[center] [img]https://www.daz3d.com/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/0/2/02-western-town-daz3d.jpg[/img][/center]
[hr][hr][center][b][color=rosybrown]Isadora Violetta Langdale[/color][/b]
[color=orange][sub][b]PLACE[/b] // Langdale's saloon, the Marketplace
[b]TIME[/b] // Late morning, noon[/sub][/color][/center][hr][hr]

Isadora blinked groggily and roused herself. It was well past the time that people [i]normally[/i] got up, but then again, Isadora worked unusual hours.

Isadora brushed out her hair the best that she could before putting it up into a messy bun. She envied her older sister, Minerva, whose hair was wavy enough that it fell naturally in loose ringlets, but not so curly that it was perpetually frizzy and impossible to manage. Unfortunately for Isadora, her caramel-colored locks fit the latter description quite beautifully.

Isadora walked across the cramped room that she shared with her older sister to the rickety old wardrobe that stood in the corner. Whereas Minerva's side of the room was neat and meticulously organized, Isadora's side was utter chaos. Minerva had long given up trying to get Isadora to do [i]anything[/i] tidily.

Isadora donned a lightly-flared prairie skirt of ruffled rose calico that brushed her ankles and a fitted cotton blouse decorated with a few ruffled areas at the sleeve and neckline large brass buttons ran down the front of her blouse. She pulled on a pair of Minerva's practical boots for the time being-she would change into something flashier when it came time to open the saloon for business later in the day-and topped the entire ensemble off with a functional leather belt. Isadora decided that she would pinch a bit of lace and line the hem of her skirt in the aforementioned lace if she ever got the chance. Lace was very hard to come by, as expensive as it was, but if Isadora got lucky, she'd meet a nice rich lady who would be willing to trade a lace ruff or a pair of lace gloves for a bit of information. Though, Isadora reflected, she would never ruin a pair of lace gloves in order to decorate one of her plainer skirts.

It was Market Day, which meant that Minerva had been out all morning haggling with the vendors hawking their wares. Isadora felt sorry for the poor vendors. Minerva was one hell of a haggler. Something about her sharp, eternally disapproving eyes, Isadora imagined. And the way her older sister [i]talked[/i]-like she was murdering each word as it came out of her mouth. Their mother referred to Minerva's extremely precise way of speaking as [i]clipped[/i]. Mariana and Rosalina referred to it as [i]mean[/i].

Isadora made her way down the narrow staircase, which ended in the small office that Eleanora called home. Isadora's mother was there right now, busily scribbling away. None of the Langdales knew much in terms of reading (though Mariana and Rosalina had taught themselves more), but Eleanora and Minerva were good with numbers, a trait that Isadora most certainly had [i]not[/i] inherited.

"Isa, finally awake, I see," Eleanora said without looking up. "I know what you've been fixin' to do-all's I'm sayin' is that you best get it done 'fore it's time to open. Use that pretty face of yours and see if you can buy me some new shoes for real cheap while you're at it, hmm?" Although an unknown disease had left her mother crippled when Isadora was only eleven, she had lost none of her brusque, no-nonsense attitude.

Isadora laughed and planted a kiss on her mother's cheek. "You got it, Ma," she replied affectionately, grinning widely. Isadora unlocked the lock box that contained the earnings for the week, counting out a handful of coins. It was Market Day, and by god, Isadora was going to shop.

Isadora was just about to step outside when a face popped out in front of her. "Isa! Are you goin' to the market?" Rosalina asked excitedly, her green eyes twinkling with mischief. Isadora laughed.

"Rosa! What are you up to [i]now[/i]?" she questioned, picking up the armored parasol that the twins had created for her out of a durable but thin piece of metal Isadora had managed to acquire from a wealthy old man a couple of years back. He'd been looking for his daughter-something about her running off with a highly improper young man-and Isadora had traded him everything she knew about the aforementioned daughter for the valuable metal. She had planned to sell it at the market, but Mariana and Rosalina had insisted that Isadora let them tinker around with it. They were convinced it was some obscure remnant of the Old World, and Isadora frankly had no reason to believe otherwise. Out of the twins' efforts came a plum purple parasol decorated with little white bows and rosettes and gold swirls made from bits of scrap metal. Isadora adored the parasol; it was [i]very[/i] pretty, it blocked the sun extremely well, and although she'd never had to use the bulletproof feature of it before, Isadora was sure that would come in handy some day in the future. She'd never been directly attacked, per se-sure, there were riff-raff in Blackfinger who thought to steal from the saloon, seeing that it was pretty much run by women, but Isadora's honeyed tongue and sweet smile usually deterred them. If Isadora's wiles didn't work, then Minerva's revolver and shotgun usually did the job very nicely. And the twins were perpetually rigging up some sort of contraption or the other. They had plenty of potentially deadly gadgets on hand, if the need arose.

"Well, I jus' wanted to come with you," Rosalina answered, sticking out her lower lip and giving her older sister big puppy-dog eyes.

Isadora frowned in mock-disapproval. "And have you finished all the dishes, young lady?" Isadora asked.

Rosalina's guilty look was all the answer she needed. Isadora sighed and relented. "Fine. Come along. But make sure you finish those dishes 'fore opening, you hear? Otherwise Ma will have your head."

"Splendid!" Rosalina exclaimed happily, her chestnut-colored curls bouncing up and down as she bounded out the door. Isadora shook her head and smiled to herself before following.

Langdale's stood in a convenient location in between a mess of piers and wharves along the Great River and the train station. It was the [i]perfect[/i] spot for intercepting any relevant gossip. Normally, Isadora liked to find the bargers, but today, all the action would be in the marketplace. Isadora linked arms with Rosalina, balancing a basket in the crook of her free arm. "Are you goin' to tell me why you wanted to come so badly today, Rosa?" Isadora questioned, appraising her younger sister with a slight tilt of her head.

Rosalina grinned wickedly. "Nope."

Isadora let out an exasperated huff. "Don't play coy with me, missy. I'll be damned if this ain't about that explosive thing you and Maria have been working on for months."

Rosalina deflated slightly. "I should've known that you already knew," she groaned. "Will you tell Ma or Minerva?"

"Not if you don't accidentally blow our house down, no," was Isadora's cheeky response.

Rosalina smiled broadly. "That's why you're my favorite sister."

Isadora arched an eyebrow. "You sure that it ain't Maria, now? You two are as thick as thieves, mmm," Isadora teased lightly.

Rosalina shoo her head fervently, chestnut curls bouncing. "Nuh-uh, Isa. It's you, and you know it!"

Isadora laughed and rolled her eyes. "Kindly do shove off, Rosa," she answered, her dark eyes sparkling with mirth. The two sisters had reached the marketplace, and Rosa's emerald-green eyes flitted from one vendor to the next, searching for anything of interest. Isadora watched her with an amused expression on her face. She let Rosa survey the marketplace for another few moments before digging into her coin purse and pressing a couple of coins into Rosalina's hand. "Meet me back here in two hours, you hear? We gotta get back 'fore it's time to open the saloon." Rosa nodded quickly and dashed off.

Isadora immediately turned to the matter at hand: [i]shopping[/i]. She managed to procure a jar of lip tint, a pretty little sun hat decorated with a wide burgundy sash and a bow, and Ma's new boots. For Minerva, Isadora purchased a plain wooden comb, as she'd accidentally snapped her sister's old comb while trying to untangle her impossibly frizzy hair the other day. Isadora shouted greetings and animatedly chatted with others as she went on her way; most of the faces in Blackfinger were easily recognizable to her.  

After concluding a lively conversation about the scintillating topics of decorative millinery and Mrs. Blingchester's potential extra-marital affairs with her friend Joanna (Isadora was a firm believer in small, dainty little top hats adorned with an equally small feather or rosette, while Joanna had an unfortunate propensity for wide-brimmed monstrosities adorned with ostentatious poufs and ruffles), Isadora wound her way into the middle of a group of vendors selling firearms. She immediately dismissed the more practical options, instead examining the more decorative pieces. There was a [i]gorgeous[/i] ebony-stock percussion muff-pistol that would have suited Minerva well, Isadora thought, if Minerva actually cared about the aesthetics of her weapons (which she didn't). There were a couple of blades with intricately carved hilts, and even one that was inlaid with rubies and pearls that twinkled prettily in the bright sunlight. They were well beyond her means, of course, but who said that a girl couldn't [i]look[/i]?

One or two of the passerby gave her strange looks-what was a young woman carrying a parasol decorated in bows and cloth flowers, of all things, doing here?-but otherwise, business was as usual...until a scuffle broke out a couple of feet away from Isadora. 

Isadora watched with interest as a man yelled at another about stealing, punctuating his words with violent blows. Isadora felt like rolling her eyes. [i]Men. Ain't there anythin' they can do without hittin' each other?[/i] she thought incredulously. Nevertheless, it was over rather quickly, and the man apologized for his actions before continuing on his way. Isadora was thrilled. These things weren't necessarily uncommon, no, but Isadora was an artful spinner. Oh yes, she'd have [i]plenty[/i] to say about the incident.