Threading Scene Example - PB

ME: It was dangerous. Always coming back to this town. He should have known better. Eventually someone was going to recognize him. But then again, Jackson Rutherford was used to it, being a part of the Red River Gang was nothing if not dangerous. He wasn't the leader, by any means, but a well established member. Quick on his feet with a sharp eye and charming personality, he was usually the one to infiltrate the banks posing as a Western Union man or railroad tycoon. They knocked over banks, didn't bother with stage coaches too much seeing that they were usually armed to the teeth. They'd built themselves quite a reputation, and earned more money than Jack was sure he'd have ever made if he'd stayed on his Daddy's ranch in Oklahoma.

After the latest hold up, while the rest of the gang was off spending their cuts of the loot in gambling halls and fancy hotels in St. Louis, Jack stayed in Texas, heading to one dusty town near the panhandle that kept drawing him back. One saloon in particular and as he pushed through the creaky doors he couldn't help that his face broke into a grin. It wasn't the whiskey they served, that was for shit, and the card games were few and far between. No, there was one thing that kept him going back to Odessa, Texas every chance he got.

And her name was Elizabeth.

THEM: Elizabeth Mulldune hadn’t been born to the life of privilege – and while she envied the comfort with which the upper crust women whose husbands frequented the saloon lived in, she didn’t envy the restrictions that were placed upon them at birth. No, Elizabeth Mulldune was happy in the lower class, and while the more righteous crowd that gathered at the church she respectfully lingered in the back pew of every Sunday would deem her a sinner, Elizabeth felt she was a lot more comfortable in her place in society than any of that lot. The life of a saloon girl was perhaps – a little more in the way of a show than anything else, there was a routine to it, and you weren’t really allowed to have a bad day. Failure to be down in the bar by nightfall was accepted only if you happened to be sick or dead. Every night Elizabeth was down there with her hair curled and her body shaped and kept in tight control by her bodice, sitting on the laps of the gunslingers and the ranchers, flirting and sweet talking her way through another profitable night. Of course most of the girls working with her sold their bodies as well as their company, some of them became ‘sponsored’ after a fashion by a certain man and had all sorts of luxuries and affections lavished upon her while the guy was in town – while Jackson did frequent the bar every now and again Elizabeth never considered herself one of those girls. Most people sort of blew through Odessa, and not a lot of them came back, every time Jackson left Elizabeth purged him from her mind as best as she was able, knowing full well that he might never come back. Despite that she did have a certain affection towards the man, and on her darker days found herself wishing – in spite of her hardened sense of logic that came with dealing with guys just like him for as long as she’d been stuck in this town – that he’d come around again real soon.

That evening found Elizabeth dancing in the arms of a man who didn’t have but two teeth in his mouth and must’ve been about a hundred years old. He didn’t fall asleep in the middle of dancing with her, and once it was over he’d slipped a few coins into her hand, patting it affectionately as he told her for the sixteenth time that evening how much she looked like his departed wife when she was a young woman. Elizabeth still had her hand on the guy’s shoulder when she glanced towards the doors, hearing them creak open and caught sight of Jackson stepping back into the saloon. Stepping back from the man with a smile as she tucked the coins into the drawstring bag that hung from her short and fringed skirt, she put a smirk on her face crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back against a vacant table, watching Jackson.

ME: The grin widened into a full blown smile and he hooked a thumb in his belt and strode toward her. She looked just as lovely as ever, impossibly, more beautiful than she had been the first time they'd met. Truthfully, Jack hadn't grown up in a town that different from Odessa, and he supposed it was nostalgia more than anything that attracted him to the town in the first place. That first night, half drunk in the saloon, he'd managed to pick a fight with a huge beast of a man. It was only Elizabeth's intervening that stopped the man from beating Jack to an unrecognizable pulp. Then she'd sobered him up, put him to bed, and Jack had been smitten ever since.

Once he reached her he brought his hand tug the front of his hat down. "Miss Mulldune." He greeted her. "You look prettier than a cool spring on a dusty day." He murmured, reaching for her hand and bringing it up to his mouth. He pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles and inhaled her heavenly scent. Why'd she always smell so good? "Are you engaged with another gent this evenin'? Please say it ain't so, for I fear my heart couldn't take it." He gave her his best pleading love-sick look.

THEM: Oh Jackson. Elizabeth watched as he swaggered towards her with that unmistakable smirk still etched on her face, compared to most of the fellows who found their way into the saloon he was something else, the face of a banker, or maybe even a parson with the silky demeanor that could only belong to someone who had instead opted for the quicker road of the life of crime. He interested her, he was something that came from a place she’d never be able to go, and for that among other reasons he held her attention for as long as he stayed in town.

The compliment her paid her, she took graciously like any proper saloon girl would, the smirk on her face shifting into a wide grin as he kissed her hand, taking an extra rush of pride at the envious glances from one of the other girls working at the saloon she’d caught out of the corner of her eye. “It seems my time just became free, Jackson – so I believe your heart can survive another day.” Already moving smoothly to take his arm and escort him to the bar, Elizabeth was all gracious smiles – truly the fact that Jackson had come back again pleased her more than she’d ever admit – in polite company at least. “I hope whatever hole you crawled out of doesn’t have the law on your heels, you know we don’t cater to the criminal sort round these parts.” Winking at him as she laughed lightly at her own joke, she lifted a finger to signal the bartender over, Jackson of course could have anything he wanted.

ME: There it was. That smile. It was what he rode for miles to see. This woman had no business here. She could sing like a dream. She should have been a great lady of the stage somewhere like Kansas City or even Chicago. He hadn't quite figured out why she stayed in town, why she worked at the saloon, but then again he'd never asked. He'd wanted to so many times. Wanted to ask her to come with him too, but the fear of being turned down played heavy on his mind. So much talk between them, and nothing ever really said.

"Thank heaven for small miracles." He said, looking up to the sky, taking off his hat, and putting it over his heart. "You've done me such a great service, miss." He kept his arm around her waist as he leaned against the bar, ordering a bottle of whiskey. "Criminal? Me?" He said in mock shock. "I would hate to think what my Mama would say if she even thought I was mixed up in a gang of thieves." He poured a shot for himself and for her. "I am a respectable entre-prenuer." He drawled out. "An honest businessman." He winked and clinked his shot glass against hers before he downed his drink.

He felt the softness of her hip just below her corset and he let his hand slide around, grazing over the top of her bustle to pull her even closer. He licked his lips. "It's been awhile, darlin'. I'm sorry about that." He murmured the din of the other patrons in the bar making his words only audible to her.

THEM: It was easy for Elizabeth to fall back into her place against Jackson’s side. Of course, she was still a working girl, and the fact that there were other men who came into the saloon earning her attention was a sad truth of her situation, but none of them were like Jackson. He was her favorite, and perhaps part of the reason why she stuck around this dead end saloon; he’d have a lot harder time finding her in a big city. “Honest businessman,” she echoed, her voice a drawling little purr. Reaching up to gently brush a finger along the line of his cheek she watched his face with a soft grin on her own, “and how’s business?” She knew how business was, he was still standing there in one piece, and that was all Elizabeth really needed to confirm that business was indeed good.

At his apology she felt the soft smile widen some and she shook her head, moving closer to him as he pulled at her. “You came back didn’t you?” Her voice was quiet like his, and perhaps the sentiment betrayed her fondness for him, but she didn’t care too much, he had come back and she was fixed on that for the moment, allowing her outwardly smirking demeanor to falter slightly.

ME: He pulled her hand up to press his lips against the softness of her skin. "I did come back. I told you I'd always come back to see you." He murmured, with a soft smile. "And I'll say it like I always do...leave with me in the morning and we'll run away to Mexico." It was true, something he always said. It'd started out as a joke between the two of them, but each time he said it he was able to picture that life in his head even more clearly than before. What if one day she said yes? He had enough money stashed up, he knew exactly where they'd go. But she never said yes and he never asked the question with enough sincerity.

THEM: Elizabeth breathed a laugh at the proposal, her eyes trailing down to the tumbler of whiskey waiting for him on the relatively smooth bar top. “Not even drinking yet and you’re starting with that.” She wanted to believe it wasn’t a joke, each time he asked she prayed that there wouldn’t be something in the situation that lead her to believe it was a joke, but each time her own defenses arose and it was all she could see such a notion as. “What’re we going to do in Mexico? Weave some blankets? Grow some corn?” Elizabeth was teasing him of course, but still she couldn’t help but let herself indulge in the ‘what if’ notion of him actually having some idea of what they’d do in Mexico.

ME: "Why, we could live in a grand hacienda." He leaned against the bar, painting a picture for her with his words. "Drink the finest tequila, and I would keep you only in the finest duds ol' Mexico City has to offer." He smiled at her again, enjoying this fantasy life with her already.

"But that's too much to hope for." He sighed melodramatically. "I suppose, given the circumstances, that I could settle for one simple kiss. You wouldn't deny me that, would you, ma'am?" He asked sweetly.

THEM: She wanted to believe that entire beautiful idea, really she did. And as he conjured up such an image she found herself biting back an agreement to go with him, keeping her composure as she just shook her head and brushed a few strands of hair back over her shoulder. “A kiss? And here I thought you were warming me up to ask me upstairs already.” Reaching up to brush a hand warmly over his cheek she drew herself up closer to him and planted a kiss against his lips, quick and chaste. Pulling away with a teasing smile she nodded back down at his forgotten glass on the bar. “Your whiskey’s getting stale.”