<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0c/Doomtown2-Recovered2.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Walter Sinnett<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 4th, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Mesa outside Town<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Agatha, Open<br/><hr/>At least she was laughing.<br/><br/>Walter suspected that meant she was less likely to shoot him. Not a guarantee of course... hell, Walt himself had been chuckling and laughing away himself with more than one mark before he socked him in the gut, gave him a good kicking and possibly gutted the rascal but Walt was, after all, a monster and from what he could tell of this woman he doubted she was. Evil has a way of knowing evil and Walt was one black hearted bastard. So the fact that she was laughing was definitely an improvement... almost as much as one of her stepping back and lowering the pistol. Walter had seen enough barkers used at close range to know it didn't make a practical difference; if she did mean to do him an injury she could bring either one of those pistols up quickly but it was the thought that counted, an indication that smearing his brains over the mesa was not her primary focus. He tipped his hat again.<br/><br/><strong>"Much obliged mam... for lowerin' that shooter."</strong><br/><br/>He chuckled himself at her comment about keeping the place a secret although the laughter did not reach his eyes and in truth did little but once more show off his crooked mouth.<br/><br/><strong>"Beggin' your pardon mam, and with no disrespect, me and me donkey are intendin' to forget this place soon as we get the chance. I'm sure you're real careful in makin' sure there ain't no-one nearby when you pull the trigger on one of those there barkers but I don't much like havin' to check if someone's accidentally put bullet holes in my hat  if you get what I mean."</strong><br/><br/>Walter nodded as she described her shop and vocation, putting two and two together. She still hadn't said her name but considering the place was called 'Agatha’s Occidental Delights' and she owned it rather than just worked there he was fairly certain her name was Agatha. And she did make guns. Special guns. Walter knew about the other place Bagleys or whatever bloody name it had. All shiny and spiffy and not at all what he wanted. Walter didn't like guns, didn't like shooters and as fine as those pieces were, perfectly balanced and accurate, they weren't what he was looking for. Wouldn't do anything for him anyway; he could shoot a bit but he was no blooming marksman and as much as he'd like to blame shoddy firearms for his general lack of accuracy he couldn't. Didn't matter if the barker shot true as steel if he ended up pointing it a foot from where his target was. And what did they have that would do what he wanted it to do? They sold normal shooters made pretty and he didn't want a normal shooter. Maybe they'd have a two bore elephant gun or something but he doubted there was much call for things of that nature out here. Too few elephants. Although perhaps cause and effect meant that the lack of elephants was down to too many elephant guns. He doubted it. No, if his little ambition was ever to become a reality he'd need to come to Agatha so she could make him a shooter the likes of which the world had never seen. Which meant he needed to make some damn money. And then she mentioned whisky.<br/><br/>Walt didn't really know enough about whisky to know if he preferred Irish, Scottish, American or whatever other types of bloody whisky there were. He knew he liked the darker, peatier stuff but outside of someone once telling him it was Scottish from one of the bloody islands he had no idea. He just cared that it tasted vaguely of whisky and got him drunk. But he did like whisky. Liked it rather a lot. He glanced down at his donkey again. Did donkeys like whisky? Should he try giving him a bowl of it sometime? The donkey appeared... at least to Walter... to shake its head. Smart donkey. Smarter than him at least.<br/><strong><br/>"Let no-one say that Walter Sinnett kept anyone from a jolt of whisky. Pleasure to meet you mam."</strong><br/><br/>Walter tipped his hat again before grasping the halter for his donkey and leaving the mesa, heading back in the vague direction of Gomorra. He assumed Agatha was heading back that way as well but considering she'd already drawn a shooter on him once he didn't want to press the issue.