<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/5/53/Onnecamug3.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Onneca de Goni<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Unknown<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 3rd, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Dinner Time<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Agatha's House<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Elisabeth, Agatha, Christian<br/><hr/><br/>Life on the coat-tails of the railroad had taught Onneca to pack light. A toothbrush, her nightclothes, the essential toiletries such as tooth cleaner of eucalyptus and cocaine, rose-water for complexion, olive oil for shine and luster. It all fit into a little bag, the same as Elisabeth. Rich ladies packed with luggage. They were status symbols in themselves, prettily wrapped packages of a woman's material things, her declaration of preparedness, her slavery to bulky east coast fashions. Bellhops were employed just to humor them. Onneca had never learned very well how to behave like a rich lady, although she was, there could be no doubting it.<br/><br/>A feathery light dress, creamy and long, danced around her sandaled feet. A dominant, cascading color like the pale moon brought out her dark Mexican hue, and from the hem and the cinched waist, fields of berry-colored flowers crept wild into the endless and elegant expanse of white canvas.. It was an evolution of the puebla, loose on the shoulders and the hips, with a wide and plunging neckline to let the summer heat escape. But that was improper for a young lady with glistening cleavage, even if it did house the cross of Our Lord and Savior, and so over it she'd worn her multicolored rebozo, a scarf that wound around and around the shoulders in lively layers of color like a tulip bloom.<br/><br/>It was extravagant, but she'd made it with her own hands, so perhaps she was allowed. It would pain her to craft something that was merely passable.<br/><br/>There were sounds from inside, a murmur of someone's deep voice along with the click of carrots being chopped. An aroma of spices lured her to the kitchen window before she'd set foot on the porch. "Hola," she said through the breeze-blown curtains, petite and childlike without the height of the kitchen that Elisabeth and Spooky were enjoying. She hadn't seen the man just yet. "Umm, delicioso. Do you know how to make the carrot rose? Un momento, I will be in." From one open window to the next she moved, a disembodied voice floating on the evening breeze, sweet and relaxed, oblivious to the pistols or the flirtation or the plots being hatched there in the kitchen. "It is good to spend time together. Have we ever cooked anything?" A little further away, through the sitting room window, mapping out her progress for Elisabeth to follow, "We will have so much fun!"<br/><br/>There was a momentary freeze when she entered Agatha's home without Agatha there to welcome her. Without a body there to hug, it felt like trespass. "I am in," she announced. If the situation were reversed, if it were Agatha popping in Onneca's home in the heat of summer, there was no guarantee the tailor would be decent. She avoided peering in the work room or upstairs, and let her nose lead her to the kitchen.<br/><br/>When she was finally modeling her dress, modest bag clasped to the dimple of her lap, her dark eyes were round on Spooky and her playfulness drained out of her. "Oh." It was rare that she met the eyes of a stranger for very long, but Christian wasn't exactly a stranger- she had just never physically seen him. She was, for a moment, a little electrified bundle of nerves fit to fall out of her sandals, but she recovered. "Buenas noches." At the point where she slipped into Elisabeth's side of the kitchen, there would ordinarily be a giggle, but she was unprepared for the reality that the Spooky of the stories, the Christian of Agatha's past could be handsome and confident and charming. She was so shaken that she'd forgotten all about carrot roses.<br/><br/>She couldn't be spoiled and monopolize Aggy's attention anymore. It was there in her eyes as they turned to Elisabeth, sheepish, sorry, her fingers to her brow, yet still utterly unable to read what was passing between the two in the kitchen. "This is Spooky?" she mumbled to the Lady Boyle.