[color=9e0b0f][h1]Victoria Chatham[/h1][/color]

Victoria looked upon the city of Dawson as Marie trotted into town early in the morning. The same as any other shithole in Texas really, just bigger, a lot bigger.  Victoria began to wonder how exactly she was going to kill Dawson. Sure he wouldn’t be hard to find but he owned this entire city and she was one girl. She moved her hand down the ivory grip of one of her pistols, still not deflowered by powder. She wore the shell belts loose so they hung low on her thigh, just the way she had seen the gunslingers that frequented her cathouse wear them. If she was going to get the opportunity to put them to use she was going to need some info, and there was always one surefire way for a girl to get it. Men never thought much of working girls and thought their secrets would just fall out of their “silly female brains”. 

As she made her way down, for what must pass as a main drag in the seedier part of town, Victoria spotted a tavern. Not perfect but it would serve her purpose. She steered Marie towards the back of the building and found a small corral. She awkwardly slipped off of the saddle and fell the short distance to the ground. Marie wasn’t exactly a large horse but she easily towered over victoria’s 5’3” frame. She led the appaloosa mare into the corral and gently patted her cheek saying “[color=9e0b0f]You behave yourself girl[/color]” before grabbing her saddle bags and closing the gate. As she walked around the building she unbuckled her gun belts and tucked them under a dress inside the bag. A woman with that much firepower would definitely raise suspicion and she wasn’t looking to get into a gunfight with a pile of Dawson’s men. 

“[color=9e0b0f]I’m here for a job[/color]” Victoria announced to the barkeep as she walked through the empty parlor. He finished polishing the glass he had been working on and set it down before asking “Dancer, or whore?” Victoria leaned on to the bar, “[color=9e0b0f]Whatever you need me to be[/color]”. 

“Right, both” 

[hr] 


A few hours later the saloon had filled up and Victoria was backstage getting ready for her act. She had changed from her normal white blouse and high-waisted blue floral skirt to her working attire which amounted to a green satin corset top dress with a tiered skirt pinned up in front of her thigh and sheer lace, elbow length, fingerless gloves and tall black heels. “You’re next red” called another dancer as she adjusted the black lace chocker that covered the scar on her neck. Victoria nodded silently and slipped through the curtain. She walked behind the musician running a hand along his shoulders and whispered “[color=9e0b0f]play me something good would you grandpa[/color].” 

As she started her dance she saw two men, who were just a little too full of themselves, enter the bar and start hassling one of the girls. She tried to contain her anger and keep dancing. One doesn’t need to convince a prostitute your rich, just pay her what she asks and you can get what you need. When the man slapped the girl, Victoria stopped her dance immediately, shaking with anger. If she had her pistols she would be shooting already. Before she could do anything stupid another man stood up and told the offender off. Victoria followed the conversation quietly; turns out she had come to the right saloon after all. She didn’t know who the coyote was but if he was out to hang Richard Dawson than she could stand to know him a little better. As the large group left the building Victoria whipped around and headed for her bags in the dressing room, a flurry of bright red hair flowing in her wake. She dug the pistols out of her bag and strapped them on as she ran out the back door and around the building. As she reached the street she found quite a few new faces and a raging gunfight. She slid into the cover the scruffy gunfighter had jumped behind.

“[color=9e0b0f]There were a lot more subtle ways you could have handled that[/color].”