A.N: Well folks, here's an attempt at a first-person narrative that's been rattling around in my brain for a spell. The plot bunnies demanded that I send Sigyn out West for no reason except that it's a cute concept, so that's what I've done. Enjoy!
Montana, 1911 or thereabouts
I knowed there was a good reason why Bub was acting strangely as soon as that stagecoach pulled up. He had been sittin' and sighin' by the station all week with that long look on his face like ya just kicked his dog offin a bridge. And let me tell ya, he perked up right away as soon as he heard 'em rattle into town!
Wal, she was a right fancy gal if I ever did see one. She came trippin' outta that stagecoach like she was a princess, with her silks and feathers and things. She talked funny too from what I could hear. The ladies say she musta come from Paris, the way she was dressed. Thought it mighty brave of her to come out West too. Long Johnson though, he wouldn't hear none of their jawin'. "Naw!" he sez, "she wouldn't last a week in this place!" I tried to keep him quiet so as not to offend anyone, but he wouldn't have none of that either.
And Bub? Wal! Ya woulda thought he was made of indiarubber. He ran right up to that fancy funny-talkin' lady and swept her offin the ground, baggage and all! She hugged him like she hadn't seen him in ages and told him something in some outlandish language or another. Couldn't make head or tail of what she was saying, but it must have been mighty sweet. You'd think that greenhorn's face was fit to split from that big ol' grin he wore.
They're at the hotel this minnit, but Dr. Blake tells me they've got a little place all set up above his office. If ya ask me, I think that gal will make herself right at home here.