<div class="floatleft">(http://i167.photobucket.com/albums/u133/kokotigress/Elliquiy/Doom%20Town/donna-feldman-4_zps795d249b.jpg)</div><hr/><strong>Name:</strong>Harley<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Unknown to the public thus far<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 3rd, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Late Morning<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Black Jack's Lair<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Black Jack and the others, Li-Li<hr/>Harley lay back in a casual sprawl some short distance away from Flint, her bed roll tucked up under her head while she flicked open the loading gate on her Colt and proceeded to load up as fast as she could. Her motions, much like everything else she did, were smooth and easy--no fumblin' for the girl who had picked up her fist gun some 6 years ago and shot a man dead. To her way of thinkin' there simply wasn't time for flinchin'. Not if you wanted to be the one firin' rather than the one dyin'. There'd be plenty of time to rehash her mistakes when she was dead, weren't no sense in dawdlin' when it mattered. She was well aware that to some she might have given the appearance of moving rather slow considering speed was her aim, but well, Harley had a way of bein' quick without ever seeming to be in a hurry. While you were busy thinkin' she was too slow to get the drop on you, she had loaded up and was already firing off a shot. And she had a right wicked way of hittin' what she aimed for.<br/><br/>Still, despite the way the young woman had taken to the way of the gun, she knew better than to take things for granted. Harley practiced, drawin', loadin', shootin', movin' targets, stationary targets, whatever, whenever she could--which was quite a lot really. At a time like now that discipline of hers helped in other ways too. What with everybody's nerves on edge after the news that had come last night. The others might not be ragin' or hollerin' but anybody livin' could feel the tension about the cave, thick as molasses it was. Keeping her hands busy and her mind focused on the task at hand kept her mind from ponderin' "what if's" and the like. Too much thinkin' could be as bad as not enough thinkin' in some regards. She could have gone into town this morning to keep herself occupied by acting as an extra pair of eyes and ears on the ground, but she wasn't too much known in town for chattin' up a storm or bein' overly interested in gossip. She could have caught some news likely but no more'n anybody else could get and too much interest might raise suspicion. Thus far her face wasn't recognized as one of Black Jack's since she typically kept the lower half of her face covered and let her waist length hair loose to fly about when on raids. She didn't suppose she could hide forever but for now it worked and she wasn't in a hurry to lose that cover.<br/><br/><em>“Wooooooooweeee!  Goddam, but it feels good to be alive!”</em><br/><br/>The exclamation seemed to slice through the tension and worry clean and easy like a bullet through water, though Harley's features had never shown a trace of either. Course, she was the loyal sort, so while she might not have been overly demonstrative, she had indeed been a bit worried about the boss. Black Jack had given her a place back in the early days when she'd thought there wasn't anyplace for her and over the years the man had certainly proved himself, earning her respect (not an easy feat) and even a bit of admiration--though getting her to say so out loud might be nigh impossible.<br/><br/>There weren't many that Harley viewed herself as bein' close to, Lilah bein' the main exception there, so when the others rose to gather round and greet the boss man heartily, laughin' and jokin' now that they knew Jack was all well and good, Harley kept her distance, offering a cool and polite nod before snapping her gaze away from him and back to her firearm. "Glad to see you ain't busted up none Jack." He looked plenty healthy to her, no worse for the wear despite supposedly bein' shot and jumpin' off a cliff. There weren't many males who could get her blood pumpin', much to their disappointment, but Black Jack was one of the few that could manage it when she wasn't careful. Yeah, too much thinkin' could be bad.<br/><br/>"Probably a little of both," she snorted in reply to Black Jack's question though she didn't expect to be heard. Her Peacemaker went to her hip, slipped into its holster as she rolled herself up from her sprawl to stand and dust herself off a tad before leaning back against the rough wall just as casual as you please. She might not have had all the fancy book learnin' of some but the gears in Harley's head were already turnin' and as much as she didn't want to cut into the celebration of their leader's return she felt compelled to speak up. "I suppose you know good'n well you'd have been blamed even if you were laid up with fever for all to see. Cause the trouble is... if you ain't the one shot Coleman dead then who did? Folks always prefer the devil they know over the one they cain't even see."