<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://gunsofold.com/marshal_badge_silver_balltip.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 3rd, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Morning<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Gomorra<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Jia Li<br/><hr/><div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/62/Scooter2.png)</div>The stairs positively groaned under the weight of the man coming up the steps.  She saw his head on the landing, from her position up in the rafters, a mound of curly dark hair and a curly dark beard to match.  It took a moment to realize just how large he was - he had to stoop under the doorframe, and his head just barely cleared the rafters of the upper area.  Every floorboard creaked as he moved.  He was a giant, a man of massive proportions, and none of it fat.  Each shoulder was broad enough that Jia Li could have stood upright upon it and balanced easily, and she saw ropes of corded muscle across his chest, beneath the duster that seemed to stretch across his frame.  On the floor below, he likely had to stoop; on the floor built just beneath the rafters and the roof of the building, he had the freedom to stand upright and stretch.<br/><br/>He leaned backwards, yawning and cracking his back.  For a moment, Jia Li thought he had a remarkably long pistol slung at his side - it took a moment to recognize that it was actually a mare's leg, a rifle cut down to be used from horse back.  His had been even more heavily modified, to include a pistol style grip that would bowl most men over from recoil.  He stretched, the vertebrae of his back popping as he did.<br/><br/>He hung his hands idly on one of the rafters near Jia Li's position - they were massive hands, with fingers like sausages, fitting for the giant beneath her.<br/><br/>A gravelly voice called from below the landing.  "Scooter, what'n hell are you doing?"<br/><br/>The big man winced.  "Just stretching, Big Jake."<br/><br/>The voice from below had a scowl in it.  "They ain't payin' us to stretch, they payin' us to guard.  Get yer ass down here."<br/><br/>The big man looked crestfallen, and gave a mournful glance to the open window, then turned and began to lumber back towards the landing.<br/><br/>Below, the door slammed as Hardinger made his exit.  Bilton's voice wafted up to the rafters.<br/><br/>"That looks like it's gonna be a problem.  You want me to take care of it?"<br/><br/>Findley's chuckle resonated, as well.  "There's no problem there.  When Hardinger realizes the five thousand dollars of ghost rock his scientists go through in a week will cost him fifteen thousand from any other source, he'll see our problems a little differently."