InsaneJournal

Unwelcome attentions
Who: Stella Cooper, Robert MacKenzie
Where: the streets of New Shelby
When: June 2, 1867; evening, around dusk
Status: Incomplete
Summary: Stella runs into a bit of trouble on her way home, and despite her best efforts, requires assistance.
Note: This scene takes place before Stella acquires the small Remington derringer she will habitually carry later on.

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Stella caught up her skirts as she hastened her way across the main street from the general store, her purchases safely tucked into a small basket. Apparently supplies were running low, so she'd only purchased what she absolutely needed -- a few bars of of scented soap, some shoe polish, and a length of ribbon in a rich blue she hadn't been able to resist. The fabrics and ready-made dresses were nearly all gone, but considering Stella's less than impressive sewing skills, she'd be glad to wait and see what came in with the next supply train. The ribbon would do quite nicely, in the meantime.

She shifted her basket from one arm to the other, distracted by her thoughts of what supplies she'd need to look for once the supply train came through again, and nearly missed the whiff of alcohol that hung heavy on the air. That was all the warning she had before an arm snaked out from one of the side streets and yanked her into the shadows.

Stella yelped slightly before a hand clapped over her mouth, and her basket tumbled from her grasp. Her nostrils flared, with anger and a touch of fear at being handled so, and she bared her teeth threateningly against the man's hand.

"Got a bit of bite to yer, dontcha?" the man's voice slurred, although he removed his hand hastily enough. He was one of the regulars down at the saloon, Stella realized -- a lout named Silas who was a good half-foot taller than her, and prone to drinking excessively. He'd been tossed out into the street more than once for manhandling the girls, and Stella had been fortunate not to run into him outside of the saloon walls before.

Unfortunately, her luck seemed to be running out.

"Take your hands off of me, sir," Stella told him with as much dignity as she could muster.

"Whatcher gonna do about it?" Silas sneered. Stella blanched at the strong odor of whiskey on his breath, and pushed ineffectually at his chest.

"If you don't take your hands off me right now," Stella told him, speaking slowly and clearly, "I will scream."

Silas dropped his head to sniff suggestively at her neck, and Stella shivered as her skin crawled. "You just try it," he muttered darkly.

Stella drew in her breath quickly, but she'd barely had time to let loose a shriek for help before the man backhanded her sharply across the face. He shoved her back against the wall of the nearby building, his face contorted in a snarl. "Shut yer mouth, whore," he growled at her, the thin trail of blood from her split lip only serving to spur him on. "Th'other girls is glad enough to see me of a night, but you've jus' been askin' for it," he told her darkly. "Them short skirts, flashin' your legs and all, flauntin' yerself -- I reckon s'yer turn now, Red."

Desperate, Stella brought her knee sharply up into the man's groin, but he didn't loosen his hold. Instead, his fingers tightened, digging painfully into her arms as he doubled over, wheezing in agony, and her struggles did no good against his bulk pinning her to the side of the building.

"Shouldn'ta done that," Silas panted. "Gonna have to teach yer a lesson now, Red."