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Arabella Mudd

ACTIVE
  • Content Count

    169
  • Last visited

  • Player

    Javia

About Arabella Mudd

  • Whitefish Survivor

ID Card

  • Role
    Main Character
  • Playby
    Margaret O'Brien
  • Full Name
    Arabella Sumter Mudd
  • Goes By
    N/A
  • Profession
    Dogsbody
  • Position
    None
  • Birth Date
    04/12/1861
  • Status
    Committed
  • Height
    5' 3"
  • Hair Color
    Black
  • Eye Color
    Blue

Physical Description

When she arrived in Whitefish in December 1875, Arabella was not exactly pretty, thin as a rake and flat as an ironin' board, gawky teeth, skin pale and ill looking. At 14 she was so stunted and emaciated that she looked more like 10 or 12.

 

By April 1876, and her 15th Birthday, with four months of good food and care under her belt, Arabella had grown considerable. She was a good two inches taller, hitting an upward growth spurt that effectively cancelled out any more horizontal developments. She still described her figure as "range-y", whatever that means, and many hours of posing in front of Ms Devereau's big full length mirror failed to display any signs of the voluptuous Victorian figure she desired.

 

Still, she was no longer a big girl, but more of a young woman, and one day told Mammy Cookie that she had, at last, been visited by the "Sin of Eve" The big chubby cook had, to her surprise, first slapped her face and then given her the biggest hug in the whole history of hugs. That's what some folks did, apparently. She was part of the sisterhood, now.

Traits & Characteristics

A romantic daydreamer with a strong religious streak and a propensity to gossip and self dramatize.

Employment

Mostly helped out on farm, but when Pa headed up North to the Utopia of "Canadia" and then up and died on her on the way, it left her high and dry in Whitefish.

 

Now works as a pot girl at the Stardust Saloon, Kalispell, plays the harmonium in Church on Sunday, and the piano to accompany saloon singer Caroline Mundee in the week!

Expertise

Women's work, farm work, can quote scripture and Sir Walter Scott with the best of 'em, allegedly "The best reader an' writer an adder in the whole of Virginia". Can dance, play the pianna and the harmonium and gossip like nodody's business. 

Aliases / Nicknames

Her Again (as in "Oh no, it's HER again!")

Residense(s)

Stardust Saloon, attic room.

Kith & Kin

Once  just a poor orphan with no family and no home (sniff) she now considers Mammy Cookie, Mr Flandry and (sigh) even Ms Devereau her family. Her best and bosom friend is Clara Anne Redmond, with Bridget Monahan on the reserve bench. One day she will marry Mr Michael Wentworth. She HATES that Mike Wentworth!

Life Events

Born to Abeizer and Anne-Mariah Mudd at Monroe, Virginia in 1861, coincidentally on the day that the very first shot of the civil war was fired, she was soon taken to, and grew up on, her father's dirt farm up on the Clinch Mountain Ridge. After her mother up and died of the dropsy in '71 she more or less took over the management of the place, her Father being an indolent dreamer. When her brother John up and died of the typhus, Pa decided it was time to fulfill his dreams of transporting to "Canadia"  where he had heard that plumcakes grew on trees and the muskrats smelt like perfume.  When he up and died somewhere near Whitefish, Montana, his last words to his daughter were "Nearly there, Sump, nearly there."

 

Nearly kilt in the destruction of Whitefish, she was rescued by Mike Wentworth and nursed back to health by Clara Redmond. She now works as a pot girl in the Stardust Saloon in Kalispell.

Character Notes

"A good church going girl - will work hard for bed and bord" [sic]

Player Notes

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Recent Posts

  1. Arabella Mudd
    “She don’t limp about!” the strange girl countered weakly “That was just one time when her wooden leg got kinda broke!”
     
    "Wooden leg too? And wooden head I'm thinkin' too," smirked Billy, not exactly all that tolerant of those folks afflicted with addled brains.
     
    Arabella couldn’t help laughing at this, unable to suppress a throaty chuckle at Billy’s razor sharp wit. “You’re so funny.” She sighed, wiping the tears from her eyes.
     
    Amazingly, the intelligence that the room he would be bathing in belonged to Caroline brought a sea-change in Billy’s attitude.
     
    "Umm, alright...I'll do it. But if I get caught your boss, I am gonna blame it all on you," a part of him said he should not trust this strange girl but hell, he was going to take a chance. Just maybe he'd even meet this Caroline Mundee.
     
    “Sure!” yelped Arabella, excited that one of her great plans actually seemed to be going right for once “You go get in and I’ll bring up some more hot water!” she slapped him on the shoulder encouragingly and scooted off to the kitchen.
     
    The cooking area was full of steam and frazzling meat smells and clunking and clanking of pans. Cookie was up to her neck in work and Arabella still hadn’t done them dishes. When the girl came rushing in, she didn’t even look up, let alone listen up.
     
    “I’m just taking the hot water: I got a cowboy taking a bath up in Caroline’s room!” she informed the preoccupied chef, breathlessly.
     
    “Now you be a help Arabella! You just make sure you get your hands right into that water and give everything a good scrub!” instructed the cook, preoccupied with their lack of clean dishes.
     
    “Oh … urm … all right!” shrugged the teenager, surprised that she was expected to actually help wash Billy, but orders was orders! She picked up the heavy water pot using a cloth to protect her hands from the hot metal handle and tottered out of the room with it, unnoticed by Cookie.
     
    By the time she got to the door of Caroline’s room, her arms were killing her, and without more ado, she kicked the door open with one of those big, clodhopping lace-up boots, that made her feet look almost as big as Clara’s.
     
  2. Arabella Mudd
    "Deverau? Ain't that the lady who owns this place? Like I am gonna go jump in her bathtub without a by your leave? She might well shoot me or have that bartender of hers do it. Word has it that man is a real killer too. I'm not taking that risk," Billy protested.
     
    Arabella waved a hand dismissively.
     
    “Oh what a big baby! Ralph don’t shoot customers, anyway, he usually just decks ‘em out, so as they can come back for more the next night.”
     
    “Listen, I was watchin’ you playin’ cards in there, and you looked to me like a feller who was just about to have a winnin’ streak. So, you go have a bath, first door on the right…” she frowned down at his hand and then tugged at his right sleeve “… that’s that side, and then go back in there, get in the game, win a whole bunch of money, and you can buy Bridget Monahan a nice bunch of flowers when you take her for a promenade after church tomorrow. I’ll get Mundee to come and stand next to you at the card table and put her hand on yer shoulder, blondes are good luck for gamblers, y'know!”
     
    "Bridget Monahan? That's this beautiful rich lady friend of yers? I know of her. She is some sort of a half-wit who wanders the streets all the time. Somethin's wrong with one of her legs too, limping about like she does," he frowned.
     
    Arabella frowned. Darn! Busted.
     
    “She don’t limp about!” she countered weakly “That was just one time when her wooden leg got kinda broke!”
     
    "Well no thanks, not to mention the fact I don't ever go to any church services. As for that bath, I was almost tempted but only a fool would trespass onto that woman's private quarters. I already got one of the Lost Lake owners wantin' to shoot me first chance he gets, don't need a big shot woman lookin' to do the same," once more he started to try his escape.
     
    “Listen, it ain’t even in her room, it’s in Caroline’s … Miss Mundee’s … and Ol’ Devereau’ll be locked in her room for two hours now getting herself all done up like a dog’s dinner. Then she’ll sashay down them stairs, check that me an’, Mr Flandry and Caroline and the cook are working like dogs for her, then sashay right on out again, ‘fore she has to do any hard work herself!” Arabella was so busy with her disgruntled rant, she’d almost forgotten when they were talking about. Oh yeah!..
     
    “So you just go on up there and lose yer toggery and I’ll go fetch some nice pipin' hot toppin’ up water; and think of all that money you’ll save.” She started to guide him toward the bottom of the stairs. “And just think, you’ll be able to tell all them simpletons y’work with that you’ve been in the private boudoir of the allurin’ and beautiful Miss Caroline Mundee!” she threw in for good measure.
  3. Arabella Mudd
    But Billy could be just as stubborn, "If this friend of yers is such a fine catch how come some jasper hasn't already grabbed her. What with there bein' more men than women here in the territory."
     
    “Well, that’s just it!” she said poking him in the chest, prevaricating while she desperately thought of a reason, apart from the the fact that her friend was a half-wit with a wooden leg. “She’s TOO beautiful! Fellers is too scared to ask her for the favor of her company, none of ‘em feels, urm, adequate, that’s the word.”
     
    And just before he was about to continue walking away, he had to add, "And yeah, I'm handsome. Most ladies think so. But I ain't stupid and I ain't gullible. That friend of yers must really be desperate if she is letting you round her up a husband."
     
    “Well, yeah, she is. She’s nineteen now, getting to be an old maid, and what with bein’ too attractive for men to dare to ask her out, she’s scared she’ll miss the boat; she’ll just be left there to sit, all alone, on that big pile of money she’s goin’ to inherit when her rich old uncle dies.” Phew, Arabella was really laying the whoppers on thick now, she’d have a whole lot of forgiveness to ask Jesus for at church tomorrow.
     
    Hmmmm, she wouldn't follow him into the bathhouse? Yeah that was it!
     
    "Besides I wanna go take a bath if they're still open and while I still have a dime to my name," he had been losing what little money he had at cards back in the saloon.
     
    The number one rule of Saloon business was a simple one: never let a customer leave with money still in his pocket.
     
    “Ha!” Arabella’s face cracked into a grin of bemused amazement “What d’ya want to do throwing away money on bathhouses for? You can have a bath for free, right now, right here!” she jerked a thumb toward the stairs. “Ms Deverau’ll have just finished hers. Water’ll still be nice warm and I can top it up with that kettle I just boiled for the plates. And she don’t tiddle in the water like some folks do.” By ‘some folks’ she meant herself.
     
    “Listen, I was watchin’ you playin’ cards in there, and you looked to me like a feller who was just about to have a winnin’ streak. So, you go have a bath, first door on the right…” she frowned down at his hand and then tugged at his right sleeve “… that’s that side, and then go back in there, get in the game, win a whole bunch of money, and you can buy Bridget Monahan a nice bunch of flowers when you take her for a promenade after church tomorrow. I’ll get Mundee to come and stand next to you at the card table and put her hand on yer shoulder, blondes are good luck for gamblers, y'know!”
     
    She’d never actually seen Billy in church, but he could meet them outside afterwards, she figured.
  4. Arabella Mudd
    “C’m’ere! Closer” she hissed hoarsely.
     
    "Im plenty close," now he recognized her, that skinny little scrub girl who also played piano, what the hell did she want?
     
    “What’s wrong with you? I don’t smell, y’know!” she declared, turning her head to sniff herself “Well, not that bad anyhow.”
     
    “Listen Bill. I gotta ask you something, I been desperately wantin’ to ask you all week, ever since I saw you get hauled off to jail...”
     
    "That weren't my fault..." he started to explain.
     
    “Oh, I know that!” She assured him. “You was just standin’ there watchin’ while your friend got thumped up by them fellers who was holdin’ a gun on him, with no one to stick up for him. Anyhow..”
     
    “… what’s Mr Greer’s first name, has he ever been married and what’s his favourite flower?”
    "Huh? If yer so damn interested in that ....man, then you ask him. I got important business to do I'll have you know," he turned to leave.
     
    “Hey, I thought you was his friend! I’m just trying to invent up a petition for him, see, to be let out of jail. It’s an ‘arrogant-miss carriage of justice’ and, hey hold up…”
     
    She ran after him and sort of skidded in front of him, holding up her hands imploringly.
     
    “Hold up, hold up… I need to ask you something else!” she yelped. “Are you courtin’ anybody?!”
     
    “See, I got this friend…” she explained “… she’s reeeal pretty, much prettier than me, don’t worry on that score; reeeeal nicely dressed, not like me in these old rags; an’ she don’t talk too much, again not like people say I go and on and on like a chatterbox; an she’s got this real knack of makin’ anyone who do talk to her feel all kinda clever and oooh, real intelligent. And guess what? The lucky feller as marries this rare flame hair beauty, why it’s gonna cost him half as much in the price of shoes as any other wife!”
     
    She couldn’t have painted a more flattering picture of Bridget, in her mind.
     
    “Anyhow… she’s lookin’ fer a feller and I thought you’d do. You’re handsome and good lookin’, good at playin’ jokes, urm, got your own horse. Pretty nicely set up young feller, all round. When would you like to meet her?” she asked like it was a done deal.
  5. Arabella Mudd
    Arabella had spent a good deal of the week doing what she could for poor old Mr Greer in the jail. She had snuck what food and drink she could out from under Cookie’s nose and taken it over to him. At first he had been abusive and told her to get lost, but by the end of the week he had become less abusive and demanded to know why she was late with his grub. She had written a new version of John Brown which started “Mr Greer’s body lies a-moulderin’ in the jail” but for some reason Caroline was reluctant to include it in her act. She had sought legal advice from Dutton Peabody who, bribed with a free shot, had slobbered something about “arrant miscarriage of justice” before collapsing in a heap for his afternoon nap sprawled over the table nearest the bar.
     
    Her main idea, of raising a petition for Mr Greer’s release, had met with incredulity and, after she’d asked a million billion times, downright refusal from the Saloon management, so she was having to proceed with caution this busy Saturday evening. The first thing she needed was more information about the ‘man behind the legend’ and luckily Billy, who had been released pretty quickly after being arrested, was in tonight: he was looking very strange without the jovial bulk of Mr Greer next to him at the bar. She didn’t want to ask him what she needed to know with Mr Flandry listening it, so she decided to lay an ambush for him outside, Quantrill style.
     
    It was between Caroline’s singing sets that she saw him go off to the outhouse to answer the call of nature. Arabella, flushed and hot with waitressing and pot-cleaning work, made the excuse of taking some glasses back to the kitchen and then lay in wait in the dark shadows under the stairs that led up to the second floor of the building at the back. As Billy returned from doing his necessary business, she hissed out a call.
     
    “Psssst! Bill! Over here!!! … No! Here!!!” she waved a hand at him in the shadows to get him to approach and once he was near enough, gabbed him and tugged him closer to her under the staircase.
     
    “C’m’ere! Closer” she hissed hoarsely. “Listen Bill. I gotta ask you something, I been desperately wantin’ to ask you all week, ever since I saw you get hauled off to jail...” she smelt of two of Billy’s favourite things, Beer and Whiskey, or at least her apron did. The rest of her smelt of a pungent mix of a stolen dab of Caroline’s perfume, girl sweat, and the odd chemical aroma of the nit-shampoo. She looked deep into Billy’s cute face, into his amazingly clear light blue eyes that sparkled, even in this secluded, shadowy place, and spake forth those words which she had been wanting to utter for days now:
     
    “… what’s Mr Greer’s first name, has he ever been married and what’s his favourite flower?”
     
    @Wayfarer
  6. Arabella Mudd
    Mature Content: No.
    Author: Javia, Wayfarer, any. 
    With: Arabella, Billy, Saloon Folk?.
    Location: Stardust Saloon.
    When: Saturday, 6th May1876
    Time of Day: Early Evening.
     

     
    Because she checked every day, of course, she never detected any change, any tiny difference, any single improvement. But anyone who had observed that skinny, stunted, half-frozen little girl wander into the doomed town of Whitefish five months ago would hardly recognise the young woman who stood hopefully in front of Ms. Deverau’s full length mirror this evening. Arabella was growing up and, although she still spent a good deal of her day inhabiting the realms of phantasy, certain hard facts of life were coming very much to the fore.
     
    Item. Her best bosom friend had a beau, and she didn’t!
     
    That just wouldn’t do. That just wouldn’t do at all.
     
    She looked herself over again, turning sideways. Well, all right, she wasn’t as ‘flat as an ironin’ board’ anymore, but it was hardly the ‘rolling hills of Montana’ either. And those teeth. She shoved a finger in either side of her mouth and grimaced. Did they look a mite less wonky or was she fooling herself? She pulled some faces. Demure, Angry, Sad, Pretty, Ugly, … Pretty Ugly! Hmm. She wasn’t as pretty as Clara Redmond or Anaesthesia Orr, but still - neither was she as plain as Joanna Coltrane or Jemima Wigfall.
     
    Then she thought about her disappointing crushes, none of them had proven fruitful. It never occurred to her that she always chose older men, much older men, completely unobtainable men! Mr Wentworth, Captain Barlow, Mr Flandry (blush). Did she deliberately moon over men she could never have, was she scared to show an interest in boys more her own age … in case they actually (gulp) responded?
     
    She shook out her ‘black as midnight!’ hair (yep, that special nit shampoo had done its work) and smoothed down her frowsy old smock, it was time to go downstairs and, along with Ralph, Caroline, and Cookie, keep the Saturday night crowd happy…
  7. Arabella Mudd
    Grasping Arabella firmly by the wrist, Addy stood and started for the aisle, glancing at Leah.  "Miz Steelgrave, ladies..."  She gave a nod as she towed the hapless girl out of the room, through the lobby and out the back door, where she finally released her. 
     
    Arabella gave a scream of alarm as the strong grip of Addy seized her skinny wrist, and another as she started to drag her out, much to the delight of Granny Miggins who shouted after them “Yeah, take her out and give her a good spankin’! Better still, do it here in front of everybody!”
     
    As the two of them passed Phinias McVey, Arabella held out a hand and yelled “Mr McVey, put in your… ouch! … newspaper about how Miss Steelgrave’s supporters was forcibly ejaculated from the room!” Outside, Addy let her go, and Arabella rubbed her wrist sullenly.
     
    "Now you lissen here, Missy, an' lissen good!"  Oh, Addy was riled.  "It don't matter who ya are, nor how ya think on anyone, ya treat yer elders with respect, even if ya don't agree with them!" 
     
    “Ow, you’re not the boss of me and you hurt my wrist, an I’m gonna tell on you!” she yelped back, flinching occasionally, wary that the wagoneer might grab her again. “An’ everybody says Granny Miggins is a nasty old witch, not just me!”
     
    "Yer invited here ta give yer recitin' of yer poem, but that don't give ya right ta say nothin' ta th' members, much th' less tell Miz Miggins ta shut up.  She has her opinions an' ideas, an' their proper ones, an' bringin' up Miz Leah's attire has no place...she's tryin' ta do a good thing fer this town, an' you go an' embarrass her, gettin' folks ta think about her pretty dress an' not what's important!"
     
    “Well, she does have nice dresses, and that is important for a lady … just cause you like wearin’ men’s clothes. I thought she looked pretty and why shouldn’t I say so?!” Arabella was starting to sob with anger and shame at the way she’d ben dragged out of there, much to the amusement of all the onlookers.
     
    "If ya plan on gettin' anywhere in this here town, nor with th' folks, yer gonna hafta learn ta rein in yer tongue an' know when ta hold it altogether!  Now, missy, we best get back so ya can get ta yer recitin'.  An' no snifflin', ya brung this on yerself!  Hold yer head high an' do a right good job with that poem...'bout a man fightin' a monkey."
     
    “Oh! I don’t care about that stupid old poem anymore!" Arabella screamed "I ain’t going back in there after you made a fool of me!” cried Arabella, literally stamping her foot on the ground, big tears virtually squirting out of her eyes now. “I’m goin’ back to the saloon, an’ I’m gonna tell ‘em all about how you hurted me an’ broke my wrist and … and … everything!” she bawled and dodging out of the way of any attempt to arrest her motion, darted back through the hotel and out onto the street.
     
    Meanwhile, the delighted Nellie Miggins had noticed the forlorn, painfully spelled out poem, sitting on Arabella’s vacated seat, and with much glee carefully torn it up into little scraps of paper. “He, he, he, that little saloon slut won’t be needing that anymore, I reckon.” She cackled to herself.
     
  8. Arabella Mudd
    "Well..." he hedged, scratching his chin, "I ain't exactly a mornin' person...and if I'm up in the mornin' I'm busy with the cows. Maybe you could introduce me and then if I can come in to town this week it's a...a extry time I'll get to see her."
     
    “Oh, the impatience of youth!” said the fifteen year old, rolling her eyes. “Come on then!” she humphed, rounding the bar again. But before they proceeded to the den of the scarlet queen, she drew Brendan close again for another confidential tête-à-tête.
     
    “Now listen, cowboy” she started “I’m gonna let you in on a secret…” she looked around to make sure they weren’t being overheard – a pointless exercise in the crowded saloon.
     
    “If she says buy me a drink, it’ll cost ya a quarter for a ten cent shot, that’s a nickel extra for the house and ten cents down for her. So, don’t buck when you see the bill, cause that’ll make you look cheap! And that there drink, it’ll most probably be just plain old cold tea, cause she can’t afford to get squiffy when she’s playing the game, so don’t expect it to get her all drunk so she falls in love with you, see?” she advised conspiratorially.
     
    “Now let’s have a look at you, y’handsome brute!” she said, straightening his collar and spit-washing a smudge from his face like a mama seeing her little boy off to school. “Hmm, you’ll do!” she decided and dragged him by the hand over to where Caroline and Mike were chatting at a table.
     
    “Hey Caroline!” she yelled, butting into their conversation, facing the saloon singer and totally ignoring the now hated Mr Wentworth. “This here’s my friend Brendan Connolly! He didn’t want to come over and bother you, but I wanted you to meet one of the really nice fellers around these parts.” She beamed, patting him on the arm.
     
    “I’ll go and get the music ready for your next performance, leave you two to get to know each other!” she said, before giving an acid glance to the oldest Wentworth brother and adding tartly “I wouldn’t want a hang around and be a gooseberry!” And with that she scuttled off, hoping that Caroline would fall for the handsome cowboy and give Mr Michael Wentworth a taste of his own medicine.
     
    @JulieS @Wayfarer @Bailey
  9. Arabella Mudd
    "Right fine idea, I say."
     
    Arabella nodded in agreement with Addy. She was very taken with the young woman who had given the speech, and sighed a little. If only girls were allowed to fall in love and marry other women, she’d have picked the beautiful, intelligent and poised Miss Steelgrave. She felt a little dizzy and lightheaded: must be the heat in here, she reasoned, and took another sip of cooling punch.
     
    The old crone at her side however, fidgeted and grumbled all the way through the short talk, and looked about to say something when another lady stood up. She had come in at the last minute and looked a little to well turned out and well to do to really be a part of the motley Front Row bunch.
     
    Not knowing how her question would be taken, Sarah took a deep breath and stood up.  "Excuse me Miss Steelgrave, you said the Steelgrave name would not be any part of this project.  Am I right in assuming that you will be handing over all control to an elected board or committee and stepping aside if your plan is approved by the town council?"
     
    Nellie Miggins, feeling gazumped, jumped to her feet, too, and hollered “Yeah, what she said! Mrs Carlton-Thornton-Whatever. And also, who’s payin’ fer the upkeep of this here hospital shebang? The poor taxpayer? Or is one of them deals where you pay through the nose and poor folks can’t afford it? A hospital for the rich folks! The Steelgraves and Carlton-Thornton-Whatevers of the world! Answer me that Miss Leah Fancypants Steelgrave!”
     
    At this, an enraged Arabella jumped up and heard herself yelling at Granny Miggins. “You sit down and shut up you nasty old witch! Miss Steelgrave’s beautiful and clever and she knows what’s best for this town! What I want to know is, where did she buy that beautiful frock, it just suits her to a tee!” she gushed, turning an admiring gaze onto the slim young woman.
     
    At this altercation others started to stand up and shout questions too, and yet others told them to sit down and shut up. The secretary of the meeting banged the gavel on the table, shouting “Order ladies order!” but then the chairwoman cried “Hey you! That’s MY gavel, give it here!” and there was an undignified tussle at the top table for possession of the little wooden hammer.
     
    Somehow order was restored, leaving Leah to answer the now slightly confusing mess of questions about the running of the Hospital Board, arrangements for initial and on-going finance of the project, and, er, where did she buy that beautiful dress from.
     
    @Flip
  10. Arabella Mudd
    "Oh, well..."  Not only was Addy a little startled finding that she was talking to a bear, but that anyone would want to talk to her at all.  "I reckon that'd be all right," she agreed, then grinned, "so long as I don't fall inta a stupor first...Oh, an' I'd best warn ya, I'm th' best bear hunter this side'a th' Mississippi!
     
    The courteous bear chortled obligingly at this witticism, although it was hard to read much in his passive features, a gift of the taxidermist’s art. He would have made an excellent poker player.
     
    Before any more of this ursine conversation could take place, however, the rapping report of a gavel brought the room to order. Most of the assembled ladies, all in very fine dresses that outshone the motley collection of outfits worn by the front row crew by far, had helped themselves to punch and sat down, ready for the meeting. This was to be “An Extraordinary Meeting of the Kalispell Ladies’ Society” which meant instead of merely sniping at each other, the members got to snipe at a number of guest speakers: and first on the menu was one that they could all agree to dislike on principle: Miss Leah Steelgrave.
     
    Some disliked her because of her name, some because of the expensive sounding scheme she had come to talk about today, some because she gave herself airs (walking around with bodyguards, indeed, like she was royalty!) the last quarter just hated her because she was young and beautiful, and they no longer were.
     
    The Chairwoman and Secretary sat at the front, facing the other ladies (and bear) and despite the full programme, insisted on going through something called “The Minutes of the Previous Meeting” which seemed more like 'hours' than 'minutes' to Arabella. However, the assembled ladies were so eager to taste Steelgrave blood, that they dispensed with the usual bickering over the accuracy of the record of their last get together.
     
    The pompous and crabby chairwoman then took a quick slurp of the laced punch to clear her throat and announced the next item on the Agenda, with a quick rap of her gavel.
     
     “Order, Ladies, order!” she barked.
     
    “Item number two, an Address by Miss. L. Steelgrave.” She announced to a stunning round of ... silence. The only applause was from the front row, who presumably didn’t know that they were meant to disapprove of the speaker.
     
    @Flip @JulieS @Bongo

About Sagas

Sagas of the WIld West is a roleplaying game set in a fictionalized version of the town of Kalispell in Montana territory. Our stories begin in 1875 and are set against the backdrop of actual historical events.Sagas was inspired by the classic television and movie westerns. Our focus is on writing, storytelling and character development.

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Site Credits

Founders: Stormwolfe & Longshot

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