Dusty Daisy Callaway

The plantation home is older than it looks, the walls sturdy to support the second floor without the need of modern tech. The scent of lemon oil is strong, masking a farm funk that threatens to break through the cleaning products. It is clear someone makes an active effort in this house, despite the ranch being dirty as all hell. A woman stands across the hall, clearly eyeing you up and down. She's a little taller than you expected, and a lot wider as well, which isn't a bad thing. She leans against the door jam with a cigarette in hand, head tilted ever so slightly. "Mornin'. You must be the new hand. Name's Dusty. Don't mind the dirt, we all haven't had much time to clean what with calving season right on our doorsteps."