Welcome to Gaia! ::

Everything Anabelle had been exposed to growing up was related in some way, however obscure, to the wild west. That was to be expected, however, when one was raised by a group of historical reenactors. They never forbade her to learn anything, but they encouraged her interest in the good old days as much as they could. As a child, she'd taken on the culture and mannerisms with rapt motivation, absorbing the lifestyle and making it her own. Of course, not everything was completely accurate, but she assumed most things were pretty darn close. As an adult, though she and her family were long since seperated, she had been unable to put that life behind her. Because of this, when she'd spotted a reasonably sized shop for sale after moving into town with all of her savings, she'd known exactly what she wanted to do.
Anabelle bustled around the tables, weaving through them with the zest and anxiety of a mouse in a maze as she cleaned each one. In a few hours, the shop would be open, and there was still a lot of work to be done. She wiped her bangs from her forehead, careful not to bump her headpiece, and moved on to the other side of the themed restaurant. It held all the charm (and unfortunately, until she'd purged the vacant building with a heavy assault of cleaning solutions, the smell) of the west. The tables were made of the same polished wood that adorned the lower walls, which were accented by portraits of roaming wildlife and beautiful ladies and casts of antlers stuck in between. There was a wide staircase that led to a second floor that lined the building and housed several doors, but that was roped off for events. A bar situated next to the stairs looked upon all of the tables, and beyond that was another door that was roped off, presumably leading to the kitchen. A small stage faced the bar at the other end of the saloon, and a piano sat tucked away in the corner. The front doors were even made in a peculiar fashion so that they could be swung open. An enticing combination of a sweet fragrance and the beckon of home-cooked meals wafted throughout the saloon, present in the rich wood of every table, every room, every polished, creaking floor.

Anabelle, having not expecting anyone to come in before the shop was officially opened, was startled and assumed the worst. Before she could comprehend what Guinevere had said, she spun around with her hand positioned like a gun, the rag covering it. Her gaze dropped to the small girl in front of her. "Oh, sorry hun!" She tossed the rag onto a table and smiled, embarrassed. "I thought you were a rob- what is that on your back?" Completely forgetting her train of thought, she ran her fingers over the wings, intrigued. "If you're coming for the costume party, sweetie, we're not opening for a couple of hours."

Kemuri wandered. It wasn't a usual hour for places to open but many places were beginning to prepare for a good long day ahead of themselves. especially for the lunch rush. He dragged his feet with his hands in his pockets until he arrived to a small saloon. It seemed interesting and something to fill his empty stomach and drown his broken heart was good. Every since the incident with Guin.

Guin

He could see her faint outline inside the saloon. He wanted to face her but he thought it was awkward. He turned and wanted to head off, but... his growling stomach betrayed him... It echoed inside of him. He sucked in his gut and wanted to walk, but the drifting smell from the saloon caught his attention. Food sounded more than good to him now... Before he knew it, he was opening the door to the shop.

Guinevere looked pityingly at the older woman as she admitted to never seeing wings on a little girl before. "That's okay." she said graciously. "There are a few people like me around but our wings are all different." she revealed to the newcomer. She was slightly confused though. Who would want to move to this small town? "Where did you come from, anyway?" Guinevere asked suspiciously. Maybe the woman was in hiding from an evil force taht would bring ruin on them all. But this train of thought was all but thrown off the tracks with her next statement. "A party!" Guinevere exclaimed. She hadn't been to many before, but remembered the Halloween party well enough. "Could I help?" she asked cautiously. "My mother? I don't have one." she said flippantly. Kotatsu certainly wasn't her mother, and the Lady Vincira, though her saviour, was not exactly motherly. And Aaron, who had been a man, she was nearly sure, was more of a father. Anabelle didn't sem to be paying attention to her statement though. Guinevere turned around to see who she was looking at and saw Kemuri.

Guinevere blushed. She was ashamed of the way she had acted the last time she had seen Kemuri, she hated to admit it. The sight of him, something that normally made her day, caused her embarrassment. What must he think of her? She ould only imagine his contempt.