<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, Mentioned:  Ginny, Bella, Li-Li<br/><hr/>She leaned forward on the table again, her smile widening a little bit when just a hint of his tension went out of him.  It wasn’t something she actively observed; the littlest Law Dog just had a gift putting people at their ease, and knowing when she had.  She gave a little laugh, and shook her head.  “I don’t think all the whiskey in Doomtown’s gonna change that,” she lamented - but her hand wrapped around the glass anyway, bracing herself before bringing it up for another sip.<br/><br/>She could tell that her news at first undid the ease - or the hint of ease - she’d put him too, and noticed again when he relaxed.  Corky might have been sweet, and good natured, but she’d lived long enough to know that prying into folks affairs didn’t usually end well.  Though a hundred questions played in her mind, she nibbled at her lower lip and kept ‘em from spilling out.<br/><br/>Her eyes widened a little bit when he downed one whisky, and then a second, impressed when there wasn’t the slightest sign it bothered him more than two glasses of milk.  She looked at the two empty glasses, then back to her own, as if the remainder of the glass might be her own personal Nemean lion.  She glugged down a slightly larger swallow, managing to keep it with only a modest cough, before offering her question.<br/><br/>She grinned at his answer, though, grinned broad and gave a little laugh.  “Maybe I will.  Just kinda glad I ain’t the only one who don’t know our yankee-feckin’-doodle words.”  She lacked the vehemence and spite for proper delivery, though, and glanced over her shoulder to the Ginny-bird and the Chinese-looking lady.  “The purty one, or the one with the big blond feller?”<br/><br/>She tipped her hat in kind.  “Mah pleasure.  You ever want to go shootin’ Maze sharks and kill an afternoon with sumthin’ other than whiskey, lemme know,” she offered, with a big grin.  “Found a whole five pound swivel cannon in one’s belly once.”<br/><br/>She grinned and considered the other two he’d pointed out, taking another sip of her whiskey and making another face.<br/><br/>“Really, who drinks this stuff?” she murmured to herself, ignoring the entire saloon full of miners and townsfolk heartily enjoying the stuff.