Shame

Hell looked different than Ruiz had always imagined. He'd thought it was a large open cavern with red stalactites dripping their condensed tears onto stalagmites, where they would immediately evaporate into a salty gas that would sting at the many puncture wounds administered by the demons that inhabited the caves. Not a demon was to be found, and in fact, he wasn't even in a cave. It looked more like a house, but nicer than any he'd been in. It reminded him of the saloon from Sweetwater, but quieter and more nicely decorated.

Could it be that he was actually in paradise? Could his turnaround in the last few months have afforded him a pass? As he sat up, he knew that couldn't be the case. He was still in agonizing pain. Perhaps this was hell, and he was just being tricked into believing that it was better than it actually was. The devil was a trickster, after all. So why was it that his place of eternal punishment felt like a foam mattress? Why was he covered by a sheet? Why was he given a pillow?

It dawned on him that he may have survived the encounter. An inspection of his body showed the white star on his chest and bandages covering his injuries. He hadn't been left on the side of the road, and given the decor, it was a logical assumption that he'd been dragged back to town by the gryphons that he'd assaulted, or perhaps their reinforcements, and he was intended to be pressed into service whether he wanted to be or not.

He wasn't keen on the idea of being a whore, nor did he want to be a common thug. He wasn't sticking around long enough to figure out which one they wanted him for. His hooves flopped down to the floor and he looked around. His poncho, sombrero, and belt were nowhere to be found. He checked the dresser drawers, the closet, the wardrobe... all filled with clothing and such, but nothing in his size, except a stetson hanging from a hook on the wall with a white cotton cord.

The closest thing he could find that fit the description of a weapon was a large rubber mallet. The most damage he could do with it would be to drive the short wooden stakes nearby through the gryphon's skulls, or wrap them in the tarpaulin and smack them, but those didn't really work very well. On top of that, they would likely be armed, so without his weapon, he was screwed if he ended up in a fight. His best bet was to sneak out without being spotted.

He pulled on the door and it creaked open loudly. Ruiz panicked for a moment, thinking he'd given away the fact that he was moving again, but when he peered out into the hallway, the place was empty. He could hear voices at the other end of the hallway, echoing out of a stairwell. They weren't speaking very loud, and he couldn't make out what was being said, but he was pretty sure it wasn't about the door being opened, or they'd be sending someone up after him.

There was a string of windows in the hallway looking outside. He was on some kind of farm. He expected to see a group of gryphons working the fields, or perhaps some other type of creature, but there was only one mare, looking to be in her early fifties, pulling some potatoes out of a smaller, more varied section. Having grown up on a farm himself, he knew the purpose of the distinction: the small plot was for personal use, while the larger was for supplying the locals for profit.

Briefly, he considered slipping out through the window. He would be less likely to be seen if he could duck into the corn. However, there were a few big problems with this plan. Even if he did escape that way, he'd be leaving both his poncho and sombrero. He could steal the stetson and some oversized clothes, but he still would have lost his belt, along with his sling and knife. Besides, given his injuries, a drop from one floor up would be tremendously painful.

He stepped over to the stairs and listened closely, trying to find any amount of information he could before going downstairs. He had to be sure that he knew where everything was before sneaking around. Ideally, he'd be able to find his clothes and equipment, or some facsimile thereof, and be out the door before anyone realized he was down there.

"I'm not saying you should have, Maria," came the voice of a stallion, filtered through a moustache. "Given what happened yesterday and last night, I think it was admirable. But why here?"

"Where else?" replied a mare's voice, probably Maria, whoever that was. "I don't have any other place. What would you have me do, stuff him in the barn?"

"It'd be safer," argued the stallion. "For all we know, your first instinct may have been right on the money." There was a pause. "Did you at least lock the door?"

"You're overreacting," she huffed. "I'm pretty sure he..."

As she moved into another room, Ruiz stopped being able to hear her.

"Yeah, and your father's a jackass," growled the stallion in response. His voice was also growing quiet, signaling his withdrawal from the stairs. Ruiz lowered his head and took a few steps down, trying to keep quiet as he looked around. To his right, a doorway led to a dining area, with another doorway behind that likely leading to a kitchen. On his left, a living area with a desk pressed up against a window. The door was just in front of him and to the left. He could bolt and make it, but as he took another look around, he saw his sombrero sitting on the dining table.

He tiptoed into the dining room and snagged his hat. Some loose straw fell off of it and scattered on the floor, and there were a few holes in it, indicating that they had torn pieces off. He still needed his belt, as it held his sling, but it wasn't there. Perhaps it was in the living room?

"What are you doing?!" shouted the stallion from the kitchen doorway. As expected, he was sporting a bushy moustache.

Ruiz bolted to the door. It was a shame to leave his weapons behind, but he needed to leave, now. As he ran, the rug was pulled out from under him and he fell to the floor. By the time he scrambled to his hooves again, the coatrack had fallen across the front door and locked in place against a candle sconce. That barred his primary exit.

He turned and ran into the next room, immediately tripping over some metal basins. He could hear the stallion approaching, and there was nothing he could do to slow his chase. As he stood up, he noticed a young mare, looking to be about fourteen. She had been washing clothes, by the look of it, which explained the basins lying out.

Even knowing that what he was doing was a shitty move, he grabbed the mare and the nearest sharp object he could find; a fireplace poker. His hoof was shaking as he held the tip near her neck. He didn't know if he could bring himself to harm her, but he needed insurance that he wasn't about to be shot, a necessity as the stallion had drawn his weapon on Ruiz as soon as he entered the room.