Insert usual disclaimer crap here.

Hey guys, just for future reference, [this means someone is either thinking something or sending it telepathically].

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Christmas City

The patrons of the Low-slung Gun were used to unusual people coming in. They were themselves considered unusual people. Normal people weren't an oddity either. It's just they weren't considered patrons so much as "meal tickets".

A red-jacketed, shorthaired woman walked in one day. An enterprising patron appraised her. His first thought was [Money walkin']. His second though was [Nice. Maybe I can get into her skirt as well as her wallet.] He sauntered up to the bar, which the woman was leaning against.

"Wild Turkey please," the woman said.

"Let me get that for you sugar," the patron said.

The woman pushed her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and glared at the man. "Thanks, but I can pay for it."

"Nah, I insist."

"I said I've got it. Why don't you go back to your seat?"

The more experienced patrons had noticed the faint bulges on the side of the woman's jacket long ago and became very interested in their drinks. The barman, who had worked the Low-slung Gun for many years, slowly backed away from the fight he knew was coming. He turned and searched for the Wild Turkey bottle.

A shadow filled the doorway, and one of the tallest men the patron had ever seen entered the bar. He was at least 6'8", more like 6'9". The six-foot cross-shaped object slung over his back only added to his imposing presence, despite his skinny build. He walked over to the bar and swung the cross off his back, leaning it against the bar. Straightening his tie, he pointed at the woman. "I'll have what she's having."

The other patrons suddenly became even more interested in their drinks, if such a thing was possible. Those without drinks started analyzing the molecular structure of the tables. The barman nodded and brought out two glasses and a bottle of Wild Turkey. He filled the glasses to the brim and left the bottle on the bar.

The enterprising patron was either too drunk, too naïve, or just too stupid to notice. "I'll pay for this one Rudy," the patron said, tossing some double dollars on the bar. "I'll even pay for the tall guy, 'cause I'm such a nice guy. Ain't that right sweetie?" He smacked her on the butt. The tall man winced into his drink.

The woman appeared not to notice and raised her glass to her lips. The patron blinked and found himself looking down the barrel of a red Long Colt. This way of viewing the Long Colt is not recommended for those with heart conditions. The woman continued drinking and pulled the trigger.

Click.

She pulled the trigger again.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

She finished her drink, placed it on the bar; then returned the gun to its holster as if nothing had happened. The man looked at the pair again, recalculating which of the two was more dangerous. His mind broke down and he returned to his seat.

The woman turned around and leaned on the bar. "Seen anyone goofy looking around here lately?"

The barman surveyed the patrons, who were the defining work in goofy looking. He cleared his throat. "Three double dollars please."

"He would've had spiky blonde hair, except for a black patch somewhere around his temple. Would've looked kinda like me. Seen him?"

The tall man reached into his pocket and pulled out a ten double dollar bill. He slapped it on the bar. "Keep the change," he said.

The barman sucked his breath in through his teeth and contemplated the ceiling fan for a while. "Hmmmm, not sure if I remember." He stroked his chin.

The tall man reached into his pocket again and pulled out a twenty. He placed it on top of the ten. "Keep the change."

"Three days ago, this spiky haired idiot comes in here, gets roaring drunk. Didn't take that much to put him under though."

The tall man and the woman hung their heads. "What is it about him and alcohol?" the tall man said.

The woman shook her head. "Did he happen to say where he was going?" she asked.

The barman nodded. "Yeah, he said he was heading west. Hoping to eventually get to Jenora Rock. He was about to say why when he passed out and another guy had to drag him to the hotel."

"Jenora Rock? Thanks." The tall man said, swinging the cross up onto his back. They turned and walked out the bar. The woman stopped at the door and turned around.

"Just for the record, that is the most watered down Wild Turkey I've had in a while." She turned and followed her friend out of the bar. They stepped out into the street and turned towards the town square.

"How did you know he was going to go in there?" Jeremiah asked eventually.

"I didn't, it was a random guess." Nikki answered.

"And if it hadn't been the right one?"

"We would've tried another one."

"How did you know he'd be in a bar?"

"Dad likes to drink. What can I say?" A black cat sleeping in the shade of a cart caught Nikki's attention. "Well aren't you the cutest little fuzzy wuzzy!" Nikki squealed. She picked up the cat and started scratching his belly.

The cat looked up at Nikki quizzically. "Nya?" it said.

Jeremiah clapped a hand to his forehead. This could take a while. "How do you know that cat isn't rabid?" he asked.

"This little fuzzy face? He's too cute to be rabid!" Nikki said, squeezing the cat.

"You are really, really, really helpless around animals. You know that right?"

Nikki ignored him and continued to pet the cat.

"Yeah. I'm going to church. Meet me at the hotel in three hours okay?"

Nikki nodded and started scratching the cat under the chin. Jeremiah wandered off, leaving Nikki to play with the cat. After about ten minutes of cuddling the kitty, Nikki let him go. Now what?

An old musician's store caught her eye. [How long has it been?] She thought. She walked across the dusty street and pushed the door open. The place was packed with instruments, sheet music, anything for the budding musician. She ran a hand over a guitar rack. She stopped at a particularly fine guitar.

"Can I help you miss?" a voice said behind her. Nikki turned around. An old man stood there, his shoulders hunched after years of fixing and making instruments. Genetics had given him dark skin, but he had spent so much time inside working on his instruments, it had grown relatively pale. His spectacles were perched precariously on his nose, somehow defying the laws of gravity just staying there. He raised an eyebrow.

"Oh. . . Er. . . I was just looking at this guitar." Nikki stammered. She pointed in what she hoped was the direction of the guitar she had been looking at before.

"Mmm, good choice, miss. Good choice indeed. You play?"

". . .Haven't for a while now. Can I try?"

"Certainly." With reverential care, he lifted the guitar from its stand and handed it to Nikki. "Guitar pick miss? I think I've got one back on the counter."

"No, I prefer to use my fingers if that's all right with you." Nikki said, handing the guitar back to the man. She pulled her gloves off and stuffed them into one of her jacket pockets.

"That's good to hear. Yes, that's very good to hear. A musician should always be feeling their instrument if they can. Feel the soul of the instrument," the man said as he handed the guitar back to Nikki.

Nikki nodded and positioned her hands on the guitar. She plucked out a few notes at random, then settled on a melody. One she hadn't played in four years.

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4 years ago

Nikki sat on a bench, her leg bound up. The doctors had said she would be able to walk fine any day now. She sighed; it hadn't taken long before she had gotten into trouble. All it took was one wrong comment at a bar. Her fingers ran over the guitar and she started playing, quietly humming along.

People passed by on the street, heads down, going wherever they had planned that day with not a thought to anything else. A man's attention was caught by the 17-year old girl sitting on the bench with a bullet wound in her leg and a guitar in her hands. He stopped momentarily to listen to her. A woman saw the man watching the teen and stopped to see what was going on. Another person stopped, and another, and another. They all stopped to hear the young woman play. They looked around for an open hat or guitar case or anything, but the girl didn't have anything out. She wasn't looking for money; she didn't even seem to notice the people around her. She just played because she wanted to.

The song came to a dramatic finish, Nikki's fingers flying over the guitar stings faster than a bullet from a Long Colt. She plucked out the last note and let her breath out. A man in the back started clapping slowly and it spread through the rest of the crowd. Nikki looked up, surprised that she had drawn such an audience. Her first instinct was to stand and bow, but the tight bandage on her reminded her that she should probably stay down. She smiled and waved instead. The crowd clapped for a little while longer, then went about their way.

Except for the first man to clap. A grizzled old man with gray hair, some stubble, and a dirty apron over his clothes, he walked up to Nikki with his hands in his apron pockets.

"You've got fast hands," he said.

Nikki nodded. "They run in the family you might say."

The man yawned and stretched his arms out. He sat down on the bench next to Nikki. "So my assistant tells me. I can't say I ever saw it for myself though."

"Where is he anyway?"

"Somewhere called Tonim I think. Something about a special project."

"Tonim huh? Yeah, I think I know what he's doing," Nikki said, positioning her hands on the guitar again. She started on a new melody, a quieter one this time.

"How's your leg?" the man asked.

"Oh, I'll be alright. Should be up as good as new in two weeks."

"And then?"

Nikki stopped playing. "And then? And then I'm off again. Gotta keep looking. He's out there somewhere."

"And Jeremiah? What about him?"

Nikki shrugged. "I don't know why he left. He'll follow his own path, whatever that is."

The man nodded. "Gonna bring something with you for protection?"

"Protection?"

"Well, in case you get into another 'situation'." He indicated Nikki's bound leg. Nikki looked down at her leg and shrugged. "Tell me," the man said, "you know how to shoot a gun?" Nikki nodded. "Figured as much. How could you not?"

"Even if I do, I don't have the money for one. I barely have the money for my medical bills and bus fare."

The man smiled and stood up. "Got the strength to come with me? Or do you need me to carry you?"

Nikki looked up at him quizzically. "Huh?"

"Got a present for you."

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Outside of Christmas City, the Wild Bunch waited. The Wild Bunch, the nastiest meanest gang of thieves to ever walk Gunsmoke, and, collectively, the holders of the fourth largest bounty in all of Gunsmoke. Twenty Billion Double Dollars. Pleasant sum of money no doubt, but not likely to get cashed. You'd have to get all of them to get it, and that wouldn't be easy. Some say it would be harder than going after Vash the Stampede, but then again, some say that Vash the Stampede is a misunderstood figure that never meant to hurt anybody.

Outside Christmas City, the twenty members of the Wild Bunch waited for the suns to fall and the moons to rise.

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Jeremiah walked into the church and breathed in deeply. This turned out to be a mistake.

"Enough, cough cough, incense, cough cough, there Reverend?"

The priest took the match down from the incense burner. "Is it? I find it hard to tell these days. I must be getting old." He shook the match out. "Can I help you my son? Need anything in particular?"

Jeremiah shook his head. "It's just that it's Sunday, and I didn't want to miss mass."

"Of course young man. We're just starting so you can just take a seat."

Jeremiah thanked the man and headed down the aisle.

The project SEED crash and the resulting years on Gunsmoke had confused the already hazy subject of religion. Nowadays the major religions of Gunsmoke had incorporated the elements of all their branches. So Jeremiah wasn't a Protestant or Catholic exactly, but a little bit of Baptist, a little bit of Catholic a little bit of Episcopalian, and a little bit of Presbyterian. A little bit of everything. Gunsmoke religions are the mutts of the religious universe. Of course, the thing to remember is that mutts survive.

Jeremiah reached an open pew and slung his cross onto the floor. There was a loud "THUD" and Jeremiah winced. "Sorry about the dent in the floor Reverend!" He called back.

"Yes, the incense isn't so bad there, I know!" The priest called back.

Jeremiah raised his eyebrows. "Oooookay. I'll just leave some money in the collection box then." He slid into a pew just as the service started.

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy Name. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation. . ."

A shadow fell over Jeremiah. "But deliver us from evil."

"For thine is the kingdom, and the power and the glory," Jeremiah continued.

"For ever and ever," the shadow finished.

"Amen," they said together.

"Hello Father Danil," Jeremiah said.

Father Danil slid into the pew next to Jeremiah. Most would consider him a tall man, but few people seemed tall next to Jeremiah. He was dressed in a short black coat and black pants, with a white priest's collar sticking out of the jacket. His gray hair hadn't been washed in a while, but then again, neither had Jeremiah's.

"Still trying to save people?" Danil asked.

Jeremiah was silent.

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3 years earlier

"So you see Jeremiah, that is why I had to kill her. She just would've gone on to commit even worse sins had I not," Father Danil said, walking into the desert.

Jeremiah grabbed his Cross Punisher and hefted it up onto his back. [Damn!] He thought. [This thing is heavy! I shouldn't have put so much stuff in it! How do people get used to them?] He ran after Danil. "Wait up Father!"

Father Danil ignored him and kept walking. "How do you plan to save people's souls if you cannot lift your own weapon Jeremiah?"

"Easy for you to say! You're just carrying around those pistols!" Jeremiah shouted after him, still struggling with his Cross Punisher.

Father Danil stopped short and let Jeremiah catch up with him. Jeremiah rushed up and stopped when he saw that Father Danil had no intention of moving. He indicated that Jeremiah should put his cross down. Jeremiah shoved the thing into the sand and stood back. Father Danil opened his jacket, revealing six crosses hanging to the sides by loops. He selected one and handed it to Jeremiah. Jeremiah took it and his hand dropped slightly, he hadn't expected the cross to be that heavy.

"Wow. I've never seen such a heavy hand gun."

Father Danil nodded, took the gun back from Jeremiah, and placed in back in its loop. "You know, your father would've said that that's because it's so full of mercy."

"Is it?"

Father Danil scoffed and turned back into the desert. "Mercy? Don't be ridiculous. It's so heavy because it's so full of bullets."

Jeremiah swung his cross back onto his shoulder and went after Father Danil. He had been following him for a month now. [Why won't he tell me about my father? Does he really know, or his just BSing me?]

"Mercy." Father Danil said. Jeremiah looked up. Danil usually didn't talk when they were traveling from town to town. "What a ludicrous concept. Show mercy to your enemy and they'll kill you when your guard's down. Show mercy to sinners, and they'll just sin again once your back is turned. They sin and they sin, until they can sin no more. It's better to stop them now. Before their souls can be truly damned."

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"Still trying to save souls, Jeremiah? Still preaching redemption?"

"I'm no preacher Father Danil," Jeremiah responded.

"Is that why you're traveling around with that girl, are you trying to save her? Hers is the ultimate sin. She cannot be saved, why do you even try?"

"Everyone deserves a chance. And who said being born was a sin?"

"It isn't, for humans. But for her. . ."

"Please leave Father Danil."

Father Danil looked hurt. "How could you say that Jeremiah? It's been so long since we've seen each other."

Jeremiah closed his eyes and clasped his hands again. "Please leave Father Danil, before I'm forced to beat the crap out of someone in a house of God."

Father Danil smirked, stood up, crossed himself, and left the church. "May God be with you, young one."

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The leader of the Wild Bunch was a man named Ronald MacKenzie. People had tried to give him nicknames before, but he just seemed to shrug them all off. Nothing really seemed to describe him accurately. Some might say that he was the walking embodiment of normalcy.

"Guns ready boys?" he called out. A chorus of shouts answered him. "That's great. We can't let the party start without the guests of honor, now can we?"

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Nikki stopped playing and sighed. Amazing, that she could still play. It had been too long.

The old man started clapping. "Very good miss. You've got talent. Now, uhhh, are you going to buy that guitar?"

Nikki looked surprised. "Buy? Er, I'm sorry but I really don't have the money. I can barely afford to eat these days. It's just that I haven't played in a while. I was curious to see if I could."

The old man shook his head sadly as he took the guitar away from Nikki and returned it to the rack. "That's too bad, you're good. Why did you stop?"

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4 years earlier

Nikki settled into the bus chair, the weight of the Long Colts in her jacket still new to her. New, but comforting in some small way. She had been surprised how well she had adapted to using the Long Colts. Two of them even. They had a kick on them like a crazed Thomas.

Nikki sighed and stretched out into the second chair. [Hope no one wants to sit here.] She thought. Too bad Jeremiah wasn't back yet, she had wanted to say good-bye again. Oh well, life goes on, and she had to keep searching. Her foot started tapping against the chair to a beat in her head. Now where was her guitar?

"SHIT" Nikki yelled, sitting up straight. The rest of the bus stared at her. "What?" Nikki said, "It's nothing, never mind." She slumped back down onto the seat. [Damnit! How could I leave it back with Mr. Marlon! How freaking' stupid of me! What the hell were you thinking Nikki! Dumb dumb dumb!] She hit her head on the window. How could she be so dumb?

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"I, I just did. It's kind of a long story."

"Too bad. You got music in your soul. I can see it. 'Bout the only thing I can see these days." He rubbed his chin. "You like this guitar?"

Nikki nodded. "Best one I've seen in a while."

"You'd like it, yes?"

"I dunno. It wouldn't be easy to carry around everywhere."

"You said you were broke miss. Maybe you can make some money that way. Tell you what; I'll let you use this guitar for the celebration tonight. Play something real good for the crowd. Something real soulful, something to light the crowd on fire. Play again like you mean it, and then we'll see if you're still interested. Hmmm?"

"Festival, tonight? What festival?"

"It's Arrival Day miss. Yes, it's Arrival Day!"

"Arrival Day? Only a week before. . ." Nikki looked at the guitar again. "I don't suppose it could hurt to try, could it?"

"Of course not, of course not. It never hurts to try does it? If you don't try, you don't know!" The instrument maker said as he took guitar back down from the rack. He pushed it into Nikki's hands. "Here, take this. Go and practice, come up with a good song, something to. . ."

"Light the crowd on fire. I know." Nikki said, walking out of the music shop with the guitar.

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Jeremiah pushed the hotel room door open and found a sight he hadn't seen in years. Nikki, sitting on a bed, practicing the guitar.

"I thought you quit," Jeremiah said."

"Not so much quit as. . . took a break."

"And now?"

"This old instrument maker wants me to play at the Arrival Day Festival tonight. I said okay but now," she stopped playing, "I'm having second thoughts. It's been too long since I last played, I'm not going to remember up on stage."

Jeremiah put his Cross Punisher down in a corner and picked up their canteen. He took a long swig. "Well it's too bad that you feel that way," he said, taking another swig. "Because I've decided that you'll play anyway."

"What? You've decided?"

"Yep," Jeremiah said, putting the canteen back. "I've unilaterally decided that you're going to play in this festival whether you like it or not."

"Is this going to be like the time you 'decided' that I should wear less red?" Nikki said, pointing a finger at Jeremiah.

"Nope, I promise."

"And why will this be different?"

"Well for starters, I'm twenty-one instead of seven. Additionally, nothing will be destroyed as a result of this."

Nikki started plucking notes from the strings again. "Well, if you've decided, I guess I just have to."

Jeremiah nodded, seemingly oblivious to Nikki's sarcasm. "Good. Well now that that's settled, I'm going to get some food."

"Get me some. . ."

"Nope, no doughnuts for you Nikki."

"Why not?"

Jeremiah pointed at her hands. "The sugar. Gets all over your hands. Wouldn't want to mess this nice guitar up, would we?"

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"Can I drive?"

"No."

"How about now?"

"No."

"Now?"

"Calamity, how old are you again?"

"Twenty."

"Then why are you acting like a six-year old?"

Calamity sat back into her seat, pouting. She didn't have to travel with these losers. She was Calamity Shriver daughter of Vash the. . . Okay, that one wasn't going to work anymore was it? Now that she had met the real daughter of Vash the Stampede.

She looked over to Evans, who appeared to be sleeping. Not that you could tell under those sunglasses. Calamity bit her lip, she was really curious to see what Evans' eyes looked like under them. She quietly snaked her hand out. . .

Evans hand shot up and grabbed her wrist. "As you know Calamity," he said, "I'm on bounty duty. That means I am required to go after any and all major wanted criminals I can find. If I back down from going after anyone, I could be court marshaled and maybe even dishonorably discharged. So I'm taking a risk not taking you in, but I made a promise I intend to keep. However, if you continue to annoy me like this, I might become so aggravated that I'll just forget my promise. It'll just slip my mind. Oh sure, I'll remember eventually, but you'll probably be in jail and it'll be too late. Then I'll just feel horrible about myself."

Calamity stuck her tongue out and Evans, crossed her arms, and sat back into the chair.

Millie twisted around the seat. "You have a memory problem too Lieutenant? You know what helps that? Gingko. Of course it's really expensive, I don't know if you could afford it on your salary. I could lend you some if you like!"

Meryl sighed and stuck her arm out the window. [Only thirty more iles and we'll be in Christmas City, thirty more iles, thirty more iles.]

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"It's almost time for the party," one of the Wild Bunch said.

"Are you suggesting that we go now?" MacKenzie said. "Haven't you ever heard of being fashionably late? It won't be a real party if the guests of honor show up on time."

MacKenzie may have looked normal, but he was really anything but.

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Jeremiah: Redemption, mercy, forgiveness. Precepts of the Faith. I'm no priest, maybe I'll be one someday, hell, I don't know. Not all priests follow the Faith. They follow a voice inside their heads, telling them to go out and save the flock from hell, to save the world. The question is, is that the voice of God, or the voice of the devil?

Next Chapter: Sinners.

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Anywho, remember to review, any type of review at all. Reviews make the writer happy. Happy writer means higher quality story.