<div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a4/Flatbush.png)</div><hr/><strong>Name:</strong>Charlie Flatbush<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Law Dogs (Deputy)<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 3rd, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Late Morning<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Sheriff's Office<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Mycroft, Open<hr/><br/>Charlie Flatbush leaned against one of the wooden beams that rose up from the wooden walkway to support the small overhang in front of the Sheriff's Office.  The place also doubled as the city's Jail, and keeping an eye on the nightly run of drunks and belligerents was the short straw of morning assignments.  In the evening, they were wasted and smelled bad, but in the morning they were surly and smelled worse.<br/><br/>So Flatbush's escape to the deck wasn't so much a dereliction of duty as it was a much needed break for his sanity.  He puffed on his pipe, inhaling the scent of tobacco, happy to be free from the catcalls of the drunk and disorderly.  He took a long toke, letting the ember in the pipe's bowl flare red and pulled the smoke up through the stem, before practicing his hand at blowing a small 'o' of the smoke.<br/><br/>"Deputy!!!" came an anguished call from within.  "I gotta take a shit!!"<br/><br/>Flatbush turned over his shoulder.<br/><br/>"That's why the bucket has been provided, sir."<br/><br/>"It's - it's full!"<br/><br/>Flatbush gave a chuckle, and took another long toke on his pipe.  They'd all be released in another few minutes, but he didn't mind making them suffer a few more minutes.  Besides which, he didn't much care to go back into that room and pass the blood stain again, if he could help it.