<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a1/Onnecamug2.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Onneca de Goni<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Unknown<br/><strong>Date:</strong>Two days before game start<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Morning<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Bodega de Goni<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Jia Li<br/><hr/><br/>The back wall of the bodega was so plain. In the front there was her garden and the colors of the curtains, to the side there were the painted handprints of the schoolchildren. In the back there was nothing save a windowless door, because the back room was private. The rear of the bodega was indistinguishable from any other building, and that was the side a laundry runner was meant to see. The front was for wealthy ladies.<br/><br/>Onneca was a few moments. She locked the front after the lawyer's wife and turned a hand-knit sign so it informed passers by in dual languages that she was closed, and also sorry. There were a few moments more to compose herself, because she had that luxury, in her solely owned business. She had the luxury to stop working and sit by herself and have a cup of tea if she really liked. It was in no great rush that she packed the laundry into a coarse basket, because there was nobody to yell at her if she took too long. Finally, the back door opened, and Onneca nudged a stone in front of it with a reach of her shoe. The perfume of the lovely back room billowed out, lost into the Gomorra dust, and just inside there were teases of her mannequins dressed in lovely haute couture, bold colors only found in summer fields. She sat herself down on the back step, her knees together and her shoes overlapping, her fingers laced beneath her lap. Guardian, as of Saint Peter, to a whole other realm.<br/><br/>"Laundry girl? Lo siento, I do not know your name. Do you want to come in? I made a biscuit for you."