Miss Freeman, lovely and intriguing thing as she was, certainly wasn’t making things easy for Missy. Twice now she’d brushed her off, as though her time was that to be wasted by any trifle that the fussy, little blonde could possibly have brought forth. She snorted, despite herself, and worked to stay an eye twitch, tactfully and as subtly as a lifetime of familiarity with politesse afforded. She hadn’t the slightest clue what a case of whiskey cost. Or a single bottle, glass or even sip, for that matter. A fair price was what she had hoped to get in turn for it: her time.<br/><br/>Taggert; still shifting nervously as he licked at Cassie’s open hand, reluctantly tore himself away from her to follow the pair. Keeping a quick pace, Missy would continue to prattle at Victoria’s side as they went. Flourishing with hands and all but bouncing in her step through the course of a mostly one-sided conversation.<br/><br/>“Well, I suppose I would need to defer to your judgement, Miss Freeman. I’m afraid I don-“weaving around a passerby who’d seemed to fixated her vest to notice he’d nearly bumped into her, “I don’t deal much in libations, I’m afraid. Whatever price you set; you have my trust that it will be fair. Though, please, I must insist it be a gift. I’m,” she paused, searching about for the proper word, “rather eager to have a chat, is all. Another time, of course. This evening perhaps.”<br/><br/>Giggling softly, she’d gesture at the group.<br/><br/>“Quite the quartet we make, isn’t it?” Beaming through dark lashes at both women, “three ladies about town and their…” she glanced down at Taggert, “<i>male</i>escort. Who’s a sweet boy, yes, he is? He was a gift for my,” she hummed in thought to herself, eyes never seeming to rest too long on any one section of the town, “sixteenth birthday? That sounds right, at least. A family friend, from the Northern Territories breeds them and Daddy had him shipped down. Imagine, opening a gift and finding the most adorable little pup inside.” She gushed, kneeling to stroke at the animal’s neck as they approached the bank. “Drink.”<br/><br/>Without hesitation, Taggert jogged to a nearby trough, beside a hitched horse, and began to gulp.<br/><br/>“The poor baby,” she said gently, following Cassie into the coolness of the bank. “I don’t think he cares for this heat at all. Oh! Did you see, Miss Turner? That prim little brunette as we were leaving? I<i>must</i>inquire about that dress of hers. Somebody ought to tell the poor thing she's a bit early for the ball, yes?"<br/><br/>It would've been impossible for Missy to know if Cassie would return this attempt at second-hand commiseration. Her own inability to recognize the hypocrisy of her statements demanded discussion itself. Regardless, she<i>was</i>making an effort.<br/><br/>Never struggling with when to keep quiet, Missy would circle idly around the interior. Shamelessly eavesdropping the conversation between the teller and the man and smiling sweetly at the mustachioed officer. Older, perhaps, but with a keenness in his eyes that Missy found herself enjoying. She’d been working up something to say to him; some whisper-pitched bit of charm that would extend her web one strand further when a crash announced the entrance of three men, armed, and shouting.<br/><br/><i>“Take their guns, and any bits of precious they have on them.”</i><br/><br/>One of them; face shrouded behind a scrap of rough fabric, turned to Missy. Leveling the barrel of his pistol at her, he’d inch forward. No doubt assuming she’d shrink against the nearest corner and begin relinquishing her belongings, her clothes, her life, without hesitation. Missy, entirely unaware of the man, was glaring pointedly at the one who appeared to be leading them. With his back half turned to her, weapon at hip and aimed in Victoria’s direction, he wouldn’t feel the searing burn of livid, blue eyes.<br/><br/>“You, hands up.” Missy, finally aware of his proximity only by the stench, snapped her attention forward. “The boots, the brooch. Hand ‘em over.”<br/><br/>“No.” She sneered, not flinching even as he shoved the weapon against her stomach. The man groaned, moving to wrench at Missy’s braid and tugging her back against his chest, barrel pressed flush under her chin. Missy winced, stumbling back in the man’s control and flashing a pair of furious eyes toward Victoria. Collecting herself, she’d purse desperately dry lips together and emit a low whistle that lilted up at its tip.<br/><br/>“Fair ‘nuff,” he said through a dry laugh, “you’re comin’ with us.” The leader, hearing the disagreement, turned to face them. Sadly, for him, he hadn’t thought to cover his face. How the rote understanding of committing a crime<i>and</i>getting away with it had somehow passed over him, Missy didn’t know. She did know the coat he wore. And the ghostly, faint remembering of where a patch had been stitched to the left sleeve.<br/><br/>“Settle down, little lady,” said calmly, noticing the unmasked hatred on her pretty face. “No need to get hostile.”<br/><br/>Missy went to lunge forward, only to be reigned back in by the man and his iron grip on her hair. Baring teeth, she’d make sure he still held her gaze when she spoke.<br/><br/>“I’m going to kill you last.” She hummed, all socialite charm vanishing with each twitch of eye.