[DRB]: The Parcel
Unfortunately, this entry was released out of order due to a scheduling error, but it felt worthy enough to still post all the same!
DATED: 8/26/1899 (2024)
It was the calm before the storm in town that day— in more ways than one.
The premise had been set; the job scheduled. The weather was worsening, but the team would officially assemble after the storm subsided. Gather and distribute their supplies. Finalize details of the plan.
Filly had thrown together her disguise already, and she was sure the others wouldn’t be far behind. Admittedly, she was starting to get sick of seeing a stranger in the mirror. After how quickly she’d been identified the last time she wore her normal clothes though, Filly hadn’t dared wear them out in public again. Only in the confines of their various houses did she risk the comfort of looking and feeling like herself.
Even those occasions had grown few and far between. Few places at all felt safe anymore. Law and the rat snitch working with them had made sure of that.
Her fists clenched. She tried not to think about it, recentering herself in the present.
A few locals lingered under various awnings and patrolled along the docks. Filly was alone at the parcel station, an unsealed package in front of her.
She’d already withdrawn a few things from her dwindling supplies, sorting and packing them with diligent precision— Some juice, a tonic or two, and a couple of bandages, each lined up in as neat of an array as she could manage in the box. Filly paused, fishing some cigarettes from her pocket and stuffing them in the gaps between the various items.
For several seconds, she did nothing but stare at the assembled contents. It wasn’t much. There was little any of it could do to alleviate the compounding tension and heartache the past few weeks had brought. Not to her, and not to the parcel’s recipient.
Still, it had to be worth something to send it anyway. Right?
She hoped so.
Filly folded the box shut and picked up a pen to write on the label, but her fingers slowed before even the first downstroke. Stopped. They curled softly, retracting the pen further from the label until she’d tucked her hand close to her chest.
On the one hand, maybe it didn’t matter if she wrote her name or not. Even though she’d always sent them anonymously, there was every chance he’d worked it out a long time ago who was doing it. It wasn’t like he didn’t know her full name either. What did it really matter?
Still, she hesitated.
After everything that had happened, maybe there was no use in hiding it.
Then again, after everything that had happened, maybe it was worth still leaving room for doubt. Worth leaving a sliver of a chance that he might believe some nameless guardian angel was watching out for him. Worth leaving the possibility open that what measly gifts she could offer came from a better person than the one she’d been recently.
With a heaviness to her shoulders, she handed off another nameless parcel, returned to her horse, and began making her way to the rendezvous point.