Thread: In Bondage With An Outlaw (BlisteredBlood & chainedkitten11)

In the old west, there was little that can be done about a majority of the famous outlaws in those days. Billy The Kid, Jesse James, and all those other legendary heroes of the early days in America's history. However, there was one thing that none of those infamous legends had. Weapons that set them apart from the rest, a different ethnicity or someone that they won fairly in a poker game, even if accused of being a cheat. In the case of one named Benjamin Hudson or as he came to be known in cities all across the territory of Nevada as Benji The Heartless or by his given name at birth Ronin Hiroshi, he was the one person that lived with this every day of his waking life in 1836. A Japanese immigrant that caught the last boat to the New World from the Ryukyu Islands, he has now carved a name for himself through different acts of violence, mostly 20 counts of murder and 40 counts of aggravated assault. Oddly, none of the wounds he had placed upon their bodies were from most conventional methods of an outlaw such as he. Oh no. His manner of of dealing with issues was resolved solely with a swipe of his highly prized katana named Black Widow. Very rarely did he ever reach for any of his other weapons,these in the form of two .45 Colt Single Action Army revolvers or even his Winchester .30-06 lever-action rifle. What was strange to those that saw him brutally cut down those that Benjamin had a tendency to let the attacker come at him first before violently cutting them down via cut to the jugular vein in their necks or slicing a large enough gash in their stomachs to make their intestines come sliding out. Strangely, Benjamin would only look towards the onlookers and openly claimed that he acted solely in self-defense despite some of them cried out that he was a murderer. Nevertheless, within hours after the incident happened, he was long gone before the sheriff came around. Tonight, in a gambling hall in Reno, Benjamin - dressed in a black cotton shirt, dusty brown jeans, brown leather boots with spurs attached to them, a long brown duster coat and a black cowboy hat that was pulled down to obscure his dark brown eyes that viewed the world around him with apathy and aggravation while his katana adorned his hip - had heard about a poker game that involved some very high stakes being offered to winners and possible beatdowns then getting thrown out onto the streets for the losers. It wasn't made very clear as to what the stakes were, but it was definitely something that got Benjamin's attention loud and clear. As he stepped inside the hall, Benjamin could see the usual suspects here and there. A piano player playing lively barroom music, a group of guys at a bar musing to each other about the latest gold rush in Denver, Colorado amongst other topics with a male bartender meandering between them, offering drinks to those that came his way. More men were at card tables, carrying on like there wasn't any trouble in the world. All of them seemed oblivious to Benji as if he didn't seem to exist. His spurs clinked as he walked inside, looking out amongst the sea of humanity that dwelt in here before making his way towards one of these card tables and sat down in an empty seat before removing his his hat, releasing raven-feather strands of hair that went down to his shoulders save for few streams of silver that interlaced through the bangs then leaned back into the seat with his eyes closed in thought.