Nightfall somehow did more for the town than Missy could've predicted. Without the blinding light and heat of day, the streets seemed smaller somehow. More familiar. Cozier, even. Orange warmth from any of the supplied lanterns only furthered this effect. In short supply like nearly everything else, whomever was tasked with lighting the little hamlet had only the supplies to provide for the saloon and a fraction of the major thoroughfare. Leaving the further reaches and alleys to fade into darkness.<br/><br/>It was enough. The Dusky Belle was the only place worth being, so far as she'd been able to tell. With innkeepers mysteriously shuffling loose their mortal coil and Clint's right hand all but missing, it was good to hear voices; clamoring and laughing among themselves from just inside the dwelling. Missy preened herself once before entering, turning a glittering eye to Clint only in passing before she pushed beyond the swinging set of half-doors and entered; company in tow.<br/><br/>Well, her gift to Miss Freeman had gone to use. Of that, there was little room for debate. All around Missy and her trio of dark-dressed henchmen were glasses being emptied. Cards being dealt, shuffled and fanned protectively. The sort of electricity that coursed through a full room and danced across the surfaces of roughly hewn walls and joists.<br/><br/>Alive! Yes, that was the word. Truly, a sight to behold when all she'd seen thus far of Onyx Landing was death. Be it quick and violent. Or slow and laborious. But ...it was still missing something. Memories of a bustling three-story brothel in Louisiana she'd recently come into ownership of spurred her to turn to one of the men at her side.<br/><br/>"You. Can you play that?" She asked, assuming the dusty piano tucked against a wall near them was reason enough for her question.<br/><br/>"Uh, I can play a little Camptown Races." Higgins offered, grimacing.<br/><br/>The blonde stared at him fiercely for a long while, manicured brows pitched toward their middle and pink lips working into what might've been the warnings of a frown. The man shifted between his feet a moment, unsure if what he'd said would somehow warrant a tongue lashing from the slip of a thing that was still examining him with all the shrewdness of a cattle vendor.<br/><br/>"That'll be fine, thank you." With that, her attention shifted and she was followed further by Clint and another Huntington associate. Leaving Higgins to sit at the rickety bench and take to wiping away the dust from ivory. It took him four tries before he found middle C.<br/><br/>She swept blue eyes about the room, to the second floor landing and back to the bartender who appeared pleased to not be scraping the bottoms of barrels. Miss Freeman was nowhere to be found but she did pass a half-polite smirk at a man who let his own gaze linger a bit too long. It would've almost been worth having one of them reach out and snake a feel at one of her coltish thighs in passing. Just to see the pain it'd bring.<br/><br/>"Give us a boost, love." She whispered at Clint. Her knee - the one that'd broken a man's face earlier in the day - had been throbbing dully in the hours since. Placing her own tiny hand in Clint's oversized paw, she'd do her best not to wince as she stepped up and onto one of the tables. Causing a small clatter of those seated down the length of it and drawing the attention of more than half the room. Higgins ceased his playing and a comparative silence befell the room.<br/><br/>"Good evening, everyone!" She announced, her voice a bright cut above the din of the saloon. Nowhere toward a shout, borrowing more from a cheer, she'd clap her hands together and survey the faces as each turned in either bewilderment or intrigue to the woman, her silver silk and flaxen hair. She'd gotten most of the blood out of the suede of her toes and calves.<br/><br/>But not all.<br/><br/>"If I could borrow just a moment of your time. There is a matter of..." She grinned devilishly, "money to discuss."<br/><br/><i>That</i>ought to get their attention.