<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>Walkin' into the Gates Ranch<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Letty, Agatha, Open.<br/><hr/><hr/><strong>“Don't listen to 'er donkey. She don't know what she's sayin'.”</strong><br/><br/>Walter Sinnett had been many things in his life, even if they tended to follow the same theme. Thief, thug, mugger, murderer, boxer, muscle, enforcer, assassin, bounty hunter, pick pocket, fighter. One thing he had never been was the voice of reason or a peacemaker. And yet here he was patting his donkey on the back of the head with the closest thing he could find to affection as it stamped its feet (hooves?) and heehawed aggressively. If donkeys could speak then Walter's donkey would have made Walter sound like a choirboy with the way it turned the air blue and if looks could kill then Agatha would have shuffled straight off this mortal coil from the way it was eyeballing her.<br/><br/><strong>“And look love...”</strong><br/><br/>Now Walter's ire turned on Agatha as well, although he tried to at least be somewhat polite. Walter's version of being somewhat polite meant he hadn't punched her yet.<br/><br/><strong>“... if I wanted a soddin' horse I'd have asked for a soddin' horse. And if I'd wanted someone to show me the bloody horses I'd have gone to bloody Ireland. And seein' as it 'aint bloody rainin' and it is bloody hot and I ain't seen a feckin' turnip in months, we're not in blasted Ireland are we?”</strong><br/><br/>A horse neighed in the near distance and with a chereography that perfect matched Agatha and Letty's own earlier, Walter and his donkey both turned to stare at it aggressively. The condescending look Walter imagined the horse had as it laughed at the donkey it thought it would soon be replacing disappeared almost instantly, the neigh turning into a whinny as it turned, nosily urinated and began to canter away. Walter rubbed his donkey between the ears for a job well done. Fuck the horses. Bastards.<br/><br/><strong>“But I will take the bloody water.”</strong><br/><br/>Walter let an eye roll over Letty, roll over her curves, roll over the offered mug... and immediately shot his hand out to grasp the jug instead, taking that and tipping it up above his head, water pouring down into his mouth, leaking over his chin, spraying his clothes and dribbling down to pool on the ground. It was not an edifying sight. Then the mug was taken, Walter offering it to his donkey, the beast gratefully offering up his tongue as Walter elevated the vessel and allowed it to refresh itself. Seemingly content for the moment and with the water drained, the Tattered Man reached into his billowing cape, pulling out a pipe and a tinder box before lighting up. Three satisfied puffs later, the thin smoke hanging in the air, Walter offered the pipe to the donkey which in turn took a long drag from the implement. Stiffies was clearly rubbing off on it.<br/><br/><strong>“Who was that bastard I saw ridin' away from 'ere like his arse was on fire?”</strong><br/><br/>That was directed to Agatha, some of the anger in Walter's tone having dissipated with the water and the tobacco although as always there was a underlying hint of menace in his words. The next comment went to Letty, Walter's eyes continuing to linger.<br/><strong><br/>“And ain't you the drunk mexican I say getting' feckin' sloppy down at Babel's a day or two ago? Surprised you made it back without fallin' off the bloody edge. Many miner's feck you that night?”</strong><br/><br/>Back Walter's head turned to look at Agatha, taking another deep inhilation from his pipe, unconcerned by the fact his donkey had just used it. Personal hygene was not a big concern for Walter.<br/><br/><strong>“And don't you have anything proper to drink around 'ere?”</strong>