<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/5/53/Onnecamug3.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Onneca de Goni<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Unknown<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 3rd, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Night, After Dinner<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Agatha's House<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Agatha<br/><hr/><br/>The door was left ajar as Onneca changed into her nightclothes at the foot of Agatha's bed. It was an allowance for something to happen, and there'd been many allowances like it through the years. It remained one of the few chances they had to capture what seemed to be slipping away all the time. She left the door ajar like a string dragged across a cat's paw, but knew deep down that Agatha was too polite to ever barge in. Onneca had read too many stories where an uncouth woman walked in on bared breasts, and purred sweet nothings to the heroine, and laid her down on rose petals and kissed her neck until she cried out. But this was just a lonesome bedroom, with the sound of rustling cloth echoed back at her.<br/><br/>Olive-toned arms stretched out into her chemise, floor-length and breathable linen with visible seams and fabric that let the warm color of her skin be hinted. It was a fabric made for indoors, as outside in the mesa sun, it would become all but transparent. Shiny, bountiful hair shook out down her back, and the whole room became subtly infused with jasmine perfume and the mouth-watering oils she used in her hair. Her nightclothes were always an excuse to hunch her shoulders, curl her back, and bring her knees up to her chest. There was a feeling of delicacy, of vulnerability, that she was no longer a woman fit to handle the hard business of the day, but a sheltered flower. Now she was in Agatha's bedroom, and it was Agatha sheltering her. It felt nice.<br/><br/>Once her puebla and rebozo were neatly hung on the outside of the wardrobe, Onneca sat down on the bed and ran her hands across the quilt her backside dimpled. It was much larger than her own bed, comfortably large enough for two, or perhaps a whole prairie family during the cold winter months. Her bare heels bumped gently on the trunk Agatha kept tightly locked, and the solid sound and weight she encountered told her that something significant was inside. She had never really thought about it, or why Agatha had kept it locked; a woman was entitled to her privacies. Little mind was paid the trunk until the rhythmic tap of her foot elicited the rattling clunk of something settling inside. Onneca brought her legs up onto the bed, and tried not to disturb anything more.<br/><br/>Her dark hair fanned out across a pillow once she'd slipped off the necklace of her conquistador crucifix. Her heart was thumping low as she lay on her side, only exaggerating the curve of her hip, and watched the hallway through the gap in the door. "Aggy," she called sweetly, "When we were little, I thought maybe I was the one protecting you. Now I am not so sure."