<div class="floatleft">(http://i167.photobucket.com/albums/u133/kokotigress/Elliquiy/Doom%20Town/donna-feldman-4_zps795d249b.jpg)</div><hr/><strong>Name:</strong>Isobel Harley Montoya Marquez - "Harley"<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Unknown to the public thus far<br/><strong>Date:</strong>A week before game start<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Night<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Casino Morongo<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Agatha<hr/>Body tired and even a little sore, Harley sat alone at the bar with only the remnants of the house rotgut she'd ordered up earlier as company despite the mix of patrons that filled the place. Content to merely relax and observe rather than try her hand at one of the tables, she'd chosen an unobtrusive seat off to the side that gave her a nice little vantage point should trouble decide to mosey on in.<br/><br/>Of course, this being Gomorra, trouble had a way of sneaking up on a body despite one's intentions.<br/><br/><em>“A glass of the Superior.”</em><br/><br/>She heard the words spoken from not too far away and for some reason knew right away who they belonged to, the image of a sleek little red fox coming to mind almost instantly. Seemed the pretty little fox had decided to come out of her den and mingle amongst the hounds for a spell...<br/><br/>Harley's casual slouch did not change a lick as she leaned against the counter top but her attention did shift toward the copper haired scientist who incited a certain amount of curiosity in the tall Hispanic woman. To her way of thinking, curiosity was just trouble spelled differently but on a mostly quiet night like tonight her resistance was admittedly low--boredom could do that to a body.<br/><br/>She'd seen the woman out and about a number of times of course, that hair of hers always bringing to mind the same image while whispers followed in her wake, but being who she was Harley hadn't much bothered trying to speak to her. Most often there just wasn't much for her to say and she didn't often take it upon herself to draw attention her way without a good cause. Being a half-breed nearly as tall as the men folk that roamed about with a gun belt slung about her hips, she stuck out plenty on her own.<br/><br/>Isobel Harley Montoya Marquez.<br/><br/>A decidedly long name for a woman with an admittedly short history. The first Isobel Montoya Marquez had been a woman with a lengthy, colorful past and a reputation to match, but her daughter had chosen a different path for herself. Something quieter... at least for now. If it wasn't for the fact that she was literally the spittin' image of the woman, there'd have been no obvious connection between the Peruvian entertainer who practically oozed charm and sex with her every breath and the Texas born woman seated in Morongo with her dark hair pulled back into a thick braid that she kept tucked into the mens shirt she wore. Of course, she didn't expect that anyone in Gomorra knew who her mother was anyhow so it wasn't as though she worried about that... much.<br/><br/>Brown eyes shifted again, her attention turning back to the barkeep as her quiet perusal of the scientist seemed to drag up a matching thirst in her given the way she seemed to be enjoyin' that drink of hers.<br/><br/>"Hey barkeep, I'll have what she's havin'." The words were out of her mouth before she even had a chance to register her own intentions, her left hand already producing enough coin from dusty trousers that had certainly seen better days to cover the cost. She didn't have much in the way of money but what little she did come upon usually went quick, her concern for the present not wrapped up in some dream of owning anything more than she could carry.<br/>"From the way you make it look, gotta be a damn sight better than this swill." She said almost off hand to Agatha in her deep smoky drawl as the barkeep went to fill her order.