<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/c/c0/Ginny_Avatar-01.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Virginia 'Ginny' Mary Lou Whateley<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Whateley Family<br/><strong>Date:</strong>December 14th, 1875 (Approximately six months before game start)<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Late Evening<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Casino Morongo<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Closed, Deacon Sloane<br/><hr/><br/>There were wolves in sheep's clothing.   And then there were simply wolves.  While Ginny might have fancied herself as one of the former, she also understood that Deacon Sloane was one of the latter.  The owner of the Casino Morongo, nothing ever escaped his watchful eye.  In fact, the young Whateley was a bit put out he hadn't stepped in earlier.  No doubt he had seen the whole thing and had just wanted to see what would happen and how she would react to everything.<br/><br/>Even now, a dangerous game was being played.  On the surface, Mr. Sloane was being a true gentleman.  He was letting her get her nerve back and offering her a handkerchief.  However, his grip was like iron on her other arm and as he pressed the cloth into her hand, the one with the torn sleeve, and lifted it to dab at the bloody nose she had received their eyes met.  And Ginny knew in that instant she was busted.  She could see it in his eye as  her heart really began to pound--the damning weight of the dagger hidden in her sleeve leaving like a brick that would drag her straight to Hell.<br/><br/>She was tempted to jerk her arm away from him angrily, playing up her attitude.  After all, he was intruding on her personal space in a very invasive, abrasive way.  But the damage had been done.  This close, she could feel the brush of his stubble against her cheek, could feel the fine tobacco that he had been smoking earlier, the malted whiskey he had enjoyed.  Deacon Sloane was as close, or even closer than the Collector was, but this time, Ginny was not inclined to do what she had just done.  It would never work in this case.  He wasn't taken in by her guise.  A wolf in sheep's clothing would never be able to beat a wolf.  If so, what need would there have been for the sheep's clothing?<br/><br/>Still, there was little choice but to bluff for all she was worth.<strong>"Thank yuh kindly, Misttuh Sloane,"</strong>Ginny lied smoothly even as she delicately dabbed at her nose some more, returning to the table.  Still staring at the chinaman and Bold Bill.<strong>"Ah'm sorry tah keep ya'll waitin', gentlemen,"</strong>she remarked even as the fresh cards were dealt.  And as the glass of cold water was brought, she gave a wide smile to the waitress serving it as she indicated it could be placed next to her.<strong>"Thank yuh, sweetie-pie,"</strong>she said politely, the perfect picture of southern manners before she turned her full attention to the game, her face somber and focused as the cards came out.<br/><br/>And it was obvious that the young Whateley still had not regained her form.  After the flop, which showed a five, six, and eight, and a round of large bets from both Bold Bill and the chinaman and then the 'Turn' where the fourth card was an jack of diamonds, and finally at the 'River' which was a deuce of clubs, Ginny accidentally flashed a card from her hidden pair.  It was subtle, the glint of the glass of water reflecting a seven of hearts to both the chinaman and Bold Bill as they both promptly folded after Ginny raised the group one hundred thousand coolly.  No doubt suspecting that the young Whateley had gotten the 'nuts' on the flop and had a straight draw with her other card being nine.<br/><br/>Except that was a lie.  A big fat lie.  Ginny had a six of hearts for a pair of sixes.  But she knew the chinaman had gotten an ace for one of his two and Bold Bill had both a deuce and an eight for two pair.  In truth, her hand was the lowest, but her subtle use of misdirection won big for her.  Both of them were still operating under the assumption that she was '<em>shaken up</em>' and couldn't play straight.  And before they realized their mistake, it would be far too late as Virginia Mary Lou Whateley would reel off the next six games in a row as the cards and everything seemed to turn her way, her earlier unlucky spell having been swallowed up at a massive tidal wave of good fortune.  Almost casually, she took them like one of the yellow coolies would bring a load of laundry to Fu Leng's, cleaning them out of the rest of their fortunes in short order.<br/><br/>In fact, both of them still couldn't believe the final hand as Ginny flipped her next pair over, showing an ace of spades and Jack of diamonds, off-suit as she did have the straight draw this time to beat a three of a kind and a two pair.  And with that, Virginia Mary Lou Whateley became one of the most singularly, richest people in Gomorra.  Piles of golden eagles and ghostrock and who knew what other wealth.  Though it hadn't been the wealth, Ginny had been seeking in the game.  What she had been looking for, she couldn't say.  But she did feel as if she had finally found it as she poured herself a shot of whiskey and downed it in triumph.<br/><br/>Both Bold Bill and the chinamen were thanked by the Casino for so generously donating their life-savings before they were unceremoniously dumped outside the doors.  The early morning upon them, two former kings had become two paupers.  Destitute and desolate, they stumbled along to their unknown fate.  A cynic would have noted that whatever luck the Collector possessed earlier, it now seemed firmly in Ginny's hands.  Along with whatever other luck the other two gamblers had also possessed.  Supporting that old wives' tale about how gamblers would '<strong>eat</strong>' one another's luck at the table.   Though those were simply old wives' tales.  No one believed them.<br/><br/><em>Right</em>?<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Ginny was alone at the bar, nursing a drink of whiskey and ice.  Her bloody nose had long since stopped though the young Whateley still kept the handkerchief close at hand.  And without bothering to turn around, she knew that Deacon Sloane was nearby.  The money had long keep divvied up; the men guarding the event had been paid and of course, Sloane had gotten his big, fat cut.  In a little while, Ginny would be packing up the rest and hiring a dozen or so to help her carry her lockbox away.  Then, it would be wise to deposit a good amount of this with the First Bank as soon as possible.  Before someone started getting funny ideas.<br/><br/>Sipping at her whiskey and feeling it burn, Ginny half-turned to keep Sloane in the corner of her eye.  And despite the large amount of alcohol imbibed, she wasn't drunk.  Not like she had been earlier.  Instead, she refilled her glass and sipped it again.  Seemingly content to be in complete silence, an odd contrast to someone who was known for being such a talker.  The torn sleeve had been carefully tied in her free time, though the blouse was still undoubtedly ruined.<br/><br/>Though it seemed as if Deacon Sloane was good at the quiet game too.  Much better than Ginny at least.  So after about half a minute or so, Ginny broke the silence first.<strong>"So..."</strong>her tone was drawled out, acting slurred like she was drunk.<strong>"Wot did'yuh want?"</strong>Nice and innocent.  Sweet and perfectly vulnerable.  Still wearing the lambskin close to her own.  Ginny wasn't quite willing to drop the ruse just yet.