Abigail had the bottle gripped snug to the contour of her crotch, keeping the Colt aimed steady and following the backward path of the man until he was seated. At that point she lowered the gun back down, resting it on her thigh once more, though the barrel didn't cease to be directed at him. She held her peace, allowing him to finish his delivery without word or even the slightest hint of emotional expression that might interfere with his flow of reasoning.

She was more than well aware there wasn't a real man alive who wouldn't have felt his pride bitten by the ordering around of a little girl, no less at all for his manhood being placed into jeopardy in such a manner. It must have truly been tearing him up inside. Nevertheless, she had succeeded in doing exactly what she had intended. The Mustang had been tamed... for the moment, at least. She was furthermore somewhat inclined to honor another aspect of his self-control, or be it more a principle thing. Most men would have used her rather accurate placing of the bottle as no less than a perfect excuse to keep their eyes wondering to that region of her anatomy. He, however, did not. In fact, he had done a relatively stringent job of keeping his eyes on hers for the most part of his introduction. Still, she wasn't fully certain that he'd stop thinking with his head and start thinking with his penis if given the opportunity, especially now that his life wasn't in any immediate danger.  

A little time was taken in developing a cordial response, leaving the room in relative silence for a minute or so. The only sounds to be heard were the ongoing of folk down in the saloon, blended awkwardly with moaning of the whores in nearby rooms while Abigail, keeping her unaffected stare on Reuben's eyes, started rocking that bottle back and forth real slow against her crotch.

" Your name ain't no secret," She confided, her voice mellow as a priest in a confession box; "You're reputation has managed to make the acquaintance of my ears on more than just one occasion. I suspect that's no surprise to a man of your reputation, be what I heard about ya to be true, or otherwise."

Reuben was then graced with the smallest hint of a short-lived smile, accompanied by what could have be considered a playful wink as she stilled the rocking of the bottle between her legs. Her slender fingers then slipped from its neck, raising her hand real slow to the pocket of her shirt and produced a fold of paper. 

"Names Abigail Kate Clementine." Removing her other hand from the gun, she carefully began unfolded the paper as if it were some delicate, ancient parchment, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on Reuben. “As Fred or… The Ear was so deliberate to enlighten me on, I have no doubt gained my own reputation through my behavior over the prior six months. Seems folk in some places have given to calling me Colt Clementine.  For the time be’n, I ain’t none too certain how that particular title sits with me, henceforth I’d appreciate it if you referred to me as Kate.” 

Someone fired their pistol down in the Saloon, followed by a great deal of commotion, and Abigail waited till the commotion had settle considerably before re-commencing her speech. 

"Recently I had the opportunity in obtaining the services of a certain artist to draw out this particular depiction for me. I should warn you upfront to prepare your eyes, since the face on this parchment might just reach the standard of being the ugliest son’va bitch you've ever seen in your life."

With the paper between her finger and thumb, she holds out the portrait for Reuben to take a good looking over, ensuring he had a good eyeful before commencing her tale with a sinister lowering of her voice: 

"This here is Jacob Manning, also known as Nightmare Manning and the reason for my presence here today.” She pauses for just long enough to watch carefully at Reuben, see if his response was one given to familiarity of the face in question. “Jacob and his gang of equally distasteful scum arrived at my family’s home up in Nevada for no apparent reason’n and hanged my two brothers from an oak tree in our yard. They then shot a hole in my daddies head bout the size of a grapefruit. The sight of his brain kiss’n the deck of our porch, it be an image I see most ever night in my dreams. Them boys, however, didn’t stop at that. They had both me and my mother captive, make'n me watch while they strangled the life from her. I can still recall the words them boys were talk’n - making jokes and such - say’n how they better get her while her body was still warm. Needless to tell ya, that’s exactly what they did, hump’n her good and long till her body turned cold, at which point they commenced to taking their efforts out on me….” 

Abigail lowered the picture of Jacob, folding it neatly to be placed back in her pocket while she continued the story.

“…If I recall correctly, there was most like nine men take’n their turns with me, and as you may have already deciphered, they weren’t none too gentle about it either. I blacked out before they were done. Don’t know how long they continued in the absence of my mind, and I don’t rightly know how long it was before I came to again, but Jacob and his boys had already gone and fled by that point. All that remained for me to see from my position on the kitchen floor was the stone cold stare of my mother’s dead eyes gaze'n back at me.” 


It was then that Colt Clementine removed the Colt from her leg and placed it on the bed beside her, no longer having the barrel pointed at Reuben. She took up the bottle and had herself a good long swallow of its contents before sitting up straighter, back rested against the wall. 

“Now… you informed me not just five minutes ago that vengeance, as you put it, ain’t no good thing to be pursue’n. But I do believe you may have missed the part where there is always an exception to the rule. Did you not, Luckshot?” 

Leaning forward, she extended the bottle for Reuben to take off her hands.

“There’s really only one question I need be answered at this point. I see there be some Amerind blood course’n through them veins of yours, so it has me wonder’n just how good ya might be at track’n. That point out of the way, I so too am wonder’n if it be in your tendencies to oblige this young lady on her quest for retribution?”