Oregonal Sin

Alita was mad. No, scratch that. Alita was furious. There was definitely a stomp to her step and a barely-controlled energy to her movements as she entered the saloon and ordered a drink that was quite a bit stronger than her usual.

She muttered to herself in Spanish, then shook her head and sighed. "Increíble!"

It'd been near on two weeks now since he'd gotten ill from the influenza that seemed to be sweeping around the town. Two weeks and the money, already stretched tight, was starting to get threadbare. A working boarding house couldn't run on charity, and Jimmy had every intention of paying his way. All the more important now winter was drawing in, sleeping rough in barns and corners of the ranches was just too unpleasant and dangerous to contemplate.

So it was that Jimmy wrapped himself up as warm as he could. The fever and chills may have gone, but a hacking cough and exhaustion still remained. He felt as weak as a newborn as he left the boarding house, and looked pale as he made his way towards the Saloon. In search of work on the wings of gossip, or even other ways to earn a living. 

Checking the contents of his pocket to find he had just enough for one tot of sipping whiskey, he didn't really notice where he was going until he nearly fell over someone coming the opposite direction.

"Apologies," he said, voice sounding rough, before he promptly sneezed.

Liz never shirked away from the heavier work at the boarding house. One of the younger girls probably should have been made to do it but they were cleaning one of the bedrooms, so Liz had hauled the rug out to the back of the house, hoisted the line to string it up and then began to hit it with a woven, wooden beater.

She hadn't noticed that someone was passing by until the first cloud of dust had cleared.

"Oh I am so sorry!" she exclaimed. "I hope I didn't get you!"