Though short and stout, Mr. Pettigrew has the quiet but dignified bearing of a gentleman, which makes him seem taller than he really is. It is only when standing next to him, looking down on his balding pate, that one realises that he is quite a little fellow. To disguise his baldness, his bright ginger locks are pulled across in an unsuccessful 'comb-over' which rises, with comical effect, in a light breeze.
Traits & Characteristics
A lovely, kind gentleman, but can be roused to a suffused fury by unmannerly or un-gentlemanly behaviour. Very attentive and understanding with his sometimes quite hysterical lady customers. A keen student of human personality with an interest in such sciences and para-sciences that aim to explore the same. His nautical Father, The Commodore, bequeathed him an interest and expertise in Astronomy, and the ability to acquit himself well on the field of honor, with pistol, sword or walking cane. From his mother he imbibed a love of music and some small ability on the pianoforte, and he is a great encourager of musical talent in others. From his sisters, he inherited a love of fashion, fine fabrics, neat sewing and feminine beauty. From his brothers he inherited an ability to be at ease in the company of rough and tumble, manly, 'real' men, and to be at home in even spit and sawdust Saloons like the Stardust.
Mr. Pettigrew is a Confirmed Bachelor.
Manager and surviving partner of Pettigrew & Packham Corsets. He also dabbles in the arcane, to the extent of writing the weekly horoscope for the Kalispell Union under the pseudonym of Oberon.
Aliases / Nicknames
Wus to the more rough and tumble element, short for Worchester.
Lives in his Bachelor Quarters above the dress store.
Kith & Kin
His last surviving sister, Zillah, died recently at the old family plantation near Lafayette, Louisiana. His remaining close family are gone now, either through the ravages of old age or the effects of the war, both his brothers having been killed in the conflict.
Wus kept in touch with his half brother Paul Pettigrew (his slave name was 'Pompey') until he died, but continues the correspondence with Paul's daughter in New Jersey)
His Father was Captain Thomas Pettigrew, USN, known (on account of his once having to command two ships at once during the war of 1812) as The Commodore.
5th Jauary 1816: Born to retired war hero and planter, Captain Thomas Pettigrew and Fanny McAdam, nr. Lafayette Louisiana, 6th and last child.
1828: At age 12 'told on' to his father by his sister, Zillah Pettigrew, for playing with her dollies and making new outfits for them. He is summoned, terrified, to his Father, a stern and flinty man. The Commodore, however, is also a man of the world and a realist, having spent many years in the navy. He gives young Wus a disturbingly practical set of advice about how to survive as a homosexual gentleman in society, how he needs to maintain "all the marks of dignity of any gentleman of quality" be courteous to ladies, protect small children, to be a fair, but not mollycoddling, master to his slaves, and so forth. The two phrases that stick in his mind, nearly sixty on:
"Your private love affairs, Sir, you must keep discrete; but not to the point of being blackmailed. Should that happen, you must say, like the Duke of Wellington, 'Publish and be damned!' and then, at the earliest opportunity, find the man and shoot him down like a dog in the street!"
and the other, more pithy:
"Buggery, Sir, I absolutely forbid! It is injurious to both the active party and the passive, use of 'starters' notwithstanding."
Worchester later had to ask his younger, but wiser, half-brother Pompey what the Dickens Buggery meant, the both of them were stumped by 'starters'.
He and his Father never spoke of the matter again, but whereas his older brothers went into the Army and Navy, he was secured a berth at a fashionable Ladies Outfitters in New Orleans as a trainee cutter. A step down from the life of a Southern aristocrat, perhaps, but one that he loved. His brothers and sisters, after a stern talking to by their Father, accepted 'little Wus' for what he was and any insult offered to him was an insult offered to them, with perhaps the exception of his brother Farley. When he, as Captain Farley Pettigrew of the Louisiana Tigers was brought back to the plantation to die, a leg amputated above the knee and wound in his shoulder that refused to heal, Wus rushed back to Lafayette to nurse him in his final weeks, and the two men came to some sort of understanding of each other.
1832-1861: Pettigrew rises slowly but surely in the Ladies Outfitting business in New Orleans, his prestige and fortune ever growing. A number of affairs with other young men of similar sensibilities surprisingly easy to stumble into in that cosmopolitan port. He is well known and sought out by both ladies of quality and the demi-monde of actresses and courtesans to dress, corset and adorn them to best effect.
1857: Botched suicide attempt after a disastrous love affair with a well known Secessionist Fire Eater in the Louisiana Legislature whose wife objects to their liaisons.
1861-1866: The misery of the Occupation by Federal Forces. When Union governor General 'Beast' Butler makes his proclamation that any New Orlean Lady caught out after curfew will be treated as a common prostitute by Union soldiers, he is the first person to send the monster his card, calling him out. General Butler declines the offer of a duel.
1866-1871: Unhappy with the scene in post war reconstructionist New Orleans, and with no interest in taking over the now worthless and slave-less plantation, Worchester Pettigrew tries heading North for Washington and New York. However, his fashion ideas are seen as old fashioned and hopelessly Southern and parochial. He is not a success in the North.
1872-1876: He accepts an invitation to join an old Louisiana acquaintance, John Lockhart Packham out West, where the latter is opening a Ladies Outfitters in some God-Forsaken hole in the Territories called Kalispell. By the time a ruffled and dusty Pettigrew arrives, via railroad, stagecoach and at one point even mule, Packham is pushing up daisies in the local 'boot hill' leaving him to run the business alone, or rather with hired local help. However, he has never had the heart to take Packham's name off of the store front sign.
Although homosexual, he is by choice not sexually active, long ago deciding that with his balding head and chubby frame he would cut a ludicrous figure as a lothario. However, he may be extra kind and helpful to attractive young men, especially those who remind him of past loves.
"Where are the snows of yesterday?"
Worchester, pronounced "Whuster" (hence the nickname)
Pettigrew’s next series of questions were more to the point, but all of a nature that could be answered simply, yes and no in most cases. Dr. Danforth had explained the perceived problems in language the girl might not understand, the questions had to be a lot more prosaic, with no room for misinterpretation.
“Arabella, do you like Doctor Danforth?” She looked at him, focused enough, but po-faced.
“Would you like to kiss Doctor Danforth?”
Pettigrew was careful not to react in the slightest to this, no approval or disapproval toward the answers, nothing to sway the girl or even rouse her from her waking slumber, just uttering the questions in the same solid, boring, murmur.
“Look at Nurse Leane, do you like her?”
“Would you like to kiss her?”
He ran through a few more people she knew; invariably the men fell into the “Yes/No” category; interestingly, her friends Jemima Wigfall and Bridget Monahan were “Yes/No” too. Caroline Mundee and Miriam Kaufman were “Yes/Yes”.
At last the hypnotist felt satisfied and moved on to the final stage of this impromptu treatment. Parlour trick mesmerists usually stuck to making people parade around the room pretending to be chickens or some other mildly humiliating antics. To try and permanently change a core facet of somebody’s personality: well, that was something else.
But Pettigrew seemed willing to try.
“Arabella. The next time you want to kiss a lady, or a girl, you will suddenly think that it is a very silly thing to want to do. Kissing another girl is silly.
Repeat what I say. Kissing another girl is silly.”
Arabella duly repeated.
“You will want to laugh when you think of kissing a girl. It is a silly thing, You will laugh. Silly. Laugh. Silly. Laugh. Repeat!”
A smile formed and faded around the girl’s mouth. Then the smile returned. “It’s silly!” she laughed: but there was something horrible and hollow about her laugh. It wasn’t her usual low gurgling chuckle. It was a hard, false laugh that somehow made your skin crawl.
“When you want to kiss a girl you will think it is a very silly thing to do; you will laugh; instead, you will want to help the girl; offer her some help. You will laugh, it is silly, you offer her some help. Repeat!” The mild-mannered dressmaker was now speaking in an insistent, almost frightening, commanding voice.
He made her repeat the mantra several times until she started to seem a little confused and look about the room, a frightened look in her eyes. Pettigrew held up a hand, lest the Doctor try to interfere.
“Now, now, Arabella. In a few seconds I will snap my fingers and you will wake up. You won’t remember what happened when you were asleep, but inside, you will remember my commands. You will remember my commands.”
“I will remember.” She repeated.
Pettigrew snapped his fingers and flopped back in his chair: the strain of the thing had quite taken it out of him!
At first glance the saloon gal liked what she saw.
"Look at that," she sighed happily.
“Oh, and that’s just the base form, we can fancy it up no end with buttons and bows!” crooned Pettigrew seductively. “I rather favor black embellishments on top of the deep purple, might seem a little funereal to some, but with black gauze gloves and black stockings: can you just imagine the dazzling effect with your complexion and hair! Good Heavens, Miss Mundee, one look at you in this get-up and those salon patrons won't be able to walk right for a week!”
“Now, ladies, I always offer my more illustrious customers a little something to get us in a creative mood: a little madeira perhaps?” the man asked.
"Sure, sounds good to me," Caroline would not turn down a drink......ever.
He poured both of them a drink of the sweet fortified wine but Arabella, being tea-total, didn’t touch hers.
“But then straight to business. Miss Kaufmann please undress and put the new garment on.” he ordered, matter-of-factly, waving his hand toward the form.
Miriam blinked, "What? Excuse me?" She froze in place and looked wide-eyed at her employer.
“Yes, yes, behind the screen, please! Chop chop!” Prettigrew waved for her to get on with it as if it was the most natural thing in the world and surely she must realise that was what was required of her. His voice indicated that he would brook no argument on the matter: especially as the customer herself seemed to assume that getting in and out of ones togs was, of course, a natural part of the dressmaking process.
“Miss Mundee, you might as well disrobe now, so I can get accurate measurements. Stays too, if you please!” he added, flexing his tape measure.
"Alrighty," Caroline was not a bit shy and instantly agreed, in fact she rather expected it. This reminded her and she suddenly produced a slip of hers from a small bag, "Have yer girl put this on too as I plan on wearing this under that there dress."
It was a skimpy little thing of very thin material. Miriam stared at the item like it was something almost alien of origin. Oh goodness! She swallowed and stood there like a statue for the moment.
“Ooooh!” Worchester cooed, holding the gossamer material up to the light of the window “This is fine, mighty fine workmanship indeed. “Why, ‘Translucent’ is too opaque a word for it!”
He looked at Miriam.
“This kind of garment won’t stand bulky undergarments” he instructed her in the same matter-of-fact tone of voice he always used when explaining something mundane, like a fine point of needlework or cutting technique to her.
“I should lose the drawers, stays and chemise too, put this on raw.” He added, passing her the light slip. In other words, he was instructing her to strip completely naked behind the screen, only a flimsy panel of silk between her and her employer and the customers.
Well, not completely naked: “Oh, I’d keep your stockings and boots on, Miss Kaufmann, it is a little chilly in here today.” he added, helpfully. Daresay she could keep the ribbon in her hair, as well.
“Ooooh! Shall I take my clothes off, too?!” Arabella asked excitedly.
“No, that will not be necessary, Miss Mudd.” Answered Mr. Pettigrew, dryly.
Caroline seemed a bit bemused by that little exchange but thought she knew what would please Ara.
"Say, why don't you help the young miss, she'd probably appreciate it? I can take care of myself."
“Oh, sure!” yelped Arabella, jumping up and looking like all her birthdays had come at once. This was exciting. “Come on, let’s get you all gussied up!” she said to Miriam, more or less pushing her toward the screens.
So, now the poor shy girl was also to be seen in all her red-faced glory by the peculiar girl in the black dress. Well, at least one party in the deal was happy about that.
While Caroline got her outer garments off, Pettigrew himself went over to the form and started to remove the dress from its dummy. With the way he had cleverly designed the fastenings, using small strong magnets on the chest area where Caroline wanted easy access, this didn’t take long. The dress felt a little heavier than it looked. That was due to the ‘secret weapon’ he had installed, and which Miriam would unwittingly demonstrate in a few minutes.
The tiny bell above the front door tinkled musically then and, sure enough, there was the saloon woman and.....yes, Arabella. Her possible new friend. Miriam smiled. Odd choice of colors though given it was a hot summer day but she had already decided the girl was on the odd side. She could overlook such foibles though as long as the girl was friendly.
“Oh! Ladies, ladies!! How wonderful to see you both!” Prettigrew gushed, all a flutter, as Caroline and Arabella entered the store. “Now come, Ladies, come! Through the Magic Curtain and up the wooden hill to Wonderland!” he chivvied them through into the back and up the stairs. “Bear right! Bear right!” he shouted up behind them “Come, Miss Kaufman!”
Arabella was amazed that the store had a ‘behind the scenes’ even though she toiled most of the day in a similar establishment. She was even more amazed at the big fitting room upstairs and that she was offered A SEAT!
Here was a dark purple dress, unfinished but already shining with beauty, fitted around a headless dressmaker’s form, and little else besides a mirror and screens. Oh, a small table and some glasses.
“Now, ladies, I always offer my more illustrious customers a little something to get us in a creative mood: a little madeira perhaps?” he asked “But then straight to business. Miss Kaufmann please undress and put the new garment on.” he ordered, matter-of-factly, waving his hand toward the form. “Miss Mundee, you might as well disrobe now, so I can get accurate measurements. Stays too, if you please!” he added, flexing his tape measure.
Arabella jumped up off her chair.
“Ooooh! Shall I take my clothes off, too?!” she asked excitedly.
“No, that will not be necessary, Miss Mudd.” Answered Mr. Pettigrew, dryly.
Pettigrew was affable enough with Dr. Danforth but somewhat dismissive of his well meaning efforts at providing a suitable ambience in the room. He immediately threw open the drapes and pinched out the candles with his bare fingers: an easy enough feat for the resolute.
“Oh, we shall not require the mummeries of the Séance, Doctor, no indeed. The pure light of science will illuminate our operations this morning.” He declaimed “And please do stay, I hope you will find the procedure interesting, if we are successful. In fact, if she is willing…”
The Door opened and a slightly frightened looking Arabella entered, clutching her purse for dear life, followed by nurse Leane.
“… ah yes, if your charming nurse would stay also, for reasons of propriety. Miss Mudd, if we succeed, will be quite insensible for much of the time; with two gentlemen present I believe the presence of a chaperone would be meet.” Said the man who spent a great deal of his working life alone with his hands all over half naked women!
“Hello Mr Pettigrew, is you the feller that knows how to do the mesmerizin’?” Arabella asked amazed.
“I have that honour, Miss Mudd.” Replied Pettigrew in his light Louisiana accent “And have no fear, the process will not impair your remarkable abilities on the pianoforte and neither shall I implant any notions in your head to spend more than your customary few cents a week in my store!” he jested lightly, in order to put her at ease.
“Oooh, what’s that?” she asked nervously, pointing at the Zoescope on the table.
“Oh, just a little toy to amuse you and make you feel at ease before we get down to business.” Worchester explained gently. “Do take a seat here next to me and I shall show the thing, it really is quite amusing.”
As Arabella sat, he shot Danforth and Aoife a look which said, in no uncertain terms, Don’t believe a word of it, the game is now officially ON.
Worchester Pettigrew prided himself on his promptitude and at 8:55am precisely rapped on the good doctor's front door with his walking cane. The young nurse that answered it, he gave the usual once over. He was really looking for some good, properly plump, curvaceous models to show off his latest creations: but all the young women around here were positively emaciated looking. Unfortunately this one was was cut from the same meagre pattern as the rest.
"Mr. Pettigrew, Doctor Danforth is expecting me!" he announced himself tersely. He wanted to get in and settled to this operation so he could put down the heavy carpet bag he held in his other hand.
Her clothes, he noted, were neat and adequately hand sewn; she was probably too poor to buy a dress from his store.
"Tomorrow morning, if that is all right?" He could send word to her this evening, give her time to plan. "And it's probably best we do this at the clinic."
“Certainly, Doctor, certainly. I will ask Miss Wigfall to come in and watch the store. I will be at your surgery at five to nine promptly and bring along the paraphernalia.” Nodded Worchester seriously.
"I appreciate your help in this, Mr. Pettigrew, I'll have Mrs. Towberman prepare refreshments for you, too. Will there be anything else you require?" Hopefully, it would go smoothly, would solve the problem, and no one else would suspect him of having a romance with Miss Jemima Wigfall!
“No, no, I think I have everything I need. I cannot guarantee a result, of course. For reasons we do not clearly understand, some individuals do not make ready mesmeric subject, whereas others fall under the trance at the mere snap of a finger.” He said, clicking his fingers by way of illustration.
They stood to go.
“I will let you out the back, Doctor, unless you particularly wish to bid your adieus to Miss Wigfall.”
He thought not.
Just as her let the medical man escape round the back of the store like some fugitive, a last thought struck the rotund dressmaker.
“Oh, I suppose it might help me plan for the morning if were to know the identity of the poor mind-crippled creature we are going to attempt to help, if it’s not against your oath to reveal it. I suppose I will meet her tomorrow anyway.” He threw out nonchalantly.
@Bongo [OOC: That can be it though, on to the next thread...]
“Now, does Madame see anything here that sparks Madame’s interest?”
"Oh geezus, I ain't no madam. You can call me Caroline or if you must Miss Mundee but no madam. That makes me sound old, " she corrected him.
“Oh, nobody would ever think you old, Miss Mundee.” simpered the man unctuously.
"This purple one here....that's a royal color they say, right?" she was back to fashion again.
“Oh, the lilac, hmmm, you like that?” he scratched his chin and then stood back a little taking Caroline in with a quite serious look on his face. With her coloring, the lilac would wash her out, but still, if she liked the idea of the purple end of the spectrum. “Hold on!” he said with an earnest rise of a finger and bolted into the back, returning in less than two shakes of a lambs tail with a hand mirror and two swatches of cloth, one lilac and one a deep violet.
He gave Caroline the mirror to look at herself as he held the lilac piece of cloth next to her face. “So so, hmm?” he said dismissively, and then held the rich dark violet piece of velvet next to her visage in the glass. “But this … doesn’t this make those blonde tresses look like spun gold, and that fine complexion of yours look like peaches and cream, and doesn’t it make those blue eyes sparkle like a summer sky?” he asked. “Now that’s what I call a Royal purple, fit for the Queen of song!”
"I think any sort of soft color like light blue...or pink better suits you than the red. That seems such a ...hard, stark color. Though you are quite pretty, so you can probably pick anything you like."
Arabella, who had been excited about going to the shop and meeting a real Jewess, but who also planned to play it cool and not babble senselessly like she usually did, giggled girlishly “He he, I like the way you speak. Is that how people speak in New York? Do you really think I’m pretty? I think you’re pretty, too. My names Arabella, you’re Miriam aren’t you? Jemima told me all about you.” It all came tumbling out. “Er, I mean, I’ll have pink if you think it suits me!” she beamed at the other girl in the glass. So much for playing it cool.
"Say, would you like to purchase a choker? That might look nice around your neck," she then dutifully added her sales pitch.
“Ooooh! Yes please!!” nodded Arabella enthusiastically, but then had to add “What’s a Chowka?” She wouldn’t have known what one was in a Southern, let alone in a Yiddish accent.
"Nothing drastic or harmful," he clarified, "I'm not fully convinced the young woman is actually 'inverted', she's still very young and just starting to realize her awakening, so there is bound to be some confusion."
“Oh, bound to be, bound to be!” agreed Pettigrew, his metaphorical fingers metaphorically crossed. He didn’t like to fib, but it was unlikely to be some bid for attention or cry for help, although some teenaged girls were apt to do that. He suspected that the child would indeed be confused and distressed at these strange feelings: especially if she had started to experiment with boys and found them wanting, or with girls and found them more fulfilling. But, confused or not, feelings, strong feelings, strong enough to make a body seek out expensive medical help of her own volition, they were indicative that the girl had probably been born that way: a barley seed had been sown in a field of wheat and had now grown to a height where the difference could be noticed. Well, they would see, but Pettigrew suspected that the girl was as firmly different as he himself was.
“Still, I am at your disposal Doctor: when would you like me to meet with this poor unfortunate? And, ah, presumably this would be in the environs of your surgery?” he asked, wondering which methodology would be best to use: the magnets, the watch, or the zoetrope.
Pettigrew kissed the girl’s hand as it was proffered, he had been long enough in the trade to sense what sort of attentions any particular type of lady who came into the store would want lavishing upon her. Miss Mundee, he felt, would want straight talking, but wrapped up prettily, with a bow on top.
Disregarding the offered seat, she got right down to business, "You see I wish to buy a new dress. I want one of the latest fashion back East or even Paris. I also want it to my personal specifications - you know for my performances. Do you think I have come to the right place...Mister....Mister , I'm sorry I did not catch your name?"
“Pettigrew, Miss Mundee, Worchester Pettigrew, at your service.” He informed her rubbing his hands together and bowing slightly. “And why talk of the East Coast? Why, indeed, talk of Paris? Milan! MILAN! Is our new Mecca vis a vis costume a la mode!” He grabbed a folio of fashion prints, showing all the latest styles. The Parisian ones were slightly gayer than the Milanese but, in Pettigrew’s opinion, in an effort to be more outré than the year before, they had actually crossed the threshold into the realms of ‘gaudy’.”
“Now, does Madame see anything here that sparks Madame’s interest?” he asked unctuously. He had to let her think that she was making the decisions here, but of course, it must be he, and he alone, who made the correct decisions. An army could only have one General in Command, and women were too close to themselves to make good choices in their own attire. He was a skilled designer, had exquisite taste in women’s clothes and, above all, was neutral.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the spectrum, Arabella saw the other dark haired girl approach in the mirror. She did not turn but looked at their dual reflection. She smiled at Miriam’s refection and her reflection smiled at the real Miriam. They stood next to each other in the land of the looking glass, like two peas in a pod: the same height, the same age, the same sort of workaday clothes, the same dark hair. Arabella’s eyes were blue and Miriam’s were Brown, true, but they sort of matched, that inverted couple of doppelgängers.
"Hello," Miriam said, not much of a sales pitch but then she wasn't a saleswoman she was a seamstress.
“Hello.” Replied Arabella, feeling the girl close to her side, but still looking at her in the glass.
So this was The Jewess, Miriam, that Jemima had told her about. All right, complained about. But what frightened Jemima, excited the Old Testament obsessed Arabella. Miriam the Jew, Miriam the Prophetess, Miriam the sister of Aaron and Moses, she who saw Moses being placed in the Nile in a wicker basket, she who led the Israelites in the Song of the Sea after Pharaoh's army was destroyed at the Sea of Reeds, she who was rebuked by God for criticizing Moses on account of his Kushite wife. And this fresh-faced girl standing at her side in the glass, she was, no doubt, her direct descendant as well as namesake.
“What colour ribbon do you think suits me?” she asked the reflection. “Am I a pink girl or a light blue girl, or do you see me in red?” she asked, holding up the carmine ribbon.
Worchester was in the back with Miriam, explaining some obscure fact about embroidering with silk on Italian linen. Jemima was on guard, front of house, when the door tinkled. Jemima looked up: it was Arabella with that whore she worked with at the saloon. Or she sang dirty songs or something.
"Hello? Anyone here? You got customers, paying customers at that!" she called out then grinned at Arabella.
“Howdy, ‘Mima! It’s me!” Arabella stated the obvious “Me an’ Caroline are … ooooh! Look Cara’, they got new ribbons in!” The Virginian ran over to the ribbon stand and started holding them against her hair and seeing which looked best in the mirror against her black hair and unhealthily pallid skin.
Jemima’s face didn’t betray that much excitement at seeing either of them. One was full of sin and the other was a lousy customer. Sometimes Arabella would spend a whole hour in the store and buy nothing more than a button. The next day she would come in and buy another button the same colour. After a week and five visits, she’d have a set. Like most women, Arabella liked shopping, and always dragged it out, umming and ahhing till past closing time.
Pettigrew heard the hubbub and motioned Miriam to follow him through the curtains, scratching his palm as he did. “Come Miss Kaufmann, I smell…” he sniffed the air through his nose, like he’d caught the whiff of something delicious cooking “… a commission!”
“OH!” Wus beamed as he made his grand entrance “If it isn’t the Songbird of Kalispell! The Chicago Nightingale herself, our own, our very own Miss Caroline Mundee!” He looked Jemima up and down. Frankly, she was lowering the tone. “Button duty, Miss Wigfall!” he ordered, sending the frowsy girl packing in the rear.
“Oh, imagine it La Mundee in my bijou boutique! A thrill, a palpable thrill. Please be seated my dear friend.” He oozed. “This is my new assistant, Miss Kaufmann, all the way from New York, the Fashion heart of our own United States!” he showed her off. He spied Arabella getting her grubby fingers all over the cheap ribbons.
“Miss Kaufmann, please do go and assist Miss Mudd. Miss Mudd is Miss Mundee’s talented accompanist.” In a lower voice he added “Try and sell her one of those velvet chokers, the $3 ones!” then returned beaming to Caroline.
“Oh, I heard you in the saloon last night, Miss Mundee, you were divine, simply Divine I say!” Worchester cooed and fussed over Caroline while Arabella carried on seeing what carmine looked like with her blue eyes.
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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