<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://24.media.tumblr.com/a16483c2858f862945634d46b9ad41b9/tumblr_mh480oybdg1r64urio1_500.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Jaelyn Scot-Jones<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>(n/a)<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 12th, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>mid-day<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Jones’ Mercantile & Trade<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Jai-Li, open<br/><hr/><br/>It seemed the petite girl was going for the hard sell.  Jaelyn’s smile faltered, not understanding the language barrier around thanks-but-no-thanks.  (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=167802.msg9943391#msg9943391)<strong>“Oneca?”</strong>That certainly wasn’t a name she was familiar with.  Mrs Clarke’s name was Bethany and her assistant was Alice, some relative Jae assumed.<br/><br/>There was no misunderstanding the wistful memory of a pretty ribbon.  Though they had different reasons for not sporting such feminine frippery, the feeling was something Jaelyn could relate to.  Long ago she had asked why God wanted his flock so bland and severe when lilies of the field and sparrows and such were so light and pretty - not that she’d seen much of that sort of thing, but she’d heard.  Her momma was from further east than Denver and used to tell her stories.  Used to was a long time ago.  Besides, the question had earned her some time in the prayer closet to ponder the sin of vanity.<br/><br/>Not quite certain what, if anything, she'd agreed to there finally came a question she could answer.  Still Jaelyn wondered who was this girl that she didn’t know Thommy Jones?  It seemed the half the population had come today alone and all were quite familiar with Thommy and the merchandise.  In any case, Jaelyn stepped this way and that as she gave a mostly verbal tour of her birthright (https://elliquiy.com/wiki/DeadlandsGomorraMinersPeril#Jones.E2.80.99_Mercantile_.26_Trade.2A.2A).  Pointing out key items of interest, she tried to keep pride from flavoring her speech too heavily.<br/><br/>The side walls were lined with cubby like shelves of varying sizes, in these were organized such things as dishes, flatware, spices, canteens, mess kits, beans in sealed tins, fruit in sealed jars, decks of cards, shoes, sulfur matches, lamp wicks and oil, hand tools and mining equipment.  Two long islands of similar shelving ran half the length of the floor, while barrels were placed to hold tools - picks, axes, shovels, brooms.  Bulk dry goods - flour, salt, sugar, coffee, chicory - were closer to the counter where they could be weighed, packaged before being paid for.  High up on the walls, well out of reach for even the tallest of men, were several chair styles hanging from hooks, and strangely enough, laid out and nailed flat, were two different dresses,two different mens’ shirts, and a heavy denim pant.  The chairs were display only, their matches found in bulk in the rear storage area and picked up at the large delivery door in the back of the building.  The clothes, found on the shelves below their sacrificed samples and others, were simple and made of sturdy fabric to last through the harsh mesa climate and lifestyle.  There were bolts of cloth in browns, blacks and ivory, with only a splash of color in blue, green or calico - not too flashy here, no bright reds, no flowery yellows.<br/><br/>To Jaelyn’s relief, except for the canned stuff, a very popular side of bacon and the occasional bushel of fresh fruit, Thommy avoided selling food.  Fresh dairy, eggs and vegetables required proper storage and he had dedicated that space to explosives.  She would need to replenish both the bacon and the explosives after this morning’s orders were filled.<br/><br/><strong>“We’ve a bit of ribbon here.”</strong>The young merchant brought the dusty china doll’s attention to a small array of sewing notions close by.  There were needles and thread for repair or upgrade, several narrow bins of buttons, half a dozen pegs holding spools of ribbons and lace trim.  Most very plain and simple, with the occasional bit that was prettier than the rest.  It wasn’t that her father was a severe man who didn’t appreciate such things as pretty ribbons and bows or fancy buttons on a lady.  Hadn’t he special ordered scented soaps, milled and wrapped in pretty paper, wisely keeping them behind the glass at the sale counter?  The truth was that Thommy was still a miner in many ways.  His eye leaned toward a good utilitarian bargain.  At least on the store shelves, the lure of fancy French soap included.<br/><br/>Curiosity finally got the best of her manners.<strong>“Are you also new to the area?  You don’t seem to know my father.”</strong>With a sheepish laugh, she added,<strong>"And everyone in Gomorra seems to know him.”</strong><br/><br/><br/><br/><div align="center">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/5/55/Doomtown_Jones_Store_Banner.jpeg)</div>