Oregonal Sin

Alita had been coming in to town much more often since the flood. She wanted to help out where she could and she wanted to escape the memories that the still-sodden pastures brought to mind.

After finishing some more building work down by the docks, she headed to the saloon. She took her normal seat at the bar and glanced around the room to see who else was about.

Another damn week starting. At least the square was half clear of ice as Gemma crossed it, her boot heels sinking into mud rather than sliding across it, until she reached the shadow of the buildings and pushed open the door to the store. "Harry? You got that new stock of flour in yet?"

Benjamin walked back downstairs after checking over all of Gemma's girls, and put his bag up on a stool by the bar where she was standing. He looked exhausted, leftovers from the flu, but did not cough anymore. It was gone.

"Miss Trent's rash will be gone in three to four days, she should not receive anyone until then," he informed Gemma. Not unless she wanted word to spread that her girls were spreading diseases. "And you'll be glad to know Mr. Colton has not managed to further his injury. A small miracle in and of itself."

It had been long enough, and he was fine now, really, apart from when he tried to bend back too much - yeah, he'd tried. So it was time, and Gemma was okay with it so long as he always ran clients by her before taking them up, and. He should've told Doyle, but he'd chickened out.

So he sat at the cathouse bar soon after opening, and waited to see which of his regulars would show up tonight. He was hoping for a regular, anyway.

It was the last orange. He sneaked into the kitchen and grabbed it, turning around and jumping when he found himself face to face with Gemma and one of her mighty arching eyebrows.

"It ain't for me!" he pleaded, immediately, very much the boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "It's for Bee, she's feelin' shitty after her last customer from last night and I thought it might do her good, it's full of vitamin they say, and it tastes like sunshine, and I thought she could use that, I swear it ain't for me."

Dan came into the saloon, in his preaching clothes. Spotted Gemma and came up to the bar, solemnly.

"I was hoping to pay Ryan a visit. As his pastor," he said quietly.

Afternoons were quiet enough, most times, that there wasn't much call for keeping the main bar open as well as the cathouse. Most folk weren't interested in girls until darkness fell, as if daylight would show up the patches on goods that weren't no longer new, so early afternoon found Gemma through in the saloon, resting on a stool next to the bar, watching Jax polish up glasses. "You been hearin' anythin' more 'bout those men the sheriff took away?"

The impulse was completely irrational and utterly childish. He didn't care.

He was pissed off. He was hurt. His head was throbbing and his throat felt like he'd been gargling broken glass. He couldn't stop coughing. It wasn't helping his throat, but it was giving him an excuse for the tears in his eyes.

He should have stopped and taken a cough syrup or drank tea or *something*, but for no good reason at all (and still all the reason he needed) was flatly reserving. He slammed into the bar, still coughing and crying (well, with tears thanks to the cough, at least).

And found someone looking at him rather more closely than he would have wanted.

He didn't even have time to think before he snapped out a very rough, a very angry, and a decidedly resentful, "What do you want?"

He sounded like Benjamin. It did not improve his mood.

Cranky was as contagious as the flu, apparently.

John didn't do cranky anymore than he talked.

Monday morning. Usually a quiet one in the saloon, girls still sleeping off the night before, Jax probably still in bed with one of them. Gemma was dressed, but not for custom, working slow around the main room to clear up. Tables wiped, bar cleaned, she was pushing a broom around the floor when she heard the door open behind her, and didn't look around. "We ain't open for business yet."

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since The Incident and Harry hadn't managed to make it over to Gemma's to check on Beth and Ryan.

Not that he hadn't tried.

One day, he'd actually made it out the door but then a customer had come in, one that needed his own personal attention, yes. And then, a couple days later, he'd made it down the block before he realized where he was headed and turned around. Then, then there was the time he'd made it the whole way into the saloon before a flash of feather had reminded him of everything and he'd bolted like a startled deer.

It wasn't that he didn't want to see them. He did, desperately. But he'd also convinced himself that it was his fault. That he wouldn't be welcome anymore because of it. He knew, logically, that it wasn't. But heart and head weren't talking so much these days and he and Ryan had had that fight at the picnic and he'd left like the coward that he was. If he'd just stayed. If he'd stood his ground. If he'd just been the sort of person he always purported to be ...

If if if.

Today, Harry was standing in the alley opposite the back of the house, staring up at the windows. Hoping to catch a glimpse. If he just saw them, saw that they were mostly OK, then it would be better. Really.

Just over a week since that damned Church picnic, and Ryan was still bedrid. Gemma did what she could to keep things peaceful for the boy, but the walls were thin, and business was business. Still made time to check in on him, though. This morning was later than others, consequence of a late night working, and she was wrapped in a robe and a shawl, hair down and face bare of make-up when she let herself into his room, quiet as she could be. Door closed, she settled into the chair kept by the bed, leaning back with a soft sigh to watch the boy sleeping.

She wouldn't wake him, but she'd be there when he woke.

First thing Ryan was conscious of, was pain. Pain all over, too overwhelming to identify, and he just remained still a while. Little by little, he could make out where it came from in his body, even as the memory of what had led to the pain slowly came back to him. The memory of more pain.

So he wasn't dead. Okay.

He blinked his eyes open, cringed at the light, and croaked out a sound that should've been a moan of pain but really sounded more like what he imagined two frogs fucking might sound like. He tried to swallow, and to focus his gaze on whoever was beside him, but things were blurry and his throat was far too dry.

Lord, breathing hurt.

Note - please please make sure you've read all threads and checked on character locations and what you can find out from the 'crowd' before posting a thread or tag, so we can keep everyone in one place at one time without cloning! Thank you! Ryan and Beth have now gone from the scene but please feel free to keep on playing threads set before then or reactions after.

It had been a bad idea. Beth had known it was a bad idea, felt it, but the preacher had been so insistent and Gemma had just shrugged and said it wasn't her business what the girls did with their time off and Ryan had said he'd go with her, so Beth had gone to the church pot luck. And it had been a bad idea.

( And now )

Charlie was sitting on the front steps of the boarding house he was lodging at, sharpening his knife with a stone and wondering which bounty to go after now. The girl had been easy money, but not enough money by far.

A shadow fell over him, obstructing the sun, and he looked up from his knife, squinting against the sun. "Howdy."

It wasn't often Dan came to the saloon, for any reason, but he'd told Beth he'd talk to Gemma about time for the social, so he would. He debated for a good long while, and then went in his collar. Hopefully that would clear up any question of him sneaking around for the saloon's services. Might make a few people uncomfortable, but he wasn't gonna preachify, so that was between them and God, he reckoned.

Then he went to call on Miss Teller. Walked right up to her with a polite smile, and asked her like a *lady*, "Miss Teller, can I beg a moment of your time?"

It was one of those nights. The general store was shut down, Harry had had his supper but he was feeling restless and kept pacing the length of his space. Finally, his eyes caught on the remnants of a bolt of silk. It wasn't quite enough worth selling but perhaps one of the girls could use it.

He wrapped it up and headed over to Gemma's, a spring in his step as he entered the main room. He spotted Gemma first. "Good evening, madame." He said it with the French pronunciation, making it an honorary not her job description. He held his hand behind his back so she couldn't see the package.

Opening time on another day. Didn't make much odds if it was a weekday or a Sunday, save some of the girls started shifts late on Sundays but this one was a weekday. Heavy bars lifted away from the doors to let people in, Jax behind the bar, Gemma's girls ready and willing for company or custom. Or both.

Open for business.