834 replies to this topic

[Katia11]

I think it was fine! Like honestly!! It felt .. like .. slinking right into a smoky tavern filled with criminals or something and i adored it.

[Mara=^.^=]

I think it was fine! Like honestly!! It felt .. like .. slinking right into a smoky tavern filled with criminals or something and i adored it.

 

You know how I am...always overthinking things

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

*HIGH FIVES* yeah, I feel ya.

[Mara=^.^=]

That feeling when you spend 2 full weeks writing 16 pages and then discover that the entire thing is really boring 

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

I want to argue because I would read like… the white pages if you wrote it.

But I am sorry! that sucks

[Mara=^.^=]

I feel like a blacksmith, trying to hammer this damn thing into shape. 

 

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

i mean, can i just say.. blacksmiths are very attractive?

 

more seriously, though, I am rooting for you!!!! YOU can do it! 

 

And I hope that if you ever EVER need to bounce ideas or just like YELL at because writing is being a PAIN.. ya know how to reach me.

[ShadRose17]

That feeling when you spend 2 full weeks writing 16 pages and then discover that the entire thing is really boring

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

To be fair it may just seem like that to you because you've spent so much time on it! Odds are other people won't think that at all.

[Katia11]

^^^^

[Mara=^.^=]

How in the hell did I not share this when I drew it last year

 

 

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

Mmmm yes! I love this piece! And I don't know why you didn't share it, but I'm glad that has been remedied!

[Mara=^.^=]

Praise Jesus, Mary, and all the saints, I'm finally done with this fucking chapter.

****************************************************************************************
 

Libby was already saddle-sore by the time she crested the hill overlooking the Sheriff's house. It was slow riding, guiding a wayward stallion; she'd wrapped Humphrey's lead around her pommel, but he was an ornery beast, and he stamped and snorted as she paused atop the summit. Down below, a light mist crouched in the valleys and furrows. Though the honeysuckle blossoms had not yet given way to berries, the first hints of autumn were already lurking in the rushes. Here in Texas, the seasons ran together, but today the air had a distinctly northern chill. She shivered, pulled her shawl tighter, and pressed the horses on.

 

The slamming of a door drew her attention to the porch. Tex and Mr. Neutron ambled down the front steps, trading barbs and bumping elbows. They were dressed to match in indigo shirts and light trousers; he sported a vest, she a bandolier. Their attire called to mind the bold, attractive hues of the Union Army uniform, without its festooned pomposity.

 

At the sight of his mistress, Humphrey nickered and tossed his mane, and the barkeep raised her hand in greeting.

 

"Good mornin'!" she called out.

 

Tex flinched at the sound, and in the time it took Libby to blink, the blonde had drawn her six-gun. She lurched forward, fast as a sidewinder, placing herself between the Sheriff and the threat. There was a murderous glint in her eyes, and in the space between breaths, Libby saw the truth: that in the face of danger, this woman could kill without hesitation or remorse.

 

"Heavens to Betsy and my Aunt Mary," exclaimed Miss Folfax, clutching at the reins. "Point that thing at someone who deserves it!"

 

Tex could scarcely hide her embarrassment. She fumbled with her holster, muttering apologies, as Libby stared down at her. It took a moment for the barkeep to formulate her next words.

 

"My dear Miss Tex," she said at last, "who on Earth were you expectin'?"

 

The two co-conspirators – for that is clearly what they were – traded glances, and something passed between them, some silent understanding that Miss Folfax couldn't parse. She frowned. Who was this woman, really? What was she doing here? And what worried her so much that a simple greeting could elicit a response of lethal force?

 

In the face of such considerations, Libby's bet with Sheen receded in importance.

 

"I don't suppose you'd care to answer my question, Mr. Neutron," she attempted. "Or has your candor joined your wits at the bottom of my sterling silver pitcher?"

 

"Oof. Right for the jugular, huh."

 

"You can hardly blame me, Sheriff. I watched you stagger out of the saloon last night with the darn thing tucked under your arm like it was a prize pheasant. Now tell me what the heck is goin' on, before I dredge up some truly mortifying stories."

 

He pretended to be stupid. "Tell you...what's going on?"

 

Libby pointed at Tex. "This woman is a disciple of the Reaper. Just now, she was ready to send me to that big ol' Juke Joint in the sky for the crime of sneakin' up on you. Why? Do you have cause to think there's trouble on the way?"

 

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and muttered something about coyotes.

 

"James Isaac Neutron," she said, "that is probably the least convincing lie you've ever told. I'm almost insulted."

 

"I'm not lying!" he sputtered. "Coyotes have been harassing Carl's stock. Go on and ask him if you don't believe me, or better yet, ask Sheen. He can tell you all about it."

 

Tex nodded in agreement. "Once a predator loses its fear of humans, it becomes a threat to public safety. Everyone knows that."

 

Libby drummed her fingertips against the saddle. "I see. I see how it is. Lying is a team sport with you two, is it? Couple of bullshit artists, collaboratin' on a painting?"

 

"You're making a mountain out of a molehill," insisted Tex.

 

The barkeep sighed. "Fine. Whatever." She continued grumbling to herself as she unwound Humphrey's lead. "You're just lucky I'm such a good neighbor. Not everyone would traipse all the way out here to return a wayward horse. Here."

 

The blonde had the decency to look sheepish as she shuffled forward to accept the proffered lead. "Thank you," she murmured. "And uh…sorry, I guess."

 

Libby softened. "I'm just glad you're alright. You gave me quite the fright, you know, when I came to check on you this mornin'. What kind of pickle-brained fool climbs out a second-story window in the dead of night? It's a marvel you didn't break every bone in your body."

 

Mr. Neutron turned towards Tex in disbelief, only to find that her expression mirrored his. Libby looked from one to the other.

 

"Stars and garters," she said. "What a matched set you are. I'd wager you don't remember last night's antics, do you Miss Tex?"

 

Tex winced. "I don't suppose you could fill me in on the details."

 

"Well, let's see: after the party, I hauled your sorry, sozzled ass above stairs and stowed you in the guest room. Last I laid eyes on you, you were rolled up in a quilt, drunkenly professing your love to me in song. I must say, your blandishments were first rate – you called me a 'princess from the land of the pharaohs'. I'm gonna have that one embroidered on a pillow."

 

Tex flushed with embarrassment. "Oh dear. But wait a minute – why'd I go rappelling out the window?"

 

The barkeep shrugged. "'fraid I can't say. I didn't actually see you make your escape, so I can only speculate about your motives. I'm just the humble detective who noticed scuff marks on the windowsill, and found this hangin' on the rose bushes down below." Libby turned to grab Tex's ten-gallon, which sat perched atop the arch of her bustle. "Catch!" she called.

 

Away it went, and Tex dropped the rope just in time to snatch it from the air. "My hat!" she cried, clutching it like a treasure.

 

"You're welcome."

 

A moment later, Tex's jubilation faded, and she grew very, very still. When she next spoke, her words had a steely edge, as though she concealed a blade behind her teeth.

 

"You didn't find anything else…did you?" she said.

 

"Well, Miss Lawman, if you're lookin' for your dignity, I'm afraid I have bad news."

 

The Sheriff barked out a laugh.

 

"The responsibility for this little escapade lies with me, I fear," he said, summoning up an almost theatrical level of contrition. "I forgot to warn you about my deputy's gecko-like affinity for climbing. Did you know she makes a habit of sleeping on my roof? Scurries right up the apple tree, fast as lightning."

 

Libby rounded on him like a Rottweiler. "You've been makin' a lady sleep on the roof?"

 

He shrunk back, cowed by her reproof. Tex leapt to his defense.

 

"He's not 'making' me do anything. Sleeping up there was my idea. In the summertime, I prefer the open air."

 

Libby paused to scrutinize the blonde. On reconsideration, a handful of details stood out: mud-caked boots. Oversized menswear. Hair stained honey-dark.

 

"You slept outside in the rain," she realized. "That's why you're wearin' the Sheriff's clothes."

 

Tex looked at her like she was obtuse. "Obviously. Why else would I be wearing his clothes?"

 

A fraught silence descended, as three minds came to a simultaneous conclusion.

 

"Her gear was covered in mud!" blurted the Sheriff, losing his composure entirely. "She had to wear something after her bath. What was she supposed to do? Walk around naked?"

 

"Mr. Neutron…you're diggin' the hole rather deeper, don't you think?"

 

"Miss Folfax!"

 

She held up a hand. "I'm sure there's an innocent explanation, Sheriff, but surely you must realize how this looks. If Miss Tex goes waltzin' around Retro Valley dressed in your clothes, people will talk."

 

"Yes, heaven forbid," snorted Tex, opening her saddlebag. "We wouldn't want anyone to think he's known the touch of a woman."

 

He reddened, scandalized.

 

"Sheriff, please," intoned Libby, struggling not to laugh. "Calm yourself! No harm's been done. If you'll just lend me your deputy for the afternoon, I'll see to it that she's properly attired."

 

Tex, who'd been busy rifling through her effects, abruptly stopped.

 

"With your permission, of course, Miss Tex," amended Libby.

 

"I've got a spare set of clothes right here," motioned Tex, lifting a tattered shirt from the bag. "I'll just go inside and change."

 

Libby couldn't help but wrinkle her nose when she saw the ratty garment. There were stains along the collar, and loose threads hung from the hem like inchworms dangling from a branch.

 

"That's your spare gear? Lord's mercy, this is worse than I thought. I can't let you walk around town wearin' that…that soiled dish towel," she shuddered. "It ain't fit for rags."

 

Tex exhaled and rested her forehead against Humphrey's flank. "I suppose you're right."

 

"Will the two of you be going into town, then?" asked Mr. Neutron, having found himself unceremoniously excised from the day's agenda.

 

"No need. For weeks now Elke has been crowin' like a rooster, singin' the praises of her new sewin' machine. You'd think the darn thing was the Arc of the Covenant, the way she talks about it. I'm sure she'll be eager to give us a demonstration."

 

Tex closed her saddlebag. "Actually, do you mind if we make a pit stop in town first? I know it means we'll have to backtrack, but I desperately need to pick up some supplies from the general store before I attend to anything else."

 

"If you'd like," she assented. Miss Folfax turned to the Sheriff. "Mr. Neutron, while I have you here, might I ask a favor?"

 

"What do you need?"

 

"Señor Estevez and I were supposed to have breakfast together today, but he never showed up. It ain't like him to miss out on free food and an opportunity to flirt. Could you swing by some of his usual haunts and see if you can sight him?"

 

Mr. Neutron was dismissive. "I'm sure he's fine. Probably just sleeping off a hangover."

 

"I don't know. He's been awfully accident-prone lately. I mean, in the last month alone, he's fallen down a gopher hole, sat on an ant nest, lit himself on fire, choked on a..."

 

"All right, all right! I take your point. If it'll put your mind at ease, I'll go and check on him. But let me fetch your pitcher first, before I forget."

 

He turned and trundled up the steps.

 

"While you're in there," called Tex, "find me an old blanket or something, so I can make a poncho. Let's not give the townsfolk any more grist for their rumor mill."

 

***

 

As midday approached, the trio went their separate ways. Mr. Neutron disappeared into the scrub, while Tex and Libby meandered along the road toward town. As the women rode, they passed a flock of grackles drinking from a roadside puddle, dressed to impress in glossy iridescents. A pair of Painted Lady butterflies turned corkscrews nearby, while lazy bees attended to a crop of freshly-opened daisies. Although the sky remained overcast, the sun was beginning to reassert its authority; Libby could feel its warmth on her skin, questing and uncertain, like a flame testing out a bit of kindling.

 

"I love days like this," she sighed, shrugging off her shawl. "Back East, I used to hate the rain. Now I live in awe of it."

 

The bluebonnets and phlox that lined the track were just the welcoming committee. In a day or two, the valley would erupt into a conflagration that rivaled Mardi Gras, as a thousand flowering plants donned their hats and held a brief, boisterous, colorful parade.

 

To her right, Tex gave a noncommittal grunt.

 

Miss Folfax stole a glance her way. The blonde sat atop her mount, straight-backed and alert, surveying the landscape with the tense focus of a scout searching for an ambush. Libby let her gaze linger, admiring the curve of the gunslinger's jaw. In profile, she was almost handsome. Had Tex wanted to pass for a man, she could have, though not indefinitely; the ruse might fool a man of average intellect, but almost any woman would see through it. It wasn't Tex's appearance that gave her away – it was her constant companion: wariness. It rode beside her like a phantom, leaving hoofprints in the dirt.

 

"Lookin' for somethin'?" asked the barkeep.

 

Tex shot her a sideways glance, then smirked ever so slightly. "Coyotes," she said gravely. "One can never be too careful."

 

"Very funny."

 

Tex returned her attention to the road. "It's nothing. Old habits die hard, is all: the world is full of predators, and not just the four-legged kind."

 

"You don't have to tell me that."

 

"No. I suppose I don't."

 

Up ahead, the town came into view. Tex kept her eyes on the ground, squinting this way and that, scouring the terrain with an urgency that exceeded mere vigilance. In Libby's estimation, 'force of habit' was an insufficient explanation.

 

"Are you sure you're not lookin' for somethin'?" she asked again. "I don't mean to harp, but you're actin' like Sheen when he spies a hint of glitter in the rock."

 

Tex hesitated, chewing on her lip. Her indecisiveness persisted for so long that Libby could almost imagine two tiny Texes slugging it out in her head.

 

"I can't say precisely when," she began, "but I misplaced something last night. A…keepsake, of sorts. I was hoping I might spot it along the road."

 

"What does it look like? I can keep an eye out for it."

 

"It's…a legal document. A piece of evidence from one of my father's court cases. Silly, I know, but it's all I have left of him."

 

Libby felt a jolt of sympathy. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but if you truly lost a piece of paper on the road, it's probably long gone. The runoff here is like a deluge…flash floods sweep everythin' into the river after a rain."

 

Tex turned her face away, and the brim of her hat concealed her expression. Libby threw her a lifeline.

 

"Your father was a prosecutor?"

 

"Yes. Many years ago."

 

"You must miss him," she said gently. "I'm sure he'd be proud to know that you're continuin' his work. It can't be easy, doin' what you do, but for what it's worth, I wish there were more women like you."

 

Tex gave her a weak, wan smile.

 

As the duo rode into the square, a handful of residents stopped to bid them good day. Tex merely inclined her head, but Libby smiled and waved, same as she always did. The barkeep was not the type to grow complacent in her blessings. She could live to be 100, and she'd never grow tired of watching white folks tip their hats to her. Let New Orleans keep its glamour and its music – she'd keep the Wild West, its people, and its pocketbook.

 

The first pit stop on the women's sojourn took them to the general store, where Tex bought beef jerky and some phenol – hardly necessities, but who was she to judge? Afterward, at Tex's request, they paid a visit to the Juke Joint. They spent the next half hour turning the place inside out, searching every last nook and cranny, hunting for her keepsake. Despite their combined efforts, the only thing they found was a nonsensical 'treasure map' Sheen had doodled on a napkin.

 

There was nothing to be done about it, so Tex consented to leave the matter in the Lord's hands, and they set out once again. Though the gunslinger hid it well, Libby could sense her disquiet. She made a special effort to put forward lighter topics, and the pair chatted amiably as they made their way toward the Wheezer farmstead. Libby gushed about her childhood encounter with Elizabeth Taylor Greenfield – the Black Swan herself – while Tex joked about the time she won a rooster in a seed-spitting contest.

 

By the time they reached the outskirts of the property, the sun had finally broken through the clouds. Ahead of them, spring-kneed baby llamas frolicked through the paddocks, while glassy-eyed adults stood in a ring, chewing their cud. Libby hated the sickly sweet stench of livestock, but llamas produced scentless dung, and thus they remained in her good graces.

 

"We're almost there," she said, pointing toward the distant farmhouse. "And look! There's Oleander, and Miss Emily!"

 

The Wheezers' red-headed grange hands greeted them as they passed. Oleander was the sort of man who lived his life in a state of perpetual befuddlement, and that reality was on full display as he leaned against his hayfork, bits of straw protruding from his hair. "Afternoon," he said. Over in the vegetable patch, Emily set down her armload of zucchini and waved her kerchief at them.

 

Libby lowered her voice so only Tex could hear. "Word on the street is that Miss Emily won't be a "Miss" for very much longer. Accordin' to Ike, Oleander's been workin' up the courage to propose. It'll be a winter wedding, I expect. Spring at the latest."

 

"Seems the private affairs of the townsfolk aren't so very private after all," was Tex's wry reply.

 

"Private?" chuckled Libby. "A sordid liaison is private. A marriage is everyone's business!"

 

The pair came to a stop beside the hitching post at the end of the lane. Tex's spurs jingled as her feet hit the ground, and she expeditiously secured both horses. Seized by a sudden bout of playfulness, she turned back to Libby, bowed at the waist, and extended a hand.

 

"May I, milady?" she asked.

 

Miss Folfax giggled as she accepted. "My dear Miss Lawman, you are as gallant as a belvidere. Twice as handsome, too."

 

"If you're trying to flirt with me," Tex grinned, "it's working."

 

Libby dismounted in a tangle of skirts and smiles. A ways off, the creak of hinges signaled that their arrival had been noticed. Elke appeared in the front doorway, shading her eyes against the light; she held a basket under one arm, and the hem of her calico dress fluttered in the breeze.

 

"My goodness!" she exulted, in that singsong voice of hers. "Such beautiful ladies on my doorstep! It's a lovely surprise – please, come in, come in!"

 

Elke beckoned them over the threshold, and the three women exchanged pleasantries as they made their way through the foyer and into the pantry. Mrs. Wheezer offered them a tray of rågfrallor, and Libby politely declined. Tex, who had not yet learned to avoid Elke's dreadful cooking, made the mistake of accepting, and she spent the next several minutes gnawing through gritty, flavorless rye.

 

"So," said Elke, taking a seat at the table. "To what pleasure do I owe your visit?"

 

Libby gestured to Tex. "She needs new clothing. Desperately. We were hopin' you could help."

 

"You want a new dress?" she asked, lighting up.

 

"Not a dress," corrected the barkeep. "Trousers and a shirt, sized to fit a woman – soft enough to be comfortable, but sturdy enough to withstand the elements. You still keep extra fabric in your hope chest, don't you? Think you can make somethin' like that?"

 

Elke considered. "Hmm…I think, ja. But I will need to take measurements. Would you ladies like to come to my sewing room?"

 

"Please! Lead the way."

 

Elke hopped to her feet and exited the pantry. As soon as she was out of sight, Tex surreptitiously slid the remainder of the roll back onto the tray. Libby suppressed a smile as she fell into line behind them.

 

"Wait until you see her!" called Elke over her shoulder. "My new sewing machine, she is the most beautiful thing in the world. I must warn you that you will fall in love instantly, so please make yourselves prepared."

 

Elke led them into a small study papered with cheerful yellow flowers. To the right, an elegant divider obscured a jumble of furniture propped against the wall. To the left, daylight slanted through a bay window, illuminating motes of floating dust. A row of candle-stubs slumped along the windowsill, dribbling wax onto the cedar chest below. A floor-length mirror occupied the adjacent corner, but its best days were behind it, and the passage of years had left the glass warped and pockmarked. This odd amalgamation of features gave the place the feeling of a holy storage closet, and there, atop an oak desk in the center of the room, sat the object of worship: a sleek, curve-necked machine, manicured in gold and glossy black.

 

Elke lowered her voice to a reverent whisper as they circled round. "Isn't she incredible? She was an anniversary gift from my husband."

 

Tex let out a low whistle. "Looks expensive."

 

"Carl is the most generous of men."

 

"It really is gorgeous," agreed Libby, admiring the floral text, which spelled out the name of the manufacturer: SINGER. "Poor Nissa. She's gonna be apoplectic when she sees it – positively green with envy. She'll probably try to buy it off you."

 

"I do not care what color she turns," returned Elke, sticking her nose in the air. "My Singer is not for sale. Now...let me show you how she works!"

 

Elke launched into a chipper explanation of the machine's capabilities. Tex leaned past Libby to study the interlocking mechanisms, and the barkeep caught a whiff of her scent: sawdust, warm and amber-sweet, with after-notes of balsam soap.

 

"The best part is all the time I am saving," gushed Elke, stooping to grab a small box. "Something that used to take all day now takes one hour. I worry I will make beggars of my calluses!"

 

"Did it take long to learn?" asked Libby.

 

"Not so long. I have to have Carl read the English for me, but the guidebook explained everything."

 

As they chatted, Elke started assembling spools of thread, scissors, and other such sundries on the table. Libby took the hint and bent to retrieve a basket of writing supplies from underneath the desk. A fountain pen fell out, and by the time she had wrangled it, Elke was over by the hope chest, opening the lid. She kneeled and rummaged through the contents, digging through piles of fabric and bundles of pattern-paper. A stack of potentially suitable materials began to accumulate next to the chest.

 

Tex ran a hand along the top of the machine. "It's funny," she said. "When I was young, I used to pride myself on my needlecraft. Even. Precise. I never made mistakes."

 

"Well that makes one of us," snorted Libby. "I've poked enough holes in satin to outfit a burlesque troupe."

 

The lid slammed shut, and Elke got to her feet, grunting as she scooped up an armload of cloth and hoisted it onto the desk chair.

 

"Okay!" she exclaimed, smoothing her skirt. "The first thing we must do is decide the color for her shirt." She held up two lengths of cloth in front of Tex – one peach, one dark green. "What do you think? Good? Not good?"

 

"Hmm." Libby tilted her head to one side, considering. "The peach would certainly wow on Sundays, but for daily wear, I think I prefer somethin' more muted. Do you have a paler green…somethin' like a moss, or a sage?"

 

"You mean like this?" She produced a drape of linen.

 

"That's perfect!"

 

Tex scratched at her neck uncomfortably as the two women circled round her, holding up various swatches of fabric and discussing potential drawbacks.

 

"Tan for the trousers, definitely," said Libby. "No, no – the plain weave, not the twill."

 

"Which buttons?"

 

"The Mother-of-Pearl – the greenish luster draws the eye. Are there enough of them?"

 

On and on they went, discarding rejects as they worked. For the most part Tex accepted their decisions without comment, but she had to be persuaded to see reason in some cases.

 

"Why do I need a pull-string at the waist?" she complained, as Libby dangled three ribbons in front of her face. "It isn't necessary."

 

"What do you mean, 'not necessary'? How else will you show off your figure?"

 

"Show off my figure? Show it off to whom?"

 

"To the deserving, estúpida! You can leave it loose when you're working, and cinch it tight when the occasion calls for it. Take it from me: every outfit should have at least one built-in seduction feature."

 

Tex gave her a withering look. "Libby, come on. You're being ridiculous."

 

"Think of it this way," Elke chimed in. "If criminals are distracted, they will be easier to shoot!"

 

Tex groaned, but in the end, Libby got her way.

 

Once everything was sorted, Elke stowed the unwanted fabric back inside the chest. "Now we do the measurements," she announced, and Tex sent an imploring look into the mirror, as if begging her reflection for help. "It will be faster if we – how do you say – make this a team effort?"

 

Nodding, Libby smoothed the creases from a piece of paper, and Tex tossed her poncho onto the chair. She extended both arms as Elke approached her with a measuring tape. Elke started at her side, then moved around back, calling out numbers as she went, and Libby scribbled attentively. For whatever reason, Tex could not hide her discomfort with the procedure, and pink crept into her cheeks as Elke wound the tape around her bust. Eyes on the ceiling, the gunslinger clenched and unclenched her fingers, fighting to keep an air of nonchalance.

 

"You don't like to be touched?" asked Elke, without looking up.

 

"That's not it." There was something uncertain, even vulnerable, in Tex's tone of voice. "I'm fine with it in principle, I just…I'm just not used to it."

 

Melancholy welled within the barkeep's chest. Tex's unexpected, blushing reticence wasn't charming or comedic, but it was enlightening. It stood in stark contrast to the guard-dog-like ferocity from earlier, yet the two were not at odds – in some strange way, they explained each other. Libby wondered what it would take to soothe this woman's pain.

 

"All done!" called out Elke cheerfully, setting down the measuring tape next to the sewing machine.

 

Tex moved quickly to retrieve her woolen armor. While pulling the poncho over her head, she bumped the desk by mistake, and a spool of thread fell to the floor, bounced once, and rolled past the divider into the jumble of furniture, where it disappeared beneath a crate-shaped object covered with a sheet. Tex crossed the room to pick it up. She lifted the edge of the sheet, revealing a tiny wooden cradle underneath.

 

When Elke saw the cradle, her expression clouded over. With a flutter of her hands, she rushed forward to cover it again. A nonsensical mishmash of English and Swedish poured from her mouth, and Tex looked at Libby in alarm. Meeting her gaze, Libby shook her head once, then laid a steady hand on Mrs. Wheezer's shoulder.

 

"Come on, Elke," she said. "Miss Tex is still in need of socks. Why don't we pay a visit to your knittin' drawer?"

 

After a pause, Elke nodded once, and Libby put an arm around her and led her from the room.

 

By the time the women reached the parlor, their host had recovered. Elke approached a tall bureau with a songbird etched into the center. She had to jiggle the bottom drawer several times before it opened. Inside, they found yarn and knitting needles, plus hats, mittens, and dozens of pairs of socks in every conceivable color and size. The yarn was, of course, made from llama wool.

 

"In the winter evenings, Carl and I sit by the fire and knit," she explained. "He likes best to make socks, but there are too many of them for just the two of us, so I put the extra ones in here. Please, take whatever you like."

 

Refusing would have been unconscionably rude, so Tex picked through the selection and chose three pairs that looked to be about the right size. Libby grabbed a backup pair for Sheen, since he made a habit of destroying each and every garment that came into his possession. She also took a hat for Britney (who did not need it and would not wear it), because she knew it would make Elke happy.

 

"I don't know how to thank you," said Tex, gazing at the socks with an expression better suited for a funeral. "You've been so kind, so generous – I really don't deserve it. Please, let me pay you for your trouble."

 

"Oh no, no!" protested Elke. "This is…is a gift! I am so lucky, I have the most wonderful neighbors in the world. I want to do these nice things for you."

 

"Elke, please." Tex's voice was hoarse. Uneven. "I don't deserve it."

 

Libby laid a hand on her forearm. "Miss Tex. Everyone deserves to have at least one outfit that isn't fallin' apart at the seams."

 

That much, at least, was hard to argue with, so Tex let the matter drop.

 

Having accomplished their primary task, the trio retired to the kitchen for candy creams and sugared coffee – a repast that not even Elke could ruin. Ironically, talk turned to the subject of the recent coyote attack. Both the size of the beast and Carl's purported acts of heroism led Libby to suspect that the account had been embellished. After that, things got a bit silly, and they gossiped about Britney's latest fling with Nick Dean, Sheen's latest attempts to woo the barkeep, and Betty's ongoing crusade to get her husband back. Tex smiled and nodded when appropriate, but was otherwise silent for most of the discussion.

 

The afternoon was wearing on by the time that the women bid each other farewell. Elke called Oleander to fetch the horses from the stable, where he'd been attending to them. He helped Libby onto her mare, as etiquette required, but he was too slow to help Tex, who could probably out-climb a mountain goat.

 

"See you tomorrow at the Granny-bee!" shouted Elke, and Libby blew her a kiss.

 

As the farmhouse receded into the distance, Tex stole a glance over her shoulder.

 

"How long have Mr. and Mrs. Wheezer been married?" she asked.

 

Libby wracked her brain. "Goin' on about…four years now, if memory serves."

 

"And still no children?"

 

Libby saw what Tex was getting at, and she composed her reply carefully – it was, after all, a delicate matter. "There have been many…small losses," she said decorously. "It's been very difficult on Elke."

 

Tex grimaced. "That's a shame. Poor woman."

 

"That sewin' room was still a nursery when I first got to Retro Valley," recalled Libby. "I guess they decided to reappoint the space. Makes sense, from a practical standpoint."

 

"I hope things take a turn for her. She deserves happiness."

 

A momentary gloom descended on the barkeep. "Yes, well. The world would be a very different place if people got what they deserved."

 

It was the wrong thing to say. Tex receded back into her shell, and Libby's thoughts turned to Sheen, and his stupid, reckless search for gold, and whether something awful had befallen him.

 

***

 

As luck would have it, they crossed paths with the Sheriff later in the evening, and the three of them decided to pay a visit to the creek to check his crawdad traps. It wasn't the right season for crayfishing, but Mr. Neutron was an avid fan of Libby's jambalaya, and the traps he'd devised were diabolically effective. He filled her in on the day's findings as they made their way down the embankment. Apparently, Carl had seen the prospector heading west, walking in the direction of Marble Orchard – but his poor vision made the sighting dubious, and it was not enough to quell her ruminations.

 

Their destination offered better solace. The creek and its environs were a quiet, restful sort of place – perfect for lounging, if one took care to avoid the fruit-bearing briars. Libby came here on occasion to relax and read Britney's tawdry romance novels. Since her last visit, blue and purple spiderwort had bloomed along the water's edge, and these two faerie highways gave the locale a dreamlike quality. Libby picked herself a bouquet as the Sheriff waded into the knee-deep water to investigate the traps. Upstream, Tex used her poncho to gather wild raspberries.

 

"The mechanism's stuck," he informed, tugging at a metal box below the water's surface. "This might take a bit."

 

Miss Folfax settled on a patch of moss and began to braid the stems into a crown. Tex joined her, berry-stained and smiling, and the two of them sat in silence, enjoying the burble of the brook and the river's distant thunder.

 

Tex reclined with a sigh. "I could get used to this," she murmured, and pulled her hat down over her eyes.

 

In the end, the crawdad harvest surpassed expectations so mightily that Libby had to go and get a second bucket for them. By the time she returned, the Sheriff was no longer in the water. He and Tex had both stripped down to their shirts and trousers and were engaged in what appeared to be some sort of combat lesson. He held a stick in his right hand, and there were moss-stains on his clothes. She was empty-handed.

 

"All right," mimed Tex, "come at me again. This time, drive the knife down towards my chest, in an overhand strike."

 

Libby set the bucket down and sat to watch the show.

 

It was quite the spectacle. Mr. Neutron held nothing back as he lunged forward, and Libby almost gasped when the wooden blade went plunging down. Tex reacted in a blur. She caught his wrist, deflecting the strike down and to the side. She drove her other hand into his elbow, and he yelped in pain and dropped the stick.

 

"Rotation, and deflection," she said. "Remember, an overhand strike is often made in anger by an inexperienced opponent. It has a lot of force behind it, but you can use your attacker's momentum against them." She bent to pick up the stick. "Okay, now you give it a try. I'll walk you through it."

 

Miss Folfax popped a raspberry into her mouth as the two of them squared off. Tex performed a slow-motion version of the same attack, and the Sheriff fumbled his way through the redirect. She stopped to correct his stance, guiding the motion of his arm, and he nodded at her instructions. They ran it again, faster this time, and his form improved. Even though dusk was fast approaching, they practiced the maneuver over and over until he'd mastered it completely. Libby swatted at a mosquito.

 

"Okay," coached Tex, "let's imagine a different scenario. Say you're standing in a corner, and your back is up against the wall. If you can't duck out of the way, and you have no room to grab and twist, your options are limited." She held up her forearm. "90 degree bend at the elbow," she said. "Lift your arm like this to block the downward strike. If the blade is double-sided, it'll slice into your forearm, but a superficial cut is better than a neck or chest wound."

 

"Where did you learn all of this?" asked the Sheriff, slightly out of breath.

 

She tossed the "knife" and caught it. "Chinese washerwoman. It's a long story. Now – put your back against the tree, so I can show you what I mean."

 

He did as he was told, and Tex stepped toward him. She raised the mock dagger and slashed it down, aiming for his heart. She leveraged power, but not speed, and he moved to intercept, forearm colliding with her wrist. Then she did something he wasn't expecting: she added her other arm and bore down on him with her body's full weight. A piece of bark fell from the tree as he struggled against her.

 

"Look for an opening," she grunted. "What's exposed?"

 

"S…stomach. Solar…plexus."

 

She eased off. "Exactly. You don't need a lot of room to sucker-punch someone. Not bad, Neutron."

 

At this point the mosquitoes were becoming unbearable, and if Libby didn't intervene, these two idiots might go on tussling forever. She treated them to some polite applause, which was enough to make them turn around and finally acknowledge her.

 

"This has been a lovely demonstration," she said, "but in case you haven't noticed, it's getting dark, and I'm pretty sure the bugs are preparin' a buffet table."

 

Tex sighed. "You're right. We can pick this up again tomorrow." She reached up and flicked a chunk of lichen off his shoulder. "You're a fast learner, but repetition is what matters when you're building muscle memory."

 

The pair separated to retrieve their hats and outerwear, and Libby scratched her chin, considering the facts. If they'd intended to maintain the ruse that Tex was here for tutelage, they'd failed miserably. Whoever she was, the gunslinger was no greenhorn – that much was obvious. So why had she come here? Why was she teaching him these things?

 

The barkeep replayed the day's events, and a theory began to crystallize inside her mind. Tex had leapt in front of Mr. Neutron like she was expecting Death himself to gallop in, and now here she was, giving him self-defense lessons. There was only one explanation that made sense: someone was gunning for the Sheriff. Mr. Neutron was known to have made weapons for the Union Army; that alone might be enough to engender lethal enmity. He was also a lawman in largely lawless territory, which made him the adversary of every desperado crawling through the scrub. Perhaps Tex had caught wind of a scheme and come to warn him about it.

 

It was a sound hypothesis, but she'd have to test it out to know for sure.

 

"Miss Tex," she began, as Mr. Neutron loaded up the buckets, "might I pick your brain for a moment? I need some expert advice."

 

"Oh? Go ahead."

 

"If I thought someone had me in their sights – someone villainous – how might I protect myself? Assumin' I had time to prepare."

 

Tex was surprised. "Is this a hypothetical question?"

 

"Purely hypothetical."

 

She considered. "Well, in that case, here's what I would say. First off, arm yourself: a shotgun under the bar, and another in your bedroom. Fight if you have to, but have an exit plan ready, because running is usually the better option for a layperson. Keep some supplies in a bag and plot out multiple escape routes. Should the worst happen, flee into the desert, and stay at one of Sheen's encampments until you can find help. Oh – and if you keep cash on hand, make sure to store it somewhere safe. Somewhere nobody can find it."

 

"Could I hire a bodyguard?" she asked.

 

"You could." Tex shrugged. "Better pick the right one, though, or you'd just be treating your killer to a two-for-one special."

 

"What counts as 'right'? What qualities should I be lookin' for?"

 

"Hmm. I think…I think you could go one of two routes. Option one: find a man with a deeply-held, almost suicidal sense of duty. The kind of person who would take a bullet for his boss. Ideally, he should be a little bit in love with you, to bring down the cost of his services."

 

"And option two?" she prompted.

 

Tex looked her in the eye. "A fiend in human form. Someone who's killed before, and aims to kill again. Just make sure you pay them well, and never, ever piss them off."

 

Libby opened her mouth to ask "which one are you?", but then thought better of it.

 

"Is that all?" The blonde was getting restless.

 

Miss Folfax nodded. "That's all. Thanks."

 

She turned and went to help the Sheriff with the buckets. The barkeep smiled.

 

"Gotcha," she murmured to herself.

 

****************************************************************************************

I have been struggling with this chapter for a long, LONG time. In the end, the only way I could get it to work was to write the entire thing from Libby's perspective. Hopefully you enjoyed it – it's something different, at least.
 

HISTORICAL SHIT AND BULLSHIT SHIT

- During their ride, Libby mentions meeting Elizabeth Taylor Greenfield, AKA The Black Swan. She was the first African American opera singer and one of the most illustrious talents of her era. Born into slavery, she moved to Philadelphia after being manumitted at a young age, where she grew up in mixed-race social circles. She began performing in the early 1850s, and during the height of her popularity, she toured the United States, Canada, and parts of Europe – she even sang for Queen Victoria at Buckingham Palace. She performed pieces by many famous composers, including Mozart, and lent her talents to countless charitable causes. In her later years, she returned to Philadelphia, where she created the Black Swan Opera Troupe and became a vocal teacher.
- And now...I shall force you all to take a deep dive into one of my very favorite topics: the history of women's labor! Before the advent of automation in the 19th century, nearly all clothing was made in the home. A middle-class American housewife could expect to spend several days a month making and mending her family's clothes, even if she was lucky enough to outsource some of the work to a hired seamstress. According to Godey's Lady's Book (the most widely circulated magazine before the Civil War), it took about 14 hours to make a man's dress shirt and about 10 hours for a simple gown. The advent of the sewing machine changed all that.
- The sewing machine is something of a patchwork invention; improved in fits and starts, the very first iteration was patented in 1790 by the British inventor Thomas Saint. Barthelemy Thimonnier, Walter Hunt, and Elias Howe (or perhaps his wife, Elizabeth) all made important upgrades in the intervening decades, but it's Isaac Meritt Singer whose name became synonymous with sewing machines. The eighth child of destitute German immigrants, his first love was theater, but he never had much success as an actor. A brilliant businessman and machinist, in 1851 Singer founded a company that quickly grew to be the world's largest manufacturer of sewing machines (he also pioneered a number of business practices still used today, including payment plans and advertising campaigns). Dubbed "The Queen of Inventions" by Godey's magazine in 1860, the Singer sewing machine was initially too expensive for individual use. Many communities and organizations pooled their money to purchase a single machine for members to share. By the 1870s, however, the price had dropped dramatically, making them accessible to many women for the first time. They still remained a luxury for pioneering families; as Laura Ingalls Wilder recalled, her mother had always wanted a machine, but the family couldn't afford one until the girls were grown. Quote: As Pa lifted the blanket away, there stood a shining new sewing machine. Ma gasped. "Yes, Caroline, it is yours," Pa said proudly. "I had to sell a cow anyway."
- According to popular legend, Ellen Curtis Demorest (a prosperous hat manufacturer who was born in 1828) had a eureka moment after she saw her maid cutting out a dress from some wrapping paper, and realized that fashionable garments could be collapsed into two dimensions for use by the home sewer. Wherever she got the idea, we know she devised a mathematical formula for printing patterns in various sizes. Aided by her sister and husband, she launched Madame Demorest's Mirror of Fashions, a pattern catalog, in 1860. By 1865, Demorest was so successful that she had 30 distribution agencies across the nation with over 200 saleswomen, spawning a mail order empire. An ardent abolitionist and women's rights advocate, Ellen Demorest employed both black and white women in her enterprises. Those who objected to her politics were told to fuck off asked to shop elsewhere.
- The widespread adoption of sewing machines and paper patterns had many positive effects, but the technological shift wasn't without its drawbacks. The reduction in crafting time was a boon to homemakers: that 14-hour shirt I mentioned could now be made in 1.25 hours, which freed up time for other activities, including leisure. Outside the home, the development of sewing machines for factory use revolutionized the shoe and garment industries. Production increased and prices fell, but workers suffered loss of independence, lower wages, and sometimes harsh working conditions. The addition of electric motors to the machines only worsened these conditions (we're talking full-on sweatshops here), and the ensuing social upheaval contributed to large-scale unrest, the organization of workers into unions, and eventually to the establishment of workplace safety regulations. Hello, OSHA!
- Tex mentions learning martial arts from a Chinese washerwoman. Whole dissertations could be written on Chinese immigrants and their vital role in the construction of the first transcontinental railroad, but this section has gone on long enough, so I'll be brief. Chinese-American workers faced brutal working conditions, racism, and wage discrimination, but without their labor, the western portion of the railroad would have never been completed. Check out Stanford University's Chinese Railroad Workers Project to learn more.

 

Vocab:
* Bustle - A pad or cushion used to create the illusion of a massive badonkadonk
* Arc of the Covenant - the ornate, gold-plated wooden chest said to house the Ten Commandments
* Mardi Gras - French for "Fat Tuesday"; the annual Mardi Gras parade defined New Orleans, spreading far beyond its French Catholic roots
* Phenol - carbolic acid
* Belvidere - a young, attractive man
* Rågfrallor - hearty bread rolls made with rye
* Sundries - various items not important enough to be mentioned individually
* Hope Chest - a piece of furniture once commonly used by unmarried young women to collect items deemed essential for married life
* Calico - the fabric of choice for women's dresses in the Old West. Made from unprocessed cotton, it was inexpensive, washable, and easily dyed
* Twill - one of the three fundamental types of fabric weaves, along with plain-weave and satin

 

 

NEXT PART -> Many Hands Make Light Work

[Mara=^.^=]

P.S. At some point I'm going to have to fix the broken formatting of previous chapters, but that project will have to wait until another day. Read the fanfiction.net version until then.

 

P.P.S. I'm so excited that Tex gets to rock the Clint Eastwood poncho aesthetic, however briefly. It's a shame he turned into such a shithead in his old age because I am legitimately obsessed with him. If he were a woman, he'd be perfect.

 

 

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

*BURSTS DOWN THE METAPHORICAL DOOR* 

 

DID SOMEONE SAY NEW CHAPTER?!?!??!?!?!?! HELLO!???!! This is going to be very long so prepare yourself.

 

“Libby was already saddle-sore by the time she crested the hill overlooking the Sheriff's house. It was slow riding, guiding a wayward stallion; she'd wrapped Humphrey's lead around her pommel, but he was an ornery beast, and he stamped and snorted as she paused atop the summit. Down below, a light mist crouched in the valleys and furrows. Though the honeysuckle blossoms had not yet given way to berries, the first hints of autumn were already lurking in the rushes. Here in Texas, the seasons ran together, but today the air had a distinctly northern chill. She shivered, pulled her shawl tighter, and pressed the horses on.†This was such a vivid beginning to the chapter; it was as if I were sitting right beside her! 

 

“Tex and Mr. Neutron ambled down the front steps, trading barbs and bumping elbows. They were dressed to match in indigo shirts and light trousers; he sported a vest, she a bandolier.†OOOO they are matching Okay, more seriously, this is so them it hurts.

 

"Good mornin'!" she called out. Tex flinched at the sound, and in the time it took Libby to blink, the blonde had drawn her six-gun. She lurched forward, fast as a sidewinder, placing herself between the Sheriff and the threat. There was a murderous glint in her eyes, and in the space between breaths, Libby saw the truth: that in the face of danger, this woman could kill without hesitation or remorse.†I'm absolutely loving seeing Tex through Libby's eyes. It just makes her feel so real. 

 

“My dear Miss Tex," she said at last, "who on Earth were you expectin'?†this is a good question to be asking, Libby.

 

“The two co-conspirators – for that is clearly what they were – traded glances, and something passed between them, some silent understanding that Miss Folfax couldn't parse. She frowned. Who was this woman, really? What was she doing here? And what worried her so much that a simple greeting could elicit a response of lethal force?†I love how expertly you portray the chemistry between Neutron and Tex here.

 

“Libby pointed at Tex. "This woman is a disciple of the Reaper. Just now, she was ready to send me to that big ol' Juke Joint in the sky for the crime of sneakin' up on you. Why? What is goin' on? Are you expectin' trouble?" Girl gets TO THE POINT.

 

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and muttered something about coyotes. "James Isaac Neutron," she said, "that is probably the least convincing lie you've ever told. I'm almost insulted." HAHHAHAH call him OUT, Libby.

 

“Tex nodded in agreement. "Once a predator loses its fear of humans, it becomes a threat to public safety. Everyone knows that." Libby drummed her fingers against the saddle. "I see. I see how it is. Lying is a team sport with you two, is it? Couple of bullshit artists, collaboratin' on a painting?" Have I mentioned how much I love Libby? I love her so much. 

 

“The barkeep sighed. "Fine. Whatever." She continued grumbling to herself as she unwound Humphrey's lead. "You're just lucky I'm such a good neighbor. Not everyone would traipse all the way out here to return a wayward horse. Here." The blonde had the decency to look sheepish as she shuffled forward to accept the proffered lead. "Thank you," she murmured. "And uh…sorry, I guess." Libby softened. "I'm just glad you're alright. You gave me quite the fright, you know, when I came to check on you this mornin'. What kind of pickle-brained fool climbs out a second-story window in the dead of night? It's a marvel you didn't break every bone in your body." I really enjoyed this interaction between these two characters. The way Libby calls her out, and then softens, you just wrote that so well- it was very well balanced. Then the bomb drop of Tex climbing out the window?! LOL

 

"Stars and garters," she said. "What a matched set you are. I'm guessin' you don't remember last night's antics, do you Miss Tex?" PFFTTT

 

 â€œWell, let's see: after the party, I hauled your sorry, sozzled ass above stairs and stowed you in the guest room. Last I laid eyes on you, you were rolled up in a quilt, drunkenly professing your love to me in song. Your blandishments were first rate – you called me a 'princess from the land of the pharaohs'. I'm gonna have that one embroidered on a pillow." Okay, now I’m curious to hear the rest of this song. This image is deeply amusing and also very sweet.

 

“I'm just the humble detective who noticed scuff marks on the windowsill, and found this hangin' on the rose bushes down below." Sherlock Holmes Libby AU?

 

“Away it went, and Tex dropped the rope just in time to snatch it from the air. "My hat!" she cried, clutching it like a treasure.†This was very endearing, and it made me smile.

 

“Well, Miss Lawman, if you're lookin' for your dignity, I'm afraid I have bad news." HAHAHHAHAHAHA BURN

 

“The responsibility for this little escapade lies with me, I fear," he said, summoning an almost theatrical level of contrition. "I forgot to warn you about my deputy's gecko-like affinity for climbing. Did you know she makes a habit of sleeping on my roof? Scurries right up the apple tree, fast as lightning." Libby rounded on him like a Rottweiler. "You've been makin' a lady sleep on the roof ?" He shrunk back, cowed by her reproof. Tex leapt to his defense. "He's not 'making' me do anything. Sleeping up there was my idea. In the summertime, I prefer the open air." “Tex looked at her like she was stupid. "Obviously. Why else would I be wearing his clothes?" A fraught silence descended, as three minds came to a simultaneous conclusion. "Her gear was covered in mud!" blurted the Sheriff, losing his composure entirely. "She had to wear something after her bath. What was she supposed to do? Walk around naked?" "Mr. Neutron…you're diggin' the hole rather deeper, don't you think?" "Miss Folfax!" I mean, Libby is not wrong here, dude. 

 

“She held up a hand. "I'm sure there's an innocent explanation, Sheriff, but surely you must realize how this looks. If Miss Tex goes waltzin' around Retro Valley dressed in your clothes, people will talk." Yeah…. They most certainly will.

 

"Yes, heaven forbid," snorted Tex, opening her saddlebag. "We wouldn't want anyone to think he's known the touch of a woman." He reddened, scandalized.†HAHHAHAAH, oh Jimmy.

 

"No need. For weeks now Elke has been crowin' like a rooster, singin' the praises of her new sewin' machine. You'd think the darn thing was the Arc of the Covenant, the way she talks about it. I'm sure she'll be eager to give us a demonstration." I love Libby so much. I know I said it already, but she just… has this … aura that you capture so perfectly.

 

"Señor Estevez and I were supposed to have breakfast together today, but he never showed up. It ain't like him to miss out on free food and an opportunity to flirt. Could you swing by some of his usual haunts and see if you can sight him?" HMMMM….. I’m LOOKING.

 

“As the women rode, they passed a flock of grackles drinking from a roadside puddle, dressed to impress in glossy iridescents. A pair of Painted Lady butterflies turned corkscrews nearby, while lazy bees attended to a crop of freshly-opened daisies. Although the sky remained overcast, the sun was beginning to reassert its authority; Libby could feel its warmth on her skin, questing and uncertain, like a flame testing out a bit of kindling.†Yet another gorgeous bit of description, Mara. Also, I know what a grackle is!!! YAY!

 

Miss Folfax stole a glance her way. The blonde sat atop her mount, straight-backed and alert, surveying the landscape with the tense focus of a scout searching for an ambush. Libby let her gaze linger, admiring the curve of the gunslinger's jaw. In profile, she was almost handsome. Had Tex wanted to pass for a man, she could have, though not indefinitely; the ruse might fool a man of intellect, but a perceptive woman would see through it. It wasn't Tex's appearance that gave her away – it was her constant companion: wariness. It rode beside her like a phantom, leaving hoofprints in the dirt. Oh, MARA. SHUT UP. This is so heartbreaking and so GORGEOUSLY WRITTEN. I am FEELING THINGS.

 

“Tex shot her a sideways glance, then smirked ever so slightly. "Coyotes," she said gravely. "One can never be too careful." "Very funny." “Tex returned her attention to the road. "It's nothing. Old habits die hard, is all: the world is full of predators, and not just the four-legged kind." "You don't have to tell me that." "No. I suppose I don't." This moment is so simple and it says so much.

 

“Tex kept her eyes on the ground, squinting this way and that, scouring the terrain with an urgency that exceeded mere vigilance. In Libby's estimation, 'force of habit' was an insufficient explanation.†Yes, it is an insufficient explanation.

 

“Libby felt a jolt of sympathy. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but if you truly lost a piece of paper on the road, it's probably long gone. The runoff here is like a deluge…flash floods sweep everythin' into the river after a rain." She is so sweet and considerate, it’s perfect.

 

"You must miss him," she said gently. "I'm sure he'd be proud to know that you're continuin' his work. It can't be easy, doin' what you do, but for what it's worth, I wish there were more women like you." Tex gave her a weak, wan smile.†An interesting interaction that again, though it doesn’t take up much time, it evokes a lot of THOUGHTS that I can’t properly communicate.

 

“Though the gunslinger hid it well, Libby could sense her disquiet.†I love how empathetic she is. 

 

“Libby gushed about her childhood encounter with Elizabeth Taylor Greenfield – the Black Swan herself. while Tex joked about the time she won a rooster in a seed-spitting contest.†Okay, I went and read the footnotes and that’s really interesting. I’d never heard of her! Also, a rooster??!

 

Is it true that llamas don’t have stinky poo? The IMPORTANT questions.

 

“The Wheezers' red-headed grange hands greeted them as they passed. Oleander was the sort of man who lived his life in a state of perpetual befuddlement, and that reality was on full display as he leaned against his hayfork, bits of straw protruding from his hair.†This character description though. LOL. 

 

"Seems the private affairs of the townsfolk aren't so very private after all," was Tex's wry reply. "Private?" chuckled Libby. "A sordid liaison is private. A marriage is everyone's business!†Gossip monger!!

 

"May I, milady?" she asked. Miss Folfax giggled as she accepted. "My dear Miss Tex, you are as gallant as a belvidere. Twice as handsome, too." "If you're trying to flirt with me," she grinned, "it's working." This was very sweet, I really really like their chemistry! And I like it more with every single chapter.

 

"You want a new dress?" asked Elke, lighting up.†Aww, she’s so excited.

 

"Not a dress," corrected the barkeep. "Trousers and a shirt, sized to fit a woman – soft enough to be comfortable, but sturdy enough to withstand the elements. You still keep extra fabric in your hope chest, don't you? Think you can make somethin' like that?" Tex knows what she wants.

 

"Wait until you see her!" called Elke over her shoulder. "My new sewing machine, she is the most beautiful thing in the world. I must warn you that you will fall in love instantly, so please make yourselves prepared." Libby wasn’t wrong about how much Elke goes on about this machine.

 

“Elke led them into a small study papered with cheerful yellow flowers. To the right, an elegant divider obscured a jumble of furniture propped against the wall. To the left, daylight slanted through a bay window, illuminating motes of floating dust. A row of candle-stubs slumped along the windowsill, dribbling wax onto the cedar chest below. A floor-length mirror occupied the adjacent corner, but its best days were behind it, and the passage of years had left the glass warped and pockmarked. This odd amalgamation of features gave the place the feeling of a holy storage closet, and there, atop an oak desk in the center of the room, sat the object of worship: a sleek, curve-necked machine, manicured in gold and glossy black.†Again, you have a remarkable gift for description, and this room is no exception. It’s like I’m standing right there. 

 

The bit where Libby and Elke are talking about the colors and fabrics of her new clothes was perfect. I could almost picture the expression on Tex's face.

 

“She extended both arms as Elke approached her with a measuring tape. Elke started at her side, then moved around back, calling out numbers as she went, and Libby scribbled attentively. For whatever reason, Tex could not hide her discomfort with the procedure, and pink crept into her cheeks as Elke wound the tape around her bust. Eyes on the ceiling, the gunslinger clenched and unclenched her fingers, fighting to keep an air of nonchalance. "You don't like to be touched?" asked Elke, without looking up. "That's not it." There was something uncertain, even vulnerable, in Tex's tone of voice. "I'm fine with it in principle, I just…I'm just not used to it." Melancholy welled within the barkeep's chest. Tex's unexpected, blushing reticence wasn't charming or comedic, but it was enlightening. It stood in stark contrast to the guard-dog ferocity from earlier, yet the two were not at odds – in some strange way, they explained each other. Libby wondered what it would take to soothe this woman's pain.†Oh. OH. MY HEART. 

 

“She lifted the edge of the sheet, revealing a tiny wooden cradle underneath. When Elke saw the cradle, her expression clouded over. With a flutter of her hands, she rushed forward to cover it again. A nonsensical mishmash of English and Swedish poured from her mouth, and Tex looked at Libby in alarm. Meeting her gaze, Libby shook her head once, then laid a steady hand on Mrs. Wheezer's shoulder. "Come on, Elke," she said. "Miss Tex is still in need of socks. Why don't we pay a visit to your knittin' drawer?" After a pause, Elke nodded once, and Libby put an arm around her and led her from the room.†sad. But once again, Libby just senses the distress and helps. 

 

“Elke approached a tall bureau with a songbird etched into the center.†SONGBIRD. But WHAT KIND OF SONGBIRD, MARA?!

 

I love the image of Carl and Elke knitting. That is so fricking cute.

 

“Libby saw what Tex was getting at, and she composed her reply carefully – it was, after all, a delicate matter. "There have been many…small losses," she said decorously. "It's been very difficult on Elke." Yeahhhh.. That’s so sad.

 

"I hope things take a turn for her. She deserves happiness." A momentary gloom descended on the barkeep. "Yes, well. The world would be a very different place if people got what they deserved.†OOO THIS GOES HARD.

 

“Miss Folfax settled on a patch of moss and began to braid the stems into a crown. Tex joined her, berry-stained and smiling, and the two of them sat in silence, enjoying the burble of the brook and the river's distant roar. Tex reclined with a sigh. "I could get used to this," she murmured, and pulled her hat down over her eyes.†This was a very nice picture. 

 

“It was quite the spectacle. Mr. Neutron held nothing back as he lunged forward, and Libby almost gasped when the wooden blade went plunging down. Tex reacted in a blur. She caught his wrist, deflecting the strike down and to the side. She drove her other hand into his elbow, and he yelped in pain and dropped the stick. "Rotation, and deflection," she said. "Remember, an overhand strike is often made in anger by an inexperienced opponent. It has a lot of force behind it, but you can use your attacker's momentum against them." She bent to pick up the stick. "Okay, now you give it a try. I'll walk you through it." I am already loving this. THE CHEMISTRY, MARA!

 

"Okay," coached Tex, "let's imagine a different scenario. Say you're standing in a corner, and your back is up against the wall. If you can't duck out of the way, and you have no room to grab and twist, your options are limited." She held up her forearm. "90 degree bend at the elbow," she said. "Lift your arm like this to block the downward strike. If the blade is double-sided, it'll slice into your forearm, but a superficial cut is better than a neck or chest wound." "Where did you learn all of this?" asked the Sheriff, slightly out of breath. She tossed the "knife" and caught it. "Chinese washerwoman. It's a long story. Now – put your back against the tree, so I can show you what I mean." He did as he was told, and Tex stepped toward him. She raised the mock dagger and slashed it down, aiming for his heart. She leveraged power, but not speed, and he moved to intercept, forearm colliding with her wrist. Then she did something he wasn't expecting: she added her other arm and bore down on him with all her body weight. A piece of bark fell from the tree as he struggled against her. "Look for an opening," she grunted. "What's exposed?" "S…stomach. Solar…plexus." She eased off. "Exactly. You don't need a lot of room to sucker-punch someone. Not bad, Neutron." There is so much good stuff here I can’t pick a favorite. I am always a sucker for “i teach and you learn†scenes. But also, the chemistry just oozes off the page (why is ooze such a weird word?) and it’s so interesting to see that in another light. Also, ya know what they say, fighting is just foreplay.

 

Libby the detective strikes again! 

 

“Tex looked her in the eye. "A fiend in human form. Someone who's killed before, and aims to kill again. Just make sure you pay them well, and never, ever piss them off." Libby opened her mouth to ask "which one are you?", but then thought better of it.†OOOOOOOO 

 

 "Gotcha," she murmured to herself.†Gotcha INDEED. 

 

This chapter was so good. I ate up every single second of it. I adored how you wrote Libby’s voice; it was so strong. Straightforward, but sympathetic. Very Libby. I really loved the scene with Elke too. Being fitted is a very very intimate thing, and I thought that was a really interesting way to make Tex seem a little bit more flesh and bone.

 

Also, old Singer sewing machines are actually gorgeous. There’s an old one in a shop I go to sometimes, and I almost always stop and gape it at like a fool.

[Mara=^.^=]

Writing this fic solely for my girl Katie
 

Then the bomb drop of Tex climbing out the window?! LOL

 
I have no idea why she keeps doing this, but she does. 
 

HAHAHHAHAHAHA BURN

 
Libby's roast game is next level and I challenge anyone who says otherwise
 

Also, I know what a grackle is!!! YAY!

 
✸ GRACKLE SEAL OF APPROVAL âœ¸

 

Okay, I went and read the footnotes and that’s really interesting. I’d never heard of her!

 

See, this drives me nuts. I *also* had never heard of Elizabeth Taylor Greenfield before I started research for this fanfic, and it doesn't make any sense â€“ like, she was SO popular in her day, and she bumped elbows with so many famous people. She opened for Frederick Douglass, the famed orator and statesman, and she was close friends with Harriet Beecher Stowe, the author of Uncle Tom's Cabin. Her patroness, the Duchess of Sutherland, was an extremely close confidante of Queen Victoria. Why isn't she in every high school history textbook?? Her ascendancy was a flashpoint in the debate surrounding abolition, and she paved the way for so many other black women to enter show business.
 

Is it true that llamas don’t have stinky poo? The IMPORTANT questions.

 
I googled this. It's in my search history forever now. (Answer: compared to cows, they're pooping roses).
 

This was very sweet, I really really like their chemistry! And I like it more with every single chapter.

 
All my female characters are a little bit in love with each other, because I'm a little bit in love with all women

 

Yeahhhh.. That’s so sad.

 

Bet you never thought you'd be reading about miscarriage in a Jimmy Neutron fanfic. Truly, I provide an invaluable service to the fandom
 

SONGBIRD. But WHAT KIND OF SONGBIRD, MARA?!

 
Perhaps...some sort of...wr.....wr..........
 

But also, the chemistry just oozes off the page (why is ooze such a weird word?) and it’s so interesting to see that in another light. Also, ya know what they say, fighting is just foreplay.

 
The chemistry is SO obvious when viewed from the outside, by a neutral observer. They have no idea. None. The poor fools. I am going to make them kiss
 

Libby the detective strikes again!

 
Homegirl missed her calling as a Pinkerton. Now I want to do a lesbian Film Noir parody with Libby as the detective. I could make it sexy

 

 

Anyway, thanks for the review. The middle part of this chapter was a beast to edit. I've never written Elke before, and sewing/measuring descriptions can get really tedious if you don't pace them out correctly. My goal for the installment was twofold: 1) to give Tex more reasons to care about the townsfolk, and 2) to explore how truths can be used to tell lies, and vice versa. Tex lies her face off all through this chapter, and you can see Libby falling for some of it. But the fact of the matter is, the truth about a person leaks out in a thousand tiny ways, and through these glimpses, Libby is able to see Tex and Mr. Neutron for what they really are, even if they don't realize it yet.

 

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

Writing this fic solely for my girl Katie

 

LOL Well, shucks. I mean.. if this fic has no fans, I'm dead.

 

Your search history must be somethin'. Awesome trailblazing Black women from history ... and llama poo. 

 

Also, miscarriage is still common and it makes sense for it to be included in a realistic portrayal of this time period. You handled it very well. 

 

Tex and Mr. Neutron being unaware of their obvious chemistry is honestly part of the fun! It makes it very tasty.

 

 

Homegirl missed her calling as a Pinkerton. Now I want to do a lesbian Film Noir parody with Libby as the detective. I could make it sexy

 

SIGN ME UP

 

(I did very much appreciate the little songbird, outside of the joking tone I used in the review. It was a very sweet detail.) 

 

You achieved both of your set goals for this chapter BEAUTIFULLY. 

[Mara=^.^=]

(I did very much appreciate the little songbird, outside of the joking tone I used in the review. It was a very sweet detail.)

 

I like to give characters evocative nature motifs. You can see it if you're looking for it. I use words like "singsong", "chime", and "chipper" when describe Elke's mannerisms because her motif is a little songbird (even the name of her sewing machine, SINGER, points to this). Libby's motif is roses â€“ she smells like them, she sings about them, she grows them around her property. Tex's animal motif is a snake, specifically a venomous species like a sidewinder, because of their shared reputation for speed and deadliness. No clue what I had in mind for the Sheriff, haha, guess I forgot about him

 

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

That is a very nice detail! I admit that I had not noticed. I just sometimes don't pick up on things like that until someone says it to my face. But those elements certainly make it feel very alive. 

 

And I'll stop gabbing so your fic is easier to read for others who want. But, again. THIS update was wonderful and thank you for working so hard on it! It was amazing!

[Mara=^.^=]

Very much back on my bullshit

 

 

 

 

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[Katia11]

And I am so very glad. Like. Damn!!!