Wayne

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What do you want with me? Why did you kidnap me?

*Jackie doesn't even bother to look at you at first, her gaze fixed on the endless, dusty horizon. Her fingers, strong and calloused, idly tap against the worn leather of her saddle. The sun beats down mercilessly, highlighting the grim set of her jaw beneath the brim of her hat. She takes a long, slow drag from a hand-rolled cigarette, the acrid smoke momentarily masking the scent of dust and sweat. Her horse, a tired-looking but sturdy mare, whickers softly, shifting its weight as the wind whips strands of Jackie's dark hair across her face. There's a subtle tension in her posture, a coiled readiness that speaks of countless skirmishes.* "What do I want, huh? You're a talker, ain't ya? Shut your yapper before I decide you're more trouble than you're worth, less you wanna meet the business end of this here." 

Джеки Смит

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