((Maybe I was a bit unclear about the bars location, its in the village proper of Joseph's Hill, so Cannibal youd've probably mentioned something about a town if you'd known, so I'll just assume that was written there, thank you for the compliment Swordstick I look forward to meeting your character.))
Edward was waiting quietly in the shadows, waiting for something to happen mostly. [Did that just happen?] he found himself thinking, [Renegade Benetian soldiers just burnt down the Tilted Tilly because of some comment I made about their leader, this doesn't sound real at'tall.] After an hour of this, him hiding while the town woke up, doused the flames, and went back to bed, planning on dealing with it at a more acceptable hour, a car pulled up, one of the few Ed had ever seen in his entire life, the only others he'd seen were property of the Warlords. So Ed remained hidden, waiting to see what they would do, whoever they were. Two men got out, examining the once beloved local dives' charred ruins. Edward approached quietly, from behind, checking the car. There weren't any guns in the vehicle, and it wasn't armored up. Those were two things that all confederate cars had, as they were too far and apart to be risked. This car was maintained with love, kept was its beauty, rather than to be replaced with a rough, military grade defense armament. Edward looked up to the strangers and sighed silently. [If they aint confederates, then I suppose I can see them tomorrow if they have anything worth saying.] Edward got a safe distance away and began to walk casually again. He was tired, he had to do things the next day, so Edward decided he'd had enough excitement for one Saturday, he skulked home, just now beginning to comprehend the significance of all that had just happened, all of the people he'd never see again, all of the families without sons anymore. For the first time in 10 years, Edward cried.
The door creaked open and Mr. McCreedy looked over at his son, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Yer a bit late t'night lad, what took ya?" Edward looked around his home, a small shop, with a main shop-room, complete with furnace and blacksmith tools, as well as a reception desk and work table for all the business transactions that would take place. The shop was mostly used for local repair jobs and big bullet-contract orders for the Confederate Army. Currently though, Mr. Thomas McCreedy was working on a local order for some nails.
"I'll tell you what happened, some big-shit captain from Jurian country named Richard burnt down the bar!" said Ed, still feeling a bit emotionally unstable.
"What in the name'o god are you spinning? Better take me through it from the beginning." His father said, taking off his gloves and absently tossing his most recent;y made nail into a large pile nearby.
* * * Half-an-hour Later * * *
"Jesus on a pony! Sounds like you rightly shuved a stick oop this Richard fellas arse!" Said his father in a mildly concerned tone. He was sitting now, in his business chair, leaning forward, hands together.
"How can you be so damn mellow?" Asked Edward desperately, half sad, half angry.
"Watch yer tone you shit, I brought you into this world and I can unbring'ya too, now getting all emotional like some damn women never solved nuthin, we got to figger out what to do here." His father was always the one to look at things rationally, to figure out what needed to happen, how to get it done and the n to immediately get it done.
"What do you mean, its obvious, I go and kill this son'o'a'bitch and . . ."
"Now I didn't raise no damn fool did I boy?" His father waited for a response, his gruff red beard dripping with sweat.
"I . . . uh . . . your right da, your always right." Said Edward, lowering his head. [Thus aint like me, I don't get emotional, no matter wut, I deal with it, so thats what I'll do then, I'll deal with it.]
"Good lad, now lusten oop, them captains from Benito aint to be trifled with, emotional nobles, naught but a bunch'o'cape wearing, egotistical bastards. I have sum influence with Jurian, but he can always find another bullet-smith. I can probably get you an audience with im', if you can manage to get this Richard fella declared a Renegade then the Confederates can deal with im'. Are we clear lad? No going after im', he aint worth yer trouble, ye got to much to do oround ere anyway." His dad was on his feet again, heading back to the furnace, getting ready to work on the nails again.
"Aye, yer right o'course, I s'pose I'll get some rest then, got an early mornin afterall." Edward was heading toward the door to the living area of the shop, which lead to a short flight of stairs and then a couple of bedrooms and a kitchen. He put his hand on the knob, but stopped and listened to the constant rhythmic tang tang tang of the hammer is it forced the small slit of metal into the mold. After sighing, he looked back and said, "G'night da."
His father looked up for 3 seconds, with a slightly confused look on his face, and then said, "G'night son," before returning to his work. Ed walked up the stairs, his feet in tune with the tang tang tang of the hammer. He walked into his bedroom took off his shoes and crawled into his bed, pulling the covers over his face and falling asleep to the constant tang tang tang as his father finished the last of the nails.