<hr/><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f1/DelilahWhateley.png)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Dolores Whateley<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Whateley<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 11th, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Jail Cell (Sheriff's Office)<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Open<br/><hr/><br/><br/>Dolores stretched out on the hard cot in her own private jail cell and clutched her blood splashed doll to her chest.  The morning had been no fun as no one in the cell she had shared would tell her a story or tuck her in.  She had asked each and every one of the other people who were in trouble.  The mean one had even called for one of the Law Dogs when she sat on his lap and asked for a story.  That was when she got moved to her own cell.<br/><br/>Without any real sleep, she sat up and yawned.  Nic hadn't even been able to come and tuck her in.  How was she supposed to sleep with no story and no tuck-ins?  She frowned and glanced down at the doll.  At least the mean Sheriff had given it back after squeezing the doll all over.  “We should get breakfast.”  She spoke softly to the dolly and smiled.  “Maybe they'll give us some tea too!  We could have a tea party!”  She paused a moment and wrinkled her nose.  “No, it would just be the two of us.”  Another pause and a shake of her head, strands of her burgundy hair fell from the french braid.  “They won't let us play with the others anymore.  The mean man made us leave.”<br/><br/>Rising to her full height of five feet, she used her free hand to smooth her expensive blood splattered dress.  What had been a beautiful white dress had dirt stains and blood stains running both the front and the back.  Walking over to the bars, she glanced around the nearly silent prison cells.  The eyes of other prisoners glanced her way and quickly found anything else interesting.  Seeing some of the others she recognized, she waved her hand at them and beamed a smile.<br/><br/>“Excuse me.”  She called out sweetly to the Law Dogs on duty.<br/><br/>Townsend rose from his seat and rolled his eyes.  The woman had been nothing but trouble since she was brought in and, honestly, he wanted nothing to do with her.  If he never saw a Whateley again, he'd be a happy man.  Walking toward the cell she was being held in, he hit his fist against the bars just enough to make noise.  “Quiet in there.”  He snapped and turned back.<br/><br/>Dolores frowned at Townsend's back and her shoulders slumped.  She glanced down at the doll clutched against her chest.  “I guess there's no breakfast.  Or tea.”  She sighed sadly.  She had so wanted to have a tea party.<br/><br/>Sitting on her ankles in the middle of the jail cell, she began to sing softly to herself:<br/><br/><div align="center"><em><acronym title="Lords of Acid 'Pop Goes the Weasel' variant">“Half a pound of opium<br/>Half a pound of treacle<br/>That's the way the story goes<br/>Out comes the evil”</acronym></em></div>