Anaesthesia Orr is as pretty as an angel with a perfect figure. She has perfect teeth, perfect diction, is poised elegant and has dainty little perfectly formed feet and hands.
Traits & Characteristics
Is transforming from a bratty spoiled daughter to an angelic and extremely nubile young woman.
Hardly required. Her Father is the Postmaster General of Kalispell, for your information.
Anaesthesia Orr can do a little desultory fine point embroidery and play one song, Beautiful Dreamer by Stephen Foster, learned by rote, on the piano, and recite one poem, Song of Hiawatha, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Aliases / Nicknames
'The Beau-laurels' townhouse in Kalispell's upmarket Residential District.
Kith & Kin
Parents: Mr Richard Armstrong Orr and Mrs Dorothea Bosco Orr, née Dransfield.”
Born 1st May 1858. Avon, nr. Hartfort, CONN. The birth is difficult and Mrs Orr's advanced young doctor uses Ether as an anaesthetic. In gratitude, Mrs Orr decrees that the baby girl be named Anaesthesia Ether (later changed to Esther on her birth certificate my Mr. Orr).
After occupying a number of important offices, Mr Orr becomes Postmaster in Kalispell, Montana Territories. Mrs Orr teaches school, showing marked favouritism to her daughter in the class.
Known as a rather spoiled, petulant and unfeeling child by her classmates, but the apple of her parents' eyes, as she reaches Eighteen, Anaesthesia is starting to feel bored at home and somewhat trapped by her parents' wish for her to stay at home as a companion for her Mother and not to marry, especially as no man locally would be good enough for her.
However, through copious reading of The Young Lady journal, she is improving and becoming a better person.
Only likes Lemon Cake made with Fresh Lemons, she says.
Sarah looked up at the young lady and smiled, "No, I'm not spying just taking down notes. What happened here today will make interesting reading for those in the east or in San Francisco. I make my some of my living writing for ladies journals."
Anaesthesia’s peaches and cream complexion colored a little. She had misjudged the woman, although the step from spy to journalist might not be as great as one might think. However, ladies journals were a different stamp of publication to, say, a scandal sheet like The Kalispell Union. It was an era when women’s journals were starting to offer useful, practical advice to their readers. However, the particular title that Anaesthesia subscribed to, The Young Lady, was still a staunch bastion of maudlin and pious sentimentality.
She wondered for an instant if this woman could possibly be her favourite columnist, Clarissa Clearwater. She sort of hoped not: she had always imagined Miss Clearwater to be a young lady of her own age, her mirror image in beauty and refinement and Christian spirit: but perhaps with black midnight tresses, in contract to Anaesthesia's own locks of spun gold.
A thought then struck her head that might appease the young lady. "My readers will be eager to know the name of the lady who was bold enough to stand up and defend Miss Steelgrave. Do I have your permission to print your name, Miss?"
This flattering offer sent a frisson of excitement down Anaesthesia’s girlish spine, but the words of Miss Clearwater echoed in her head ‘For a young lady of delicate sensibilities, any sort of fame is ill-fame’. She looked to the somewhat dusty and cobwebbed ceiling, now further marred by Mr Wentworth’s bullet holes, for divine inspiration. As so often, God said exactly what she wanted to hear.
“Madame, it is hardly meet for a Young Lady to allow her name to appear in print in any popular publication. However, when I think of the wonderful, I dare say Holy mission upon which Miss Steelgrave has embarked, how can I not sacrifice even my good name to help its cause? I can only pray that you use me gently.” she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, as if steeling herself to leap from some great precipice.
“My name is Anaesthesia Ether Orr, daughter of Mr Richard Armstrong Orr and Mrs Dorothea Bosco Orr, née Dransfield.” She let it all out with a look of beatific martyrdom on her lovely face. She then opened her sparkling blue eyes and peeped over to Sarah’s notebook to make sure she had spelled it right.
“Oh no, with an A E, and if your typographer can possibly manage it, an Ash A” In case the woman didn’t know what the heck she was talking about, she gently and smilingly snatched the pencil from Sarah’s hand and lovingly wrote her own signature in the notebook.
Anæsthesia Ether Orr, Miss.
“And under what by-line and in which journal may I expect to read my name?” asked goldilocks.
The Hotel Bell Boy, not wanting to miss out, ran into the mêlée too. His actions were not entirely altruistic: he picked the prettiest girl he could see to try and carry out, and the most obvious one of those was the golden haired, white frocked Miss Anaesthesia Orr, standing at the front of the large room, brandishing a gavel. Being a couple of inches shorter than she, it was with some effort that he rushed her from behind and grasping his hands around to any parts he could get a grip on, lifted her from the ground with a grunt.
On feeling this midget strongman lift her so, she gave a rather breathless and excited “Oh!” and kicked her little white boots in the air, whist keeping a tight grip on her gavel.
Both of them looked a little disappointed when Mr Wentworth’s gunplay brough the whole fracas to an end, and he lowered her back to the carpet. Not sure what to say in such a circumstance, the bell boy went with his usual “Will that be all, Miss?” and she, on a reflex, managed to find a copper or two which she placed in his hand with pink cheeked and slightly panting “Something for your trouble, boy.”
She then moved to Miss Steelgrave’s side.
“Oh, the nerve of that beastly boy, putting his sticky hands all over me!” she puffed indignantly, yet somehow looking as pleased as punch about the whole affair. She gazed benignly, perhaps a little sadly, at Leah.
“I am sorry that this did not go as planned, I am afraid that my attempts to help only made things worse.” She said, fishing for compliments.
Then something caught her eye and she nodded to Leah: the mysterious woman on the front row was scribbling furiously in a notebook. Outraged, Anaesthesia stomped right up to Sarah for the second time today.
“Madame, I hope you will permit me to ask a question, for I have ever dealt with you with the utmost candor! … Are you ... spying upon us?!” she asked, in no uncertain terms.
Anaesthesia beamed her sweet, innocent, angelic smile at both Miss Steelgrave and Mrs Thornton-Carlton who, though she had not said so out loud, seemed at least to be a little more sympathetic to Leah’s plans. A few other ladies, too, had stood up and were examining the plans themselves, though many others still sat in stubborn disgruntlement.
To Leah herself, Anaesthesia gave a little curtsey.
“My Father, Mr. Orr, has some little influence with the Council, I shall exert all my efforts to persuade him of the excellence of your plan, Miss Stelgrave.” She declared. Not that much effort would need to be exerted, Anaesthesia had her father wrapped around her little finger.
Then the somewhat worse-for-wear Lady Chairman banged her gavel and staggered to her feet.
“Miss Steelgrave, you may be seated!” she declared, there was a chair facing the audience next to the Chairwoman and Secretary for her to sit down on. “Ahem. We were to now have a poem called “The Man what had a fight with a monkey” but I’m afraid that our poetess seems to have been dragged kicking and screaming from the room! Perhaps, I might recite the…”
But her words were cut off by a now inspired Anaesthesia who, gripping that one tattered remnant of Arabella’s couplets to her heart with both hands, cried:
“Have no fear Madame Chairman, I shall extemporise some lines, in honor of Miss Steelgrave’s plan!”
Horrified, the lady tried to stop her, but too late. Hands still on her heart, eyes turned heavenward, out came tumbling these lines:
“Soft what voice from yonder hospice wakes
A poor little baby who has the shakes
A woman with spots, a man with dropsy
A child with a boil that grows like topsy
All raise their voices to God on high
Thank Miss Steelgrave, that we didn’t die!”
It was later widely reported that, somehow, this terrible poem actually started the horrific cat fight that then broke out in the ranks of the inebriated Kalispell Ladies Society extraordinary meeting. Mrs Orr, proud of her daughters effort, blacked the eye of a critic who pointed out the complete want of talent exposed in the verses.
As the fight became general, Anaesthesia, unaware that Leah actually had burly bodyguards there, snatched up the gavel from the desk and leapt in front of her, and lifting the tiny weapon high into the air shouted “Have no fear Miss Steelgrave, I shall protect you with my life from this unruly mob!”
Directing her attention back to the young lady who was now addressing her, she took a deep breath, "Yes, I agree with your summation that Miss Steelgrave's plans should be looked at in great detail before a decision is made.”
“I am gratified that such an eloquent voice is joined with mine” smiled Anaesthesia, but Sarah’s initial sally was merely a feint. There was an almost inevitable ‘however’:
“I am sure the town council is doing just that and I hope we all have the good sense to know that those men will endeavour to make sure that they have all the information they need to do so. Hence my question, which unfortunately now seems to have become an opportunity for certain ladies who are currently in the audience to disrupt this meeting."
Miss Orr might not have been a young woman of supernatural intelligence, but she possessed an undeniable advantage over many of her more cerebral peers, she listened. She smiled again, lighting up that angelic face, and held out an innocent white lace gloved hand to the older and wiser woman sitting on the front row of seats. “Then please, most respected Madame, will you not join me in asking her? I am young and silly and know so little of the world, but I do know that I must learn. For although our affairs may be so often in the hands of men, are not we, their wives, daughters, mothers and sisters, most often in the position to influence them so very strongly for what is good and right?”
Big blue honest eyes searched the shrewder brown gaze of the worldly wise writer from the civilised West Coast, who needs must either grasp that plaintiff offered hand or overtly reject it.
[Sorry, this turned into a novella - scroll to the bottom for the short version!]
“I have with me a rendering of what the hospital will look like. Only a drawing but a vision of what will stand in this town, IF, if it is built. If you and your families have it available for your use when you need it. And let me tell you this, the right of ways for the coming railroad, are you aware of how those would have been paid for? By the railroad, yes, and who would have gained? Why whoever owned the land required.”
Things were getting tumultuous again. Some did ask try and ask reasonable questions, but were drowned out the more numerous raucous element, like Nellie Miggins, who were just seizing upon anything the slim young brunette said they could bend to conjure up anti Steelgrave, or more pertinently, anti-Leah sentiment.
“Did ya hear that? Comparing us to Saloon Folk, like that piece of Southern white-trash that Adelaide Chappell just had to drag out of here?!” Miggins yelled. At other times she pretended to completely misunderstand what the philanthropist had said or proposed, even making out that she had said the opposite.
“Do the men of this town understand what having the only hospital in this part of Montana will mean to the community of Kalispell, or, are they worried their names will not appear as those who created it, whenever they decide to do it? Now, please ladies, have a look and feel free to ask more questions, should you have any.”
“Our menfolk don’t want to see their name on this tax-draining hospital!” screeched the harpy Miggins, “We’re all just sick of seeing and hearing the Steelgrave name! ‘Sides, everyone knows that Hospitals are centers of filth and disease! You want a LEPER COLONY in the middle of town?!” she challenged them.
Had she been born a man, she would have made a great politician.
However, amongst this tumult, a conscience was awakening that through lack of opportunity of use, had lain dormant for seventeen years – waiting, like the caterpillar in its chrysalis, to emerge in all its butterfly beauty. As the torn-up paper scraps of Arabella’s poem fell onto the floor, one wafted onto a dainty boot tip in the row behind, a girl stooped in her seat and picked it up. On the paper there appeared some badly, painfully transcribed pencilled letters that made out but one single, surviving word.
Miss Orr rose from the second row of the Extraordinary Meeting of the Kalispell Ladies’ Society of the 27th April 1876, and walked … no … Miss Orr never walked, she glided to the front of the room where Miss Leah Steelgrave stood imploring the bacchanalian mob of finely attired, but savage minded women.
She turned, scared but resolute, and faced the mob at Leah's side.
“I am sad…” she faltered, but glancing at the brave Miss Steelgrave, and feeding from her strength, tried again louder. “I AM SAD!!!!” she yelled, which seemed to at least gain her some attention, but for how long?
“I am sad to have come here, not yet eighteen years of age, to learn how ladies of breeding and intelligence comport themselves in the furtherance of charity, the improvement of our community, and the ideals of Christianity!” she bellowed at them.
“Instead…” she snatched up the empty glass of punch and took a sniff, pulling a disgusted face “… I find drunkenness! Hate! And Party!” by which she meant, of course, local politicking. The drunkenness part got a few of the women examining their own half empty glasses.
“I find the voice of hopeful, optimistic youth silenced!” she declared in heartfelt tones, holding up the tattered scrap of Arabella’s poem. “And the spiteful wrath of disappointed and hate-filled old age holding sway!” She looked at Granny Miggins at this juncture, and a few eyes turned to Addy Chappell in the corner, half expecting her to drag this brat out as well.
“Will none of you ladies, whom I know to be good and Christian souls, at least show me an example. An example of forbearance to old enemies in pursuit of charity and succour to the poor, sick and suffering, just as He did who was sent to save us all?” her big blue eyes were filling with glittering tears now. “Will not you come and at least examine Miss Leah’s plans? Will not you, Mrs Wigfall, who have already helped so many? Will not you Miss Jennings? Will not … this fair stranger, with intelligence and kindness in her eyes?”
This last was addressed to Sarah Thornton-Carlton, whom she did not know, but who had earlier asked an erudite and fair question.
Short Version: Anaesthesia Orr makes an impassioned speech encouraging everyone to at least look at Leah's plans.
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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