Bigidiotenergy / Frank Castle - Tumblr Posts
đ to help my muse in a physical altercation. - from frank
They called her The Heiress. Well, it was one of the more acceptable titles to refer her to as in public or within earshot. Inheriting her father's ranch so early due to a tragedy, a crime that was never solved even to this day, people whispered possible predictions, none in favor of the orphan. Despite the tragedy, the pressure from every direction she prevailed against all odds. No one knew her given name, only her family one, VĂ©ghvĂĄry, what a strange name anyways; instead the young ranch owner introduced herself as Karma. Seemingly hellbent on taking her first name to the grave.
Law enforcement really couldn't take criticism, especially when it came to more serious matters and with considerable alcohol in their system. But how could've Karma stayed quiet upon the endless boasting of catching someone without a green card while the back of her property was a graveyard of gang members?
Cowards, all of them. The braver ones all had been shot, leaving only the rats. She dodged the furious swipes of the broken bottle effortlessly even in the crowded inn and broke an another on his head when given the opening. Smug chuckle freezing on her vocal chords when she heard the âGet her horse!â yell.
Her boots a thunder as she sprinted past, avoiding grasps upon VillĂĄm's panicked neighs and the soon to be deputy sheriff trying to get close to the ebony mare with a knife.
Drawing her Colt was an ingrained instinct, yet that split second was enough for one of the officers to catch up with her. The man jumped on her in the word's most literal meaning, both of them landing in dirt, a full force punch cracking her head sideways before she could've shot in self defense. Head spinning with tongue tasting iron, the ten inch barrel Colt slipping a few inches out of reach from her always steady hand.
Karma still trashed, hissed every obscenity she could currently think of, her tirade cut short by hands wrapping around her throat with a "Fuckin' slippery bitch" grunt. She could try and possibly reach her gun and kill in rightful self defense, although knowing the sheriff...VillĂĄm neighed again, hooves hitting sand indicating she reared. She needed her, no matter the cost. The dilemma was solved when a well built man grabbed the officer and pulled the bastard off her in one motion; she couldn't recall seeing him around but he definitely seemed to be able to handle the drunkards pouring out upon the intervention.
Like a snake slithering in sand, she swung her body towards her gun, shooting the deputy's hat off with deafening thunder, immediately halting his excited sawing of the reins. Karma stood slowly, dust covered, bloodied, eyes wild with fury, Colt already cocked and never losing her aim.
âLay a hand on my horse and the next one will go through your skull.â gone the visage most people encountered, the calm, leveled voice spoke of experience in taking lives. If not for the motorbikes parked nearby, or the neon glow of the inn, it would've been so easy to believe time simply stopped in the 1800s here.
âYou alright there tough guy?â she inquired, but decided to not risk a glance behind, keeping the man in her crosshairs
