<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/thumb/8/8f/Marguerite_Tuerny_07.jpg/600px-Marguerite_Tuerny_07.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Marguerite Tuerny<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 3, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Early Evening<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The street outside of the Casino Morongo<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Sloane, Harley, Nicodemus, Open<br/><hr/>She let his paraphrased restatement of her quotation pass.<strong>"Exactly."</strong>She responded, confirming that he understood her meaning.  That she quite believed him when he admitted to being a murdering madman.  Still, it would take a foolish madman to murder her in the open street.  She hoped he was not that foolish.<br/><br/>It did vex her vanity that he seemed so amused by her.   But then, her vanity could stand the occasional challenge.<strong>"The Prince might be."</strong>She agreed readily, her inflection casting doubt upon his own gentility despite his flawed knowledge of Shakespeare.  He seemed quite full of himself, which wasn't really a bad thing - certainly a more attractive trait than a lack of confidence.  Such arrogance only worked if one could back it up, though she suspected he might be able to do so.<br/><br/><strong>"Sheriffs gunned down in their own office, a saloon or worse at every corner.  I see that the dime novels may have understated the true wildness of the west."</strong>She observed.   As she spoke her attention wavered when the lack of a footstep sounded louder than the jingle of a thousand spurs.  There was a shadow approaching from the left - just another pedestrian along the busy street.<br/><br/>Just another that is, until the shadow froze in mid step just yards away.  It was the abruptness of the halt that drew her attention away from the dangerous if intriguing man before her.  That, and the intensity she felt as the stranger stared.  Turning her head, she was surprised to see the new arrival was a woman.  A very mannish-mannered woman, but a pretty one despite her carelessness with appearance.  Pale eyes met dark in a brief slanted glance before she returned her attention to Sloane and the red-haired man he called over.<br/><br/><strong>"Mr. Whateley."</strong>She nodded a respectful and properly distant greeting to the man.<strong>"Pleased, I am sure."</strong>She looked to the south - toward the not very distant town hub.<strong>"I was just returning to my hotel.  I don't know what I was thinking, leaving it at such an hour."</strong>Which was nothing but the stark truth.  She should have waited for morning to find the chapel.  But then, she never was one to think before acting.  Some day, that would get her into real trouble.<br/><br/>Propriety - and frankly her safety - demanded she have an escort.  But these men were strangers, one of them quite the horse's ass to boot.  It was only a short walk - she'd best find her way back alone.<strong>"I believe I'll be going now."</strong>She waited just long enough not to be rude in her departure, and - with another sidelong glance toward the mysterious woman in shadow - she turned away to walk with casual dignity out of the situation.  Her dignified stride was not bluster, but the pace of a woman that was calmly certain of her station and situation.  Perhaps, that confidence was misplaced.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">OoC</div><div class="spoiler_body">http://shakespeare.mit.edu/lear/full.html</div></div>