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Post by Fourteenth on May 31, 2009 23:50:09 GMT -5
Owned by the Jacobson family, the Jacobson Farm is 200 acres of mostly grazing fields and gentle hills. A breeder of some of the finer horses in the country, the farm also produces a small batch of fruits from an orchard yearly, to sell at the Florenceville farmers' market.
The primary buildings here are the stables, the barn, the farmhouse, and the equipment shed, now a small house in its own right.
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Post by Fourteenth on Jun 1, 2009 0:01:02 GMT -5
Fourteenth leaves his gun at home, and after a short trek down the beaten pavement from the suburbs to the farm, stops to rest, observing the people at work.
One of them, an older man-- though still stout-- notices and approaches. He's in his fifties, but still put together well. He wears a pistol openly on his hip, and squints at the Immortal a while, before speaking.
'Greetin' stranger. Not from around these parts, are ya?'
Fourteenth nods, and speaks in a slightly scratchy voice, 'Yessir. Been all over the country, you might call me a traveler of sorts.'
'Oho? What brings you to our humble farm?'
'Work. I'm a little dry on cash, and I was wondering whether you'd need an extra hand. I've handled horses before, and I can carry my own weight.'
The man muses. 'I don't pay much, but to be honest I could use the help.'
Then he squints. 'How do I know you ain't some con-man? A thief? You got papers?'
Fourteenth smiles, 'Nothing but the clothes on my back.'
A long pause.
'...Alright. But don't think you'll get away if you steal! Be here nine to five.'
'Pay?'
'Six an' hour.'
'....'
'This ain't unionized labor, boy! Take it or leave it.'
'I didn't say anything.'
'Good. See you tomorrow.'
Fourteenth grins as best he can, and departs.
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