<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v622/Jagwaar/Sloane5_zpsfbdee107.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Deacon Sloane<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Unknown<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 3, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Early evening<br/><strong>Location:</strong>In front of the Casino Morongo, Main Street<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Marguerite, Open<br/><hr/><br/><br/>Sloane’s expression remained the same as he answered her question.  “Oh, aye … you’re in Gomorra all right,” he replied, leaving out the obvious condolence at the fact that she found herself here out of all places in the wide world. Eyes still on her, he took another long pull on the cigar and waited for her to continue.<br/><br/>“Is that so?” Sloane asked, knowing how unusual it was for a woman to admit a man was ever right – though he knew better than to let it go to his head. “The dark does tend to come around regularly ‘bout this time every day, whether we expect it or not.”<br/><br/>Foolish, was she?  Sloane didn’t buy her damsel in distress act for a minute, though surely with the looks that the lantern light only hinted at this woman was used to charming her way through life on a truly epic scale.  Had a nice voice, too.  Soft and soothing, like a shot of fine whiskey.  He did manage to arch an eyebrow when she asked him to walk her back to her hotel, not from any real surprise, but rather from the confidence in her tone.  It suggested she was used to men jumping at the offer.<br/><br/>“I thought you said you felt foolish,” Sloane began, scratching thoughtfully at one rough cheek as he appeared to consider her request.  “And yet, here you are askin’ a man you don’t even know to walk you back to your hotel in a town you clearly aren’t acquainted with.” Pausing, he took another long drag and then blew the smoke out in a thick stream.  “You sure that’s what you want to do?  I could be a murderin’ madman playing dress up in a well-made suit.”<br/><br/>Which he was, but … details.<br/>