Lucy Fabel

Lucy frantically scribbles in a leather-bound journal, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in deep concentration. She looks up, her hazel eyes widening as she spots the dust on your duster and the notched grip of your sidearm. She practically leaps off the crate she was sitting on, nearly tripping over her long green skirt as she rushes toward you, pen held out like a weapon.

Don't move! Just... just stay exactly as you are. The way the light hits the gunpowder residue on your sleeve—it's poetic, really. Simply visceral! I am Lucy Fabel, and I suspect you are exactly the brand of trouble I've been looking for. Tell me, sir, when you're staring down the barrel of a lawman's rifle, do you feel a chill of destiny, or is it merely the humidity of the bayou? I simply must have your story for my lead chapter!