<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/4c/Ginny_06a.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Virginia<em><strong>'Ginny'</strong></em>Mary Lou Whateley<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Whateley Family<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 11th, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Babel's Tower Foyer<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Abraham Solomon, Christian "Spooky" Spectre, {Exiting Scene}<br/><hr/><br/>Ginny hid her frown with another sip of her wine; last she had seen her friend, Annie, had been hale and healthy as horse and her 'illness' had to be something serious to keep her from even appearing.  A little tickle in her throat or a runny nose wouldn't have been enough to dampen her spirit; Ginny understood all too well how stubborn her friend could be when she had set her mind on something.  The blonde Whateley smelled a rat a mile away, and tiling her head slightly sideways to regard the dark-haired singer crooning to the crowd, she suspected she knew who might benefit the most from the absence of a possible rival.<br/><br/>In fact, the fact that Annie wouldn't be performing tonight was a greater disappointment than Abraham Solomon's refusal to simply grant Ginny what she wanted.  It wasn't often she was thwarted in her desires; normally, she was skilled enough to have any man wrapped around her little pinky finger by the end of the night.   Ginny took it as a matter of pride that she could make some young men do almost anything for a hint of her affections.  And for those that she couldn't wrap around her little finger, the blonde Whateley normally could use her family's wealth to place them in her back pocket.  It was astonishing really how loudly a few little golden birdies could speak when pressed into the palm of someone's hand.<br/><br/>Abraham Solomon, however, was quite the enigma.  Someone like Mr. Sloane Ginny understood - above all else, his first love was to the stream golden eagles that came into his possession at the end of every night which was why Ginny paid such a handsome retainer fee every single night to keep her personal corner in the casino.  But money was not the end goal for Abraham, she sensed that immediately.  He had no need of her money and no need of a Whateley's favor - whether it was genuine or not.  But he was still willing to let her get what she wanted...but on his terms.  Honestly though, Ginny still felt very uncomfortable with the thought of working<em>for </em>someone.  The concept of needing to show up on time, do what you were told, and receive payment for a day's hard work sounded suspiciously similar to 'commitment' - a word the blonde Whateley avoided like the plague.  If she wasn't careful, she'd also get 'infected' and the next thing you knew would be Ginny nattering on about she needed to find the right man, settle down, and start a family.<br/><br/>A small shudder ran through her body before she dismissed that thought from her mind.  Instead, she turned her attention back to the conundrum at hand.  Living as a gambler had taught her the value of realizing when you are beat, folding your hand, and moving on to the next round.  This was one of those moments - give up the round, but keep an eye on the bigger pot.  The way things stood now, she still gained a majority of what she sought, it simply wasn't as inherently flexible as it once was.  A silent shrug was given; Ginny was certain that there would be ways to renegotiate things at a later date.  For now, agreeing to show up once a week for a reserved tabled would serve its purpose of establishing a clear Whateley presence at one of the larger economies in Gomorra and allow her to easily once again collect gossip and rumors in the surrounding area.<br/><br/>But before she could voice her thoughts, shots rang out as the chatter died down.  And in the ensuing drama, Ginny did what she did best - simply nothing.  Instead, she watched and observed - her green Whateley eyes giving no indication of anything beyond mild amusement.  Someone getting shot was nothing new in Gomorra; life in the Fast County was a dangerous one.  Though she did not miss the flash of anger on Abraham Solomon's face before he curtly excused himself from her presence in a manner that would barely pass as courteous in the social circles she frequented.  But Ginny did not mind; it allowed her to observe the owner of Babel's Tower a bit more and come to a simple conclusion.  Abraham Solomon did care his and his business' reputation, no large surprise in and of itself, but very intriguing when paired with her earlier information.  Perhaps he wanted some designs on getting involved in the politics of Gomorra?<br/><br/>A thought for another time.<br/><br/>And unlike everyone else, Ginny gave a pleased look and a small smile as the travel-worn gunslinger sauntered in.  Though she doubted they could be considered friends after a single encounter, Ginny had a definite certain fondness of 'Spooky'.  He had been the titular star of the outlandish dime novels she read years and was quite the gentleman despite all appearances.  There was a certain gallant air to him and Ginny had quite liked the time he had come to her defense at the table when one of the players had accused her table of cheating - the dastardly words of a drunken coward who couldn't afford to lose what he brought to gamble with.<br/><br/>With a practiced air, Miss Whateley began made her way towards the gunslinger even as Mr. Solomon intercepted her.   A bright, winning smile was given to the owner.<strong>"Ah've tho't 'bout yur offer, Mistuh Solomon and ah'll glad accept.  If yuh dun mind ta'ribly, ah'll start next Saturday fer now - jist keep it tah uh evenin'uh week fer now,"</strong>The next words were added almost as an afterthought with a genuine sparkle to her green Whateley eyes.<strong>"Yuh understand that ah can't wurk on uh Sunday, t'would be a sin tah wurk on th'Sabbath."</strong>And of course, Ginny was quite aware of the sophistry of her words; after all, Sabbath originally had been on a Saturday before being adopted and grandfathered in.   History had a funny habit of being revised when convenient.<br/><br/><strong>"If yu'll 'cuse muh, Mistuh Solomon,"</strong>An earlier play on what transpired when he had left her, Ginny smoothly cut past him - showing a well-practiced grace of moving in her voluminous dress.  A sign of her confidence, and perhaps arrogance, that Ginny already considered all details done and was expecting a table the next time she came to Babel's Tower.  And on her way out, she made sure to cross paths with Mr. Spooky.  And a honest, genuine smile was given to the gunslinger.  It was subtle, but there was air of genuineness to the blonde's lips as she smiled when he removed his Stenson to greet her.<br/><br/><strong>"Good suh, ah beliv' yuh still owe muh my visit,"</strong>Ginny said chidingly, but without any rancor.<strong>"Ah'll sen' one o'tho'e Whippersnappers tah fin'yuh with directions."</strong>A critical eye was cast over his lean, lanky form.<strong>"And it se'ms tah muh that ah'll need tah cook dinnuh in'dition tah sum o'my swee'teah,"</strong>she clucked her tongue, a habit she learned from Granny, as those green eyes almost seemed to be sizing him up - but not for a gunfight.  More like the look of a woman who was interested in meddling in a man's affairs - though whether it was for his own good or her own personal agenda was difficult to say.<br/><br/><strong>"But yu'll hafta 'xcuse muh.  Ah need tah visit my Auntie,"</strong>And with that, Ginny placed her largely unfinished wine flute back on the bar counter as she slowly sauntered out of Babel's Tower.<br/><br/>--> END SCENE: CONTINUED IN TOWN HALL - EVENING (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?action=post;topic=167800.50;last_msg=9890056)