outlaw martha ( wild west) //W.I.P\\

It was a musky mornin’, the kind that wrapped ‘round ya like a dusty old blanket. The tavern was comin’ alive, the drunks sprawled ‘cross the tables, snoozin’ like they’d been up all night chasin’ the moon. The owner, scrappy and tired, was busy sweepin’ up the remnants of last night’s rowdy revelry.

“WHAT IN TARNATION AM I SUPPOSED TO DO AROUND HERE?” Martha hollered, her voice sharp and full o’ fire as she fired a shot into the ceiling, dust and splinters rainin’ down. “NOW, WHO’S THE OWNER OF THIS FINE JOINT? I’VE GOT A BONE TO PICK!” Her keen gaze swept the room, the echo of her gunshot rattlin’ in the ears of the half-conscious patrons, who jolted awake as if the very devil hisself had shouted at ’em.