<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>driver (Guardian Angel)<br/><hr/><br/><br/>If the would-be martyr thought the day couldn't get any more miserable, she was about to find out different.<br/><br/>Hours of jostling and bouncing had bruised the backs of her thighs and the arm closest to the carriage wall, not that anyone would ever see the evidence, but she felt the aches just the same.  And she was near exhausted just trying to keep her seat.  Ire raised within her.  This is how HE kept control of the masses, by keeping them weak and beggardly, of which she, in comparison to the sad populace of Lost Angels, was neither.  Hadn't he reminded her how fortunate she was to be fed and clothed within the bosom of the Cathedral.  Now he expected payment for such.  Only her tithing was far more than ten percent!<em>Bastard.</em><br/><br/>She was immediately contrite.  Such thoughts were not becoming of a lady even if they were truer than blue.  And being a proper lady was important to her; as a reflection of her parents, where ever they might be in God's Universe and perhaps more importantly as a reflection of her piety.  Truth be told, the later was more of a struggle these days.  For the young woman, orphaned by death and circumstance, God was far too often negligent in the care of his lilies to warrant her full faith in return.<br/><br/>Doubt was shoved away.  There was no time to waste on such thoughts when she needed a keen mind to see her way through this 'trip'.  For it was already not what she expected.  A Guardian Angel?  Did the good Reverend not trust her to complete the task?  He was no mind reader, surely!  A chill crept along her shoulders remembering their last conversation, his final instruction.  Her final doom.<br/><br/>Jaelyn forced her thoughts from what was behind to the immediate future.  As to the nefarious plans of Reverend Grimme, he'd already taken her mother.  As addled as she was, the woman had volunteered, while Jaelyn herself was sought out.  It was a change in tactic that didn't set well with the girl at all.  Because as harsh as life was, she'd never wanted to kill herself.  Not even for God.<br/><br/>It was precisely then that the axle snapped, the sound sharp and boding nothing good.  The jarring it gave her spine was nothing compared with the sudden drop to earth.  She yelped, bouncing hard on the seat before coming completely off it to land on the floor in a mess of skirt and bruises.  She had no doubt there would also be several dark imprints of the small lady's pistol she carried in a deep pocket of her skirt.  At the moment she was just grateful it hadn't gone off.  It would be hell to pay if she shot herself to death before she could blow herself up.<br/><br/>“Saint's piss!”  The ornery cuss of the 'driver'; some guardian angel he was turning out to be, she thought from her position on the floor.  She ought to move, but was just enjoying not being bounced around for the moment.  Because Jaelyn hurt.  Every bone and joint in her malnourished body, every coach smacked bit of flesh, begged her to cry.  She might have, too, if she wasn't made of sterner stuff.  As it was, she surely moaned a little sliding herself across the floor and out the door.  The ground was closer than usual, so that was a plus, ironically.<br/><br/>Memory chose that moment to surface;  there was a gross amount of explosives packed carefully in her one suitcase.  Standing on wobbly legs, she blanched several shades paler, a wide-eyed stare moved from the back of the coach to the driver.  "Oh, Jesus!"  A hand patted her chest, willing the muscle encased there to return to a normal beat.  "That might have been the end of both of us, Sir!"  She didn't expect much of a response for stating the obvious.  The man hadn't given her much more than grunts since the trip started.<br/><br/>Testing her legs, she moved away from the coach to get a better look at the damage.  It was bad.  And highly unlikely to be repairable, at least not quickly, and not here.  "I don't suppose you have a spare one of those?"  She asked hopefully, and if he listened he might hear a teasing lilt.  A bit of sass came with the relief of 'buying time'.  Even so, she soon shivered and looked around in the quickly fading light.  Darkness would bring more cold.  Briefly she wondered if freezing to death was a better end as there were no warm clothes packed between sticks and fuses.<br/><br/>There was just a threadbare shawl inside the coach.  One didn't have to own the best to maintain their modesty after all.  Retrieved, she was glad to have it.  It covered the tear at the back of her left shoulder where a bedeviled horse nearly came away with a good patch of her skin.  Jaelyn was sure to keep her distance after that encounter; no loving pets or sweet affections for those beasts.<br/><br/>"What's that there?"  She pointed, knowing full well what it was.  In truth, it did take a moment to notice the smoke some distance off the coach road.  Whether is was friend or foe, she just wanted her driving angel to be looking away while she located the pistol in her skirts.  She kept hold of it there, reassured, foolishly no doubt, with its weight and cool pearl handle against her palm.<br/><br/>"Perhaps the good Lord is providing us assistance."  She offered, doubtful, but ever playing the part.  And for once since the journey's start, she was a little glad for the surly driver and his 'protection'.  "Shall we have a look then?"<br/>