<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://pursuitist.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/kate-upton2.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Annabel Montgomery.<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 4th, 1876.<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Evening.<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Heading towards The New Moon Saloon.<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>The Event, Open.<br/><hr/><br/><br/>It was quiet out, which was surprising since it was only evening; she expected the odd few drunks or occasional gunslinger to pass her in the open streets of Gomorra. In all honestly, Annabel didn’t feel completely comfortable with her task in the slightest, but Ms. Betsy – the middle aged woman who, as far as Annabel knew, practically ran the New Moon Saloon – had begged her favour. It was her night off and the woman had approached her room, which she did often when she wasn’t busy, but this time was apparently different. She had stated that she was running low on a few things and had sent a telegram to her local Gomorra supplier with a list of things she had need of. She rambled on for a bit then and Annabel had to admit she tuned out while the woman explained herself in detail, literally retracing her steps for the blonde girl. Annabel was forced to interrupt and the woman finally got to her point: Would Annabel mind making a trip to her supplier to get the things she needed? Once again, Ms. Betsy reassured her that she’d already put it all by and that it would be ready to pick up. She also mentioned that it wasn’t much, only a box-full. Annabel had blatantly refused at first, as sharp as ever; she basically closed the door on the poor woman. The woman didn’t give up and she almost knocked the door from its hinges as she pleaded with the girl; it was surprising what a burly woman could do to a bit of wood!<br/><br/>Annabel let out a heavy sigh as she lugged the box back to the Saloon, feeling regret that only seemed heavier ever second that passed. The box was much larger than she anticipated, and she could only just about carry it with it resting against her chest and on her forearms, her fingers curling around the edge of the box; the last thing she needed was the bottom falling out on her. Not only did she have to lug the damned box about, but it felt as if she were carrying some sort of backpack with few hundred stones inside, each one having ‘uneasiness’ scribbled into their rough surfaces. The anxiety only seemed to grow with every step she took; another rock was added to her metaphoric pack.<br/><br/><strong> <em>“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUGH – “</em></strong><br/><br/>The sound, though faint and almost inaudible, practically deafened her. Annabel span on the spot, made suddenly frantic at the horrifying screech; it almost sounded inhuman. The blonde froze on the spot, her head slowly turning to stare all around her, deep blue eyes peeled open to take in everything around her, as if somehow if she opened them wide enough she would be able to see through walls. Annabel knew she should probably go back to the Saloon as fast as possible, but for a while it was hard enough to move her head, let alone her feet. She found herself glued to the dusty ground, rooted in place like some sort of fear-stricken tree.<br/><br/><em>No.</em>No, she couldn’t just wait there. Even though questions whizzed through her mind faster than a thirsty horse seeking water, she knew she had to deliver her goods like she’d promised. Maybe then she could figure out what was going on, what that awful scream was. Maybe Ms. Betsy knew what was going on, or someone at the Saloon? Sucking in a ragged breath and swallowing at the lump in her dry throat, Annabel moved. She walked faster than before, as if there were someone or<em>something </em>hot on her heels.<br/><br/>It wasn’t long before she reached the Saloon and there were a small group of people stood outside on the porch, muttering to themselves in their usual drawl.<br/><br/><em>”Whut wa’that?”<br/><br/> “Wa’thut a woman?” <br/><br/>“Did ya hear tha? Sounded like a’murder.”<br/><br/> “Maybe ya’ll shud contact the sheriff or sumthin?”</em><br/><br/>Annabel didn’t as much as glance at them as she climbed the few steps to the porch and passed by them to enter the Saloon. It was almost empty, save a few ignorant bastards enjoying their drink and laughing about the noise and the girls behind the bar. Annabel paused in front of said bar, pressing the box carefully onto the polished wood surface before lowering her arms to her sides to rest them.<br/><br/><strong>”Ya’ll here tha? Wha’s happenin’ o’thar?”</strong>The girls behind the bar simply shook their heads, seemingly scared stiff of the sudden commotion. Annabel glanced around once more before heading back out towards the porch; maybe she should go see what’s going on?<br/>