<br/><hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/thumb/e/e4/Natehunter.png/437px-Natehunter.png)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Nathan Hunter<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Senior Deputy (Law Dogs)<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 1, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Camp Gǒu<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Margeurite, Closed<br/><hr/>Nate's posture was photograph-perfect as he strode through the camp.  He had a gentleman's confidence but none of the trepidation of a soft man of the East Coast.  The gun sat on his hip like an extension of himself, but there was a certain awareness of it most men didn't have – he was every conscious to the responsibility of it, to the obligation of the star that shone on his chest, and he walked with bold confidence he didn't entirely feel.  He was a good head taller than most of the men here, and even the towering orientals only stood nose to nose with the occidental.  He'd still held a bit of baby fat himself when he first came from Harvard, but years as a deputy in the harshness of the west had cut him as lean as any of the workers here.  But over the lean, powerful muscle of his body were keenly intelligent eyes, eyes that noted weapons and swords and pistols, the affected disinterest of guards who watched him closely.<br/><br/>He might well have missed the taller woman In the plain clothes, but for a momentary adjustment of the yoke on her shoulders.  When a sleeve slipped down over the pale flesh of her forearm, he caught the flash of ivory amidst a sea of cinnamon skin, and he paused in his tracks, dark eyes following the trail of the woman who picked her way through the crowd.  He watched her intently, noting the bare feet and the small flash of pale skin around her muddied ankles – and the slight curve to her spine, straighter where other women more accustomed to a life of hard labor stooped.<br/><br/>“She's not for sale,” said Rooster, brusquely.   He snapped the words, and Nate's gaze swung back around.<em>For sale</em>.  Like the whole damn world hadn't gone crazy enough already because people were being put up for auction.  His jaw tightened, muscles clenching and unclenching, and a baleful kind of hatred glowed in his eyes.  It was only a moment, and yet Rooster's hand slipped down to the pistol at his side.   Nate felt the crackle of tension in the air, the sudden shift as armed guards shifted their attention towards the occidental outsider.<br/><br/>He cracked that smile, hiding the fury in his eyes.  His hand never drifted towards his hip, and he gave an easy laugh.<br/><br/>“Not for sale?  Do I look like I'm made of money?”  He shook his head.  “I was just considering how much I'd care to<em>rent</em>.”  He glanced back at the disappearing woman, painting his best approximation of the mayor's randy smile on his face.  He slipped a golden double eagle from his pocket – a $20 coin of solid gold, and flashed it up into the air.  “C'mon Big Rooster.  You don't mind if I take a turn at the till, do ya?”<br/><br/>He swallowed back the small amount of bile that surged at the thought.  “Give us ten minutes alone, and we can get back to padding your pockets.”<br/><br/>The coin was a week of Rooster's salary, and Nate watched as the man's eyes followed it.  It was real vegetables in the tasteless noodles, a bath and four nights stay a decent hotel in Gomorra.  Warm beds and pretty occidental women waiting on Big Rooster hand and foot.  He flicked the coin over with a twist of his thumb, and watched as Rooster snatched it from the air.  Kang's lowly minions were paid far better than those who served to turn the Iron Dragon into a functioning railroad, but they were far from well compensated.<br/><br/>He watched another oriental in a fancy bowler hat slip closer to Rooster, the two guards conferring for a moment.  "You go ahead, Mr. Senior Deputy.  We make special exception.  One time for you."<br/><br/>Tom laughed to Rooster, speaking in Cantonese.  "[One time?  For her?  She is like rice grains.  You can't have just one."  Big Rooster gave a chuckle.  "[Of course not.  Next time, we charge him forty."