<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/c/c0/Ginny_Avatar-01.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Virginia<strong><em>'Ginny'</em></strong>Mary Lou Whateley<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Whateley Family<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 11, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Sherrif's Office/Gomorra Jail<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Nash Bilton [and Townsend], Dolores Whateley<br/><hr/><br/>At the Sheriff's brazen words, Ginny mulled her options quickly.  Actually, this reminded her a lot of the hands she played at the poker tables with Nash Bilton having just called her bet.  Apparently, the gift of fine whiskey had not been enough; though she had noted that it wasn't unappreciated - simply not enough to appease the man enough to let her by.<br/><br/>She could simply leave.  It was always an option, walking away and putting on an offended air - the equivalent of folding her hand.  In truth, Ginny didn't mind Sheriff Bilton's predatory gaze - it wasn't the first or last time a man had looked at her with those kind of eyes.  She didn't even mind him putting his hands all over her person so long as certain boundaries were respected.  And in that regard, Ginny considered what type of man she knew Nash Bilton to be.  He was a brute, but smarter than his reputation suggested; she remembered how he had come into town with a dirty squab's arrow sticking from his shoulder.  To her, it was fine if he wanted them to kill the savages - the only good red was a dead one in her mind.<br/><br/>So she trusted Nash Bilton to toe the line of good taste, but not cross it.  In fact, there were only two reasons that prevented Ginny from choosing that option right off.  The first one was Townsend - although the man was muttering to himself and looking everywhere except where the young Whateley was standing, memories of what had nearly happened that night still lingered in the forefront of her mind.  She surely didn't want to send the wrong message to a man like Townsend - who needed little enough prompting to come to his own conclusions.  The second was the four-inches of warm bladed steel strapped against the inner part of her left thigh.  Ever since that particular night, Ginny began to carry a knife at all times.  When she wasn't ridiculously dolled up, it was normally hidden by her right wrist for easy access.  In this case, the dagger was a last resort - it only would come into play if for some reason - a strong hands of an overly aggressive man for example - began to tear at her dress.  Ginny was determined never to be a victim again under her own power.<br/><br/>Her other option was to attempt to cajole or browbeat him into backing down.  Cajoling was futile; the fee of her entrance had already been explicitly stated and browbeating was foolishness.  There was no way that Nash Bilton would back down in front of Ginny, especially not in front of his own man.  It would make him appear to be weak and she understood how little he had liked it when the bloody reds had shown up and denounced him and the arrow in his shoulder.<br/><br/>And of course, there was one last option - which Ginny took.  It was called 'raising' in poker.  Gripping the edge of her overly large skirts - and calming her heartbeat as it picked up a tick - the young Whateley exposed her legs scandalously.  First her ankles, then her knees, and then up to her mid-thigh of her right leg, also showing off her pristine white lace stocking and the edge of a garter strap in the same breath, as she extended her leg in a full stretch.  Teasingly, she flexed her foot back and forth in a coy way.<strong> "Ah as'ure yuh, Shurif' - yuh won't find no dynomite 'ere,"</strong>she remarked archly - those green Whateley eyes flashing her challenge.<br/><br/>There she held her pose for a second, more brazen than any saloon girl, before letting her skirt and bustle settle back in place, hiding her legs from view once more.<strong>"Tho' ah've been told by mor'then one man that muh legs cou'd be registered as uh lethal weap'n..."</strong>Her tone was suggestive as she smoothed out her hem.<br/><br/>Hers was a semi-bluff.  On the one hand, she hoped her actions had been a large enough distraction to let the knife remain undiscovered.  After all, she suspected Sheriff Bilton would settle for feeling around the swell of her bosom and at her hips - he wasn't really interested in thoroughly frisking her.  And if she was found out, it wasn't an overly great loss; discovery meant that Ginny would most likely have the dagger confiscated - an unpalatable decision but one she could live with.<br/><br/><em>"Yer move, Shurif'..."</em>Ginny thought.