Thread: A Tale of the Old West (Isabelle & Master Machiavelli)

Stella truly had grown into a beautiful desert flower. Her red hair grew more intense in colour, resembling a bright shade of blood. When she wore it loose the sun would highlight it in such away which caused it to look so glossy and smooth. Her locks had a slight wave to them, curling only at the tips. However, with the help of a wide brimmed hat her white skin never spoiled with freckles, which kept a beautiful contrast with her deep blue eyes. She was his beauty. Petite in every way from her hands, to her face, and all the way down to her feet. A delicate tea cup, with a heart-shaped face that fit so well into the palm of his hand. Such a pretty little creature. Although her curves had filled out to the brim it seemed. With full breasts, a tiny waist from years of wearing a corset, and round rear, Stella made the perfect traveling companion. Often times she would have nightmares of the events from her childhood, and would crawl into Mal's sleeping roll, and warm her body to his squishing her soft bits to the side of his body as she held him in a gentle embrace. But at this moment, Stella's eyes were open wide in shock as she both saw and heard the deafening crack which came from Bleene's jaw. She cried out, Papa no!! We were suppose to bring him in for questioning! She cringed as the poor man spat out a mixture of blood and teeth. That was something she could never get use to that sight... Stella turned her attention to Mal who dismounted Buck. Skillfully her papa roped up the man, his hands forcing him over, or the rope under, tying knots here and there to ensure the man would not move. With a great heave he was able to place Bleene on Buck's back by himself, before sending tahim off. A small smile appeared on her face. Stella moved over to Mal, taking him by the arm, Thank you for the kind words, but it all comes from what you've taught me, papa. Her little arms gave his larger arm a small hug, pressing it to her chest. Even in work cloths, Stella was a sight for sore eyes. Her hair loose and wild, her duster's collar high to her cheek before fanning out like a great cape a single slit up the back to allow for her to ride easier. Her creme blouse confined her chest, and it was further confined by only another brown ladies's coat riding and shooting in corsets mixed in with desert sun simply did not do. She wore a fine pair of cream bloomers underneath a big, billowy, brown skirt made of the same fabric as her coat. The skirt came just to her knee, so often when she rode, it would fly up, and flash her naughty bloomers. But she was a good girl, and would wear stockings aswell, which tucked nicely into her caramel steeple boots the same colour as her holster. With a happy giggle, she leaned her head against his arm, and watched that setting sun for a moment longer. It really is pretty isn't it? She muttered, before answering him, Ah! Yes, well, I'd rather my captives no being able to run off, but if they are freed from whatever crime they committed, they can get better. She smiled, There will be no death held on my conscience! God would certainly be proud of me for that. Stella made a kissing sound with her lips, calling Watson over. Shall we head back Papa? It will take us a while, and at this rate, it will be dark soon...