He turns as she talks, sauntering forward into her place, toward her. Flicking the cartridge up into the air, he catches it with his other hand, tucking it into his belt.
He can see the twitches in her face, the pain she was holding back. Being shot, even a graze, is painful. He should know of all people. His body, under the suave cloth and brass buttons, was a canvas of life and the scars were the paint. He leans on the counter next to her, pushing up his hat.
“How many?” He asks. She seems to have been there, so she might have an estimate. Normally, going into these sorts of situations alone would be suicide but for Dixie, it was moderately precarious at best. The sharpshooter was as much a pistolero as the next gunslinger, and he’d do it for her.
He does look at her leg, the bandages there. Amateurs the lot of them. He squats down, gesturing for her to let him see it. He’ll just loosen it a bit, make it look prettier too.
Were she not in pain, it’d strike Mimzy how oddly similar this set up was to a film she had done once. A long time ago…back when Westerns weren’t fashionable, but Hollywood was simply throwing everything out there imaginable…
Instead, all Mimzy could focus on was the throbbing of her leg wound and his question. The former made it difficult to focus latter.
“Most I’ve seen in that building is seventy-five bodies, but it fluc…” another hiss, “goddamnit!” A breath, hands curled into a fist at the counter again.
“…they filter in and out of the building during the day time. Mostly use the building as a place to shoot-up drugs or have a warm place to sleep at night.”
Didn’t mean they weren’t gonna fight tooth and nail. She found that out the hard way twice.
“I was doing fine picking them off by myself. Hoping if a dead body showed up every night they’d clear off but…they’ve got guns and the numbers” a pause, she was spilling the whole bit without asking what he wanted.
A glance answered his gesture and wordlessly Mimzy moved on the barstool, extending her injured leg a little to let him have a look. It burned in pain, so she whimpered.
A long silence from the actress before asking, “How much do you want for the job? …you’ll help me, right? Name your price” she wanted to sound tough and business-like but that was hard to do while also letting him look at the injury.
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