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  1. Brendan, Arabella (and Charlie and Clara) "Sorry," he said as they moved through the motions of the dance, "but she ain't the opposition, really. Here..." He smiled down at her. "There...happy now? Ooop..." Brendan might not be able to tell much from people’s eyes, but Arabella could, and the way the man from Mississippi kept glancing over to Clara (or to Charlie perhaps, in a way it amounted to the same thing) told her something. When the jigging and giggling part was over, they moved into another straight polka round in circles and Arabella was able to get to work on the earthy nature boy. “How d’ya like my friend Bridget?” she asked “Nice ain’t she?” “… an’ you know what they say about redheads!” she threw that into the pot as well. She wasn’t sure herself what exactly ‘they’ said about redheads, but hoped it was more fuel to pique his interest. Somewhere in the back of her butterfly brain, something tugged at her conscience: why was she pressing the suit of the strange, almost ethereal crippled girl over her alleged ‘bosom friend’? The thought appeared and died again like a mayfly in Spring, but it would flutter into her heart again in time. They danced around some more and Arabella tipped him the wink. “All right, this is the walky part!” she explained “Just ignore them!” she heard herself adding, and almost jumped with surprise at the sound of her own voice, terse and didactic. “I mean, let’s pretend to be snooty!” she said with more fun in her voice, saving the mood, and the actress in her managed to pull a funny nose-in-the-air face as they turned and paced toward Clara and Charlie walking at them the other way. @Bailey ( @Wayfarer @JulieS )
  2. [Pronto, Emeline, Bridget and Jay at the end] "There you have it!" Emeline declared with a laugh, "Bridget will help with the cooking, and Barnabas can try our efforts to make certain that they are as good as they should be." Then she added with a playful grin, "And Mr. Pike can do the dishes as well, he's quite the expert at that!" Bridget opened her mouth in amazement at this (she was pretty easily amazed, though, it had to be admitted).With his shiny badge and all, she expected he must be an important man; certainly too important for doing the dirty old dishes. She laughed again and gave Barnabas a quick kiss on the cheek. "Or you can just make certain that we behave ourselves and don't burn down the kitchen!" The ginger girl giggled and hid her mouth, seeing them kiss and carry on like this. It was nice, though. Not like when that man tried to kiss her in Deadwood, not that bad kind of kissing. The dark cloud of a life before this pleasant move to Kalispell must have suddenly crossed her face. Then she patted Bridget on the arm. "Don't worry one bit, we will have fun, we won't do any harm, and we can make whatever you like...well, so long as I know the recipe!" Bridget immediately brightened and remembered that Arabella was always going on about never being able to get something called ‘bear sign’ in these parts, and the way she had described the thing made it sound like a virtual manna from heaven. She held up a finger and moved it in a circular, donut shaped motion. “Want Bear Sign… make Bear Sign.” she intimated to Em. Suddenly, she saw Mr Ryker heading in their direction, and she started to wave furiously at him, hoping to catch his eye: he looked like he was heading somewhere to attend to some seriously big business, so she hoped to catch him before he stomped past. She kept waving at him, but risked a side-whisper of explanation to Pronto. “He mended me.” @Flip @Bongo @Jack
  3. After the initial bow and curtsy (combined with an excited wave in Clara's direction) Arabella had expected the dance to be hard work. Fun, but hard work. However, although she had to direct Brendan a good deal of the time – during some of the more complicated passages she could be heard murmuring instructions like “In, in, in, and out, out, out, and round and round and JIG!” – he had such an intuitive feeling for the directions she was pulling in him, an observer would have found it hard to tell that he wasn’t leading. When they came in for the first boomps-a-daisy, he even rebelled from her tutelage and pulled them up short. “Hey!” she objected. "You still wanna use your elbows on Clara?" he asked Arabella teasingly, hoping the answer would be no. “I wanted to bump our bustles!” she corrected. She didn’t actually have a bustle herself, but Clara’s was more than ample. She thought it would be fun to bump backsides when they met in the middle, although it was unlikely in the extreme that the Redmond girl would appreciate such a deviation from the accepted steps. Arabella was a full 100 years ahead of her time. As the two couples neared, he decided not to ignore Clara anymore - he had made a point to look in the opposite direction whenever they had happened to be looking at each other - and so he flashed her a smirk that said "Havin' fun? I am." “Whoa Cowboy!” frowned Arabella in mock indignation “You’re meant to be smiling at me not … in again, in, in, in, out, out, out … not a-grinnin at the opposition!! Two more o’ these, then the jig!” She had to combine reminding him that he was her partner for the next four minutes, with telling him what came next. But the part where they did a little jig facing each other was so funny, she couldn’t help laughing out loud. There was something so naturally graceful and unrestrained about Brendan, he was like the wild and free horses and cattle he worked with every day and the dance floor was like a wide open prairie they trailed. He looked like he was enjoying himself, and that made her enjoy herself too, she could have stood jigging back and forth with him like this forever and a day.
  4. [Pronto, Emeline & Bridget] It's all right, dear." Emeline smiled and patted the girl's hand. At least she tried, and that was more than could be said for a lot of people. Bridget caught the patting hand and held it firm, giving it a squeeze to intimate her gratitude toward the warm woman. She would have made a perfect model for the Hibernian goddess of hearth and home after whom, had she known it, Bridget herself was indirectly named. Back at the table the joined back with Barnabas, who was ever the gentleman, not that Emeline would ever have thought differently. Pronto was not quite sure about the point the girl was making, other than the speed of the dance, which he agreed was fast. “It is that Miss, perhaps a bit too fast for everyone, but then, there are those as we can all see, that enjoy the fast dance.” Bridget turned and looked back at the dancers, what he said was true. Ms. Em’s voice snapped her out of it. "Would you like to help me place out more cookies?" she asked the girl, "I think this is the last of them. Do you cook? “ Bridget shook her head and leaned over to quite cheerfully inform Emeline “I’m useless”. Mr Fa did everything back at their unorthodox little domestic set-up in the old Funeral Parlor: cooking, sewing, mending, cleaning: not out of any idea that he was in anyway inferior because of his oriental race, in fact it was the exact opposite: he was just the only capable one out of the three of them. Nothing daunted, the nice Mrs Blakesley added a rejoinder: “You should join Clara and I sometime, and we can make cookies, pies, whatever you want to try!" Bridget nodded her head as vigorously as she had just been shaking it, she would love to try baking and cooking again. Mr Fa had banned Lorenzo and Bridget from the kitchen after their incendiary attempt to make ‘bear sign’ one day while he was out of the house. Then she pointed at Pronto, as if to say ‘Can he join in too, please?’ She liked his beardy face and kindly manner toward her.
  5. [Pronto, Emeline & Bridget] … "or we can go back to the cookie and pie table and relieve Mr. Pike." She chuckled. "I think he'd be happier chasing bandits than serving cookies to people!" Bridget pointed over to the nice man with the shiny badge to check that was who she meant, and when that was confirmed, nodded her head vigorously. Mister Pike, Mister Pike, Mister Pike. She said the name ‘out loud’ in her head several times to try and get it to stick. She walked back to the table with Emeline arm in arm, basking in the comforting manner of the woman: her voice so calm and reassuring, her face: young and pretty yet somehow motherly. She couldn’t remember her own Mother properly. Her own memories started months after her accident when she woke up in a sickbed, minus her leg, her memories and the ability to string a sentence together. But Emeline was how she liked to imagine her Mother might have looked. "Goodness, it doesn't seem as though Brendan dances quite as well with Miss Arabella as he did you." Not that she was surprised, he likely didn't know the specifics of the dance, and Arabella could be so...Arabella-esque! Bridget glanced back at the dance floor, even though she feared the sad, painful pang she knew that she would feel seeing Brendan dancing with someone else. She didn’t realize that Mrs Blakesly was just being nice to buoy up her spirits. Brendan looked all right, but she assumed that the older woman must be correct. “She’s too fast!” she confided in Emeline’s ear. When they reached Pronto, Bridget felt she owed him some kind of explanation as to why they had returned so precipitously. Furthermore, she was determined to say it out loud: he had looked a little bit discombobulated when she’d whispered in her ear before. This was no small undertaking for the speech impaired girl and every time she tried it, she felt like Blondin walking the tightrope over Niagara Falls. But she remembered her lessons with Mr. Fa and some experiments she had tried with Arabella and, almost trembling with fear of doing it wrong, and rocking slightly back and forward to kind of count herself in, finally said in quite a loud voice. “I am slow” She nodded, as if having to confirm after each statement that it was correct. “Dance is fast”. She hoped that explained it, but she was so happy at speaking it out like that, that she finished with an extra flourish. “Mister Pike!” She turned to Em’ with the widest of smiles at her own achievement, all heartache over Brendan forgotten for the instant. @Flip @Bongo
  6. [Brendan & Arabella] "Hold you real tight, feint left, dart right," he repeated, trying to get everything down in his head and unknowingly rhyming. "Touch her hand, use my elbows. Lordy. All right, Arabella, here goes nothin'." Arabella listened nodding. “That’s it! Especially the 'holding me real tight' part, that's important!” she concurred “You’re a natural, big feller, this goin’ ta be all right!” she beamed. She certainly liked his positive, have-a-go attitude: and if it was all a complete shambles, who cared, she couldn’t help feeling that they were going have darn good chuckle trying. He held one hand to her and put the other on her waist, pulling her close so she could direct them. “Oooop!” she exclaimed as the handsome cowhand pulled her in close to him. “Oooh, well this feels real nice!” she said (it did!) “But we gotta bow to each other and the couple opposite first. Well, you bow, I curtsey, o’ course.” She reluctantly freed herself from the embrace of his strong arms. Then a thought occurred to him. "Hey, shouldn't I be leadin'?" “Oh usually, sure. But this is a Leap Year, so sometimes ladies can lead” (this was a complete lie, of course) “… like they can also ask gentlemen to dance with ‘em, or even propose and ask a gentleman to marry ‘em!” she grinned, then added. “Oh, don’t look so worried, Cowboy, you’re safe from me. Even a big handsome feller like you can’t break my heart, it’s already broke.” she sighed with what she hoped was a look of romantic resignation on her juvenile features. [OOC: treading water a little here – waiting to se if Charlie stays on the dance floor or not: I reckon C&C are our opposite couple] @Bailey
  7. "Hold your horses, Arabella," he said, glancing back to where Bridget was talking with Emmeline before looking back down at the gregarious girl, "I don't know this one. If you know it, you'd better give me a real quick lesson. Otherwise we won't get back in one piece 'cause I'll have stomped on your toes too much." “Course you don’t know it, nobody knows it! Those mean rattlesnakes in the band chose it just make folk look foolish.” She pointed to a brace of couples who were high-tailing it off the dance floor at top speed. “Look at ‘em go, they’re runnin’ away faster than the Yankees at First Manassas!” she cooed. “But we’re Southerners, Mr Connolly, we’re used to fightin’ agin the odds fer lost causes.” She turned to face him for a quick lesson in dance floor signaling. “Listen, when I say ‘Jig’ we just jig about facing each other.” She lifted her skirts and cut a few capers to illustrate the thing. “When I say ‘Circle’ we do this…” she held his right hand up in the air with her right hand and walked around him, Brendan had to do the same or get a strained wrist. “Good, you’re picking it up.” Arabella complemented him. “When I say ‘Walk’ we walk side by side toward the opposite couple, and boy, they’d best git out of our way, use your elbows if you have to. We’ll dance a little and then walk back the way we came. When I say ‘Dance’, that’s just the regular kind o’ polkerin’ but … you’ll have to hold me real tight and close, so you can feel the direction I’m takin’ us in!” she added coquettishly. She ran through the dance in her head, swaying slightly as she re-lived it. “Oh heck, there’s that skippin’ part at the end! That’s like ‘strippin’ the willer’ but in a circle. Don’t worry about the fellers, they’ll all be lost and wanderin’ around in a daze by then, but if you see some woman headed at yer like a Ironclad ploughin’ down the Potomac, feint left and then dart right: you get extra points if you manage to touch her hand.” She thought hard. “That’s about it. But listen, Pard, this thing's gonna get real ugly real quick, so use your elbows, ‘member to smile and like they say in the boxing matches, protect yourself at all times!”
  8. Bridget, Emeline, Barnabas “Dang” He responded. “Sorry to hear that, me, I ain’t real good at it either, al’ays steppin’ on the lady’s feet.” Which was a untruth meant to comfort the woman. He actually loved to kick up his heels, and yes, time to time he did step on the lady’s feet. Not that his were immune, consequence of the dance. "He's done well, tonight," she confirmed, "only stepped on me once!" Bridget gave a sort of hiccupping laugh at this, which she immediately stifled by covering her mouth, almost shocked at herself for making a loud noise. But she continued to grin about it. She liked these two: Pie Lady and Shiny Badge, they seemed to go together like two pieces of a jigsaw. Laughing, Emeline hooked her arm into Bridget's, urging her toward the edge of the dance floor. "We don't have to do the same dance as everyone else, as long as we stay out of the way...and I don't even know this dance." Even before the dance had begun, there seemed to be arguments going on and partners giving each other orders, Bridget took one look at the squabbling, worried looking dancers and leaned to Emeline “They don’t neither.” she observed. Indeed, as she had said to Brendan, she wasn’t a dumb as she looked. "So, you like Brendan?" she asked quietly, smiling. "He's a handsome boy. And quite the dancer, too!" She nodded, with a happy sad smile both illuminating and clouding her face. She did like him, more than that, she loved him. At this exact time, she loved him wholly with all her soul, and she didn’t have the experience or knowledge to know that such a strong emotion might just be the whim of a moment, which might be forgotten come the dawn. He seemed to like her, too, from what she could tell. But there was something he didn’t know about her. She looked over to where Arabella was talking to him. Her heart thumped. Her happiness crumbled. She shook her head. “Can’t dance.” She said simply, but out loud this time. She looked up at Mrs Blakesley and then over at Mr Pike. They were so kind, and meant so well: they deserved to be lucky and find each other. They fitted together so well, and in a way that she knew, in her heart of hearts, that she and Brendan never could fit. She took Emeline’s hand and this time led her: led her gently away from the confused throng of dancers. Her first dance, she now knew, must also be her last.
  9. Present: Emeline, Pronto, Bridget, but not Brendan (or Barnaby) "Just a moment," Emeline whispered, squeezing Barnabas' hand, "I don't want to leave Bridget alone, she's..." Well, there wasn't much of a delicate way to say it. "She's sweet...maybe I'll dance with her, if you don't mind?" Although Arabella had brutally dragged Brendan off, Bridget still stared wistfully after him. She couldn’t even take her eyes off him to look at the table, and had to just feel for her next cookie with her hand. The plate now had more empty patches than cookie covered, but she soon found one and started to demolish it, burying the ache of longing in her stomach with sweet, sweet food, in the age-old trusted manner of many a lovesick soul. What did get her attention was the approach of the Pie Lady. She turned to the kindly, pretty woman and then glanced behind her: the handsome beardy man with the nice shiny badge was there, too. Arabella had told her to explain to anyone who asked her that she couldn’t dance the fast dances due to a ‘slight indisposition’: a word that the simple girl couldn’t pronounce, let alone remember, so she leaned into Emeline and whispered “A can’t dance … not aloud fast uns.” Then, realizing that he might need to know as well, but was too far away to hear her, she looked over to Shiny Badge and shook her head, mouthing the words “Can’t dance” and pointing to her legs. Then she looked between the two of them, smiling amiably while munching on the cookie. Then, on a whim, she leaned in to Emeline and whispered "A like Bren'n." It felt wonderful to say it out loud to someone. @Flip @Bongo
  10. [Brendan, Arabella and Bridget] Brendan looked down at her with a grin, feeling for a cookie since he was looking at her. "Me, too. Come another waltz or slow dance, let's do it again. Cookie?" He held one out to her with a dazzling smile. She took the sweet treat from his hand without diverting her eyes from his, still holding his other hand, and shoved it into her mouth. Just then, there was an announcement from the musicians about a galop quadrille. A gallop dance? Brendan imagined couples dancing from atop their horses and choked with laughter, which he quickly stifled so that Bridget wouldn't think he was laughing at her. She heard the caller shout out the dance name, but it didn’t anything to her. It provoked a small reaction from Brendan and she tipped her head quizzically as she continued to chew the delicious cookie. Arabella had made some pretty swift goodbyes in the Booze tent and had run helter-skelter back into the barn, wondering who she could corral for the next dance. She hit on Brendan, as he’d already promised her a couple of dances and was, therefore, effectively roped and branded already. Ignoring the fact that Bridget was standing in front of the handsome ranch-hand, making cow eyes at him, she quickly grabbed him round his free arm and started to pull him toward the dance floor. “C’mon Mississippi! I want that dance yer promised me!!” she yelped, but he seemed to be snagged on something, like a stray muley calf caught in a muddy draw. She looked and saw that the cause of the holdup was Bridget, holding fast to his other hand, with poor Brendan stretched in the middle like the rope in a tug-of-war. Arabella frowned at the ginger girl and literally stamped her foot. “Oh tarnation Bridg’! Let go o’ him! I needs him fer this dance! I’ll bring him back to ya in one piece, promise!” she reasoned urgently. The dance would start any minute, and she needed to give her partner a pep talk before it started. @Bailey
  11. [Brendan Connolly & Bridget Monahan] He tilted his head to one side, his curiosity heightened. "A beggar, huh? Beggin' must be a better way to make a livin' than I thought. Someone give you this fancy dress that way?" Bridget looked down at the fussy gown like she’d only just realised that she was wearing it and gave him a smile and nodded vigorously. She had asked for it and it had been given to her, that was begging, just as when she’d held out a filthy and emaciated hand on the streets of Cheyenne and Deadwood and received the odd copper to buy a crust and keep off starvation. Brendan suddenly looked her up and down, had she said something wrong? As the music ended, Brendan moved his hand away from her waist and stepped back, but kept a hold of her hand. "Dancing gets your appetite up," he continued. "Mine, anyway. Let's go snag one or two of Clara's cookies. Don't tell her I called her Clara and not Miss Redmond." Bridget smiled inanely, she hadn’t got a clue what he was talking about. When people said too much, or too fast or two clever for her, the words went all swirly in her ears and mingled and became formless like curling colorful smoke. She had learned that a smile got her out of having to talk and show how little she had understood. But she did want to understand, she did want to talk, and sometimes all that want bundled up inside of her made her sad. Something else made her sad, too, and she didn’t understand why. For some reason, when Brendan talked about Clara, all of a sudden she felt a sad pang of pain, all around about the tummy region. She didn’t know why she didn’t like it, but she didn’t. However, she definitely did like the feeling of Brendan holding her hand. In fact, she liked it even more than him holding her when they had danced, because then he had to hold her; now he was choosing to take her hand. She turned her head and raised her lips to his ear. “I liked are … dance.” she whispered, and stared up at him, wanting him to say that he liked it, too. @Bailey
  12. [Present: Brendan Connolly and Bridget Monahan] "You say that like it's a bad thing," Brendan said with a grin. He felt better about talking with her - or at her - after her confession. "Lots'a people can't read or write. I can't. Much, anyway. You don't gotta know much to do what I do." Bridget's mouth opened in amazement at Brendan not being able to read or write, even with the rider ‘much’. That might have been construed as hypocritical, but everybody else in her life had always seemed so deft, so quick, so able at anything and everything in life. They all moved and talked so fast and clever, and no matter how quick she walked around town and no matter how hard she listened, she could just never keep up with them. He squeezed her hand lightly and moved a little closer to her unconsciously, still speaking. "But some jobs you need to read an' write. If I wanted to be a banker, now, I'd need to do both and do 'rithmetic. I 'spect you won't need to do any of those, though. Say, what do you do?" Talk of bankers made Bridget think of that nice Mr. Wentworth, the older gentleman who owned the bank and to whom she paid in any odd pennies she found on the sidewalks, he was one of that class of folk who were especially nice to her, among which she numbered Clara, Mr. Fa the Chinaman and Mr. Ryker, who’d helped to reconstruct her. There was also another class of people who were especially mean to her, like those boys who had tripped her up into the mud the other day. Finally, and most confusingly up until now, there were those odd people like Mr. Crabbe and Arabella who possessed some kind of blind spot, or character defect, which made them treat her like she was just another of the ‘normal folk’. But Brendan was something different again. He made her feel like she was different and special in a good way as she swayed to the music with him, hearing his deep calming voice, and feeling his hard, muscled body through the soft brushed cotton of his red plaid shirt. He smelt different, too: mostly of horses and hay, but so very, very nice. She wanted to literally bury her face in his chest and just smell him all up. She wondered if all the men she would dance with tonight would make her feel like this, all relaxed and dreamy, but all excited and tummy-jumpy at the same time, or whether Brendan was a special one. She snapped out of this reverie when he asked her what she 'did', and the question flummoxed her totally. She blinked rapidly, processing the question through the rerouted synapses of her brain. Like many who suffer brain trauma as children, the miraculous power of nature had enabled her to recover lost functions and faculties, but they didn’t work quite the same way as other folk and past, present and future weren’t as fixed as they might be in her gingery noggin, and the ability to lie had quite passed her by. “Am a beggar … a beg.” She eventually said. That’s what she had done, the last time she’d had to do a ‘job’ as such. The amazing thing was that she didn’t whisper it, she said it out quite loud, with neither a smile or a frown on her innocent face. @Bailey
  13. Present: Ralph & Arabella "Yer welcome, Arabella. Think you could do a whole lot better than the likes of me in yer search for a father, but I am flattered," he smiled down upon her. She twined her arm in his and patted it, fair bustin’ with pride at having had the first dance with him. Mr. Flandry would have made such a wonderful father for some, sadly never-to-be-born brood of children: it was a pity, felt like a waste, especially as there were so many terrible, or completely absent fathers in the world. “Well, if my Daddy’s lookin’ down right now, and I reckon he is, well, I think he’d be right happy with the feller I found to take his place. And, Lord, you sure stomped on my toes a heap less than he used to!” she laughed. As they walked off the dance floor, he added on a sudden whim, "If you wanna second dance - LATER that is - you can ask me. But I gotta get back ta work. Wouldn't want Tildy ta catch me not on the job, she might just fire me on the spot." Arabella closed her eyes and let out that gurgling chuckle of hers. “Well, she ain’t fired me yet, after all my mistakes, so I don’t think she’ll fire you. Now, Mr. Flandry, you betcha I’m gonna hold you to that promise, but don’t you want to dance with anybody else? How ‘bout Mammy Cookie?” she asked for a joke. They were back at the tent by now and the large woman looked up at the sound of her nickname. “Don’t you go takin’ my name in vain Arabella Mudd!” she said in mock serious tones, before looking her dance partner up and down and commenting “Well praise the Lawd! Mr. Ralph, you survived!”
  14. [Ralph Flandry & Arabella Mudd] "Fine, fine. I'll dance with her," he huffed and left the bartending duties to the cook, "Make sure everyone pays up front of liquor, we ain't here to lose money." Messalina laughed. “Don’t you worry about that none, Mr. Ralph. In fac’, when these boys get served by a beautiful barmaid, they usually sez ‘keep the change!’” she added, perhaps a trifle overoptimistically. Extracting himself from the crush, he now faced Arabella. He didn't look mad but no one would mistake that bearded visage for being eager either. Arabella, on the other hand, was eagerness personified, jumping up and down clapping her hands. It must have been contagious, because as Ralph took off his apron and moved forward part of the queuing contingent let out a ragged cheer, mixed with catcalls from saloon regulars like Jimmy Jarman and Ted Carrington of “Hope ya got yer steel-capped boots on, Arabella” and “Bring him back alive! We need booze!” "Alright, one dance. And I'll warn ya, I ain't much of a dancer. Last time I can even remember dancin' was celebrating the war bein' over with a lot of drinkin' and a some painted woman whose name I didn't even know, maybe cuz I didn't ask." “One’s all I need!” she beamed, leaping forward like a starved puma, entwining her arm in his. He looked then toward the barn, "Lead the way, kiddo." That she did, and the odd thing was that instead of giving Mr Flandry an intensive interrogation about the painted lady, like she normally would, followed by a rambling dissertation on what she herself thought of painted ladies, with umpteen illustrative, if not always relevant, examples, she didn’t say a peep. It was as if Miss Mudd had two settings: “Noisy” and “Dancing”. It turned out that Mr Flandry wasn’t as rusty as he made out, and Arabella was as good at dancing as she made out, with, perhaps, a slight tendency to lead; and the only time she opened her mouth to speak was when they bumped into a perfectly stationary gentleman who was simply minding his own business, and she shouted at him “Hey, watch where you’re goin’, y’clumsy oaf!” Most of the time she contented herself with smiling in contented beautifaction as they swayed around the barn floor in time with the music, which was a slightly rough western version of the Kiss Waltz so popular in the fancy ballrooms back East back in the ’50s. As the music faded, she jumped up and gave the tough barman a peck on his hairy cheek. “That ain’t cause it’s the kiss waltz” she explained, still grinning, but wiping a sentimental tear from her eye “That’s to say thanks fer bein’ my Daddy tonight.” @Wayfarer
  15. “Just don’t speak…good.” "Heck, that's not...I mean, sorry, miss. I didn't mean to...aw, shoot. Guess I'm not so good at speakin', either." She shook her head and smiled, her face was expressive, even if her voice wasn’t, and her meaning was clear: she thought he spoke just great. Maybe it was the rhythm of the music that was making her able to express herself more than usual – her Chinese friend, Mr Fa, had managed to teach her to say a few things out loud, including her name. To achieve that, she had to sorta count herself in, like a musician about to play a tune. Maybe moving in time to the three-four rhythm of the waltz was helping her, maybe it was just having someone's undivided attention, but she wanted to say more, to express all those swirling thoughts that played around her head and heart all day long but seldom had egress. She felt herself leaning into Brendan’s ear again, which was no far distance, considering the clinch that they were in. For some reason, she felt an odd compulsion to tell him something else about her self, even though she was a little embarrassed and ashamed of it. “Can’t write ‘r … read.” She confessed, but then added “Ar’ bella teach … me” she nodded at the end. Maybe it wasn’t just the music. Brendan might put his foot in it when speaking out loud to fancy folk, but his gentleness with Bridget was like that of a horse whisperer quietly soothing a frightened, unbroken colt. Despite being in an unfamiliar place, doing a totally new activity, she felt relaxed and was enjoying herself.

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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