Valora Leandra Bercarius (despida) wrote in dp_past, @ 2009-12-07 11:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | ☥ general population, ☥ gunslingers |
Who: Valora & Rexton
When: March 13, 1909
Where: Mine Town; Iron Man
What: Valora is not on duty and so goes to a bar where she meets Rexton. So begins their friendship.
Rating & Warnings: PG-13
Valora had stood in front of the mirror in the room she shared with the other guard for about five minutes, looking herself over. Since she was on a job, though not currently on duty, her clothing all focused on ease of fighting, and was only in colors that would not show blood easily. So currently she was dressed in black slacks that fit tight to her legs, though were not skin tight, and a dark red blouse. The blouse was unbuttoned enough to show cleavage, and was tucked under the waistband of her pants. She only would go out with her shirt un-tucked if she was free of a job. One thing her father had drilled into her skull was the fact that you never gave the enemy any chance to grab onto you, never give them any kind of an opening. Because of this philosophy, Valora was also deprived of any ornamentation, no jewelry that could be used against her. She had even forgone wearing the chunky heels she favored and stuck with the black combat boots. As for weaponry, well Valora would never go without, even when not on a job. It wasn’t only the rich who gained enemies. Much like a cowboy back in the old west, Valora sported a leather gun belt on her waist, a gift from her father when she went out on her first job. It was black and was well worn by now. The holster was empty, though still there and tied flush to her thigh. In her opinion, wearing a gun when not on duty only asked for trouble. However, that did not stop her from strapping her blade, a plain hunting knife, to the belt and slipping smaller blade into sheathes on her arms, hidden by her sleeves. After a moment’s hesitation she also added her boot knife, just in case. The job she was on now was rather simple, only requiring two people, each working a twelve hour shift. The guy was someone newly rich who had managed to piss off a small fry, wannabe gangster. The situation would be easily dealt with when the person made an appearance. She rolled her shoulders a bit before picking up a hair band from a side table and doing a quick job of throwing her hair up into a messy bun. It was eight in the evening now, and after sleeping she was ready to go out. She had until eleven to roam before going on duty. Leaving, she made her way to the only decent bar she had heard of in this town, the Iron Man. It was a short drive from the house of her employer to the place. Once inside she made her way to the bar, ignoring the looks she gained for the only blade that was visible. Of course the empty holster probably did not help. “Ginger ale,” she said to the tender when he came by. Another thing her father drilled into her was the fact that you never drink alcohol while on the job, on duty or not. |