ikissdhimbck | OOM: Mineral City, 1888 -- That's why I hang my hat... -- for Rachel

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OOM: Mineral City, 1888 -- That's why I hang my hat... -- for Rachel

Kate doesn't try to draw attention to herself, but it's kind of hard to sneak through the bar leading a 15-hand pony. Beaut's not fond of hardwood, truth be told, but convenient doors to Texas aren't always to be found from the forest outside.

"Come along, sugar. Not far now an' there'll be dirt under your hooves again."

Beaut issues a dubious snort, sidestepping when a waitrat ventures a little too close. Kate swings around to steady her, arm brushing a piece of yellowed paper she's got tucked into her britches. She knocks it loose, and it flutters to the floor behind her.

"He ain't botherin' you. C'mon."

She moves a little faster. The quicker she gets Beaut outside, the better. Opening her door, she grins as Beaut's ears twitch forward in recognition, and lets her mosey out first.

"No, no. By all means, let me hold the door for you."

The two disappear.

But the yellowed map remains.

As does the door.

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Kate went down.

Kate went down.

Kate went down.

Yup.

That means shit can follow.

Rachel goes down under the sudden huddle of men, grown men, rushing at her, grabbing hands and thrown elbows. She goes down, crouches even as a fist grabs her hair and a boot catches her thigh, grits her teeth at the knee in her ribs, and feels the barstool she's holding squeak in protest when she tightens her grip.

She barely feels the change, not anymore, not these days, not this shape.

But those men sure do notice when the girl they're beating on suddenly sprouts brown fur and claws that rip straight through that bar stool.

She slips her grip to the barrels as soon as she realizes she's not staying upright, knuckles white against steel. She can fall on her rear, even on her head, but she can not lose her guns.

The wind's knocked out of her. For a second or two she sees stars. Someone reaches under her armpits, but before he can haul her up she swings the butt of her gun around and catches him in the jaw.

She can hear the commotion by the bar, and staggers to her feet. Rachel needs help —

Oh. Or maybe she's doing just fine.

"What in hellblazes is that thing?"

She calmly holsters her Colt, and throws her body into a right hook that catches Thomas Black square in the chin.

She stands over his crumpled body.

"That thing is a lady, sir, an' my friend. You best mind your manners."

Rachel doesn't have to do much after that, really. The shape alone, once they realize what she is, is enough to get everyone to back up.

It helps that she decides to inform the bar of what she is but throwing herself up, rearing up onto her back legs, seven feet tall and little furry ears brushing the ceiling. If a few cowboys get thrown on her way up there, no bother.

And just in case anyone missed the memo, she follows it with a roar.

Yep.

That looks familiar.

A startled cowpoke at a nearby table, just as white as spit in a cotton field, draws his gun on the bear. Kate grabs the upturned chair at her feet, and throws it at him.

"No you don't!"

The man hits the floor, and Kate kicks his gun away. Others are pressing in, fists flying and knees knocking. Dumb, angry, and scared is a bad combination.

"Rachel! Y'might wanna think 'bout wrappin' it up!"

She could mean a number of things by that, but given the face she just sent into a wall she likely won't complain if Rachel takes a minute to scare the bejeezus out of the boys quivering at her ankles.

Oh, cool. Permission!

Rachel looks around, blinking with her near-sighted bear eyes, and reaches out to grab the first man to come close to her.

That it's Finger-In-My-Face himself, she really doesn't feel too bad about what comes next.

<Hey, Clint Eastwood. You like bowling?>

Whatever his answer is, he probably wasn't thinking she'd turn him into the ball. But his friends still go down like great pins.

<Strike!>

"WaaAAaAUUUaUUUUUGGH!"

Menfolk are raining everywhere.

In about a hundred years, this would make a great song.

"Sweet Jesus! Mr. Bear, please! I–I've got a family!"

That the man now speaking is the same fella who put his hands on Rachel makes the proclamation all the more unsavory.

It also makes him a damn good target.

Rachel lunges, claws catching in the front of his shirt, dragging him forward. Men scatter and leap out of the way, the bartender abandons his gun in favor of hiding under the whiskey bottles. The man with the family is pulled right up off his feet, into the air until he's face to face with Mr. Bear.

<A man with a family,> Rachel growls - out loud and in his mind both, <who hits on teenagers in a bar. Seems like I'd be doing them a favor, taking you out like trash.>

"H–h–how are you — ?"

He covers his ears, as if trying to keep the Devil from sliding in.

"Witchcraft! Demon!"

Someone catches Kate by the elbow, twisting her arm behind her. Gritting her teeth, she growls —

"You fellas jus' don't know how t'talk to a lady!"

— and flips the peckerwood the way X showed her how.

Witchcraft. Demon. Not too far off the mark, really.

A bear's shoulders aren't really made to shrug. Rachel bares her teeth instead. <Close enough.>

Kate's making some noise over on her end. Maybe she doesn't really need the help but Rachel imagines she won't mind if Creepy & Unsavory knocks over a few of her attackers.

<Am I allowed to knock this place down or is it to me to run?"

She hauls herself to her feet, a little unsteady, turning quick to throw a punch —

Only there's nobody there anymore.

She notices the huddle of men groaning on the floor.

"Thanks," she breathes, nodding at Rachel. "I'll give y'thirty seconds. If y'wanna take out a beam or two, be my guest."

She smiles, quick and sharp, and starts moving among the bodies with — is that a spring in her step?

Could be.

<...really?>

The bear sounds surprised - and more than a little pleased about it.

<Cool. Out in a sec.>

First she has to flush the bartender out. Silly man had tried to pick up a rifle earlier and come on, that's just insulting.

Mineral City isn't hurting for tourism. Kate's sure they'll fix it up in no time.

Bears are wild animals, after all. There's no controlling what they do.

When Rachel looms into view, the tender hollers and quavers, waving his hands in front of him.

"D–don't come any closer!"

He glances at that rifle, and foolishly makes a dive for it.

<Oh wow, you are just precious.>

Rachel informs him of this as her paw swipes down to cleave the barrel of the rifle in two.

<Seriously. Adorable. You really thought that was going to stop me? I'm a bear.>

He yelps, dropping the weapon. A puff of sawdust rises three inches off the floor.

"P–please! I mean you no harm! I'm just tryin' to run a business!"

<Word of advice? Run a business with a few more manners next time.>

The bear leans over the bar, bares her teeth and growls low.

<In case I'm being unclear, what I'm trying to say is: Get out while you still have time.>

The keep needs no formal invitation. There's only a second of terrified quaking before he realizes he's been given a real chance and scrabbles to his feet, flying for the door just as fast as his legs will bear him.

Kate's just finishing her sweep.

"Hurry up, Rachel!"

No doubt some of the escapees are hunting for reinforcements, and Kate would rather skedaddle before they all get back. She nods — go for it — and hurries for the door.

Grinning all the way.

<You don't rush perfection!>

Rachel doesn't bring the saloon down. Not much point, really, and it was more fun punishing the patrons personally.

But she does saunter happily down the street wearing black Lycra and a smile.

"Shredded your skirt," she informs Kate cheerfully, reaching for the pommel of Beaut's saddle. "Sorry."

Kate's eyes sweep up and down the broad way.

She doesn't offer Rachel a hand up. She figures she'd only bat it away anyway.

"I'll buy a new one."

Once she's up in the saddle, Kate turns Beaut westerly. People are shouting, dodging in and out of buildings. Storekeepers and busybodies poke their heads out, looking for the bear, or the witch, and seeing instead a scandalously clad girl.

"You ready?"

She doesn't really wait for an answer. With a hyah! she puts spurs to Beaut's sides, and the horse takes off out of town, leaving a flurry of excitement in their wake.

Some people might think - definitely think - the things that relax Rachel are a little worrying.

Rachel figures Kate would complain more if she hadn't enjoyed that fight almost as much.

The teenager with her arms around Kate's waist is pleased to gallop through the desert, grin wide and hair wild and happy.

Let me come with you, she said.

It will be fun, she said.

In three week's time, every county in Texas will be on the lookout for an Indian spirit, who, judging by the newsprint likeness, has the top half of a bear and the shapely lower half of a woman.

Kate will be sure to bring Rachel a copy.

They ride hard for over a mile, but by the time the sun is sinking beneath the horizon Kate is walking Beaut into Pawnee. It's just a spit of a town, barely worth the ink it takes to pen it on the map. However, it does have a tailor, and a cobbler, and a handful of other businesses.

"Let's try an' find you a door. But first — "

And the accidentally brilliant part of it? Not a man, woman, or child in the entire state of Texas will believe that an Indian-bear-teenager blew through town attacking tough men in a saloon.

Rachel doesn't want to find a door back to Milliways.

But this day has already been one of the most exciting she's had in years.

Rachel is smiling softly, relaxed and not thinking about her blank wall, the one that holds a door for everyone else, one hand on the pommel of Beaut's saddle while Kate walks them into town.

She'd do it herself but Kate's skirt isn't the only thing her morph ripped and those shoes are in shreds now.

"More saloons?"

She might sound hopeful. Maybe.

Kate gives her a look.

"Why don't y'do me a favor? Next time some dingus harries you, let me have the pleasure of shootin' 'im."

But there's a smile hanging off her lips.

She leads them straight up to the shoemaker's, tying Beaut's reins off to a hitching pole. The sign in the window says CLOSED, but that don't stop Kate from strolling right up to the door and knocking.

A nervous gent, grey-headed and bespectacled, opens up and peers at the pair of them.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, we closed up done near a half-hour ago."

"We're jus' passin' through, sir."

Kate's voice is sweet. She pulls a gold pocket watch and a wad of cash from her vest pocket. While Rachel was handling the bartender back in Mineral City, Kate was doing a little cleaning up.

"An' my friend has lost her boots. I don't s'pose y'could make an exception?"

The gentleman looks from the cash, to Rachel, to Kate again. The nervous tic that follows could be interpreted as a smile.

"Well, since y'put it that way... c'mon in."

Rachel frowns first. All that effort she went to, damage done in the saloon, Kate practically rescued and the woman's acting like morphing was a bad idea.

"Your gratitude is overwhelming."

And then?

Shoe shopping.

Shoes have never been Rachel's favorite item to shop for but she is still a woman. And if she refuses to admit to an advantage in being half-dressed, she has absolutely no problem in smiling sweetly at the shop owner, hands folded in front of her.

"Really appreciate it, sir, thanks."

He clears his throat and mumbles, the tips of his ears the color of ripe strawberries. Needless to say, he doesn't do a lot of looking below the neck as far as Rachel's concerned.

"No expense is t'be spared," Kate smiles, as if nothing is out of the ordinary. "Show us the finest boots you've got."

"Y–yes, of course. Right this way, ladies."

The man disappears inside his shop, and Kate holds the door open for Rachel. The look on her face is downright puckish.

She hands Rachel another handful of bills, and drops her voice conspiratorially.

"Y'want gratitude? How 'bout I duck into the tailor's while you're gettin' started in here, an' make sure they keep their doors open a li'l later tonight?"

Rachel blinks and then smirks at her, pleased. "See?" she says, smug as she tucks the bills into the band of her shorts. "I knew you liked me. So tell me how much is reasonable for these 'best shoes' I'm going to buy."

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