<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/8/89/Onnecamug1.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Onneca de Goni<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Unknown<br/><strong>Date:</strong>August 11, 1875<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Bodega de Goni<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Agatha<br/><hr/><br/>"Si- Aggy is still my best friend. Just like she said." There was a pause in her smile when she caught Agatha's solemn mood and felt the squeeze of her hand. She hadn't meant to imply how they had grown apart, but it had a way of slipping out. She was still discovering who this new Agatha was, after a decade of change in the harsh sun and sand-blasting wind of the West. One woman in her time plays many parts. Onneca was made to think about her mother through the lenses of Agatha's description of her, and made to remember how many lives her mother must've touched in her time. The wound was fresh again.<br/><br/>"It is not so bad being in the bodega all day," she put forward, to convince herself as much as to convince Agatha. "I like to sit and read. Sometimes a whole day passes and I do not know it." Her eyes lit up with a sudden urgency. "And, and! My customers are not all old ladies. Young ladies are interested in beauty, too. They are most of them married women, but they are there." Before the question could be begged what she meant by that, Onneca took it upon herself to elaborate. "They have families, so they go back to their lives. My work is my life." There was no self-pity. Onneca was a worker bee.<br/><br/>Even now, she was working. With Agatha's hair attended to, she moved through the bodega aisles with a swish of her low work skirt and began to sort through the racks for something in Agatha's size. The woman was in dire straits, after all, as anyone could stroll in right about now and be able to describe the constellation of freckles on Agatha's ankles. That kind of infamy could hound a woman for years. "You can wear this instead. It is okay to get oil on it. They are nothing fancy." Her wheels were turning as she surveyed the damage to Agatha's clothes. Shreds where the fabric had overhung her frame and been sucked into machinery. Stains where the heat of the summer sun and a steam engine had been absorbed rather than repelled. The clothes she wore were not fit for the work that she did. Something had to be done about that.