<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 3, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Morning<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The London Royal Apothecary<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Agatha, Elisabeth, Oswald<br/><hr/><br/>Onneca was examining her tea when Professor Hardinger began to describe one of her papers- yes, just one of several- and she didn't look up again until the conversation had rotated around the table to Aggy again. She was all decorum at tea, all appearances, regardless of how passionately Oswald spoke and how animated his hands became in adding gravity to his words. She was just a gentle lady, sipping her tea, even when she finally spoke up to say "I am for safer and less harmful ghostrock mining. I am not for revenge against Maze Rats."<br/><br/>Her eyes alighted sadly on Agatha. Onneca and machines went together like cats and rocking chairs. And weapons, while a regrettable necessity out West, were all the track the tailor's mind needed to resent what Oswald was asking. What he might be asking sweet Aggy to birth. "They remind me of the railroad camp," she put forward. "They are living on scraps. They do not have the things we have. Sometimes bad things happen because people are scared. If we can make peace with the Indians, it is a sign we can also live at peace with the Rats. They come from the same mothers. They want the same things that we do." So totally convinced in the goodness of a bunch of pirates, she cast a glance around the table, unabashed by how naive she was sounding. Ines would've been proud, or perhaps she would be rolling her eyes. It was a very fine line sometimes.<br/><br/>"I remember when the railroad officers would come into the camp because something had been stolen. Sometimes they would beat a boy in hopes one would confess. I think, sometimes, nobody had stolen anything, or maybe the railroad workers had done it. It did not matter, because we were garbage." A slender brow gave a telling quirk of emotion beneath the shadow of a fine hat, just the sort of thing that if stolen would've resulted in a beating. "And we grew up hating them. And now we are more rich than those men ever were, and we wanted nothing to do with them. And, creo que, pienso que si, we are burdened to do better. This is what I think."<br/><br/>Without breaking decorum, she settled her teacup on a doily she had made by hand, and folded her hands politely down in her lap, and looked across to see how her ideas settled on Elisabeth.