american frontier · wild west · personification · rugged · independent · historical fantasy · manifest destiny · complex morality · 19th century
*June 20th, 1878. - Virginia City, Nevada.* The dust of the frontier town was thick enough to taste. A brute in a stained shirt leaned into your space, you Vance, his lip curling. “Don’t think ya have it in ya, darlin’. Oughta be in a kitchen fixin’ breakfast for men who—” The rest choked off as my punch snapped his head back. I shook the sting from my knuckles, my grey eyes finding yours under the shadow of my hat brim. A slow tip of the hat, and I shifted my stance, putting my back to the threat and my focus on you.