<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m6anzg7ITX1qdjxsro1_500.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Graham Neiler.<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Unknown.<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 4th, 1876.<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Morning.<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Casino Morongo<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Open, Max Baine, Virginia Whately.<br/><hr/><br/><br/>Holstering his six-shooter and snapping the strap back into place atop the hammer, Graham drained his beer down to the dregs and set it down for the barkeep to retrieve with a quiet thank-you. That queer man had a hint of danger about him, not the kind he could read off a soldier from a mile away; it was more like a smell that pull the hairs on his neck to standing to attention. Rising up and turning towards the door, he gave the theatrical newcomer a long once-over, not bothering to disguise his slightly squinted perusal. "Congratulations on your purchase, mister, or that of your company if you prefer." he says by way of greeting, that slow drawl rolling clearly off his tongue.<br/><br/>Stepping over to the gambling table with a polite nod to the pretty dealer, he beckoned Baine with a casual gesture of one hand. "Join me an' the lady in a hand or two? I reckon s'all your money either way, ain't much of a risk to ya." Glass crunches and grinds under his boot as he steps through the shards left behind by the angry patron who had thrown his drink to the floor, removing his duster to reveal the short, heavy-barreled shotgun hanging close by his side. Pulling the sling from around his shoulder, he folds his coat over it and lays the bundle on a seat to his right hand, patting it gently as he takes the next to the left. All of his movements have a sort of grace, slow and full of care, almost like a sleepwalker but each one as purposeful as the next.<br/><br/>"What's the game, dahlin'?" he inquires of Virginia, taking off his hat and resting it with his other effects; running his fingers through cropped hair, he gets to behave more or less, laying it down along the curve of his skull. That done, Graham gives the lady a variant of the same appraising up-and-down that he gave Baine, though his eyes are more hooded than squinting in the gentler indoor light. Neither did he linger quite so on the man's admittedly non-existent decolletage. His eyes stray no longer than is polite, however, returning almost immediately to the Whateley madame's eyes, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth while his nostrils flare in a slow, deep inhalation. That last puts just the slightest bit more broadness across his already wide-set shoulders, drawing his back up into a rather military straightness.<br/><br/>"And mind you go easy on me. I'm dancin' with the devil just to pull up a chair 'cross from you, my pocketbook bein' as light as it is."