<div class="floatleft">(http://i867.photobucket.com/albums/ab235/bloodiedporcelain/elcharacterpics/Doomtown/redhead76_zpsd8d9eec9.jpg)</div><br/><hr/><strong>Name:</strong>Aislinn Eilir<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>None<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 3rd, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Early Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Outside of the New Pony Express<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Alexander, Open<br/><hr/><br/>The stage coach ride to Gomorrah had been... "interesting" for lack of a better term. She'd had to sit across from a man in a stuffy waistcoat who said all of four words the entire time they were on the road, and pretended to ignore her whenever she spoke to him. But she knew he heard her... knew for absolute certain he heard her... because more than once he met her eyes for a split second before looking back down, seemingly flustered by her very presence.<em>He</em>was as boring as the seemingly endless stretches of nothing-interesting-here that seemed to permanently reside outside the stage coach window.<br/><br/>Full lips pursed, she'd made the last stretch of the ride in anxious silence, because the man who sometimes hung off the top of the coach and poked his head in to the window had told her they'd be arriving soon. The man across from her never seemed to notice him, but that was okay... she imagined her window-peeking time keeper wouldn't like him much anyway. Of course... the time keeper's opinion of what counted as "soon" was entirely different from her own, and by the time they really did arrive, Aislinn had been fidgeting and squirming in her seat for several hours, every movement making the seat squeak and disturbing her fellow passenger. At one point she'd caught him looking up at her in annoyance and had answered his dirty look by sticking her tongue out at him, nose wrinkled slightly.<br/><br/>When at last the coach had arrived, she was the first one off, scrambling out in to the sunlight before her companion and bouncing on to the dusty ground with both tiny feet, once shiny black shoes now well covered in the same road dust that clung to the bottom of her skirts. Giving the skirts a firm shake, she turned to collect her backpack from one of the stage coach workers before turning in the direction of the town. While her once-companion made arrangements for a horse to finish the trip, she'd set out with firm steps for the bridge leading toward the town. Already she could tell she was going to like it here. A bright blue bird flew directly over head, shooting toward the town like a bolt, its feathers turning purple on the way.<br/><br/>Oh yes. This place was going to be<em>quite</em>fun.<br/><br/>It was early afternoon by the time she reached the town itself, and the tiny redhead found herself wandering the streets idly. The blouse she wore was off-white in color and tucked in to her long floor-length green skirt. the skirt itself had been sewn to look as if several layers of fabric had been wrapped around and over each other, white fringes along the edge of each "layer". The skirt had a high waist, and fit snugly around her tapered middle, enhancing the modestly covered young bosom hidden under the high necked blouse. Oddly enough, despite the somewhat high-quality garments and the more proper style of dress, her red hair was kept in an attractive, but simple style... Pulled back tight against her head where it was braided and curled in to a thick bun. More interesting than the hair style, however, was the fedora that sat cock-eyed atop it, it's grey fabric something fitting to have been worn with a suit, rather than a lady's outfit. Still, somehow it seemed right at home.<br/><br/>As did the spectacles that hung from a piece of rawhide string tied like a necklace around her neck. To be perfectly honest, somehow even the deck of playing cards the young woman was carrying in her glove-less hands looked to be right where they should be, as she shuffled through them, seemingly looking hard through them to find a particular card. So preoccupied by the cards she was searching through, she didn't seem to notice that she was about to go crashing in to a man leaving the Pony Express.<br/><br/>That is, of course, until she stopped suddenly mere inches from him and without looking up at him, held up a playing card. The seven of hearts greeted him, and after a long moment of standing there holding the card up for him, eyes an impossibly dark shade of blue lifted to take in his face. Almost immediately, however, a serene smile curled her soft pink lips, though no words left her as she waited for him to take the "offered" card.