<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a4/Flatbush.png)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Charlie Flatbush<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Law Dogs (3)<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 18th, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Morning<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Helga’s Wafflehaus<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Avery Burnam; CLOSED<br/><hr/><br/>Charlie gave a good natured cringe as he mentioned grease and maple syrup - honestly the thought of any kind of food just made his belly clench warningly, and he wrinkled his nose at Avery.  “You, sir, are a bastard.  A cold, unfeeling bastard without a drop of kindness in your soul.”  He chuckled and shook his head.  He caught the slight smile and grinned.  Clearly, as harsh as the words were, there was no malice in them - if anything, he seemed to appreciate the dry humor that underlied them.<br/><br/>He sank into the chair and smiled at Dora - her little cotton chemise hadn’t quite turned translucent with sweat, yet, but the view was still appreciable all the same as she scrambled around getting drinks and orders.  It was a busy morning in the Wafflehaus, a popular post-hangover stop.<br/><br/>“Well, so says Bilton,” said Charlie, giving a shrug.  “So it must be true.  Never mind that Dolores ain’t got the twig an berries for the job and she sure as hell ain’t strong enough to tear apart a soldier and Thommy Jones.”  He scowled.  “Or do what we saw in the asylum.  That place…”  He shook his head, flinching. “Now, I’m not yellow-bellied, but I think there comes a point when any man’s stomach is allowed to twist round without him being a coward.  When I was still working to be made deputy, there was this gang in the area - the Blackcoats.  We were smaller then, and they had this idea of moving in on the town.  Scaring everyone.  They grabbed up one of the families working a ranch outside of town, and they tied off their limbs to four different horses and fired a shot.  Pa, Ma, young boy, a little daughter, the ranch hand - everyone of them got ripped apart by those horses runnin’ different directions.  That … the farm?  I still see that when I close my eyes some nights.  Or I did.  Inside of that asylum?  That’s what I see now.”<br/><br/>He shook his head.  “Asylum’s where the judge would send people who were too nuts to stand trial.  Some folks put their relatives up in their.  Maybe ten, fifteen people in all.  When they got the bridge up, that was the first place we went - it was the only place with people we knew of cut off from the mesa.  Grimely’s manor’s been abandoned for years, and the crypt keeper for Deadman’s rest lives on the mesa.   So we went their first - only to find the whole place torn apart.  Walls knocked down, bodies ripped into pieces and then smaller pieces - we couldn’t even come close to putting everyone back together.  We search the whole place - find the doctor, and the orderly… at least six patients, maybe more.  No way to tell.  We found more bodies than heads.”<br/><br/>He pursed his lips, definitely sober now, and took a long sip of his coffee.  “By the time we went poking around to the rest of the island - we were all a little creeped out.  Then we hear singing coming up from the cemetery, and we come creeping over the hill - smokewagons drawn, everyone’s hands shaking, and there’s little Dolores Whateley, dress drenched in blood, playing tea with her dolly.  She’s not worth a damn answering questions, and Bilton gets pissed off when he asks her if she’s seen anything, how she got covered in blood.  Singing nursery rhymes and offering him imaginary biscuits.  We searched the rest of the place - no one to be found.  Even kicked open the door in Grimeley’s place.  There’s not another soul on the whole damn mesa.”  His fingers tightened around the cup.  “She’s covered in blood, we got an asylum full of bodies, and whatever<em>did</em>kill Thommy and that soldier and raped Lady Boyle was last seen headed to Deadman’s rest.  Bilton takes her in.  Only suspect we got.  Mad as a hatter and ninety pounds soaking wet.  I figure we’re all going to look like idiots, but people were just happy to hear someone was in custody.”<br/><br/>He frowned.  “Do I think she did it?  I don’t know.  It doesn’t make much sense.  All I know is - we put her in the tank that night.  Drunks’ll have their way with just about anything in a skirt, late at night.  I stayed there to keep ‘em in line.  They were hasslin’ her at first, then it quieted down. I dozed off - woke up - and the drunks are all pressed round the side of the take, wedged up against the bars and the walls.  Not one of ‘em’ll come within three feet of her.  And she’s just playing with her dolly in the middle of the cell, humming to herself.  Cheerful as can be.  I asked the drunks if she said something - did something?  Nothing.  Not a one would say.  Or maybe she didn’t do anything.  Either way, a roomful of drunk miners were ready to go straight and swear to go to church and pay their fines or do community service if it got ‘em out of that cell ten minute faster.”<br/><br/>He sipped his coffee, watching Avery over the rim.  “And I don’t have a damn clue what to make of it.  Wish Hunter were still alive.”