John does not live anywhere, in specific. The railroad hotels he prefers and fancies vary from town to town. The rooms are strange, yet familiar. The only things that are the same are his trunk open at the foot of the bed and the variety of his own small items that anchor him to himself. Yet, each contains the essential elements that differ mainly in the forms of scrolled or inlaid woodwork, the painting on the china, the pattern of the wallpaper, the design woven into the thick carpets, the samples of cloth presented in the quilts.
cut for length )

Name: John H. Holliday, DDS.
Fandom: History.
Word Count: 1017
Please comment if you wish.
The mayor's stagecoach was ambushed. He jumped, traveling cross country on foot. John, the Earps and their lawyers were threatened - messages and dire promises were delivered daily. Nobody traveled alone.

John received a beautiful succulent. Flowers the size of dinner plates - white, speckled in purple, seed pods larger than his fist. No botanist, he was enchanted but puzzled. Morgan enlightened him. A Carrion Cactus, pollinated by flies, with a rotting odor - meant to terrorise.

He cared for it tenderly beside his bed. When they departed Tombstone on the vengeance ride he left it to the Alhambra where he dealt Faro.

Year: 1882


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