The Mod pushed the volume dial on his portable cassette player as high as it would go. Normally, he preferred to listen to the sound of his Lambretta as it cut through the cosmos, but the interstellar engines made a sound like they were crying out in agony whenever the scooter was running low on fuel. He figured, if he didn't work the throttle too hard, he'd make it to Parkas 7, even if just on fumes.
Usually, the Mod would be a bit more prepared for intergalactic travel, but he'd heard a rumor from an acquaintance he'd bumped into at the Blackhole Cafe that the Cowboy was holed up in this corner of the galaxy and left with nothing but his cassette player, a pack of cigarettes, and his katana. A few systems back, he realized he didn't pay for his coffee and felt bad. A system later, he realized he left his pork pie hat on the counter and figured that was payment enough. Riding alone through the vastness of space, the Mod's mind continued to wander, but the anxiety of finally ending things with the Cowboy grew as he began to enter Parkas 7's atmosphere.
The Mod landed at a small rundown spaceport where he was able to refuel the Lambretta. He always needed a coffee and a cigarette after entering the atmosphere, it helped settle his stomach, so he stopped in at the port diner. He took a seat at the counter, leaning his sheathed katana down near his knees, and pulled out his cigarettes. Only two left. He'd have to remember to grab another pack before he left.
"What'll it be," asked a scaly green waitress.
"Coffee. Black," the Mod responded, before putting a cigarette between his lips and lighting it up. As the waitress filled a mug for him, the Mod asked, "You see a Cowboy come through here lately? About this tall," the Mod held his hand somewhere in the five foot range, "might've rode in on a giant horseshoe crab."
"Now, why am I not surprised that you'd ask me that?" She finishes pouring the coffee, placing her free hand on her hip. "You two are the first strangers we've had stop through here in a few cycles. They a friend of yours?"
The Mod lets a drag loose. "Something like that."
"Well, they come through here bout every night. If you just wait here you're sure to bump into them." Seeing the anxious look on the Mod's face, she added "Their boots are usually covered in sand. I reckon you could try the beach."
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The Mod parked his scooter at the end of the long unkempt road. In front of him stood some sand dunes, from behind it he could hear the roar of the ocean. Though he hated getting his clothes sandy, he took to climbing the dune. He struggled to gain traction in his dress shoes, but at the peak he could see the endless ocean ahead of him. At the shoreline stood a truck sized horseshoe crab, and kneeling in the sand facing the ocean, the Cowboy. The Mod thought about turning around, going back to the Blackhole and forgetting all this. He swallowed those feelings and made his way to the shoreline.
The Mod stood a couple feet away from the Cowboy, who was still kneeling in the sand.
"Howdy," the Cowboy says, not looking up.
"Hey," the Mod replies. He looks over, seeing the Cowboy brushing the sand off a normal horseshoe crab.
"They get a little too adventurous sometimes. Get stuck in the sand." The Cowboy pushes the horseshoe crab on its way and stands up, pulling a bandana over their face before facing the Mod. "Shall we?"
"Care if I smoke first?"
"Knock yourself out."
The Mod takes his time with his cigarette as he and the Cowboy take in the vastness of the roaring ocean. It's nothing compared to the infinity of space, but majestic nonetheless. He gets halfway through the cigarette before flicking it into the air.
"Ok," he says as he takes a few steps down the shore, away from the Cowboy.
The two combatants stare each other down before, at the same time, the draw their weapons. The Mod his katana, the Cowboy a pair of six shooters.
The Mod charges. He has to close the distance and fast if he is to stand and chance. The shots from the Cowboy's gun echo over the empty beach. The Mod dodges one, and deflects two more with his katana. The gap is closed.
The Mod takes a swing, going for the Cowboy's head. He cuts, but only the Cowboy's mask. It falls away, revealing their face. It's even more beautiful than he remembered.
The Mod feels two pains in his chest. The first is his heart breaking. The second is a bullet tearing through what's left.
Usually, the Mod would be a bit more prepared for intergalactic travel, but he'd heard a rumor from an acquaintance he'd bumped into at the Blackhole Cafe that the Cowboy was holed up in this corner of the galaxy and left with nothing but his cassette player, a pack of cigarettes, and his katana. A few systems back, he realized he didn't pay for his coffee and felt bad. A system later, he realized he left his pork pie hat on the counter and figured that was payment enough. Riding alone through the vastness of space, the Mod's mind continued to wander, but the anxiety of finally ending things with the Cowboy grew as he began to enter Parkas 7's atmosphere.
The Mod landed at a small rundown spaceport where he was able to refuel the Lambretta. He always needed a coffee and a cigarette after entering the atmosphere, it helped settle his stomach, so he stopped in at the port diner. He took a seat at the counter, leaning his sheathed katana down near his knees, and pulled out his cigarettes. Only two left. He'd have to remember to grab another pack before he left.
"What'll it be," asked a scaly green waitress.
"Coffee. Black," the Mod responded, before putting a cigarette between his lips and lighting it up. As the waitress filled a mug for him, the Mod asked, "You see a Cowboy come through here lately? About this tall," the Mod held his hand somewhere in the five foot range, "might've rode in on a giant horseshoe crab."
"Now, why am I not surprised that you'd ask me that?" She finishes pouring the coffee, placing her free hand on her hip. "You two are the first strangers we've had stop through here in a few cycles. They a friend of yours?"
The Mod lets a drag loose. "Something like that."
"Well, they come through here bout every night. If you just wait here you're sure to bump into them." Seeing the anxious look on the Mod's face, she added "Their boots are usually covered in sand. I reckon you could try the beach."
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The Mod parked his scooter at the end of the long unkempt road. In front of him stood some sand dunes, from behind it he could hear the roar of the ocean. Though he hated getting his clothes sandy, he took to climbing the dune. He struggled to gain traction in his dress shoes, but at the peak he could see the endless ocean ahead of him. At the shoreline stood a truck sized horseshoe crab, and kneeling in the sand facing the ocean, the Cowboy. The Mod thought about turning around, going back to the Blackhole and forgetting all this. He swallowed those feelings and made his way to the shoreline.
The Mod stood a couple feet away from the Cowboy, who was still kneeling in the sand.
"Howdy," the Cowboy says, not looking up.
"Hey," the Mod replies. He looks over, seeing the Cowboy brushing the sand off a normal horseshoe crab.
"They get a little too adventurous sometimes. Get stuck in the sand." The Cowboy pushes the horseshoe crab on its way and stands up, pulling a bandana over their face before facing the Mod. "Shall we?"
"Care if I smoke first?"
"Knock yourself out."
The Mod takes his time with his cigarette as he and the Cowboy take in the vastness of the roaring ocean. It's nothing compared to the infinity of space, but majestic nonetheless. He gets halfway through the cigarette before flicking it into the air.
"Ok," he says as he takes a few steps down the shore, away from the Cowboy.
The two combatants stare each other down before, at the same time, the draw their weapons. The Mod his katana, the Cowboy a pair of six shooters.
The Mod charges. He has to close the distance and fast if he is to stand and chance. The shots from the Cowboy's gun echo over the empty beach. The Mod dodges one, and deflects two more with his katana. The gap is closed.
The Mod takes a swing, going for the Cowboy's head. He cuts, but only the Cowboy's mask. It falls away, revealing their face. It's even more beautiful than he remembered.
The Mod feels two pains in his chest. The first is his heart breaking. The second is a bullet tearing through what's left.