<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v622/Jagwaar/Sloane6_zps63e694fc.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Deacon Sloane<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Unknown<br/><strong>Date:</strong>January 9th, 1874<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Evening<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Back Room<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Miss Greene, Mr. Lee<br/><hr/><br/><em> “I had not taken you for a man of rarefied tests, Mr. Sloane.”  </em><br/><br/>“What can I say?  I’m a fucking enigma,” Sloane replied as he lifted his cup to take a generous gulp of tea diluted whiskey. “My tastes are all kinds of rarified."  He glanced at Lee.  "My cigars cost more than his whores, for god's sake.  I’m a regular John Jacob Astor.” Sloane generally respected Greene and her business sense, knowing that the two of them really didn’t cater to the same crowd and therefor didn’t truly compete for business, especially given that the bulk of his profits were made at the tables rather than between the legs of willing women, he was at a loss as to why she would include the Chinaman in the evening’s discussion.  It was hard for hot to be annoyed by the inclusion. As he deliberated upon the question one of Nick’s bartenders knocked politely on the door and entered with the required bottle of whiskey, not so fine as one he might provide at his own establishment, but sufficient to warm his bones, and just in time, as Sloane had drained his cup of its contents in no time as Green rearranged her skirts and Lee continued to smile the smile of the mentally deficient.<br/><br/>“Do enlighten me,” Sloane urged her, as he uncorked the bottle and filled the cup nearly to the brim with a different kind of amber liquid, nearly the same color as the tea and though cool in temperature, far better suited to bringing heat to the aches and pains in his body. He allowed himself to imbibe freely as she discussed their mutual interests and her recent discovery regarding the growth of Sweetrock’s holdings, producing papers to substantiate her claims and passing them off to Lee.  Sloane couldn’t help but feel a little pleased that her news had managed to wipe the smile off the sanctimonious little bastard’s face.<br/><br/>Though he was surprised as well, he didn’t show it.  Keeping his face composed in a carefully schooled neutral expression, Sloane remained silent as he considered the implication of what she had to say.  After all, the chink was blustering enough for all three of them.  He’d been aware that Howard Findley was interested in creating a monopoly on ghostrock, hearing a buzz of gossip on the subject from various miners in the Casino coming in straight off their shifts with the ore burning a hole in their pocket and eager to trade it for drink and pussy.  Hell, he’d even been approached to sell off the small assortment of mining interests he held himself.  Curiosity regarding the reason had so far kept him from doing so. While a monopoly on the mining of ghostrock might make the entire operation more efficient, it would give sweetrock the power to set the price at an astronomical height, which would eventually affect everyone’s business, not just the ghostrock dependent Collegium, not to mention give Howard Findley controlling power in the Town Council, making it possible for businesses such as theirs to suddenly become anathema in Gomorra. That would be … inconvenient, to say the least.  Sloane didn’t appreciate being inconvenienced.<br/><br/>“I take it you have an idea as to how to keep Findley from creating a monopoly on ghostrock for himself then, or you wouldn’t have called us here,” Sloane said, bypassing the hysterics of shock and awe at the figures and going straight to the heart of the matter.<br/>