<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0e/Corky.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Cordelia “Corky” Hendricks<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Law Dogs<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 11th, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Babel’s Tower, in a corner away from the bar.<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Open, Walter<br/><hr/>The chair next to Walter’s crunched across the wood floor, though the noise was buried by the general din in the common room.  The Law Dog hadn’t made much attempt to sneak up on Walter - she’d slipped in while the fancy feller in the funny clothes was waxing poetical about pork ribs - and she’d spotted Walter giving a baleful eye to the rest of the bar.  A waitress had been flagged down easy enough, and Corky'd whispered in her ear, then had two generous whiskeys in her hands a moment later.  Then she’d done the unthinkable - she’d walked right up to him, stuttering a step when the baleful eye got turned her way, but kept on walking, tugging back the chair and plunking a well toned behind into the chair.<br/><br/>Red pigtails and freckles bespoke an Irish heritage, though she looked like she might well have inherited her bust from a Germanic opera singer - they swelled inside the red and white checkered shirt she wore, looking as though the put the simple knot at the top of her bared belly to the test.  She wasn’t wearing her star today - but she still had a sixgun casually slung at her side.<br/><br/>She edged one of the whiskeys over to him, eyeballing him for a moment before leaning forward and putting her elbows on the table.<br/><br/>“This the broodin’ table?” she whispered.  “Looks like the broodin’ table, and I got me a powerful brood comin’ on.”  She stated it matter-of-factly, though the innately cheerful tone of her voice suggested she was a bit of a stranger to brooding.   She tossed one of her pigtails back behind her shoulder, and smiled at Walter.<br/><br/>She took a drink of the whiskey, but she wasn’t halfway through her draught when her eyes went wide, and she coughed and spluttered into the glass, backwashing most of it into the glass as her nose burned red.<br/><br/>“Sweet Jesus on a stick,” she coughed, her eyes burning, covering her mouth as she coughed up her first taste of real whiskey.  “What’d they put in that, kerosene?”  She continued to cough, cheeks reddening, her attempt to appear nonchalant and adult foiled by her inexperience.  “Gonna have to go lick a Maze Dragon to get the taste out.”  She made a face, and another wince, then slid the partially downed whiskey over to Walter as a second, slightly blemished offering, completely forgetting why it was that she’d come over in the first place to chat with the man staring daggers around the saloon.<br/><br/><br/>