<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0e/Ginny_Avatar.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Virginia 'Ginny' Mary Lou Whateley<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Whateley Family<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 3rd, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Morning<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Casino Morongo<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Matthew Cuthbert, Christian "Spooky" Specter, Deacon Sloane, Open<br/><hr/><br/>Ginny actually had been there from the beginning.  Just minding her own business at her table as usual.  Things were a touch slow since most folks were still getting rolling before gambling, but the young Whateley was fine with it.  Business was always good at Casino Morongo; while she enjoyed making rounds around the saloons to heard the latest gossip, it was the Casino where fortunes were made and lost.  Of course, Ginny already had a fortune, she simply was someone who was in for the thrill of things more than anything else.  She had just gotten back with a visit from her Grandma and she already missed the kindly older woman.  That woman still had the best sweet tea on this side of the Maze and she pined and hoped that there would be some crisp, tart, lemon squares to accompany it the next time.  But it would have been rude to tell her Grandma that directly so the blonde gambler had simply batted her eyelashes doubly and hoped that it had been enough of a signal to go by.<br/><br/>To amuse herself since there weren't any takers early in the morning, the young Whateley was practicing flipping the cards out onto the table as crisply as possible.  Aiming just to use enough force to them spinning in a full circle before they would land face-up at the imaginary person who would want them.  All the late-nighters were wrapping up their games and normally, Ginny kept somewhat decent hours.  In her mind, she liked it earlier when people were so addled with drink.  Too much drink made people do stupid things.  And neither her nor Mr. Sloane liked stupid people.  Though Mr. Sloane had a way to taking care of things so that people were never stupid<em>twice</em>.<br/><br/><strong><em>Flick.  Flick.  Flick.  Flick. Flick.</em></strong><br/><br/>A person got the idea pretty quick.  A small frown came to her features somewhere in her fourteenth and nineteen card when one of them landed a little crooked, bent enough that it ruined the straight edges of the growing pile.  With a silent huff, she poured herself a shot of whiskey and tipped it back before gathering all the cards, shuffling them in a lightning-fast fashion and beginning her little game of skill again.  Competing with no one except herself and whatever demons that drove her to do such a thing.  Though it was probably the demon of sheer boredom in this cause along with the old adage -<em>idle hands made for the Devil's work.</em>Though Ginny would have protested and noted that her hands were plenty busy, missing, of course, the whole moral of that little saying in that charming way that had a person wondering if it was some deliberate choice on her part.<br/><br/>But that's when things got interesting on their own.  The young Whateley's hands slowed, and then stopped, at the entrance of a towering man, along with a battered black duster, that was like the billowing cape of the Grim Reaper himself.  And the whole Casino got quiet for an instant.<em>'It's Spooky.'  'That's Spooky.'  <strong>'The</strong> Spooky?'</em>The murmured whispered reached Ginny's ears though she had to strain a bit to catch them all as a grim tension began to build in Casino Morongo.  After all, it was ever good news when one of the iconic figures of the West, a man who had killed so many, his pistol was known as the Reaper showed up at your door.<br/><br/>And who else but to intercept him than Mr. Sloane, the owner of Casino Morongo?  Ginny would have bet her entire savings and that was a pretty pile that the weathered older man had stared down Death more than once or twice in his lifetime.  And rumors were that Death had blinked in the end against Sloane.  It was hard to find someone who wasn't more feared in Gomorra.  Of course, if you were polite, paid on time, and were just looking for a good time, you had nothing to fear from Sloane.  If not...<br/><br/>Well, there were rumors.  And none of them were pretty.  In fact, the best one Ginny heard was that Sloane himself would personally sever your fingers and your toes to feed them to some mythical pet he kept before he simply slit your throat.  Outlandish and most likely false, there were was a looming aura that never made you feel too confident about calling that bluff.  After all, if you were ever wrong, then you'd best kiss that dear sweetheart of yours a precious good-bye.<br/><br/>And that tension grew even more as the two men squared off and Ginny took silently noted of the hired guns forming up, ready to back their boss if anything should go down.  Ironically, that tension was becoming something akin to a wild excitement, the desire to see some bloodshed already.  Itchy fingers and all that.  These were the types of stories you'd tell your children one day!   Assuming you'd live to have children, of course.<em><strong>'Oh, I was there, hiding behind the poker table, quivering like a yellow-bellied coward and praying to sweet Jesus that if He got me through this, Lord have mercy, I'd be a church-going man the rest of my life!'</strong></em><br/><br/>Well, hopefully the speaker would have a better story than that.  And just when it seemed it couldn't get any more tense...<br/><br/>A young dapper man, fresh with a pretty boy look broke in.  Him, Ginny had been hearing rumors about.  Matthew Cuthbert, a gambler with luck so good that even the devil himself couldn't cheat him at dice.  He looked like a bit of a dandy in his fine suit, but Ginny had to admit that he had enough to a woman's heart go pitter-patter.  Though rumors were that he was even better than she was than when it came to cards.  Not that she really minded, but  she was curious to see if that were true or not.  He'd been circling the Casino Morongo for a while now, steadily working his way up though he hadn't stopped by her table yet.<br/><br/>Perhaps ironically, but his introduction into the mix broke a bit of the tension when he called the infamous Spooky to a game of cards.  He definitely didn't look like he belonged in the silent face-off and served as a way to defuse the serious scene that had formed.  After all, else one of the two men actually shot the gambler, no bullets were going to be fired at the very least.  Though Spooky's growl didn't seem overly promising and Mr. Sloane didn't seem to be doing much to lessen tension either.<br/><br/>So, of course, it would take a woman's touch to smooth all the feathers.  And not just any old gal, but one who knew a bit of southern charm.  "Now, now, boys..."  Ginny started, her drawl interrupting them all, and drawing their gazes to her.  It was possibly offensive, but she gave her sweetest smile, so sweet that a man could feel his teeth begin to ache.<strong>"If s'tah card game yuh want, why not come tah my table?  Ah always welcome fresh blood."</strong>A direct, challenging stare was given to Matthew Cuthbert at that.  Signaling to the patrons around and shifting the attention away from a potential gunfight into a fated card showdown that had been brewing for the past two months or so ever since the blonde fellow had entered into Gomorra seeking to make his fortune.<br/><br/><strong>"And...uh...Mr. Spooky,"</strong>Ginny did stumble there a bit, not exactly how to address the infamous gunman, but hiding it with the professional aplomb of the most practiced politician.<strong>"Ah kin assure yuh a fair game.  Thar'll be no cheaters at my table.  Ah dun tolerate no cheatin'."</strong>Those Whateleys eyes flashed a hint of green fire at that.  That much at least was true.  Ginny didn't believe in cheating to win...at cards at the very least.  The jury was still out on other things.<br/><br/>Leaning forward slightly, she tipped her Stenson in a show of deference.<strong> "Fer such a famous and distinguished man such as yer self, ah'm willing to offer a twenty dollar credit.  If yer interested, o'course."</strong>This way, it would hopefully keep the gunman from drawing and all hell breaking loose if things should go south in a couple of hands.  Knowing that he'd be very suspicious of any type of trickery, Ginny was playing things completely clean and with the intent to get in his good graces.  After all, it wouldn't be a bad thing if it was know that Virigina Mary Lou Whateley was good friends with Spooky.  That might give the next fella who wanted to cause the blonde any problems a second thought they played at her table.  Though normally, Mr. Sloane took care of those people right away.<br/><br/>Though admittedly, she wouldn't want that topic to come when she got ready to receive mass at St. Martin's Chapel on Sundays.  But she was confident that she could handle that when it came.<br/><br/><strong>"Ah read sum of yer stories back from whar ah was from growin' up,"</strong>was a way of her explanation as to why she was being so generous to a complete and perhaps very dangerous stranger.  And that much was true.  Admittedly, given how young she was, growing up had only happened a year or three ago.  Ginny had adored the dime novels, much to the dismay of her private tutors who attempted to fill her head with knowledge of British literature and theater.  Only to discover the young Whateley had an appetite for outrageous classics like<em>'Spooky and the Flame-haired Vixen Against the Mad Preacher's Posse'</em>.