<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/>“Buenos dias.” The call came back from the front of the shop, the accent clearly unsuited for such a beautiful language as Spanish.  There was some rustling and bumping and Onneca would swear that there was a muffled “ouch” in there somewhere.<br/><br/>“Gracias.” The voice called again as the rustling worked its way through the aisles of pretties and yummies and cloth luxuries towards the owner of the bodega. Agatha knew only a bit of Spanish learned from her time growing up in the railroad camps.  The railroad workers often fell into camps along racial lines, the Irish with the Irish, the Mexicans with the Mexicans, the Chinamen with the Chinamen...etc.  However, in particularly dangerous territory or during celebrations they would come together to share a campfire.  She had picked up a few words then, mostly ones that she could not say in polite company, but she was able to exchanges simple pleasantries.<br/><br/>The woman appearing through the aisles was disheveled for sure.  The dress she wore may have been a light beige once, but was now a dingy grey color and to Onneca’s trained eye clearly thread bare and worn.  The dresses style was clearly not meant for the sweltering heat of the Maze.  She worn at a minimum three petticoats and her bustle was causing her trouble in the narrow ailes.  The corset cover the woman wore wasn’t even properly laced as if it had been done in a rush without any help.  The young woman wore no hat, but a pair of odd looking goggles perched on her head.  They were slightly off kilter and appeared to be the only thing holding her coppery hair away from her face.<br/><br/>“Oh, hello.” She called catching a glimpse of the dark-haired Mexican woman and gave a wave of her hand causing her to drop the notebook she was carrying along with her purse and the jar of citrusy orange blossom honey she had plucked off the shelf.<br/><br/>“Oh, shoot.” She exclaimed and scrambled to retrieve the items off of the floor.  A ladies dress was not made for this type of movement and she was only making it worse.<br/>