<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 3rd, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Dinner Time<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Agatha's House<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Elisabeth, Agatha, Christian<br/><hr/><br/><br/>This was Agatha's house in the way that the church was God's house; everyone who came to visit still did as the preacher directed. Elisabeth, then, was the preacher, and Onneca was wise to the ways of the Lady Boyle. Almost a year ago now Agatha had introduced them. What was it she said?<em>I have a friend who would love to join us. It will be fun. </em>And she was fun, her keen and wicked mind, her confidence as she steered a dangerous conversation like a bullfighter directing a rampaging brute with a mere silk scarf. She was an artist and a very good woman to know. Onneca's hands were clasped to her knees beneath the table, a girlish smile on her face as she listened to Elisabeth recall the morning's events. There was a unique perspective to that keen mind, colored by the way she wanted things to happen- the way that she seemed to be able to make things happen.<br/><br/>Maybe Christian would never have imagined himself as sheriff. Onneca would never have envisioned herself opening up to Elisabeth about enjoying the company of women. Question after question, she had been so endearingly interested, as though the Lady Boyle were doing research for a dime novel.<em>What attracts one woman to another? Are any of the saloon girls your type? How do you know whom will be on the bottom and whom on top? </em>Each new layer of personal revalation built on the last, until there came a morning over tea when she was describing the things enterprising young women had done to her. Elisabeth had been there, and Agatha, and she had been embarrassed, but as long as it was just the three of them, then it was alright.<br/><br/>But it was not just the three of them. Her rarely brave eyes were on Christian and trying to gauge his thoughts on Elisabeth's news. A spoonful of soup paused over her bowl, watching Spooky like a nervous trail hand watches a rattler, she was getting nothing at all from him. Men were a mystery to Onneca, and cowboys doubly so. They did not come into the bodega very often. There had been one cowboy named Elijah, who had hung around the bodega while he was new in town and looking for work. He had made the hearts of the married ladies race with a cheeky smile and he had followed Onneca around like a puppy, but he was really more of a large boy than a man. He wasn't like Onneca's father, who was her definition of a man, nor like Christian, who was at least a synonym.<br/><br/>She dipped forward to claim the soup from her spoon. Every time she did, her olive-toned cleavage crowded to escape the plunging neckline of her puebla. The tailor was accustomed to the company of women. "Mm,<acronym title="Very good">muy bien</acronym>," she cooed. A little wine, and obstacles seemed surmountable. A little more, and she realized that if Agatha and she had grown up together, then Christian must be a sort of brother to her. She stared a little less, and her rebozo was being tugged all around her body, but never where it ought to be. Another half a glass, and she forgot her manners and remembered all the things she wanted from the world. "I have not read the book yet," she remembered, "the one you both are in. We should read it together, si?<acronym title="Story time">La hora del cuento</acronym>."