The Strange Circumstances of...
...Wisteria Strenge and the Guffton Gang
Part One.
"It's
Strenge, not
strange." She corrected.
"Strange?" His bumpkin accent grated on the single syllable word as he held the gun close to her ear, cocked and at the ready.
"
Must I repeat myself
yet again?"
It was in the most utterly deplorable circumstances that Wisteria Strenge found herself. Her arms crossed beneath her bosom, she stared ahead with furrowed brow and pouted lips. If
only she could get these fools to properly pronounce her name before she died.
"Well, serry yer highnass!" A fellow gunman belched out behind the register, stuffing bills and coin into his satchel. The two slouches dared to share a laugh and, to Wisteria's dismay, she felt bits of saliva and chew fleck onto her ivory skin. If any got onto her pinafore...
"Mighty nice of ya to act the part of damsal in diress... Miss
Strenge" The one with the gun to her brain brought up a cracked, oil-stained hand and brushed back one of the lavender locks unleashed from her braid. "Makes our job a whole lot-"
"
Damsel in
Distress." She interjected, jerking her head back at his most unwanted attention. "If you're going to insult me..."
That very same hand whipped up and reached around her noggin, clamping itself over her smooth ruby lips.
"The coppers! Carlton, thinkin' it's bout time we vamoose." Her filthy captor shoved her head against his chest and drug her from the storefront windows.
"Already?! Hell! We've only been here five minutes!"
Ten, but I doubt the two of you know anything about keeping time...
Wisteria's thoughts were best kept to herself anyhow as the fools gathered up the remaining loot and decided on a departure plan. She, of course, kept her sights on the country store's little front door. It'd do her no good to get hit with a bullet from the law when a scuffle broke out.
And it's about time someone showed up. Mr. Chester's not going to want any harm coming to his property.
Her boss' rear end scrambling out the back door was still vivid in her mind. She'd had no more than thirty seconds to warn him when the two crooks bashed their way through the screen shutter. Heavens, the poor remains were laying in shambles all around her feet! Didn't they know what a handle was and how to use it?
"We'll take the girl here with us. Lest them badge wearin' sons a bit-"
The gentleman courting Wisteria's fine form could not finish his sentence.
He could not finish it, of course, because Wisteria's heel had connected with the soft tissue in his big toe. One of the many, many reasons why she was so fond of the shoe line developed by Arnald Al Griesto. It had very thick, very hard soles.
The poor man slipped with his grip and out popped the lady, stepping toward Carlton.
"You will be doing no such thing!" Her high pitched command barreled off the walls and into the eardrums of her unwanted consorts. She slammed her palms across the register counter and leaned in. "Haven't you got the decency to leave a lady to her own devices?!"
"And haven't
you got the decency to be actin' like a lady?!" Carlton shut the satchel and up came
his gun. Wisteria rolled her eyes and watched as the bandit pointed toward the dry goods in the back. "Look at those females yonder. All huddled up and heads down. Why can't you be like one of them, huh?!"
Not more than ten feet away sat a tightly knit trio of ladies, two hunkered over a third which... Appeared to have caught a serious case of the vapours and was out cold. Apparently their upbringing hadn't brought them too close to many robberies. Carlton's partner stalked over to her with a limp, his words an offense to any lady's fragile ear. He jabbed the gun at her middle and she whirled to meet his eye.
"Unless you'd like to keep your tongue another day I'd suggest you stop hurling such remarks at my backside." She growled. "And keep that gun off of my clothes. I shan't have my uniform stained by the likes of you."
Her offensive companions looked upon her with quirked brows and dropped jaws. And then they turned to one another and shrugged.
"We could always take one of the girls in the back." Carlton's partner commented, bringing his gun into position with her head.
"Now, Edgar. Even if she don't know her place she's still a lady. And I ain't about to have no brother of mine take the life of a woman because she's got a few loose screws..."
"I beg your pardon!?" Wisteria's face ignited and her dainty features grew taut.
"I reckon the boss'd find it mighty shameful if we took the life of a senile wretch tryin' to work an honest day. Just tryin' te get by like ourselves..." Edgar dropped the gun to his side, reluctance written all over his face. Just like those ridiculous sideburns moving in on his jaw line.
"I almost feel bad fer her now. Bet this is all that she has to her namesake, the poor soul." Carlton's pity soaked into his baby blues so bad that any rationality Wisteria may have had disappeared completely.
The lady drew back her shoulders, furrowed her brow and let her rage flow.
"DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!"
"A Strange-" Edgar replied.
"NO, YOU PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A MAN! I AM WISTERIA STRENGE!!
STRENGE!! AND I WILL NOT BE TREATED LIKE SOME- SOME-"
"No, ma'am. I think what my brother meant was
strange. Weird. Freakish. Bizarre." Carlton interrupted. "Beyond the parameters of normality."
Before Wisteria could continue there came a loud blast from beyond the front door and all three dropped low to the white washed floorboards beneath them. It was the lady who first rose to her feet, sliding slowly toward the window to peek out.
"Oh, finally!" She breathed. "The Checkers are here."
And it was then that a heavy cloth fell over Wisteria's pretty little brow and darkness filled her field of vision.
