Welcome to Gaia! ::

In answer, Clarice settled across from the girl. If she learned what the book was about, it wouldn't be from peeking. "Sounds a lot less like curiosity and more like obsession when you put it that way." The way she said obsession didn't make it sound good or bad. Maybe she knew a bit about obsession herself, the good alongside all the bad people always tut-tut over.

"I'm Clarice, the owner of this fine establishment," she holds out her hand. "Consider my curiosity unrestrained and your worth for you to decide."

Somewhere between Bitter Creek and Blue Ridge lake, a majestic stallion grazed contentedly. A petite girl with green hair pat his neck as she tied a lead to his halter. "I'm not familiar with that particular brand, beauty, but maybe we can find your master."

Her hand paused. "Or maybe cover your brand with my own, eh? How would you like that?"

The stallion shook his black mane and steadfastly ignored her.

She was right to equate that definition of curiosity with obsession, something that fought to be beyond one's control. It wasn't something the girl was inclined to talk about, so she pushed the comment aside.

"I would rather not decide my own worth. I could not possibly be objective on the matter. I prefer to accept external appraisal when necessary." The woman's extended hand seemed to momentarily confuse her, before she recalled that this was a cue to return the gesture in greeting. She reached to shake her hand once, with a grip that suggested it was solely out of obligation. "My name is Milly. It is a pleasure to meet you."

The tone of her voice still implied obligation rather than any 'pleasure' in meeting her. She momentarily stalled, as though she had forgotten the next step of conversation, before recalling the subject of the book.

"It was imported from England in 1818," she began, turning the book around to display the cover. "The author is Mary Shelley. Are you familiar with her work? It is called 'Frankenstein', but the title printed here is an alternate provided by the author."



At the sight of the filthy man, the woman's smile widened and split into a cheerful laugh. This was exactly the kind of guy she'd been looking for. Always the best type to start out with - she could spot it a mile away.

"Mhmm, sure is a fine day for you, now that I'm here," she purred, leaning closer with every word she spoke. But not too close, leaving enough space to avoid hiding her cleavage from him (or the rest of the world). "I love secrets...but don't you think...maybe...I should get more than two? It's such a small number."

She pursed her lips into a pout and delicately placed her hand against his shoulder.

There was enough of a commotion already in motion thanks to the side-and-sideways-saddle rider that an opportunistic shadow slipped into the saloon right behind him. There was very little remarkable about said shadow - black hat, dusty black bandana across their face, and a tattoo of a circular serpent on the hand that pulled the brim a little lower.

And in his other hand, a wanted poster whose poorly-drawn mugshot bore a very unfortunate resemblance to Mark.

Unfortunately horses did not understand any form of English, no matter how polite the words were, and after a little more intimidating posturing it simply wandered off, half a saddle still dragging behind it. In short, the answer was probably no.

"Eh, leave him," said a voice from behind, a red-haired man with a single earring on one ear. He was well dressed, and well-traveled. "He'll come back eventually. You can't win them all."

He was frowning a bit, but upon seeing the newcomer, gave a gentle smile."I'm the town sheriff by the way, you can call me Ben. Fancy a ride, little lady to your destination of choice?"

Theoretically, Mark was standing there, however, the in person suspect lacked any defining facial features other than lips, thanks to being entirely covered in about two weeks worth of dirt and grime.

Before the newcomer could seek out this theoretical "Mark", another hand grabbed his hand. It was a slender hand, a woman's, and it also had the same circular tattoo.

"Hello," said the woman, and while her voice gave it away, she looked almost young enough to be just a lass, dressed layers of fancy pink and white, long blonde curls nearly touching her knees. "Can I interest you in a night for two?"

If only robot horses could understand english, though. They certainly had the computing power for it. The girl dejectedly tossed the apple in a slow arc, landing a couple of feet ahead of the horse. Even if the horse didn't eat it, maybe it would step on it and splatter.

A less interesting version of the youtube series of objects versing a hydraulic press, for sure.

"You can certainly at least try to win them all," the girl groused. "I'm not sure where to go, actually. D'you know anywhere with a good drink? And nicer horses?"

She offered a weak smile. "Call me Tria."