<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/5/5a/Agatha-avi.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Agatha Dunwich<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Unknown<br/><strong>Date:</strong>June 2, 1875<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Morning<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Bodega de Goni<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Onneca<br/><hr/><br/><br/>“Perhaps.” She said unsure of how she felt about the collegium.  It was filled with others that understood her, learned men and woman that were filled to overflowing with stimulating conversations, but she had been around similar men in Utah.  Intelligence often bred contempt as well as inspiration. The same brilliant minds that thought of ghost rock fueled locomotives and flying machines often believed that they were smart enough to tinker with social systems and politics and the human condition without concern for law and order and humanity.  Sometimes putting a whole bunch of smart people in one place was downright dangerous and more importantly Agatha had seen enough in her short life to know that smart people came from many places.  The solitary cowboy, the inventive railroad worker and the humble dressmaker were often more insightful of human nature and brilliant in matters of science, engineering and nature.<br/><br/>The compliment did make her smile shyly.  Since when in the last few years had she been this coy.  Agatha could be as feisty and passionate as her red-hair implied and to be this shy, embarrassed girl was so unlike the woman she had become.  Onny’s opinions had mattered so much to Agatha in those days living along the rails that it was hard for them not to matter now.  “Thank you,” was the only reply she could give.<br/><br/>Agatha began to turn with Onneca as she began her slow walk around her.  She even bent backwards a little, trying to turn her torso in her confining corset to see if she had sat in something.  “Is there something on my…oh, right…sorry.” She said with a giggle once she realized what Onneca was really doing.  She was then keenly aware of the eyes roaming over her worn and dust rimmed skirts and her improperly laced corset. They glided along her thin shoulders and compressed waist line.  Her ample chest was crushed against her chemise and only the thinning fabric prevented an immodest view of the valley the corset made.<br/><br/>"Have you been fit before?”  The question allowed her to take the focus away from growing concerns about how her current dress might make certain features of hers look unflattering.<br/><br/>“I have, but it was some time ago.”  Agatha’s father had done well for himself when he moved from Union Blue to Wasatch.  He had earned a decent enough wage to get Agatha schooled and even afford her and her mother nice things from time to time.  “I am not the same girl I was then.” She said with little thought to how those words could be taken for good or bad.<br/><br/>"We can take your measure in the back room, mi estudio. It is private."<br/><br/>“Gracias que sería bueno.” She replied, her lilt making the words not quite right, but understandable.  She followed Onneca behind the curtain.  The soft light and deep shadow made for a cool refreshing retreat from the hot California sun.  “Oh, this is nice.” Agatha said looking around at the exquisitely covered mannequins.  Dresses she could never see herself in, they were too beautiful to even dream about.<br/><br/>“Onny these are beautiful.” Agatha’s amazement slipped her into the familiar once again, she could not see herself in one of those dresses, but she could see Onneca in them.  Her dark hair flowing over her shoulders and across the expensive fabrics, she could see her twirling around under the stars arms outstretched like they used to.  These dresses were as much a part of her as her girlish giggle or petite dimples.  It was as if she was telling the dressmaker herself that she was beautiful.<br/><br/>A flutter of canvas caught Agatha’s eye when Onneca covered one of her half-dressed mannequins.  Some may have thought it strange, but Agatha did not.  She hated to show an invention half-finished and thought it must very much be the same for Onneca.  There was a moment of hesitation in stepping into the ring of mirrors.  Agatha turned slowly from one to the next.  It was a strange feeling seeing yourself at every turn.  The strands of coppery hair that had become detached from her hastily done braids hung like gossamer thin wire around her face.  The goggles she had forgotten on her head were cocked ever so slightly off center.  She knew her clothing was old and frayed, but in those mirrors with Onny’s eyes on her she became quite suddenly self-conscious.<br/><br/>When Agatha had been a girl just entering womanhood the dressmaker her father sent had measured her in her clothing, but she had been dressed in clothes more fitting a boy then, it had been much easier to measure than petticoats and corsets she imagined.  She was very unsure of what to do at first until Onneca turned politely from view and waited.  Again a moment of hesitation.  She took a deep breath and found that she was shaking ever so slightly at the thought of what she was about to do.  Her breath held as he loosened the crinoline and let her layered petticoats fall around her ankles.  It was an oddly freeing sensation, not only of the weight of the cloth, but of worry.  The thought of undressing in front of Onneca had Agatha looking for excuses to leave.  Just because she told herself that she would not allow her nature to impose on her childhood friend’s new life did not mean she was ready to be dressed in her underthings before the exquisite creature Onneca had become.<br/><br/>But with her clothing spilled about her the anxiety of the choice was lifted.  She reached behind her back to work at the laces of her corset.  It was slow going.  Contrary to some dime store romances, getting a woman out of her clothing was no easy task, especially when your hands were shaking.  Eventually piece after piece of cloth and clothing fell away to the floor until Agatha stood before those mirrors...before Onneca in nothing more than a fraying chemise and bloomers that were ill-fitting enough to reach just above her knee instead of just below.  Oh and her goggles.  She had completely forgotten her goggles again as her eyes not left Onneca’s back.<br/><br/>Onneca’s sudden voice, in what had become silence but for the rustling of fabrics, surprised Agatha making her jump.  Pretty…Perfect…the compliment Onneca gave, while professional in natural added a flush to Agatha’s pale skin. Her only defense was to play along.<br/><br/>“Gracias, Senorita de Goni.  You do me too much kindness.  I am not nearly as pretty as yourself or your fine dresses.  I will leave myself in your capable hands to dress me as you wish.” The play reminded her of games of old where Onneca was the maiden in distress and Agatha would come rescue her from the evil rail baron with some new invention she had made up.  They had always been good at pretend.<br/><br/>“I am ready,” she said.  Was she?<br/>