When it came to any reasonably sized coterie in a county, there was always a dominant functionary like the one now
looking down at Peggy Powler from the wooden alameda of Barren Wayz. The sidewalk creaked under the weight
of the fat man in the dark scarlet long-coat and the attentive Witch leaning against the water trough recognised that
the hue of his garment signified his position.
"G'morning Sheriff...?" Peggy said politely as she curtsied and let her tone ask for his name. The big man with the
big gut protruding from his open coat just softly snorted and looked out to where the newcomer had appeared from.
"The next town is over twelve leagues from here and I don't see no canteen on your shoulder" the constable drawled
and move his hand just enough to show a large sheathed knife beneath his robe of office.
Nodding with a smile, Peggy slowly reached into her satchel and keeping her mocking of the town's custodian to a
limit, she produced her leather-bound water container from her trusty bag. "Just keepin' it out of the sun, Mister" she
replied and resisted to use her finger-charm.
The corpulent sheriff nodded back, but didn't look at the female wanderer, his eyes attempted to indicate that vigilance
was a regular act for such an important occupation. "Well... we're a quiet town, Ma'am and I keep it that way by moving
on drifters and vagrants" he bombinated during his constant surveillance of the sun-bleached buildings that were only
there because of quarrying a chosen type of rock from the ground.
"Forgive me Sir, I'm Peggy Powler, the last Wi..." Peggy began, but the fat man interrupted her introduction with "As I
was saying, we don't need problems here... there's a hand-pump out in the back for a refill to help you on your way".
This time, the portly marshal used a growling tone in his counterfeit advice.
...................................................
The little Witch from the teensy-weensy borough of Underhill noticed with irritation that the morning was moving
quickly towards noon as she sat at the peace Officer's desk and asked her questions. Sheriff Brunton -for that was
his name, stood patiently in the corner of his office on one leg with his sun-scorched Boss of the Plains hat on his
head -upside down and his fat thumb between his pudgy lips
"...So you don't know anyone from the mining community who could afford to buy Torchwood?" Peggy queried and
almost put her bare feet up on the elbow-worn desk scattered with paper to imply busy dedication. Then she recalled
that such an act may reveal her undress beneath her poncho to the hypnotised constable and went back to attempting
to pry some useful information from the plump merry-andrew waiting in the corner.
Brunton offered that the expensive material was possibly ordered in from a large town by one of Barren Wayz's retail
outlets and with a blossoming smile, Peggy felt inclined to pull the fake tough-guy out of his bewitchment. But looking
towards the barred-window and the bright street outside that the good-sheriff kept clear of visiting miscreants, she
caught herself and searched for another question.
"Officer Brunton...?" the Witch asked as she got to her feet and acquired a quick response in the affirmative. "...If you
were going to buy Develdite, which store would you go to?" she adjured. The capacious copper of Barren Wayz had
acted exactly as previously ordered and stuck his thumb in his mouth before answering and Peggy was forced to wait
for the answer because he wobbled when he withdrew the digit.
"Haver's Dry Goods Store, Ma'am" he said and the defenceless little woman informed Sheriff Brunton that he'll return
back to his duties in one hour and if he ever met her again, he'd lose control of his bowels.
Of course, the law officer agreed.
...................................................
In a place where a young shepherd of Kettlefog County went about tending sheep and a stoic Grim-figg refilled his
pipe beside a roaring fire, winter was frolicking with its ordnance of bleak weather. Just a couple of hundred leagues
away, the sun was shining and Peggy found it puzzling that the sun vacationed in such a realm of abandonment.
Then again, it is peaceful -she assumed as she stepped lightly across Barren Wayz's dusty highway towards Mr Clark
Haver's emporium of fine reasonably-priced commodities. On the stoop, a selection of brooms propped inside a small
wooden barrel at the open doors to the Haver's store assisted in the Witch's attempt to maintain a happy smile as she
entered.
"Aw hell... it's that Powler woman again!" the proprietor moaned softly as Peggy's eyes adjusted to the shadows.
looking down at Peggy Powler from the wooden alameda of Barren Wayz. The sidewalk creaked under the weight
of the fat man in the dark scarlet long-coat and the attentive Witch leaning against the water trough recognised that
the hue of his garment signified his position.
"G'morning Sheriff...?" Peggy said politely as she curtsied and let her tone ask for his name. The big man with the
big gut protruding from his open coat just softly snorted and looked out to where the newcomer had appeared from.
"The next town is over twelve leagues from here and I don't see no canteen on your shoulder" the constable drawled
and move his hand just enough to show a large sheathed knife beneath his robe of office.
Nodding with a smile, Peggy slowly reached into her satchel and keeping her mocking of the town's custodian to a
limit, she produced her leather-bound water container from her trusty bag. "Just keepin' it out of the sun, Mister" she
replied and resisted to use her finger-charm.
The corpulent sheriff nodded back, but didn't look at the female wanderer, his eyes attempted to indicate that vigilance
was a regular act for such an important occupation. "Well... we're a quiet town, Ma'am and I keep it that way by moving
on drifters and vagrants" he bombinated during his constant surveillance of the sun-bleached buildings that were only
there because of quarrying a chosen type of rock from the ground.
"Forgive me Sir, I'm Peggy Powler, the last Wi..." Peggy began, but the fat man interrupted her introduction with "As I
was saying, we don't need problems here... there's a hand-pump out in the back for a refill to help you on your way".
This time, the portly marshal used a growling tone in his counterfeit advice.
...................................................
The little Witch from the teensy-weensy borough of Underhill noticed with irritation that the morning was moving
quickly towards noon as she sat at the peace Officer's desk and asked her questions. Sheriff Brunton -for that was
his name, stood patiently in the corner of his office on one leg with his sun-scorched Boss of the Plains hat on his
head -upside down and his fat thumb between his pudgy lips
"...So you don't know anyone from the mining community who could afford to buy Torchwood?" Peggy queried and
almost put her bare feet up on the elbow-worn desk scattered with paper to imply busy dedication. Then she recalled
that such an act may reveal her undress beneath her poncho to the hypnotised constable and went back to attempting
to pry some useful information from the plump merry-andrew waiting in the corner.
Brunton offered that the expensive material was possibly ordered in from a large town by one of Barren Wayz's retail
outlets and with a blossoming smile, Peggy felt inclined to pull the fake tough-guy out of his bewitchment. But looking
towards the barred-window and the bright street outside that the good-sheriff kept clear of visiting miscreants, she
caught herself and searched for another question.
"Officer Brunton...?" the Witch asked as she got to her feet and acquired a quick response in the affirmative. "...If you
were going to buy Develdite, which store would you go to?" she adjured. The capacious copper of Barren Wayz had
acted exactly as previously ordered and stuck his thumb in his mouth before answering and Peggy was forced to wait
for the answer because he wobbled when he withdrew the digit.
"Haver's Dry Goods Store, Ma'am" he said and the defenceless little woman informed Sheriff Brunton that he'll return
back to his duties in one hour and if he ever met her again, he'd lose control of his bowels.
Of course, the law officer agreed.
...................................................
In a place where a young shepherd of Kettlefog County went about tending sheep and a stoic Grim-figg refilled his
pipe beside a roaring fire, winter was frolicking with its ordnance of bleak weather. Just a couple of hundred leagues
away, the sun was shining and Peggy found it puzzling that the sun vacationed in such a realm of abandonment.
Then again, it is peaceful -she assumed as she stepped lightly across Barren Wayz's dusty highway towards Mr Clark
Haver's emporium of fine reasonably-priced commodities. On the stoop, a selection of brooms propped inside a small
wooden barrel at the open doors to the Haver's store assisted in the Witch's attempt to maintain a happy smile as she
entered.
"Aw hell... it's that Powler woman again!" the proprietor moaned softly as Peggy's eyes adjusted to the shadows.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.