Richard
Sick to death of dreary spring rains and having run the town 'round at least thrice just today in search of work or trouble, whichever came first, Dominic Sevilla had posted himself up in the Town Center. The rain was drizzlin' far too much to risk the paper in his sketchbook and he'd left his guitar at home. He wasn't a beggar, not even close, but he also wasn't offering anything by way of art nor music that day, so instead he'd sat a while to smoke through half the cigarettes he had and judge the folk going by.

All while giving 'em a smile, of course.

Such was the unfortunately idle life of a man-boy with too much of both time and energy on his hands in a squat little village mostly new to him. Leaning against the stone column that marked whatever somebody had thought the center of town was, he had a good view of a few places. Namely the general store, the library, and that unmarked old building he saw plenty of folk go in and out of with wrapped up duffels stuffed over their shoulders.

The sporadic rain had soaked his hair through to the color black, slicked back and curling behind his ears, but the very same moisture pilled up and rolled off his calfskin jacket. His mostly-dry state attributed to the quality of his jacket kept him looking like he had a place to lay his head at night. Usually anyway. He relied on his smile to do the rest.

Bright blonde hair was easy to follow through gloomy streets. Leaving him thinking of bumblebees and daffodils, he buzzed right up to her side, falling in step with her. 

"Hey there." That was a little prod, just gettin' a feel. He was plenty tall but babyfaced and his expression said he didn't mean no trouble. Still, not everyone gave the warmest reception, no matter how nice he looked, and he wasn't fazed by it a lick. "Seems lots of folks new 'round here. Saw your notice back there." He had only *Sort of* Seen it. "You lookin' for a hand?"

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Karen
After making sure her notice was neatly tacked into place, Caroline turned away from the board and peered out into the square from the shelter of its narrow overhang. It was not the first time her impulsivity had been answered with inclement weather, as though Mother Nature had rapped her knuckles for failing to even look out her window before stepping out of doors. The errand had been simple but all-consuming, anxious as she was to accelerate her preparations for her first real expedition, and so she'd arrived at the square half-damp and facing down the prospect to full-dampness on the way back home. 

She was not so precious about her clothing - a woolen skirt and gray knit sweater being practical rather than stylish - and her boots had seen enough mud already, but her hair had opinions about things like rain and relative humidity that made it snarl and snap and lash itself into knots that would take an hour to untangle. Fortunately, Caroline had enough change in her pocket to buy a newspaper at the general store, which she held aloft against the intermittent drizzle. 

Three steps down the road and already her thoughts were distracted by the next phase of planning, so when someone interrupted them with an easygoing *Hey there*, the woman's head snapped up in mild surprise. Her eyes, more gray than greenish in the dreary weather, were round but not alarmed when they found a tall young man standing next to her, and they dipped briefly in assessment. To be approached by a stranger was a daily occurrence in New York City, always by someone looking to sell you something or fetch you a ride for a nominal fee, and there was nothing unfamiliar about the fellow's hedging greeting.
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He was handsome, too, with more innocence in the curve of his cheek than in those sharp eyes. Caroline thought of the last time she'd seen her younger brother, so self possessed and full of ideas about the man he intended to be. 

It was this recollection that made the smile she offered a little fond, but mostly curious as she kept up her casual pace.

"I am - with shooting lessons, if you have anyone to recommend. Are there a lot of new *Folks*?" She asked, the informal term made awkward by her accent and way of speaking. This seemed to give her some amusement, the way her lips curved wryly around the word. "Being new, I can't say I've noticed."
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Richard
Luck was shining on him today. She didn't even have a smartass answer like *Sure am, go back and read it, why don't ya?* Plenty of folk had never been taught to read. He'd been taught plenty. Over and over again. By people that loved him. Still, the letters danced around where they pleased, as unruly as most of the things in his head, and very rarely fell in any sort of sensical line. Either way, most days he got by fine, by virtue of a complete lack of self-consciousness mostly. And here was this nice lady spelling things out for him.

"Ah, yeah, well... You could say that there are plenty of new *Folks*, sure." Blink and she'd miss it, there was a wry grin and the faintest tease in the way he inflected on the same word she'd been awkward in trying on. His accent was certainly southern, but a deeper drawl than happened to roll off tongues around here, and touched with a lilt of Spanish.

Glancing sidelong at the newspaper she shielded herself with, he plucked the hand-rolled cigarette from between his lips. It dangled mostly at his side, obscured by his sleeve, flickin' ash time to time on the dampened street. Where was she headed? Didn't much matter to him. Her hair may as well have been made from spun gold for the way he saw dollar signs on her. 

"Plenty folks sell skins and there's a tailor lady just over there," He waved vaguely a street over. "Wanna go shootin', may as well look the part, huh?" It seemed her state of dress was a higher priority to him than her inability to wield a gun. Her knitwear did not look suitable for any travel further than the corner market to fetch the day's bread. Even that was a stretch.

"That's not to say you gotta. I might know a fella can teach ya in your lil' sweater or otherwise. Guess you heard about some of the uh... Dangers 'round here?" His eyes flicked in the general direction of the faroff woodland that could be seen if they walked way to the end of the street and kept on a while. "Or you on the run from somethin'? Sorry, sorry. That's pryin, huh? My name's Dominic." Sticking the cigarette back between his lips, he paused halfway in step to offer her a hand, a sort of drive-by handshake.

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Karen
Gentle as it was, Caroline was well-versed in the detection of idle teasing, having not the one but another younger sibling, and the joke made in kind only endeared the fellow more. Trading a bit of friendly banter in the street was hardly worth savoring for most people, but it was a small taste of a rare pleasure to a woman who'd spent the last several weeks pantomiming the act of mourning. The young man's reward for this act of unwitting service was a broadening of her idle grin, emphasizing the apples of her cheeks and settling into the faint smile lines that had just begun to take up permanent residence there.

His suggestion about proper shooting attire was met with a quizzical glance, however, though the amusement had not faded with it. Caroline imagined herself in a dozen or more fur-covered skins all stitched together with a wolf's head snarling over her brow in place of a hat. His train of thought was already derailing in favor of prodding questions about dangers and what sounded like a casual question about her status as a criminal.

She shook her head a little, bemused, and let out a chuckle that was more a puff of air than a laugh. Her steps slowed and stopped as he offered his hand, her own sense of propriety taking over as they made their introductions. The paper was still held aloft in her left hand, though the rain was an afterthought, so she could return the shake with a firm-enough grip.
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"Hello, Dominic. I'm Caroline, pleased to meet you." She made a show of looking quite skeptical now, head tipped to the side and back just a little - well, even more so, since it was already tilted back so she could look him in the eye. "What I'm hearing is in order to learn to shoot, I must dress up in bear skins and go about like a Neanderthal. As enjoyable as that sounds, I was hoping to find someone willing to skirt the rules just this once."

Humor tempered the skepticism once again as she leaned forward just a fraction, as if sharing a secret. "And only this once. Though I may look like it, I can assure you I'm hardly on the lam."
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Richard
"Pleasure's all mine, Caroline," He half-mumbled around his smoke. That was a mouthful of a name, and he was already turning it over forwards and backwards about how he might shorten it into an uninvited nickname. 

*Neanderthal.* It was clear from his tickled expression, even blinking against the drizzle, her humor did not go unappreciated. "Ya don't like my jacket, just say so, Caroline." He had a way of moving his dark eyebrows around when he was mouthing off that made him seem like he could be a real pain in the ass if he wanted to. "But if you wanna keep wearin' a newspaper as a hat, that's your call I guess." 

There was that moment of confusion on his face, his perception of her humor faltering for a tick. Clearly some phrases hadn't reached whatever little neck of the woods he'd rolled out of. He even considered asking her, *What lamb?* But moved along pretty quickly, instead returning her smile. Despite his road-weary appearance, all of his teeth looked quite nice. Clearly a boy that had grown up in different circumstances than he'd found himself in now. 

"Can't get ya a gun, but can teach you how to shoot mine. And I promise that's probably not an invitation for a date." If he'd been facing her instead of strolling along beside her, he might have even thrown in a cheeky wink. Fancy lady wanted to be mysterious about what she was doin' in satan's armpit, he wouldn't be able to resist trying to ruffle her feathers a bit, to sniff out her mystery.

From his pocket, a small brass box was withdrawn and flipped open on a spring, extended towards her as an offer. A row of a half-dozen neatly-rolled cigarettes lay within. He would light one for her too, of course, as any gentleman should. Though it seemed more a test of her kind of personhood.

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Karen
In her schooling years, Caroline might have flushed with embarrassment over his feigned offense and hurried to reassure him that, no, it was a very fine jacket, even as she was aware he was joking. That girl had been so uncomfortable in the face of anyone's poor opinion of her, including absolute strangers. Only after a decade had she come to recognize that desperate quality as the fount of so much misery in her life.

Today, Caroline only smirked along with him and glanced up at her pauper's cap. "Touché."

Those grayish eyes were soon analyzing the young man, however. It was worth considering that, despite the inherent amusement of being flirted with, that her new acquaintance was not someone she ought to trust with a gun or her safety. There was a little money kept in a lockbox in the house she rented, but most of her possessions were either useless to the average person or of scant monetary value in a town like this. Part of the reason for getting a gun was to mind her own safety, after all.

Her gaze was distracted by the shiny metal offering, seizing all other thoughts. She might have been imagining the scent of tobacco trailing through the rich petrichor that surrounded them, sharp and acrid. It had been *Years* Since she'd indulged, sneaking a puff from a friend's on the rare outings that did not include her husband. A few years into their marriage, she swore them off completely, claiming that the smell gave her terrible headaches. 
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It was safer that way.

Now there was nothing more to fear, and with a wistful sort of look, Caroline plucked one of the tidy rolls from the box with a gentle nod of thanks. When he went to light it for her, she adjusted her grip on the newspaper so the rain protected the flame - hair be damned. Turning her head away, she exhaled long and slow. Relief.

"I should hope not," She said finally of his dubious invitation, directing another wry look his way as they stood there and smoked. "I'm sure a nice boy like you could do better than an old widow. How did you come to know how a gun works, anyway?" The question was posed with a trace of faux suspicion, as if the request posted on the notice board were any less questionable.
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