The scenery in rural Ohio was far less interesting than Dolores pretended it to be. It was hard to enjoy how the jitter of the wagon on the rough gravel made her entire body vibrate while an old lady kept staring at her from the opposite seat. At least the sight of mundane farm fields and forests was a better alternative to a constant awareness of the smile on that wrinkled face that suggested the woman knew exactly why the girl was on such a good mood.<br/><br/>It was completely out of the ordinary for Dolores to travel this far away from a big city, even if it was just to get from one to another. The only reason she did so on a slow horse wagon and not by car was the gentleman who had persuaded her to see the Cirque that the caravan would pass by to drop some supplies. It had been a tiresome month only to find out that the entire Pennsylvania had nothing to offer her, so she warmly welcomed the idea of having a little bit of fun before traveling even further west.<br/><br/>“Dollie, I can’t take this much longer,” the only other person as overdressed as Dolores moaned and tilted her head to see a bit of her friend’s face. Annette lied on the wide seat on her back, feet towards the rear of the wagon, and used the thicker girl’s upper arm as a comfy pillow. “It’s like I’m sitting on an electric vibrator. Dollie, it drives me<i>crazy</i>,” and so the French girl—who reminded Dolores of<a class="externalLink" href="http://www.doctormacro.com/Images/Sheridan,%20Ann/Sheridan,%20Ann_03C.jpg" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"> Ann Sheridan</a>—outed the words that everyone was thinking about but wasn’t supposed to say. At least, the two men in the wagon were young enough to most likely have no clue what it meant, but then again, they might have been just smart enough to guess. No one had really spoken about the vibrator in a decade ever since pornography had ruined its reputation, yet the number of people that Dolores had met who still owned one was surprisingly high. Annette wasn’t one of them, but Dolores had no doubt that the girl knew just where to go to find one.<br/><br/>“<span style="color: #00b359">Why do you say that?</span>” Dolores replied with a largely faded British accent<i>(in a voice similar to Cobie Smulders’)</i>, looking at the girl’s sleepy face from above, and went on, “<i>I</i>could take this all day, and even<i>she</i>looks like she enjoys herself—” Dolores briefly pointed her eyes at the old woman who raised her brows in a shock of what she was hearing—“Have a little patience. It’ll do you good.”<br/><br/>“I’d much prefer a more private place,” Annette went on and eyed menacingly at the two staring boys from under her half-closed eyelids. Dolores took the girl under her arm and turned slightly to the side so Annette could rest more comfortably against the softness of her body.<br/><br/>“<span style="color: #00b359">Don’t let them be a bother,</span>” Dolores whispered and gently brushed the girl’s hair, “<span style="color: #00b359">They work for Mr Green, and I’m friends with <i>him</i>.</span>”<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>