalypse, got robbed blind, and you’re still finding the silver lining."

Moishe shrugs. "Someone has to, Yossi. If we lose hope, what’s left?"

I do love this little side story. You write it really well! No reason it has to end just because the COTBA aren't around anymore, if you want to write more.