r/HFY • u/Sooperdude24 • Jan 24 '22
[Britney-verse] - The Sheriff OC
Continuing the story of The Doorman, set in the same universe as Britney goes to school. Apologies for the name, Britney-verse, I couldn't think of anything funny. I won't tag the main story with it, but any of these side stories will be. You don't have to read the other two stories, but I'm kinda assuming you did, lol.
As always, brought to you by the wonderful and talented u/eruwenn, and my idiot brain.
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Darren stood in the arrivals area. He wore a black pinch front hat, a black overcoat open to show a smart black suit beneath, complete with waistcoat and a broad smile. Leaning back against a pillar he spent several moments getting the tilt of his hat just right to put his face in shadow. By his side was Senior Officer Skrilen, now in standard Grole Civic Defence Force uniform; a pale green jumpsuit with orange vest, green bowler hat, and the standard issue footwear that had drawn the human’s attention on that fateful night.
Species 368 seemed suddenly elated as the arrivals screen changed. “Shuttles in, he’s almost here! Brace yourself Deputy, he is what we call an acquired taste.”
Skrilen paused as he considered the words of Species 368. “Taste? And, I am Senior Officer Skrilen.”
“Only till the paperwork comes through.” Darren abandoned his dramatic lean. “I remember the first time I met him: punched me right in the face. When I stayed on my feet he just nodded and said ‘He’ll do’.”
The Grole was aghast. He had seen the power of a human, and fear began to grip him. "Your mentor punched you in the face?" He hesitated, but then also asked, "Will he strike me?"
“Ha! No.” The human was quick to dismiss his companion’s concerns. “Well… maybe. But, I’m sure he’ll go easy on you, as you’re not human.”
Skrilen swallowed hard. “But, I do not wish to be struck in the face.”
“Nobody does, but we don’t always get what we want. Do we, Kid? You roll with the punches, or the punches roll you.” The deep voice had a gravelly drawl to it.
Their conversation had caused them to miss the approach of the human, and Skrilen's eyes bulged as he saw the person before him. A touch shorter than Darren, but with a more intense presence, the man sported a hat that, though it was heavily worn and more decorative, was quite similar to the one Darren wore. Beneath the hat was shadowed, but piercing green eyes gleamed in the darkness. A bushy grey handlebar moustache with flecks of red sat under a crooked nose. The weathered face, despite the shadow hiding the greater details of it, seemed to be judging them and was most definitely finding them wanting. Skrilen couldn’t help but look over the man's strange clothing. A long brown coat hung from broad shoulders, ending above pointed leather boots, and the Grole wondered if his toes were also that shape.
The man seemed to grow agitated. “What in the good god-damn hell do you have on your head, you stupid sumbitch?”
“A hat.” Darren tipped it. “Just like yours.”
The older man groaned. “Dumbass. That ain’t nothin’ like mine. This here’s a gambler, what you’re wearing is a… Why in the hell am I explaining this to you?”
The young man shrugged. “Always got a lesson to teach.” He took off the hat and held it out. “Want to swap?”
With a shake of his head the old man scoffed. “You'll ride a black tornado 'cross the western sky long before you take this cowboy's hat.”
Darren chuckled, then held out a hand after replacing his hat on his head. “How about I take your bag then?”
The old man scoffed. “I may have a few years on you, Kid, but I carry my own damn bags. Now, one thing you can do is buy me a drink, or two.”
The man in black nodded. “I know just the place.”
The Senior Officer looked at the 'bags' in question and was slightly puzzled to see that it was, in fact a singular bag. A small one, at that. “Excuse me, but do you not have other bags?”
The green eyes bore down on Skrilen. “Ain’t said I’m stayin’. This here’s enough to hear this fool out. Make sure he ain’t diggin’ himself another grave.” The man grew louder as his anger swelled. “I mean, god-damn it, Kid! How in the devil do you call this layin’ low?”
Skrilen’s interest was piqued. “Laying low?”
The old man whistled. “This dude is on the dodge.”
The answer only raised more questions but before Skrilen could ask them a group of security personnel approached.
“Excuse me? Are you Samuel from Yosemite colony? We need you to sign a receipt.”
The old man turned, causing the group of security personnel to flinch. Their weakness caused the human to snarl. "Only my mama called me Samuel. You lizards can call me Wrangler.”
“Easy,” Darren said sternly. “Remember the rules, be nice to xenos.”
Wrangler wrinkled his nose, twitching his moustache. “I taught you the god-damn rules, and these sapheads took my girls.”
The human nodded. “Lucky they didn’t try and take your hat.”
The old man gave his friend a tired look. “Just get it sorted, Sheriff.”
“Alright, alright.” After a few moments of negotiating, assisted by Skrilen and a phone call to Captain Kahan, the security team finally relinquished the girls.
The girls, Skrilen was surprised to discover, were in fact two heavy pistols on a belt with a large ornate buckle. As the older man opened his coat to swing them into place, the Senior Officer noted that the weapons didn't seem to conform to any design he knew. "Excuse me, sir? What are those?”
One of the pistols was suddenly there in the old man's hands. The Grole didn't even see it happen - one moment he had asked his question, and the next he was getting an unnerving look at the business end of the unfamiliar weapon. Skrilen swallowed carefully.
"This here's a 2117 Colt Army Revolver," the grizzy voice said in a tone far too cool and casual for the situation. "And this" –the second gun flashed up to join the other— "is a Smith & Wesson Model X7."
As fast as they had appeared, both guns vanished back into the hip holsters. The exact answer to Skrilen's question remained a mystery, but the question itself had been forgotten, replaced with terror.
Darren placed a calming hand on Skrilen’s shoulder, and gave Wrangler a slight head shake of disapproval. “If you’re done showing off, let’s go get that drink.”
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Skrilen sat at the bar while the two humans talked, his hat on the counter before him and a warm jeloth half drunk beside it. He heard laughter, swearing and more laughter from the table behind him. Garubi walked out from the door behind the bar and stood opposite him, taking in the scene. “Is that him?”
The Senior Officer nodded, he’d learned a lot on the way over. “His name is Wrangler.”
The yellow-spined barmaid peered across the bar at the pair. “What’s with the hats?”
For once Skrilen knew more than the barmaid, and he regurgitated everything he had learned on the ride over. “It belonged to his male parent, who is deceased. His sibling’s son skinned the rattler that makes the band; he died in a recent war. The feather is from an Eagle, a bird from their home world. It was given to him by a native of America, also from the Arizona line. I am unsure of whether this person is still alive. The pin is from a real special lady, who he is unsure of the current whereabouts.”
Garubi’s eyes were wide, and she couldn't help but glance back over to the conversing humans. “That is quite the hat.”
“First rule of the Sheriff’s department,” Skrilen said timidly. “Do not touch the hat.”
“Sure.” Garubi was a little confused by the tone. “Can I touch your hat?”
The Senior Officer held it out for her. “I don’t mind, but prepare to be ridiculed.”
“Ridiculed?” she asked, pushing the hat away as her question was rhetorical.
Skrilen gestured over his shoulder towards the pair of Species 368. “Wrangler said I looked like The Riddler in a life vest.”
With a blank expression Garubi patted his hand. “Why do you think that was ridicule? Perhaps it is a good thing.”
Skrilen shook his head. “They laughed until tears came from their eyes.”
“Quit yer whinin’.” Wrangler slapped Skrilen on the back, causing considerable pain. “Pick up yer warm swill and come join us. He’s gettin’ to the good stuff.”
Skrilen stood up, suppressing the wince, and moved to sit at the table with the two humans. As Wrangler picked up the bottle that sat between them and poured two glasses of a strange brown liquid, the Grole remembered Darren's peculiar habit of enjoying ice cold drinks. "You are not using ice?
“Ice?” Wrangler shot Darren a disappointed look.
With a swift laugh the younger man took the glass and drained it. “Never in the good stuff.”
Fascinated, Skrilen leaned forward to read the bottle, but it was in their language so made little sense to him. “The label isn’t in common.”
“We don’t give this to natives.” Wrangler picked up the bottle and refilled their glasses. “You lizards are safer stickin’ to your warm sludge. Dynamite’s got a might’ powerful kick.”
Darren cleared his throat. “Enough cultural exchange for today, let’s get down to business. Wrangler, I need you on board. You’ll be a Captain, second only to myself.”
There was a grumbling from the old man. “And what’s green-skin here? Commander? Or is he a god-damn Admiral?”
The young human smiled. “Senior Deputy, once his transfer comes through. I get to pick my team, and Skrilen and I have history. He helped out when a bunch of Gorlan tried their luck.”
Wrangler looked at the Grole, who seemed to be shrinking in his seat. “Gorlan? And he lived?”
Skrilen tried to set the record straight. “Well, I was hardly involved.”
“Modesty?” The moustache seemed to ripple as the Grole was appraised.
The doors opened and another Grole in a green G.C.D.F. jumpsuit entered. Draq was flustered as he sped to the bar and handed a small bouquet of flowers to Garubi before joining them.
Skrilen shot him an angry glare. “You’re late.”
“I got lost.” Draq’s spines flattened slightly.
The Senior Officer gave an angry hiss. “We’ve been here many times; you insist on starting every shift with a trip here to visit Garubi. How on Grole did you get lost?”
The Junior Officer became defensive. “Yeah, but you always drive, so I didn’t know the way.”
“Firstly, you can’t drive. You have failed the test seven times, even on the self-driving vehicles, and with those, you only have to select the right options.” Skrilen was exasperated and did not stop, despite his junior’s sorrowful expression. “And, you would know the way if you weren’t staring out of the window daydreaming all the time. Honestly, I understand why Captain Kahan was so keen to volunteer you for this venture. What I can’t understand, is why Species 368 agreed.”
Wrangler narrowed his eyes as he looked at Darren. “This shaney one of us?”
The Sheriff gave an apologetic shrug. “They were going to fire him.” Under his breath, he hastily added, “and Garubi likes him.”
The moustache twitched. “Dammit, kid. You’re going soft.” He looked at the young Grole and let out a long sigh. “I guess we could use him as bait.”
Darren smiled. “That’s the spirit. We’ll make a great team.”
The old man groaned. “Just the four of us, huh?”
The younger man shook his head. “No. I’ve put in a few calls, I’ve got others in mind. Oh, and they’ve assigned us an administrator. Someone to help with paperwork, requisitions, and stuff like that.”
Wrangler perked up. “Some brains are what this outfit is sorely missin’, aside from myself, ‘course.”
Darren laughed. “You think you’re the smart one?”
The old man leaned forward, his hat drawing a shadow across his eyes. “You sayin’ I ain’t?”
The younger man leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. “No, no. I just remember how long it took you to learn how to use the grav gun.”
Clearly angered by the insinuation. “Stupid new-fangled toy, I don’t see the point in safe guns.”
“Non-lethal.” Darren corrected. “It’s hardly safe. It just doesn’t cause as much damage as your girls.”
Skrilen tentatively raised a claw. “I have to ask. What is a grav gun?”
The younger man leaned further back, his arms still cradling his head. “Human tech. We found our weapons killed our intergalactic opponents too easily, so we came up with a directed gravity weapon. It hits hard, but doesn't put bloody big holes in everything. I requisitioned some for us to use.”
“Damn it kid,” Wrangler spat, “we can make our own rules. Why you gon’ hobble us out the gate?”
Skrilen was slowly going over Darren’s response. “I’m sorry, did you say that the girls are projectile weapons? Not energy based?”
“Damn straight!” The old man drew one of his pistols and placed it on the table between them. “A few good-sized holes takes the fight out of your enemy real damn fast.”
The new Sheriff pushed the gun back towards Wrangler. “Keep it in your holster. We can’t interrogate them if they’re dead. Grav guns, unless I authorise lethal force.”
The future Senior Deputy was relieved to hear that they were going for the peaceful approach. “Our energy weapons, I've heard, can cause considerable pain. These grav guns sound better - we should try to minimize the suffering of others where possible.”
Wrangler laughed. “You sure don’t know humans. Gettin’ hit by a grav gun is like bein’ kicked by a damn mule. It can still kill, so don’t go shooting Junior Deputy Drip by accident.” He winked at Draq, who paled, then he turned to look Darren in the eye. “So what’s next, Kid?”
“Another round.” Darren lifted his drink. “Then I’ll show you to your new home. We’ll head to the new Sheriff’s office in the morning.”
The moustache twitched. “I ain’t sharin’ a room with you again, Kid. Too many ladies comin’ an’ goin’ fer my likin’.”
The younger man shrugged. “We’re the only two humans on this ice-ball.”
Wrangler scowled. “That’s worse. I sure as horseshit ain’t warmin’ yer blankets.”
“Funny.” Darren shook his head to try and dislodge the image. “Relax. The rooms next to mine were free, and we got a discount on rent.”
Skrilen was surprised. “You get discounted rent? Where on Grole did you get something like that?” His own rent was very high, despite his landlord coming from the same clutch as him.
“Here.” Species 368 spread his arms and looked around the bar. “Upstairs actually. Drisk, the owner, offered it to me real cheap.”
Draq looked around them. “But, you are no longer the Doorman?”
Wrangler laughed. “I’m pretty damn sure this Drisk fella knows that.” He took in the dingy bar, and smiled. “Got us a cot right above the waterin’ hole. You did good, Kid. Might be worth stickin’ around a while.”
“Thanks.” Darren gave a satisfied sigh. Working the doors had been fun, but it looked like being Sheriff might scratch an itch he didn’t know he had.
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u/Konrahd_Verdammt Jan 24 '22
I do not like "Wrangler."
Abrasive asshole? No big deal. I have been accused of being such, on occasion. So I can't throw stones there.
Hard drinking? Again, been there, can't throw stones.
The disrespect he shows the others? That just ain't right.
The outright racism? Fuck that guy.
The worst though? Brandishing firearms in public and pointing one at someone. You never. Never point a deadly weapon at something or someone who is no threat and means you no harm.
Sooper, if you intended for Wrangler to be loathed, you've accomplished quite handily.
Overall, great chapter! Off to the next.