Applying for Outlaw: Roaming Water's Gang
The shotgun was heavy and cumbersome in Jayne's hands as he swung it to and fro, dark eyes sweeping over the frightened people huddled on the floor. His heart was racing in his chest, adrenaline filling his veins like liquid fire, and it felt glorious. The boy's grin threatened to split his face. Heavy coins and thick rolls of bills weighed his pockets but the money was almost a second thought when compared to the thrill of control and power he was experiencing.
Jayne's feet practically flew over the hard-packed earth as he ran to his horse. He felt light as a feather and quick as a snake as he swung a leg over the saddle of his Mustang. She was in a gallop almost before he took hold of the reins. He could hear shouts and gunshots behind him. Jayne dug his heels into the mare's sides, leaning forwards. The boy couldn't contain the whoop of delight that rose in his throat. The wind whipped through his hair and against his cheeks.
A bullet embedded itself in the ground mere inches from the mare's hooves, sending up a spray of dirt and clay. Jayne tightened his grip on the reins as the creature turned sharply, her eyes rolling in fear. He twisted in the saddle, fumbling with his shotgun. He tasted dust on his lips. He pulled the trigger. The first shot thudded into the ground. He reloaded and fired again, gritting his teeth against the kickback.
The nearest lawmen went down.
Jayne didn't wait to see if he'd hit the man or his horse. He didn't wait to see if he'd killed the lawman. The others would stop to help their fallen comrade. Jayne couldn't say the same for his fellow outlaws. He couldn't say whether Roaming Water would be proud of him or not for taking down the lawman.
And he realized in that moment that he really didn't care.

Applying for Sandchapel: Marshal

The consistent pound of hooves striking earth faded to silence, dust billowing up around the small company as they slowed to a halt atop a cliff overlooking the town nestled miles below. Jeremiah lifted a hand and pushed the hat that had begun to slide sideways back onto his head, his horse lowering her muzzle to the ground to pick at the sparse grass covering the hilltop. The patrol had proven uneventful, Sandchapel almost eerily peaceful for once. The sun sank below the horizon, scarlet streaks painting the sky red before darkness swallowed up any other hint of color, leaving the marshal and his companions shrouded in night.

A gentle breeze caressed his face, pulling at his dirty blond hair and once more threatening to do away with his hat. He could have stayed in this spot for hours, waiting for the stars to brighten the pitch dark sky before the cold finally drove him home. The hoot of an owl quickly followed by a coyote's howl in the distance brought a fond grin to his face and he was about to send the others away when one of his deputies' voices broke the wondrous silence. "There she is! I can see 'er! Roaming Waters!" He shouted, one hand pointing to the road trailing below the cliff while the other clutched a pair of binoculars close to his face.

Startled and more than a little perturbed he'd been too distracted to notice the infamous outlaw and her band of thieves first himself, Jeremiah's gaze quickly snapped in the direction his deputy was pointing. Sure enough, there she was, her speckled stallion racing at the head of a gang of horsemen and women, dust kicked up beneath their steed's thundering hooves. She was unmistakable even from a distance, her black braids rolling behind her on the wind, the gleam of many weapons caught under the moonlight. Jeremiah immediately reached for his gun, red hot anger shattering his calm repose.

All the same, he did not shoot straightaway. That was the thing about Jeremiah. He was never quick to shoot. This had little to do with lack of skill and more to do with practiced patience. Jeremiah never took a shot unless he was confident his target wouldn't be missed. Otherwise, why waste a bullet? Besides...there was something about shooting a enemy down from afar that didn't sit quite right with him. It was clear to him regardless Roaming Waters was too far off now, the band quickly galloping out of range, their horses eating up the ground with every second he hesitated. "Marshal! Do something!" One of the accompanying townsmen snapped and his hand fell back to his side, abandoning his pistol.

"A bullet would never reach her from here," he retorted, tone mildly exasperated. When would the town stop doubting him? Would there ever be a day one of the townsmen didn't feel the need to inform him how to do his job, as if they could do any better? Hadn't they had enough yet of brutish men who shot first and asked questions later, who cared more about the power they held than the people they were charged to protect? Did they really want more of the same? Perhaps, but they sure were in for a heaping helping of disappointment. The deputy who had spotted Roaming Waters tossed his binoculars aside and lifted his rifle, taking aim and firing in his place.

The bullet sailed through the air, missing it's target entirely and embedding itself in a cactus several feet behind Roaming Waters as her horse surged forward and out of reach. Jeremiah tossed a subtle 'told you so' expression the man's way before tugging at his horse's reins until she turned, leading the way back down the hillside. "Marshal," another deputy started, clearly struggling to remain respectful, "why did you let her escape so easily? We should have at least given chase!"

Jeremiah shrugged. "Exhausting our horses and wasting our resources over a fruitless chase doesn't make any damn sense. Don't you worry none son, we'll see her again, and when we do I'll get her. That's a promise."

((This is kind of awful, but I spent over an hour writing it so I'm not deleting it. ))