<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/20/Christian_Bale_Cowboy_3.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Christian "Spooky" Specter<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Unknown<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, Ginny Whateley, Deacon Sloane, Open<br/><hr/><br/>“Yu’ll save muh, right Suh?” Ginny has asked Christian during the game, and he did not answer. It was not that he was a sour cuss, though he was, it was that a game of cards was in progression, and his focus could not be spared. Cards were not his specialty, though he had a very mean poker face, and he did much feel like going home to Agatha with all his money taken by card sharps at the Casino.<br/><br/>“Thank yuh kindly, good Suh. A damel like muh always appreciates a helpin’ hand,” she had graced him with a smile that lit his blood on fire, though from Christian’s face he seemed as neutral as ever, only the barest twinkle in his eye betrayed he felt anything by her comment.<br/><br/>“I figger ya could handle yerself, ya certainly seem like a…” Christian paused a moment, his eyes narrowing as he turned to look at her, his cold, blue eyes boring into her own, “strong woman. I just can’t tolerate rudeness in man. ‘specially not towards a lady like yerself.” The comment begged explanation, as a story certainly lurked behind the words.<br/><br/>When Ginny mentioned the man in black, Christian went entirely still. The nickname Spooky seemed all too inadequate to explain the eerie quiet that surrounded the gunslinger in an instant after she spoke of his nemeses, his heel, his weakness. His mind raced, as the last woman who ever said such a thing to him ended up to be far more than he expected and she was definitely far more than he could handle. He fled the city not soon after her. Ginny, however, was different. Christian just knew it. He could not explain how, or why, or what in the nine hells would make him want to trust another she-devil that seemed all too perfect, but he did.<br/><br/>“I reckon I’d owe you quite the debt if ya helped me with that particular thorn in this lion’s paw,” was all Christian managed to get out. His voice, always husky, had the tiniest inkling of what some might have thought fear, others guilt, and still others despair hidden in his thick Texan accent. He took a deep breath and looked back to his cards. Then she mentioned her home, tea, and gunslinging lessons. If the room had been quiet, his racing heart would be heard thumping against his chest as though trying to break free.<br/><br/>“I’d be much obliged ta join ya fer tea, ma’am. Havin’ another friend’n town certainly won’t hurt. I reckon teachin’ ya ta shoot could have a whole wagon’ve fun ta go with that delicious tea as well,” Christian told her as he did something he rarely did, and the only other individual in Gomorra that had been graced with such a rarity was Agatha Dunwich, and smiled. It was a closed mouth smile, though an honest one.<br/><br/>It did not last long when her attention again returned to the pretty-faced gambler that sat near him, Matthew. The narrow eyed expression and the return of the frightening stare was all anyone needed to see to know Christian had returned to the grim and dour killer he had been when he walked in. The white-knight saving the damsel he had been a moment ago was gone as quickly as he had come. Jealous apparently accompanied a fast-draw.<br/><br/>Christian stood slowly, checked his gun, and situated his hat back onto his grizzled countenance. He strode towards the door, offering the barest of nods for Yanko. As he pushed open the bat-wing doors he paused a second, then turned back to Ginny, “When yer ready fer that lesson, just let me know. Yer likely ta find me at Agatha Dunwich’s place.” A few sniggers came across the crowd when some discovered who he was here with, a couple of mumbled “flame-haired vixen” remarks could barely be heard. Christian growled a curse, and his hand dropped to his side, where Reaper laid in wait patiently. The sniggering and comments cut out immediately.<br/><br/>“She’s a good friend o’mine, kind ‘nough ta share ‘er roof while I’m in town,” he stated pointly, a stare that felt like death creeping across the various patrons of the Casino Morongo. “I look forward ta some more time tagether, Ms. Whateley. Don’t be a stranger.” At that, the bat-wing doors swung haphazardly behind him as Christian head back into town.<br/>