<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://gunsofold.com/marshal_badge_silver_balltip.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 3rd, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Morning<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Gomorra<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Open<br/><hr/>She managed to remain unseen as her body seemed to practically float up the side of the building, the drifting of a feather carried up the side of the building.  The second floor that she landed in was padded floors and imported hardwood desks, reams of paper and storage of all kinds.  There was little of much value or interest - none of the papers had been written on, and it seemed more like a campaign office for the yearly elections, closed for the moment.  There was a safe built into the back wall, and a staircase that led down - but she wouldn't need either.  To keep the flow of air circulating, one part of the floor looked down upon the main meeting hall, where Findley, Cochran, and Bilton had settled into seats, while Oswald continued to stand, crossing his arms and standing aloof.<br/><br/>She could just hear voices beginning to murmur up.<br/><br/>" - self-righteous, smug bastard," said Cochran.  "The very nerve, interrupting my speech - the commemoration of the Sheriff - "<br/><br/>" - was bullshit," said Bilton.  "Half the town smelled the great rancid stink of it.  You're lucky he did interrupt you, or you mighta made a bigger ass of yourself."