Jed took one look at his sister and stopped his apology mid-sentence. He'd failed again. All those years of protecting his sister from violence. They were now for naught. She'd grown up amoung men, in a ruff and tumble western town. But he'd managed to keep from witnessing an exucution. The marshal had destroyed that.

He slammed the stairway door, nearly tossing the poor thing off of its hinges. But when it bounced back at him, he simply punched the fragile wood, breaking open a fist-sized hole and littering his hand in splinters.

The sheriff then proceed to do what his only father figure he'd ever had would do at times like this. He threw open the liqur cabinet and found a twenty year old bottle of wiskey. After twisting off the top, Jed chugged a mouthful of it. It burned as all-get-out, but it was a good feeling.

Charlotte stared at him for a long time, pressing her teeth together as hard as she could. A muscle in her jaw flinched, and she finally spoke. "If you're going to drink, don't do it in my kitchen."

She turned around and strode over to the window, then raised it up and climbed out onto the porch roof. Her thinking spot. Shutting the window behind her, she folded her legs up to her chest and sat against the wood siding of the jail building. She stretched one booted foot out and pushed her hair out of her eyes. The shadows stretched across the dusty main street below as the sun began to dip below the horizon. She tried to focus the orange glow backdrop against the mountains, but ended up studying the intricate pattern of the porch's roof instead, lost in her thoughts of what had just happened.

Jed of course, simply ignored his younger sister and continued his drinking ways. Or would have, if not for the fact that after a few minutes, his bottle was completely dry. Therefore, he tossed it across the room Where it collided against the wall with a loud crash. After this tantrum he decided upon the one course of action that would satisfy him at this juncture.

"Time to get drunk."

And so off he went, leaving the glass shards lying in a heap.

The Marshal stepped through the door of the tavern. Several men turned to stare at her as she walked in. She glared back at them.

"Er, can I get you something, Marshal?" Hugh asked tentatively.

"You have wine?"

"Well, it's rare to have much of that in these parts...quite the luxury."

"Yes or no, do you have it?"

"Just a bit."

"Then give me a glass, and leave me alone," the Marshal said. Hugh nodded and went in search of a bottle while the Marshal strode across the room and slumped into a chair in the far corner. She kicked another chair around, finally propping her foot against the the edge of it and tipping backwards in her own seat. She flicked a coin at Hugh when he brought her glass by, then settled into the shadows, just watching everyone. Finally, she pulled out her knife and began playing with it, grinding a small hole into the table with the tip.

Just as the Marshal had whittled a decent sized hole into her pine-wood table, Jed wandered in. He found a nice bar stool and proceeded to plop himself down onto it. Not once did he notice the Marshal sitting in her corner. He was much too busy glaring daggers into Hugh, who was currently occupied serving another customer.

After a few minutes though, the poor barman made his way to Jed. "What can I help you with, sheriff?"

"'bout time you found a hole in you busy schedule, eh?"

"I suppose sir. My apologies, what can I get you?"

"I'll take a whiskey. Save yourself some dish-washing and just gimme the bottle."

Hugh raised his eyebrow, but complied. A paying customer, was a paying customer, after all. "Rough night?" The barman glanced up towards the Marshal, and Jed followed his gaze.

"You could say that."

The Marshal returned Jed's grumpy glance with a glare of her own, and gave a more violent jab at the table. She eyed the half full bottle that Hugh handed over, but did nothing. She was just fine with waiting to see what Jed was going to do, without any intervention from her. He was a big boy, she thought, taking a sip. He could deal with things himself.

Jed took the stab at the table as a challenge, and popped the top on his bottle. "It's been interesting having her back in town." He concluded his sentence with a derogatory term towards women. In his semi-clouded mind, somehow. This had seemed like a good idea at the time.

The Marshal dug her knife into the wood and twisted, listening to the crack as the top of the board splintered and gave way to her metallic direction. Hugh cast a worried glance in her direction, but she merely smiled at him and gave a more violent twist to her knife before twirling it around her fingers and then stabbing the table again. The knife wobbled from the energy of the blow, but stood erect as the Marshal picked up her glass and took another sip.

Jed didn't turn around this time, but smiled every time the table cried out in pain. In was sign that he had gotten under her skin. He'd stabbed her. Now it was time to twist. First though, he downed another three or four cups of his whiskey.

"Seems like every single time she waltzes into town, someone gets hurt. Why can't that Chinawoman just stay the heck away."

"I'm not Chinese," the Marshal muttered, twisting into the wood and digging her knife out again.

Jed ignored this rather lame, and rather unimaginative comeback. Instead, he continued to gulp on his bottle of whiskey. He truly was drunk at this point. He'd drank before, but never to this extent. It was something new to him. And he surely wasn't going about it in a graceful manner.

The Marshal swirled the last of her wine in her glass and smiled just slightly. Despite having nine or ten inches on her and being a well built man, Jed was more soused than she would ever get, and definitely much more intoxicated than she was at the moment.

"You know, sheriff," she began saucily, "In any semi-respectable society, a judge will take off his robes before partaking, and a real officer of the law will remove his badge before he gets as drunk as a drowned cat."

"You know, while we are on the topic of semi-respectable societies, you aren't exactly the one with cleanest record, you good-for-nothing wastrel. So I'd keep the dirty mouth of yours shut." He spun his bar-stool around and stepped off, facing the Marshal down.

"Aw, have we run out of decent things to say, and had to revert to name calling like a toddler?" the Marshal pouted, sticking her lower lip out and not bothering to stand up. "Society wouldn't need people like me if it could just keep itself in some semblance of organization. But it has people like you, who are more concerned with personal vendettas than the well being of the people who love and care for you--like your sister. Funny, that. I mean, I'd think after having my family whittled down to two, I'd watch her like a hawk, but you don't even seem to care."

"You aren't exactly a shining example of how to love your family either, Marshal. You travel alone, what the heck happened to the people you love? Did you leave them behind too? Just like you left us? Some high-quality standard you are, my sister adores you. Idolizes you even... And, and what do you leave her with? A vague fake name and stories. That's all. That is it. You are a selfish, unloving witch that wouldn't know what the meaning of family, even if one dropped in you lap! Some Marshal you make. Eh, Mercy Tzu? How about it?"