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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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."

"Oh no, awful," Rachel replies, beaming again. Her fingers run over a few bolts of rough cloth but creativity has never been Rachel's strong point. She has to actually look at the tailor now, eyebrows lifted.

"Do you have a catalogue or something?"

"Well, I — " he chuckles, scratching his jaw. "We're no Bloomingdale's, miss, but I'll see what I have. You do realize anythin' custom made will take time?"

He fetches a pamphlet of hand-drawn patterns while Kate sets a fine silver snuffbox on a table. She leans back, smiling serenely.

"That's quite all right, sir. We've got the time."

"Oh, no," Rachel says, almost over Kate's words. Though once those sink in, she blinks at Kate in surprise. "Wait, we do?"

Rachel's never had custom made clothes in her life. And 1800s Texas wasn't the place she thought she'd get some.

"We've got as much time as it takes you t'get what y'want."

The tailor looks between them indecisively, before she waves him forward with his drawings. Her eyes are dancing.

"If y'don't see somethin' y'want, then have it made. It'll be all right t'spend a night or two in a real bed an' a room with doors."

Rachel doesn't move for a long moment, staring at Kate. Her lips curve into a slow smile.

"if you're trying to butter me up for something," she says, reaching for the pattern book the tailor holds out to her, "it's definitely working."

She snickers, and tips her hat.

"Maybe this is jus' my way of sayin' 'thanks' for helpin' end a conversation back at the saloon that was startin' t'get borin'."

She did get what she needed, at least.

A new direction.

"Excitement's my middle name," Rachel agrees, turning away.

But her smirk is very pleased as she starts flipping through patterns.

And speaking of pleased, the tailor is downright ecstatic to discover just how interested Rachel is in what she sees. He does his best to talk her into more than one new outfit, but either way he knows he's walking away from this with a sizable profit. Unbeknownst to Kate or Rachel, some of that profit is going to do a good deal helping his family to the south, where they're suffering drought.

It's probably a good deal less exciting once Rachel's made her choices, smiles sweetly, and gets to the details.

"I noticed you're down to the last couple of yards on that fabric. Say that I ask you to make the blouse out of that one instead of the blue, free up a little space on your shelves for newer patterns? What happens to the price on that shirt?"

"This skirt is beautiful, it really is, but all that extra fabric at the back, that train? That's not going to be much use to me and I hate to get it dirty. Why don't we take off a few feet there - no, I don't need it bustled - that should drop the price down some, shouldn't it?"

"Knock it down five more dollars, sir, and I'd be happy to buy that hat, too."

Rachel would deny to her grave that she's ever flirted with a man, and she'd believe it whole-heartedly. But that doesn't mean she can't be 'nice' to get what she wants.

By the time the sun's going down, Rachel has her bill of sale, her new boots, a schedule to pick up her garments, and a lovely grey hat to shade from the sun.

It's a little incongruous with her morphing suit, but that'll change in a few days when she picks up the skirt and blouse.

For now, Rachel tips the brim of the hat to duck the sun's glare and grins happily to herself.

She? Is downright impressive.

Kate's been watching the whole affair, giving Rachel the reins to decide on what she wants and how to go about getting it. The fears she started out with are suddenly gone. Rachel's shown that even half-naked and a century gone from her time she's still competent and able to take care of herself.

She had the tailor and two seamstresses on their toes, and she might deny flirting later on, but Kate caught those extra 'nice' words she said. She's all set inside of an hour; Kate even had the liberty to duck out and arrange accommodations for the night.

She's snickering as they walk to their lodgings, nothing but leather boots and a fine hat with dusk as the rest of Rachel's covering.

"You managed some pretty slick talkin' back there, y'know. I was a firsthand witness t'the way the sweat at the small of his back started as a half dollar and ended the size of a dinner plate through his shirt."

Rachel is practically giddy. She just shopped. She went shopping. So hunted and cajoled and found deals hidden under rocks and it was hers again, this single shining thing.

She's not even all that interested in the clothes and has to remind herself, several times, not to just toss that bit of paper away.

Finally, she grins and tucks it into the strap of her morphing suit, blue eyes dancing when she glances at Kate. "I've never bargained like that before. Usually I just have to find the sale. That was fun, that was like making my own."

She chuckles.

"Glad y'had a good time."

And she is. She really is. She's never really had anyone out to her Texas before, despite all her promises. There's always that worry that they won't be safe with her.

Kissin' Kate Barlow.

You were supposed to be better.

But this — this was fun. Kate's not sure what to do with that. Maybe she's not as alone as she thinks.

Once they're tucked away in a room for the night, she turns to Rachel.

"Listen, I owe you an apology. For harpin' on you earlier. I jus' wanna see you get home safe, but I could've been a li'l less — overbearin' about it. Y'handled yourself real good today."

It's a far cry from the hotels she used to stay in. Still, the fact remains that Texas, even a little motel with scratchy sheets in Texas, isn't Milliways.

Rachel's smiling, faint but relaxed, feeling warm and comfortable and not thinking too long on the last time she felt this way. All ready to sleep herself, she blinks over at Kate when she starts to speak.

And it's good, so far as apologies go. It's a nice one, well thought out and with respect to her feelings. Kate looking out for her, worrying about her, wanting her to be--

to be home
to be safe

Kate's not that much older than her, but there's a motherly air to that concern that highlights how she must see the younger girl.

Rachel smiles. Not the girl at the shops or the fierce grin at the saloon. It's a small, bitter thing, looking at Kate as if she's something novel, something interesting.

"They can't do anything to me," Rachel tells her, her voice calm and quiet with unwavering confidence.

The sheets feel scratchier now than they did a moment ago.

"If that's what's been bugging you all day, forget it."

She shakes her head, her own grin lopsided.

"No. It's jus' that they might send people after me. Maybe not the folks in Mineral City, but — there are people out lookin' for me. I need t'get to Oakville. That's where Thomas Black said I might have luck findin' what I'm lookin' for, an' I'll blend in there. I ain't gonna rush you out now that I know y'can handle yourself, I jus' want you t'know — "

She breathes in, and holds it.

Exhaling through her nostrils, she half shrugs.

"You're welcome back anytime. Jus' keep your eyes open the next few days, till we find a door. If anyone comes 'round tryin' t'drag you into my troubles, y'show 'em jus' how stupid that is."

Rachel blinks, a little surprised by this answer and the good humor it's given in. She sits up a little, head tilted.

"If what I did is going to get you in trouble... I don't actually have to rush out of here. And I don't mean following you around either, I can make a distraction somewhere else to throw them off."

She blinks in surprise.

And then she grins, a little less crookedly than before.

"Thank you, but it ain't what you did. Anybody from that saloon who comes after a nine-foot-tall bear's got more guts than I'd give any of 'em credit for. It's old business. So long as I don't stay in any one place too long I should be all right."

Rachel grins back, just a little. Partly because Kate's guess as to her bear's height is surprisingly close to reality.

"I don't know if I've made this clear enough yet, but anytime you need a bar fight? There is a bar I love to leave."

She laughs, like the quiet babbling of a brook.

"I think I got the message."

She winks, and turns to get into her saddlebags.

"An' y'know what? I might jus' take you up on that someday."

"Yeah?"

With Kate's back to her, Rachel's smile falters, just a touch. Not nervous, not exactly. Nervous was what she'd felt walking out that door, knowing someone would look for her if too much time passed. Knowing someone wouldn't be pleased if they found out.

Knowing he'd say 'abandon,' and 'left,' and 'choices.'

But that smile's back on if Kate turns back around.

"Yes."

She pulls her nightgown out, turning about to head for the dressing screen. She smiles at Rachel.

"I don't exactly have anybody out here. Y'never know when an extra set of fists an' a sharp tongue might come in handy. Or a — friend."

She shrugs, ducking out of sight.

Another blink and Rachel stares after her, a little wide-eyed.

There are a few things she can count on as constant in Milliways. Rats downstairs. No one is allowed a quiet drink at the bar. Privacy is rare and undervalued. Going outside invites shared activity.

Everyone - or just about - wants friends. Connections. They want to meet people and find out their stories and find someone to confide in, take comfort in, talk to, laugh with.

It's not like h-

It's not like it was, with normal kids and normal lives, trying to mesh what she'd become with what she'd been.

Kate's some sort of old west outlaw with a gun on her hip and a laugh for the girl who turns into a bear and terrorizes a saloon.

"Okay."

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