<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://24.media.tumblr.com/a16483c2858f862945634d46b9ad41b9/tumblr_mh480oybdg1r64urio1_500.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Jaelyn Scot-Jones<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>n/a<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 3, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>dusk<br/><strong>Location:</strong>stagecoach trail<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>the priest<br/><hr/><br/>Ignoring the growing ache in her slight arms as the dainty gun grew heavier to hold, she kept her eyes peeled on the terrible scene.  On her arm, blood welled up in several of the deepest wounds until gravity had its way, leaving her striped with sticky carmine rivulets.  Thoughts of running had left with the use of her legs, it seemed all her strength was channeled to wielding the derringer.  And she was crying, unbeknownst even to herself.  The tears were silent, sorrowful leaks out of the far corner of each eye.  Perhaps it was desert dust that did it.<br/><br/>Or it might be that the pretty young cynic bore witness to the ferocity of God, who a life's breath later granted His sweet grace.  The awesomeness of the event was not lost on her as her still startled gaze settled on the thing left behind.  It was a lot to take in, to believe.  Jaelyn knew that the immediate danger was past as the priest rose to dust off his day's work.<br/><br/>"Are you well, my child?”<br/><br/>It took some effort to shift the gun's aim, residual terror perhaps, but she did it with a soft gasp of pain.  Her muscles were not used to such doings as this.  Though she was kept active with cleaning and chores, her body was much too thin for her place in Lost Angels 'society'.  That she sneaked much of her own food serving out to the starving during the week days when there was no grand show of a banquet was the culprit for her continued malnourishment.  And heartrendingly, it still wasn't enough to keep very many sustained from one Feast Day to the next.  Still she did it, her own private rebellion.<br/><br/>Her gaze shifted up and while she wondered at the difficulty of the task this priest just performed, the trembling started.  With the sun gone, so was the Maze's heat source and cool air came quickly with the night.  Jaelyn shivered and it took several attempts to work her jaw properly.<strong>"I... I think so."</strong><br/><br/>She searched the old man's face, it seemed kind with its own hint of sorrow.  It added to the terrible sadness weighing heavy on her chest.  She had suspected dirty dealing from Grimme, but this was incomprehensible.  Her voice was small and tight,<strong>"Can you... can you tell  me what just happened?"</strong>What did it mean?  Where did it leave her?  Such a simple question, so loaded with need.  Had the God she'd come to doubt spare her?  Or was she next to fall under the press of a simple wooden cross to her flesh?<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>