Ironic
Angus was a man in his late forties. He had a brilliant mustache that sat above his lips and a neat beard to cover a no-doubt prominent jaw.
He was dressed in fine black pants held up by a bold and exquisitely designed belt with an attached holster to hold a beautiful bronze gun with a white handle (A fine weapon that Henry slightly itched to get his hands on), a neat blue striped white shirt, and a black waist coat to match his pants.
Even while stationary, Angus carried a commanding air but faced with it, Henry was only reminded of himself and the life he lived. There was some familiarity he felt and without even realizing it, Henry's lips stretched into a crooked smile and only returned to a neutral shape when he heard Devon shift behind him,
"Angus, this little shit…" the large half-orc started and Angus raised a hand to interrupt,
"I am well aware, Devon, and I say again, that's enough. Leave the boy alone."
Devon frowned and with a final glare at Henry, he let out a resigned sigh,
"Fine."
With a final snort, Devon turned around and walked away with a limp in his step. Clearly his groin was still sore and the sight of that caused Henry to smile in satisfaction.
'Shame I don't have a gun in hand,' Henry thought to himself, 'I would so much love to put a bullet in that large skull…'
"Henry," Angus called, pulling Henry out of his thoughts, "Come here, son."
Henry approached him and watched as Angus looked him over with an intense scrutiny,
"Since when could you fight like that, son?"
The tone was gentle, almost kind but there was an edge of suspicion behind it.
Henry's heart skipped. Trapped in this almost alien body, potentially at the mercy of people stronger and better-equipped than he was, he was at an obvious disadvantage. If he was suspected of body snatching, in a world where magic appeared to exist and body-snatching might actually be possible, he might just get executed on the spot.
'I need to be smart about this,' Henry thought.
He searched his memories for what could help and then willed his heart to beat more naturally and for his body to relax,
"I've been picking up tips from hanging around you guys," he said.
"Really?" Angus asked with furrowed brows. His suspicion remained.
"Well, I have been with the gang five years and I've known Devon almost as long. I would truly be hopeless if I haven't learnt anything in all that time, wouldn't I?" Henry asked.
"Look at you being so articulate. Since when could you stand to say more than five words to me all at once?" Angus asked.
'Crap'' Henry thought. In his desire to assuage suspicion, he had ignored that this Henry was a coward of very few words.
Beads of sweat were starting to form on Henry's forehead when Angus' brows relaxed and he smiled,
"I like it! Speak up more, Son. Maybe then, Devon won't give you so much of a hard time."
Henry let out a secret breath of relief,
"Shame I don't think words are enough to stop Devon from being a gigantic ass," he said.
"Hahaha, can't argue with you there but he certainly earns his keep. Anyway, it's good you've been picking up those tips. Maybe soon you'll be good enough to join us on a job.
Until then though, stay away from guns, will you?"
"Why—" Henry started to say and then paused as he realized why. He looked down at his midsection where a bullet hole was still in his shirt and that area was covered in blood. The wound had been caused by a brief moment of silliness where his past self tried to shoot a gun, was shocked by the kickback and caused the bullet to go awry, strike a metal surface and ricochet.
Just the thought of it caused Henry to cringe and he held the bridge of his nose in annoyance,
'The most feared Gunslinger in the West, injured by a misfire. Ironic, I think,' Henry thought with a sigh and then, because it seemed appropriate, he let out a chuckle.
Angus looked at him for a while and then said,
"Go get yourself cleaned up, Son. And then see to your chores."
"Hmm? Oh, yeah, sure," Henry said, turning away and all too happy to leave. The longer he talked to Angus, the more likely he felt it would be to rouse the Gang leader's suspicion. Besides, he needed space to think about things and orient himself with this 'familiar' and yet unfamiliar environment he now found himself.
•••
Thanks to his new memories, Henry found where to take a bath and also found his chest of clothes for a change.
'Our taste in style is another difference we share, it seems,' Henry thought as he pulled the clean shirt down,
"Now, about the strange things I've been seeing—"
As soon as Henry thought of it, a screen projected in front of his face with the image of a sealed envelope that had a small (3) etched into the corner.
Directed by his curiosity, Henry stretched out his hand and tapped the envelope, causing an animation to play out as the envelope unsealed, and a letter slipped out before the three notifications appeared, listed one after the other;
[You have Received One Grand Quest.]
[Daily Quests are now Available.]
[You have gained access to your Status screen.]
Naturally, Henry decided to go in order and tapped the first notification on the list;
[Grand Quest: Make a name for yourself!
You have now arrived at an unfamiliar environment and your newly received memories will only get you so far. Perform incredible deeds that cause your name to resound all over the world you now find yourself a part of.
Become a person of renown by any means necessary!
*Main Quests* and *Sub Quests* will be dispensed regularly to provide you with rewards and guide you on the path you should take.
Good luck.]
Henry read the message over and over. He already understood it on his first read but it was all so -interesting?- that he needed a couple of rereads.
'Easy enough to understand, I think. It's basically telling me to become as well known as I was— Well, maybe even better than that. Preferably without dying at the end of it all, of course.
Alright, next—'
With his brows furrowed, Henry tapped the second notification;
[Daily Quests are now Available.
Who is Henry Morgan without a routine?
The Daily Quests are designed to familiarise you with the strange and yet familiar body you have now found yourself in by being organised into routine acts that reward you upon completion.
Good luck.]
Finally, there was the Third notification —[You have gained Access to your Status Screen]— and as he had done for the other two, Henry tapped on it and watched as the entire notification page changed into an interface littered with numbers;
——
[Name: Henry Morgan]
[Level: 1 (0/100 Exp)]
[Race: Human]
[Class: Gunslinger]
[Title: None]
[Hit Points: 10/10]
[Mana Points: 20/20]
[Strength: 5]
[Agility: 7]
[Stamina: 5]
[Perception: 7]
[Skills:
Marksmanship Lv. 1
Description: For years you cultivated your gun shooting talents and approach the limit of your previous world. Rest assured, those Talents have carried over.
Passive Effect: You shoot Real good.
Active Effect: +5% Accuracy.
*Does not require Mana Points to activate.]
——
"I shoot real good? That's it? I feel slightly insulted—"
"There you are!" A voice called from behind causing Henry to turn around and find himself facing a grey haired bearded man with bloodshot eyes and a protruding belly.
Memories surfaced and Henry recognised the man to be Good ol' Joe. 'Caretaker' of the gang and the 'Giver of Chores'. The old Henry had spent a lot of time with Joe because Chores were all he was ever really good for.
"What are you doing staring off into nuthin'?" Joe asked. His eyes narrowed almost stupidly as he tried to see what Henry had been staring at so hard.
"Nothing," Henry said, shaking his head.
Joe gave him a hard look like he was suspicious of Henry trying to slack off and then he grunted,
"Come on. You have work to do. Better get to it."
Taking a deep breath, Henry smiled,
"Of course," he said, "Lead the way."
Again, Joe was suspicious. Henry never complained about chores but never smiled when given them either.
'Something doesn't feel right,' Good ol' Joe thought but then shook it off with a shrug and led the way to the stable for Henry's first chore;
Scooping up horse shit.