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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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."

She chuckles dryly.

"A sturdy pair'a boots'll cost 'bout ten dollars, unless y'go real fancy. Don't let 'im talk y'into more'n twenty-five. He's got more'n enough t'get you started. So why don't y'have a look around, see if y'can't get somethin' turquoise-studded."

She winks, shoving off the door with her hip.

Yeah, she likes Rachel all right.

And, paint her pink, but she thinks Rachel likes her right back.

Oh, she certainly does. And she'd like her even more if she had an ounce of taste.

Rachel's nose wrinkles as she heads into the shop, muttering, "Turquoise-studded, seriously?"

It's not exactly Payless. And while these would certainly qualify as 'custom shoes,' the leather the cobbler fits her with is less than comfortable.

Still, Rachel knows the look of a salesman who thinks he's giving her a good deal. The cobbler beams at her as she paces the room thoughtfully, eyes down on her 'shoes.'

They aren't turquoise-studded but they're not half bad either.

By the time Kate returns, Rachel's leaning outside the front door, beaming proudly, morphing outfit accompanied by new, handmade leather boots.

"Took you long enough."

Hey, turquoise is a precious commodity in Kate's day and age. Sometimes taste bows to expense, and nothing draws attention like studded boots.

Kate's trailing a tailor as she crosses the street, hollering and laughing her approval.

"Hoowee! Ain't those somethin'!"

Barefoot in Texas no longer!

The tailor blinks at Rachel's morphing outfit, stumbling a step before moving in to get her measurements.

"How much they run you?"

Rachel ignores the tailor, smirks happily, and hands Kate her change. From the looks of it, she paid a few less than ten dollars.

"They're not too bad, actually."

Kate's eyebrows go up.

Well, now. She wouldn't have pegged Rachel as a bargain hunter, but that's damn impressive.

"They look mighty fine. An' they'll look better as y'wear 'em. The leather'll get soft an' broken in."

She smirks.

"There's more good news. This fella here's gonna make me a new skirt. I know y'was frettin' on that."

The tailor is pole thin and tall, with long fingers and a crooked nose. It makes his accent, already a thick Celtic hum, slightly unintelligible.

"Ah, miss? Was that a skirt you'd be wantin'?"

A joke could be made here about the obvious need for a skirt for Rachel.

Instead, she chooses to smile and nod, the smile of a competent young woman utterly comfortable in her underthings. "Yes, thank you. I was definitely fretting."

The tailor shrugs off his jacket, and holds it out to her.

"If you'll come across the way, miss, where it's a bit more private..."

Kate beams at Rachel.

"He's got some lovely fabrics."

Nothing to see here, boys. Just move right along.

All these men running around, trying to dress her. Rachel beams right back at Kate and walks across the street with her.

Privacy is valued and usually only appreciated when she's not still running on an adrenaline high.

"Remind me to take you shopping in a real mall sometime. You'll love it."

She cuts a sideways look at her.

"What's that mean? A 'real mall'?"

"Oh, Kate," Rachel sighs, shaking her head in pure pity. "The important things Milliways has failed to teach you. This is sad."

Her lips tic.

"As sad as a girl, buck-skinned in the heart'a Texas?"

She half-bows when they reach the tailor's, ushering Rachel in ahead of her.

Rachel frowns at her over her shoulder, the both of them still ignoring the tailor. She's never actually heard the term 'buck-skinned' before but it's not that hard to guess.

It's not a friendly sort of frown.

"I didn't hear you complaining in the last town."

"I'm not complainin'. I'm teasin'."

She's starting to understand what a dangerous affair that is with Rachel. She's got such a passionate make-up, it might be best to check her shoulder bumps and ribbing at the door.

"You'll get your chance with me, I'm sure. As I hear it told, I ain't exactly at the height of fashion by future reckonin'."

Rachel rolls her eyes, presses her lips together to hide any more frowning she might do. Teasing, fine, whatever, she can take it, she's fine.

"Well, I keep hearing about how my outfit doesn't work for Texas," Rachel allows - grudgingly. Then she manages a smile, just a quirk of her lips as she steps into the store and reaches out to touch a piece of red wool. "I can't wait to see you in a Famous Footwear."

She stops herself midway through asking which famous footwear.

"All right, all right. We can talk 'bout how t'dress me up later. For now, you're in the stage lights, sweetheart."

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