<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0c/Doomtown2-Recovered2.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Walter Sinnett (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9812108#msg9812108)<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 13th, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Sittin' in the Gates Ranch<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Letty, Open.<br/><hr/><hr/><strong>“Oi.”</strong><br/><br/>This dumb bint may have possessed the infamous “latin temper” or whatever the feck you called it, but Walter had his cockney temper. And however fierce Letty's “latin temper” was, I highly doubt it being raised normally resulted in the undertakers being swamped for business. “Fire in her passionate soul”? Feck off. Walter wasn't entirely sure he had a soul... and if he did it would be a small, dark, petty thing, full of malice and rusty through lack of use. But what he did have was enough anger and bitterness to swamp a world, the willingness to use it and a pair of knuckles hardened by being driven into flesh and bone. Letty's anger meant little to him, her defiance even less. But one word she chose, one word... that was enough for Walter to settle his own glare upon her and for his voice to thicken with anger.<br/><br/><strong>“Look at the bloody state of me bitch. Do you think I look and sound like this cos I'm some feckin' civilised man? Where do you think I'm soddin' from and what do you think I feckin' know? I was born in the feckin' gutter. Well, actually, I was born in a whorehouse but that's pretty much the same thing what with all the bodily fluids flowin' around. And that's all I've ever bloody known. I'm scum love, the filth you scrape off your bloody shoe. I know what I am and I ain't bloody ashamed of it. Now, I don't know a bloody thing about Mexicans outside of the fact they're from bloody Mexico, wear stupid feckin' wide hats, drink this god awful stuff called Tequila and one of the bastards tried to buy my donkey. You know why I think some of you bastards may be tryin' to jump me? Cos that's what I'd bloody do. Cos' people aren't nice to me unless they want somethin' and in my world when people want somethin' they tend to feckin' take it. I ain't one for pretty words love... I can't say 'em, I can't write 'em and even if I bloody could I wouldn't. But don't you for a feckin' moment think that I'm gonna judge someone for bein' from the gutter.”</strong><br/><br/>His own anger abated for the moment Walter went back to one of the few pleasures he had in his life and took a deep drag from the pipe.<br/><br/><strong>“Anyway, you look right bloody feckable when you're angry so I'll try and remember the words you used and get a whore to speak like you tonight before I stick my cock up her arse.”</strong><br/><br/>Content that his point was made... whether it was or wasn't... Walter settled back down with his hands pillowing his head, looking up at the ceiling. Then a thought struck him... and from the way his face openly and obviously scrunched up in concentration it was clear to anyone watching that he was thinking, that this wasn't a regular occurance and that it actually appeared somewhat painful. Rolling onto his side and propping himself up on an elbow, he directed another question to Letty.<br/><br/><strong>“Why would my donkey appreciate a bath? Every time I throw a bucket of water on 'im he just hee-haws a lot and tries to kick me.”</strong><br/><br/>Clearly the brains of the operation the donkey shook his long head, looked up at Letty with something between apology and resigned acceptance, before burrowing for another carrot. Walter may have misunderstood her question, but the donkey hadn't.