Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Ciosa on 06-04-2014, 12:33:54</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>06-04-2014, 12:33:54</strong>
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				<hr><div align="center">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/e/e6/Reloadedbanner.png)</div><hr><br><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size">Babel's Tower</span></strong></div><br><div align="center">This thread is reserved for roleplaying that takes place in Babel's Tower.&nbsp; Please use the Tagging Header listed below.</div><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Doomtown Tagging Header</div><div class="spoiler_body"><div class="codeheader">Code: <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return smfSelectText(this);" class="codeoperation">[Select]</a></div><pre style="margin: 0; padding: 0;"><code class="bbc_code">[hr]<br>[floatleft][IMG height=200 padding=8]&lt;Link to your character's picture&gt;[/IMG][/floatleft] <br>[b]Name:[/b] <br>[b]Faction:[/b] (Unknown, or the associated faction rank.&nbsp; If faction rank is less than three, it is not required to note.)<br>[b]Date:[/b]<br>[b]Time of Day:[/b] (morning, noon, afternoon.&nbsp; Please avoid precise timing.)<br>[b]Location:[/b] <br>[b]Tagged:[/b] <br>[hr] </code></pre></div></div><hr><div align="center">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/42/Babelexterior.png)</div><hr>The exterior of the newly constructed Babel's Tower has been freshly painted, after a week of rapid construction at considerable expense.&nbsp; Simple construction, largely unornamented, with an exterior dominated by a wraparound deck on both floors of the saloon/brothel/hotel and casino.&nbsp; The tower's upper levels and roof still show signs of construction, and building supplies are piled high atop the roof.&nbsp; White windows face the town center, with simple curtains, and there are a number of benches to observe passerby to the hotel.&nbsp; The insignia of the Tower, a large white tower painted on on the building's overhead sign, has been described as a 'monumental white phallus,' by the more articulate members of the city.&nbsp; Still, the hotel is clean looking and elegant, without much trace of excess artifice.&nbsp; <br><hr><div align="center">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/8/81/Babeltowerinterior.png)</div><hr>Simple wallpaper, a sturdy bar, and a large number of tables and chairs.&nbsp; Unlike the Casino Morongo, much of the gaming and prostitution that takes place in the Tower is kept away from the main foyer,&nbsp; in an effort to maintain the illusion of respectability.&nbsp; Beaded curtains block the view to the dens of sin and vice, but glimpses of naked, dancing flesh and gambling at the tables are briefly visible whenever someone passes through the curtains.&nbsp; <br><br>Drinks and food of reasonable quality at affordable prices are both offered twenty four hours a day.&nbsp; High quality liquor is available on request, and upstairs are a number of clean, comfortable rooms, as well as two elegant suites that lack the opulence of the Golden Mare or a similar establishment.&nbsp; Babel's Tower isn't trying to be the most elitist establishment in the city - but it also veers shy of being uncomfortably cheap.&nbsp; The girls are the familiar faces of Casino Morongo, though most seem uncertain about the new proprietor.&nbsp; Most are exquisitely talented, but have been directed to split their time between entertaining on their feet and on their backs.&nbsp; <br><br>In the foyer, a small stage has been erected, and live music can be heard on any night of the week - complete with a working piano.&nbsp; The atmosphere is comfortable rather than sinful, drinks are strong and affordable, and the Babel's Tower will be crowded on hot nights and populated by Gomorran citizens around the clock.&nbsp; 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>06-04-2014, 12:34:09</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/6f/Mayor_cochran.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Mayor Cochran<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sweetrock<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Outside Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open, Abraham Solomon<br><hr>&nbsp; Mayor Cochran plucked at the curl of his moustache, looking pleased at the crowd which had begun to gather around Babel's Tower.&nbsp; He was a man who loved the sound of his own voice, and there was nothing which pleased him so much as the opportunity to stand before a crowd, no matter how incidental he was to the proceedings.&nbsp; He puffed himself up, tugging at the edges of his jacket, and smiled winningly at the crowd.<br><br>"It's a special privilege we are gathered for here today, and one that it is my esteemed honor to be present for!&nbsp; I'm sure the lure of free drinks and ... discounted entertainment is a rarity in Gomorra that no man could resist."&nbsp; There was actually a small bark of laughter from the crowd, and Cochran smiled.&nbsp; "And while I know the sonorous tones of my voice are ever beheld in eager anticipation, even I am not one to stand between the good, hard working folk of this town and an evening of complimentary entertainment!&nbsp; I'm not sure any man in Gomorra is that bulletproof."<br><br>He grinned again, and took up the oversized scissors and turned to the red ribbon which had been tied across the door, moving it in place to cut.&nbsp; "If you <em>fine</em> gentlemen and ladies would promise to give me time to get clear of the door, and a trampling - "<br><br>"Get on with it!&nbsp; The free drinks are only for three hours!" someone shouted from the back.<br><br>Cochran laughed.&nbsp; "Then without further ado... I now declare Babel's Tower OPEN FOR BUSINESS!"<br><br>He cut the ribbon, and polite applause smattered through the crowd, attention turning to the stern-looking proprietor who stood next to him.&nbsp; "If you'll hold your dry throats in suspense for just a moment - " he pleaded, "And allow the man offering his whiskey so charitably to say a few words."<br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>06-04-2014, 13:20:11</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d6/Stoker.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Abraham Solomon<br><strong>Faction:</strong> None<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Outside Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Mayor Cochran, Open<br><hr><br>Abraham adjusted his black vest as he stood outside, waiting for his new hotel/casino to open.&nbsp; He had been working overtime in the last week to get everything ready for the grand opening.&nbsp; Standing behind and to the side of the Mayor, he fought the desire to roll his steely gray eyes.&nbsp; The man certainly liked to be involved in everything that happened in Gomorra but he hoped that the ceremony drew more guests.<br><br>His gaze fell over the crowd, eyeing the soon-to-be customers as the Mayor continued to talk.&nbsp; As the Mayor turned to snip the red ribbon, Abraham offered a gracious smile.&nbsp; "Why, thank you, Mr. Mayor."&nbsp; His smile widened.&nbsp; "I am most grateful that you have taken the time out of your busy schedule to be here today."&nbsp; Turning toward the crowd, he offered a magnanimous bow before rising back to his full height.<br><br>"Thank you all for joining me on this most wonderful afternoon!"&nbsp; He exclaimed to the crowd and gestured toward the door of Babel's Tower.&nbsp; "Without further ado, be welcomed into Babel's Tower.&nbsp; I hope you all enjoy the entertainment and, of course, the free refreshments."&nbsp; The crowd cheered as Abraham opened the door and held it for the customers to enter, a wide, pleased smile on his face.&nbsp; A smile that didn't quite reach his sharp eyes.<br><br>Offering kind words to the people as they entered the new casino and hotel, he waited for quite some time before entering himself.&nbsp; His staff had been in place and ready for the crowd.&nbsp; The soiled doves were looking inviting and the waitresses were already rushing around to get orders from the patrons.&nbsp; The bartender was swarmed by hard working folk that weren't wasting a moment in getting their free drinks.&nbsp; It only lasted three hours and they weren't going to miss a moment of it.<br><br>Abraham smiled genially at the soiled dove that sauntered over and looped her arm in his.&nbsp; She placed a gentle kiss on his cheek and his smile widened, "Thank you, my dear."&nbsp; Overseeing the fun, he wandered through the tables and offered gracious thanks and welcomes to the customers.&nbsp; Several of whom offered him kindly salutes with their free booze.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Untamed Skies</strong> on <strong>08-04-2014, 06:19:09</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk59/Untamed_skies/bdcf3531-746f-4fc9-9b81-35e51e2eba18_zpsc75e54da.jpg) (http://s277.photobucket.com/user/Untamed_skies/media/bdcf3531-746f-4fc9-9b81-35e51e2eba18_zpsc75e54da.jpg.html)[</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Reid Lawson<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1877<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon.<br><strong>Location:</strong> A table near the bar inside Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Noticing Mayor Cochran and Abraham Solomon, Open<br><hr><br><br><br><br><br><br>It was easily one of the more impressive sights Reid had ever gotten to witness himself. Certainly he had never seen that many men crowded outside any place. Looking around you might think that all the men in the crowd had just traveled through a desert without a drink, and all the towns water was locked inside. Course it wasn't so much water his peers in the crowd were thirsty for, and the promise of free booze and discounted thrills had lured a larger crowd then might have been waiting outside. Glancing around not many of them cared much for the words that were being said. They had come for only a few things, and some fancy opening was simply seconds they didn't want to waste before getting inside. Reid had never been to a grand opening before, but he reckoned that they didn't get much fancier, and only would draw a bigger crowd in a bigger town. Just as soon as that crowd got impatient though had the doors been pushed opened and everyone started pushing forward to get a first glimpse, and first dibs on what the establishment had to offer.<br><br>Reid was curious just how long before the men got rowdy. Three hours was his guess, with a time limit he felt certain that loads of men would be trying to get themselves to blackout long before they ever had to pay a dime. Others would be looking to take advantage of all the other luxuries offered by the establishment. Fine women, the chance to make some quick cash on the gambling table. The establishment was built top to bottom to play to the vices of the excited patrons taking advantag eof every service offered to them. Some not being able to hand over their money fast enough. However what attracted Reid wasn't the free booze, it wasn't the opportunity to gamble the rest of his money away, nor was it the opportunity to enjoy the warm body of a woman. Rather it was the opportunity to lay in a clean bed. Free of any of the sinning or soiling that came in such establishments. Not on opening night, on opening night Reid would be the very first to lay in that bed. A nice new clean bed to lay in, even if only for a couple days. That small luxury was worth the price he'd have to pay. <br><br>Of course that would come in due time, there were also more important things to be gained then a comfortable sleep. A warm meal would go a long way. That and the fact that a grand opening big enough to draw in the mayor, maybe it'd draw in other important men and a opportunity for some work would present itself to him. The trouble was any work they did get was temporary and they couldn't ever have enough of it. Add that in with Dale's drinking and gambling and it probably wouldn't be long before they'd be hurtin again. With that in mind he'd taking a seat at a table nearby the bar where he could might be able to eavesdrop on any information he could make use of he'd sip at his drink. Work or no work, he intended to enjoy himself and relax, and the environment of the Tower of Babel, certainly made it easy to do so.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Loves</strong> on <strong>08-04-2014, 06:21:11</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i975.photobucket.com/albums/ae240/samanthamazur/68Cavkmm4hgg_zpsc4502ad9.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Aletta Emelda Maria Sanchez (aka Letty) (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9815927#msg9815927)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> At first, outside Babel's Tower, following the crowd inside, then standing at the bar<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open (observing Mayor Cochran and Abraham Solomon)<br><hr><br><br>Aletta Emelda Maria Sanchez shook her head as she watched the scene folding out before her. Free! Nothing in life was ever truly free. There had to be some kind of catch, some secret you were agreeing to without being aware. Call her cynical, sure, but she had a lot to be cynical about. In Letty’s experience most people would smile right to your face while robbing you blind the second your back is turned. She truly believed that people were generally motivated by self-interest. <br><br>Her limited experience had taught her to be distrustful of others, men in particular. But more so, after having taken a man’s written word as truthful. Then finding out that, not only did that man not write the dagnabbit letters he had lured her with, but hadn’t ever laid eyes on a single word she had painstakingly penned to him in return! Well, it was enough to teach her a valuable lesson! Men were not to be trusted! Their word held as much water as the papers filled with vows and promises she had wrapped up in her trunk back in her room at the Gates Ranch. <br><br>Letty had poured out her heart onto the lightly floral scented pages, sealing each envelope with a kiss before mailing it off to the exotic sounding town of Gomarra. Her young and impressionable mind overflowed with the promises that had turned out to be lies. The train journey had been long, but she had entertained herself with reading each and every letter, carefully saved in pristine condition, while nibbling on the packed lunch her mother had sent her off with.&nbsp; <br><br>She was on her way to a new life, a new husband, and a new town. Two out of three wasn’t bad. Letty ended up with a new life in a new town, and instead of a new husband, Letty had gotten a new boss and friend. Though it had taken sometime for the latter to come to pass, Agitha wasn’t the easiest nut to crack. Now, two and a half years later Letty had settled into a life of hard, honest work, carving out a living alongside her friend. Some might hazard a guess in saying that Aggie Gates had become Letty’s best and only friend. The girl was not exactly active on the social scene. <br><br>Today she had come into town in order to get new shoes for Willy, her trusted horse and confidant. She had been given a few things to collect while in town, but that wouldn’t take long. And so Letty was left with time on her hands. It was a rare enough occasion that she had found herself easily lured further into town to join the growing crowd outside of Bebel’s Tower. Letty couldn’t help but let her curiosity about the changes to the place urge her forward, and so as the flow of the crowd poured into the tavern, Letty was pulled along with them. It wouldn’t hurt to stop for a drink would it? After all, it was a celebration. <br><br>Shaking the skirt of her dress (http://i975.photobucket.com/albums/ae240/samanthamazur/girls-of-the-rush-penelope-cruz-551-image_gallery_1922_penelope-cruz-bandidas_zpsc483e531.jpg) free from dust and debris as she stood before the steps that would take her up and into the building, Letty sighed. It was now or never, in or out! But standing there for too much longer would only leave her with bruises after being shoved out of the way. As pretty as she might be considered by some, Letty still made a better door than a window.<br><br>Standing near the front entrance, Letty stepped to the side in order to keep from being caught in the way. She was dressed in a pair of well worn cowboy boots, a long striped skirt in dull colours, and a cream coloured blouse, with a simple corset of the same material. Her favorite worn in stetson sat atop of her head, while her hair hung over her shoulders, kept neatly in tight braids. It wasn’t glamorous. She wasn’t glamorous. Letty was as natural as the rolling desert beyond the borders of any manmade town. Her style of dress was all about comfort and service. She simply needed to be covered. Flashy colours and fancy materials were for more elegant like creatures. Not for girls like Letty that were often covered in dirt, dust and god knows what else after a hard day’s work. <br><br>Moving towards the bar, the young ranch worker leaned against the bar settled in for a drink while she waited for her horse to be equipped with new shoes. Ordering was tricky. Letty wasn’t a big drinker and so she simply waited for someone nearby to order and asked for the exact same thing. She turned, nodded at a few of the locals that she recognized&nbsp; and watched as the pretty painted ladies mingled freely among the patrons while she held the glass of whiskey, and wrinkled her nose from the strong scent burning the inside of her nose. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>consortium11</strong> on <strong>08-04-2014, 19:23:15</strong>
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				<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 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Mor... wait, wait, the bastard place is called <strong>Babel's Tower</strong> now right? Feck it, he's sat in a corner away from the bar.<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open and he's got an eye on everyone there right now...<br><hr>Do you know what words you really shouldn't say to Walter Sinnett?<br><br><em>“You're a wanker.”</em><br><br>Well, yes, those words of course or anything else even vaguely insulting. Walter wasn't a smart man and he didn't always pick up when someone was using long and fancy words to belittle him (not that he really understood what “belittle” meant either) but if or when he did work out someone had been flappin' their gums in his direction his first reaction was normally to make those gums flap a little bit more by removing the bugger's feckin' teeth with his bloody fist. So yes, you'd technically be correct; anything insulting was probably the best answer to “what words you really shouldn't say to Walter Sinnett”. But it isn't the answer I'm looking for. No, the answer I'm looking for is much more specific to the situation he now found himself in.<br><em><br>“Free whiskey.”</em><br><br>Walter “Do Down” Sinnett was at heart a simple man. He liked fightin', fornicatin' and downing a lot of feckin' whiskey... not necessarily in that order. These yanks may not be able to brew a beer worthy of the name, their yellow piss-water a pale imitation (quite literally) of the thick bitters he'd spent far too many hours and farthings on drinkin' back in the Nag's Head in rainy Millwall but they could make a good glass of whiskey and Walter found himself takin' rather a liking to the substance. Harsh, smooth, sweet, smokey, Walter didn't give a feck. All he cared about was that it was strong and, in these circumstances, that it was free. The openin' of Babel's Tower? It gave Walter a chance to indulge in all his pleasures. Drink a bunch of whiskey, get in a fight with a few other bastards who had been goin' to hard at the poison and then grab the cheapest whore (yes, yes, Walter knew they were meant to be called “soiled doves” but feck it, a whore's a whore right?) he could find, give her a right seein' to, maybe have another fight on his way out and then go find somewhere to pass out. Simple man, simple pleasures right?<br><br>Wrong.<br><br>Because things had been anythin' but <em>simple</em> for Walter this past week. Ever since that bastard <em>thing</em> had pulled him from his cups a week ago.<br><br>Walter weren't even sure he should be 'ere. It felt like disloyalty and while Walter's wasn't exactly bothered about <em>bein'</em> disloyal he was bothered about <em>lookin'</em> disloyal to his employer. Since that bastard former owner had run off to wherever the feck he'd run to, Sweetrock had owned this joint (even if the buggers wouldn't give him a staff discount). And then some other bastard had blown it up. Crash, bang, wallop, bits of wood and shattered glass everywhere. Walter had even heard the explosion down at “Stiffies”, the name give the disreputable, cheap and nasty Scared Stiff saloon where he spent most of his evenings. And while Walter had never been told to guard the bloody place it was still his employers' buildin' and it had still been blown up and it had still had to be sold on the cheap and Walter still felt a little disloyal sittin' here and drinkin' whiskey.<br><br>But it was free and unlike the potato-water they served down at Stiffies it actually tasted of whiskey so here he was.<br><br>He couldn't say he liked the bastards around here either. The Mayor was a right arsehole, one of those feckers who made sure he was associated with everything good that happened but made no effort to actually do any of the feckin' work. Show up late, take all the bloody credit. Liked the sound of his own voice too and while Walter also liked the sound of his own voice that's because it was his voice, not the bloody mayor's. While Cochran had been speaking Walter had found himself imagining what it would feel like to repeatedly punch him in the nose. That had brought a smile to his face, only for it to be swiftly replaced with a scowl when someone in the crowd noticed and smiled back.<br><br>But Walt liked the mayor a hell of a lot more than he liked the other bastard.<br><br>Walter Sinnett had no real reason to dislike Abraham Solomon beside the poncy name and the fact he didn't really like anyone. But there was somethin' about the guy that just made Walter's hairs stand on end. And the stare. That feckin' stare. Walter knew a good stare when he saw one, hell, he liked a good stare. His own wasn't half feckin' bad and it made his job a lot bloody easier. Yeah, sure, it was fun to do down a few miners here and there, kick 'em in the nuts, punch 'em in the nose and stamp on 'em a few times but sometimes you just wanted to get the bloody job done and get back home to your whiskey. So Walter would give 'em the look, let 'em really suck it in, give 'em a stare that promised pain and death and humiliation, watch 'em piss their britches, let his baleful red eye flicker just a little and watch 'em feck right off. But Walter couldn't help but get the feelin' that if he locked eyes with Abraham Solomon he'd be the one with piss rollin' down his leg.<br><br>And he didn't bloody like it. Really didn't bloody like it.<br><br>It's not like Walt had seen the man roll into town and immediately challenged him to a staredown. Even Walter was more bloody subtle than that. But he'd seen him in passin' and he'd seen the effect the new man's stare could have on people. No-on held his eye, not for long. And Walter didn't want to risk not bein' able to himself. Walter was a predator you see, the bloody apex predator in his mind but who respected a predator that couldn't even hold some other bastard's bloody gaze? Better not to find out rather than test it and lose. There was somethin' not just right about the fecker and Walter really feckin' didn't like it even if the man was offerin' free whiskey and cheap shags. Well, cheaper than normal. You couldn't really get cheaper than Scabby Sally down at Stiffies but then you paid her to make sure she left the bed and didn't tell anyone about your little encounter rather than to stay in it.<br><br>See, not so bloody <em>simple</em>.<br><br>And those two bastards weren't the only things. First there was that bloody <em>thing</em>. The thing that had ripped right through Gomorra, torn those poor bastards apart and then run off. Walter didn't even know what the fuck that was. If it wasn't for the lack of bloody fur and full moon he'd have thought it was a damn werewolf. Not that he'd seen a bloody werewolf of course but he'd heard of them and that feckin' <em>thing</em>... so fast, so strong, so agile... seemed to fit the bloody bill. He'd put a few shotgun rounds in it, seen that feckin' wannabe law dog shoot it a few more and they hadn't even pissed it off. You want to talk about bein' an apex predator, about bein' the monster that mothers get their children to do their chores with tales of? In one night Walter had felt himself tumble down the food chain. That <em>thing</em>, that feckin' <em>thing</em>... Walter still couldn't get the bastard out of his mind. It would have killed them... well, killed the rest of them, Walter would have kicked the crap out of it obviously... if it hadn't been for that bloody bridge collapsing. Nothin' had been the same since. Nothin' had been <em>simple</em>.<br><br>First the rumours of the bastard Chinese Maze Rats hookin' up with that bastard Blackjack and his bastard raiders to do whatever bastard things those bastards wanted to do. And considerin' the fact that the bastard Rats made their bastard livin' stealin' bastard ghostrock from bastard miners and the bastard Blackjack thought he was a bastard folk hero and hated the bastards at Sweetrock that probably meant Walter was goin' to have to spank the bastards at some stage. Especially after the bastards raided the bastard steamboat. Had to be a bastard alliance... Walter knew enough about gangs to know one didn't piss in the other's yard without either permission or wantin' a war. No way the maze rats let Blackjack take somethin' on the water without their permission; they were the pirates after all. Not that Walter cared about some people getting' robbed, but Sweetrock did and he worked for Sweetrock. Sort of.<br><br>Not <em>simple</em>.<br><br>Then the bloody Indians goin' bloody rampant. Well, supposedly goin' rampant, Walter didn't really know after that family who were meant to be dead showed up. Disinformation, all that bollocks... Walter didn't bother with it. He just punched people. But he knew enough to know that sometimes a lie turned itself into the truth. You tell everyone the Sioux are actin' up, are goin' around with their damn hand axes and cutting people's scalps off, you have a prospective sheriff show up with a bloody arrow stickin' out of him and soon people will be bayin' for Indian blood. And once the bayin' starts it doesn't matter what the Indians did before, soon there'd be blood and then the Indians would start actin' up. In some ways Walter was actually lookin' forward to the chance to feck up some Indians... he'd never met one but he thought they were like the Welsh and that meant they were right bastards but again...<br><br>Not <em>simple</em>.<br><br>Then they finally get over the graveyard to search for that thing... Walt had smartened up this time, so he'd stayed right the feck out of it... and of course they don't find it, they only find the bodies it left in its wake. Even if they were feckin' loonies Walter felt bad for those bastards in the asylum... no-one deserves to feckin' die like that unless it's Walter killin' 'em. And then they'd found that feckin' Whateley who everyone else thought had fecked right off or been killed and it turns out had been stuck in the Gomorran equivalent of feckin' Bedlam. Jesus feckin' Christ. Walter didn't like the Whateley's, didn't like any stuck up rich cunts and especially didn't like stuck up rich cunts who live in a damn haunted house on a mesa where all the feckin' trees had died. Made his feckin' skin crawl almost as much as that Solomon bastard to even think about them. And now this one not only survives a feckin' beasty that can't be hurt by a shotgun and can rip people in two, but she's feckin' insane. If Walter was less interested in self-preservation he'd have grabbed a crowd and marched down to their mansion with pitchforks and torches in hand and burnt the feckin' place down. Something wasn't right there and wasn't right about them. And they were supposedly Welsh and that just made them even bigger bastards. Although that Ginny bird wasn't exactly bad to look at he guessed.<br><br>Not <em>simple</em>.<br><br>Then the feckin' nightmares. Walter didn't have nightmares... he drank too much whiskey for that... and you might be surprised to hear that a bastard like Walter who killed men for pleasure was bothered when a bunch of kids had a feckin' nightmare but Walter was a superstitious man and when a whole bunch of bloody kids all have the same bloody nightmare then he knew somethin' was up. Especially the same bloody week as that, that, that feckin' <em>thing</em> attackin' and those crazy bloody Whateley's havin one of their number be even more bloody crazy than usual. Somethin' wasn't feckin' right, not feckin' right at all and it all felt like it was comin' to a bloody head in Gomorra. The air tasted wrong.<br><br>Not <em>simple</em>.<br><br>And of course, the miner's union was getting' angry. The miner's union was always angry about bloody somethin' but this time Walter wasn't sure he could blame them. Maze Rats killin' and shuttin down mines? Nasty business that and if the thing with Blackjack was true it looked like a deliberate effort to starve Gomorra of its true lifeblood; ghost rock. The miners may not be an organised army but Walter had seen enough union action back in Millwall when the dockers took up in arms to know that if you combine a disorganised mob with industrial tools.. especially of the explosive kind that the feckin' miner's had easy access to, you got one hell of a mess. The miner's may be complain' about the Law Dogs not doin' enough to help them but they also didn't like Sweetrock and a riot was the perfect time for some scores to be settled. And Walter especially hoped that they didn't pay attention to a few of the “Maze Rat” attacks in particular. They might have noticed that a man in a ragged suit was seen ridin a donkey in the vicinity shortly before the brutal attacks. That would be bad for Walter's health.<br><br>Not <em>simple</em>.<br><br>And oh, yeah. Walter had been marchin' though Gomorra one day when he say a bloody sign for a new detective. In and of itself not that much of an issue. Much bigger issue when it turns out the bastard was an ex-rozzer. An ex-rozzer from England. Not just England but London. From feckin' Scotland bloody Yard. Walter had never liked the feckin' rozzers... they tended to want to stretch his neck and he liked them even less since he'd driven his knife into one of their guts and been forced to flee London and everything he knew for this feckin' place. And now here one of the bastards was. In Gomorra. In <em>his</em> feckin' Gomorra. Walter should have just walked into the office, knifed the cunt and taken his chances but for whatever reason he hadn't and now he had to put up with the bastard being there. Being here. In Gomorra. <em>His</em> Gomorra.<br><br>Not <em>simple</em>.<br><br>And thoughts of the girl with the swan-like neck and a lovely dress. Thoughts he couldn't get out of his head however hard he drilled a whore.<br><br>Not <em>simple</em>. Not <em>simple</em> at bloody all.<br><br>If this place had opened two weeks ago Walter would have been parked in the middle of the bar, ordering whiskey after whiskey till he could barely stand and the bottles had run empty. But it hadn't opened two weeks ago, it had opened tonight and so Walter had gotten his whiskey and found a table in the corner of the bar and was currently brooding there. Getting the whiskey hadn't been a challenge. There may have been a horde of people charging for it but everyone was still sober enough to realise they needed to give Walter his space. One glance at him, one glance at the ragged suit, the dirty duster, the scowl etched on his features, the piercing eyes, the top hat hung slightly askew on his head and people realised that it was probably best not to get in his way even if they didn't know his reputation. As much as possible in a place as packed as Babel's there was space surrounding him, space as people picked up on the latent hostility, on the sense of impeding violence that hung around Walter. Walter was and remained a man apart.<br><br>He tried to distract himself with thoughts of better things. With thoughts of friends. But that wasn't much help at all, because there weren't really any. There was his donkey, tied up back at Stiffies and still the only creature in the place that actually ate any vegetables. Probably had the best feckin' manners too. Technically it wasn't “his” donkey, but no-one had asked for it back yet and the donkey didn't seem to mind Walter riding it and occasionally feeding it a carrot so he guessed it was “his” now even if he hadn't given it a bloody name. But even the feckin' donkey had been off the last few days and not with the usual sarcastic streak that he detected in the supposedly mindless beast. No, even the donkey realised something was wrong, something wasn't right, that things weren't simple. If a beast who's only ambitions in life appeared to be eating carrots, shittin' on the floor and occasionally throwing Walter off his back and then hehawing with pleasure could work out that there was something in the air then there was <em>definitely</em> something in the bloody air.<br><br>Then there were there usual patrons of Stiffies, the fecking scum even a scum-sucking place like Gomorra refused to allow into the nicer establishments. The owner and barman Ethan, a man with a long and ignoble history as a drunk and a bar brawler when he was a miner before an argument with a rock face led to him losing an arm. There was Billy the Knife, a rat-faced petty thief who as far as Walt knew had never used the knife he claimed her got his name from. Dirk, the bruising wagon driver with the lazy eye and a taste for moonshine so vile it would be rejected as paint stripper. Handsome Taw, a man who was neither handsome nor really called Taw. Scabby Sally, the previously mentioned whore so mean of temperament and repulsive of look that she seemed to make most of her coin through scaring young men into paying her to go away and Apache Matt... well, his name was at least 'Matt' but no-one knew why he had decided to take on the 'Apache' moniker. But they weren't “friends”, they were people Walter could just about tolerate as he pissed his evenings away there.<br><br>Perhaps there was the one item of good news, the fact that the bloody crazy red head lady hadn't blown herself up when she was flying her new fangled airship for the first time. Walter liked Agatha and he liked her a lot more when she wasn't pointing some outrageous looking barker in his face and threatenin' to make him even more ugly. She may have agreed to make him a gun (please note; she hadn't agreed to make him a gun but little things like “facts” rarely got in the way of Walter's limited imagination) but she wasn't exactly a friend, even if he had bullied the other bastards at Stiffes into not attempting to rob her house or her workplace... and probably saved their lives in the process. They'd spoken once, she'd pointeda&nbsp; gun at him and eventually he'd walked off. Such was the extent of their friendship. But she made big guns and Walter may not have liked barkers but he had a dream and that dream required a big feckin' gun. There are some things in life you can't defeat just by punching it in the face, even for a man like Walter.<br><br>But yep, there it is ladies and gentlemen, the true extent of Walter's friendships in his time in Gomorra. A donkey, some scumbags and a crazy readhead who he'd talked to once, had stuck a gun in his face and likely didn't even consider him an acquaintance, let alone a friend. Welcome to the bloody punch. Walter had never really wanted or needed friends... things like friendship got in the way of doin' business and frankly, let's be honest, Walter wasn't exactly the kind of person it was easy to make friends with. He was mean and nasty and petty and if you were a man he'd probably try and smash you and if you were a woman he'd almost certainly want to shag you. And if you could get past all that bollocks you'd find that even once you got under under the cloak of hostility and anger there wasn't much worth seekin' out. Normally Walter didn't care, but on a night like this, on a night where he could sit at the bar and watch the world go by he did occasionally feel a pang when he saw a shoulder slapped in camaraderie or a pair of people laughin' at some bloody joke. Walter didn't really laugh at jokes. He laughed at pain and suffering, especially if he was the cause of it. <br><br>Not <em>simple</em>. Not bloody <em>simple</em> at all.<br><br>Not bein' friendly and not bein' caught up in conversation did give Walter the chance to do some people watchin' at least. Sat in the corner with his whiskey and his anger he could look out and see who else had been temped by the free drinks and cheap pussy. Gomorra had been awash with new people these last few days, be it the poor sods robbed blind on that poncy steamboat or the usual stream of bastards and bitches who made their way into this god forsaken place. And an event like this tended to draw in even those who rarely ventured into the town itself, those who lived out in the shattered maze or the few bits of flat, unbroken land which dotted the landscape. People he hadn't really seen before. There was the bloody mayor and the bloody bastard Solomon. There were some day labourers and others tryin' to drink their sorrows away, there were some already eyin' up the prettiest of the soiled doves as they flittered around showin' off their merchandise. There was one feckin' huge bastard sat by the bar. Looked like a feckin' farmer but was far too pretty than any bastard who worked the fields all day had a right to be. And there was some Mexican lookin' bird crushed up against the bar lookin' decidely uncomfortable even if her curves spilled out of her shit dress in all the right places. If Marcus thought of the Indians as the Welsh then he thought of the Mexican's as the Irish and let me tell you, that wasn't a complement. On a different day he'd have fought one of the pair and fucked the other but it weren't a different day and so Marcus sat and downed his whiskey, fixing the nearest serving girl with a stare so awful that she quickly worked out it was in her best interests to quickly get him another whiskey and bring it to him. That at least was simple.<br><br>Nothin' bloody else was <em>simple</em>. Everythin' else was bloody complicated and scary and filled with visions of blood and death.<br><br>So Walter took his simple pleasures as he could. He sucked down on whiskey, he glanced at soiled doves, he watched who came in or out of the bar, he watched who drank and who didn't, he noted who looked comfortable and who looked ill at ease.<br><br>And he wondered why life couldn't just be feckin' <em>simple</em>.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niferbelle</strong> on <strong>08-04-2014, 20:58:29</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i627.photobucket.com/albums/tt357/Niferbelle/my%20avatars/doomtown7av_zps641b8122.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Lilah 'Li-Li' Oliver (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9813377#msg9813377)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> There have been a few rumors but who listens to those<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Reid, open <br><hr>Lilah stood at the back of the crowd with every intent not to be noticed, something she generally accomplished with ease despite her rather unconventional appearance. It was odd enough, though not immensely so, to be a woman in dungarees and a rig, but the fact she was Chinese, at least to western eyes, made more than one outsider look twice. She'd grown up on the streets around here though and was pretty much a fixture and folks that had been here awhile were most likely to shrug her off or not even notice her at all. She spat on the ground as that smiley snake of a mayor started yapping, as always taking every chance to inflict his voice on a crowd, and he could have said that the sky was blue and the grass was green and Lilah wouldn't believe it. The man was bought and paid for by Sweetrock which made him just about the lowest form of life and Lilah was always disappointed every time he spoke to a crowd and nobody took a shot at him. like today, for instance. As for the new owner of the <em>Babel</em>, Lilah wasn't sure what to make of him yet. She had a feeling he was more than just another suit but she couldn't be sure and maybe it didn't matter if all he was going to do was run his hotel and stay out of local 'politics'. <br><br>The speechifying concluded, the crowd began to drift into the establishment and Lilah hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not to do the same. Chances were she'd get kicked out anyway, not too many places in town wanted her business, especially when they were giving handouts, but she might get one of those free drinks in her before they did and maybe have a little chance to hear some news. She didn't much like it but the truth was with everything going on, she was going to be spending a lot more time in town for the foreseeable future though she'd rather be livin' large on the new riverboat with the others, but somebody had to be around to keep their eyes and ears open considering the chaos and the changes that had been afoot lately. There was no doubt, she was going to have to find a way to be more a part of things around here and not just a shadow on the street.<br><br>She slipped into the crowd and wandered in, a slim figures in jeans, a worn muslin shirt and leather vest, her hat pulled down low over her eyes and upon a quick glance somebody might mistake her for a boy which would be no never mind to her. She glanced around and noticed some faces she'd seen in town before and some she hadn't, including a big Swede sitting by the bar. She formulated a strategy and headed over, grabbing the chair across from him and sitting herself down. She wasn't usually the sociable type bit she reckoned they'd be less likely to kick her out if they thought she was with another customer. <br><br>"Howdy, hope you don't mind if I take a load off," she said, making herself right at home regardless. Despite her appearance, there was nothing Chinese about her voice, just the laconic twang of the western working poor. "Place is fillin' up fast. 'Sides, there ain't nothin' more pathetic like than drinkin' alone. Uh, excludin' present company, a'course."<br><br>She gave him a friendly smile then looked around for a saloon girl who could set her up with one of those free drinks.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ebb</strong> on <strong>08-04-2014, 21:43:01</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/ac/600full-kenneth-branagh.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Tommy Flanagan (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9819558#msg9819558)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> None<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower, Backstage<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Annabel Montgomery<br><hr> <br>Tommy ran down a simple scale on the keyboard, the stained ivory keys falling one after another, each note worse than the last. He winced and pulled back his hand like he'd grabbed a skillet left near the fire. The Babel's Tower had gone up incredibly quickly, and if you didn't look or listen too closely then you'd miss the things that had fallen through the cracks. Things like piano tuning. Tommy doubted there was a single professional piano tuner in all of Gomorra, unless maybe one of those eccentrics over at the Collegium happened to have that as a particular interest. Maybe in a couple of days he'd try to persuade Mr. Solomon to send off to Lost Angels for one. Or maybe he'd take a crack at it himself. Tommy wasn't ever what on would call 'mechanically inclined', but he could at least tell when two notes were a major third apart.<br><br>Anyway, this was just the backup piano now. She'd survived the fire but was no longer considered suitable for public presentation. So she sat in this cramped backroom, while out front in the main hall sat a brand new player piano, straight from Smith &amp; Robards, all glossy cherrywood and brass fittings. Frankly Tommy liked this old one better. It had a darn sight less chance of putting him out of a job, and besides there was something about watching the keys on the other one go up and down by themselves that just sent a chill up his spine. <br><br>It didn't matter much anyway, new piano or old. None of the crowd standing out in the hot sun hankering to get inside were here to see the piano player, or the player piano. Drinks and other vices were the order of the day, just like every other night. And if anyone was coming for the music, they weren't gonna be looking at his back, no matter how fancy the suit he was wearing. Not with Annabel Montgomery up on stage.<br><br>He'd listened to her sing down at the New Moon Saloon a couple of times. She was a darn good act, and unlike some of the singers round these parts that lasted even if you closed your eyes. Not that someone would, with her up on stage. It was a little bit of a coup, Tommy figured, that Mr. Solomon had gotten her to help open the Tower. Guess you couldn't put a claim down on a singer like you did a patch of dirt, or maybe with enough money things just got flexible, like they most always did.<br><br>They hadn't had much of a chance to rehearse, having met only briefly, but again, he didn't expect anybody'd complain. Start with some of the standard folk songs, "Oh Susana", "Camptown Races" then maybe a couple of Jenny Lind tunes. Steer away from the Yankee and Dixie songs; never good to try those until you knew the sympathies of the house, especially if its divided. Maybe throw in a few of the old Irish ballads to give Miss Montgomery's voice a break.<br><br>Heck, she probably knew more than he did. He was better than average but no virtuoso. Whereas she sang like an angel. Best to give her all the rope she needed and just try to keep up. Entertaining in a house where free liquor was being served was less about art and more about crowd control. Hopefully between the two of them they could keep at least a couple of fights from breaking out. Though if they did, Tommy hoped Mr. Solomon had some of his best men ready to jump in.<br><br>It seemed like there was always a fight ready to break out in Gomorra. Gold and ghostrock tended to have that effect. Throw in half a dozen gangs of folks who all thought they should be in charge and it was like watching corn in a skillet, just betting on which one'd pop first. Small wonder he'd been sent here. Big wonder how the heck he was going to do anything about it.<br><br>As his thoughts wandered his fingers sought to occupy themselves with the keys, plinking out the notes of "Danny Boy" to the best of the abused instrument's abilities. He stopped when he heard the door open, putting his most gentlemanly smile on as he stood to greet Miss Montgomery.<br><br>Only to see instead the far less lovely face of one of the waitresses, a woman named Mabel. Nice enough woman in her own right; he seemed to recall that she had a husband and a passel of children, and that her duties at Babel's were strictly confined to the above-board. <br><br>"Begging your pardon, sir. But I'm told to tell you that Miss Montgomery will not be in attendance this evening. You're to perform instead with Miss Bella Capri. Curtain is in ten minutes." She curtsied and left, leaving Tommy to take quick stock of the new situation.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>SGTDan</strong> on <strong>08-04-2014, 23:04:08</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KL7Uf3vdz0A/UDr2PAfW3xI/AAAAAAAAmBc/EIYJpjy2SI8/s1600/post5.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Matthew Ford<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Main Street<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Anyone, Mayor Cochran <br><hr><br>It was a long journey on across the dusty deserts of California but they had finally made it. When they had crested the hill nearby and Gomorra in it's isolated glory it was salvation. Both of the Fords were caked in dust and it looked like their entire living was in that small wagon behind them. It was comical how overloaded the wagon was with stuff. Looking at each other as they neared the town the couple held hands. No one but them would understand the importance of the leap of faith they took leaving behind everything that they knew for an unknown future. This was simply a small step towards bettering themselves. It was all unknown much like the town that lay before them. Out of the places they selected it was Gomorra because the local law were looking for a deputy and the fact that the land was independent. Independence is what they sought, free from everything that shackled them before. They wanted to soar and be free from those chains. However would they be successful? Nobody would know but the father of time.<br><br>Wooden boards under them creaked as the overloaded wagon rolled across the bridge. Snorting the horses were skittish of being over water but the snap of reigns kept them going forward. As they neared the Ford's finally got a very good look at their new home. It wasn't exactly New York or any of the fancy cities on the East Coast but it certainly had a frontier feel to it. Clapboard buildings fronting on the dirt main street echoed many of the towns that they had to pass through to get here. Without the funding of a government there was no paved roads or streetlights which was a change for Matthew but for Winona it was certainly a step up from tepees. However it was suitably rustic for the purposes of starting a new life. Somewhere in between well known and obscure was a perfect match for them. There was no pattern to the way the buildings were arranged it was like a child had just strewn blocks across a map and called it a day. Mismatched buildings seemed to suit the mismatched people that milled around and past the dusty refugees. <br><br>Ford noticed that the people of Gomorra were as rustic and unique as the town they inhabited. Miners,ranch hands, store owners, laborers there was no theme to the people. At least a theme one could tell from outward appearances as all these men favored independence then loyalty to any one person. Ford caught the eye of some of them and he could see the fire in their eyes, that fire of a free man. It was a place free from the machinations of the Union and CSA the hideout of ne'er well to dos and pioneers.&nbsp; Early in his life when he was close minded Matthew would of lumped these men and woman into the same mold as the CSA rebels. Those days of ignorance were long gone his eyes long since opened to the fact that it doesn't matter who is in charge. Leadership changes hand and in the end it never changes anything. One evil is swapped for another, it's all in the way the gears turn in the world. Only thing worth changing was a person's life like he changed Winona's life that one night and it was Gomorra that would be his canvas for change. Only thing he would of ever accomplished if he hadn't met Winona was dying alone in the sun.<br><br>Reaching up Matthew took off his old Union cavalry Stetson, the only hint of his former life he took with him, to beat off the dust from his clothes. Crossing into the town proper he noticed a gathering around a building towards the center of town. Some kind of ceremony judging by the revelry emanating from the establishment. Pulling the wagon off to the side of the road he looked at Winona who was nervous about being in a town like this. Holding up his hand the ex Union officer pointed at the wagon wordlessly to which the woman nodded with a meek smile. Reaching out Matthew caressed her cheek in a rough calloused dusty hand lovingly. The gesture helped her relax a little before her husband hopped off. Taking the Stetson he beat off a little more dust form his &nbsp;clothes (http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/z/man-fine-old-western-clothes-horse-rifle-10866645.jpg) which didn't look from around here. They looked well tailored as was his gun belt and holster which definitely was from a big city rather then a frontier town. Speaking of a finer life before the man found himself here.<br><br>Asking around he got pointed towards the man who was the Mayor Cochran, approaching the man after placing the Stetson back on his head. Clearing his throat politely to the get the man's attention Matthew reached into his coat retrieving a few pieces of parchment. These were the only thing that he had preplanned before they arrived, jobs and a place to live. Before arriving the Fords had arranged to purchase a house in town while Matthew was promised a position as a Deputy. This was of course several months ago maybe even a year he had lost track of time on the trip to Gomorra. Although he looked haggard Matthew carried himself with that stiff posture of a man who spent most of his life in the military. It was clear that the man had been on a very long trip and wanted just to collapse but some kind of discipline kept him standing. Well beyond the point when a average man would call it a day. Mayor Cochran was the only person who knew who the stranger was, at least by name. <br><br>"Mayor?" A gruff tired voice, full of confidence, emanated from dry cracked lips as Matthew's brown eyes studied the Mayor from under the shade of his brim "Matthew Ford sir, I arrived a few hours ahead of schedule it seems. I trust the arrangements, given to me by one J.P. Coleman, have all been kept?" Pieces of paper were held up to emphasize what he was talking about. "Unless of course you're busy sir then I can talk to you afterwards." Glancing at the fairly neat building he surmised it was just open and that was the call for all the celebration inside. It was quite the place for such a town almost unsettling to see such a pristine building in a town such as Gomorra. Then again Matthew's prejudice came from a man who's intact town experiences were ones out back East. Only time he ever saw any of these up to this point was after a fierce battle so they tended to be little more then ruins. Brown eyes darkened as the memories flooded back to him from the thought.<br><br><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Untamed Skies</strong> on <strong>09-04-2014, 03:40:03</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk59/Untamed_skies/bdcf3531-746f-4fc9-9b81-35e51e2eba18_zpsc75e54da.jpg) (http://s277.photobucket.com/user/Untamed_skies/media/bdcf3531-746f-4fc9-9b81-35e51e2eba18_zpsc75e54da.jpg.html)[</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Reid Lawson<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1877<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon.<br><strong>Location:</strong> A table near the bar inside Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Lilah, noticing Walter and Letty<br><hr><br><br><br><br><br>It always seemed when you were listenin' for something you wanted it never happened that way. Aside from the usual loud mouths the talk was just talking bout how great the free drinks were. Course it was early, and even the lightest of drinkers would find it hard to be drunk just yet. There were only a few familiar faces filling in around the bar. A real mean looking fella, the type he'd not be surprised to find his brother was associating with. Not the friendly type of association either, the type of associating that ended with a brawl, and usually a lot of work cause Dale couldn't keep his fool mouth shut. There was a equally broodin Mexican woman at the bar as well. She was one Reid had seen here and there. When your skills were shootin a gun and working on a ranch you had a habit of running into other ranchers when you were working. If he recalled correctly she was a prideful little thing, thought she was as strong as a ox too. He had decided then, and believed still it was best just to let her be. <br><br>It was the kind of thing you needed to be patient with, if you expected to overhear something important right away you'd be in for a long night. Opportunity was illusive kind of thing. You needed to have some sense to recognize it. Course opportunity wasn't always so illusive, and opportunity wasn't always what you were expecting it'd be. It'd be right about then he was suddenly visited by a rather pretty asain girl. Friendly too she didn't waste any time revealing. "You'll find I ain't real inhospitable," he replied with a friendly smile in return. He'd chuckle as she spoke about drinking alone being pathetic. "Suppose you might just have a point there Miss," he said with a nod. If he was honest, he could admit he couldn't consider any of the drunks he'd seen drinkin' alone to be the type of man he'd considered successful. Course, then again, he wasn't getting drunk by himself either. He was taking a table and waiting for opportunity to come a'knocking his way. "Course pathetic as it may be, now that you've seen fit ta share a seat with me, I reckon now that you're here, there may be a few men who hope they look so pathetic," he said, hoping to pay her a compliment as he spoke. He hadn't taken the slightest bit offense to her comments, course they weren't necessarily aimed at him anyway.<br><br>He'd set his drink on the table and sit in a more gentlemanly manner as he regarded her. "The names Reid Lawson," he said extending his hand for her to take. "It's a pleasure ta make your acquaintance Miss," he said pausing and trailing off hoping to get the name of his sudden acquaintance. The smile never leaving his face as he pulled his hand away after they shook hands. "So what brings a lady like yourself here," he asked. "If you don't mind me askin," he added after a moment. Some folks didn't like other folks that were nosy, but it seemed as easy a conversation topic as any to start with. Though truth be told he hoped she hadn't heard of the Lawson Boys yet. It hadn't been a long introduction, but Reid found he believed that the girl was certainly the friendly sort. Trouble was when they heard he was a Lawson that friendly smile became decidedly less friendly. Those things happened when your oldest brother was a drunk and a cheat. Reid did his best to make things even, but you cheat enough people, and get into enough fights the reputation typically didn't recover after you made things even for what musta been a hundred times. While Reid couldn't be certain who the woman really was or if she was just being friendly before she demanded money Dale owed her, he could be certain he was looking forward to enjoying friendly company for a change. 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niferbelle</strong> on <strong>10-04-2014, 03:32:40</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i627.photobucket.com/albums/tt357/Niferbelle/my%20avatars/doomtown7av_zps641b8122.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Lilah 'Li-Li' Oliver (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9813377#msg9813377)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> There have been a few rumors but who listens to those<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Reid, open <br><hr>Lilah had hoped he'd tolerate her at his table of course but she hadn't expected the big blond man to be so downright friendly. She hesitate a moment before she reached across to return his handshake, finding it more than passing strange that he didn't look twice at her clothes or comment on how she talked. She wasn't used to being so readily accepted and it made her a might suspicious. She sat back, pushing the brim of her hat up with a finger, and studied him across the table.<br><br>"Everybody calls me Li-Li, and the pleasure is mine, Mr. Lawson," she said. She hadn't been spending much time in town and sure as hell didn't listen to gossip so she didn't equate the Lawson name with anybody other than the pleasant man keeping her company at the moment. "I ain't exactly a lady...and I'm here for the same reason everybody else is...curiosity and free drinks. When do you reckon was the last time anything was free in Gomorrah? Got to take advantage of that when you can."<br><br>She flashed him a lopsided grin. She was young and her features a n ice balance of the two cultures she had clearly come from though most white folks that saw her just tagged her as Chinese and left it at that. Her dark eyes remained alert as she talked to him, glancing about the room from time to time as she took in the crowd. "So what do you do for a livin' Mr. Lawson?"<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>auroraChloe</strong> on <strong>10-04-2014, 07:40:02</strong>
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				<br><hr><br><div class="floatleft">(http://24.media.tumblr.com/a16483c2858f862945634d46b9ad41b9/tumblr_mh480oybdg1r64urio1_500.jpg)</div><br><strong>Name:</strong> Jaelyn Scot-Jones<br><br><strong>Faction:</strong> ()<br><br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 11th, 1876<br><br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon<br><br><strong>Location:</strong> leaving the bank, walking to watch the ‘Grand Opening’<br><br><strong>Tagged:</strong> open<br><br><hr> <br><br>The hem of the mourning dress whirled dust in a number of miniature tizzies as slippered feet carried her with quick steps toward the ruckus of the new establishment.&nbsp; The blue eyes flashed in thought, dimming the dark smudges under them.&nbsp; It was clear that the tear swollen red rims had given over to a rising ire during her brief visit with Mr Scheinbaum.&nbsp; If only she’d taken the time days ago, as the deputy suggested, the pieces would have fallen together so much sooner and the pain of her father’s betrayal would have been alleviated.&nbsp; No matter; she understood more clearly now.&nbsp; And that damned Reverend would burn in hell for this alone, of that she had no doubt.&nbsp; <br><br>After a long visit the day before from the local seamstress, and with the woman’s friendly insistence, Jaelyn had put two new day dresses on order.&nbsp; “I’m sure you’re good for it,” she said, smiling knowingly.&nbsp; One dress for mourning was planned in a deep, dark blue - “near enough to black for propriety’s sake”-&nbsp; and the other a&nbsp; “pale butter” shade of yellow, “to draw out the pretty highlights” in her hair.&nbsp; Both pieces were simple, with a row of buttons closing a high collar.&nbsp; The seamstress tutted as she took Jae's measurements over the thinness of her body, then cooed over the four thin lengths of scar striping her upper arm.&nbsp; “You poor dear.&nbsp; Well, you’re home now, right?&nbsp; Gomorra ain’t as tonny as some places, but it aint as bad as other places neither.”&nbsp; This was followed by another knowing look. <br><br>Jaelyn was relieved when the chatty woman finally left, chalking the entire visit up to the incessant whirl her life had taken on since leaving Lost Angels.&nbsp; Still, she had to considered some of the woman’s comments.&nbsp; Perhaps this was home, after all.&nbsp; Where else did she have to go?&nbsp; Certainly not back to the Cathedral in Lost Angels.&nbsp; And wasn’t this building her birthright?&nbsp; Wasn't she owed a little something for surviving the first level of hell?&nbsp; <br><br>It was while pondering such questions that she found the letter.&nbsp; It was among a few of her father’s things that&nbsp; the deputy, Charlie Flatbush, had packed before her unexpected arrival.&nbsp; The envelope was large and oddly shaped, the ‘sent to’ printed in large block letters with ‘Return to Sender’ scrawled over top of it.&nbsp; It was the address, though, that had caught her eye, because it was the very place she’d been living, under the charitable care of one Reverend Grimme and his Guardian Angels.<br><br>Inside was a daguerreotype of her father.&nbsp; In a spiffy set of clothes he stood in front of this very building, all handsome and proud.&nbsp; Fresh tears welled, to spill onto the aged paper as she read words so full of love and pleading as to re-break her heart.&nbsp; He’d wanted them to come, had begged Renae to travel just the one time across The Maze to join him.&nbsp; Jae trailed back to the letter’s start seeking the date; a good two weeks before her mother’s accident.&nbsp; Over two years ago!&nbsp; She collapsed then, a fresh round of&nbsp; frustrated, mournful sobs wracking her body until finally there was nothing left but a blanket of blessed sleep.<br><br>After waking in the same spot where she fell into a cry jag the evening before, Jae took a few minutes to gather her thoughts.&nbsp; Then she heated enough water for a leisurely bath, dressed once again in the borrowed gown, her own being too far gone for a public showing, and pulled her hair back in a loose bun.&nbsp; The collar was a short fold of black lace with matching trim at the wrists.&nbsp; On impulse she threaded her father’s wedding band onto her mother's charm necklace.&nbsp; She felt close to them with it around her neck, and held a childish hope that they found each other on the other side.&nbsp; <br><br>She had no scheduled meeting, but had been assured that the bank was eager to meet with her.&nbsp; All of Gomorra seemed to wonder what would become of Jones’ Mercantile &amp; Trade.&nbsp; Jaelyn wasn’t at all sure until she took a moment outside to look upon the large whitewashed building, it’s large plate glass window behind a protective grate.&nbsp; She could picture her father standing there, all his sacrifice and hard work filling her heart with love and pride.&nbsp; He hadn’t given up on his love everlasting, after all; she’d given up on him.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>The meeting with Saul Scheinbaum had been enlightening, surprising even, and she was happy to find out, the two dresses on order would not break the bank.&nbsp; The monthly stipend being sent to Lost Angels would stop immediately.&nbsp; She hadn’t seen any of that since her mother decided to sign the coin over to Grimme for their tithe.&nbsp; Their keep was covered by charity and labor.&nbsp; Charity there carried too heavy a price.&nbsp; Thommy Jones could not have realized that.&nbsp; Her father was a good man, he’d never support the likes of Ezekial Grimme and his purely evil ways.<br><br>It was a short walk to the Babel’s Tower; still she missed a bit of the mayor’s speech.&nbsp; Any wondering if she should go inside stopped short upon seeing the woman with a red lipped smile and breasts bare to the world linking her arm with the Solomon fellow.&nbsp; Jae felt the warmth of a blush under the blazing afternoon sun.&nbsp; <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>10-04-2014, 11:02:42</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f2/Beardycox.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp;Avery Burnham<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dogs (1)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel’s Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Solomon, Jaelyn, Letty, Walter, any others mentioned in passing; Open<br><hr> <br><br>Avery Burnham was late for the ribbon cutting ceremony although that wasn't exactly by accident.&nbsp; While the speeches were being made, he'd been gazing at the tops of his shoes as they sat propped on his desk, listening to the growing din outside while thinking about his new office.&nbsp; It was not a bad little setup, all considered, when you factored in the limitations of this frontier backwater and his own modest pocketbook.&nbsp; It was essentially bought by buffalo hides, so it was only fitting he'd hung the head of one of the filthy creatures on the wall alongside the Sharps rifle that had brought it down.&nbsp; He thought it a rustic touch, the sort of thing that might intrigue these people.&nbsp; He imagined them taking one look at him, hearing the accent, and asking how he'd come by it, or maybe waggishly inquiring where he'd bought it from, and then he could tell them coolly that he'd shot and skinned it himself, along with several others over the course of one long summer.&nbsp; Him and his old military mates and one great big gory mess out on the American plains.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>Another way of saying not such a tinhorn as he looked.&nbsp; The rest of the sparse wall space was filled with framed cutouts of London newspaper articles in which his name had appeared alongside all sorts of heady accolades.&nbsp; <em>Kidnapping Case Solved.&nbsp; Pride of Scotland Yard.&nbsp; The Model Modern Detective.</em>&nbsp; It all sounded very nice, even now.&nbsp; He very likely hadn't appreciated it enough at the time.&nbsp; Astounding how people could sing your praises and shake your hand one day, and then the next…well… A new town, a new start.&nbsp; He'd even added a painting of the still relatively recent Elizabeth Tower as an extra touch of exoticism to impress the yokels.<br><br>Judging just enough time had passed to avoid being jostled by whiskey-maddened yanks, he dropped his feet down and grabbed his hat from the rack, wiping off a few mites of dust before settling it on his head.&nbsp; It was only a short walk to Babel's Tower and the Englishman cut a rather fine figure as he casually made his way down the dusty street, lean and dapper in a dark brown suit, purple paisley patterned vest, and black felt bowler.&nbsp; Avery was not the only one still outside of course, people were continuing to file in and the mayor himself -- someone had been good enough to point him out to Avery a few weeks past -- was standing under the porch, currently being addressed by some haggard looking fellow in a fine suit.&nbsp; Former military, he could tell by the look of him, just in the way he held himself.&nbsp; He knew the type.&nbsp; His father had been one and had a similar way about him.&nbsp; He might have had it himself if he'd stayed with it, but the service wasn't the life for him.<br><br>A thin nervous woman in a rather somber dress stood hesitating by the door and he had to step around her to ascend the steps.&nbsp; "Pardon me, miss," he said in a friendly genteel voice, flashing the politest of smiles over his shoulder in passing.&nbsp; That smile lingered as he nodded to the man who must be the proprietor.&nbsp; "It looks to be a wonderful turnout, sir.&nbsp; Congratulations."&nbsp; Of course it was not hard to turn people out when you were giving away free liquor.&nbsp; Avery had pegged the man as a possible client in the future though, and it did not hurt to be social now.&nbsp; Things were always going missing in casinos and brothels after all, not least of all the girls, and calling the law was rarely the first resort for such establishments.&nbsp; &nbsp;He had even considered printing up visiting cards as he'd seen them doing in New York City, and passing them out, but that seemed tacky and desperate.&nbsp; He had to let the first client come to him naturally.&nbsp; In the meantime, they could discuss the peculiar foreigner amongst themselves, until someone finally got the itch to test him out.<br><br>And then of course he would merely have to succeed beyond all expectations.&nbsp; His speciality.<br><br>An expression of vague distaste passed over Avery's face as he entered the hotel foyer.&nbsp; It was packed and already smelling faintly of cigar smoke, cheap spirits, and sweaty bodies pressed too closely together.&nbsp; He might have skipped this opening but it was good to be seen.&nbsp; Plus all the other gaming tables in town would likely be dead tonight.&nbsp; He had to do something to occupy his idle time and the less of it he spent in Soddom the better.&nbsp; <br><br>Judging the Mexican girl in the rough spun dress and dusty Stetson slightly less likely to elbow him in the ribs than the others gathered around the bar, he pressed up to the counter where she was standing.&nbsp; "Brandy, please, if you'd be so kind," he called to the harried servers, having to repeat himself at least twice more before someone finally plunked a glass down in front of him.&nbsp; He upended it and then smiled at the Mex.&nbsp; "Cheers."&nbsp; Elbows on the counter, he turned to survey the rest of the room, briefly catching the eye of some ugly bludger in the corner staring daggers at him and every other patron walking in.&nbsp; Something about the man reminded him vaguely of home, the East End dosshouses specifically, but then they made that sort everywhere.&nbsp; The American West in particular seemed to suffer from an overly generous supply.&nbsp; <br><br>"Lovely gathering," he said blandly to no one in particular, watching the beaded curtains part as men and women slipped back and forth between the gambling rooms.&nbsp; He'd give it awhile before he joined in.&nbsp; The more his opponents drank, the better he played, he'd often found.&nbsp; &nbsp;In the meantime he'd simply observe.&nbsp; He needed to learn as much about these people as could as quickly as he could.&nbsp; This wasn't London after all.&nbsp; This was Gomorra, and every town had at its own quirks and style, its own mysteries to unlock…&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>10-04-2014, 22:52:48</strong>
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				<br><hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/6f/Mayor_cochran.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Mayor Cochran<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sweetrock<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Outside Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open, Matthew Ford<br><hr>&nbsp; To anyone unfamiliar with the politics of Gomorra, the notion of the Mayor of a small town being included in major decisions was a common sense one.&nbsp; Those strangers were quickly acquainted with the truth - that the Mayor was all too often a sock puppet for Sweetrock - and Sweetrock did not control the town so thoroughly as they might like.&nbsp; But merely being addressed as 'sir' was enough to make the man puff up like a peacock, and he straightened from where he leaned against the wall outside.&nbsp; In the rush of miners and citizens, the tables had been quickly and quite thoroughly occupied, to the distress of the city's Mayor, who had hoped to recline at one of the booths and lord over the establishment like a proper aristocrat.&nbsp; So, instead, he found himself on the deck sipping bourbon and giving familiar nods to every strange face that sauntered within, until a dusty new arrival had poked papers in his face and seemed eager to discuss some manner of official business.&nbsp; He licked his lips, suppressing a sigh, but tilted his head at the mention of J.P. Coleman.&nbsp; "I'm afraid I was not often privy to J.P. Coleman's business," he informed.&nbsp; "He ran an efficient Sheriff's office before his passing, and it was not necessary to intrude on his affairs.&nbsp; Once you've found the right man for the job, no reason to go managing the minutia, I always say," he smiled.&nbsp; <br><br>The brief memory of Sheriff Coleman's six shooter widening his left nostril, and the promise of what would happen if he continued to try to manage the minutia, tickled his memory, so he drowned it in a gulp of bourbon and offered a pearly smile.&nbsp; <br><br>"But I am afraid the man you are looking for to... seek employment would be one Nash Bilton.&nbsp; I expect he'll be along expeditiously - I don't know him as a man to take a pass on discounted entertainment," he mused.&nbsp; He gave a smile as a soiled-dove turned waitress freshened his bourbon.&nbsp; "Ah, thank you my dear - " his hand fell familiarly on the curve of her ass, and she gave a wiggle, a giggle, and turned away, after whispering something apologetic in his ear.<br><br>He smiled up at Ford.&nbsp; "Liboria, there, is Wallachian.&nbsp; I'm not entirely sure where that is, but based upon her rather sterling example of feminine liberation, I think the country should be renamed 'Will'-lachian.&nbsp; Precisely because she <em>will</em> do anything."&nbsp; He laughed, and clapped Matthew on his shoulder.&nbsp; "I highly recommend her.&nbsp; Go, you should knock of the dust of the road off your boots, and she is <em>exemplary</em> for such a purpose."&nbsp; He gave a friendly gesture within and began to draw Matthew inside.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Untamed Skies</strong> on <strong>11-04-2014, 01:25:25</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk59/Untamed_skies/bdcf3531-746f-4fc9-9b81-35e51e2eba18_zpsc75e54da.jpg) (http://s277.photobucket.com/user/Untamed_skies/media/bdcf3531-746f-4fc9-9b81-35e51e2eba18_zpsc75e54da.jpg.html)[</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Reid Lawson<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1877<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon.<br><strong>Location:</strong> A table near the bar inside Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Lilah, open<br><hr><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br>Reid would keep his smile as the girl who introduced herself as Li-li seemed to hesitate. Of course he couldn't be sure why she might. Maybe she did recognize the Lawson name and was attributing it to Dale. Loud drunks as he was had a habit of getting their name around after all. "Well it's mighty fine to make your acquaintance Ms. Li-Li," he said nodding as she took his hand and introduced herself. He did repeat himself, but then it felt weird to make a proper introduction be the one where he called her just Miss. Her nickname played further into her asian heritage, but it was pretty evident just from the way she dressed her self, and her voice wherever her parents might have been from. She was as western as anyone else round the area. While there were a lot of folks who got caught up in the details, what someone looked like, how they sounded. Reid never saw much a point to getting all flustered or suspicious, least not until they had a gun pointed at your head. If he could love his dirty cheatin drunk of a brother, he could like anyone. He let most give him a reason to dislike them. <br><br>Reid's head would tilt just a bit as his curiosity was sparked as Li-li got to talking. He was happy despite the guarded look she had about her she was electing to remain being civil. Still lovely as she was, she didn't strike him as the type of girl that let her body get bought. Maybe she was one of them working types? "There is plenty free round here," he said with a bit of a chuckle pausing to sip at his drink. "Trouble is, what's given for free ain't exactly the kind of gift you want to be gettin," he explained. There was plenty of hate given freely without doin a bit to earn it. Lot of killin, lot of fighting, lot of dirt, really there was abundance of a lot of negative in Gomorra, didn't cost a thing to have a bit of it come your way. Course it wasn't all that way, nor was it all bad. You just needed to be capable of reaching out and taking hold of the good stuff when it was available to ya. <br><br>When she flashed him a grin and asked what he did for a living he'd find himself leaning back in his seat. "That's not a real easy question to answer," he said. "I suppose the honest answer is that I'm lookin' for&nbsp; something worth makin a livin outta," he said pausing. A living was the kind of thing you did permanently, sometimes exclusively. The kid of work that allowed you a place to rest your head. It was a good sign, the fact she was asking him what he did for a living suggested she hadn't heard of his brother. "I came from a ranch in Colorado and know my way round a farm," he said with shrug taking another sip from his drink. "As it is, any work available's, good as the rest of it," he explained. He could go into detail with his life story, but everyone round these parts had a story. Most of them weren't the kind of stories you listened for fun neither. Sides the company was friendly, there was no need to go spoiling it. "How about you Ms. Li-li, you make a livin round these parts," he asked her. The curious look back on his face.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Loves</strong> on <strong>11-04-2014, 05:55:47</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i975.photobucket.com/albums/ae240/samanthamazur/68Cavkmm4hgg_zpsc4502ad9.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Aletta Emelda Maria Sanchez (aka Letty) (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9815927#msg9815927)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1877<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery Burnham (noticing:&nbsp; Lilah, Reid, Walter) Open<br><hr><br>Letty was used to an odd look turned her way, some in admiration, others not so much. Her skin was light enough that she could pass as a well tanned white girl, but the moment she opened her mouth her not so secret..secret would be told. To some “Mexican” was a dirty word. It made no difference to Aletta, after all it weren’t like she could snap her fingers and suddenly become one of the “acceptable” folk. Aggy told her to keep&nbsp; her nose clean, and don’t go messing with those thinking she was anything but a good, decent, hardworking girl. So why was she in this saloon partaking in a free drink?&nbsp; The easy answer… her temper. <br><br>Earlier that day Aggy had let it slip that her brother, Letty’s would-be suitor, had not actually written the letters she had been sent. The news&nbsp; had been unsettling. The young Mexican had felt swindled all over again. As the story unraveled so she learned that Jonah couldn’t read nor could he write a single word. Who then? Who had written those bloody letters filled with romantic notions! One such passage still resonated in the back of her mind where she had banished all thoughts of romance and love! <br><br><em> you stand before the sunset that paints the sky brilliant shades of red and orange. It’s like no place on earth, as the blue sky that watched down on you turns darker you see the stars dot the sky, twinklin’ just for you….time seems to stand still and you suddenly feel calm.</em><br><br>Letty had wanted to feel that way so badly! She could close her eyes, even now and see the picture those pretty words had painted. Only Letty had added the warmth of his embrace as he held her, pressing his strong chest against her back….he had to be strong! He had to be handsome! No man could write like that and not be! Her romantic heart had run off into the sunset, and frankly after today she’d be best pleased if it never found its way back!<br><br>Tilting her face towards the ceiling, Letty threw back the drink, pouring the amber liquid down her throat in one smooth movement. Only her body had never gotten used to the fiery burn of the whiskey and so she began to cough as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Twisting, the dark eyed rancher forcefully placed the glass down atop of the bar’s smooth surface and ordered another. A small voice in the back of her head, that sounded a hell of a lot like Aggie Gates, pleaded with the young girl to leave the saloon and turn her back on the seductive call of free booze. She snarled and silently told the voice to mind its own business! <br><br>The second glass of whiskey was roughly placed before her before the harried barman was off, telling folk to hold their horses, he was only one man! The amber liquid sploshed over the glass and coated&nbsp; her fingers, leaving a ring on the wooden surface where the liquid pooled beneath the glass. Letty drew her finger into her mouth and sucked upon the dampness slowly, watching as more filed into the joint. She watched, pulling her finger free from her lips as a slicked up new resident came to make his claim at the bar. Letty held her drink and watched him out of the corner of her eye as he made his order, more than once. It made her smirk. <br><br>Still, she was planning on keeping herself to herself! And so she held her eyes straight forwards, taking in the crowd as they mingled. She noted a few characters, some big, some small. Some dressed fancy, while others that needed a bath real bad! There was one foul looking man at the back that held a scowl for everyone in the room. Her instincts screamed get out. Yet Letty chose to stay. So what if she was heading for a dance with the devil! She knew better now! There wasn’t a line that could be spoken that would make her believe she could give her heart away! Not now! Not ever! <br><br>Her focus was drawn back to the man beside her as movement caught her eye. She watched as he upended his drink in a similar way as she had done, only he appeared much more elegant in his action. His voice was fancy. Letty snarled. <strong>”I reckon you write fancy letters too..”</strong> she said aloud, voicing her thoughts rather than attempting conversation. Disgusted with men in general, the dark haired ranch hand threw back her drink once more, pouring its burning fire down her throat and reacting much the same as she had done before. Her nose wrinkled, her eyes watered, and once more she found herself coughing to clear the burning sensation along her throat. <br><br>One hand sporting slim fingers wrapped around the base of her neck, smoothing her skin while the other placed the now empty glass back onto the bar counter, making a definite sound to indicate she wanted another. Shame the place was growing too loud for the barkeep to hear. <strong>”Another!”</strong> she called out, looking straight ahead of her at the glasses and other bar supplies lined up against the wall. She snorted at the fancy man’s comment and rolled her eyes. <strong>”Lovely”</strong> she repeated, though the word rolled from her tongue in a manner that made it sound exotic, almost musical in its lilt rather than stuffy. 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>11-04-2014, 07:13:34</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d6/Stoker.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Abraham Solomon<br><strong>Faction:</strong> None<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower Foyer<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, (greets Avery)<br><hr>Abraham wandered around the foyer of Babel's Tower with a wide, bright smile plastered on his face.&nbsp; Gently greeting people as he kept his eyes on everything going on.&nbsp; Free booze and cheap soiled doves was bound to draw business but it also increased the likelihood that people would start brawlin'.&nbsp; So long as the fighting happened outside, Solomon really didn't care if people decided to bash each others heads in. <br><br>Solomon took in the form the man that paused to greet him.&nbsp; He nodded, his smile unchanging though it didn't reach his steel gray eyes.&nbsp; “Thank you, sir.&nbsp; I'm thrilled with the turnout.”&nbsp; He gestured vaguely around the room.&nbsp; “I do so hope you enjoy your stay this evening.&nbsp; Soon, Miss Montgomery will be singing and Mr. Flanagan will be accompanying her on the piano.”&nbsp; He informed the new patron with pleasure that wasn't feigned.&nbsp; “Later tonight, we will see a wonderful performance from the lovely Miss Capri.”<br><br>Excusing himself from the new patron, he scanned the crowd once again.&nbsp; His smile faded turning all the way into a frown as he spotted one of his soiled doves seated on a patrons lap.&nbsp; Catching her eye, he waved her over.&nbsp; Gripping her arm, his eyes narrowed at the woman in front of him.&nbsp; “Take your client out of this room.”&nbsp; He hissed quietly.&nbsp; “You know the rules.&nbsp; None of you do your work in the front room.”&nbsp; He reminded her and let her arm go.&nbsp; <br><br>Her eyes widened and her face paled at his admonishment.&nbsp; Quickly, she bobbed her head in a nod and murmured her apologies at her employer.&nbsp; Sauntering back to her client, she offered him a beaming smile and took his hand, gently guiding him from the room.<br><br>Turning his attention back to the crowd, his winning smile returned and he casually greeted more guests.&nbsp; He inclined his head graciously as a waitress offered him booze.&nbsp; Taking the glass, he walked over to the small stage and stepped onto it.&nbsp; He tapped his glass several times until he had everyone's attention.&nbsp; <br><br>“Ladies and Gentleman, thank you all for joining me for the grand opening of Babel's Tower.”&nbsp; His deep voice quieted the rest of the patrons though the waitresses and bartender continued their work quietly.&nbsp; “Tonight, there is an extra special treat for everyone to enjoy.&nbsp; Babel's Tower is offering a complimentary southern barbeque.&nbsp; Shortly, we will all be enjoying a meal near and dear to my heart: ribs, pulled pork, some delightful cheesy grits and, of course, mouth watering corn bread.”&nbsp; As he spoke of the food, he allowed his natural southern drawl to ring in his voice. He paused a moment and several cheers rose up from the patrons.&nbsp; “Also, for tonight only, New Moon's own Miss Annabel Montgomery will be singing, accompanied by Mr. Tommy Flanagan on the piano.”&nbsp; His smile widened at that announcement.&nbsp; “Even later in the evening in the backroom, the lovely and talented Miss Bella Capri will be performing.”&nbsp; He paused again and chuckled, “Well, I'm certainly not going to give away her performance but I will say that it's one of a kind here in Gomorra!”&nbsp; He gestured around and beamed another bright smile to the crowd, “Please enjoy yourselves!”&nbsp; His announcement complete, he stepped off the stage, letting everyone get back to the task of drinking as much free booze as they wanted.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>11-04-2014, 07:35:28</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0e/Corky.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Cordelia “Corky” Hendricks<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dogs<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel’s Tower, in a corner away from the bar.<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, Walter<br><hr>The chair next to Walter’s crunched across the wood floor, though the noise was buried by the general din in the common room.&nbsp; The Law Dog hadn’t made much attempt to sneak up on Walter - she’d slipped in while the fancy feller in the funny clothes was waxing poetical about pork ribs - and she’d spotted Walter giving a baleful eye to the rest of the bar.&nbsp; A waitress had been flagged down easy enough, and Corky'd whispered in her ear, then had two generous whiskeys in her hands a moment later.&nbsp; Then she’d done the unthinkable - she’d walked right up to him, stuttering a step when the baleful eye got turned her way, but kept on walking, tugging back the chair and plunking a well toned behind into the chair.<br><br>Red pigtails and freckles bespoke an Irish heritage, though she looked like she might well have inherited her bust from a Germanic opera singer - they swelled inside the red and white checkered shirt she wore, looking as though the put the simple knot at the top of her bared belly to the test.&nbsp; She wasn’t wearing her star today - but she still had a sixgun casually slung at her side.<br><br>She edged one of the whiskeys over to him, eyeballing him for a moment before leaning forward and putting her elbows on the table.&nbsp; <br><br>“This the broodin’ table?” she whispered.&nbsp; “Looks like the broodin’ table, and I got me a powerful brood comin’ on.”&nbsp; She stated it matter-of-factly, though the innately cheerful tone of her voice suggested she was a bit of a stranger to brooding.&nbsp; &nbsp;She tossed one of her pigtails back behind her shoulder, and smiled at Walter.<br><br>She took a drink of the whiskey, but she wasn’t halfway through her draught when her eyes went wide, and she coughed and spluttered into the glass, backwashing most of it into the glass as her nose burned red.<br><br>“Sweet Jesus on a stick,” she coughed, her eyes burning, covering her mouth as she coughed up her first taste of real whiskey.&nbsp; “What’d they put in that, kerosene?”&nbsp; She continued to cough, cheeks reddening, her attempt to appear nonchalant and adult foiled by her inexperience.&nbsp; “Gonna have to go lick a Maze Dragon to get the taste out.”&nbsp; She made a face, and another wince, then slid the partially downed whiskey over to Walter as a second, slightly blemished offering, completely forgetting why it was that she’d come over in the first place to chat with the man staring daggers around the saloon.<br><br><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>esclavage</strong> on <strong>11-04-2014, 15:46:12</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/4c/Ginny_06a.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Virginia <em><strong>'Ginny'</strong></em> Mary Lou Whateley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley Family<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower Foyer<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, &lt;remarks to Jaelyn&gt;, &lt;looking for Abraham Solomon&gt;, &lt;waiting for Annabel Montgomery&gt;<br><hr><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;There was a timing to everything life.&nbsp; It was a lesson Ginny had learned as a little girl sitting in the lap of her mother while the older woman fussed with the young Whateley's hair, teasing out the tangles of those golden, blonde locks with an ivory comb.&nbsp; At least when she could be bothered to do so; normally, Mary-Ann Westhoff-Whateley left such menial and mundane things to one of the many southern housekeepers employed to ensure everything in their house was arranged in a picture-perfect way.&nbsp; But every so often the older woman's fingers would itch, particularly when Ginny came back in from playing out in the yard with her cousins - tiny twigs sticking out of her blonde curls.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;A woman should never be rushed; a woman should always be gracious if she were the host and graceful if she were the guest.&nbsp; On and on, the pithy wisdom of her mother droned as Ginny didn't try and pay too much attention.&nbsp; No, as a young girl, the young Whateley only had her sharp green eyes on one thing - the plate of sugary lemon squares and a pitcher of sweet tea resting on the small, white dining table.&nbsp; And before too long, she would be happily gobbling up the delicious treats.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Those were the warm, happy memories of a childhood spent back in Georgia and honestly while Ginny felt a pang of nostalgia from time to time - she knew she was only being overly sentimental.&nbsp; Her mother normally never was <em>that </em>warm and a singular happy memory did not outweigh all the others that the young Whateley harbored deep inside - of her father and her mother, Whateleys and Westhoffs, a marriage between two families that was never going to last beyond its first year.&nbsp; Hidden beneath a charming smile that most men swore was only reserved for them, no one would have ever suspected the heavier thoughts weighing on Ginny's mind.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;No, the only thing that the young Whateley seemed most concerned with was where she should spent her golden eagles for the day.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Still, the lessons from Mary-Ann Westhoff had served well as Ginny trotted up to the doors of the new establishment, the Babel's Tower.&nbsp; &nbsp;Idly, she glanced up at the sign - the arrogant tower pointing at the sky in defiance to the Lord God Almighty - and wondered if either of the fathers would use it as their subject material during the worship time this Sunday.&nbsp; She was treading the fine line of being <em><strong>'fashionably late'</strong></em> and just plain<em><strong> 'late'</strong></em> and doing a very good job.&nbsp; The crowds had cleared - men and woman eager to slake their thirst with the free alcohol - leaving a clear and unimpeded path outside of a girl who didn't know if whether she should go inside or faint dead away given the scarlet hue on her cheeks.&nbsp; Ginny's vivid green eyes shot past the other girl's shoulder and suppressed a snort at the other woman's timidness.&nbsp; Compared to the happenings at Casino Morongo, the Babel's Tower main room seemed downright mundane - her type would never make it in the Fast County.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Clearing her throat loudly - even though there was plenty of room to walk past -&nbsp; Ginny made sure the other woman glanced at her.&nbsp; <strong>"Ain't got no sense, standin' in way of e'rebody,"</strong> she said critically, making sure to turn her nose up as she went by.&nbsp; <strong>"Yuh either git in or git out; yuh dun jist stand thar, gapin' like a jackanapes."</strong>&nbsp; Her insult expertly delivered, Ginny then made her way triumphantly in - entering into the growing raucous atmosphere of revelry.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The young Whateley had come dressed for the occasion, not wearing her usual cowboy leathers, but a voluminous dress that was maroon in color.&nbsp; Pink frills and fancy white lace decorated the fringes and Ginny had chosen a pair of long matching gloves to go with it.&nbsp; Sewn pearls decorated it tastefully at strategic places where the eye might linger - at the hem and around the bodice.&nbsp; The cut of the dress was the latest in French fashion that she could lay her hands on and the young Whateley proudly did it justice with a preening, feminine strut designed to gain the attention of both men <em><strong>and </strong></em>women.&nbsp; &nbsp;The men - so they could admire pretty little Miss Whateley - and the women - so they could secretly go home later tonight and gnaw on their livers.&nbsp; Honestly, the price of the dress could easily purchase a hefty plot of land in parts of Gomorra and Ginny adored that particular fact - that she alone was one of the privileged few who could afford such a garment.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Once inside, Ginny made her slow rounds - making sure just about everyone saw her - and enjoying how the conversation slowed and then died wherever she walked past as men stopped to stare.&nbsp; And hiding a playful grin, Ginny wondered if Annie would wear what the young Whateley had purchased her.&nbsp; The lovely singer - who could almost past for Ginny's sister - had asked her to help a little in preparation for the opening night, which had delighted the blonde gambler to no end.&nbsp; She had forcibly dragged Annie around an entire day - picking this and picking that - and now she was hoping that Annie would chose to wear the matching dress Ginny had picked for her.&nbsp; The two of them would be a sensation - and if there was one thing that was true about Virginia Whateley - i t was that she wasn't shy about being the center of attention.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; Swinging by the bar, Ginny made sure to pick up her drink - in this case, a delicate flute of wine served in fancy crystal.&nbsp; She made sure to pay for it, flashing a golden eagle at barkeep - who was only too happy to accept her money.&nbsp; Whateley gold was as good as anyone else's.&nbsp; &nbsp;After all, it wouldn't do for Ginny to drink what everyone else was drinking - how churlish that would be!<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; And while waiting for her drink she made sure to scan the crowds with those sharp, green eyes - Whateley eyes inherited from her father - to find out Abraham Solomon.&nbsp; Her purpose was two-fold.&nbsp; The first was simple curiosity; Ginny understood that there had been some interest in her family about purchasing the casino property once Mr. Sloane had left.&nbsp; Any news about this mysterious owner would be popular gossip around the dinner table when she returned back to see Grandma.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;But secondly, and more importantly to Ginny, she wanted an exclusive table - much like she had in the past at Casino Morongo.&nbsp; A place for her to host games of chance, to hear the shuffle of well-worn cards and see the glitter of gold and silver as it was carelessly tossed out on the table.&nbsp; The place where men lived and died - there was nothing more exhilarating to the young Whateley than savoring the ecstasy and the despair of men who stood to win or lose everything.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; That was what Ginny wanted - and what Ginny wanted - there were precious few who could stop her.&nbsp; Hidden behind that winsome smile was a muley stubbornness a mile wide - inherited from her mother - the good Lord bless her soul.&nbsp; And Ginny wasn't about to let Abraham Solomon be one of those precious few from stopping her from getting what she wanted.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>SGTDan</strong> on <strong>11-04-2014, 21:22:23</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KL7Uf3vdz0A/UDr2PAfW3xI/AAAAAAAAmBc/EIYJpjy2SI8/s1600/post5.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Matthew Ford<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Tower Porch<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Anyone, Mayor Cochran <br><hr><br>Thankfully one of the perks of being an officer is one learns to conceal emotions. Leading by example meant that even if you were shitting your pants in fear, you never looked it. Enlisted men looked up to the officers for leadership so it didn't do much good if you showed it. However there was a subtle twitch in the corner Matthew's mouth as the Mayor tried to pull him into a house of ill repute. With a polite slight move backwards he slipped his shoulder from the man's grasp. A frontier town would of course be host to such barbarous displays of "liberty" and the Mayor was no exception. In his head he briefly wondered how the man even earned his title.<br><br>That thought was further compounded by the man's obvious lack of any management of his town. The town he was supposed to run. Such a thing made Ford almost rethink living here but where else would they go? There was no choice except to adapt to the obviously less then civilized citizens of Gomora. So with a forced smile Matthew stepped back from the Mayor despite his quickly forming opinion. Opinion that this man was not worthy of his station or even to be called sir. In the military though he found all kinds of unsavory officers so he wasn't too perturbed to be calling Cochran that. Tucking the papers back into his trench coat the ex Union officer looked over at Winona,<br><br>"Wallachia is a place in Romania sir" Least Ford could do would be to educate the uncouth man, since he was so steeped in his own ignorance. "While I appreciate the concern I will have to refuse. As a married man I made a vow and I plan to keep it." <em>Unlike half the men here</em> Matthew thought "If would kindly point me to where Mr. Nash is then I will bring my business to him. However I need the deed and keys to the house sir. My wife and I can't really start unpacking till you me give that. Unless that is also something you don't deal with too." Hard as he tried the last sentence came out with a pinch of venom. "In such a case then point to a person who can." This was clearly a man who was used to rigid structure and things being done, not waffling around in front of whorehouse.<br><br>Licking his dried lips Matthew gazed at the recently constructed brothel. No use mincing words with what the place was. It's disguise was so thinly veiled he doubted it could fool a child. No one said he was arrogant of such establishments, as a former officer he knew the need for such places. That didn't mean however that the rather well educated and upstanding American had to like them. Reaching into his coat Ford took out his whiskey flask with a&nbsp; large brass <em>US</em> on it. Unscrewing the cap he took a swig to wet his lips before putting it back, eyes moving back to the Cochran. His smile grew a little bit as his mind came up with a few crass puns from the Mayor's name. It was crude but it made the long trip almost worth it to be jerked around by the Mayor. <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>consortium11</strong> on <strong>12-04-2014, 01:43:13</strong>
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				<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 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Mor... wait, wait, the bastard place is called <strong>Babel's Tower</strong> now right? Feck it, he's sat in a corner away from the bar.<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Corky, noticing all the other buggers, open<br><hr>Let me ask you a quick question...<br><br>What the feck is a “grit”? And why would you want to make it cheesy?<br><br>Walter had seen grit before. He'd seen it when he broke someone's jaw with a punch and they still came back for more. He'd seen it when he'd cut someone's guts out with a knife and they'd desperately tried to keep on livin'. That was bloody grit. Not this weird feckin' porridge thing the yanks tried to pass off as their damn national cuisine. “Grits”. Why the feck was it called “grits”? And what was bloody wrong with calling porridge bloody porridge? And what was wrong with simply having porridge anyway? Proper porridge, thick and stiff enough that if you left your spoon in it for more than a few seconds it got stuck. Why the feck would you add cheese to it? Or have it for dinner? It was for breakfast. Not for bloody dinner or lunch. You had potatoes with dinner or lunch. Not bloody porridge or grits or whatever the feck these buggers had.<br><br>Crazy bloody yanks.<br><br>And this “cornbread” crap. That weren't bread. Walter was no baker but he'd robbed a few in his time and he knew bread was made with grains. Not corn. It didn't even feckin' look like bread. The first time Dirk had offered some around Stiffies Walter had thought someone was tryin' to pull a damn joke on him and had been ready to punch the wagon driver's teeth back down his throat until he saw the rest of the buggers in there happily scoffin' away. “Cornbread”. Seriously, bloody hell. Just have some actual bread, hard enough that you could take a bite and feel a damn tooth crack. That was proper bread, bread that at a pinch could be used as a damn hammer. “Cornbread”. Feck off. Like Walter would eat that damn foreign muck.<br><br>Crazy bloody yanks.<br><br>Oh, and don't get Walter started on the feckin' “barbeque”. Walter liked meat. Hell, Walter loved meat. If he could afford it it's pretty much all his diet would have ever consisted of. And Walter liked meat despite havin' spent some time workin' in a damn butchers back in the East End and if there was anythin' that was going to put a man off eatin' meat it was working in a bloody butchers. But Walter loved meat enough that he kept eating it, even if he did now view sausages with a certain amount of suspicion ("bags o'mystery as they were affectionately known... and for obvious reasons). Meat was great, meat was bloody brilliant, Walter would stuff himself with meat until the juices ran down his chin and his gut was so heavy he could barely stand.<br><br>But why the need to ponce about with it?<br><br>“Southern feckin' barbeque”. Took 12 hours to cook the bloody thing and half that time spent rubbing some feckin' weird spices into it or pouring some even stranger bloody sauce over it. And half the feckin' time that sauce was stuffed full of sugar. Bloody sugar! In a sauce! Sugar was for one thing only... puttin' in tea. Not for putting on a bloody piece of pork. What was this feckin' obsession the yanks had with combining sweet and savoury on the same bloody plate? And takin' four times as long to cook a dish as it bloody should take?<br><br>If you think Walter is being unfair, bitter and angry here you'd be right. But if you think he's doing it simply because he doesn't understand cooking, you'd be damn wrong. Below, please find some of Walter's favourite recipes and do feel free to try them at home, although I can't accept any liability for what happens afterwards.<br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Recipe Title: Dinner</div><div class="spoiler_body"><em><span class="bbc_u">Ingredients</span><br>1) Meat (doesn't matter what and doesn't matter how much, although bigger is always better)<br>2) Mustard (as much as you can steal... and proper English mustard, not that wank French stuff or the piss weak American version)<br><br><span class="bbc_u">Recipe:</span><br><br>1) Take meat, put on stick.<br>2) Put stick over open flame.<br>3) Rotate stick whenever you bloody remember.<br>4) When the outside has turned black because you weren't payin' attention take off the open flame.<br>5) Dollop mustard on top<br>6) Eat it (removing from stick unnecessary).</em></div></div><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Recipe Title: Supper Surprise</div><div class="spoiler_body"><em><span class="bbc_u">Ingredients</span><br><br>1) One person eating supper.<br><br><span class="bbc_u">Recipe</span><br><br>1) Find someone eating supper.<br>2) Shout “Surprise”.<br>3) Punch them in the face.<br>4) Repeat Step 3 as many times as necessary until their face is a smooth consistency.<br>5) Take supper off the unconscious, bleeding, disfigured person.<br>6) Eat.</em></div></div><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Recipe Title: Whiskey Bitter</div><div class="spoiler_body"><em><span class="bbc_u">Ingredients</span><br><br>1) Whiskey<br><br><span class="bbc_u">Recipe</span><br><br>1) Drink Whiskey<br>2) Be bitter.</em></div></div><br>Ok, fair's fair, Walter was no culinary genius. His skill lay in the eatin', not the preparing and with a palette corrupted by years of harsh tobacco, whiskey strong enough to bring the dead back to life and beer which resembled (and tasted like) ditchwater with some mud floating in it, he wasn't exactly able to pick out the subtle flavours or the intriguing combination of ingredients. And perhaps, much like a child who says they don't like something without having ever tried it, if Walter were to simply put aside his prejudices and actually try the stuff he'd find that good barbeque pulled pork is one of life's little pleasure and that good ribs are one of its big ones. Although you could still feck right off with grits and cornbread. Bloody grits.<br><br>With all that noted, I doubt it's exactly surprising to hear that Abraham's offer of a free meal didn't exactly set Walter's heart aflame with joy or remove the scowl from his face. Worse, it caused as close to an existential dilemma as a man like Walter ever came; he didn't want the bloody food but he didn't want to turn down a free meal either. Once a scavenger, always a scavenger. So Walter began his desperate attempt at rationalisation. He didn't want the food... but it was free. He did want the whiskey... and it was free. If he had to eat food he wouldn't be able to drink whiskey at the same time. And while everyone else was eating food they wouldn't be drinking whiskey. And the free whiskey only lasted for a certain amount of time. So Walter wouldn't actually be having a free meal, he'd be turning down free whiskey if he took the food. And Walter never turned down free whiskey.<br><br>Dilemma solved.<br><br>Settling that internal dilemma had meant Walter missed some of the rest of Solomon's announcement, although it must be said he didn't really care. He had no bloody idea who the feck Bella Capri was or why the hell he should pay to go into the backroom to watch the bugger do whatever the feck it was she did and while he had heard of Annabel Montgomery that was only from Handsome Taw talkin' about the nice lookin' barmaid who did a bit of singin'. So what? There were lots of nice lookin' birds around Gomorra and if she was as pretty as Taw said then there were a lot better things she could do with her mouth than sing. As for Tommy Flanagan, well, Walter had never heard of him and the name sounded bloody Irish. Bloody Irish. Walter hated them. Bastards. But hey, if people were busy starin' at some mick bashing at a piano and some pretty bird blastin' her lungs out or if they wandered into the backroom to see whats-her-bloody-name do whatever it was she bloody did more power to 'em. It meant Walter could get more whiskey and getting' more whiskey was rarely a bad thing.<br><br>Distractions put aside for the moment, Walter went back to how he had spent the earlier part of the evening, sitting in a corner drinkin' while people watching and scowling at anyone with the misfortune to catch his eye. The early birds were a couple of drinks deep now and yet more bastards were still arriving so the entire place was livening up a bit as the crowd was crammed together. Maybe there'd be a fight eventually. Walter liked fights. He'd quite like a fight now actually. Fights were <em>simple</em>. You punch, you kick, you stamp, you headbut, you win or you lose. No bloody Maze Rats, no stinkin' raiders, no bloomin' Indians, no feckin' beasties and no woman with a bloody swan neck. No thinkin' just doin'. Doin' was <em>simple</em>, thinkin' weren't. Feck thinkin'.<br><br>He caught a glimpse of some Chinese lookin' bint dressed up like a damn cowboy sitting next to the big farmer. Were they shaggin'? Strange lookin' couple either way, not that Walter could really comment on people lookin' strange. He tapped he side of his hat for no reason at all and took another slug of whiskey. The Mexi-slag by the bar was seemingly havin' a drinkin' contest against herself and she was startin' to lose, sufferin' with each gulp of the liquid fire she poured down her neck but coming back for more. Chances were she spent the night face down in a ditch with no idea where she was while a bunch of miner's took turns stretchin' out her damn holes. Probably send the word out too till a feckin' line of the bastards formed up behind her, each waiting for their turn to plug her up and get their jollies off. The whores here may be sellin' on the cheap but there was nothin' cheaper than free, passed out pussy.<br><br>Through the crowd Walter caught a glimpse of someone lookin' fairly dapper but thought little of it. People liked to dress up for shite like this, liked to think they looked the business, got their gladrags on and thought it feckin' mattered. Didn't bother Walter. He normally liked it. If someone was wearin' their best clothes then they were likely also wearin' their best jewellry and the best jewellry was normally the expensive sort. Not that Walter was plannin' to go a-thieving tonight but, you never know, an opportunity could present itself. Someone takes a punch to the jaw, gets do down, ends up layin' on their back with stars spinnin' over their head, you wander over to “help” and in the process of helpin' accidentally remove everything of value on their person.<br><br>And then his attempts to quietly people watch were rudely interrupted.<br><br>You can't say he didn't warn her. He'd latched his eyes on her and when it became apparent she was heading his way he'd given her the stare. For a moment it looked like it had worked, it looked like she was going to realise that talking to Walter Sinnett was a bad idea and suddenly realise that she had somewhere better to be and something better to do. Most people would. Most people were smart enough to do that. She wasn't. Her step may have faltered but then she came on and intruded on Walter's world. People intruding in his world rarely made things <em>simple</em>. Walter wanted <em>simple</em>.<br><br>Corky Hendricks. The puppy of the Law Dogs. Walter had never spoken to her and had only seen her a few times in passing but he knew of her. Gomorra wasn't a big town, it didn't have many law Dogs and when one was a villain like Walter and spent time with the rascal's at Stiffies one heard about the various do-gooders desperately tryin' to keep a lid on this powder keg. None of them seemed to take Corky too seriously, Apache Matt in particular givin' quite lurid and graphic descriptions about his fantasies of bein' arrested by the plucky young thing. Walter was never quite that dismissive but still. She was a kid. Walter didn't like kids. He didn't like Law Dogs either. And she looked Irish too, what with the bloody red pigtails and the freckles. Walter didn't like the Irish.<br><br>But he did like whiskey and Corky had come over with a pair of them. And he did like breasts and she had a pair of those too, seemingly strugglin' for freedom against her top.<br><br>Idly Walter wondered if Townsend or Bilton had turned her out yet. She was young but she was pretty and those two weren't a pair exactly known for their manners and delicacy around women. Townsend in particular had a reputation for not takin' no for an answer and likin' to get physical with the object of his affections even if they objected to his affections. Puttin' a pair of fine titties like those in front of him was like a red rag to a bull and with Hunter gone and that other bastard sheriff shot who exactly was going to reign them back? No, Walter guessed life wasn't goin' to be very pleasant for the young Law Dog in the weeks to come. Not with Gomorra the way it was. Not with the way things were startin' to come to a head. Not with the way the vultures were circlin'.<br><br>Hell, frankly deciding to talk to Walter Sinnett was a way to make sure life was unlikely to be pleasant. And the Tattered Man had no earthly idea why Corky wanted to talk to him.<br><br>For a mere moment his attention was dragged away from the young Law Dog and her considerable “personality” by the arrival of Ginny. The young Whatley rarely allowed herself to enter somewhere quietly or without being noticed, walking around with something between a strut and a flounce, her chin high, expecting every eye to be staring at her. Walter didn't stare. He sneered. He'd seen pretty little rich bitches before. Hell, he'd seen this pretty rich bitch before. They were all the same. Strip away the fancy clothes, stick your cock in them and they squealed just like anyone else. Hapless miners and lovestruck cowboys may swoon at the sight of her but Walter had been around the feckin' block (figuratively and literally). It took more than a nice face in an expensive dress to get him going.<br><br>Bloody swan neck.<br><br>Anyway, any deeper thoughts Walter might have had... and that's a rare occurrence at the best of times... were immediately pushed to the side when a whiskey was slid over to him. Whiskey did rather have that effect on Walter. That said, the sneer remained, transferring from the young Whateley to the younger Law Dog. Walter made no effort to hide the fact his eyes were roaming over her body before eventually meeting her gaze, nor that there was a distinct contemptuous note to his look. Developed body or not, the girl was a child and yet here she was sat at a man's table, putting her elbows up and tryin' to hold his stare.<br><br>Broodin'. Marcus actually understood that word. And you know what, truth be told it probably applied to him. Not in the way those bloody poets liked to use it, all macabre romance and sittin' in a feckin' corner reminiscin' about lost love while pining after some girl and cryin' as they tugged away at their cock. No, Walter was broodin' in the dark sense, in the violent sense. Maybe not broodin' at all, maybe seethin'. Perhaps even “coiled”. He was quiet and he was alone... but he wasn't alone because no-one wanted to be with 'im but because he didn't want anyone to be with him (although seein' as there was this bird who just came over to talk to him, well, yeah, well... you get what I mean). Walter could pull off that type of broodin'. He was an angry, malicious man, a real nasty piece of work and he looked the part. Corky tryin' to be broodin'? Marcus couldn't stop a dismissive snort rising from his throat. Corky... broodin'? Firstly, no 16 year old had the bloody right to be broodin' about nothin'. Angry and pissed off, sure... but broodin'? Feck off. Secondly, no-one with pigtails could ever pull off bein' broodin'. It just didn't feckin' work, like Walter tryin' to pull off bein' welcomin'... it was just wrong. Thirdly, the girl was too damn cheerful. The whole thing about bein' broody was bein' a sour cuss, about bein' pissed off at the world. It wasn't about bein' a positive person, it was about bein' the opposite and Corky was just too damn positive.<br><br>Anyway, whatever she was tryin' to do, she failed as soon as the whiskey touched her lips. Walter had watched more than one young 'un try their first sip of gold (gold watch = scotch... even though it wasn't scotch whiskey...) and embarrass themselves but they were rarely as entertainin' with it. Or at least, they didn't have a giant pair of breasts threatenin' to burst out and bouncin' all over the place as they went through a coughin' fit. That did bring a slight smile to Walter's face, the corners of his mouth turning up, although it didn't reach his eyes. Let's also remember one thing... this was the whiskey Walter thought of as “the good stuff, the stuff that wasn't harsh, that went down smoothly. God knows how Corky would handle a cheap whiskey if she fell apart when drinkin' this one. His eyes followed the half-drunk glass as it was pushed towards him. Now, let's be clear, Walter may be a proud man about some things, but free alcohol was not normally one of them. Not even alcohol filled with some teens backwash. But this weren't exactly a normal night either. Walter already had the other whiskey Corky had brought over lined up and he still had what, a couple of hours of free drinks left? No, for once Walter could afford to turn down a gift of alcohol. A single dirty finger rose up and slowly pushed the glass back across the table.<br><br><strong>“You just need to get the taste for it love. Go on... drink some more.”</strong><br><br>The finger drummed on the table a few times as he waited, eyes firmly fixed on her own.<br><br><strong>“Now, tell me this darlin'. What the bloody 'ell are you doin' comin' over and chattin' to me?”</strong>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>12-04-2014, 14:19:25</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f2/Beardycox.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Avery Burnman<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dogs (1)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower bar<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Letty, various noticed in passing; Open <br><hr> <br><br>A country of rootless men.&nbsp; That was how Avery thought of the American West, and it was still strange to think of himself as one of them now.&nbsp; It had not been by choice.&nbsp; He'd had roots once but they'd been pulled up, and there was no returning to his native soil now.&nbsp; Perhaps when he'd made his fortune he could enjoy a triumphant homecoming, but he was smart enough to know that for every hundred men who came to this country seeking wealth, ninety-nine likely ended as poor as they started.&nbsp; &nbsp;Maybe he would be that one who bucked the odds.&nbsp; Maybe not.<br><br>Hunting buffalo had already proven to be less than advertised.&nbsp; He'd made enough, just enough to land himself here anyways, but not enough to linger at it long.&nbsp; Particularly once his old military mates had had their fill and tucked tail for home.&nbsp; No doubt they were all back in England this very minute, spinning colorful yarns about what in reality had probably been the vilest most uncomfortable six months of their lives.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>His own sojourn here remained a practical one, and the Englishman had yet to develop many fond feelings for his adopted home.&nbsp; He found Americans crass and astoundingly ignorant as a whole.&nbsp; There were exceptions of course; there were exceptions to everything when it came to people, he'd long ago learned.&nbsp; Judge Warwick for example had not only been welcoming but was surprisingly bright, a learned man who could actually hold an intelligent conversation.&nbsp; That was a rarity though.&nbsp; If you could find one man in twenty who could read or even knew the title of a book outside the 'good' one, you were lucky.&nbsp; And Avery hadn't been lucky very often so far.<br><br>One thing he could say about this country though with genuine respect is that it was full of novelty.&nbsp; It continued to surprise him with new sights and experiences, and for a man of his unquenchable curiosity that was a very welcome thing.&nbsp; For example, the celestial at a nearby table talking to some handsome jack of a rancher.&nbsp; She was dressed up like an American cowboy, and he wondered idly if it was an adopted habit or if she was born here.&nbsp; Had she ever even seen the Orient?&nbsp; He had, and sometimes almost missed it.&nbsp; He had mostly liked the Chinamen and their peculiar ways.&nbsp; The thought of them sailing here and witnessing the spectacle of their daughters dressing up like cowboys was an oddly amusing one.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>Another novelty -- the proprietor, the man with the pearly smile yet steely eyes, offering barbeque and cornbread and something called cheesy grits.&nbsp; Avery couldn't rightly say if it sounded good to him but the crowd seemed pleased, and he was always one to try new things.&nbsp; He was listening in on a pair of miners debating the relative merits of glazed ribs and pulled pork, when a hush suddenly fell over them.&nbsp; The effect was brought about by a strikingly pretty blond in an elaborate dress of lace and pearls as she swanned up to the bar for a glass of wine, looking almost like a proper lady to his eyes.&nbsp; Another rarity, another novelty.&nbsp; Avery was very nearly as entranced as the rest of the men, although for a slightly different reason.&nbsp; This was someone important, and not just in her own mind, judging by the general reaction.&nbsp; That was very much worth noting.<br><br>Eventually she moved on though and Avery found his gaze shifting back to the Mex next to him.&nbsp; Given the speed with which she'd been knocking back shots of whiskey, she was lucky she hadn’t chipped a tooth yet.&nbsp; It was none of his business and she didn't look to want any company that didn‘t come in the form of a bottle, but he couldn't help but return to a comment she'd made earlier.&nbsp; Curiosity was ever his downfall.&nbsp; Or one of them, anyways.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>"Fancy letters…I suppose I did do rather well in penmanship, actually," he offered with a disarming smile, clearly not understanding what she'd meant.&nbsp; "I hope you don't hold that against me though."&nbsp; Reaching up, he removed the black felt derby from his head, placing the hat on the counter.&nbsp; He kept a protective hand atop it, however, having had the crown of his last one flattened by some rowdy yank who thought it a great lark to play on the English swell.&nbsp; "Avery Burnham, charmed to meet you, no doubt.&nbsp; You do realize that it is physically impossible to drink all the whisky they serve here in just two hours though?&nbsp; You might want to pace yourself.&nbsp; Or at least eat something.&nbsp; I'm given to understand they'll be serving bread with corn in it."&nbsp; &nbsp;His brain did the math.&nbsp; Pretty girl + a simmering anger set to boil over x whiskey = a man, nine times out of ten.&nbsp; Also trouble.&nbsp; Mostly trouble, actually, but it was a bit late for that.&nbsp; "Who is the cad at fault if you don't mind my prying?"<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>CurvyKitten</strong> on <strong>13-04-2014, 00:26:28</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://25.media.tumblr.com/f40108d8f447a10e77bf26ec757a5707/tumblr_mflz9wII2S1rhmgq8o1_500.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Bella Capri (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9823344#msg9823344)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower <br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Mentions Abraham Solomon, OPEN<br>Wearing (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v209/darkglitch/steampunk/underbust_corset_steampunk_dress_2012_collection_by_esaikha-d61jtnq_zps1e029bb4.jpg) with stockings and undergarments of course:P, hair party pulled up with soft curls falling back down along her shoulders. <br><hr> <br><br>The scent of Lavender and rose petals filled the air of the wash room Bella relaxed in. The warm water of her bath soothed any ache that remained within her body. And the warm oils she had brought with her sooth and softened her lightly tanned skin. Her skin would be left skin with a soft shine as if she had been kissed by the sun itself. She had just finished carefully shaving and grooming, washing and most of all soothing her body as she did before every performance. <br><br>A soft moan escaping her lips as she laid back and enjoy the moment. Tonight was the big opening, and her first show at the Babel's Tower. There were a few other girls that had come in for a one night showcase, but she would be the main act. At least as long as her first show went well, but with the confident support of Abraham Solomon she had no real fear of it being any less than perfect. Still taking a bit of time to spoil herself and feel utterly beautiful would help Bella to be at her best. <br><br>The sound of her voice filled the small area as she hummed the one of the songs she would be preforming this very night, her mind picturing the large crowd that she could already hear gathering within the building. Men and woman sitting watching and craving her, the allure of it was always something that Bella loved. Reaching over she took a sip of her warm tea and honey, the home remedy soothing her throat and making sure her voice was in tip top shape. It was these moments of peace that helped her gather the energy she'd always put into each and every show she performed. <br><br>Time slipped by and soon Bella knew it would be better to gather herself out of the now cooling water and prepare for the undoubtedly long night ahead of her. Stepping out of the tub she quickly wrapped a towel around her body, the cool air that danced along her skin causing her to shiver lightly. Smiling softly she dried off and wrapped her body within the soft robe before slipping out and back to her room. <br><br>The curtains were partly pulled back as she slipped up to them and looked outside. The gathering crowd caused a bit of wild energy to build within her. She felt herself becoming more excited about this opportunity with each passing moment. The chance to not just follow director’s choices but to let her muse break free was unexpected yet exhilarating and inspiring. Bella had written several new numbers just for tonight, and she couldn't wait to see what the town of Gomorra thought of them. A soft laugh coming from her as Bella realized she was like a young girl nearly giddy about what was to come. Her numbers weren't for some time, so first Bella thought perhaps some mingling would be a fun endeavor. So with some quick choices, Bella dressed and readied herself to go downstairs. <br><br><div align="center">***</div><br>Bella's steps were smooth and confident as she made her way down the stairs that led to the main room. The dress she wore was finely crafted, a slit up the front that allowed for a hint of stockings she wore beneath them to show with each step. She'd not wear something with such a slit outside the Babel Tower, but within...well that was a different story. After all part of her job was to create the allure that would have the men all too eager to hand over their well earn money to the soiled doves that were more than capable of putting a smile on their faces. Abraham hadn't forced her to take on such tasks, but he said if she'd ever want to that he'd make sure she was well compensated for it.<br><br>Smiling lightly Bella began to walk through the crowd, her hands brushing along the shoulders of a few men as she smiled their way. Her hips had a hypnotic sway to them as she made her way up to the bar. Leaning softly against it she waved to the bartender, and quickly received her drink of choice before taking a delicate seat upon the stool and looking around the well filled front room. A small smile coming to her face as Abraham mention her show, Bella had heard stories of the town so she hoped what he said was true. But the small preview she had given him seemed to please him, so she took that as a good sign.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>auroraChloe</strong> on <strong>13-04-2014, 18:46:01</strong>
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				<hr><br><div class="floatleft">(http://24.media.tumblr.com/a16483c2858f862945634d46b9ad41b9/tumblr_mh480oybdg1r64urio1_500.jpg)</div><br><strong>Name:</strong> Jaelyn Scot-Jones<br><br><strong>Faction:</strong> ()<br><br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 11th, 1876<br><br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon<br><br><strong>Location:</strong> outside Babel's Tower<br><br><strong>Tagged:</strong> open, noting Matthew &amp; Mayor, leaving general area of Babel's Tower<br><br><hr> <br><br>Some how she'd managed to plunk herself right in a hotspot.&nbsp; It was easy enough to flow so far with the eager crowd, only to have the sights beyond the threshold stop her short.&nbsp; Standing there, Jaelyn's blush only deepened with each passing moment.&nbsp; Not only had a fine looking gentleman pointedly smiled at her before easily crossing over the boundary of where no good Christian would want to find her or himself, but she'd been called a jackanapes for foolishly placing herself in such proximity!&nbsp; And that by a woman who could be nothing but a highfaluting floozy, she assumed in a rare channeled flash of the Reverend Grimme.&nbsp; Her nose wrinkled, displeased on all accounts as there was no pleasure in finding agreement with a man so evil.&nbsp; But then who else would saunter into such an establishment as if they owned <strong>it</strong> along with the rest of the world?&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>At any rate, her back stiffened and she moved several steps away, down off the wrap around boardwalk, only to pause, as if waiting.&nbsp; She could hear the raucous free for all inside Babel's Tower - that din would carry some distance, she imagined - while just outside the door, there was a trail weary (a keen eye took in the film of dust no mere hat beating to dislodge) man speaking with the mayor.&nbsp; It was the mayor who was the man she ought to speak with she supposed.&nbsp; It had been a week since her father's store had been open and Mr ___ from the bank hinted heavily that she was losing good money every second of that week.&nbsp; Not that she cared so much for money,&nbsp; though not being without it would be a blessing beyond all her imaginings, but that morning she'd made up her mind to give it a real go here in Gomorra.&nbsp; <br><br>Watching the two men, trying not to eavesdrop, she guessed he was a soldier.&nbsp; Not that she'd seen many of those in Lost Angels, but there was an air about the man that left little doubt, and there was the hat.&nbsp; He seemed as unwilling as she was to go inside, curious behavior for a man in a sin-filled town such as this, she thought.&nbsp; Jaelyn unconsciously fingered the ring on the chain around her neck, its charms glinting under the glaring afternoon sun and wondered if her father frequented the likes of such places&nbsp; <br><br>It was a house of ill repute, as her previous untenable spot had given a perfect view of the goings on inside.&nbsp; Everything seemed innocent enough but there was a bawdiness to the women that was unmistakable.&nbsp; As well and a vague familiarity about some of the faces.&nbsp; Even the less bawdy women either showed a scandalous amount of skin or dressed in pants like a man.&nbsp; Pants!&nbsp; The growing discomfort brought on by a too recent memory of a passing sea of faces made Jae want to turn tail and run.&nbsp; She refrained from doing that exactly but managed a goodly pace in the direction of Soddom.&nbsp; 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niferbelle</strong> on <strong>13-04-2014, 21:21:01</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i627.photobucket.com/albums/tt357/Niferbelle/my%20avatars/doomtown7av_zps641b8122.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Lilah 'Li-Li' Oliver (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9813377#msg9813377)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> There have been a few rumors but who listens to those<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Reid, noticing Corky, open <br><hr>Lilah had to smile a little as the big guy talked a bit about what was usually free in Gomorra. Clearly he'd been here long enough to k now what a shithole this place really was but she couldn't remember having seen him around before and she thought she would have remembered him. He kind of stood out around her with that yellow hair and by having good manners though he wasn't wearing a suit. Lilah quite often saw the worst that people had to offer and it was a right change to be chatting with somebody who didn't treat her like a piece of dirt under their heel. Somebody other than Jack and the fellas, that is. The news of free food was even more welcome than the free booze seeing how she didn't drink much anyway and her stomach growled a little in appreciation at the thought. <br><br>"I guess I'm kinda like you, Mr. Lawson," Lilah said easily, expecting that the question might get turned around on her. "I do this and that. I take in a little laundry, do some mendin', a little cookin', here and there. I ain't all that good, I admit, but usually I'm cookin' for folks that don't care what they're eatin' as long as they don't break a tooth on it. I even tried my hand at minin' for a bit. Honest work is getting harder and harder to come by 'round these parts though, I agree with ya there."<br><br>Her dark eyes swept the room again and hardened a bit as they lit on one person in particular. Corky Hendricks, over there talking to the brute of an Englishman. Lilah felt a flare of anger and had to look away in order for her to get a smile back on her face and not draw too much attention. Corky Hendricks had shot Jack and no doubt thought herself clever for it, not even realizing Jack could have blown her head off but didn't because that wasn't his head. Corky was just a stupid girl, a stooge of Sweetrock who believed every lie they fed her. Maybe Jack wouldn't pull the trigger, but Lilah, who'd never shot anybody and wasn't looking forward to it, sure as hell would if she saw Corky Hendricks pointing a gun at Jack again. It didn't occur to Lilah of course that she and Corky might have a lot in common, both being about the same age and eschewing the life most girls their age would have. She glanced back across the table at Reid.<br><br>"I'm afraid you ain't gonna get much attention from the whores while I'm sittin' here," she proclaimed rather bluntly, not sure if that was bothersome to him or not. He was young, good-lookin', and polite, probably the kind of customer a whore would look forward to havin' compared to some. "If you were hopin' for some, uh, company of that nature, say the word and I'll move along."<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>13-04-2014, 22:46:20</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0e/Corky.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Cordelia “Corky” Hendricks<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dogs<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel’s Tower, in a corner away from the bar.<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, Walter<br><hr><br>She considered him quizzically, as he offered his advice, his very slight smile making hers glow enough it was a wonder why the darkened corner didn’t light.&nbsp; “A taste fer it?&nbsp; Why’d anyone ever <em>want</em> to get a taste fer it?”&nbsp; She wrinkled her nose, brushing her brood-defying pigtails back from her shoulders again.&nbsp; Still, she had a habit of minding her elders, so she took the glass back, trying for a smaller sip.&nbsp; Her nose still wrinkled, and she still made an ‘eccch’ face at the taste, but she at least managed not to fire it back into the glass again.&nbsp; It simply seemed beyond her to be suspicious of him - something about her nature tended to make even the most intemperate devils milder in her presence.<br><br>“Mmm…” she said, at his question, meeting his eyes without actually challenging them.&nbsp; It was the curious gaze of a child, not the slight struggle for dominance of a predator.&nbsp; “There was a feller outside looking for you.&nbsp; Scooter?&nbsp; The big tall feller with brains like rocks,” she clarified.&nbsp; Scooter was a foreman in Sweetrock - when he bothered to attend his dayjob - but it was purely by virtue of his intimidating size and muscle.&nbsp; He was a giant of a man - but no one turned to him for thinking.&nbsp; “He wanted to speak to you, but didn’t want no fellers watching the two of y’all cahootin’.”&nbsp; <br><br>She considered the glass again.&nbsp; “Didn’t know as he was hurried, or nothin’ but he was hanging ‘round back in the alley behind the Tower.”&nbsp; She paused, and then asked a spritely question.&nbsp; “So whut’s a Babel?”
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>13-04-2014, 23:09:15</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/6f/Mayor_cochran.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Mayor Cochran<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sweetrock<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Outside Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open, Matthew Ford, Bella<br><hr>”Yes, yes,” rolled Cochran’s eyes.&nbsp; “As well as some place called ‘Moldavia,’ but I’ve little idea why anyone would want to live there.&nbsp; From what Liboria says, you could fit two of them in the Maze and still have room for a few Rhode Islands,” he snorted.&nbsp; He raised an eyebrow when he mentioned a vow, and gave a laugh.&nbsp; “Your vow refuses you to enjoy a free drink, and free victuals?&nbsp; That is a <em>perturbing</em> sort of religion you’ve acquired, sir, <em>most</em> perturbing.”&nbsp; He gestured behind him, to a building across the street, caddy-cornered to the Town Hall across from Babel’s Tower.&nbsp; “<em>Sheriff</em> Bilton is either tending to the affairs of his office or enjoying the benefits of it.&nbsp; Right over there,” he offered, pointing a superfluous cane in the direction of the Sheriff’s Office - large building which clearly comprised a multi-cell jail.&nbsp; <br><br>“As to the matter deed, and keys - I’m afraid that’s not my affair.&nbsp; Whatever J.P. Coleman promised you is beyond his power to grant, I am afraid.&nbsp; If Bilton is enough enamored of you to make you a deputy, I’m sure arrangements can be made with the Town Clerk - there’s a few small homes in town set aside for Law Dogs in good standing.&nbsp; If you are looking to buy a property, I’m more than happy to offer my services,” he smiled.&nbsp; “I just can’t speak to keeping promises a dead man made without my knowledge or authority.”&nbsp; He considered.&nbsp; “There are a number of hotels in town, but I suggest you might want to consider your willingness to enter a house that caters to a man’s most elemental of needs - I doubt you’ll find Bilton willing to entertain the prospect of employment for someone unwilling or unable to enter such an establishment.&nbsp; Crime, it seems, happens everywhere.”<br><br>There was bemusement in his eyes.&nbsp; “And all out hotels are too <em>practical</em> to lose clients on the basis of such a practice.&nbsp; Some offer more discretion than others, though I expect you’ll pay a tidy ransom for the discretion.&nbsp; The Golden Mare might be to your liking.&nbsp; You can hardly tell the whores are whores.&nbsp; But I doubt you’ll find a room to rent in town that doesn’t come equipped to tend the needs of their clientele.”<br><br>He tipped his bowler rakishly.&nbsp; “Good fortune to you, Mr. Ford.”&nbsp; He set the bowler and cane in his arms, doffing both as he stepped within, making his way in just in time to see a curvy women of mixed Asian and Caucasian ancestry in a dress with an alluringly high slit.&nbsp; “My my,” he murmured, eyes admiring.&nbsp; He’d been tempted to investigate rumors of the mysterious Oriental nethers - miners had spread rumors that their nethers were tilted at an angle that made him both skeptical and curious.&nbsp; On the other hand, merely stepping into Mr. Lee's establishment gave him something of a chill.&nbsp; His whiskers twitched with the smile that covered his face, and he took her hand, giving it a small kiss upon her knuckles.&nbsp; “Do my eyes deceive me, or are you a part of this evening’s entertainment?”&nbsp; There was an unmistakably lascivious tone in his voice, as his eyes trailed over her dress hungrily.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>SGTDan</strong> on <strong>13-04-2014, 23:45:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KL7Uf3vdz0A/UDr2PAfW3xI/AAAAAAAAmBc/EIYJpjy2SI8/s1600/post5.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Matthew Ford<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Heading for the Sheriff's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Anyone,Mayor Cochran, noticing Jaelyn<br><hr><br>Hard eyes never faltered as the Mayor went on about the details of business in a frontier town. The fact that how a upstanding gentlemen would be hard pressed to find a respectable place to stay in town. Sadly he was a long way from home and such a place would take awhile to get used to the baseness of Gomorra. Not that he wasn't used to such things, in fact it was common in the vast camps of men during campaigns. When you are out marching for months one must enjoy the crasser things in life to keep you from letting the horrors get to you. Ford had sat around with enlisted men enjoying jokes about a whore in town or stories of drunken adventures. In fact he now qualms with such things when it was <em>necessary</em> but never on his free time. There were far more productive things to do if you had the spare time. So he let the small rant of Cochran slide off his shoulders with ease.<br><br>Something glinted in the sun out the corner of his eyes and brown eyes glanced as he turned from the man. Normally he wasn't very impatient as dealing with the government required a great deal of patience. However the rather great show of Cochran's amazing incompetence as a Mayor set Ford on the edge. Biting down he dragged his teeth across each other in frustration. All he wanted was to be home and lay down on a fucking bed. After nearly twenty something years of fighting for the Union he was tired. In his bones all he wanted to do was to actually relax for once. It was looking like that life had other plans for him. Out of all the towns he chose it had to be the one with the biggest amount of flopping around.<br><br>Eyes followed the flash to a rather modest girl playing with her necklace. She was standing a respectful distance from the Tower, seemingly unwilling to associate with it. As his military jack boots descended the steps to the dusty street Matthew gave the woman a polite tip of his hat. Gold braids moved catching the sun giving off a spectacularly rich color.&nbsp; Stopping for a second the man looked towards where the Mayor, thinking of him caused Ford to spit to the side, had pointed. Spotting the building in question he began traversing the street in long calculated strides. Slowing down he gave Winona the news before he pointed to the building so she knew where he would be. Giving her a soft kiss on the lips Ford smiled before moving on.<br><br>"God damn it Mr. Bilton, you better give me the house or I swear to god..." Matthew muttered tired of being jerked around. Maybe it was just being weary on the road that wore his tolerance down. Normally on any other day it wouldn't bother him that much. Anyone who dealt with command and the politics of being an officer knew that things were never simple. It was always a pretty picture in a textbook of how the cogs are supposed to work. Sadly things on paper rarely ever looked as pretty in person. Fuck was he tired and it was beginning to show, cracks in his usually cool exterior. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>consortium11</strong> on <strong>14-04-2014, 17:47:48</strong>
			</dt>
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				<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 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Mor... wait, wait, the bastard place is called <strong>Babel's Tower</strong> now right? Feck it, he's sat in a corner away from the bar.<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, Corky, mentioning Ginny and Lilah<br><hr>Some people chaffed at the thought of serving another.<br><br>They were strong people, independent people. They and they alone controlled their own destiny. They did not have a boss, they were not “owned”, they did not belong to anyone. No-one could summon them at will, no-one could control them, no-one could tell them what to do. They would rather die on their feet then keeping living on their knees. They were proud and they were mighty. They fought their own battles, waged their own wars. They were not beholden to anyone and woe betide the fool who suggested they were. Their choices were their own, their acts their own, their future their own.&nbsp; Or, at least they thought that way, even if the reality was somewhat different.<br><br>Walter didn't.<br><br>You want the simple truth... Walter had spent his whole life being owned. Not in the way a slave was but still, controlled by someone else. First it had been his mum tellin' him what to do and smackin' his arse if he didn't. Then she'd died and it had been the other whores playin' mum for him. Then he'd been taken off them and put to work in a street gang and the leader of that bunch of rascals had owned 'im. And when Walter had clawed and fought and schemed his way to leadin' the gang then the thug who ran the gang had also run him. And when that bastard had gotten his neck stretched by the noose Walter may have stepped into his shoes but he was still under the thumb of the slumlord who ran everything. Even when Walter had been taken aside, his brutality recognised and turned into the slumlord's “last resort”, his “final option”, his top enforcer and perfect soldier he'd still been owned by the guy. To an extent he still was, even 5,000 bloody miles away. But now he was also owned by Sweetrock. He didn't mind.<br><br>Some people dismissively refer to those who are owned by someone else as a “bitch”. No-one did that to Walter's face for the fear of having their teeth removed but in his all too rare moments of reflection, Walter did occasionally think the term was actually pretty appropriate. Not the female part, obviously... Walter had a cock and liked to stick it in what he could... but in the dog part. Because Walter was a dog. Not a house-trained little spaniel who trotted politely beside his owner. No. He was an attack dog. Kept in a house and fed a diet of red meat he was a risk, a danger, the sort of beast that would accidentally rip a hand off, the sort of creature not shown to polite company, best kept in a cage and with a close eye on them. But when you needed someone killed, when you needed the blood to flow... then it was all worth it, for you took off his collar, unhooked the chain, pointed him at a target and waited for Walter to rip the fecker's throat out. That's what Walter was... a dog. And dog's tended to have masters. So it wasn't a surprise that he would be summoned.<br><br>He'd just rather it didn't happen when there was free whiskey to be had...<br><br>Walter should have hated Corky. Despite her growth she was still a kid and he hated kids. She was a Law Dog and Walter hated anything with “Law” in the name unless immediately followed by “breaker”. She'd interrupted his drinkin' and he hated anyone or anything interupptin' his drinkin'. She asked bloody questions and he hated people askin' questions. She was positive and naïve and optimistic and Walter hated all of that bollocks. But despite that Walter couldn't quite find it in himself to hate her. He didn't like her... feck that... but then Walter didn't like anyone outside of maybe his donkey. He didn't even like himself overmuch. But the steady throbbin' behind his eye and the achin' from the knife still buried in his shoulder that appeared whenever he was forced to talk to someone he didn't like and normally meant someone was about to get thrown through a feckin' window didn't appear as he talked to her... or more accurate she talked at him. Hell, Walter even smiled a bit as Corky tried the whiskey again, his reply about as close to light-hearted as he ever came.<br><br><strong>“'Cos no-one takes you seriously if you can't drink your whiskey love. They'll think you're a bloody child and laugh at you. You wanna' be treated seriously... you drink your bloody whiskey.”</strong><br><br>Yeah, his answer was crap and Walter realised it. Because truth be told he didn't really know. Why did people want to develop a taste for whiskey or beer or any of the other pissing drinks around here? What was wrong with water... at least when you got the clean stuff? I mean, Walter liked whiskey... well, he thought he liked whiskey... but if he did, how much did he actually like it compared to how much had he taught himself to like it? How much did he actually like the bloody taste rather than havin' learned to like the bloody taste? And even if he did like the taste, why the bloody hell would he drink so much he woke up each mornin' feelin' like his head was about to fall off, his eyes had been put out and someone had stuck a feckin' desert down his throat? Yet still he did it, despite knowin' exactly how bad it would make him feel the next day.<br><br>Despite his generally good mood in Corky's presence, Walter did bristle somewhat when she said someone was looking for him, tensing up slightly. Walter didn't like people lookin' for him. People who came lookin' for him were normally lookin' for a fight and as much as he liked a good fight (or a bad fight... or hell, any sort of fight) he wanted to be the one to pick it. Bein' told that someone was lookin' for him generally meant there was some bugger stood hidden in a dark alley waiting to drive a knife into his back. Walter wasn't a fan of that... he'd much rather be the bugger stood hidden in a dark alley waiting to drive a knife into some other bastard's back. Thankfully, the tension eased when Corky mentioned exactly who it was looking for him. Scooter. If the big foreman wanted a fight he'd have walked straight in and punched Walter... Walter liked that in him, although he'd have still cut his cock off... and the man didn't have the cunning or foresight to drag Walter out to some dark corner of Gomorra and do the deed there. If Scooter was asking for him then it wasn't a fight he was lookin' for, it genuinely was Walter. And if Scooter was looking for him it actually meant Sweetrock was lookin' for him... Scooter never had a thought in his huge but empty head that hadn't been put there by his masters.<br><br>Just a dog like Walter.<br><br>In a perfect world Scooter and thus Sweetrock would have waited till the damn whiskey had stopped bein' free and Walter was forced to dip into his coinpurse to get it before callin' him rather than now where the whiskey was still free and Walter was still feeling uncomfortably sober. That said, draggin' a drunk Walter away from a bar... even a bar he had to pay for drinks at... was not a task many men would have looked forward to and in the small part of his mind that thought sensibly even Walter could agree that goin' to meet someone from Sweetrock when half-cut probably wasn't the best idea. Not when he wanted things. Walter wasn't by nature an ambitious man... whores, whiskey and wanton violence were pretty much his needs and those were needs easily satisfied in Gomorra... but advancement with Sweetrock meant more money and more money meant more whores and more whiskey... as well as the possibility that he'd get to spend his days doin' something&nbsp; other than scaring the crap out of a bunch of hapless miners. If a dog was good his masters threw him a bigger treat.<br><br>And Walter's masters were calling.<br><br>Walter stood as Corky asked her final question, finishing what was left of his drink before grasping the other one and downing that as well. For the briefest of moments he wondered quite what a Law Dog... even a junior one like Corky... was doin' runnin' erands for a man like Scooter but it made sense in the end. From what he'd picked up both that JP Coleman bastard and Nathan Hunter bugger were their own men despite the rumours... strong, indepedant, in charge of their own destiny, all that bollocks. Not beholden to Sweetrock. But both those bastards were dead so look where it got them. Bilton... Bilton weren't quite like that. Sure, he may not openly admit that he was bought and paid for and there may be a bit more to him than most expected... Walter still couldn't quite believe he'd shot down that bounty hunter a week ago... but he was seemingly a man easily swayed and when the Sweetrock wind blew a lot of feckers started swayin. Didn't seem that strange to think Sweetrock would already be linin' up the Law Dogs as their personal bitches, even if the Law Dogs didn't realise what they were.<br><strong><br>“A Babel?”</strong><br><br>Walter's pockmarked face curled up quizzically at the question before his shoulder's slumped and he broke out in something almost considered a grin, a slight chuckle breaking through.<br><br><strong>“I 'aint got a bloody clue love. I thought it was one of your yankee-feckin'-doodle words. Listen, how about you go ask that Ginny bird... she seems right smart. Or that Chinese lookin' lady sat with the big farmer... she was starin' at you earlier.”</strong><br><br>Walter may not have been smart but he knew about fightin' and he knew the signs when a fight was about to break out. He could recognise hostility and he could keep his damn eyes open. Walter could stare maliciously at anyone he wanted without givin' anything away because he stared at everyone maliciously. In the end most people were smart enough to recognise that and not take it seriously. But when you don't stare maliciously at most people and then harden your eyes on one person in particular? Then you stand out. Walter checked his coat, adjusted his hat and then glanced back at Corky.<br><strong><br>“Ta for the whiskey love.”</strong><br><br>And then the dog moved through the bar, cutting through the throng with relative ease (and the odd well-placed swearword and stiff stare) before heading for the alley around the back.<br><br>For his master had whistled.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>CurvyKitten</strong> on <strong>14-04-2014, 20:02:45</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://25.media.tumblr.com/f40108d8f447a10e77bf26ec757a5707/tumblr_mflz9wII2S1rhmgq8o1_500.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Bella Capri (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9823344#msg9823344)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower <br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Mayor Cochran,&nbsp; OPEN<br>Wearing (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v209/darkglitch/steampunk/underbust_corset_steampunk_dress_2012_collection_by_esaikha-d61jtnq_zps1e029bb4.jpg) with stockings and undergarments of course:P, hair party pulled up with soft curls falling back down along her shoulders. <br><hr> <br><br>Bella stood at the bar sipping from the small glass that had been handed to her. The alcohol she drank warmed her body and gave her that little tingle that she loved so much. The Tower was filling quickly; no doubt it would be a full house tonight. And if all went well that would continue through the days to come. A full house meant full pockets for all that worked here. It seemed the choice to take the daring leap and come to Gomorra was indeed going to pay off, and in more than one way. <br><br>Smiling softly Bella gave a little wink or a small wave to the men that looked her way. It was part of her allure, always making those that were around her think they held all of her attention, a skill she hoped to use in the coming show. As Bella looked around her eyes fell upon the Mayor, his eyes had caught site of her and he seemed to have taken some interest. Smiling coyly she watched as he cross the distance between them and took her hand. <strong>"No Mr. Mayor it is a pleasure to meet you Sir, and no your eyes do not deceive you. I am Bella Capri, and Mr. Solomon has been so kind to allow me to perform for his fine establishment."</strong> she said smiling smoothly and warmly a small flash of stocking came as she made a small curtsey towards the Mayor. <strong>"I do hope that you are enjoying yourself this evening."</strong> she said wanting to make sure such an important patron was happy.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Untamed Skies</strong> on <strong>14-04-2014, 22:03:32</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk59/Untamed_skies/bdcf3531-746f-4fc9-9b81-35e51e2eba18_zpsc75e54da.jpg) (http://s277.photobucket.com/user/Untamed_skies/media/bdcf3531-746f-4fc9-9b81-35e51e2eba18_zpsc75e54da.jpg.html)[</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Reid Lawson<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1877<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon.<br><strong>Location:</strong> A table near the bar inside Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Lilah, open<br><hr><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br>Reid's smile would fade a bit as Lilah spoke that she was more or less in the same boat as he was. While he didn't doubt it, it was a bit of a shame anyway. It wasn't easy scrapping by, living for each meal that came your way and worrying about when the next time you might eat would be. If you'd ever lay down in a bed again. Not to mention all the lovely low life running rampant that'd just as soon kill you for your meager share of dirt so he could be king of dirt. Reid often preferred to think of his situation as a temporary setback, the kind of thing that was minor and most got past. Course Reid had a few more advantages workin in his favor then Li-li did. He was a man, and he was a white man. Some men liked to hate for the sake of hatin, and he was certain he couldn't imagine how much harder it'd be scraping by with a bit of extra prejudice being tossed one's way. "I'd say if your cookin must be decent if its good enough, they're eatin it stead of rocks or bones," he said with a brightening smile. "Course I'm not much a cook myself, pretty much just burn meat on a stick, normally," he said with a light sigh.&nbsp; He'd nod when she spoke that there wasn't much honest work to go round. Probably because the honest people weren't hanging around. Honest work, needed to come from honest people, willing to take honest chances, there was too much dog eat dog going on. It was a shame really.<br><br>His face would break in a great deal of surprise as she told him that he wasn't likely to get the attention of a whore with her around. Before he'd start laughing, he couldn't help it the statement was simply unexpected. He had no idea the type of impression he was making on her, but for a moment he was worried it was the wrong one. After a few moments of him getting a grip on himself he'd shake his head. "Don't know what kind of man you reckon I am but I ain't here for no whore," he said chuckling a bit more setting his drink down as he did so. "As a matter o'fact I'm here to sleep in a clean bed," he told her with a nod. "Don't got a place of my own, most of the time I'm just laying on a tent somewhere on the range," he explained what he meant by it. He supposed in a place full of whores, gambling, and free drinks going for a clean bed wasn't the expected answer. "Sleeping on a bed is rare, much less a less used one," he said before he'd laugh again. "So when I heard a new place was offering beds for the night I thought to myself it'd be best to sleep there the first couple nights and enjoy sleeping in a bed ain't been used for whoring yet," he finished explaining the way he was looking at it. Course if someone had their own bed they were sleeping in all the time, they didn't have that kind of worry. Or need to worry bout them stinking or guessing at the different stains that were on said bed. Reid didn't have that luxury, not countin that night of course. That night Reid have a real good luxury and he was looking forward too it. Might sleep lay it in late into the next day even. <br><br>"Course some decent food isn't bad either," he said still amused from the outrageous statement that had been made at his expense. Even if he was lonely enough to go looking for a whore for a night. Truth was he barely kept food in his and his brother's bellies. He didn't have the money to waste on that kind of entertainment. One of them needed to be thinkin about their well being and it certainly wasn't Dale or Levi that much was for sure. "If you don't mind me changin the topic, is there anybody specific you're usually finding work from," he asked her. "You don't look half as trampled as most people round these parts do," he said. She was cleaner then most, and she was pretty enough that she could probably avoid the honest work if she wanted too. Course that was him just assumin things after talkin to her a small while and looking at her. Just cause she was pretty, and kept a grip of herself didn't mean she was any better off then him. It was the opportunity he was looking for though. A chance to find somethin more regular and less temporary. He realized that talkin bout work might be the last thing she wanted to do, and he'd be happy to shift the conversation away again, but the thing about opportunity was you had to do some work yourself, couldn't just sit back and wait for it do the work for you. If she was in the same boat he was, then maybe she'd have the opportunity to keep it from rockin or sinkin. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>15-04-2014, 23:18:04</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0e/Corky.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Cordelia “Corky” Hendricks<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dogs<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel’s Tower, in a corner away from the bar.<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, Walter, Mentioned:&nbsp; Ginny, Bella, Li-Li<br><hr>She leaned forward on the table again, her smile widening a little bit when just a hint of his tension went out of him.&nbsp; It wasn’t something she actively observed; the littlest Law Dog just had a gift putting people at their ease, and knowing when she had.&nbsp; She gave a little laugh, and shook her head.&nbsp; “I don’t think all the whiskey in Doomtown’s gonna change that,” she lamented - but her hand wrapped around the glass anyway, bracing herself before bringing it up for another sip.&nbsp; <br><br>She could tell that her news at first undid the ease - or the hint of ease - she’d put him too, and noticed again when he relaxed.&nbsp; Corky might have been sweet, and good natured, but she’d lived long enough to know that prying into folks affairs didn’t usually end well.&nbsp; Though a hundred questions played in her mind, she nibbled at her lower lip and kept ‘em from spilling out.&nbsp; <br><br>Her eyes widened a little bit when he downed one whisky, and then a second, impressed when there wasn’t the slightest sign it bothered him more than two glasses of milk.&nbsp; She looked at the two empty glasses, then back to her own, as if the remainder of the glass might be her own personal Nemean lion.&nbsp; She glugged down a slightly larger swallow, managing to keep it with only a modest cough, before offering her question.<br><br>She grinned at his answer, though, grinned broad and gave a little laugh.&nbsp; “Maybe I will.&nbsp; Just kinda glad I ain’t the only one who don’t know our yankee-feckin’-doodle words.”&nbsp; She lacked the vehemence and spite for proper delivery, though, and glanced over her shoulder to the Ginny-bird and the Chinese-looking lady.&nbsp; “The purty one, or the one with the big blond feller?”<br><br>She tipped her hat in kind.&nbsp; “Mah pleasure.&nbsp; You ever want to go shootin’ Maze sharks and kill an afternoon with sumthin’ other than whiskey, lemme know,” she offered, with a big grin.&nbsp; “Found a whole five pound swivel cannon in one’s belly once.”&nbsp; <br><br>She grinned and considered the other two he’d pointed out, taking another sip of her whiskey and making another face.&nbsp; <br><br>“Really, who drinks this stuff?” she murmured to herself, ignoring the entire saloon full of miners and townsfolk heartily enjoying the stuff.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>15-04-2014, 23:49:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/6f/Mayor_cochran.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Mayor Cochran<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sweetrock<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Outside Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open, Matthew Ford, Bella<br><hr>He smiled at the deliberate little flash of stocking, the curl of his lip making the waxed tips of his moustache curve.&nbsp; “Oh, no, I can <em>assure</em> you the pleasure is all mine,” he returned, releasing her hand and leaning his hip against the bar.&nbsp; “And it is very kind of you to inquire.&nbsp; Though I must confess, I’m jealous Mr. Solomon had commissioned you for … a public venue.&nbsp; I’d be far more interested in a private showing of your qualities as an entertainer.”&nbsp; He set a half finished glass of whiskey down, reaching for another and taking a draught.&nbsp; <br><br>“After the last week of unpleasantness, <em>anyone</em> who can banish such unpleasantness - whether for a few seconds or for a few hours - is going to be welcome in Gomorra.&nbsp; Panem et circenses!&nbsp; Panem et circenses, Gomorra was built upon them.”&nbsp; He chuckled ruefully.&nbsp; He gestured to the booth which a waiter had finally managed to clear for him.&nbsp; “If you care to cool your heels before your show, I shall be right over there, enjoying Mr. Abraham’s generous fare.”&nbsp; He spotted Ginny’s flute of wine out of the corner of his eye, and slid a double eagle from inside his jacket pocket.&nbsp; “Glasses of wine, for myself and my new acquaintance,” he ordered, taking one from the bartender’s hand a moment later and beginning to thread his way through the crowd.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Loves</strong> on <strong>16-04-2014, 03:52:16</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i975.photobucket.com/albums/ae240/samanthamazur/68Cavkmm4hgg_zpsc4502ad9.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Aletta Emelda Maria Sanchez (aka Letty) (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9815927#msg9815927)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1877<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery Burnham,&nbsp; … Open<br><hr><br>Aletta stared at the drink that sat on the bartop between her arms&nbsp; currently pressed against the counter. She blinked a couple of times wondering if she shouldn’t just march out of this pit of sin and head back home to the ranch where she was safe. Or rather…had been safe!&nbsp; Now it seemed everywhere she looked the memory of Joe was mocking her, which was ridiculous considering he was long since pushing up the daisies before she had even stepped a foot into this godforsaken town! A growl sounded and once more the drink was thrown back, this time leaving a tiny trail of amber liquid clinging to her bottom lip. <br><br>The pretty-boy beside her spoke again. Letty didn’t need to look to know it was him flapping his gums, his voice was just as pretty as his face. She turned to look in his direction and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her expression was a picture of contradictions. Her smile was nothing more than a straight line, or as straight as you could get with plump, firm lips. Still, not a single curve could be seen at the corners, not even the ones turning down into a frown. <br><br>However, it was her eyes that held the confusion. <br><br>Where her expression told him to back off, or words to that effect. It was her dark brown orbs that spilled&nbsp; a world of hurt. <strong>”They learn you that...fancy…what did you call it? Penmanship where you come from? They teach you how to spin words so well it can touch a heart you ain’t never met before?”</strong> Surprisingly she wasn’t short with the pretty-boy stranger. Her anger had been swallowed with the last mouthful of free booze and was now swimming in the pit of a stomach that was empty, but for the soul stealing fire of Satan. <br><br>She watched with narrowed eyes as he removed his derby hat, revealing a head of hair that went with the whole theme of “pretty-boy”. She had&nbsp; hoped he was bald under that cap, bald with a ring of hair circling his scalp from one ear to the other. No such luck. She stared up at him, leaning slightly forward and gripping onto the edge of the bar. Her fingers itched to play in the silky locks. <strong>”I bet its soft…”</strong> her words were cut off as she turned to look down at the empty glass before her, biting the inside of her mouth to keep quiet. Letty would have taken a drink but some thief had gone and stolen what was in&nbsp; her glass! She looked around quickly, first to her left and then to her right, hoping to catch the scoundrel redhanded! The only thing she saw was a wide, well dressed shoulder and chest.<br><br>Pretty-boy was speaking again, using that fancy voice of his to draw her eyes to his lips. He had nice lips. A tiny twitch played at the corners of her mouth, indicating that part of her wanted to smile. But Letty was too stubborn to show off the full force of a smile that had at one point been a dazzling show to behold. Charmed was he now? Well…that was the wrong word to use. The anger that had been swimming lazily in the river of amber fire in the pit of her stomach clawed its way back up her throat. <strong>”That’s the problem ain’t it! Charmin’...down right tellin’ lies! Let’s call it what it is, why dress it up! If you powder a pig, it’s still a pig!”</strong> She wasn’t making much sense to anyone but herself, but that was a downfall to drinking.<br><br>Luckily for Letty, and for the fancy talkin’ man beside her, she hadn’t spoken loudly, causing a scene. Her words were for Avery and those closest to them. <strong>”A...let...ta”</strong> she replied, introducing herself. <strong>”Letty...call me”</strong> nodding her head she slapped her hand down on the bartop and looked at it as if it had just killed her best friend. A frustrated sigh sounded before he turned back to Avery once more. <strong>”Ignorance is the curse of God; knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven.”</strong> Pushing the empty glass away, her logical mind was starting to take control, deciding that she had, had enough drink for a young woman who hadn’t eaten yet, and let’s face it… was a bit of a lightweight. <br><br><strong>”Whatdoesthatevenmean?”</strong> she asked, slurring a bit as all the words fell into one. <strong>”At first I thought he was being cross to the church…you know…”</strong> leaning in towards Avery, Letty whispered <strong>”on account that he be cursin’....you know”</strong> she pointed towards the ceiling as if to say...him up there. <strong>”I puzzled over it for some time, figured I’d ask when I finally met him...but he’s dead!”</strong> explained the young Mexican, in a tone that was rather matter of fact. <br><br>It took a moment, but his earlier words finally made themselves aware in her mind and soon Aletta was smiling…much like a smile that seemed a permanent feature a lifetime ago. <strong>”Oh bar-bee-q...I am hungry! Left this mornin’ with not much more in me but a slab of cornbread and a strip of bacon.”</strong> She moved away from the bar as if to find a table for the vittles that were promised and swayed back, stumbling with the sudden loss of her balance. <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>esclavage</strong> on <strong>16-04-2014, 05:25:29</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/4c/Ginny_06a.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Virginia <em><strong>'Ginny'</strong></em> Mary Lou Whateley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley Family<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower Foyer<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, Abraham Solomon, &lt;noticing Bella&gt;, &lt;waiting for Annabel Montgomery&gt;<br><hr><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Appearances, to the southern lady, were everything.&nbsp; This was another lesson Ginny had learned from her mother while growing up in their plantation home in Georgia.&nbsp; Case in point, the young Whateley had very little interest in the wine she was drinking - it was too fruity and sweet for her to really enjoy.&nbsp; Truth be told, Ginny would have preferred a harder liquor, a shot glass of the Tower's most refined whiskey for example, but...a proper lady did not drink liquor while dressed in her finest.&nbsp; No, in this case, Ginny would save the heavy liquoring when she was sitting at a poker table, sporting an easy, come-hither smile, even as she showed her winning hand.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;But first, she needed to locate Abraham Solomon and secure said table.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;While she was scanning the crowds for him, two things stood out to her.&nbsp; First, the offer of free food - and southern cuisine at that.&nbsp; The latter brought an arched eyebrow from Virginia Whateley - having some local fare would be quite the treat indeed if the cook had indeed hailed from the southern states.&nbsp; If the man was any good, well, Ginny might be interested in hiring a personal chef when he wasn't otherwise occupied cooking for the Babel's Tower.&nbsp; Good help was hard to find.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The second thing to catch her eye was her competition.&nbsp; The young Whateley did not miss the entrance of the dark-haired beauty with the salacious style of dress, showing quite a bit of skin with the slit in her dress; the other woman also caused quite a stir as she went by.&nbsp; With a mysterious smile and an obvious mystique, she soon had a number of longing, discreet looks from the various men gathered in the main foyer.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Absolutely scandalous!&nbsp; The other woman left Ginny fuming a bit as the corner of her Whateley green eyes sharpened to size up her rival.&nbsp; Truth be told, Ginny was a touch miffed that this woman was drawing as much attention as she was.&nbsp; Her dress wasn't even a proper French cut!&nbsp; It simply showed the average man in Gomorra had no taste at all!!<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Though after a period of closer observation, Ginny did relax somewhat.&nbsp; It was obvious at a closer look at the this other woman was a mongrel; she could hardly compare to the fine, pure blood of the Whateleys.&nbsp; No doubt she was a birthing by some whore who just happened to have a pretty face instead of a pock-marked one.&nbsp; Well, the good Father did like to remind Ginny that God chose to send His rain on the righteous and unrighteous so she supposed it made sense.&nbsp; She also learned the woman's name from the conversations around her, Bella Capri - apparently, an entertainer that Abraham Solomon had hired.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;That, in turn, relaxed Ginny another degree.&nbsp; In the end, no mere <em>'working girl'</em> could measure up against Virginia Mary Lou Whateley and while the blonde gambler hide her sneer, she had no doubts about what kind of work Bella was really offering.&nbsp; She was absolutely certain that the back room, now discreetly tucked out of sight, would be full of Bella's patrons later tonight.&nbsp; Idly, the young Whateley was tempted to pick one of the uglier men in the crowd and slip him golden eagles to have a round with Miss Bella Capri.&nbsp; Another lip-curling sneer was carefully covered as Ginny slipped at her wine glass, avoiding a sour face at the wine.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Honestly, no taste at all.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Then, Ginny spotted Abraham Solomon and she once again was all smiles.&nbsp; Bright, sun-filled smiles designed to charm her way into whatever she wanted to charm her way into.&nbsp; With her target locked, the young Whateley gracefully swayed towards the owner of Babel's Tower.&nbsp; <strong>"Mistuh Solomon?"</strong>&nbsp; Ginny's southern accent was clearly audible even as she paused before him - waiting for him to look at her.&nbsp; And when he did, she demurely dropped her gaze like a proper lady should.&nbsp; <strong>"Muh name's Virginia Whateley, but yuh kin jist call muh 'Ginny'."</strong>&nbsp; Sweeping her gaze around to take in the foyer area, she looked back to Abraham.&nbsp; <strong>"Ah really luv wha' yuh done with th'place; this here be like muh second 'ome."</strong><br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Now, pleasantries done, Ginny began to set up negotiations.&nbsp; <strong>"Ah used tah have uh table right o'er thar,"</strong> an idle gesture was given to where her old spot had been when the place was called Casino Morongo.&nbsp; <strong>"Me an' the old owner used tah have an understandin'."</strong>&nbsp; Lightly, she batted her eyelashes to try and leverage her charm.&nbsp; <strong>"Ah was hopin' we co'ud also hav'uh similar understandin'."</strong>&nbsp; And it went without saying that Ginny was willing to pay, and pay handsomely, for that understanding.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>CurvyKitten</strong> on <strong>16-04-2014, 06:25:44</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://25.media.tumblr.com/f40108d8f447a10e77bf26ec757a5707/tumblr_mflz9wII2S1rhmgq8o1_500.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Bella Capri (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9823344#msg9823344)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower <br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Mayor Cochran,&nbsp; OPEN<br>Wearing (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v209/darkglitch/steampunk/underbust_corset_steampunk_dress_2012_collection_by_esaikha-d61jtnq_zps1e029bb4.jpg) with stockings and undergarments of course:P, hair party pulled up with soft curls falling back down along her shoulders. <br><hr> <br><br>Bella smiled softly as the Mayor insisted the pleasure was all his, her eyes drifted down and she appeared lady like and flattered by his words. Her delicate hand gently held his before pulling away and resting gently in her lap. <strong>"Then it seems we are both very lucky indeed."</strong> she nodded and still held the warm and welcoming smile on her face. Her soothing voice was low almost alluring, Bella remaining soft enough to have him have to lean towards her, the soft gesture giving a hint of closeness with him. <br><br>His next comment made her smile soften and her eyes flutter lightly,<strong> "Mr. Solomon saw my passion for the arts and has been so kind to give me this chance."</strong> she said gently touching his hand as the Mayor reached for more whiskey. Bella knew the gentle queues would make that connection, enough to keep him interested but no so much that he'd simply write her off as another soiled dove. <strong>"Pardon me,"</strong> she said softly as if it to try and play it off as an accident, <strong>"I know getting to know such a distinguished man would be more then interesting. So maybe there will be a few moments where we could get to know each other better."</strong> she said not leading his thoughts in any direction in particular but letting him think up what he wished. <br><br><strong>"Oh my I can only imagine the amount of details and issues you have to deal with every day. The weight of a whole town on your shoulders." </strong>she said shaking her head,<strong> "We have a wonderful night planned, so perhaps this evening will give you a bit of relaxation. I know I shall try my best." </strong>Bella said with a soft nod, <strong>"Yes this town does in fact offer a great deal, I have to say this city is a whirlwind and I have enjoyed every little detail I learn about it."</strong> she said again smiling warmly as the Mayor offered for her to join him in his booth. <strong>"It’s such a kind offer, if it was alright I'd love to join you now and get to know you a bit more. Maybe tell me some of the wonderful secrets this city holds?</strong>" she asked taking the glass of wine that was poured for her, taking a soft sip, not only to enjoy the sweeter drink but also to draw attention to her lips for a brief moment. <strong>"Oh this is rather yummy, thank you so much."</strong> Bella said lightly to him.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>consortium11</strong> on <strong>16-04-2014, 18:07:02</strong>
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				<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 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Some bloody back-alley behind Babel's Tower.<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Scooter, Open.<br><hr>Have you ever tried to hide a mountain?<br><br>Does the thought seem ridiculous to you? Of course it does. How would one go about hiding a mountain? I mean, I'm sure there are ways but let's be honest, they're not likely to be that effective. We're talking about a mountain here. The dictionary definition of mountain may not include "is very hard to hide" but it probably should do. A mountain was big, tall and pretty obvious. You couldn't dress it up, couldn't move it, couldn't hope people didn't notice it... it was a bloody mountain. Just about your only hope of hiding it was to find a bigger mountain to put in front of it. Anything else was ridiculous.<br><br>And there weren't many mountains bigger than Scooter for him to hide behind.<br><br>Walter had never seen a mountain. Not an actual mountain. But his thought process as he strode to the alley behind was similar to that described above. Why the hell would Scooter even try to skulk in the shadows behind Babel's Tower? The bastard was big enough that he cast his own shadow. He stuck out like a sore bloody thumb... or more accurately, a big, bloody man. Who really stuck out. It's not like it was hard to tell who it was... there weren't exactly many people in Gomorra who came close to Scooter's size. So frankly, the sight of Scooter trying to surreptitiously hide in a back alley was just as bloody ridiculous as someone tryin' to hide a bloody mountain.<br><br><strong>"Scooter..."</strong><br><br>The big man didn't call anyone over for simple conversation. He called them over because someone had called him over and told him to tell someone something. So Walter simply approached and waited to be told what Scooter had been told to tell 'im.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>16-04-2014, 20:31:44</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/6f/Mayor_cochran.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Mayor Cochran<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sweetrock<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Outside Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open, Matthew Ford, Bella<br><hr>He watched the touch of her hand, the lewd thoughts in his mind practically crawling across his eyes.&nbsp; He made no effort to conceal them, and every time he spoke, his <em>unspoken</em> thoughts were infused in every syllable, illicitly describing how much he’d like to peel her dress of and see her earn an altogether different kind of keep here at the Tower.&nbsp; But he was enough a gentleman to not voice the thoughts aloud - even if they dripped from his tongue anyway.<br><br>“Well, passion is certainly an <em>admirable</em> quality.&nbsp; Did the good <em>innkeeper</em> receive a full sampling of your arts, or did you only dangle the most delectable of your skills in front of him?”&nbsp; He smiled at the little touch - though it was wholly unnecessary to keep him interested.&nbsp; “No pardons&nbsp; needed,” he promised.&nbsp; “And I would <em>certainly</em> enjoy a few stolen moments.&nbsp; Before or after your show.”&nbsp; <br><br>He escorted her back towards the seat, taking the inside of the booth and patting the seat next to him.&nbsp; “Yes, not many places in Gomorra carrying anything like a wine list,” he mused.&nbsp; “But while there are all manners of responsibilities and offices entrusted to me, I’m the sort of man who feels the very best leaders are those capable of delegating.&nbsp; Which is not to say I’m not capable of hard work myself - believe it or not, I began my days in Gomorra as a miner, much like most of the men who come to this town.&nbsp; Made a lucky strike early on, and have since invested my earnings carefully.”&nbsp; He smiled and slid a hand over her knee, under the cover of the tabletop.&nbsp; “But I would be far more inclined to <em>show</em> you some of the secrets this city holds.&nbsp; As I’m certain you have a few interestings secrets of your own to unfold, Bella.”&nbsp; His gaze fell towards the scoop of her dress, and he gave a smile.&nbsp; “Perhaps after your public performance we can arrange a … <em>private</em> performance for my… relaxation.”<br><br>He glanced up at one of the waitresses who drew close.&nbsp; She gave him a patently polite smile, but shifted her attention to Bella.<br><br>“The other performer … isn’t going to be making it in.&nbsp; Fell ill, I think.&nbsp; Solomon wants you to go on early, but… he said to make sure it was appropriate for the <em>front</em> room, not the back,” she offered, conveying her message and not quite clear what it implied.&nbsp; "He also said you got ten minutes to work out accompaniment with Mr. Flanagan, the pianist."&nbsp; She nodded her head towards the back of the stage.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>16-04-2014, 23:55:29</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/62/Scooter2.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Scooter<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sweetrock<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Outside Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open, Walter<br><hr>Scooter rubbed at his nose, and stepped away from the small yellow puddle he’d made against the side of the Babel’s Tower,&nbsp; He gave a satisfied grunt and turned back towards the front of the alley, glancing up it up and then back towards the darker shadows in case Walter might be slipping up behind him.&nbsp; He scratched at a beard that was perpetually streaked with soot and sweat, then dragged fingers the size of sausages through his hair.<br><br>He didn’t care for the heat much, and Gomorra was always hot.&nbsp; It seemed like a step outside was sure to soak his cotton shirt through, and he could feel it running down the lines of muscles at his back.&nbsp; This place always itched, scratched, festered.&nbsp; He didn’t like it much - but it was where the boss was, so it was where he was.&nbsp; He didn’t quite know why Mr. Baine had sent him to go tell Walter to show up at his place, but hopefully it meant there wouldn’t be no trouble.&nbsp; When he and Big Jake went somewhere together - then there was trouble.&nbsp; He ran a thumb over a drop of sweat that had fallen on the handle of the sawed off shotgun stuck at his hip like a pistol, and blew out a sigh.&nbsp; He didn’t like waiting.&nbsp; He didn’t like heat, and he didn’t like Gomorra.&nbsp; <br><br>Not that any of his irritations made Scooter unpleasant; when he was punching someone’s face in for Sweetrock, he was usually offering an apology.&nbsp; Or he used to - Big Jake told him to stop that, so he did, but he mostly still felt bad about it.&nbsp; <br><br>His eyes brightened a bit when he saw Walter.&nbsp; Walter always dressed real nice, with his suit and his top hat.&nbsp; Scooter owned a suit.&nbsp; Sometimes Mr. Hardinger made him wear it, but whenever he did, he thought he was going to fall over from the heat.&nbsp; It made him look at all the pretty ladies from the nice parts of town, bustling around in all them clothes, and wonder how it was they managed to stay upright. <br><br>He gave a little wave of a gigantic hand.&nbsp; <br><br>“Mr. Baine wants to sees you,” he offered, trying to keep his voice quiet.&nbsp; What for anyone else would have been a whisper sounded like a normal tone of voice - and when Scooter occasionally forgot the admonition to ‘talk quiet,’ his voice came out a bellow.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>CurvyKitten</strong> on <strong>16-04-2014, 23:56:07</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://25.media.tumblr.com/f40108d8f447a10e77bf26ec757a5707/tumblr_mflz9wII2S1rhmgq8o1_500.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Bella Capri (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9823344#msg9823344)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower <br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Mayor Cochran, Mr. Flanagan, OPEN<br>Wearing (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v209/darkglitch/steampunk/underbust_corset_steampunk_dress_2012_collection_by_esaikha-d61jtnq_zps1e029bb4.jpg) with stockings and undergarments of course:P, hair party pulled up with soft curls falling back down along her shoulders. <br><hr> <br><br>Bella wasn't foolish or dumb by any means; she knew what the mayor was hinting at. He wanted to find his way up to her bed, the idea was tempting. He was the Mayor after all, but she did not want to be reduced to nothing more than a soiled song bird. But turning away or pissing off the Mayor was not something she was stupid enough to do. <strong>"Mr. Solomon new of my shows before approaching me and asking me to come here. I assure you no matter the stage, the performances were given my best effort."</strong> she said smiling softly. <br><br>Bella walked back to his table and sat gently next to him, <strong>"And I love the sweetness to it."</strong> she said with a soft nod as he mentioned the wine list. Bella listened to Cochran explain how he worked, her eyes staying with his as she seemed interested in what he was say, or at the least interested in him. <strong>"It all sounds so complicated,"</strong> she said in an admiring tone, <strong>"A miner, oh I could never imagine doing something like that. I'd be afraid of being so deep down."</strong> she said shaking her head, <strong>"It sounds like you have work incredibly hard to get where you are."</strong> she nodded softly and sipped from her win glass, a soft smile coming to her lips as his hand slip up to touch her knee. Bella didn't flinch or move away, she was no fool and would never insult the Mayor with such a reaction.<strong> "Every woman has at least one secret,"</strong> she said her knee shifting a bit against his hand, <strong>"But I would love to learn about this city, it is after all going to be my new home for hopefully a long while." </strong>she said honestly not knowing how her time here would go. Bella knew rather well that sometimes places and jobs just didn't work out. Still she kind of wished for a place to call home, not that she'd ever admit that to anyone.<br><br>Bella smiled and leaned in about to answer the Mayor about his private performance when the waitress walked up. Bella gasped softly and nibbled on her lower lip, <strong>"Oh my, I haven't even prepared anything with Mr. Flanagan."</strong> Bella said with a soft nod,<strong> "But the show must go one right?"</strong> she smiled and looking to the Mayor, <strong>"I'm sorry to leave you so soon, perhaps later we could share another glass of wine while we share some of those secrets."</strong> she said with a soft laugh, one hand reaching down to his hand on her knee and giving it a soft squeeze before slipping away from him side. <strong>"I hope you enjoy dinner and the coming show Mr. Mayor."</strong> she said with a soft bow of her head before moving away and slipping towards the piano player in question. <br><br>Fanning herself Bella knew the Mayor was going to be a hand full, but right now that wasn't her main worry. She needed to speak with Mr. Flanagan and see what they could quickly pull together before the whole house was let down. Slipping up to the side of the piano Bella smiled,<strong> "It seems we are to get to preform together after all Mr. Flanagan. I'm afraid I don't know some of the songs Miss Montgomery was going to sing for us tonight by heart. How good are you at shooting off the hip with a few songs? Think you could do that?"</strong> she asked with a curious yet hopeful look to her dark eyes.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niferbelle</strong> on <strong>17-04-2014, 02:48:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i627.photobucket.com/albums/tt357/Niferbelle/my%20avatars/doomtown7av_zps641b8122.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Lilah 'Li-Li' Oliver (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9813377#msg9813377)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> There have been a few rumors but who listens to those<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Reid, open <br><hr>"I didn't mean to offend, friend," Lilah assured him as he reacted to what she now saw as a dumb remark. It was true, it was just in her nature to be frank, she wasn't trying to insult him. It was just hard to believe a man around here could be so, well, decent. "Thing is, most of the men I know would jump at the chance for a whore, especially at discount prices. As to what kind of man I think you are, I couldn't say really only that I show up out of nowhere and invite myself to your table and you ain't been nothin' but polite and friendly-like. Now you probably don't know how much an impression that's bound to make on me when most people look right through me, shoo me away like a stray dog, or think I'm a whore which never made much sense to me. Do you reckon I dress for that kind of attention?"<br><br>She made short work of the rest of her drink and was fine for now as far as the drinks went. She was more interested in getting some of that spread she was promised. She listened to him talk about what he wanted the bed for and she nodded. It made perfect sense to her and she was just glad he wasn't mad at her over the misunderstanding. He seemed to be so goodly she just hoped he wasn't one of those religious types -- that would ruin the evening real quick. She didn't mind him changing the subject though his comment drew aq smile from her.<br><br>"You should have seen me a couple years ago, I looked plenty trampled," she said dryly. It was true. Before Jack pulled her out of the gutter she was lucky to have a pair of shoes on her feet and more than a meal every couple days. "I mostly found work out with the independent miners but with all the claim-jumping and the maze rats raising hell, things have been drying up. Poor bastards. Anyway, that's why I decided to come into town and see what I could scrounge up."<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>17-04-2014, 03:09:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/7f/Marshallbadge.png)</div>True to Mr. Solomon's word, the staff were beginning to move out platters from the back - large silver-washed trays piled high with pulled pork, ribs that filled the room with the scent of dry rubs and wet, cornbread and small tureens of honey and butter, bowls of grits and large platters of cheesy biscuits, the cheese still sliding down the sides, and garnished with a healthy sprinkle of bacon.&nbsp; Wooden plates were set down as well, and a small sign that offered 'silverware upon request.'&nbsp; Only the grits had spoons on hand.&nbsp; Two of the prettier waitresses nearby remained by the tables, using tongs to serve up the ribs and pulled pork, rather than see two dozen grubby hands plunging into the platters.&nbsp; <br><br>"Plenty more where that came from," promised one of the girls, to one of the miners.&nbsp; "Eat up!&nbsp; Ain't no sense letting it go to waste."<br><br>Around the side of the building, a dozen Whippersnappers slipped away through the shadows between buildings, cheeks wet from rib sauce, and pockets stuffed with biscuits and cornbread to bring back to their fellows.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ebb</strong> on <strong>17-04-2014, 05:00:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/ac/600full-kenneth-branagh.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Tommy Flanagan (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9819558#msg9819558)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> None<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower, Backstage<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Bella Capri<br><hr> <br><br>Tommy rose to his feet and gave a genteel bow that would not have been out of place in a New York dance hall. It was one of many little tricks he'd learned to help cover up his shady past. Among crowds like those found in Gomorra it only took a little veneer to distinguish yourself from the rank and file. Actually it only took a passing acquaintance with a bar of soap.<br><br>"Miss Bella Capri," he greeted her warmly. "Your reputation precedes you, of course." The small backstage room had just enough space for a man, a woman, a piano, and a degree of forced intimacy. The ventilation was poor and with the door closed behind her to help muffle the increasingly rambunctious sounds from the main room it felt like the mercury had shot up about ten degrees. Then again, that impression might easily be attributed to Miss Capri's presence. Just because Tommy didn't dally with the doves didn't mean that he was immune to such a portrait of pulchritude. His eyes were naturally drawn down past her neck, a winning smile drawn from him at the sight of the treasure displayed there.<br><br>"That is a very fine locket, Miss Capri. Very fine indeed. At some point when we're not fixed to march out onto a cold stage in front of a hundred drunk men without a shred of rehearsal I would love to hear about the lucky gentleman who had the honor of placing that around your neck, should you be so inclined as to share the tale with me, perhaps over a cup of the worst coffee west of Kansas City." Long sentences gave plenty of time to admire the scenery while neatly disguising any trace of lechery, Tommy had found. <br><br>"Now, though, is not that time. I'm honored to be working with you, and I trust that your talent and beauty will compensate for my astonishing lack of both. I'm more than happy to follow as you trace a path through your repertoire. Just give me a key and a tempo and we'll get at least a few toes tapping or a few eyes weeping, depending on your inclination." He slid back onto the piano bench and began to coax a few scales out of the damaged backup instrument. "Would you care to warm up a bit? In the vocal sense; I trust you feel the heat back here as acutely as I do."<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>17-04-2014, 05:28:17</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f2/Beardycox.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Avery Burnam<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dogs (1)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel’s Tower, a table near the bar<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Letty, Corky; Open <br><hr> <br><br>It was not rightly any of his concern.&nbsp; Involving oneself with strange drunks was not exactly the way to wealth and wisdom in this life.&nbsp; Avery wasn't certain the woman was a drunk of course, at least in the habitual sense, for he'd known sieves that would hold their liquor better.&nbsp; In its perversity his brain had tried to make sense of her slurred sentence fragments and Bard quotation, but had come up a little short.&nbsp; The latter had made him curious again, wondering just where she'd picked it up and if it had anything to do with her disgust for 'fancy' letters.&nbsp; Somehow he couldn't quite picture her performing Shakespeare between milking cows or roping cattle or whatever it was she did when not drinking herself under the bar.<br><br>In the end it came down to a bit of gallantry, a sickness that could overcome almost any man at times if he wasn't careful, particularly when the woman in question was possessed of such a pretty smile.&nbsp; He couldn't see how letting her wander half-mast through a room filled with men rowdy from free whisky and given to expect a quick poke from anything with breasts was apt to end well for the woman.&nbsp; He'd caught the hurt in her eyes, and suspected this wasn't her normal element, not really, and knew from past experience how making a spectacle of oneself in a weak moment could have long and lasting consequences.&nbsp; &nbsp; <br><br>So when Letty stumbled, he caught her in his arms and found her a seat at a nearby table.&nbsp; The same one vacated by the bludger with the baleful eyes who'd been sizing up the room earlier.&nbsp; There was already another occupant there, the girl Avery had seen hanging around the sheriff's office, Hendricks, or something like that, to whom he nodded politely.&nbsp; He'd rather suspected Flatbush was putting him on when he'd said she was their ace shooter with a rakish wink.&nbsp; With these yanks you could never be certain though.&nbsp; They were positively mad when it came to passing out guns and badges, an ability to stand and speak English seemingly the only actual requirement, and not even necessarily at the same time.&nbsp; &nbsp; <br><br>"Careful now.&nbsp; No need to rush about," Avery said calmly as he helped the woman into a chair.&nbsp; "At the finer establishments, they bring it out to you."&nbsp; Of course this wasn't such an establishment, at least not today, so he was left to nab one of the passing doxies.&nbsp; At his request she raised a penciled brow.&nbsp; "I ain't no waitress.&nbsp; Can't you walk?&nbsp; It's already free.&nbsp; Want me to eat it for ya too?"&nbsp; A natural charm that perhaps explained why she was still down here instead of already upstairs with a client.&nbsp; Her attitude changed when Avery produced a silver dollar for her troubles though.&nbsp; Shooting a quick cautious glance at Mr. Solomon, she tucked it away, and went off to gather a couple plates.<br><br>"Letty, was it?&nbsp; I don't suppose you live somewhere near here?"&nbsp; Somehow he rather doubted it and saw his evening winning easy money off drunk miners at the gaming tables gradually slipping away from him.&nbsp; There were rooms here at the Babel of course, but staying the night at a brothel wasn't apt to do a woman's reputation much good.&nbsp; &nbsp;And in for a penny in for…well, at least a dollar, already.&nbsp; <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>17-04-2014, 07:42:10</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d6/Stoker.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Abraham Solomon (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> None<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower Foyer<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Ginny, Open<br><hr>Pleased with the opening so far, Abraham continued to meander through the busy room, steering clear of the waitresses and patrons as they moved about his establishment.&nbsp; His brows rose as a woman approached him, her hips gently swaying.&nbsp; He may not be overly experienced in the ways of the fairer sex but anytime he'd seen a woman walk like that it meant that the lady in question wanted something from him.<br><br>He nodded once at the question of who he was and his brows rose at the introduction.&nbsp; “It's a.... pleasure to meet you, Miss Whateley.”&nbsp; He regarded her for a moment, his smile slipping.&nbsp; “I'm glad you appreciate Babel's Tower.”&nbsp; The fading smile returned and a hint of amusement touched his eyes.<br><br>His steely gray eyes studied the young woman before him as she spoke about wanting a table at Babel's Tower.&nbsp; Instead of answering right away, he took a moment to consider the ramifications of having a Whateley working in his casino.&nbsp; They had no need for money so he suspected that there was an ulterior motive to her desire to be located in the new hotel.&nbsp; He couldn't really fault her on that as he had his own reasons for accepting.&nbsp; “I think, Miss Whateley, that we can come to an arrangement that pleases us both.”&nbsp; He finally agreed to her request.&nbsp; He paused and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets.&nbsp; “I'm afraid that all of my tables are booked for tonight but I'd be willing to have you running a table as of tomorrow.”<br><br>He stepped closer to Ginny and leaned in for a bit of privacy in the crowded room.&nbsp; Many men had done as such in the time since she had developed into a beautiful woman.&nbsp; The closeness seemed to make many think it would help them get in her good graces.&nbsp; “I must say, Miss Whateley, that I cannot accept your coin as the last owner did.&nbsp; If you desire to run one of my tables, you'll have to do so as an employee of Babel's Tower.&nbsp; Like any employee, you'll be compensated for your labors.” 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>consortium11</strong> on <strong>17-04-2014, 19:12:51</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<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 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Some bloody back-alley behind Babel's Tower.<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Scooter, Open.<br><hr>Walter never really knew what to make of Scooter.<br><br>The guy wasn't smart. It didn't take a bloody genius to work that out. But he wasn't really <em>stupid</em> either. Marcus had met some people who were thick as two short planks in his time. And listen, that's not Walter bein' hypocritical, he knew he weren't... wasn't... exactly a feckin' scholar himself... he didn't know what a Babel was for god's sake. But Walter wasn't stupid, he was just poorly bred, uneducated and brought up in an environment that rewarded left hooks over literacy. Scooter wasn't stupid either. He was just... <em>simple</em>. Walter hadn't spent much time with the giant but he'd heard the stories. Scooter was almost like a child in a feckin' mountainous body. He just didn't always quite grasp the consequences of his actions. He wasn't like Walter... Walter reveled in hurting others, Scooter just did it because he was told to. Walter was an attack dog who lived to rip the throat out of his enemies. Scooter was a pet dog who didn't quite understand that biting people was bad.<br><br>Walter wasn't sure if he liked it or not. On one hand he felt like bangin' his feckin' head against a wall every time he heard a story about how Scooter put one of his meaty fists through some bastard's face and then started apologisin' for doin' so. But on the other hand it meant Walter never felt the sense of rivalry and aggression he would have if Scooter had been someone like 'imself. Scooter was, despite his limitations, sort of nice. Walter? He was a feckin' bastard. If Scooter pitched some poor fecker off the side of a cliff he'd probably feel bad about it. Walter would feel a thrill run through him and try to remember the fecker's expression as he fell. Not that this conflict appeared on Walter's face. He just scowled. Like he normally did.<br><br><strong>“He wanna see me now I take it? You takin' me along mate or do I wander over myself?”</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Untamed Skies</strong> on <strong>17-04-2014, 22:08:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk59/Untamed_skies/bdcf3531-746f-4fc9-9b81-35e51e2eba18_zpsc75e54da.jpg) (http://s277.photobucket.com/user/Untamed_skies/media/bdcf3531-746f-4fc9-9b81-35e51e2eba18_zpsc75e54da.jpg.html)[</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Reid Lawson<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1877<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon.<br><strong>Location:</strong> A table near the bar inside Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Lilah, open<br><hr><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br>Reid's smile would stay on his face as Li-li explained her side and views. Course he understood someone bein' bitter over being dealt bad cards. He understood how enough bitter people bein' round you could make someone suspicious of just about anything. In a town like Gomorra where all the folks were eyein' each other and tryin' to figure out who was tryin to take their slice of a pie it was only natural. "You call those people fools, the type that'd just cast aside what could be a quality woman and worker cause she looks different then em," he said a frown appearing on his features as he spoke. Though as he thought about why someone might be a whore the smile would return. "Well so far as I've seen of you, you're pretty friendly and ain't shy, you're right beautiful too if you'll pardon me for being so bold," he said. "I reckon they're just being attracted to ya, and wantcha to be a whore rather then you lookin' like one," he explained his view point on the subject. It could also have been another effect of the town. There were plenty of whores around for someone to drown their sorrows with in Gomorra so perhaps the men were just assuming everyone was. "Least I havn't had you pegged for a whore myself," he added with another laugh. <br><br><br>He'd fall silent as Li-li gave him a bit of insight into her background and past. It sounded like the two had more in common then he really suspected. Course she looked better then she must have when she arrived in town. "So I s'pose there ain't only misery in this town then," he said. "Might not be where you want to be, but you are farther along then you were, that ain't bad," he said with a nod. "Yeah my brother Dale had grand delusions of grandeur, went straight to the mines and failed," he said. "Replaced the delusions of goal with booze and debt," he explained. "For us it ain't so much we didn't find good work, it's the dumb mule spends it just as quick as we get it, most of the time," he explained. Giving her a bit of insight back into himself. Was only proper if someone was relating to relate back right? He didn't see a reason to be mysterious like. Hell if she was in town she'd be shooting at, slapping, or kicking Dale anyway.&nbsp; "I hope you find somethin," he said before he'd laugh. "Hope it ain't the same job I go after to, I'd hate to earn your disfavor," he said. How much would a good personality take him if he was taking work from her? You had to do what you had to do to get by, but usually finding work meant someone else weren't getting any. That somebody was bound to dislike you on principal after that. <br><br>As he sat across from his new acquaintance, Reid decided he was fairly curious and interested in the woman. Could be a good opportunity to make a new friend, and that was as good a luxury as a clean bed was. "So you just made it into town then," he asked tilting his head. "Do have a place you're stayin at while you look for more work," he asked her curiously. Nosy as it was, Reid was curious to learn more, and thinkin about how nice that clean bed would be was a easy question for him to ask. There were some folks who managed to find a place to stay with the people they worked for. Then there were folks like him who hopped around from place to place, always being mindful for a opportunity to have a more concrete means of supporting themselves. The more he heard about her, the more he was becoming convinced she was just the type of person he liked. Someone who wasn't afraid of dirt, and working to earn their means. Course talking with her he was certain she weren't afraid of much else either. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>18-04-2014, 05:06:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0e/Corky.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Cordelia “Corky” Hendricks<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dogs<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel’s Tower, in a corner away from the bar.<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, Walter, Mentioned:&nbsp; Ginny, Bella, Li-Li<br><hr>Croky blinked when her table was suddenly intruded upon by the new Law Dog and a pretty, inebriated Hispanic woman.&nbsp; Corky liked the Hispanics down in Soddom - most weren’t allowed to open up shop in Gomorra, but Onneca had bucked the odds and she made what Corky was pretty sure were the prettiest dresses in the Maze, if not the whole world.&nbsp; But the miners, too - they were all fire and bluster when Flatbush or Townsend went to talk to ‘em, but when little Corky came by with her star and her smile, they didn’t much seem to mind her.&nbsp; Plus, their food!&nbsp; Made her nose burn just to smell it, and after the few few mouthfuls she always felt like she was going to sweat herself a bathtub, but she’d couldn’t stop from coming back for more.&nbsp; It always felt like she’d strapped wings on her heels once her nose was done running, and her belly was burning like a ghost rock furnace at full steam.<br><br>Most folks didn’t much seem to mind her, actually.&nbsp; She caught a whiff of the whiskey on Letty’s breath and then glanced to the half finished drink she was still trying to work her way through, before offering her wide smile up to Avery.&nbsp; <br><br>“Makin’ new friends, ‘Very?”&nbsp; She grinned and looked back to the woman.&nbsp; “Howdy.&nbsp; Ah’m Corky.”&nbsp; She offered a hand and looked back to Avery.&nbsp; Lotsa women round Gomorra looked at the menfolk around Gomorra and drew first to the breadth of their shoulders, their height, how they filled out their sleeves.&nbsp; Avery was more purty than most of the men round Gomorra - and she knew that wasn’t entirely a compliment, but she liked looking at him all the same.&nbsp; She twiddled with the red rope of a pigtail that had snuck onto her shoulder again.&nbsp; Perhaps it was because the young Englishman seemed so much like Hunter that she couldn’t help but like him right away - or maybe it was because Bilton seemed to have disliked him straight off the bat.&nbsp; She slid her half finished drink aside, and grinned as he walked off to get food.<br><br>When he returned, she’d put an arm around Letty to help keep her upright.&nbsp; “You’re cross the bridge, ain’t yuh?&nbsp; You smell like horses,” she beamed.&nbsp; It wasn’t meant quite as unflatteringly as it had come out.&nbsp; “And I ain’t never seen a horse cross that bridge of its own free will, and I seen way too many folks tips themselves up o’er the side when they’ve had a drink too many.”&nbsp; She patted Letty’s shoulder apologetically.&nbsp; “So ye can either find yerself a place to stay, but if’n ye make like you’re gonna go stumble cross the bridge, I’m gonna have to put you in the drunk tank for the night fer your own good.&nbsp; Got someone with a friendly couch?”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>18-04-2014, 21:15:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<br><hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/6f/Mayor_cochran.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Mayor Cochran<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sweetrock<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Outside Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open, Bella<br><hr>He gave a broad smile, certain beyond any doubt that Bella knew what he was hinting at, and also quite confident he had a stage in mind for a private performance.&nbsp; “Well, I can’t fault the man’s eye for quality.&nbsp; I suspect you wouldn’t have had any trouble finding work, either way,” he mused.&nbsp; His smile widened as she assured him all her performances were given her best effort.&nbsp; <br><br>He nodded at the wine, mouth curling in an amused smile.&nbsp; “I do enjoy a certain sweetness - but I can’t protest when there’s a bit of bite to it.&nbsp; Something with a bit of an edge, not just softly sweet tantalization.”&nbsp; His moustache twitched a bit at the admiration in her voice.&nbsp; “Ah, no, most miners aren’t deep underground.&nbsp; The mesas - there’s as many ways to mine them as there are miners.&nbsp; There’s those who scrape out their living down at the base, scratching out fundament from the rock, and those who take painted ladies up the sides and work the sides of the mesas.&nbsp; Some dig down from the top - some actually build mines, but most miners don’t have the time, the resources to burrow through a mine and scrape it clean.”&nbsp; He chuckled.&nbsp; “Only fellows with some serious backing can afford to do that.”&nbsp; His smile was a little tight at the accusation of hard work.<br><br>“Luck, Miss Capri.&nbsp; A good strike is like a bolt of lightning.&nbsp; All the skill and hard work in the world can leave a man starving to death in Gomorra, or eaten by a Maze Dragon.&nbsp; No, <em>fortune</em> is the only thing which really matters.&nbsp; Lady Luck is the goddess most miners give their prayers to, not the Lord Almighty.”<br><br>He gave a little smile, as she promised every women had a secret, and shifted her knee against his hand.&nbsp; “Well, I suspect there are few who know more about it than myself,” he offered.&nbsp; “But I’m afraid my secrets don’t come cheaply.&nbsp; Just as I expect you don’t offer your performances to just anyone who takes a fancy.”<br><br>He waved a hand as she was pulled away.&nbsp; “Another time, mon petite Bella.&nbsp; Another time.&nbsp; Break a leg,” he offered, sitting back to finish his wine and enjoy the privacy of the booth for a time.&nbsp; He watched the curve of her backside as she walked away, washing down the rest of the wine in a single chase.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>19-04-2014, 00:05:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/62/Scooter2.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Scooter<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sweetrock<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Outside Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open, Walter<br><hr><br>Scooter blinked at the question, looking uncertain.&nbsp; “I… uh…”&nbsp; He considered.&nbsp; Mr. Baine hadn’t said if he was supposed to go get Walter and bring him back, or just send Walter on his way to the Sweetrock offices.&nbsp; His brow knit, then there secret meeting was briefly interrupted by a small pack of Whippersnappers trundling out of the alley, smelling of ribs, honey, cornbread and biscuits.&nbsp; They blinked up at Scooter the mountain, then dodged around him, then warily scattered in all directions before getting too close to the baleful Walter and his dangerous eyes.<br><br>One of the kids dropped a piece of cornbread near Walter’s feet, began to lean to retrieve it, then looked up at Walter.&nbsp; He gave a little shiver, and decide to abandon his prize.&nbsp; He snatched his hand back and scurried off.<br><br>Scooter watched them grow, his brow knit thoughtfully.&nbsp; “Mr. Baine didn’t say.&nbsp; Guess I should take you there.”&nbsp; He gave a little sigh.&nbsp; He was not much fond of any of the bridges out across the mesas, but the most stable was certainly the one connecting Sweetrock to the main mesa.<br><br>He shrugged, and began to lead the way. (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=201960.msg9868041#msg9868041)<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>CurvyKitten</strong> on <strong>19-04-2014, 00:09:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://25.media.tumblr.com/f40108d8f447a10e77bf26ec757a5707/tumblr_mflz9wII2S1rhmgq8o1_500.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Bella Capri (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9823344#msg9823344)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower <br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Mr. Flanagan, OPEN<br>Wearing (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v209/darkglitch/steampunk/underbust_corset_steampunk_dress_2012_collection_by_esaikha-d61jtnq_zps1e029bb4.jpg) with stockings and undergarments of course:P, hair party pulled up with soft curls falling back down along her shoulders. <br>here's to us. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZemPI9jlFXo)<br><hr><br>Bella smiled to Tommy as he flattered her, <strong>"You are to kind, my hope is to be able to live up to such a reputation. I would hate to fall flat on the first nights showcase."</strong> she said with a small nod. Bella pushed her hair back and fanned herself as the heat of the small room soaked through her many layers of clothing.<strong> "You are a dedicated man to put up with such heat."</strong> she said wondering if the girls in back had to deal with such heat. She wasn't one of the soiled doves, but it didn't mean she couldn't worry about the girls. <br><br>Reaching one hand up Bella touched the locket around her neck and smiled, <strong>"That would be an interesting story indeed. One we may be able to share if all goes well tonight."</strong> she said with a soft laugh. <strong>"I wish we would have more time to get to make everything perfect. But it seems we have to work with what we have."</strong> she nodded and again fanned herself as he flattered her. Moving over to the piano bench as Tommy scooted over a bit; she sat at the edge not seeming shy about the closeness of the room. <br><br><strong>"I am sure Mr. Solomon wouldn't have hired you if you didn't at least have a bit of talent at tickling the keys. So between the both of us we should still be able to wow them a bit."</strong> Bella said before taking a deep breath, <strong>"I was thinking starting slow, something to catch their attention and stop them in their tracks. Then we bring it back up and give them a reason to be excited about the rest of the evening. Does that sound good to you?"</strong> she asked already mentally sorting through the different songs she had.<br><br>&nbsp;<strong>"How about something to possibly encourage them to indulge a bit?"</strong> Bella said as she began to lightly tap out a four count beat,<strong> "We could just go home right now, or maybe we could stick around for just one more drink, oh yeah, Get another bottle out, lets shoot the breeze, sit back down, for just one more drink, oh yeah."</strong> she sang loud enough for him to hear still keeping it within the small room. Her voice smooth and effortless, her tone was perfect and it felt as if she could put a bit of herself within each line. Her eyes closed for a moment as she sang the short line of lyrics once more to see if he could find a tempo or style he approved of.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ebb</strong> on <strong>19-04-2014, 05:17:51</strong>
			</dt>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/ac/600full-kenneth-branagh.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Tommy Flanagan (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9819558#msg9819558)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> None<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower, Backstage<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Bella Capri<br><hr> <br><br>She was distracting, to be sure. If there was one benefit of working in the arts, even the arse end of the arts to be found in Gomorra, it was the intimacy of the relationships. It was difficult to be standoffish when you were so often forced into close quarters, what with costume changes and such in small darkened rooms. Dance hall girls had a dignity denied most prostitutes coupled with a looseness of morals off limits to the more polite tiers of society. There were times when Tommy wished he were nothing more than a simple piano man. There were many harder lives in the West, and many easier deaths.<br><br>It quickly became apparent that Bella's skills surpassed his own, he expected to the surprise of no one present. Yet she was gracious enough to bend to his limitations and help play to his strengths. If he did not have the depth of repertoire, he at least had a set of fingers honed over a deck of cards and twice as fast as they needed to be to pound the ivories. They found a nice middle ground of fast songs that showed more raw ability and less finesse while highlighting Bella's incredible voice. <br><br>She had a magnetism to her, and he couldn't wait to hear her on stage playing off the energies of the crowd. Half-drunk miners though they might be. After far too short a time he threw his hands up. "Perfect, Bella. They're going to adore you." Somehow they had crossed the barrier into first names. "I was thinking, though--"<br><br>The door opened, with no knock, to reveal Mabel. "Mr. Solomon says to move your kiesters." She vanished as quickly as she had come, clearly being run ragged by the crowd.<br><br>"I suppose that's curtain, then," Tommy said. Without the music playing it became incredibly obvious how close they were sitting to each other on the piano bench, crossing bounds of propriety that might be remarked upon in more public circumstance. "A kiss for luck," he said, and planted a small peck on her cheek. "It's all right, I'm Irish."<br><br>He then stood and offered her a hand up. "I'll head out first. If you hear bottles being thrown, stay back here where it's safe." Tommy left the small room and made the short walk to the main front stage where the glorious new piano awaited. He adjusted the derby on his head and caught Mr. Solomon's eye with a short nod.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niferbelle</strong> on <strong>20-04-2014, 03:54:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i627.photobucket.com/albums/tt357/Niferbelle/my%20avatars/doomtown7av_zps641b8122.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Lilah 'Li-Li' Oliver (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9813377#msg9813377)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> There have been a few rumors but who listens to those<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Reid, open <br><hr>It wasn't often that Lilah was dumbstruck. She was quiet most of the time but that was mainly because she liked it that way and didn't have much to say to most people not because she was stymied finding words. She was scrutinizing Reid so hard that she nearly missed it when they came around with the food though luckily she came to her senses just in time to get a share. Nobody had ever called her beautiful before, not her mish-mash of white and Chinese that marked her as an outsider on either side. What was it that maze rat had called her? <em>Ziujiao</em>. Banana. Oh, Jack had told her she was pretty before but that was like how a brother would tell his little sister she was pretty even if she were homely as dirt, you couldn't put much stock in it. She gave him a little smile and shook her head as if to say she didn't mind he said so and just hoped she wasn't blushing like a ninny.<br><br>"Well, I don't know if that's the way of it," she said to his suggestion why she was being labeled a whore all the time. He was going to think she didn't talk about anything else! "I always reckoned that most men see women one of two ways -- family, your mothers and sisters and wives and potential wives, and whores. And since I obviously ain't nobody's family..." She shrugged. "Anyway, awhile back I found out if I did turn whore I'd do all right for myself on account of I have good teeth. But I'd die before I'd do that, no offense to the girls who had to take it up."<br><br>She tucked into dinner, glad the conversation was shifting, listening with interest as he talked about his brother. He didn't make family life sound all that blissful though but it wasn't any surprise to her that he was still looking after a brother that sounded no-account and not cutting him loose. Reid was that nice a guy. "Most folks come out here to mine and have no idea the hard labor and right-terrible conditions waiting for 'em. Then you have to worry about everybody wanting a piece of you or what you got, and it ain't much of a way to make a living," she commiserated. "I ain't got any brothers and sisters but I imagine it must be a hard burden sometimes."<br><br>She sopped up a bit of the beans with her cornbread and had to admit it was right tasty. She waved off his concern. "Thank ye. I hope you find somethin' soon too. And I ain't gonna begrudge you gettin' a job, whether I was puttin' in for it or not."<br><br>She stopped demolishing the food on her plate long enough to answer his question. "Well, I grew up here, actually, so I know Gomorra. But like I said, I've kind of been in and out the past few years so yeah, this is the first time in awhile I've been back to stay. There's an old Chinese woman who stuck a cot in her shed and is rentin' to me. It ain't much but it sure is cheap, I can't complain about that."<br><br>She went back to her food and they ate for a few moments in companionable silence. She didn't want him to think all she could talk about was whores and miners so she put some thought into another subject. "Hey, did you hear that about an hour south of here, some brainy types from out east are diggin' up the bones of some great beast out on the mesa? I'd like to see that but I hear they're charging people to look. That's Gomorra for you. I can't quite bring myself to pay somebody for a look. Some fella even said it was the bones of a dragon, mebbe."<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Loves</strong> on <strong>20-04-2014, 19:42:38</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i975.photobucket.com/albums/ae240/samanthamazur/68Cavkmm4hgg_zpsc4502ad9.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Aletta Emelda Maria Sanchez (aka Letty) (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9815927#msg9815927)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1877<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon/Early Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery Burnham, Cordelia “Corky” Hendricks … Open<br><hr><br>Letty had no understanding as to why Pretty-Boy was holding her, or why he was demanding she be careful! Careful? Why she was the most, the best… the...whatever it was, she was good at it! Her dark brown orbs looked up, momentarily stunned. Like a rag doll she let him maneuver&nbsp; her through the rooms to relocate her to a nearby table occupied by someone Letty thought she might have known...if only she could get her mind to cooperate. <br><br>There was a chair pulled out, and her pretty backside dropped upon its smooth surface, and then the room spun. Letty held tight to the table, holding on to what seemed solid and safe. Another voice added to the mix, but it was like background noise and so she paid it no attention. Her name was being used again, this time by the fancy speekin’ fella that had the equally fancy hair. Letty turned her head in his direction...slowly. <strong>”Aletta Emelda Maria Sanchez”</strong> corrected the young ranch worker, spilling her full name in a tone that celebrated her Mexican heritage. She sat proudly as she spoke it, as if daring anyone to tell her she was not welcome because of it. Then suddenly the fight seemed to leave her and she slumped back in her chair. Her right hand moved to grasp at her hat, pulling it from her head and attempting to drop it upon the table, missing and watching as it fell to the floor. A puzzled expression clouded her pretty eyes as she attempted to work out how her hat had gotten to the floor at the same time repeating her earlier request. <strong>”Call me Letty…”</strong> <br><br>His question brought back a world of suspicion, at least it would have had she been in full control of her thought process. For now she simply looked into his eyes and leaned forward as if to whisper her reply, only the words that came from her tongue had been thoughts that had meant to remain private. <strong>”You’re a handsome devil ain’t ya?”</strong> no..no that was not where Letty lived! But then she didn’t exactly know the answer to that question any more. Perhaps she was being on the dramatic side, but Letty felt stupid having been tricked by what she perceived as a friend. Though to be fair, Aggy had made it clear that she hadn’t known about the letters until Joe had told her his bride-to-be would be arriving on a train in one months time.&nbsp; But Joe wasn’t around to direct her anger at. Was it fair? No!&nbsp; But as far as Letty was concerned, no one stopped to think what was right anymore. <br><br>Another voice added to the mix, and with that a hand… Letty stared at the offering while her mind worked out the appropriate actions. There was slight delay, but an acceptable greeting found its way from her tongue as she shook the oddly familiar looking girls hand. <strong>”Cork”</strong> repeated Letty before pausing with a look that signaled she was working out her mistake. <strong>”Please to make your...aquaint… aquwant… nice to meet ya”</strong> she let&nbsp; her fingers slip away after shaking the girls arm for perhaps too long. A look of confusion filtered her brown eyes as she watched the girl leave the table. Did she do something wrong? Letty tried to play back the greeting in her mind, but nothing seemed to stick. <strong>”Did I do that?”</strong> she asked Avery, keeping most of the details to her concern in her mind, making it a rather difficult question to answer. <br><br>As if the answer no longer mattered, Letty followed her curiosity, casting her dark brown eyes about the room, taking in the colourful characters. Some of the “ladies” made her doubt her initial choice in partaking in the temptation of free booze. Though they seemed harmless enough. She caught a few looks directed towards her, but there was nothing that made the hair stand up at the back of her neck, so she figured she was in no real danger. There were more words with the return of the Corky girl, as well as a heavenly scent of pork. Letty almost missed the delivery of the statement that held a question in there someplace. Letty blinked. She nodded then bent her head at the same time, lifting her arm so to sniff for an offending scent. She smelled as she always did… honest. <strong>”Cross… Willy had to be shoed”</strong> glancing towards Avery she smiled and sighed. It may have appeared as if she was fluttering her lashes in his direction, possibly flirting… but she was thinking of her horse. <strong>”Gates Ranch… best horses you ever have the pleasure.”</strong><br><br>Further understanding worked its way through her mind as Letty returned her attention to Corky. All this back and forth, swinging her head from one side to the other was not doing her delicate equilibrium much good! <strong>”I ain’t no drunk! Can’t stand the stuff…”</strong> she made a face similar to the one that had captured her true feelings on whiskey after she had downed the first of the glasses that had brought her to this sorry state of affairs. <strong>”Its on account of pretty words and liars!”</strong> Annoyed now, she placed her elbow on the table and balanced her chin on the palm of her hand, releasing a dramatic sigh. <strong>”Never been in trouble before them letters! They gone and turned me into some… some… well I ain't rightly know what but its bad!”</strong> 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>CurvyKitten</strong> on <strong>21-04-2014, 03:42:26</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://25.media.tumblr.com/f40108d8f447a10e77bf26ec757a5707/tumblr_mflz9wII2S1rhmgq8o1_500.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Bella Capri (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9823344#msg9823344)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower <br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Mr. Flanagan, Everyone OPEN<br>Wearing (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v209/darkglitch/steampunk/underbust_corset_steampunk_dress_2012_collection_by_esaikha-d61jtnq_zps1e029bb4.jpg) with stockings and undergarments of course:P, hair party pulled up with soft curls falling back down along her shoulders. <br>here's to us. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZemPI9jlFXo)<br><hr><br>Bella sang with a soft smile on her face, the sound of it eased the feel of tension in her shoulders. She felt the nervousness melt away and for that short moment Bella felt as if it were hers. Soon she'd be on the stage again, her heart would race, her body would tingle, and for that short moment Bella would be able to feel how wanted she was. Her voice cut off suddenly as Tommy stopped playing, <strong>"I certainly hope they do, or I may find out just how rowdy our quests can get.' </strong>she said with a soft bit of laughter. <br><br>Mabel's little announcement had Bella practically jumping from her seat. <strong>" Yes it does.'</strong> she said seeming very excited about getting her chance to finally shine. Her cheeks became a bit flushed as Tommy kissed it, <strong>"Well as long it’s for luck Mr. Irsh.'</strong> she said winking to him and allowing him to exit first. His comment about ducking for cover caused her to laugh softly. She would never allow him to simply get pelted by beer mugs, granted what she could do about it was beyond her. <br><br>Allowing a few moments for Tommy to get settled Bella took a few deep breaths and finally made her way on stage. Her smile was bright and inviting, her hands rising as she looked over the crowd.<strong> "Well tonight has already proven to be very interesting. I do hope your all well and enjoying yourself this fine day. Well I'd like to thank you all for coming, and celebrate to everything just getting better for here!"</strong> she called out and made sure everyone heard her, her eyes scanning the crowd as she made that brief contact with each and every person.<strong> "But I know you didn't come to hear me talk, so why don't we get this little show started?"</strong> she asked not waiting for an answer as she nodded to Tommy. The moment the music filled the room her voice followed, soothing, well trained, and filled with a all of her energy and passion Bella began to sing for the crowd.<br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">what she sings.</div><div class="spoiler_body"><div align="center"><strong>We could just go home right now<br>Or maybe we could stick around<br>For just one more drink, oh yeah<br>Get another bottle out<br>Lets shoot the breeze<br>Sit back down<br>For just one more drink, oh yeah<br><br>Here's to us<br>Here's to love<br>All the times<br>That we messed up<br>Here's to you<br>Fill the glass<br>Cause the last few days<br>Have gone too fast<br>So let give em hell<br>Wish everybody well<br>Here's to us<br>Here's to us<br><br>Stuck it out this far together<br>Put our dreams through the shredder<br>Let's toast cause things got better<br>And everything could change like that<br>And all these years go by so fast<br>But nothing lasts forever<br><br>Here's to us<br>Here's to love<br>All the times<br>That we messed up<br>Here's to you<br>Fill the glass<br><br>Cause the last few nights<br>Have gone to fast<br>If they give you hell<br>Tell em to forget themselves<br>Here's to us<br>Here's to us<br><br>Here's to all that we kissed<br>And to all that we missed<br>To the biggest mistakes<br>That we just wouldn't trade<br><br>To us breaking up<br>Without us breaking down<br>To whatever's come our way<br><br>Here's to us<br>Here's to us!<br><br>Here's to us<br>Here's to love<br>All the times<br>That we messed up<br><br>Here's to you<br>Fill the glass<br><br>Cause the last few days<br>Have gone too fast<br><br>So let's give em hell<br>Wish everybody well<br><br>Well!<br><br>Here's to us<br>Here's to love<br><br>All the times<br>That we messed up<br>Here's to you<br>Fill the glass<br>Cause the last few nights<br>Have gone too fast<br>If they give you hell<br>Tell em forget themselves<br><br>Here's to us<br>Here's to us<br>Oh here's to us<br><br>Here's to us<br>Here's to us<br>Here's to love<br>Here's to us<br><br>Wish everybody well<br><br>Here's to us<br>Here's to love<br>Here's to us<br>Here's to us</strong></div></div></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>22-04-2014, 10:40:56</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f2/Beardycox.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Avery Burnam<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dogs (1)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel’s Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Letty, Corky, noticing Bella; Open <br><hr> <br>"Yes, making friends…" Avery answered somewhat belatedly and in a decidedly dry tone of voice.&nbsp; He wondered if there was some irony in the fact he was seated in a place called Babel's Tower yet couldn't understand half of what was being said around him.&nbsp; Perhaps the Lord had already smited the lot of them.&nbsp; Probably on account of all the whoring and drinking going on.&nbsp; He never was any fun to invite to parties.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>Avery didn't necessarily need to understand Letty's slurred words to feel he'd gotten the essence of what she was communicating to him.&nbsp; The way she was batting her lashes was probably a universal language, and the words 'handsome devil' were rather hard to confuse.&nbsp; He was very nearly tempted too.&nbsp; Under the rough spun dress and inebriated words was an undoubtedly attractive young woman, and the last month spent here in Gomorra had been a particularly dry one for him.&nbsp; There were whores aplenty available of course, but the Englishman was not especially fond of paying for it -- that could end up hurting more than your pride if you picked the wrong one -- and until he started getting paying clients for his agency, money was rather too tight.&nbsp; <br><br>He'd already taken the high road anyways, and Avery was rarely one to switch horses.&nbsp; He believed in seeing a thing through to the end.&nbsp; Besides that Letty had somehow managed to arouse his sympathy, something that happened from time to time, and was best to humor when not in the middle of a job where such mushy sentiment was apt to cause headaches.&nbsp; It was clear to him she was suffering from a broken heart and severe lack of judgment, even if he couldn't decipher the exact details.&nbsp; The romantic in him could appreciate the former, and bitter experience had left him with an all too ready understanding of the latter.&nbsp; <br><br>"I'm sure she'd rather avoid the drunk tank, Miss Hendricks.&nbsp; Hardly the place for a lady to wake up is it?&nbsp; And by the look of this room, you'll have need of that space before the night's over."&nbsp; Reaching down, Avery rescued Letty's hat from the floor, dusting it off on his knee.&nbsp; A puff of white erupted at the first slap, leaving a light coat of trail dust all over his nice fresh trousers.&nbsp; Perhaps he should have listened to what she was mumbling about the horses, after all.&nbsp; "All this charity has gone to my head it seems.&nbsp; I'll pay for a room if you can point me to one that doesn't double as a crib-house.&nbsp; I'd offer her use of my office's bench but it lacks proper cushions and I don't suspect that would do much for her reputation either."<br><br>While they debated Letty's lodgings for the night -- likely without much sensible input from the woman in question -- music suddenly wafted over the front room, somehow managing to break through the din and even quiet some of the rowdy crowd.&nbsp; That quite possibly had more to do with the woman singing it than any collective love of song among the patrons though.&nbsp; She was an undeniable beauty and he found himself watching her move gracefully about the stage for a long moment, admiring her clear and pretty voice as it rose above the background noise of clinking glasses and clattering knives.&nbsp; <br><br>"Or I could try to get you back to this…what was it?&nbsp; Gates Ranch?&nbsp; So long as you can still sit a horse,"&nbsp; he finally continued, eyeing Letty skeptically, barely even able to sit a chair by looks of her.&nbsp; "Probably not the best idea I've had tonight, actually…"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>22-04-2014, 20:39:46</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0e/Corky.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Cordelia “Corky” Hendricks<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dogs<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel’s Tower, in a corner away from the bar.<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, Avery, Letty<br><hr>Corky couldn’t help but giggle at the mispronunciation of her name, particularly after Letty managed to pronounce all three hundred syllables of her own without a problem.&nbsp; She bit back a giggle when Letty protested about not being a drunk, and looked up to Avery when he played the gentleman.&nbsp; <br><br>“Aww, there’s no call for that.&nbsp; But naw, she don’t want to spend the night in the drunk tank.&nbsp; The men there’ll think she’s some kinda … gift,” she said with a scrunch of her nose.&nbsp; “You know where Nathan Hunter’s house is?&nbsp; I’m staying there.&nbsp; He’s got an extra bedroom or two.&nbsp; If you’ll get her there, she can sleep it off.&nbsp; Better’n a hard bench an’ I don’t think no one’ll disparage her reputation none.”&nbsp; She smiled as Mabel set down three plates of food.<br><br>She glanced down to the half empty whiskey bottle of her own, and eyed Letty up.&nbsp; A few inches taller than herself, though they might be of the same weight.&nbsp; No, if whiskey could upend her like this, she didn’t need to be taken for serious just yet.&nbsp; She happily pushed the rest of the glass away.&nbsp; She ate busily while she listened to the two of them talk.<br><br>“Speakin’ o’ which,” Corky sighed.&nbsp; “Someone better get on out to the bridge and turn them that’s trying to stagger across it away.&nbsp; We’ll get you on back to your horse and your ranch tomorrow, won’t we?”&nbsp; She squeezed Letty’s shoulder and rose, the plate of food which had been in front of her already looking like Corky might have licked it clean.&nbsp; “Bring her on by Hunter’s and get her in a bed, and I’ll get her back to her place tomorrow.&nbsp; Was a pleasure to meet’cha, Miss Aletta Emelda Maria Sanchez.”&nbsp; She smiled to Avery, then leaned over and brushed his cheek with a kiss, her eyes shining wickedly.&nbsp; “See you later, handsome devil.”&nbsp; <br><br>She ruffled his hair once and then stepped towards the door, a bounce in her hip.&nbsp; She paused at the doorway as the singing started up, leaning in the archway and hearing the song out.&nbsp; Corky couldn't really carry a tune to save her life, but that didn't stop her from appreciating one.&nbsp; She left with all of two lines of chorus lyrics in her brain, and already humming a song she was sure would be stuck in her head for the rest of the night.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Untamed Skies</strong> on <strong>23-04-2014, 02:38:36</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk59/Untamed_skies/bdcf3531-746f-4fc9-9b81-35e51e2eba18_zpsc75e54da.jpg) (http://s277.photobucket.com/user/Untamed_skies/media/bdcf3531-746f-4fc9-9b81-35e51e2eba18_zpsc75e54da.jpg.html)[</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Reid Lawson<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1877<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon.<br><strong>Location:</strong> A table near the bar inside Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Lilah, open<br><hr><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br>Reid thought he noticed a noticeable change when he called her beautiful. Though maybe it was simply the lack of words she had to respond with. She'd responded to just about everything else he'd said, and now she was just shakin' her head and not mindin'&nbsp; it. He'd find himself shrugging, "s'pose that's close enough," he said. A little cruder then he'd have put it. Rather it could be put as the women you cared for, and the women you were interested in, versus the ones that didn't interest ya. "Course there is also the women you'd pay money not to touch as well," he said with a amused look on his face. "I'm gonna let the topic change because all this talk about you and whores feels mighty close to turnin' ta fightin' words," he said. "But I'd say it takes more then nice teeth to attract a customer that isn't desperate like though," he said with another chuckle as he'd take his own advantage of the food being offered. The drink was nice but free food was god send. A man wouldn't survive off booze, and frankly Reid had seen it kill more then a few men. Food was another matter altogether.<br><br>"That sounds like us, course you can tell him that all you like, he ain't gonna listen," he said with a light sigh. Reid had start to take to keeping his own money seperate from Dale, and not allowing Reid's gamblin and debt to make himself flat broke anymore. At least as often as he could help it. "I wouldn't call it a burden, maybe more like consequences for lettin' myself get greedy," he said with a nod. "I wasn't hogtied and carried here from Colorado, I came of my own free will, with the same high hopes, I just wizened up quick is all," he explained. He didn't really blame Dale for not wanting to believe the he wouldn't be striking it rich any time soon. After all, Reid had as much as his brother and it was right depressin' to know you had nothing. Course the best way to fix that was admit you had nothing and work to find somethin'. "As much trouble as the fool causes, I'd rather have to deal with him, then have no one to deal with if you understand my meanin'," he said. The maze was a lonely wretched place. Trouble or not, knowing someone had your back went a long way. He couldn't imagine havin' to brave it alone.<br><br>Reid would nod as she explained her own situation and that made sense, it sounded like she was well enough off. At least she had some real shelter she could probably afford to keep for a bit. "I swear, those types would charge you for dirt that clings to your skin if they could," he said. "I can't help but agree with ya, unless they were chargin awfully cheap just lookin ain't very appealin," he said folding his arms. "Course I wonder if it's like anything else round here, where there is a little there is more, maybe someone else will dig up some dragon bones," he suggested. Course if someone was making money for something silly someone else would be tryin as well. Still you never know, not every last man in the world was intent on stealing your last penny. "Course as nice as bones are, I've heard people talk of there being live dragons about," he said. "S'pose there is still a price for seeing a live one though, just they ain't interested in your coin," he added shaking his head. "Course that's just Gomorra for ya, if it ain't some con man stealin your money, the wild life is trying to steal an arm or a leg from you," he finished bitterly. "It ain't the place for the faint of heart that much is for certain," he said. 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Loves</strong> on <strong>23-04-2014, 04:08:14</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i975.photobucket.com/albums/ae240/samanthamazur/68Cavkmm4hgg_zpsc4502ad9.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Aletta Emelda Maria Sanchez (aka Letty) (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9815927#msg9815927)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1877<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon/Early Evening <br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery Burnham, Cordelia “Corky” Hendricks …(noticing purdy music, a fly and&nbsp; the the heavenly scent of pork). Open<br><hr><br>Letty’s not so sharp senses noted movement and so her head tilted to the side, following the shift of her eyes. She paused and stared at the hat Pretty-Boy was holding and narrowed her eyes attempting to focus. It looked suspiciously like her own. But that couldn’t be...her’s was safely atop of… Letty’s hand moved to pat the top of her head three times before her arm dropped and she pouted, wondering where her hat had gotten to.<br><br>A pretty sounding voice filled the room and soon Letty’s eyes were rolling upwards, looking toward the ceiling as if searching for angels. The chatter between Corky and Avery and the mystery of where Letty might rest her head had largely gone unnoticed, especially when a fly made its presence known. Around and around and around it flew, zooming up and down like it were drunk on the fumes of booze and cheap perfume. Eventually it landed on the tip of Letty’s nose and she sat, crosseyed staring at it as it stared at her. A quick gust of breath blown with a controlled purpose had the fly moving on, and the room feeling a little less dizzy. <br><br>And then the fancy voice belonging to the Pretty-Boy flowed like the amber liquid from the bottle to her glass, smooth, rich and dangerous. She turned to face him, her head almost dropping against her shoulder, while her dark brown orbs captured his. For a moment her stare was intense. Like she was trying to etch his features in the back of her mind so she might not forget him once sleep came to claim her. They moved slowly along his handsome features, drinking him in. Her eyes smoldered. She licked her lips…. and then she was suddenly shocked out of her sensual thoughts with a hiccup. Leaning in closely, Letty waved Avery closer so that she might whisper in his ear. <strong>”I’m excellent with horses…better than I am with people…they aint never let me down.”</strong> <br><br>Like magic the heavenly scent of pork filled the air once more, only more potent than before. Her mouth watered. She could almost taste it! Another hiccup had her jumping in her seat just a tad and her hand slapped against her thigh. She looked down towards her lap, positive that some creatine was attempting to get fresh, only the only hand that she could see was her own...and a plate! There before her was a plate filled with the most delicious looking vittles her imagination could sum up! Or at least her inebriated imagination. In truth, Letty was an accomplished cook of her native cuisine, though Aggy wished she would use less hot peppers. <br><br>The squeeze on her shoulder clued Letty into Corky’s kindness, though Letty was wondering why the girls was talking to her like she was simple in the head. <strong>”Willy”</strong> replied Letty. The single word was accompanied by a brilliant smile that danced in her dark brown eyes, releasing a swirl of golden flecks that seemed to catch what sun managed to stream through the windows. She nodded her head and took a bite of the mouth watering pulled pork. <strong>”It’s good….you oughta try some!”</strong> encouraged Letty with a smile before returning her attention to her food. She was hungry! Somewhere in the back of her mind, instinct took over, for as savage as she might appear to some, Aletta Emelda Maria Sanchez had been raised with impeccable manners! 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>esclavage</strong> on <strong>23-04-2014, 05:31:22</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/4c/Ginny_06a.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Virginia <em><strong>'Ginny'</strong></em> Mary Lou Whateley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley Family<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower Foyer<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, Abraham Solomon, &lt;<em><strong>really</strong></em> noticing Bella&gt;<br><hr><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Someone else might have missed the slight hitch in Abraham Solomon's greeting along with his smile momentarily disappearing, given how quickly the man recovered his composure and his smile, but not Ginny.&nbsp; Her mother taught her from the cradle to pick up on all those little social cues and miscues and the blonde gambler carefully tucked that expression away while giving nothing away in return.&nbsp; Instead, all that was offered was that same, bright, beaming smile that won hearts and emptied pockets.&nbsp; Yes, Mary-Ann had trained her daughter well, in her very own image the locals might have praised the older woman had she also lived in Gomorra.&nbsp; But no, Ginny's mother chose not to travel with the Whateleys and abandon the comforts of the South along with its culture and flair.&nbsp; So in many ways, Ginny had grown up a bit like a wild rose - having long left her native Georgian roots and embraced the dangerous lifestyle of the Fast County.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The young Whateley could easily surmise why the owner of Babel's Tower was not quite so happy to see her.&nbsp; He was no fool and must have known that her family had been interested in acquiring said piece of land.&nbsp; &nbsp;Undoubtedly, he was wondering why she would be so interested in a table and perhaps suspecting something deeper was afoot.&nbsp; And perhaps there was - but not on Ginny's part.&nbsp; No, the blonde simply wanted a table because she previously had a table when this place had been owned by Mr. Sloane.&nbsp; There was a feeling of pride that came with it, owning something solely her own and not her family's - it never crossed Ginny's mind that her table had been courtesy of all the double eagles her father had provided to her as her daily allotment or that the Whateley name might have been a draw to the Casino in terms of clientele.&nbsp; No, the table had been Ginny's and she had been damned proud of it.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Though admittedly, there was also a small ulterior motive to her running her own table.&nbsp; Ginny adored stories and in her opinion the best stories were told either by miners who had lived through a hard day in the Maze or Sweetrock men with a little too much drink and a little too loose of lips.&nbsp; And while some lied and others exaggerated, little Miss Whateley was smart enough to piece together many things that were said.&nbsp; So in one sense, she was seeking information - just not necessarily of the mysterious Abraham Solomon.&nbsp; She was&nbsp; confident <em>that </em>information would come to her naturally once she was secured her table.&nbsp; And of course, any juicy gossip or anything else amusing that Ginny might overhear while dicing or playing cards would be repeated - why on God's green earth wouldn't it be?&nbsp; She lived being the center of attention and the best way to do that at family gathering was to have stories to share; Granny normally loved most of Ginny's stories.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Such was Ginny's confidence in herself that she wasn't even surprised when Mr. Solomon acquiesced to her demand for her own personal table - really, in her mind, there had been no other option.&nbsp; But what did surprise her was his follow up - though Ginny hid her surprise with a slow, practiced sip of the overly sweet wine.&nbsp; And then, it was her turn to take a pause before answering and to consider the possibilities.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Honestly, the blonde didn't like the thought of being <em>employed </em> by Mr. Solomon.&nbsp; She had never been wanting for money and somehow it felt wrong to be paid by him.&nbsp; After all, she had plenty of coin - whether given to her by her father or earned at the poker tables - coin wasn't her objective.&nbsp; &nbsp;On the surface it would seem like he was doing her a favor, but she did not see it that way.&nbsp; To Ginny's sense, it seemed like Abraham Solomon was trying to establish clear lines of authority - him as the boss and her as an obedient subordinate&nbsp; And while she had no desire to stir up the waves, she also little desire for this to be her...<strong><em>job</em></strong>.&nbsp; That particular word was mentally spat out, not because Ginny had a problem with the nature of Babel's Tower, but instead with the thought of having a job.&nbsp; Goodness gracious!&nbsp; Whatever would her mother think!<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;But it would be gauche to directly refuse.&nbsp; So Ginny tried a different tack, letting a look of surprise appear across her face.&nbsp; <strong>"Why Mistuh Solomon!&nbsp; Ah cou'dn't let yuh do that!&nbsp; T'wouldn't be proper!"</strong>&nbsp; Pausing artfully to allow for an inquiring gaze, she continued on.&nbsp; <strong>"Ah mean, ah dun think ah could w'ar the same thang ev'ryday!"</strong>&nbsp; She made a brief sweeping gesture to indicate all the hired help working and then coyly battled her lashes once more even as she leaned back subtly to let Abraham's gaze linger on her neck and the swell of her bosom if he so chose.&nbsp; After all, he had leaned in and she understood what that meant.&nbsp; Her last statement was meant to take any sting out of refusing the offer by making it a matter of her vanity.&nbsp; Then, her counter-proposal followed.&nbsp; <strong>"Please Suh, think of muh <em><strong>borrowin'</strong></em> one o'yur tables.&nbsp; Ah'm really payin' fer all the 'ours ah kin't be thar.&nbsp; Ah wo'ldn't want yuh ta take ah loss."</strong>&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;So kind Ginny was, always thinking of others.&nbsp; Granny would have been proud.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Then the young Whateley was distracted by a woman's voice - but not the one she expected.&nbsp; Forgetting herself momentarily, and her pose, Ginny whipped her head around and all but stared at Miss Bella Capri, a puzzled look on her face.&nbsp; Wasn't Annie supposed to be singing first?&nbsp; Why wasn't she signing first?&nbsp; That puzzled look became a fuller frown even as she noticed the others gathered began to nod along in appreciation or stop what they were doing to listen to the dark-haired singer.&nbsp; Stubbornly, Ginny set her jaw - Annie's singing was much better than this!&nbsp; Whether that was the exact truth or not was perhaps debatable, but Ginny would stand by her friend resolutely.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; The moment past and Ginny put back on a placid look and covered her feelings with another bright smile.&nbsp; <strong>"Wot a surpr'se!"</strong> she exclaimed, directing this to Abraham Solomon.&nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"Ah thought Annie was performin' first, but ah suppose it's good tah save the best fer last."</strong>&nbsp; Her tone demanding an answer to a clear, unspoken question.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wulfspire</strong> on <strong>23-04-2014, 06:16:57</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/7a/Josh_Brolin_True_Grit.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Christian “Spooky” Specter<br><strong>Faction:</strong> None yet.<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Outside Babel’s Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open<br><hr><br>“Seems ta me the famous killer, Spooky, is too chicken ta take me on!” yelled a drunken young man to a small crowd that had gathered just outside Babel’s Tower. He walked staggered circles around the stern Gunslinger, all of his gestures exaggerated, sloppy, and encroaching upon the personal space of arguably (and only just so) the most dangerous man in Gomorra. Christian was not known for his patient and this man was pushing the envelope further than legends suggested were wise.<br><br>“Dammit, Vic, get yer ass over here. He’ll fill ya full o’ holes faster’n you can spit!” one of Vic’s friends hollered at him. Vic was a tall, gangly man. With more dirt than fat on him, and his muscles sinewy from working in the mines. His clothing was tattered and ragged, a shirt too tight, and pants too loose, as nothing he wore fit him. His gun belt held a simple pistol, beaten and worn. Missing most of his teeth, it was easy for the drunken miner to spit on the ground. Vic gestured to it, then to his friend and spun in the circle to the crowd, laughing. The crowd started to find the situation funny themselves. All of them laughing, chuckling, or giggling as the case may be, did not seem to faze the Gunslinger. He stood quiet, face holding a frown as normal, and a ghostly fire in his eyes.<br><br>“Well…guess Spooky, the fastest draw this side o’ Tombstone aint so fast, is he, Micky?” Vic said to his friend. The two of them were partners on a claim outside the city in the Maze. They had worked together for years, and it was obvious which of the two had the sense, and which had balls. It took both to be successful in the Maze, and they had been around a bit. This was not the first mess that Micky had had to pull Vic out of, though it was likely to be his last.<br><br>Christian stood there, surrounded on three sides by the crowd, the other Vic the Idiot Miner. Christian’s tack was not much better than Vic’s, though more well-kept. Reaper was holstered at his side, Doc on his back. His face wore an expression of patience quickly running thin, not embarrassment, fear, or caution. The stupid miner had been harassing him for almost five minutes now, calling him out in front of those waiting to get into Babel’s Tower, drawing a lot of unwanted attention to quiet gunslinger. Christian, despite being an infamous killer who was readily able to compete for fastest draw alive, was a private man. He did not seek these fights out. Unfortunately, they came to him.<br><br>“One last time, ya yella bellied…hic…slug-slow…hic…son-of-a-whore,” as Vic continued with his insults (and hiccups) Christian’s eyes closed, and he inhaled a deep breath, “I’m a callin’ you out!” The miner walked a few paces away, and the crowd cleared out behind him. The miner chuckled and called a few more boasts to the crowd, most unintelligible behind the liquor slur. The man stood between Christian and the road out of town, blocking any retreat should the infamous gunman choose a less honorable way out of the fight. Christian faced away from the Vic, not even deigning to stand toe-to-toe with the man. That would be too good for this moron, and would have made for a much less impressing sight.<br><br>“Goddammit, Vic!” yelled Micky, who then turned to Christian, “Please mister, he don’t know what he’s doin’. He’s drunker’n a Deseret Mormon with a sip a’beer. Just be on yer way, he won’t cause ya no more trouble.”<br><br>Everything was over far more quickly than most would have guessed. Vic lowered his palm to the handle of his irons. Christian saw it from the corner of his right eye as he had turned his head just far enough to see the drunken fool. Spooky spun in place, drawing his smoke-wagon in the same motion. Before a blink could finish, Spooky had slapped the hammer back on Reaper twice, sending lead ripping through the poor man’s kneecaps. <br><br>Vic howled in pain, his hand releasing the pistol. Unfortunately for the poor miner, Spooky never shot just to wound. Before the gun could hit the dust, Spooky had slapped two more rounds down range, one ripping into the miner’s chest, the other his skull, destroying his features. The next moment, Christian’s weapon was holstered, and a hush had fallen over the sobered crowd with a corpse in their midst.<br><br>Christian growled as he sauntered towards the entrance of the Babel’s Tower, “You’ll wanna get them buried or burned quick. Dark’s comin’.” His ominous voice filled with mystery, he slammed the door open to the new bar and turned back to the mourning Micky. <br><br>“Find yourself better friends, or they’ll be likely ta get ya killed.”<br><br>The fastest draw this side of Tombstone was definitely back.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ebb</strong> on <strong>23-04-2014, 06:43:15</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/ac/600full-kenneth-branagh.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Tommy Flanagan (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9819558#msg9819558)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> None<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower, Front Stage<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Bella Capri, Spooky<br><hr> <br><br>Later, Tommy would note to himself that it was one of the better musical sets he'd ever been part of. Up until the part where somebody got themselves shot. But aside from that, it was going pretty well. They were on their third number, and he was doing his best to keep up with the gracious Bella Capri who had shifted her steamwagon to a lower gear, as they say. The piano itself was a wonderful instrument, worth whatever Mr. Solomon had paid for it, and Tommy had a strong mind to creep downstairs later tonight and wrestle a few gears out of the interior for fear that the thing would render his position redundant.<br><br>But about that shooting. They were just reaching the chorus of the song when a series of rapid gunshots clearly sounded over the noise of the piano, the singing and the crowd. Tommy counted four shots. Call him obsessive, but counting rounds fired was a pretty good trick to cultivate under some circumstances, such as those where one wanted to keep one's hide reasonably unperforated. Tommy's mother having raised only two dummies, Tommy not among them, he eased up on the ivories and swiveled around on the piano stool, painfully aware that his only weapon was the tiny derringer concealed in his waistband. One more lesson Tommy had learned was that it was a bad idea to play piano with a gun up your sleeve. The proof, as the New York types were wont to say, was left as an exercise for the reader.<br><br>The atmosphere in the Babel's Tower quickly filled with the absence of piano music, and more than one patron followed Tommy's gaze to the swinging doors at the front, which had just admitted one of the scarier looking things Tommy had ever had the misfortune of crossing paths with. And he'd seen a buffalo with three bear heads and an extra kickin' leg made outta snakes.<br><br>This seemed like an excellent time, Tommy thought, for somebody else to say something.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>23-04-2014, 07:25:55</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/de/Nash_bilton.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Sheriff Nash Bilton<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; Law Dogs (5) Sheriff<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Sheriff's Office/Gomorra Jail -&gt; Outside Babel's Tower -&gt; Sheriff's Office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open<br><hr>Bilton heard the commotion outside - usually it was a prelude to a fight, and with a grand opening underway and free whiskey to be had, it was only a matter of time.&nbsp; Still, he’d been enjoying the afternoon of relative peace and quiet, presumptuous ex-Union officers notwithstanding.&nbsp; Then there was the sound of gunfire, and he winced.&nbsp; <br><br>“Goddam it,” he muttered.&nbsp; He glanced up to the Judge, just entering, and rose up out of his chair, reaching for hat and gatling pistol, and slung his shotgun over his shoulder.&nbsp; <br><br>“Gonna have to be another time, Judge.”<br><br>Warwick blinked, his own sawed off shotgun in hand.&nbsp; As well mannered and cultured as he was, a man didn’t survive as long as the Judge did without due preparation.&nbsp; “Trial date’s set for the twenty first,” he offered.&nbsp; “All I needed to say.”&nbsp; <br><br>“Fine,” said Bilton, already strolling out the door.&nbsp; He brushed past Winona and Ford without a second glance, shotgun raised, taking in the sight of the fallen miner and the crowd still standing stunned around him.&nbsp; Some were muttering darkly, hands near their guns, while others looked spooked.<br><br>Bilton put his fingers in his mouth, and made a sharp, loud whistle with his lips.&nbsp; He took in the miner’s pistol free of its holster - the man hadn’t had time to get it level, and the bullets looked as though they’d entered through the man’s chest.&nbsp; He was sprawled on his ass after all.<br><br>The Judge was assessing it as well, his brow furrowed.&nbsp; The routine violence of Gomorra always bothered him, and his sawed-off had already been slipped away by the time he had reappeared on the street.<br><br>“Let’s see how fast he is when he wakes up with dynamite in his bed,” growled a miner.<br><br>Twin shotgun blasts ripped through the air, and Bilton glowered at the miner in question.&nbsp; <br><br>“And THIS.&nbsp; THIS is why we can’t have nice things.&nbsp; Cause someone kills someone else, and then folks start blowin’ shit up.”&nbsp; He waved his hand at the newly built Babel’s Tower.&nbsp; “Place has been open two damn hours and people talking about throwing dynamite.&nbsp; Now, looks to me like I got a whole passel of goddam witnesses to a duel.&nbsp; I got a gun in the dirt, man landing on his back - and the only thing I don’t got is a man waiting here for the law to show up.&nbsp; Let me remind everyone what constitutes a legal goddam duel in this town.&nbsp; You got your gun in your holster, other fella has the same.&nbsp; You face one another, two men draw, one man dies.&nbsp; Or maybe he just ends up bleeding a lot.&nbsp; You got at least two witnesses to the affair, and then <em>you wait for the law.</em>”&nbsp; <br><br>He was shouting, and he kept right on shouting as he looked around, clacking open the shotgun and reloading it.&nbsp; “Now let me tell you what <em>ain’t</em> lawful.&nbsp; Ten men with pistols, shotguns, rifles, or dynamite drawing down on one fella.&nbsp; Shootin’ a man in the back.&nbsp; Having your smokewagon drawn while his is holstered.&nbsp; Stabbing him in the dark.&nbsp; Killing him while he’s sittin’, eatin’, sleepin’, fornicatin’.&nbsp; That makes it a murder, and in Gomorra that gets you a long drop and a sudden stop.”<br><br>He pointed down at the body dead in the street.&nbsp; “This man killed in a legal duel?”&nbsp; The miners looked to one another, surly, and Micky stepped forward.&nbsp; <br><br>“Yessir.&nbsp; Well, mostly.&nbsp; Vic shot at him while his back was kinda turned.”<br><br>Bilton sighed.&nbsp; “Then it weren’t even a duel.&nbsp; It was self-defense, and maybe just a touch of Darwin teachin’ the rest of y’all a lesson.&nbsp; Now any of you fellers care to pay for this man’s burial?”<br><br>There was no answer, as they looked shiftily to one another.&nbsp; Bilton scowled.&nbsp; “Y’all’ll posse up to buy dynamite and toss boomsticks at a man, but you won’t even scratch together ten dollars to put a man in a box?&nbsp; Lord Jesus save me from friends like you.”&nbsp; He spat in the street.&nbsp; “Toss him off the mesa, and get him the hell off my streets.”<br><br>He scowled and turned back towards his office, a dark mood only darkening when he heard singing from within the jail.<br><br>“AND SOMEONE SHUT THAT CUNT UP!”<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>23-04-2014, 08:05:06</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d6/Stoker.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Abraham Solomon (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> None<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower Foyer<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Ginny, Open, Notices Spooky<br><hr>Much like Ginny, Abraham kept the false, overly bright smile plastered to his face as she worked hard to convince him to change his mind.&nbsp; Her overt attempts to sway his mind fell short with him but, to be polite, his eyes trailed her body quickly.&nbsp; He had no doubt that she was a beautiful woman that could have almost any man that she set her sights on.&nbsp; He just wasn't one of them.<br><br>“I've made my offer, Miss Whateley.&nbsp; It's certainly your right to accept it or refuse it.”&nbsp; He stated simply, the smile still on his face.&nbsp; “If it's simply a matter of working a table every night, I would be glad to work out a less distressing schedule for you.&nbsp; It would, regrettably, need to be consistent.”&nbsp; He paused a moment and then shook his head, “There would be no requirements of a uniform.&nbsp; You can even take the breaks offered for an outfit change should you desire it.”&nbsp; <br><br>Just as she did, he turned his attention to the singer.&nbsp; He rather enjoyed Miss Capri's performance.&nbsp; If he had his way, he would be able to simply sit at a table and watch the woman sing.&nbsp; The arts were one of the few things that he still enjoyed in life.<br><br>Ginny speaking again brought his attention from the stage and to the young Whateley next to him.&nbsp; “Ah, yes.&nbsp; Unfortunately we had to change plans as Miss Montgomery fell ill.”&nbsp; He seemed rather disappointed by the fact himself.&nbsp; “She sent last minute word with the youngsters and Miss Capri altered her plans so the show could go on.&nbsp; When she recovers, I would be happy to have her perform.”<br><br>He stiffened as the gunshots from outside filled his foyer with noise and he edged closer to the bar.&nbsp; For the first time in awhile, his beaming smile fell and his face hardened. For a moment, Ginny could see a face as terrifying as a hungry lion from the man that had just been all goodwill smiles.&nbsp; <br><br>“If you'll excuse me, Miss Whateley.”&nbsp; He said flatly before walking away from the young woman. His steely eyes began sweeping the room, seeking any other indication of trouble.&nbsp; It didn't take much to get people riled and he wasn't going to let fights, be it with fist or guns, happen inside on his opening night.&nbsp; <br><br>Just as he reached the bar, he spotted Christian and his eyes narrowed.&nbsp; He scrutinized the hardened gunslinger for a moment, his steel gray eyes sized up the new arrival quickly.&nbsp; Turning away from the newcomer, a curl at the corner of his mouth, he addressed Mr. Flanagan and Miss Capri.&nbsp; “Another number, if you would.”&nbsp; He made sure that his voice carried over the sudden quiet in the bar.&nbsp; “And I believe we still have a bit yet on the free drinks.”&nbsp; He reminded his patrons and his waitresses.&nbsp; The best way to avoid more violence was to offer up some other source of entertainment.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ebb</strong> on <strong>23-04-2014, 23:01:51</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/ac/600full-kenneth-branagh.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Tommy Flanagan (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9819558#msg9819558)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> None<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower, Front Stage<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Bella Capri<br><hr> <br><br>"Yes <em>Sir</em>, Mr. Solomon," Tommy said with an enthusiasm he didn't feel. Sometimes hiding in plain sight was the best thing to do. Other times it was like to getting you killed. This thought ran through Tommy's head about five seconds after his hands started playing. Generally the established order of ceremonies was mouth, head, hands but in this case someone seemed to have skipped a place in line. Soon the cheerful chords of the old minstrel song started filling the empty space that the newcomer had carved in the air. If there was one tune in the world that could get folks back to thinking things were normal it was this one. Hell, if people were drunk enough they'd often join right in. Tommy's smooth tenor -- serviceable, if not of professional quality -- blended in with the easy progression of notes from the piano.<br><br><div align="center"><em>The Camptown ladies sing this song,<br>Doo-da, Doo-da<br>The Camptown racetrack's five miles long<br>Oh, de doo-da day<br><br>Goin' to run all night<br>Goin' to run all day<br>I bet my money on a bob-tailed nag<br>Somebody bet on the gray</em></div><br>He flashed an apologetic private smile toward Bella, hidden from most of the rest of the room. They'd get back to Art in a second. Now was just about taking folks' minds off of the shotgun blasts and the shouting sheriff outside. Though Tommy eagerly wanted to know the whole story he knew there'd be plenty of eyewitnesses willing to spill their version once the price of drinks went back somewhere north of zero, and one or two might even know something about the man who'd just walked in.<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>CurvyKitten</strong> on <strong>24-04-2014, 06:12:10</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://25.media.tumblr.com/f40108d8f447a10e77bf26ec757a5707/tumblr_mflz9wII2S1rhmgq8o1_500.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Bella Capri (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9823344#msg9823344)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower <br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Mr. Flanagan, Everyone OPEN<br>Wearing (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v209/darkglitch/steampunk/underbust_corset_steampunk_dress_2012_collection_by_esaikha-d61jtnq_zps1e029bb4.jpg) with stockings and undergarments of course:P, hair party pulled up with soft curls falling back down along her shoulders. <br>just keep moving the line. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CnAMX9U7dic)<br><hr> Bella's voice filtered over the crowd, her tones perfectly pitched and utterly enticing to the patrons that listened. Her movements where smooth and easy as she made her way around the stage, her eyes trailing over the audience make enough eye contact to make each person feel as if she were singing to them. To some it would be simply dismissed, but to some of those wily and most certainly drunken men it would be utterly enchanting. And that was after all the idea, make the patrons feel special and make them believe that their fantasies could come true. Bella's eyes even lingered upon the Mayor for a moment before smiling and looking over the rest of her lovely audience. <br><br>Her song was coming to an end when the shots rang out, the sound echoing through the streets. Bella stopped for a moment, her eyes drifting towards to the doors ready to get out sight should whatever was happening burst into the Tower. Patrons bustled and became restless and for a moment Bella thought to go back stage for a moment. But Mr. Solomon caught her attention and helped clear her mind with his request. Was her want to please, or perhaps she had just needed a sign that it would be fine, either way Bella brought a smile to her face once more. But before she could begin another song Tommy seemed to have other plans and began belting out an old tune of his choosing. It annoyed her somewhat, more so because it was so unexpected but that can be said with the gun fire as well. Still Bella clapped her hands and smiled, her hips moved and she danced a bit as she began to get the patrons back into the swing of the gather. <br><br>When Tommy had finished his song she smiled, <strong>"Well apparently it’s not a celebration if someone doesn't shoot off a victory shot or two. But I think we've had enough gun play, but nearly enough fun play. So drink up, play your hands, enjoy the show and every special treat the Babel's tower has to offer you. Because this night is far from over."</strong> she smiled gave a little wink and clapped out a beat once more and looked to Tommy and gave him a wink. Any annoyance or fear she had from the sudden events was now gone as Bella once again began to sing her soothing voice working back over the crowd, as she hoped to bring them back to enjoy the evening and everything the Tower had to offer.<br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">They just keep moving the line. (small lyrical edit to fit the setting.)</div><div class="spoiler_body"><div align="center">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CnAMX9U7dic<br><strong>The field was bright with clover<br>I saw the finish sign<br>I started as a rover<br>And then victory was mine<br>I thought the race was over<br>But they just keep moving the line<br><br>They cheered at my persistence<br>But prayed for my decline<br>The path of least resistance<br>Led to Soddom and Gomorra<br>I tried to go the distance<br>But they just keep moving the line<br><br>I jumped all of the hurdles<br>To break out of the pack<br>I started on the outside<br>And then hit the inside track<br><br>I left the other fillies<br>Back at the starting gate<br>Was ready, on my mark, I got to set<br>To hurry up and wait<br><br>So talent and ambition<br>Won me a chance to shine<br>I aced the big audition<br>But it's rainin' on Cloud Nine<br>Can't beat the competition<br>'Cause they just keep moving the line<br><br>I handled every corner<br>Each bump along the track<br>And when I saw the ribbon, well<br>There was no turning back<br><br>I won the photo finish<br>I posed for all the men<br>But before I got my trophy<br>Well, the race began again<br><br>So I made friends with rejection<br>I've straightened up my spine!<br>I'll change each imperfection<br>Till it's time to drink the wine!<br>I'd toast to resurrection<br>But they just keep moving the line!<br><br>Please give me some direction,<br>'Cause they just keep moving the line! </strong></div></div></div><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>24-04-2014, 06:15:09</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f2/Beardycox.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Avery Burnam<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dogs (1)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening (?)<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel’s Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Letty, noticing Spooky; Open <br><hr> <br>Charity was a messy business.&nbsp; In the case of Babel's Tower that seemed quite literally true as patrons dug into their plates, leaving beards and shirtfronts stained with BBQ sauce, glasses and bottles turned greasy from the application of now sticky fingers.&nbsp; The food was by no means bad but as a rule Avery was never that partial to fare that required the removal of one's jacket and rolled up shirtsleeves in order to avoid taking on permanent souvenirs.&nbsp; So he ate carefully, listening while Hendricks offered up a solution to his own act of charity that wouldn't cost him a hotel room or end with a sudden tumble off one of the mesas' bridges. <br><br>As Corky pushed aside the whisky bottle, his own hand reached out to further guide it along the tabletop until well outside Letty's reach.&nbsp; No need exacerbating matters.&nbsp; It was enough that he was going to have to try to find this Hunter fellow's house with only a vague notion of its location, and that based on a conversation he'd had with Judge Warwick two weeks ago.&nbsp; Carrying her there might have been the straw that broke the camel's back, or at least his own.&nbsp; <br><br>At one point, Avery glanced up from his plate and found her staring at him with such intentness that he could not help but stare back.&nbsp; In that moment with her head slightly cocked, warm brown eyes locking onto his own while the tip of her tongue traced over her bottom lip, she did not look so drunk or so comical to him.&nbsp; The face peering out from under those dark lashes was one he might have relished carrying to a hotel room or even across a bridge or two.&nbsp; She smiled and he smiled back and…then she hiccupped loud enough to make him drop his fork and that smile faded just a little.&nbsp; "Yes.&nbsp; Well," he muttered, as she whispered something about being better with horses than people.&nbsp; "Somehow I believe it…" <br><br>What followed next was rather louder than a hiccup.&nbsp; Gunshots, several of them, which sent a number of men clambering for the windows to get an eyeful or groping at their own gun belts nervously.&nbsp; Avery frowned but felt no need to reach into his coat for the comfort of his own revolver.&nbsp; As far as he knew, he didn't have anyone wanting to kill him.&nbsp; Oh, maybe a few grudge-holding tong boys back in Limehouse, but that was a long way from here and he liked to think they'd be smart enough to wait until inside the same building at least before shooting.&nbsp; Instead he checked the pocket watch hanging from the fob on his vest.&nbsp; Not even evening yet and already banging away at each other...&nbsp; <br><br>When the sheriff arrived to a pop off a few more rounds and administer some of that fabled frontier justice, he considered stepping outside to help but at once decided against it.&nbsp; He was a 'Law Dog' as they called it only by necessity.&nbsp; A cordial relation with the local law would make it easier for him to work in Gomorra.&nbsp; Pinning on a badge again was not his ambition here though.&nbsp; If they had need of him for anything, they would have to ask.&nbsp; Breaking up street duels among the suicidal was hardly his forte anyways.&nbsp; &nbsp; <br><br>He did take in the shooter's appearance when the man entered the inn though, noting the respectful distance the other men granted him.&nbsp; As yet no one had jumped up to pat his back or buy him a round, which Avery thought was curious given the way Americans seemed to love their gunplay.&nbsp; A man who'd killed before, he decided.&nbsp; A man who'd killed quite a lot maybe.&nbsp; That didn't impress him exactly but it was certainly worth noting.&nbsp; <br><br>"Well," he announced, as the piano man started to hammer out a familiar barroom tune and drinks began to flow again, "having ate and having mostly certainly drank your fill, I should think, I don't suppose you'd be ready to call it an evening Miss Sanchez?&nbsp; I would be honored to have the privilege of escorting you home…or rather Miss Hendrick's home, who was kind enough to invite you over for the night."&nbsp; All said as politely as if he meant every last word of it, even offering Letty a hand as he stood up from the table.&nbsp; "Shall we?"<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Loves</strong> on <strong>25-04-2014, 02:43:34</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i975.photobucket.com/albums/ae240/samanthamazur/68Cavkmm4hgg_zpsc4502ad9.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Aletta Emelda Maria Sanchez (aka Letty) (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9815927#msg9815927)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1877<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon/Early Evening <br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower - leaving <br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery Burnham, …(noticing purdy music stopped, Christian “Spooky” Specter, Tommy Flanagan and Bella Capri ) Open<br><hr><br>The pork was as fine as cream gravy! Worthy of a clean licked plate, that was for sure! Sitting happily in her seat, Letty tapped her foot to the music and even, every now and again, joined in with a word or two. The tune that slipped from her lips wasn’t as pretty as lady entertainer, but then she weren’t no singer! That’s not to say that she was tone deaf either, though there were some questionable words thrown in to the lyrics from time to time that would lend to the truth that she wasn’t all that clear on the words. Plainly put, Letty was better with the music of her people. <br><br>Smacking her lips together, Letty wiped her mouth with… she glanced around searching for something handy, pausing as her eyes scanned Pretty-Boy’s fancy getup. She might use Aggy’s lace curtains that hung before the kitchen window, but that was only when the older woman weren’t watching. She continued to consider Avery behind a veil of dark lashes. He probably wouldn’t like it none if she used his fancy coat to clean the sauce from her lips. Instead, Letty licked her lips, attempting to get the remains of the sticky sauce from her skin, and sucked on her fingers, one by one, cleaning most of the BBQ from her skin before wiping her mouth clean with the back of her hand. <br><br>Glancing around, attempting to locate a drink, Letty was just about to stretch across the table in order to help herself to more of the vile whiskey offered to the fine people of Gomorra when the sound of gunshots rang out, effectively freezing her in mid stretch. Moments later the swinging doors opened to allow a feller entrance that had Letty, even in her questionable state to avert her eyes. He didn’t seem the type to want an audience, and she was in no way capable of arguing with the facts. <br><br>Abandoning her attempt at refilling her glass, Letty plopped back down on the chair and planted her elbow on the table. Using the palm of her hand as a pedestal, she rested her chin, and drummed her fingers against her cheek as she sat and pondered her life, and the steps that had brought her so far from home. And just like that the music started up once more with a merry little tune that had Letty tapping her toes and swaying in her seat.&nbsp; <strong>”DOO DAAA!&nbsp; DOOO DAAA”</strong> she called out, offering the piano player a wide grin as she joined in with the chorus line… she stuck with the two words that she remembered, keeping the more intricate and tricky phrases to the professionals. She was obviously enjoying the song, as was made evident with the happy squeals and clapping of her hands... frankly Letty was just pleased to&nbsp; have recognized a song well enough to sing along...sorta. <br><br>Settling in for a time, she was somewhat surprised to see that Pretty-Boy was ready to go, and more to the point, was ready for her to go right along with him. Letty vaguely recalled Corkey inviting her to stay and placing Aletta in the fancy speakin’ man’s charge. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she ought to be offended, but frankly it seemed a lot of trouble to go to in order to keep her pride.&nbsp; She’d find her pride in the mornin’ or sometime, she reckoned, after she found her shame. <strong>”Shall we…”</strong> repeated Letty, pausing for a moment or two and running her options in her mind. <br><br>Option one:&nbsp; Go with the fancy talker<br>Option two:&nbsp; Stay and drink more, possibly get shot. <br>Option three:&nbsp; Head home and end up ass over tip in the river<br>Option four:&nbsp; Enjoy pretty-boy’s smile a tad longer, and maybe...just maybe, enjoy it in private.<br><br><strong>”We Shall!”</strong> announced the Mexican ranger as she placed her hand in his and for once, rose from the chair like a lady! <strong>”I’m full as a tick, you got that right…”</strong> she wobbled a bit as she stood, reaching out to steady herself, making use of the table and closing her eyes. <strong>”I think maybe those drinks weren’t such a good idea on an empty belly..”</strong> her words were spoken on a soft whisper as the lady entertainer began croonin’ once more. <br><br>Letty watched her for a moment before a flash of vulnerability settled in the depths of her dark brown eyes. There was no way Aletta could ever measure up… she was nothing but a cowhand. <strong>”Sorry…my hands…”</strong> conscious of her fingers not being as soft as some of the other ladies in town, she tried to pull her hand free. She worked hard every day of her life! And as such Letty’s hands showed their fair share of scars and calluses. Though it wasn’t all bad. The manual labor had made her strong, shapely, emphasizing the parts of her that would not be tamed by living in a man’s world!&nbsp; She was, underneath the dirt and the grime that collected upon her person throughout the day, a woman! 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niferbelle</strong> on <strong>25-04-2014, 19:18:33</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i627.photobucket.com/albums/tt357/Niferbelle/my%20avatars/doomtown7av_zps641b8122.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Lilah 'Li-Li' Oliver (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9813377#msg9813377)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> There have been a few rumors but who listens to those<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Reid, open <br><hr>"Yeah, I reckon I get it," Lilah said softly as he went on about his brother. She couldn't help but think how it had been for her as a girl and how nice it would have been for somebody to give a damn. She got lucky that happened eventually but it meant she didn't take it for granted. "I hope your brother knows how lucky he is to have you though. Maybe he will someday and it'll help him keep his head on straight."<br><br>She finished her plate and pushed it away before patting her stomach which felt so full she expected to see it sticking out though it wasn't. It would take more than a couple of meals before the wiry young woman got a gut. There were gunshots outside, a perfect counterpoint to what Reid was saying, and it gave her occasion to pause to take a glance at the door, wondering if trouble was going to come through it, but nothing came through so she went back to the conversation.<br><br>"That's true. I don't know where could be worse than Gomorra. Then again, ain't sure where's better neither," she commented, her natural cynicism showing through, but then she smiled at him across the table. "But every once in awhile you get the chance to sit down and jaw with somebody who ain't so bad and that just about makes up for it. You know how when I sat down I told you everybody called me Li-Li? Well, that's true, and they do, and mostly I don't bother to correct 'em. But my name's Lilah, and it would please me if you'd call me that. There ain't many people I bother to correct but I got a good feeling about you." <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wulfspire</strong> on <strong>27-04-2014, 00:06:33</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/7a/Josh_Brolin_True_Grit.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Christian “Spooky” Spectre<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br>&nbsp;<strong>Date:</strong> May 11th,&nbsp; 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel’s Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open, Everyone<br><hr><br>“…you wait for the law.” The Sheriff was shouting, which made Christian chuckle just a bit. <br><br>“When he shows up, let me know, Bilton,” Christian mumbled, likely too far away from the Sheriff for him to hear. Christian was not a fan of the Gomorra Sheriff, seeing as how Christian believed the man to be corrupt and incompetent. He can holler, and look scary, but there is a hell of a lot more to law enforcement than that. Hell, many places would prefer to call Christian an outlaw for the number of people he’s killed, and even he knew better how to run a town than Bilton.<br><br>Babel’s Tower went back to business as usual shortly after Christian wandered in.&nbsp; Christian met the eyes of Abraham Solomon and the air between them might as well have frozen. Sloane had not intimidated Christian, and neither would this yank. Christian’s eyes dropped to the floor, however, the frown on his face deepening. Something terrible resided in that man. He’d seen a similar stare before, from The Man in Black, and now Solomon was at the top of Christian’s To Hunt list. <br><br>As he made his way to the bar, Christian caught himself humming along with the fine-styling of Tommy Flanagan. Spooky turned his head to view the pianist, giving him a short nod of approval. He liked the piano, always had, and found those that could play it to be mostly amicable and not likely to draw down on him. One of the few people unlikely to draw on Christian, and now that he thought about it, Christian had never killed a pianist. That put Tommy Flanagan on his good side. The briefest of smiles was added to that nod.<br><br>Along with the pianist was a very beautiful woman singing her heart out, and for a moment it had Christian captivated. His sister used to sing like that to the horses back home. If someone was watching very closely, they would catch a wetness to Christian’s eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago. Then she spoke and the magic was gone. He’d just killed a man, and she joked of a celebration. That was entirely unlike his sister. His dark brown eyes went from captivation to fury in flash.<br><br><em>Ah, hell. She p’rolly don’t know what’n the blazes just happened out there. Give’re a break, Spook.</em> He chided himself, taking a moment to soften his look. <em>No need ta scare the poor lass.</em><br><br>Continuing his scan of the room, Christian laid eyes upon Avery and Aletta enjoying a drink, and getting ready to leave. He gave another brief nod to Avery, having a great deal more respect for Avery than Bilton. Unfortunately, that was like saying a puddle held more water than a glop of spittle. “Glop of spittle,” now that is a good analogy for how Christian viewed the town sheriff. Avery, however, was a decent enforcer of the law, even knowing where his jurisdiction lay, and not stepping out of his bounds. The lawman was likely to only have cursory information on Christian: unbelievably fast draw, won’t hesitate to gun a man down, and a bit of a vagabond, but what gunslinger is stable?<br><br>Aletta was an unknown to Christian, which made her a threat. The problem with living like Christian did, most people were a threat to him. He never knew who was going to try to ventilate him, so he treated most people with the same suspicion. She was with Avery, however, and that garnered her a slightly gentler stare than most in the room were greeted with. <br><br>Corky was there too, and she got one of the few bright smiles Christian shared. She likely knew no more of Christian than Avery, but Christian knew who she was, or, more like he knew what she was trying to be. She was a good person. One of the few, honest, good people in this world. She was a kid, as well, which meant Christian was perhaps a degree or two more at ease around her than others. Not that kids her age hadn’t drawn on him, and been killed before, but he just had this feeling she wouldn’t cause him no trouble. <br><br>There was Li-Li, as Christian had come to learn the half-Chinese girl’s name. The two of them had not had much in the way of a passing, but Christian kept tabs on everyone he met, paranoia is a strong motivator to be knowledgeable. Since he knew so little of her, she, like Aletta, registered as a threat and he would make sure to note her movements.<br><br>Finally, Christian made his way up to the bar, “Whiskey, straight,” his gruff voice commanded to the barkeep. After being served, he threw the liquid to the back of his throat and tasted the burn. It was cheap, and watered down, but it was still free. Christian set the glass back down, tapped the bar with his index finger twice, and the ‘keep poured him another shot. He turned from the counter to look upon the rest of the patrons of opening day at Babel’s Tower, beginning a sip of his whiskey, and there she was: Ms. Virginia Whateley. <br><br>It was not that Christian was head over heels for the woman, though that possibility existed, Spooky just found the Whateley gal fascinating. Few were able to match his glare with a pretty smile, and it work, but Ginny could do that to the grizzled gunslinger. Her drawl and laugh could calm his fury long enough to let her diplomatically solve things. Words, nice ones at any rate, had never been Christian’s strong suit, and she found them as easily as breathing as far as Christian could tell. <br><br>The gunslinger wandered his way over to Ginny and removed his Stetson with his free hand, as his other was occupied with whiskey still, “Afternoon, miss.” His voice was rough, gravelly, and despite the recent shot of whiskey, he sounded dry as a bone. He looked as rough as he sounded. Since Agatha had left town, Christian found himself homeless. He was not adverse to nature, but things in the Maze were never easy, and Christian had seemed to had had a rough go of things.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>29-04-2014, 05:34:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f2/Beardycox.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Avery Burnam<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dogs (1)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening (?)<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Letty; Closed (exiting scene)<br><hr> <br><br>Avery was not a man adverse to spectacle.&nbsp; One did not dress in fine suits in a town full of rugged miners, the dirt on them often so thick you could chip it off like plaster of Paris, if a person simply wanted to blend into the background.&nbsp; Decorating his office walls with framed articles of himself had not made him blush, and he relished those moments when an audience hung on his words.&nbsp; Nevertheless, he preferred those spectacles to be of his own creation.&nbsp; So while Letty had swayed in her seat, loudly singing along with the music and drawing more than a few curious glances, he'd poured himself a shot of the paint peeler they'd mislabeled whiskey and downed it quickly.&nbsp; "Yes.&nbsp; Doo-dah it is…"&nbsp; All the live long day… and getting longer by the minute it seemed to him.<br><br>When it came time to leave, Letty surprised him by rising up out of her chair with something very near to grace as she took his offered hand.&nbsp; It almost seemed things were going to go simply, but just as quick she tried to pull it back, a chagrined expression registering in the dark pools of her eyes.&nbsp; He kept a firm grip, smiling politely once again at her words, not truly understanding the source of them.&nbsp; "Sticky, I suppose, but then so are mine.&nbsp; You needn't worry." Avery then collected his hat from the table, propping it on his head before grabbing her dusty Stetson.&nbsp; Rather than risk her dropping it again, he placed it on Letty himself, adjusting the brim ever so slightly.&nbsp; "There.&nbsp; All set.&nbsp; Off we go then."<br><br>They jostled their way through the crowd, the last few rounds of free drinks going out as the woman on stage started another slow enchanting number.&nbsp; He almost regretted not getting the chance to hear her full set.&nbsp; She had evident talent.&nbsp; It made him wonder how she'd ended up here though.&nbsp; Gomorra was the end of the tracks as far as he was concerned.&nbsp; You didn't come here to make your life, you came here to forget it.<br><br>Outside there was still a small clot of souls gathered around Babel's porch, discussing the shooting, debating its merits as a proper duel and whether they'd been deprived the entertainment of a just hanging by the sheriff.&nbsp; The body was already gone though, carted off, and the man's only other remains, the blood he'd spilled on the dirt, was already being raked away by an industrious shop keep.&nbsp; Avery turned his head from the sight and led Letty on up the street, towards Ballot Boulevard and where he thought he might find Nathan Hunter's home.&nbsp; <br><br>[continued in Home Sweet Home]
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>29-04-2014, 06:40:03</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d6/Stoker.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Abraham Solomon (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> None<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower Foyer<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Tommy Flanagan, Bella Capri, Open<br><hr>Abraham slowly wandered toward the stage as Miss Capri and Mr. Flanagan got close to ending their song.&nbsp; He was quite thrilled with their performance and even happier that their tunes had inspired others to join in on occasion.&nbsp; Granted, it was a smattering of already drunk people that knew a couple words here and there but it meant that the patrons were enjoying themselves.<br><br>At the end of the song, he gave them both a cue to pause before starting another song.&nbsp; Stepping up on the small stage, he turned to the eating and drinking crowd, his bright smile once again plastered on his face.&nbsp; “Let's hear it for our most excellent performers!”&nbsp; He announced to the crowd and waited as the miners and other patrons hooted and cheered for Bella and Tommy.&nbsp; Solomon clapped and turned to them.&nbsp; “Thank you both so much for the wonderful songs!&nbsp; Please, feel free to take some time for food, drink and much earned relaxation.”&nbsp; <br><br>Gesturing for Bella, he waited for a moment to speak to her privately.&nbsp; “My dear, your voice is just wonderful!”&nbsp; He grinned at her, genuinely pleased with her artistic skill.&nbsp; “With the change in plans being what they were, if you need to take some time to wet your whistle and partake in some food before the other performance in the backroom, please feel free to do so.”&nbsp; He paused for a moment, his smile slipping a little.&nbsp; “That is, of course, if you still wish to perform in the backroom?&nbsp; You're pay will be doubled, of course.”&nbsp; It occurred to him that she may be a bit worn out.&nbsp; She hadn't been expecting to perform twice on opening night but her skill certainly deserved to be displayed often.<br><br>Spotting Tommy once again, he made his way to the pianist.&nbsp; “Thank you for your performance today, Mr. Flanagan.&nbsp; I think you'll be a hit here.”&nbsp; His lips curved.&nbsp; “Of course, on the nights you chose to perform, there will be pay, of course, as well as free food and drink.”&nbsp; He was a fan of the arts and was liable to spoil those that chose to work at Babel's Tower.&nbsp; <br><br>After he'd fulfilled his duties as proprietor, he took a deep breath and made his way back to Miss. Whateley.&nbsp; He didn't relish continuing their conversation but, as yet, the young lady hadn't done anything untoward.&nbsp; That must be some sort of record for a Whateley.&nbsp; On the walk over, he got his winning smile back in place.&nbsp; “I'm sorry about that delay, Miss. Whateley.&nbsp; I just had to make sure that the trouble didn't find it's way into the Tower.” 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ebb</strong> on <strong>30-04-2014, 22:24:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/ac/600full-kenneth-branagh.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Tommy Flanagan (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9819558#msg9819558)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> None<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower, Front Stage<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Bella Capri, Abraham Solomon<br><hr> <br><br>As the applause welled up in response to Mr. Solomon's direction Tommy took the time-honored stance of the accompanist. Removing his hat he performed a slight bow from his seated position, then extended his arm with hat in hand toward Bella Capri, the star of the show. The effect was like a rain gutter, directing the deluge of accolades toward the focal point of the act. She more than deserved the praise. After a few seconds he replaced the black derby on his head, stood, and joined in applauding while continuing to face her.<br><br>His handshake to Mr. Solomon was firm and dry. "Thank you, sir, it was my pleasure. Although I expect I could have been banging on a washtub up here and Miss Capri still would have made it sound good. I do look forward to a continuing engagement at the finest establishment in town. It certainly beats scraping ghostrock off the side of a cliff." The last was said in a low voice; no sense insulting any of the insane individuals who actually made their living that way. Not to mention that, given the fate of the last establishment on this plot, just saying the 'G-word' in here might rub some the wrong way.<br><br>When the attention of the crowd had turned back to their free food and drink, and Mr. Solomon had rejoined the infamous and intriguing Miss Whateley, Tommy bowed again to Bella. "Miss Capri, it has been an honor and a privilege. I'd reckon that half of the folks in here don't recognize the caliber of the performance they just heard. We'll have to try it again on a night when the drinks cost money, and that percentage might drop to as little as a quarter. Is it time to drink that wine now? I'd be pleased to buy you a drink even if it cost honest coin. Although I also expect that you might find ten or twenty gentlemen in here vying for that privilege after hearing you sing." <br><br>Tommy wanted nothing more than to find out what had transpired outside but felt that courtesy wouldn't brook a sudden departure. Perhaps there would be gossip to overhear at the bar. The thought of approaching the dead-eyed stranger and simply asking never crossed his mind; it simply wasn't the way he operated.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>CurvyKitten</strong> on <strong>01-05-2014, 00:04:53</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://25.media.tumblr.com/f40108d8f447a10e77bf26ec757a5707/tumblr_mflz9wII2S1rhmgq8o1_500.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Bella Capri (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9823344#msg9823344)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower <br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Mr. Flanagan,Solomon OPEN<br>Wearing (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v209/darkglitch/steampunk/underbust_corset_steampunk_dress_2012_collection_by_esaikha-d61jtnq_zps1e029bb4.jpg) with stockings and undergarments of course:P, hair party pulled up with soft curls falling back down along her shoulders. <br><hr><br>Bella finished the next song; her angelic voice slowly left the room as the music stopped. The applause and the excited responses brought a full and hopefully smile to her lips. Bella loved the stage; it made her feel loved, admired, and looked upon in a light she could never be seen in elsewhere. The stage was very much her home, even if it was for only the length of a song. <br><br>Her attention was drawn towards Solomon as he walked on stage, her hands parting as she stepped to the side and allowed him to take the center stage. Bella took a bow as he called out for thanks, <strong>"Thank you for having me on such a wonderful day.'</strong> she said with a bright smile before blowing a soft kiss to the crowd,<strong> "Till next time, drink well, be happy, and as always enjoy the show."</strong> she said before turning and slipping off stage with Solomon. <strong>"Thank you so much Mr. Solomon,"</strong> Bella said with a smile as he complimented her voice. <strong>"This opportunity has brightened my days."</strong> Bella said in an honest tone. His comment about the other show made her shake her head, <strong>"Sir I would never dream of disappointing you, or leaving you in a sich without a performer for the back room. Besides I was looking forward to having a little more fun."</strong> she said with a nod and a soft wink, <strong>"A drink would be wonderful, something to sooth my voice before trying to woo the audience once more."</strong> she said smiling and looking to Tommy as he came walking up to them. <br><br><strong>"Mr. Flanagan you are to kind, I dare say you helped make that performance what it was. And on such short notice as well, we make a good team it seems."</strong> she said with a soft yet warm smile, <strong>"I was actually just heading to get a drink; I would not turn the company away. But I understand if you'd rather mingle a bit. There are a lot of people here this evening I'd never want to keep you from meeting some of fine patrons."</strong> she said knowing there was still a long night ahead of them, and she'd never dream of keeping Tommy from it. She still wanted a drink, and had to change before she went on backstage, but the chance to meet a few more locals far too good to pass up.<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Loves</strong> on <strong>01-05-2014, 02:18:43</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i975.photobucket.com/albums/ae240/samanthamazur/68Cavkmm4hgg_zpsc4502ad9.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Aletta Emelda Maria Sanchez (aka Letty) (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9815927#msg9815927)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1877<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening <br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery Burnham, Mr. Solomon&nbsp; -&nbsp; leaving the Tower<br><hr><br>Letty was of two minds, unfortunately for Avery Burnham both were rather intoxicated. She was just starting to loosen up and have some fun, the alcohol worked like a charm! Normally quite stubborn, she had allowed Avery to guide her through the tables back at the Tower, only once stopping to help herself to one last drink. The young cowboy had been too busy taking his fill of Bella Capri to notice the small glass of whiskey being lifted from the table, and once the amber fire was swallowed Letty dropped off the now empty glass in the hand of another admirer of the talented singer. Should there be trouble after the theft was discovered wasn’t of any concern to Letty, after all she wasn’t going to be there when and if a dust up occured.&nbsp; With a wave her her hand she wished the crowd at Babel's Tower a good night, and even blew a kiss, sending it towards Abraham Solomon. It was&nbsp; her way of thanking him for a time well had! <br><br><strong>”Buenas noches Mr. Solomon! You done a bang up job sir! Yes sir, this here time was fine as cream gravy!"</strong><br><br>There was a slight stumble as she passed over the threshold, but thankfully nothing that she couldn’t correct, saving herself further embarrassment. It would be harder to face herself in the morning if she had ended up on her pretty backside, sitting in the dusty streets of Gomorra.&nbsp; The night air hit her the second she was free of the intoxicating environment of the tavern, almost acting like a gentle slap to her face. She blinked and sniffed, using her free hand to swat at the side of her face having been irritated by feather light tickle. A few strands had worked their way free from her braid as was now taking delight in caressing her cheek with the help of the light breeze.<br><br>Her dark brown eyes glanced at the scene before her, though her mind wasn’t ready to understand what she was seeing. The small group of men flappin’ their gums was nothing to be alerted to, though the shopkeeper raking the sandy earth drew Letty’s eyes. She continued to watch him as she stumbled along beside Avery, peering over her shoulder as they made their way through town. Her eyes remained focused on the red stained earth until they had moved so far from the scene it was impossible to make out the details. <br><br><div align="center">~continued in Home Sweet Home~ (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=167797.msg9922675#msg9922675)</div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Untamed Skies</strong> on <strong>01-05-2014, 03:04:09</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk59/Untamed_skies/bdcf3531-746f-4fc9-9b81-35e51e2eba18_zpsc75e54da.jpg) (http://s277.photobucket.com/user/Untamed_skies/media/bdcf3531-746f-4fc9-9b81-35e51e2eba18_zpsc75e54da.jpg.html)[</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Reid Lawson<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1877<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon.<br><strong>Location:</strong> A table near the bar inside Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Lilah, open<br><hr><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br>Reid would cock his head and give her a smile as she spoke about hoping his brother understood how lucky he was to have someone like Reid. "I reckon that's the type of luxury you go takin' for granted til it's gone," he said. Oddly enough there wasn't the sound of any bitterness to his voice. "If he's real lucky, he'll never have to wise up neither," he added. "I heard a sayin' a long time ago, that went, <em>ignorance is bliss</em>, and bless his heart he's full of bliss right now," he said with a laugh as he explained his view on it. Though it did get stressful and tiring, Reid felt he did understand his brother. Realized it'd take something real bad to get him to straighten his act. Reid preferred that kind of thing didn't happen to be frank, and therefore was happy his brother hadn't had cause to wise up to the world around him.<br><br>As the gunshots sounded outside, Reid would glance with Lilah towards the entrance. His hand instinctivly gripping hold of his gun. While Reid wasn't eager to figt, it didn't mean he hadn't done so in the past. He wasn't fond of killin', hated it in fact. But he was in Gomorra and his brother was a dirty drunk and a fighter. It was rare it had come to that, but Reid knew what he was doing.&nbsp; It was about where you shot them usually. Course if any shot could be fatal if the fella couldn't afford a doctor to get their wounds cleaned proper. Still givin' them a fighting chance was better then flat out killin em right? <br><br>Reid's eyes would turn back to her as she spoke again and he found himself nodding once more. "Careful with talk like that, far as I've found, you go temptin' fate, fate'll call your bluff every time," he said. Fate was a greedy sort of thing, and if you wagered with it, more oft' then not you regretted doing so. "I reckon it starts with your ability to recognize opportunity," he said. Glancing around the bar. There were rich folks high town gentlemen with their owned business's and their desires to enjoy their vices. Now he wasn't a mind reader, but he could bet a fair amount those men didn't see Gommorra as all that bad. It was all about how you set yourself up. "I'd say makin' a new friend, brightens up this town," he said with a smile as she introduced herself as Lilah. "Lilah eh," he said with a smile. Testing out her name on his tongue and getting a feel for it as he spoke.&nbsp; "It'd make sense you'd have a pretty name to match a pretty face," he said with a nod. "The feelin' is mutual, I'll certainly be lookin' forward to our next encounter," he said. Pleasant type of company wasn't as common as he'd prefer it to be. They were even rarer in a place serving free drinks in a random encounter. But it wasn't to say those encounters didn't exist, and Reid had come to the Tower lookin' for opportunity didn't he? Not quite what he'd been expectin' but, it was good company all the same. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niferbelle</strong> on <strong>03-05-2014, 03:25:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i627.photobucket.com/albums/tt357/Niferbelle/my%20avatars/doomtown7av_zps641b8122.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Lilah 'Li-Li' Oliver (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9813377#msg9813377)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> There have been a few rumors but who listens to those<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Reid, open <br><hr>It felt strange hearing somebody besides Jack and the boys calling her by the right name but she liked it. He started going on about the pretty thing again though and once more threatened to leave her speechless. He really was an odd duck for this town and maybe even a genuinely good man which made him even more rare. He was handsome too and tall but with his yellow hair and blue eyes, he couldn't look more different from her. If he meant what he said, it would be right nice to know there was somebody in town who might look forward to running into her on the street and would be good for a jaw when she had the urge for one.<br><br>But then what? Sooner or later somebody would say something about how she was the daughter of whore and never knew the Chinaman that sired her. How she'd spent most of her childhood as street trash and now was likely whoring at some miner's camp. And even if they got past all that, would he ever understand why she'd itch her wagon to some outlaw gang about which he probably believed every damn rumor he heard? No, it didn't seem likely a good man wouldn't mind about all that.<br><br>"I expect I should probably mosey along. The men get much drunker and they'll be grabbing at anything female whether she works here or not," Lilah said, and it was true. That was one thing she had an instinct for, when to get out. She'd earned it the hard way. "Thank you for breakin' bread with me, Reid Lawson. Gomorra ain't so big a place that I expect we'll be seein' each other again."<br><br>She flashed him a rare genuine smile. "You enjoy that fresh bed of yours. I never did know of a man to rent a room for that purpose but I can see the appeal." She wasn't one for big goodbyes so she just gave him a nod and threaded her way carefully through the crowd and out the door.<br><br><div align="center"><span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size"><em>End Scene for Lilah</em></span></div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>esclavage</strong> on <strong>03-05-2014, 15:31:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/4c/Ginny_06a.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Virginia <em><strong>'Ginny'</strong></em> Mary Lou Whateley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley Family<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower Foyer<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Abraham Solomon, Christian "Spooky" Spectre, {Exiting Scene}<br><hr><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Ginny hid her frown with another sip of her wine; last she had seen her friend, Annie, had been hale and healthy as horse and her 'illness' had to be something serious to keep her from even appearing.&nbsp; A little tickle in her throat or a runny nose wouldn't have been enough to dampen her spirit; Ginny understood all too well how stubborn her friend could be when she had set her mind on something.&nbsp; The blonde Whateley smelled a rat a mile away, and tiling her head slightly sideways to regard the dark-haired singer crooning to the crowd, she suspected she knew who might benefit the most from the absence of a possible rival.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;In fact, the fact that Annie wouldn't be performing tonight was a greater disappointment than Abraham Solomon's refusal to simply grant Ginny what she wanted.&nbsp; It wasn't often she was thwarted in her desires; normally, she was skilled enough to have any man wrapped around her little pinky finger by the end of the night.&nbsp; &nbsp;Ginny took it as a matter of pride that she could make some young men do almost anything for a hint of her affections.&nbsp; And for those that she couldn't wrap around her little finger, the blonde Whateley normally could use her family's wealth to place them in her back pocket.&nbsp; It was astonishing really how loudly a few little golden birdies could speak when pressed into the palm of someone's hand.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Abraham Solomon, however, was quite the enigma.&nbsp; Someone like Mr. Sloane Ginny understood - above all else, his first love was to the stream golden eagles that came into his possession at the end of every night which was why Ginny paid such a handsome retainer fee every single night to keep her personal corner in the casino.&nbsp; But money was not the end goal for Abraham, she sensed that immediately.&nbsp; He had no need of her money and no need of a Whateley's favor - whether it was genuine or not.&nbsp; But he was still willing to let her get what she wanted...but on his terms.&nbsp; Honestly though, Ginny still felt very uncomfortable with the thought of working <em>for </em>someone.&nbsp; The concept of needing to show up on time, do what you were told, and receive payment for a day's hard work sounded suspiciously similar to 'commitment' - a word the blonde Whateley avoided like the plague.&nbsp; If she wasn't careful, she'd also get 'infected' and the next thing you knew would be Ginny nattering on about she needed to find the right man, settle down, and start a family.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; A small shudder ran through her body before she dismissed that thought from her mind.&nbsp; Instead, she turned her attention back to the conundrum at hand.&nbsp; Living as a gambler had taught her the value of realizing when you are beat, folding your hand, and moving on to the next round.&nbsp; This was one of those moments - give up the round, but keep an eye on the bigger pot.&nbsp; The way things stood now, she still gained a majority of what she sought, it simply wasn't as inherently flexible as it once was.&nbsp; A silent shrug was given; Ginny was certain that there would be ways to renegotiate things at a later date.&nbsp; For now, agreeing to show up once a week for a reserved tabled would serve its purpose of establishing a clear Whateley presence at one of the larger economies in Gomorra and allow her to easily once again collect gossip and rumors in the surrounding area.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; But before she could voice her thoughts, shots rang out as the chatter died down.&nbsp; And in the ensuing drama, Ginny did what she did best - simply nothing.&nbsp; Instead, she watched and observed - her green Whateley eyes giving no indication of anything beyond mild amusement.&nbsp; Someone getting shot was nothing new in Gomorra; life in the Fast County was a dangerous one.&nbsp; Though she did not miss the flash of anger on Abraham Solomon's face before he curtly excused himself from her presence in a manner that would barely pass as courteous in the social circles she frequented.&nbsp; But Ginny did not mind; it allowed her to observe the owner of Babel's Tower a bit more and come to a simple conclusion.&nbsp; Abraham Solomon did care his and his business' reputation, no large surprise in and of itself, but very intriguing when paired with her earlier information.&nbsp; Perhaps he wanted some designs on getting involved in the politics of Gomorra?<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;A thought for another time.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;And unlike everyone else, Ginny gave a pleased look and a small smile as the travel-worn gunslinger sauntered in.&nbsp; Though she doubted they could be considered friends after a single encounter, Ginny had a definite certain fondness of 'Spooky'.&nbsp; He had been the titular star of the outlandish dime novels she read years and was quite the gentleman despite all appearances.&nbsp; There was a certain gallant air to him and Ginny had quite liked the time he had come to her defense at the table when one of the players had accused her table of cheating - the dastardly words of a drunken coward who couldn't afford to lose what he brought to gamble with.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; With a practiced air, Miss Whateley began made her way towards the gunslinger even as Mr. Solomon intercepted her.&nbsp; &nbsp;A bright, winning smile was given to the owner.&nbsp; <strong>"Ah've tho't 'bout yur offer, Mistuh Solomon and ah'll glad accept.&nbsp; If yuh dun mind ta'ribly, ah'll start next Saturday fer now - jist keep it tah uh evenin'uh week fer now,"</strong>&nbsp; The next words were added almost as an afterthought with a genuine sparkle to her green Whateley eyes.&nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"Yuh understand that ah can't wurk on uh Sunday, t'would be a sin tah wurk on th'Sabbath."</strong>&nbsp; And of course, Ginny was quite aware of the sophistry of her words; after all, Sabbath originally had been on a Saturday before being adopted and grandfathered in.&nbsp; &nbsp;History had a funny habit of being revised when convenient.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; <strong>"If yu'll 'cuse muh, Mistuh Solomon,"</strong>&nbsp; An earlier play on what transpired when he had left her, Ginny smoothly cut past him - showing a well-practiced grace of moving in her voluminous dress.&nbsp; A sign of her confidence, and perhaps arrogance, that Ginny already considered all details done and was expecting a table the next time she came to Babel's Tower.&nbsp; And on her way out, she made sure to cross paths with Mr. Spooky.&nbsp; And a honest, genuine smile was given to the gunslinger.&nbsp; It was subtle, but there was air of genuineness to the blonde's lips as she smiled when he removed his Stenson to greet her.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"Good suh, ah beliv' yuh still owe muh my visit,"</strong> Ginny said chidingly, but without any rancor.&nbsp; <strong>"Ah'll sen' one o'tho'e Whippersnappers tah fin'yuh with directions."</strong>&nbsp; A critical eye was cast over his lean, lanky form.&nbsp; <strong>"And it se'ms tah muh that ah'll need tah cook dinnuh in'dition tah sum o'my swee'teah,"</strong> she clucked her tongue, a habit she learned from Granny, as those green eyes almost seemed to be sizing him up - but not for a gunfight.&nbsp; More like the look of a woman who was interested in meddling in a man's affairs - though whether it was for his own good or her own personal agenda was difficult to say.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"But yu'll hafta 'xcuse muh.&nbsp; Ah need tah visit my Auntie,"</strong>&nbsp; And with that, Ginny placed her largely unfinished wine flute back on the bar counter as she slowly sauntered out of Babel's Tower.<br><br>--&gt; END SCENE: CONTINUED IN TOWN HALL - EVENING (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?action=post;topic=167800.50;last_msg=9890056)
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>04-05-2014, 01:30:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d6/Stoker.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Abraham Solomon (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> None<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Late Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower Foyer<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Letty, Ginny, Tommy, Bella, notices Carsten and Avery, OPEN<br><hr>“Very well, Miss Whateley.”&nbsp; He replied as she accepted his offer and picked the day she would work.&nbsp; “Saturday is an excellent choice.”&nbsp; It would be good for her table and it would be good for his business.&nbsp; Then she brushed by him and was off to see others.&nbsp; His eyes followed her for a moment before he shook his head.&nbsp; He was sure that she had another reason for wanting a table in the Tower as there wasn't a Whateley that he ever heard of that needed a job.<br><br>“She does have quite the talent, doesn't she?”&nbsp; He remarked in agreement with Tommy's mention of her skill.&nbsp; “Miss Capri will be quite the draw.”&nbsp; He paused a moment and added, “Though, in my opinion, any song weaver can use the skills of a pianist.”<br><br>Solomon smiled at Bella, a genuine smile at her enthusiasm.&nbsp; “I am most grateful to you, Miss Capri.&nbsp; You are both beautiful and talented.&nbsp; You're presence here will draw a great many people back to Babel's.”&nbsp; He nodded and gestured to the bar, “Of course, my dear.&nbsp; Enjoy anything you would like.”<br><br>Abraham's smile widened as the young, rather drunk Letty called her goodbyes to him.&nbsp; “Have a great evening, Miss.&nbsp; I am most glad you enjoyed yourself and hope you return soon.”&nbsp; He inclined his head at Avery who seemed to be escorting the young woman home.&nbsp; A pretty and drunk woman in Gomorra, even in the late afternoon, would be placing herself in danger without an escort.<br><br>His gray eyes fell on Carsten as the man entered the bar.&nbsp; For a moment, his eyes narrowed.&nbsp; Taking in the man, he turned his attention back on other patrons.&nbsp; Many of them were still taking advantage of the free booze and Solomon continued to smile.&nbsp; <br><br>Wandering through the foyer, he kept his eyes and ears open for anything that may catch his attention.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ebb</strong> on <strong>06-05-2014, 05:34:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/ac/600full-kenneth-branagh.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Tommy Flanagan (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9819558#msg9819558)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> None<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower, then outside<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Bella Capri<br><hr> <br><br>"In that case, Miss Capri, I'll certainly catch you for the second show, but for now I'll try to find a little fresh air to fill with smoke. Besides, if we spend too much time together people might start to think us a couple despite the clear desirability difference, and it's bad for business if the crowd can't at least fantasize about the star attraction being single." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly. "To the start of a beautiful working relationship."<br><br>Tommy made his way outside, performing perfunctory tips of his hat to the few patrons who were kind enough to compliment him as he passed. By the time he made it outside the victim's body had been hauled away. Flocks of vultures could learn a thing or two from the citizens of Gomorra. He was able to piece together the events of the shootout from numerous eyewitnesses who took turns trying to top each other in their wild depictions of a blazing gun battle that had last nearly twenty minutes, and apparently left nearly a score of men dead. When you factored out the commonalities, though, a pretty clear picture emerged. That picture had a caption at the bottom that read "Don't mess with that Spooky feller". In smaller type below that it continued "Or that sheriff neither". And in fine print at the very bottom "Come to think of it, maybe just haul yer arse outta Gomorra entirely, if you got the means a' doing so."<br><br>Tommy lit his third cigarette from the butt of his second and drew deeply on the harsh smoke. There were days he'd pay a lot to be given that option.<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>esclavage</strong> on <strong>22-05-2014, 05:58:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/3/3d/Ginny_03a.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Virginia <em><strong>'Ginny'</strong></em> Mary Lou Whateley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley Family<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 12th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower Entrance, then Foyer<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery; Bella (if present); OPEN<br><hr> <br>--&gt; START SCENE: Continued from Buyer Beware (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=167802.msg9993660#msg9993660)<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Whatever protests Avery mounted were completely ignored by the blonde Whateley as she dragged him along down northwest Temptation towards Babel's Tower.&nbsp; Unknown to himself, Avery had not been too far off the mark in his assessment of Virginia Whateley.&nbsp; As a true southern lady, Ginny had been trained in the art of ruthlessly getting her way and once she had set her heart on a matter, there was little that could be done to persuade her otherwise.&nbsp; It was both her best and worst feature - all in the same breath.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Upon arrival, Ginny once again gazed at the sign with an inscrutable expression as she paused to take in her surroundings.&nbsp; &nbsp;However, she did have a beaming smile for Avery as he held the door open for her - indicating that his manners were not unnoticed.&nbsp; Neither was his not-so-secret concerns which she chose to reference with her next words.&nbsp; <strong>"Dun yuh worry 'bout uh'thing,"</strong> Ginny reassured the doubting detective, lightly patting him on the arm even as she strode inside purposefully.&nbsp; <strong>"Ah'll be so qui't that yu'll hear uh mouse pissin' on cott'n!"</strong>&nbsp; The last words were boldly declared, and loud enough to be heard by everyone in the foyer area, almost in a direct contradiction of what she promised earlier as a saucy smile was given in Avery's direction.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Still, after that brief bit of unwelcome commotion, Ginny actually blended in fairly seamlessly - well, as seamlessly as expected for a face and reputation as well-known as hers.&nbsp; The blonde Whateley sized up the room in a single sweep of those vivid green eyes before she made her way over to the bar counter.&nbsp; Casually, she shrugged out of her blue overcoat and folded over it her left arm as she also took off her Stenson with her right before placing it down on the counter.&nbsp; The overcoat followed suit, neatly laid to one side, before Ginny straddled the stool by swinging one long leg over the seat and leaning forward with her elbows propped against the counter.&nbsp; The practiced motion drew attention to her backside, outlined by her leather chaps, as the blonde Whateley knew she had attention of most, if not all of the room.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Of course, this had the effect of allowing Avery the opportunity to slip in discreetly if he so desired while everyone else was preoccupied with her grand entrance.&nbsp; Plus the position that Ginny had taken was the best one in the house - it allowed her to both simultaneously keep an eye out on anything happening in the foyer plus easily eavesdrop in a variety of conversations with minimal effort on her part.&nbsp; Whether or not she had planned this out was up to anyone's guess - the blonde Whateley wasn't about to show her cards too early.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; Giving a warm smile to the bartender, Ginny casually tapped the polished surface twice.&nbsp; <strong>"Git muh somethin' smooth,"</strong> the blonde Whateley remarked, looking very at home on her perch.&nbsp; <strong>"Ah plan tah be 'ere aw'ile."</strong>&nbsp; And as a dark, rich, foamy beer was drawn in a fine glass tankard for her, several men had begun to gather around to greet her - and perhaps see if they couldn't sneak an unobtrusive look down that loose, cream-colored blouse she wore.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;And soon, Ginny seemed to be fully engaged in conversation with them, laughing gaily every now and then, even as she sipped at the beer she had ordered - as she became also part of the background to the scene at Babel's Tower.&nbsp; Unbelievable as it was - she was hiding in plain sight, another skill that she had learned as a babe from her mother's breast and polished to perfection right here growing up in sinful Gomorra.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>CurvyKitten</strong> on <strong>24-05-2014, 22:17:04</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://25.media.tumblr.com/f40108d8f447a10e77bf26ec757a5707/tumblr_mflz9wII2S1rhmgq8o1_500.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Bella Capri (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9823344#msg9823344)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong>May 12th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower <br><strong>Tagged:</strong>Ginny, Avery,&nbsp; OPEN<br><br><hr><br>The morning sun spilled into Bella's room through the slightly parted curtain, the warm rays spilled across her face and caused her to wake slightly. A soft moan coming from her as Bella pushed up in her bed. The opening shows had been much more draining then she first anticipated, then again it could simply be because the sudden need for to showcases. It was a bit of a shock, but Bella believed that she had pulled it off rather well. At least Solomon seemed to be pleased by the time the evening seemed to slow down. <br><br>Bella had been offered many different prices to spend the evening with one man or another. But she had turned them down, not only because she was simply too busy keeping them happily entertained, but also because it was good to leave them wanting. If she gave into just anyone for any price on the first night she'd be thought of as nothing but that from then on. Besides by the last song was sung Bella found herself exhausted and simply slipped up to room for a few hours of rest. <br><br>Slipping from her bed Bella moved and pulled on a long robe that covered her nightgown well enough to make her presentable and left her room. Bella’s bare feet making no sound as she slipped downstairs to the main room, her stomach already clenching in hunger as she approached the bar and took a seat. She smiled to those early risers already present and smiled to the man behind the bar,<strong> "Please tell me there is something yummy left over from that feast last night, and I’m starving."</strong> Bella said with a soft laugh as she leaned against the bar.<br><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>25-05-2014, 01:52:44</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d6/Stoker.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Abraham Solomon (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> None<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 12, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower Foyer<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Ginny, Avery, Bella, OPEN<br><hr>Seated alone at a back table, Abraham watched and listened to the men settled at the tables.&nbsp; Opening night had gone well and not a room had been unused last night.&nbsp; With a full house, he certainly expected several more to be joining the smaller crowd shortly for some complimentary breakfast.&nbsp; With a small smirk, he signaled the waitress to refill his tea.<br><br>Just as the young, pretty woman brought over his beverage, the doors opened.&nbsp; His gray eyes narrowed for a brief moment as the young Whateley woman walked in with a gentleman he recognized but hadn't been introduced to.&nbsp; He sighed inaudibly as he watched Miss Whateley stride to the bar.&nbsp; He had no doubt that her presence here was going to bring some sort of trouble but gave no indication of his thoughts.&nbsp; Taking in the other man, he wondered what kind of mess the gentleman had gotten himself into.&nbsp; Hopefully the man realized that it was never good to get caught up in Whateley schemes.<br><br>As men swarmed the young Whateley woman, Solomon couldn't help but smile.&nbsp; While having a Whateley present in his hotel was something of a concern for him, he also had to admit that she would certainly bring in business.&nbsp; Fools would come just to sit at her table and be near her feminine charms.&nbsp; They would faun over the Whateley and spend much more than they might otherwise.<br><br>His gaze drifted once again just in time to see Miss Bella Capri making her way down.&nbsp; Drumming his fingers lightly on the table, he nodded his head respectfully at the young woman.&nbsp; She had done so well in both her impromptu performance in the main room and the scheduled one in the back room.&nbsp; He was quite pleased with her talent and overheard many a man mention how much they admired her.&nbsp; Oh, some were crude and spoke only of what they would like to do to her flesh but there were a few that were genuinely impressed with her talents.&nbsp; Not only had her performances kept the crowds entertained but he had to silently applaud her denial of her bed to anyone.&nbsp; There had been offers made to her and even more made to him.&nbsp; Of course, he denied any right to push anyone into her bed but it was interesting to him that the offers bypassed her. <br><br>Curious, he waited to see what would unfold.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>26-05-2014, 07:58:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f2/Beardycox.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp;Avery Burnham<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dogs (1)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 12th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel’s Tower Bar<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Bella, Ginny (mentioned), Solomon (nearby); OPEN<br><hr> <br>Avery separated from Ginny as soon as they stepped into the hotel.&nbsp; Both ended up at the bar but the contrast between the two could not be greater.&nbsp; The engaging Whateley belle soon had men crowding around her stool to laugh loudly at her jokes and admire her considerable charms from closer up, earning her more than a few envious glances from the doves who’d been trying to work the room.&nbsp; It was an effortless performance and he could not help but admire it.&nbsp; In a matter of minutes she was of the place in a way he could never really be.&nbsp; Avery might be able to charm or impress or even bluff his way into people’s temporary good graces, but he would never be mistaken as one of the crowd, as someone who truly belonged among them.&nbsp; Not here.&nbsp; Perhaps not anywhere, really. <br><br>So it could be there was more to Miss Ginny then he had originally been willing to grant.&nbsp; Or perhaps she was simply enjoying herself.&nbsp; This was still a job for him.&nbsp; He wasn’t sure what it was for her exactly -- perhaps just a day’s amusement.&nbsp; Whatever the case, he found himself sitting at the opposite end of the bar, waiting patiently for the bartender to bring him a brandy whenever the man finally saw sit to leave her far more enticing half of the counter.<br><br>“Say, I remember you, the English fella with the drunk Mexican.&nbsp; Got anything you want me to fetch for a dollar again?”<br><br>Avery glanced up to discover the same prostitute he’d spoken with briefly the other night, the one he’d paid to bring the food to the table for Ms. Sanchez and himself when he feared for leaving her alone.&nbsp; The woman was shooting him a vaguely suggestive smirk while leaning against the counter, allowing him an easy peek down her dress if he so desired.&nbsp; She had a plain sort of face, he thought, but a generous bust that was probably appealing enough in and of itself after a few drinks and under the right sort of light.&nbsp; This was the sort of admiring crowd he drew, apparently.&nbsp; A second tier whore who likely thought him an easy mark.&nbsp; Lovely.<br><br>“No, thank you.&nbsp; I think I have all I need right now actually,” he replied, holding up his glass.&nbsp; “Although you might tell me when the next show is starting.&nbsp; The singer from last night…Ms. Capri, I believe it was, I was given to understand she’s to perform here regularly?”&nbsp; <br><br>“Pft,” the dove replied, waving her hand dismissively, this not exactly being the response she was wanting. Money wasted in the backroom was money not being spent upstairs with girls like herself, after all.&nbsp; “Why not ask her yourself?&nbsp; There she is coming down the stairs.”<br><br>And so she was.&nbsp; Avery watched as the dark-haired singer padded down the final few steps and headed towards the bar, looking vaguely scandalous in her bare feet and long bed robe, yet no less enticing or eloquent for the fact.&nbsp; It would be a lie in fact to suggest she did not still outshine most of the working girls in the room despite all their gaudy makeup and finery, at least in his eyes, although he had an admitted weakness for women of a certain refinement.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>“You know, there‘s plenty more entertaining things a man might get up to around here than listening to some bird sing…”<br><br>“I shall certainly keep that in mind, thank you,” he answered with a polite smile and a touch of his hat brim, before excusing himself to move further down the bar, nearer to where Bella had stationed herself while calling for some food to be brought out to her.&nbsp; As Avery approached, he glanced over towards Miss Ginny, assuming she’d noticed her arrival as well.&nbsp; He only hoped she’d give him the space he needed to make an introduction.&nbsp; &nbsp; <br><br>“Pardon me, I hope I’m not intruding on your morning, miss.&nbsp; I just wanted to express my admiration for your performance last night.&nbsp; You have a remarkable voice.&nbsp; I only regret I wasn’t able to see the entire act.”&nbsp; The Englishman offered her his most charming smile as he doffed his bowler, “Avery Burnham, if it pleases.&nbsp; I’m rather new to these parts myself.&nbsp; I assume you must come from back east somewhere?&nbsp; With some formal training in the arts perhaps?&nbsp; Excuse me if my questions seem overly bold.&nbsp; I’ll of course leave you to your breakfast if you’d prefer…” <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>CurvyKitten</strong> on <strong>29-05-2014, 23:06:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://25.media.tumblr.com/f40108d8f447a10e77bf26ec757a5707/tumblr_mflz9wII2S1rhmgq8o1_500.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Bella Capri (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9823344#msg9823344)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong>May 12th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower <br><strong>Tagged:</strong>Ginny, Avery,&nbsp; Solomon, OPEN<br><br><hr><br>Bella sat at the bar and took a breath, the evening shows would need to be seen to before long. But fist she wanted something to sooth the growing hunger within her. A soft smile coming to her face as she looked around Babel's tower, some stragglers never left, and some early risers it seemed had already returned.&nbsp; A nod and an appreciative smile was sent Solomon's way as she spotted him. The man had taken a risk hiring her as he did. But it was a risk that had paid off; at least she hoped it had. For the most part her employer seemed happy with her efforts, and so did the crowd, even if some of the men felt slighted in her denying them her bed. No doubt some of the more persistent ones would return to try again. But for now she would leave that bit of the business to the soiled doves in the back. <br><br>Bella's attention was pulled from her thoughts as a handsome stranger stepped up to the bar. Bella had no idea what his name was, but she remembered the face from the night before. Perhaps he had stayed the night with one of the ladies, or simply found something worth returning for? Either way she was content to let him be with whatever business he had. That was until he spoke up and began to introduce himself and speak of his admiration for her performance. <br><br><strong>"You perfectly fine Mr. Burnham, and thank you so very much. I did my very best to give you and all of lovely patrons a show worth remembering. I can only hope the following acts will be just as inspiring."</strong> she smiled and turned towards the young Englishmen. <strong>"I have traveled a great many places, but yes my heritage does trace back to the east.&nbsp; As for where I've studied, I have learned from a few masters and honed my skills on the stage itself."</strong> she said before laughing softly,<strong> "It’s alright, what are questions for if not to get to know someone better. If you want you can join me for breakfast. I wouldn't mind the company."</strong> she said gesturing to the seat next to her.<br><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>esclavage</strong> on <strong>07-06-2014, 19:29:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/3/3d/Ginny_03a.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Virginia <em><strong>'Ginny'</strong></em> Mary Lou Whateley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley Family<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 12th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower Entrance, then Foyer<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery; Bella (if present); OPEN<br><hr> <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Like everyone else, Ginny had noticed Miss Bella Capri's entry as the talk around the bar momentarily died.&nbsp; She was tempted to keep up the conversation, but she also stopped once she got a good look at the woman.&nbsp; The so-called "<em><strong>singer</strong></em>" was <em>scandalously</em> dressed, even by Ginny's standards, as the blonde Whateley paused to take a sip of her dark beer.&nbsp; No doubt the whore had spent the night spreading her legs for each and every man that had flashed a silver dollar at her - Ginny could not and would not believe anything else.&nbsp; It was obvious that someone of mixed blood like Bella was only good for one thing and that one thing involved putting her face down and her yellow ass up in the air.&nbsp; In time, Ginny was sure there'd be place for her at the opium den that was run by Mr. Lee - the Den of Eastern Delights.&nbsp; Ginny would make sure to send plenty of customers Miss Capri's way during that time.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Apparently, Miss Capri was bold indeed if she dared walk around in nothing but her robe that didn't do much to dissuade from the generous curves.&nbsp; That or a fool of a girl asking for raping.&nbsp; A silent snort was given by Ginny; she surely wouldn't shed any tears for the dark-haired beauty when such a fate befall her - even if the thought of rape made her feel a little uncomfortable inside.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The whole time Bella gracefully descended the staircase, those bright green Whateley eyes followed every gentle sway of the dark-haired beauty's hips - but not with lust like all the others gathered.&nbsp; No, Ginny's look was a sizing, weighing one - the type wild dogs gave one another when silently trying to determine who would be leader when the dust settled.&nbsp; Finally, the blonde undid another button to her blouse to reveal a bit more of a pale cleavage to the men gathered around her as that artful, little maneuver brought their attention as she resisted the urge to smirk.&nbsp; Honestly, people - and men in general, were typically so easy...<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;After letting Avery make the initial introductions, to which Ginny thought the Englishman was laying on his flattery a bit thick, she also decided to make her move.&nbsp; Casually, the blonde Whateley sidled up alongside where both Avery and Miss Bella Capri were sitting but made sure that she wasn't very obvious - taking her time to let them make small talk first.&nbsp; Cleverly, she allowed the crowd to drift over there - letting the fringes draw her out more and more in that direction as various miners and patrons of the Babel's Tower also stopped by to compliment Miss Capri on her fine performance the night before.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Then, she pretended to <em><strong>'jostle' </strong></em>Avery though she did dig her elbow a little harder than she intended.&nbsp; <strong>"Oh! Ah uh-pologize!&nbsp; Din't see yew thar!"</strong>&nbsp; Ginny's apology sounded somewhat sincere as she offered her sweetest smile to the detective.&nbsp; Then, those bright green eyes zeroed in on the dark-haired beauty.&nbsp; <strong> "Ah dun believ' we've met befor'..."</strong>&nbsp; That sweet smile turned saucy as Ginny offered a hand - but made it so the other woman could only offer hers from the bottom.&nbsp; As per the classic southern custom - Ginny was making it clear which of them would be in charge.&nbsp; <strong>"Ah'm Virginia Mary Lou Whateley, but yew kin jist call muh '<em>Ginny</em>'.&nbsp; Ah heard yur performance last nite.&nbsp; Yur pretty gud."</strong>&nbsp; Her words were a type of classic, lukewarm, faintly damning praise that was like a round of forced applause given because everyone else around you also shouting and whistling on the top of their lungs.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Ginny, of course, wasn't here to make friends.&nbsp; No, her friend was Annie and this here was a rival to Annie.&nbsp; But at the same time, there was no reason to let the other woman know that.&nbsp; At least not openly - the little barbs would be more than enough.&nbsp; For now.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>11-06-2014, 08:49:24</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f2/Beardycox.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp;Avery Burnham<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dogs (1)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 12th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel’s Tower Bar<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Bella, Ginny, Solomon (nearby); OPEN<br><hr> <br>“Breakfast would be lovely, miss, thank you,” Avery had replied to Bella’s gracious offer, slipping into the seat she’d indicated.&nbsp; He tried to picture the woman next him with her friendly smile and charming laugh hidden in some dark alcove, sneaking drops of poison into another woman’s cup in order to steal the opening show.&nbsp; The image was more comical than convincing.&nbsp; It turned his thoughts in another direction though, back to what she’d said about having heritage in the east.&nbsp; He wondered idly if that perhaps was the source of his client’s lurid fantasizing, people having all sorts of strange ideas about the orient and easterners’ supposed fondness for underhanded tricks and poisoning in particular.&nbsp; <br><br>That thought embarrassed him somewhat in truth.&nbsp; Avery was a proud Englishman of course.&nbsp; He had little doubt that there was a superior people on this planet and that he was of it, but he was not as convinced by the arguments of racialists as some in this country.&nbsp; He’d met too many unique people, particularly in his time overseas, to see any real value in placing much stock on skin color as a evaluator of character or ability.&nbsp; The Chinese in particular had long fascinated him as a culture ever since his time stationed overseas.&nbsp; There had been much to like about it, much worthy of learning from, and even now his respect remained, despite the shabby way the Chinese were largely treated in this country.<br><br>&nbsp;“When I said east, I meant east by New York, mainly,” he clarified with a smile, feeling some need to explain.&nbsp; “I thought perhaps you may have spent some time being formally schooled there.&nbsp; Your voice seems…too refined to be untrained, if I may say so.”&nbsp; Placing his hat atop the counter and folding his hands over the brim, Avery continued in a conversational tone.&nbsp; “What brings you to Gomorra, may I ask?&nbsp; I’m not ashamed to say I came seeking my fortune like most, I suppose.&nbsp; It has eluded me so far, but then it’s only been a month.&nbsp; Did you come to town with Mr. Solomon?&nbsp; He was certainly very fortunate to have you here adding a touch of class to his opening …although I seem to recall some other lady was supposed to perform, although I can’t imagine she would have been anymo-”<br><br>A sharp elbow in the ribs chose that moment to cut into the conversation.&nbsp; Avery glanced up to discover it was attached to a certain Miss Virginia Whatelely, an irritatingly sweet smile on her face as she beamed down at them.&nbsp; He had thought she might give him a bit more time to make an introduction.&nbsp; He had barely exchanged names with Ms. Capri at this point.&nbsp; How was he supposed to learn anything if he couldn’t at least have a proper conversation with the woman? “Oh.&nbsp; How to do you do?&nbsp; Think nothing of it.&nbsp; It is so terribly crowded, after all,” he noted dryly, glancing around at the sea of new faces she’d somehow brought along in tow.&nbsp; “Avery Burnham, so pleased to meet you Miss Whateley.&nbsp; I’d heard your name of course and hoped we might meet sometime…although I’d assumed it might be at a later date, for some reason.”&nbsp; The last line added somewhat pointedly.&nbsp; <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Babel's Tower (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>CurvyKitten</strong> on <strong>15-07-2014, 23:25:48</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://25.media.tumblr.com/f40108d8f447a10e77bf26ec757a5707/tumblr_mflz9wII2S1rhmgq8o1_500.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Bella Capri (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9823344#msg9823344)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> none<br><strong>Date:</strong>May 12th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower <br><strong>Tagged:</strong>Ginny, Avery,&nbsp; Solomon, OPEN<br><br><hr><br>Bella smiled as Avery agreed to breakfast, it was always nice to meet someone knew, specially if he is such a handsome someone. <strong>"Breakfast it is then, please sit join me this fine morning."</strong> she said with a soft yet warm smile. Bella looked Avery over for a moment as he joined her, he held himself confidently enough. She wondered if he was simply another patron trying to temp to her into his bed. Always chatting her up before he came up with a number he thought would woe her senses enough to have her skirt fall and her legs before him. It was going to be a regular occurrence due to where she worked, but thankfully Abraham did not insist she part take in such practices, at least not unless she suddenly felt the urge to do so. It was rather pleasant to work for a man that allowed her as much freedom as Abraham did. <br><br><strong>"Ahh I see, forgive me for assuming you meant something else." </strong>she said with a soft bow of her head, <strong>"I have been to New York; I met a wonderful cast there. An older woman name Gabriella that taught me a great deal. Though I suppose I've always had a gift for music. A gift I have my mother to thank for."</strong> she said with a soft smile looking as if she were remembering something fondly. <strong>"I had the luck of being spotted by one of Mr. Solomon people and once he heard of me, he offered me a chance to come here and have a permanent showcase. It was tempting but when he said I could make it my own I just couldn't turn it down.'</strong> she said with a soft nod, <strong>"I've spent years preforming what others wanted, so to be able to perform what truly spoke to me was too much to turn down."</strong> Bella spoke her tone smooth and seeming very honest. <br><br><strong>"Thank you, I was very lucky to have come upon the chance to preform her."</strong> she said and nodded, her attention caught as Avery's were cut short by a sudden appearance of another woman. The excuse of not seeing Avery was a bit odd, but Bella let it go and nodded to the woman in greeting. Her answer to Avery's question lost due to the sudden distraction. <strong>"Good morning Miss Whateley, thank you so much. I do try my best and it is always wonderful to hear that someone enjoyed the show."</strong> Bella said with the same smooth easy smile she had from before.<br>
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