<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://pursuitist.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/kate-upton2.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Annabel Montgomery.<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 3rd, 1876.<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Late Morning.<br/><strong>Location:</strong>At the Wishing Well.<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Open.<br/><hr/><br/><br/>Light humming and a gentle pluck of guitar strings could be heard over the sound of occasional footsteps and casual chatter, creating a soothing melody that floated the gentle breeze like fine grains of sand being lifted from the dusty floor. The sun was warm on her skin, but it didn't bother her thanks to the affable cool breeze. Gomorra seemed almost peaceful for a change, or at least her current area was. People seemed content to just pass her, giving no mind to her sitting alone or to her music. Of course, Annabel hardly paid attention to any of them either; she was too focused on writing. She was sat on a long wooden bench with no back to it; a simple length of wood held up by some stronger object. Her guitar was in its usual place, resting on the tops of her thighs comfortably. The blond had her head down as she hummed a tune to herself, occasionally slipping out a line or two. When she liked something she'd sang, Annabel made sure to write it down with her pencil on the small pad beside her. Her scrawl was messy and unrefined, but she understood it at that was all that was needed. Her fingers would pluck the strings of her guitar to create a quiet tune, and she would either jot down the notes, tune the instrument or try another melody altogether. She was quite happy, sat there, creating music on such a beautiful day, alone; it was peaceful.<br/><br/>Annabel was dressed in something simple; nothing like what she wore to a shift at the Saloon. A pair of dusty, worn-out denim shorts fixed with a simple brown, worn leather belt was what she had dressed her bottom half in while a white and baby blue checked shirt, also dusty and worn, was buttoned up her torso, hanging slightly over the shorts with the sleeves rolled messily up past her elbows. On her feet were a pair of undusted, scuffed, light-brown cowboy boots that reached just below her bare knees. The detailing on the outer and inner boot was faded, but had obviously been some sort of black stitching which matched the heel and rubber sole of the boots. Her long, blond hair had been pulled back roughly into a high ponytail, nearing the top of her head, though some loose wisps escaped to fall down the back of her neck and around her face, its usual wave still apparent.<br/><br/><em>"I know your every move..."</em>She paused, frowning a little at herself as she tested an idea. She then paused, glancing up from her guitar for a moment to look around, shifting ever so slightly on the hard bench. Annabel's deep blue eyes scanned the area, almost skeptical for a moment, the well dead ahead of her, before she returned her attention to her baby. "C'mon, baby, don't you fail me now." She let out a small, private laugh for a moment as she spoke to her guitar, then sharply lifted her head to make sure nobody had intruded on her moment. Thankfully, nothing particularly stood out to her, so she lowered her head, closed her eyes and began playing her melody again from the beginning of what she had; a sweet, soulful harmony that she kept quiet and intimate.