<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://24.media.tumblr.com/a16483c2858f862945634d46b9ad41b9/tumblr_mh480oybdg1r64urio1_500.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Jaelyn Scot-Jones<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>n/a<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 15th, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Jones' Mercantile & Trade<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>a passel of kids, Albert, Ginny, open - Dr ?<br/><hr/><br/>The coarse material began to chafe where seams and edges met tender skin.  Also, in her rush to get downstairs she accidentally stove in the side of that horrid cowhide bag only to meet what ever unforgiving bit of business was inside leaving her with a throbbing big toe.  She had dragged the hated satchel down stairs, just as she had dragged it across The Maze and over the bridge to Gomorra, with all good intentions of storing it away later when she filled any explosives orders from the special storage room in the cellar.  All that though was nothing compared to the embarrassment of effort required to serve one glorified she-devil.<br/><br/>Jaelyn - railing with silent self-recriminations - could never think herself spoiled, but realized too late that even her old charity clothes were not as coarse as her current choice of dress.  The irony  was double humbling, as it was she who put herself in this predicament.  Mrs Clarke had delivered completed pieces two days prior along with new chemise, petticoat and an entire set of underthings.  And while the cost was a fair bit more than expected, after one touch of the soft, well tailored material, Jaelyn couldn’t bring herself to say no thank you.  Nor could she bring herself to wear the new pieces in the store; they were much too fine - the most beautiful she’d ever owned in fact - so she’d shelled out the extra coin to pay the store’s till for one of the premades found on the shelf under the old faded and flattened sacrifice.  And had counted herself wise.<br/><br/>When a particular blond coiffed customer entered the store, the young storekeeper realized that her frugal decision was maybe not so wise as she wished it to be.<br/><br/>The heat of the day, which was bad enough in itself though normal for Gomorra, coupled with the extra exertion required for Ginny Whateley’s frivolous demands left Jaelyn glowing with perspiration.  The drab grey hung loosely on her too slender form and quickly stained darker under her arms while great wisps of hair stuck to the edges of her flushed face, framing her frustration.  Jaelyn didn’t know whether to cry or spit in the wretch's eye.<br/><br/>Neither was acceptable behavior, so instead she bit the inside of her cheek until the coppery taste of blood made her take pause.  Bloodletting - even her own - was where she drew the line.  So Jaelyn took an extra moment while on her knees to grasp the dogwood beads hanging from her slender neck and sent a mindful prayer for patience, true humility, and a great surge of brotherly love.  And she gratefully felt the rush of God’s answer; love and support filling her, calming her.  Until…<br/><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"Hur'y it up 'here; Ah've need tah git going!"</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br/>More than the words, overblown with ego, it was the snapping fingers that got to Jaelyn, as if she was a dog set on to do tricks.  The audacity… the gall was just too much!  The slight girl stilled, head turning, chin up, blue eyes snapping with cool fire.  It had been years since Jaelyn had been riled to such a state of rebellion, an attitude that in years past  would result in her behind a locked door in the dark on bruised knees.  Gomorra, though, was far from Lost Angels.  And here she answered to no one but God.<br/><br/>Her mouth curved in a tight smile that did not reach her eyes.  What would tossing this spoiled brat out on her ear really mean?  Jaelyn was happy enough to never see the other woman's milksop face again.  The loss of Whateley business was certain, but then who else?  How far flung was the Whateley influence?    “Miss Whateley, I don't…”<br/><br/>The scathing retort was interrupted when a clamor of children came in a rush.  Irritation with the irksome blond spilled over on the mass of youngsters.  “What?  Slow down, now.”  When would these children learn her name?   “Wait now, wait…  one at a time.  You!”  Pointing at a taller, older looking one of the bunch.  “What is going on?”<br/><br/>But Jaelyn was already on the move, a cold pit where her belly used to be, before the reiterating din began.  All that was clear was that Albert was injured and with that knowledge, thought for the store or the goods in it or Ginny Whateley went out the window.  She knew the children would lead her to him, but even that was not necessary, for there he was, come to her.<br/><br/>“Oh… Lord!”  She grasped once again at the pink hued beads, not taking the Lord’s name in vain as many might have believed, but instead speaking in supplication.  The too pale face, the dark stained sleeve; all else was forgotten as she fell to her knees beside the boy, a wall of whippersnappers coming up on her back.  “Give us some room, please.”  Her voice full of quiet concern as arms spread wide to shoo clear space around the boy.  Jaelyn swallowed hard when she saw blood soaking the unnatural bend of his arm.  “Someone run to get the doctor.  Quickly now!”<br/><br/>Brushing the infamous curl from the cold, clammy forehead, Jaelyn leaned close.  Noting the boy’s shallow breath, she spoke softly.  “You silly boy, what have you done to yourself?  Hmm?“  She smiled into the little face, eyes wet and bright as her hands move gently down over his shoulder, barely touching the soaked, bloody cloth for fear of causing more pain.  She grazed over the hard frayed end of bone and shuddered inside.  A broken bone could often leading to near crippling results, but this bone broke right through the skin.  It was likely the boy would bleed to death before the doctor even arrived unless she could stem the flow of his precious life’s fluid.<br/><br/>“How long has it been?”  A question tossed back over her shoulder.  At this point, what happened was less important than how long he was bleeding like this.  Even this answer was not important, she realized, because it would still take the doctor too long to arrive.  And Albert didn't look able to go any further than the worn planks of the store porch.  Circumstances made our choices all too often.<br/><br/>Hiking up the hated skirt, Jaelyn tore at the fabric until a wide strip fell away to reveal a well-worn petticoat.  All the while, she looked at the anxious young faces gathered around.  She trusted these children, felt a kinship with them.  They could and would do what was necessary.  Eying a familiar boy who watched expectantly, waiting for just this chance to help, she said, “You there, bring some blankets from the store.  The wool ones on the yard side shelf.  Two…. no three.”  Nodding encouragingly, she saw the shared concern in those all too knowing eyes before he dashed away.  With another rip, she cast about for a second familiar face, “Dotty, go to the kitchen and put on a pot of clean water to boil, yeah?  Go on now.  We need to be ready for when the doctor arrives.”<br/><br/>Then, bending back to her own task, tears welled without spilling as she spoke to the pasty faced Albert again.  “Hey you, now is time for you to be the big boy we all know you are.  We must wrap your hurt arm so it stops bleeding.  Now.”<br/><br/>This was not going to be pretty for anyone.