Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/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 13-05-2013, 20:07:07</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>13-05-2013, 20:07:07</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">GM-Created Event Thread</span></strong></div><br><div align="center">This thread is for storyline events created by the GMs.</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><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Event Thread (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>13-05-2013, 20:12:09</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://gunsofold.com/marshal_badge_silver_balltip.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Elisabeth, Open (Anyone within hearing distance, which will be most of northern Gomorra)<br><hr><br>“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUGH – “ <br><br>The scream of a man dying was a terrible thing.&nbsp; The scream of a terrified man dying in agony was even worse – it tore from the throat and carried over the city, high and anguished and terrible, only to be cut off a moment later.&nbsp; There was the wet sound of tearing flesh, of meat ripping and bone cracking.<br><br>“OH GOD, NO PLEA – “ yelled a second voice, before it began to scream as well.&nbsp; There was a crack of bone, another moist tear, and a second scream went up as well.&nbsp; <br><br>“ OH MY GAAUUUUUUGHH – “ <br><br>Then the second voice cut off as well.&nbsp; &nbsp;For a long moment, the night in Gomorra was still and quiet, as ears strained for some clue as to the source of the noise.&nbsp; Some clue as to the horror in their midst&nbsp; - and then shouts began to go up all along Ballot Boulevard, as voices began to cry out.&nbsp; <br><br>“What in perdition was that – “<br>“ - Someone call the sheriff!”<br>“ – think there’s been a murder – “<br><br><hr><br>Elisabeth’s eyes opened, the horrible nightmare finally beginning to resolve into reality.<br><br>Or… perhaps it didn’t.&nbsp; The nightmare was changing, perhaps, as she realized she lay in the ground, a hand a few inches from her face.&nbsp; It led down to a bloody chucnk of flesh where a wrist should have been, and beyond it was the left half of a ribcage, organs spilling across the ground.&nbsp; It lacked important attachments – like a head, or arms, or legs, and it was not the only chunk of human meat in the area.&nbsp; Elisabeth was surrounded, the paving stones and walls around her were wet with blood.<br><br>So was she.&nbsp; Her nightgown had been torn open and stained with it, and there were long, animal claw marks down the side of her body.&nbsp; They ached and burned, and bruises covered her back, her arms, her face.&nbsp; <br><br>They werren’t the worst of the pain, though.&nbsp; Something had been [inside[/i] her – something large, and rough, crueler than Theodore had ever been, and the sexual pleasure of her nightmares was replaced with a throbbing, unpleasant pain from where she had been violated.&nbsp; Her nightwear was in tatters and bloodsoaked, and she could barely recognize the area around her.&nbsp; <br><br>Part of a face, removed from the skuill it was once attached to – stared sightlessly up at her.<br>&nbsp;<br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">OOC NOTE</div><div class="spoiler_body">Please post ONLY an initial reaction - do not arrive at the scene.&nbsp; I will determine a posting order on the basis of distance from scene, haste, etc.&nbsp; If your character is NOT moving towards the sounds of horrifying screams, please post a reaction and put EXIT THREAD after.</div></div>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Event Thread (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Phaia</strong> on <strong>13-05-2013, 20:25:20</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://i1217.photobucket.com/albums/dd394/Vithe_rothe/Doomtown/doomtown11_zpsff59733c.jpg)</div><hr><span style="font-size: 10pt;" class="bbc_size"><strong>Name:</strong> <span style="font-family: comic sans ms;" class="bbc_font">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Lady Elisabeth Boyle</span><br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Member of the Collegium.<br><strong> Date: </strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day: </strong>&nbsp; Evening, a couple of hours after dusk<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Not at all sure but Not wanting to be there!!<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Monsters??, Body parts, Lots of Blood, Open<br></span><br><hr> <br><br><br><br>Pain!<br><br>Pain, aches, burning, intense burning in many places!<br><br>Pain!<br><br>A Horrid scream!<br><br>Elisabeth was aware of these before she opened her eyes. It had to be a nightmare, a new one, one whose images swirled in her head and refused to show themselves but left her belly clenched in terror and for other reasons she had not felt before. The nightmare still clung to her heart and mind, images of a beast ravaging her would not go away.<br><br>Opening her eyes she sees blood dripping from walls, a dim glow of oil lamps gave the area a surreal and eerie red hued look.&nbsp; The scent of blood and guts hung heavy and filled her nostrils. She blinked once then twice as in the distance muted shouts could be heard<br><br>She was lying on the ground when last she remembered was laying down for a rest at Agatha’s. She had gotten tired in the afternoon and needed to sleep. So she had changed, slipping off her clothes and into a silk and nearly shear nightgown and lay down on the guest bed upstairs.&nbsp; It was still twilight when she had done so and none of the others had yet returned to the House. Her mind tried to reason things, something had happened. <br><br>She turned her head and nearly screamed herself as bile crawled at her throat. She moved and groaned as new pain assaulted her. She had been raped…been ravaged hard, her vagina felt on fire and hurt. Her hips sent stabbing pain through her and her mind reeled. Images flashed, body parts, blood, a mangled torso. Part of her mind, that part where reason and logic held sway coolly analyzed the parts, as a doctor she was aware of how much force was needed to tear off a limb or a head. Whatever had done those things was powerful and vicious. The rest of her mind struggled through pain, smells, blood and the knowledge that it was all real made her want to let the darkness that hovered at the edges in. She was a Boyle and had fought battles before and would not give in to the darkness.<br><br>Her night gown was ripped in shreds, torn open revealing her naked body. As she lifted her head to check herself.&nbsp; Blood was smattered over her and claw marks had left deep scratches on her arms and legs. She knew she would have deep bruises on her back. Lifting her head a bit more she saw how bad her torso and stomach had been raked. In places she could see muscle. Add to that she suspected from the way the pain stabbed as she shifted that her hips had been cracked.<br><br>Worst of all was the huge bloody claw that had left its dripping imprint over her left breast and torso.<br><br>Tears filled her eyes as she saw a face, ripped off the skull, empty eye sockets glaring at her and laying between her out stretched feet. <br><br>What had happened? Dear Lord above what had happened to her?<br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Event Thread (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>consortium11</strong> on <strong>13-05-2013, 22:26:51</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<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo and just outside, heading towards the noise<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> The Event, Open<br><hr>Walter was just finishing his fourth whisky when he was rudely interrupted.<br><br>Perhaps uniquely among the denizens of Gomorra, Walt didn't find it particularly unusual for a sudden bout of screaming to interrupt a night's drinking. In truth there was rarely a night when he wouldn't glance up from his pint of bitter, the liquid as brown as dirt (and often tasting like it), at the Nag's Head at the sound of some poor unfortunate letting out a scream or two. Partly that was because the Nag's Head still hadn't got around to replacing the door after he and Dickie Bird went through it during a 'friendly' bar brawl and so all the sounds of the streets carried through but it was also a sad fact of life in the mean streets of London, in the alleys and the gutters which Walter called home. He was the tattered king of his tattered kingdom, the ragged ruler of a ragged realm and it was not a realm known for mercy. Stabbings, coshings, muggings, murders, rapes... all went on in those back alleys where the light never quite seemed to travel and where the sodden mud at the bottom of the docks was so near, always ready to welcome another poor, unfortunate soul into its cold embrace. So no, Walter was used to screaming during a nights drinking. Although he did note that he was often the cause.<br><br>And it never quite sounded like this.<br><br>The main room of Casino Morongo was busy as it always was and because of that it was noisy, the clink of glasses, the inane chatter of gamblers, the shuffling of cards, the rattle of coins. Loud enough that you could sometimes miss a word during a conversation, it snatched away from your ears. Loud enough that you shouldn't be able to hear a scream, not from outside. And not that clearly. Not that hopelessly. Walter had heard people scream in pain. It wasn't that, not even when he was the cause of the it. Walter had heard people scream as they died. It wasn't that, not even when he was the cause of it. That scream was <strong>more</strong> then that .Walter was a superstitious man even if he followed no Church. That scream was someone losing their soul. Having it ripped from his body. Walt racked his mind to remember if he had smelt any roses or spilt any salt recently. It was the sort of scream that brought such thoughts to his mind.<br><br>It was no surprise that the scream brought proceedings to a halt. Walt may not have been in Gomorra long but he had been there long enough to know the town was, in essence, safe. That's not to say it wasn't a hard land... it was... or that death didn't haunt a man's footsteps as he made his way through the world but that was out <em>there</em>, out in the Great Maze, away from Gomorra itself. Yes, there were brawls and yes, there was the odd death but they were rare events despite the rapscallions and villains who called the place home. Even in the near lawless tent city of Soddom death and murder were a somewhat rare occurrence. And here in the northern part of Gomorra, the rich part, the respectable part (although no doubt the Watley's would dispute that from their southern estates)? Death truly was a shock. No, it was no surprise that a hush fell on the casino, that cards remained tightly clenched in fists, glasses left on tables, eyes turning to the door, to each other, back to the door.<br><br>And Walter was already moving.<br><br>He hadn't really intended to. Walter was no bloody white knight gallivanting his way across first London town and now the Great Maze looking for damsels to rescue, causes to take up or windmills to joust at. Hell, he was more likely to e the reason a damsel was in distress. He'd heard hundreds of screams in the night and he had always ignored almost all of them. It was not his way to deliberately invite danger onto himself, not his way to go charging off to confront whatever it was people wanted confronting on a given day. He faced enough danger doing his day-job... there was no reason to do it during his free time. And if it was not a general dedication to “doing the right thing” which made him move then it likewise was not that his friends were in danger either. He didn't really know anyone in Gomorra, he was friends with even less and even if someone did qualify as his friend then the chances of them being in the northern part rather than Stiffys or some other dump was minimal.<br><br>But still he moved.<br><br>Perhaps it was the whisky; not enough to physically impair him but maybe enough that he made a rash decision. Perhaps it was the opposite and he was being too logical. Walter knew enough about how people reacted to things like this, to screams and murders. He knew they frequently looked to a stranger to blame, whatever the cause and whatever had actually happened... and Walter was a stranger here. A stranger from a foreign land with a foreign accent, an eye that seemed to glow red when he was angry and a generally disreputable appearance. However many had seen him drinking here that evening he knew that could easily be swept away by a tide of hysteria. He'd seen it. He'd even done it as a cover to get away with his own crimes, deliberately blaming it on a pair of Hungarian itinerant workers before simply stepping back and letting the mob do its work. Perhaps it was the fact he was employed by Howard Findley and from what he knew of the man he valued the safety and security of Gomorra highly, that it was him who had turned it from a lawless town to one where murder was a rarity, and he would not think highly of someone on his payroll ignoring an event like this. Perhaps he was just bored by his mundane existence, by threatening miners and drinking whisky and not killing maze dragons.<br><br>Or perhaps it was all bollocks and deep down Walter Sinnett was actually a hero?<br><br><em>No, that last one's definitely bollocks.</em><br><br>But whatever the reason, Walter Sinnett was moving. Not rushing aimlessly; he had been through too much to do that, but still, moving. His left hand may now have one of his knuckle dusters on it, supporting the shotgun held in his right, his walking stick tucked into his belt along with his knife, but he was still moving towards the door and then out into Gomorra's evening, towards where the screams had come from. He may not be the only one from the casino going to the scene but he appeared to be the first and while he wasn't running he was moving with a brisk, determined jog, eyes open, ears alert. He was no tracker, especially not in a place like the Great Maze but Gomorra was a town and for all his sins that was his domain. Ten minutes ago he'd have considered himself the alpha predator in this place.<br><br>Now he was not so sure.<br><br>And across town in he Scared Stiff Saloon his donkey, studiously ignored by the scum that were still drinking there, let out a plaintive noise as its ears pinned back against its head and its flanks trembled. This far away no-one heard the scream, but sometimes animals just knew.<br><br><em>Something wicked this way comes.<br><br>I think you hear me knocking.<br><br>I think I'm coming in.</em>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Event Thread (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wulfspire</strong> on <strong>14-05-2013, 04:56:34</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/20/Christian_Bale_Cowboy_3.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Christian Specter<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong>May 4th<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Outside Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> The Event, Open<br><hr><br>Christian had never been a big fan of crowds. It was not that he was frightened of them, as no one could really tell you what scared Spooky, what made him tremble in his boots, it was just that crowds involved a lot of people. Christian had never been a big fan of people. In fact, he had rarely met a person he actually liked. Agatha Dunwich had been one such person, and she had introduced him to another by the name of Lady Elizabeth Boyle. She was decent folk. Damn pretty too, if anyone asked Christian.<br><br>Christian had been within, nursing a mug of beer, and watching as people came and went. He had kept to himself however, trying to be as unnoticed as a gunslinger of his reputation could be. Christian did not expect the Man in Black to just appear at the bat-wing doors and be on the other side of his iron sights. He had been hunting the bastard too long for that. He had been hunting period too long for that. The gathering had become a bit too intrusive for Christian's tastes, so he had stepped out to grab a bit of fresh air. <br><br>The night was dark, and cool. Christian was taking a brief break to chew his tobacco in peace outside the Casino. He had spent a few hours there now, leaving the girls at home so he could get some hunting in. The Man in Black was in Gomorra, Christian knew it, it was just a matter of patience in finding him. The Casino was the perfect food plot for one like The Man. It was swanky, unquestioning, and made a great place to wet his lips in between murder and rape. Christian always got his best leads on the Man from places like Morongo.<br><br>The first scream got Christian’s attention, though if any were looking at him, it would have seemed quite the opposite. Christian was smarter than to run after it immediately. The first scream was bad, but there would be another one, and he could get an idea of the direction to head. The second scream erupted, and Christian tightened his hat and began moving towards the source. There was always a second scream.<br><br>His pace was slow, measured, just like his breathing. He grabbed Reaper from its holster and double checked its ammo, making sure he had placed fresh rounds in his favored weapon. A few steps later and he re-skinned the iron. Doc was off his back shortly after, and he continued his saunter towards the noise with the rifle in his fist just above the lever. <br>Looks like he was going to be hunting tonight after all, his target had just changed. Christian hoped to be one of the first ones there. There was bound to be a big gaggle of people gawking, and Christian had never been a big fan of crowds.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Event Thread (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>14-05-2013, 07:37:56</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d4/Marguerite_Tuerny_09.jpg)</div> <strong>Name:</strong> Marguerite Tuerny<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Taking an evening stroll<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Nathan Hunter, Open<br><hr><strong>"Thank you again for a wonderful meal."</strong>&nbsp; She told her companion as they turned a corner to reveal the Golden Mare just down the street.&nbsp; It had been a good evening, the food was good and the company excellent.&nbsp; Even the news of Nathan's termination from his job as Senior Sheriff failed to put more than a momentary damper on her spirits.<br><br><strong>"When I spoke with the Judge this morning he indicated that I might be best served to represent myself in court, at least for the civil matters related to the mine."</strong>&nbsp; She told him, working up to a proposition she thought might give them both wins.&nbsp; <strong>"Are you still the prosecutor?&nbsp; I don't imagine Bilton had the power to fire you from that?"</strong>&nbsp; Though of course Bilton was nothing.&nbsp; The power behind him was Howard Findley.<br><br>Keeping her mine out of Findley's hands was proving to be a challenge, and she really hadn't even gotten into things yet.&nbsp; Just… She had to be very careful about what she said and how she acted.&nbsp; If the mine was at all productive, she'd have a fight on her hands proving it, and then keeping it.<br><br>But this wasn't the right occasion.&nbsp; <strong>"I'm glad we did this.&nbsp; We'll have to do it again soon."</strong>&nbsp; She wasn't sure how things would go when they got to the Mare.&nbsp; Would he ask to come up?&nbsp; If so, how would he go about it?&nbsp; She certainly wasn't going to deny he was a catch - smart, attractive, capable, and strong.&nbsp; And under the gentlemanly manner, he was a dangerous man.&nbsp; A man that had seen hardship and faced it head-on.&nbsp; Faced it and kicked it in the teeth.&nbsp; He was successful here, a man respected by most and feared by some.<br><br>She almost laughed at herself, so cold-bloodedly appraising his qualifications for... for what?&nbsp; Despite her disdain for the callous matchmaking that went on between matrons back East in High Society, now that she had seen more of the world, she had to agree with so much of <em>Maman's</em> wisdom.&nbsp; She had rebelled, thought all the usual things young girls thought about their parents.&nbsp; It was so sad that she would never know them as adults - as people rather than icons.&nbsp; <br><br>But <em>Maman</em> was right, choosing the right man was a task best divided between the heart and the mind.&nbsp; And, she had to admit, and the loins.&nbsp; That was something her mother - she realized in hindsight - had hinted at in such discrete ways that young Rita had failed to realize.&nbsp; Sex was impor...<br><br><span style="font-size: 14pt;" class="bbc_size"><strong>"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUGH - "</strong></span><br><br>The scream was beyond anything she'd heard.&nbsp; Worse even than those of the 'possessed' souls back in the Deseret Woman's Asylum - screams of women being cured by methods worse than any affliction.<br>&nbsp;<br><strong>"What was that?"</strong>&nbsp; She asked foolishly.&nbsp; It was obviously a scream, human, though now that she tried she couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman.&nbsp; <strong>"I think it came from that way."</strong>&nbsp; She wasn't so foolish as to run headlong toward trouble.&nbsp; Trouble had its way of finding one without help.&nbsp; But Nathan was with her.&nbsp; And the whole town had to hear.&nbsp; <strong>"We should see if they need help."</strong>&nbsp; She added bravely, if perhaps foolishly.<br><br>From the quality of the shriek, and the way it cut off so abruptly, she was sure that whoever made it was beyond mortal aid.&nbsp; But there might be others.&nbsp; Or… or something might be out there.&nbsp; Something that could make a person scream like that.&nbsp; She had enough trouble sleeping as it was, without adding some faceless unidentified fear to her reasons.&nbsp; Better to face a known threat than cower in ignorance.<br><br><strong>"You have your gun, right?"</strong>&nbsp; She hardly had to check, the heavy pistol belt was nearly a part of the man.&nbsp; She wasn't' sure he'd feel dressed without it.&nbsp; <strong>"Let's go."</strong>&nbsp; And, strangely, it was the pretty socialite that led to way, leaving the tough law dog to hasten step to follow.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>14-05-2013, 20:50:55</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/thumb/e/e4/Natehunter.png/437px-Natehunter.png)</div> <strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Nathan Hunter<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; Senior Deputy (Law Dogs)<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; An evening stroll<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Margeurite Tuerny, Open<br><hr><br><strong>“Thank you for the excellent company,”</strong> said Hunter, his tone light and genuinely grateful.&nbsp; His own spirits had been dampened – and incensed – by the altercation with Bilton, no matter how private.&nbsp; The two men had nearly come to blows, and the last few years of his service to Gomorra had been blithely discarded.&nbsp; He’d never cared for Bilton – but even during the dinner he’d refused t say a poor word about his fellow lawman.&nbsp; Or at least, his former fellow lawman.<br>Hunter gave a light smile at the mention of Warwick’s suggestion.&nbsp; <strong>”Sweetrock’s the only folk that employ lawyers for civil matters,”</strong> he agreed.&nbsp; <strong>”Some of the other mine owners, on occasion,</strong>”&nbsp; &nbsp;He cocked his head, considering.&nbsp; <strong>”Though I imagine I won’t be much needed, as a prosecutor.”</strong>&nbsp; Bilton would much prefer to be judge, jury, and executioner, and so long as he was a loyal lap dog, he imagined Findley and the Mayor would be doing everything in their power to clear the way for him to be exactly that.&nbsp; &nbsp;The jail cells might remain full of drunks, but he very much doubted Biltion would feel the need to gather evidence to present to a prosecutor, to in turn present before a court.&nbsp; That was far more… work than he cared for, time he could be spending in his cups or in the honeypot of one of the soiled doves at the Perch.&nbsp; He shook off the direction his mind wandered.&nbsp; <strong>”But I’m happy to offer advice, all the same.”</strong><br><br>He put a hand over hers, as he escorted her on his arm, looking the very soul of propriety.&nbsp; His manners would have been par for the course in Baltimore, New York, or Boston, but in the West they were a rarity.&nbsp; Dusty, perhaps, and broken in a bit, but everything that survived in the West seemed to be a little of both.<br><br>He gave a light blush as she admitted she would like to do it again soon.&nbsp; <strong>”I’d enjoy that,”</strong> he agreed, his voice soft.&nbsp; He winced a little, as he made a realization.&nbsp; <strong>”I can’t seem to recall all my finer points of etiquette about dating,”</strong> he admitted.&nbsp; <strong>”I seem to recall marrying the first woman I ever invited to a dance.&nbsp; I… is it improper to ask upon you again?&nbsp; Or am I expected to wait a time to – “</strong>&nbsp; He winced, realizing he foolishness.&nbsp; <strong><em>”Perdition,”</em></strong> he swore, under his breath, just low enough he likely didn’t intend her to overhear his curse.&nbsp; <strong>”Margeurite, would you care to accompany me to the theater tomorrow?&nbsp; I’ve heard our very own Gamorran players are attempting an opera.” </strong>&nbsp; He gave a small smile.&nbsp; <strong>”A comedy.”</strong><br><br>He looked her over, his dead wife’s favorite dress looking twice as becoming on her as it ever had on his buried spouse.&nbsp; It was a terribly thing to think – but he’d often wondered if he ever would have courted his bygone missus if he’d known how it was to turn out – or even how much he would find of himself in the West.&nbsp; His own thoughts, too, were of the forthcoming goodbye to be had that evening.&nbsp; He desired her deeply, he knew.&nbsp; He’d already spent four nights dreaming of her.&nbsp; But there was more to marriage than mere lust, and part of him hesitated, worried that the prospect of a mine and wealth would complicate things.&nbsp; He had no interest in her birthright – not in taking it from her, or taking advantage of it, or operating it on her behalf.&nbsp; His family had wealth; perhaps not so much as Margeurite’s own, but an abundance of old and stable investments that would serve for generations.<br><br>There was propriety to consider – what she might think if he asked her up for a goodnight kiss, as it was most certainly inappropriate in the street.&nbsp; How little he trusted himself to behave a gentleman if he followed her up to her room, or how the taste of her lips lingered on his mind as a fantasy.&nbsp; He could just imagine leaning in to taste them once again, returning the gaze she sent his way, when – <br><br>The screaming was terrible.&nbsp; It dashed thoughts of romance and turned his veins to ice.&nbsp; But there was a familiar cool to that sensation, to the shock of fear and horror.&nbsp; It was something that had grown familiar as a senior deputy.&nbsp; <br><br><em>"What was that?"</em><br><br><strong>”Trouble,”</strong> said Nathan, his voice soft.&nbsp; The Peacemaker was already in his hand, a lightning draw.&nbsp; &nbsp;He didn’t know what kind, just yet, but he knew what the sound foretold, and knew any thoughts of a romantic conclusion to their date would be at an end.&nbsp; He mourned the passing of romantic fancy for only a heartbeat.&nbsp; <strong>”I – We?&nbsp; No you should get back to the Golden – “</strong><br><br>She was already shuffling off, towards the sound of danger, and for a moment Nathan Hunter blinked and stared, stupefied.&nbsp; He tried to envision his departed wife doing anything more than trying to breath and not feint away at the merest wisp of danger, and here this woman – this remarkable woman – might well arrive at the scene of it before him.&nbsp; <br><br>He heel-toed after her, setting a quick pace to catch up with her and lead the way, gun in hand, thumb hovering on the hammer and ready to cock it back with a moment’s notice.<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>esclavage</strong> on <strong>14-05-2013, 22:51:19</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/c/c0/Ginny_Avatar-01.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Virginia 'Ginny' Mary Lou Whateley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley Family<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> The Event, Open<br><hr><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<em><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><strong>"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH--"</strong></span></em><br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The piercing, shrill, banshee wail was loud enough to cut through the bustle and the chatter of Casino Morongo as all the activity taking place first slowed to a trickle and then came to a complete standstill.&nbsp; The unearthly sound was enough to raise the hair of the back of everyone's neck as the reactions of the gathered men and women were wide and varied.&nbsp; Some cowered, looking for the nearest table to hide under.&nbsp; Others stopped what they were doing and whipped their head in the direction of the sound-those with guns placing their hands on their holsters.&nbsp; A few, rare souls crusted by the dirt of Gomorra, simply took another shot of whiskey, seemingly unaffected and uncaring.&nbsp; Then, the murmurs began as the patrons began to speak to one another in hushed tones.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; <em>'What was that?'&nbsp; 'Did you hear that?'&nbsp; 'What do you think that was?'</em>&nbsp; The chatter took place excitedly, almost perversely, as the crowd began to drift out of the door and towards the direction of the noise.&nbsp; Like a herd mentality, there was the feeling of safety in numbers as they shuffled outside into the night air, wanting to see what had just happened.&nbsp; However, Virgina Mary Lou Whateley was not one of them.&nbsp; Instead, the young Whateley was busy staring down the people at her table, their cards still in hand.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Oh, Ginny had certainly whipped her head in the direction of the sound like all the others; she wasn't cold-blooded enough to ignore the keening death cry.&nbsp; In fact, it would linger in her thoughts long after tonight as she sat home alone in her overly large house.&nbsp; But after a moment of deliberation, she decided to turn her attention back to the table.&nbsp; Whatever was going on surely would be there after this particular hand.&nbsp; And she had every intention of winning said hand.&nbsp; Then, she could go and meander out with everyone else.&nbsp; After all, there was bound to be plenty of juicy gossip to be had in the next hour.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"Yur turn,"</strong> the blonde gambler brusquely directed to one of the regular sharps nicknamed Billy "Three-Hands" because of his ability to put together a three of a kind almost at will.&nbsp; Tonight she was running with the wolves, a number of the other well-known gamblers in Gomorra that treated the Casino almost like a second home.&nbsp; Admittedly, it was nothing like that wild night where she had bet everything, boom or bust, close to half a year ago but it was the closest thing she could get to the same thrill.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Ginny was sporting a flush draw, hearts all around, and was confident and in control of this particular hand.&nbsp; Though she wanted to lure in as many as possible to put their hard-won coin into the pot since this was a powerful hand in five-card draw.&nbsp; Not too many hands were likely to beat it.&nbsp; And based on her read of the table, there was a high single pair, a low two pair, and a straight also out at the table as well.&nbsp; A rare occurrence in five-card and one that would spell a large pot for Ginny Whateley.&nbsp; Not that she ever went wanting for money, but she did adore winning.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Though Billy was pausing, hesitating in a way Ginny had never seen before.&nbsp; And after a minute, he seemed to sigh.&nbsp; <strong>"Deal me out,"</strong> he reluctantly laid his hand down as the young Whateley cut back a squawk.&nbsp; He jerked his thumb in the direction of the exiting crowd.&nbsp; <strong>"I'm going to see what's going on."</strong><br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"Oy!"</strong> Ginny protested, seeing her potential prey escaping.&nbsp; <strong>"Yuh jist dun quit in the middle of a game!"</strong>&nbsp; Glancing around, she cast her green Whateley eyes looking for support from her fellow gamblers.&nbsp; But what she saw disappointed her.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"Actually..."</strong> Joseph "Neverbluff", another fairly well known gambler, remarked after a second.&nbsp; <strong>"I'm with Billy on this one.&nbsp; It just don't seem right to sit here without seeing we can help."</strong>&nbsp; And he tossed his hand down as well as Ginny resisted the urge to frown.&nbsp; After all, she didn't want to give away the fact that she had the winning hand.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;With that, all the gamblers one by one also folded, leaving their cards on the table as they also proceeded out of the Casino to see what was going on.&nbsp; Leaving Ginny alone at the table as she grumpily stared at her cards in hand before giving an angry huff and throwing them down on the table as well.&nbsp; In her experience, it was never fun to play cards all by your lonesome.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"Fine.&nbsp; Ya'll be that uh'way,"</strong> the young Whateley remarked under her breath as she picked up her Stenson and tugged the brim over her head before she went to follow along with the rest of the crowd.&nbsp; She thought about leaving for her house, but she was curious enough to find out what had happened.&nbsp; Whatever it was, it had better be something damned impressive to make up for&nbsp; ruining her fun.&nbsp; The pace she was somewhere between a lazy mosey and a walk as the young Whateley chose to linger near the back of the crowds, more interested in hearing what others had to say than to the actual event itself.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>xPeachyPuff</strong> on <strong>15-05-2013, 00:39:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://pursuitist.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/kate-upton2.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Annabel Montgomery.<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4th, 1876.<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening.<br><strong>Location:</strong> Heading towards The New Moon Saloon.<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> The Event, Open.<br><hr> <br><br>It was quiet out, which was surprising since it was only evening; she expected the odd few drunks or occasional gunslinger to pass her in the open streets of Gomorra. In all honestly, Annabel didn’t feel completely comfortable with her task in the slightest, but Ms. Betsy – the middle aged woman who, as far as Annabel knew, practically ran the New Moon Saloon – had begged her favour. It was her night off and the woman had approached her room, which she did often when she wasn’t busy, but this time was apparently different. She had stated that she was running low on a few things and had sent a telegram to her local Gomorra supplier with a list of things she had need of. She rambled on for a bit then and Annabel had to admit she tuned out while the woman explained herself in detail, literally retracing her steps for the blonde girl. Annabel was forced to interrupt and the woman finally got to her point: Would Annabel mind making a trip to her supplier to get the things she needed? Once again, Ms. Betsy reassured her that she’d already put it all by and that it would be ready to pick up. She also mentioned that it wasn’t much, only a box-full. Annabel had blatantly refused at first, as sharp as ever; she basically closed the door on the poor woman. The woman didn’t give up and she almost knocked the door from its hinges as she pleaded with the girl; it was surprising what a burly woman could do to a bit of wood! <br><br>Annabel let out a heavy sigh as she lugged the box back to the Saloon, feeling regret that only seemed heavier ever second that passed. The box was much larger than she anticipated, and she could only just about carry it with it resting against her chest and on her forearms, her fingers curling around the edge of the box; the last thing she needed was the bottom falling out on her. Not only did she have to lug the damned box about, but it felt as if she were carrying some sort of backpack with few hundred stones inside, each one having ‘uneasiness’ scribbled into their rough surfaces. The anxiety only seemed to grow with every step she took; another rock was added to her metaphoric pack. <br><br><strong> <em>“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUGH – “</em></strong><br><br>The sound, though faint and almost inaudible, practically deafened her. Annabel span on the spot, made suddenly frantic at the horrifying screech; it almost sounded inhuman. The blonde froze on the spot, her head slowly turning to stare all around her, deep blue eyes peeled open to take in everything around her, as if somehow if she opened them wide enough she would be able to see through walls. Annabel knew she should probably go back to the Saloon as fast as possible, but for a while it was hard enough to move her head, let alone her feet. She found herself glued to the dusty ground, rooted in place like some sort of fear-stricken tree.<br><br><em>No.</em> No, she couldn’t just wait there. Even though questions whizzed through her mind faster than a thirsty horse seeking water, she knew she had to deliver her goods like she’d promised. Maybe then she could figure out what was going on, what that awful scream was. Maybe Ms. Betsy knew what was going on, or someone at the Saloon? Sucking in a ragged breath and swallowing at the lump in her dry throat, Annabel moved. She walked faster than before, as if there were someone or <em>something </em> hot on her heels. <br><br>It wasn’t long before she reached the Saloon and there were a small group of people stood outside on the porch, muttering to themselves in their usual drawl.<br><br>&nbsp;<em>”Whut wa’that?”<br><br>&nbsp;“Wa’thut a woman?” <br><br>“Did ya hear tha? Sounded like a’murder.”<br><br>&nbsp;“Maybe ya’ll shud contact the sheriff or sumthin?”</em><br><br>Annabel didn’t as much as glance at them as she climbed the few steps to the porch and passed by them to enter the Saloon. It was almost empty, save a few ignorant bastards enjoying their drink and laughing about the noise and the girls behind the bar. Annabel paused in front of said bar, pressing the box carefully onto the polished wood surface before lowering her arms to her sides to rest them. <br><br><strong>”Ya’ll here tha? Wha’s happenin’ o’thar?”</strong> The girls behind the bar simply shook their heads, seemingly scared stiff of the sudden commotion. Annabel glanced around once more before heading back out towards the porch; maybe she should go see what’s going on? <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Bloodied Porcelain</strong> on <strong>15-05-2013, 09:41:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://i867.photobucket.com/albums/ab235/bloodiedporcelain/elcharacterpics/Doomtown/redhead76_zpsd8d9eec9.jpg)</div> <br><hr><strong>Name:</strong> Aislinn Eilir<br><strong>Faction:</strong>None<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4<sup>th</sup>, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> West Main Street (from town square, headed toward Dead Man's Rest)<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> The Event / Open<br><strong>Note:</strong> All things in <em>italics</em> are happening in Aislinn's head.<br><hr>A cold breeze teased at the skin of Aislinn's face and hands as she wandered Main Street, largely lost in her own thoughts. In her tiny hands was a deck of cards, which she never seemed to stop toying with... twisting and turning, shuffling and fanning and tucking back in to a neat stack... over and over again she moved them in her delicate, deft fingers... but not once did she bother to look down at them to look at what she was doing. Once or twice she would stop walking and bend to look at something on the ground, often picking whatever it was up and depositing it in to one of her pockets. <br><br>The sun was down and some part of her knew she should get back to her room at Nick's, but something else was overriding her internal clock, pulling her in a direction away from where she'd rented her room and instead tugging her ever westward. <em>Her fine feathered friend flew in lazy, slow circles above her... each swooping circle taking it ever westward, as if it felt the same thing she did.</em> There was something important to the west... something worth seeing. Something worth knowing. Something... something. <br><br><em>The screech of the bird over head caught her attention and she noticed the animal swooping, making more of a straight line for the western side of town, forcing her to walk a little faster in an effort to keep it in her sights.</em> "Wait for me!" she cried, one hand clutching her playing cards tightly enough to make the edges press in to her palm, the other up, holding her out-of-place fedora ontop of her braided red hair. <br><br><strong>“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUGH – “</strong><br><br>Stopping with a blink, Aislinn made a face and stared up at the bird. "Well I've never heard you make <em>that</em> noise before," she commented in a confused tone<br><br><strong>“OH GOD, NO PLEA – “</strong><br><br>"Come to think of it... I've never heard you <em>talk</em> before, either... This seems a very odd time to start, don't you think?"<br><br><strong>“ OH MY GAAUUUUUUGHH – “</strong><br><br>This time it seemed to occur to her that the words were not coming from her friend the bird, but instead were coming from somewhere else... somewhere in another direction... not the direction she was heading in. Blinking slightly, she glanced back to the west, and at <em>the bird, which was now perched on top of a nearby building</em>, where she could see faces moving to windows, looking outside in an effort to see where the commotion was coming from, no doubt. A man looked out at her, and without seeming at all phased by the sounds of horror that had come from the northern side of town, she flashed him a large, dazzling smile and waved eagerly. "Evening Mister!" she cried to him through the glass window, only to receive an odd look in return from him. <br><br>Looking back at the bird, she spoke to him matter of factly. "I know you wanna go that way...." she pointed west. "But I was thinkin' maybe we could go that way...." Hooking her thumb toward the north, she watched the animal for a moment. <em>Feathers bristled for a moment, the bird seemed almost thoughtful before it gave a cry, it's dark blue feathers turning a nearly blood red as it lept off the building and began a slow loop toward the north.</em> Aislinn turned to follow, though she hardly seemed in a rush to get there, humming a light hearted, pleasant tune as she went. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Crash</strong> on <strong>18-05-2013, 05:23:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/3/30/Darkaggy.jpg) </div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Agatha Dunwich<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Agatha’s Occidental Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Harley <br><hr><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Agatha looked over her shoulder at the sound of a voice behind her.&nbsp; The tall dusty figure of the dark haired woman she had met a week ago stood over the two young men who were looking very guilty.&nbsp; Agatha had no idea why, but the two youngins seemed to think that it was time to make themselves scarce and left quickly.&nbsp; Her leg had lowered, but she still stretched from the hitching post to the sign.&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;“Miss Harley.&nbsp; It is a surprise and a pleasure.” She said with a pleasing smile.&nbsp; “I thought you might have thrown my little card away.”&nbsp; Agatha pushed herself away from the hanging sign and balanced on the horizontal beam.&nbsp; “I can’t imagine that it is.” She said answering Harley’s inquiry about the air.&nbsp; Agatha extended a delicate and dexterous hand down towards the pretty cowgirl.&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; &nbsp;<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;“Would you mind helping me down?” she asked.&nbsp; “And please.&nbsp; Call me Aga…”<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUGH – “<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Agatha’s head snapped around at the horrified cry completely ruining the graceful display of balance moments before and pitching her off the beam towards Harley.&nbsp; Moments later a dark haired Mexican woman poked her head out of the door of Agatha’s shop.&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; <br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;“Dios mío ¿qué fue eso?”&nbsp; The woman exclaimed.&nbsp; “Senorita, are you okay?” She asked in clipped English, seeing the aftermath of the fall.<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; “OH GOD, NO PLEA –&nbsp; OH MY GAAUUUUUUGHH –“<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The young Mexican woman’s face drained of color and she looked towards Agatha and Harley in terrified silence.<br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Agatha remembered Oswarld words.&nbsp; Scientists might be a target based in the stance he had taken against Sweetwater and the other powers in the city.&nbsp; That sound had come from the direction of the Collegium.&nbsp; “Maria obtener mi arma.” Agatha said with urgency still engaged in the aftermath of her fall.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp;“Si.”&nbsp; The young woman ducked back inside and returned shortly with one of the largest and most beautifully crafted firearms west of the Mississippi, complete with oversized holster and belt, warmly oiled and embossed with foxes chasing hounds.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kokaine</strong> on <strong>19-05-2013, 08:06:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://i167.photobucket.com/albums/u133/kokotigress/Elliquiy/Doom%20Town/lg_492d6579-7614-4f3b-bc84-fda41030b5da_1217491714_donna_feldman-17_zpsb9e34e83.jpg)</div> <hr><strong>Name:</strong> Harley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown to the public<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Agatha’s Occidental Delights<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Agatha<hr>Harley's smile grew wider as the redhead up above looked her way and addressed her by name. It was never a hardship to be recalled by such a beauty, that was for sure. She shuffled her feet along the walk some, her head canting to the side as she regarded the pretty scientist. "Aww, naw Ma'am. I still got ya card." It was tucked away with the rest of her meager belongings, hidden from discovery by any casual search. <br><br>Admiring the easy sense of balance with which the woman navigated the beam, Harley thought nothing of it to extend her hand up to the woman as she reached out, her somewhat roughened hands sure and capable. "Not at all, darlin'." She was always glad to be of assistance when she could and it seemed as though the slim redhead was amiable to her presence which allowed Harley to feel a bit more at ease. The other woman began to speak and she thought she might at last get to know who this lovely creature was but it seemed the the easy nature of their budding exchange was to be interrupted as a scream ripped through the air loud enough to wake Hell itself.<br><br>It was alarming to be sure, sending a sense of eeriness though Harley and a shiver down her spine. Thankfully though her attention remained on the redhead before her so she was paying attention as the woman was startled enough to slip from her perch. Harley grabbed onto her, no thought in her mind at the second but to prevent injury. A soft whoosh of air was pushed from her as their bodies collided, and she felt the give of soft curves against her as she held on to the woman, her arms having come around her to steady them both. It was a moment where she might have lingered under different circumstances however, her concern both for the unknown situation and the woman she held was pulled the fore, drowning out any hint of flirting.<br><br>Harley's senses were awakened. She had wanted something to end her boredom and now she wished she'd just been content to be. There was movement detected, then the sounds of questions being asked in Spanish but before more could be said, or reply given, another cry sliced through the evening air. <br><br>Assured of her condition, Harley released the the woman with sure hands. Her lazy swagger was still evident in her manners and though she wasn't really moving any faster, there seemed to be an underlying urgency in her. The sound of another cry could not be ignored and she cursed under her breath, "Dammit! I knew it was too quiet." Her smoky tones were calm and steady while her brow furrowed with concern. She turned on her heel, her gaze moving off in the direction of the sound and a sigh escaped her. She could not ignore what sounded like trouble even if she wanted to. Plus, likely there were those who'd want to know of hat happened and the best way was for Harley to check it out herself. From the corner of her eye she saw Agatha reach for a weapon that was brought out by what she assumed was her assistant and though part of her wanted to push the woman back inside her store and bar the door, she knew she hadn't a right to do so. She'd just have to make sure the scientist stayed close was all.<br><br>Not bothering with formalities or trying to argue, the lanky gunner checked her own weapon before nodding her head toward the trouble. "Let's go darlin', but stay close. We dunno what what's yet and I'd hate for you ta get hurt." 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>19-05-2013, 08:07:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://gunsofold.com/marshal_badge_silver_balltip.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open<br><hr><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Posting Order</div><div class="spoiler_body">Elisabeth<br><br>Margeurite<br><br>Nathan Hunter<br><br>Christian<br><br>Walter<br><br>Arriving in the round of posts AFTER the coming round:<br><br>Aislinn<br><br>Agatha<br><br>Harley<br><br>Ginny<br><br>Annabel</div></div><br>Around Elisabeth, doors began to be thrown open, and gaslights were flickering on.&nbsp; Silhouettes appeared in the doorways around her, and a shrill, feminine scream went up at the sight of the carnage which surrounded Elisabeth.<br><br>“MADRE DE DIOS!!”<br><br>A dark skinned woman’s eyes widened, and then rolled back in her head.&nbsp; She wavered, and collapsed, feinting into the gore and blood which surrounded Elisabeth.<br><br>“Who is that?”&nbsp; <br><br>“ - Is that the witch?”<br><br>“ – What did she do?”<br><br>Across the town, people were moving towards the sound of the commotion.&nbsp; A few more screams erupted at the sight of the horrors, but so far no one moved to help the injured Elisabeth.&nbsp; Instead, they stared at her with fright, eyes wide and horrified, the rent clothes and the blood and clawed flesh painting an illusion of her involvement.&nbsp; Overhead, a nearly full moon warred with the sickly green light that came from the gaslights.<br><br>"SOMEONE CALL THE SHERIFF!&nbsp; THERE'S BEEN A MURDER!"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Muse</strong> on <strong>20-05-2013, 10:32:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a2/9439_1213355092507_500_196.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Mathew Cuthbert<br><strong>Faction:</strong> None<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Leaving a Flower Shop<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> <br><hr><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The card’s had been particularly kind to Mathew that night, and he’d been in top form to take advantage of what they offered.&nbsp; He’d won the biggest pot of the night with a pair of queens—one of hearts—and a trio of aces.&nbsp; Quite pleased with himself, he headed over to a flower shop and purchased a dozen roses—with at least a few of the more obvious thorns still intact—and pinned the cards among them, then headed back out of the shop hoping to discover the whereabouts of Miss Whately to give her the gift.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;After all, what use was money if you couldn’t lavish affection on a comely young woman, or luck if you couldn’t boast about it to a worthy rival!&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He took a few steps down from the florist and a series of screams cut across the night.&nbsp; Switching the flowers quickly to one hand, he jerked a box of something out of his coat pocket at looked around.&nbsp; After a few repitions of the mens gurgling death throes, he got an idea of what direction they’d come from.&nbsp; Turning in the opposite direction, he prepared to break into a run…&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Then a woman’s scream joined them!&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Bloody hell!” he cursed, spinning 180 and breaking towards the sound of the screams.&nbsp; “Bloody, bloody hell!” <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Phaia</strong> on <strong>23-05-2013, 05:47:42</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://i1217.photobucket.com/albums/dd394/Vithe_rothe/Doomtown/doomtown11_zpsff59733c.jpg)</div><hr><span style="font-size: 10pt;" class="bbc_size"><strong>Name:</strong> <span style="font-family: comic sans ms;" class="bbc_font">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Lady Elisabeth Boyle</span><br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Member of the Collegium.<br><strong> Date: </strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day: </strong>&nbsp; Evening, a couple of hours after dusk<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Not at all sure but Not wanting to be there!!<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Monsters??, Body parts, <strong>Lots of Blood</strong>, Open<br></span><br><hr> <br><br><br>Elisabeth was beginning to breath fast. She knew that was a sign of shock which made sense if one took the time to consider it and knew what to look for. Her mind raced along the paths of her logic and training. She felt cold which was not good at all and pain danced along various parts of her. She knew that her face was partly swollen, bruised like her back and neck. Blood dripped from her wounds. She had maybe 10 pints of blood in her and by the way she felt a pint at least was missing. Well not missing really just not where it should be which was inside her. She forced herself to take long deep breaths trying to fight off the start of shock. She would need fluids, soon, and warmth.<br><br>She felt so cold, the stones under her were icy on her back and she felt so very tired.<br><br>A scream and then she felt the thud of someone fainting nearby... murder...witch...Call the Sheriff ...that was silly the Sherriff was murdered; call his deputies but god help us all if Bilton came he may just arrest her just to feel her up. The pig.<br><br>She should be the one screaming with fear but that would be silly...whatever had ripped apart the 2 people, at least 2 but she was not sure, was no longer here and she had seen the bloody mess.<br><br>She could feel herself begin to get angry. WHY! What the fucking hell was out there and why her??!<br><br>Her anger helped fight the exhaustion she felt and the shock. <br><br>Elisabeth took a breath and painfully forced herself to set up. Her left hand pressed against the wounds in her abdomen trying to stop the bleeding.&nbsp; <br><br>She needed cloth and a needle and thread.<br><br><em>" - is that the witch...did she do that?"</em><br><br>Somehow she found the strength, "I am no damn witch you silly ass, but I need a doctor NOWW!!!"<br><br>The effort was almost to much and she braced her self with her right hand holding her upright. <br><br>Elisabeth gulped and then stared at the face between her feet, ..."well I don't suppose you know what happened?"<br><br>For some reason she found that funny and giggled which made her hurt more.<br><br>She took a breath... and using all her will and strength<br><br><strong>"SOMEONE HELP!! I NEED A DOCTOR!!!"</strong><br><br>With that she hung her head breathing slowly still setting upright. Her gown in tatters and her naked body clearly bruised, bloody and hurt.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>26-05-2013, 20:25:37</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/74/Marguerite_Tuerny_14.jpg)</div> <strong>Name:</strong> Marguerite Tuerny<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Scene of the crime<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Nathan Hunter, Open<br><hr><div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/thumb/e/e4/Natehunter.png/437px-Natehunter.png)</div>Nathan pushed ahead of her as they grew closer, giving her hand one reassuring squeeze before dropping it and then shouldering through the throng of people that had gathered around the scene.&nbsp; He barely recognized Elisabeth amid the blood and gore, and if there was some sign the gruesomeness of the scene got to him, it was hard to pick up on it – there was a brief, warm spark of compassion for her, and then his voice took on a practiced authority.&nbsp; <br><br>"Everyone, back.&nbsp; Give her some room to breathe – " his eyes traced to the long claw marks that scarred her legs, her arms, and his gaze snapped up, looking over the rooftops.&nbsp; The pistol still in his hand was clenched just a little tighter, and his thumb tightened <em>just</em> so on the hammer of the Peacemaker.<br><br>"Everyone get back in your homes.&nbsp; <em>Now.</em>" There was the crack of a whip in his voice, an authority most didn’t expect from Nathan Hunter, and those gathered began to back away, unnerved by the urgency in his voice.&nbsp; Some of them looked to the rooftops, too, uncertain what they would or wouldn’t find there, and some were already backing towards the homes they’d just come out of.<br><hr>Marguerite followed close behind Nathan, traveling the easy route left in his blustering wake.&nbsp; She wasn't sure exactly what to expect, but the crowd only mildly congested the strip of yard between the two houses that defined the southern edge of the enclosure.&nbsp; It was an excited crowd, but not one in panic.&nbsp; The sort of folk that arrived after a train wreck rather than folk that experienced it.&nbsp; She finally broke into a small courtyard defined by the the sides of three houses and a couple of fences.&nbsp; A semi-private shared yard which normally hosted family activities and children's laughter.<br><br><em>“ - Is that the witch?”</em><br><br>Well now, that was one hell of a thing to say.&nbsp; Marguerite thought just before pushing through the last of the crowd to arrive in a scene of bloody horror.&nbsp; <strong>"Au nom du Père, et du Fils, et du Saint-Esprit, Amen!"</strong>&nbsp; She gasped with horrified reverence as she quickly completed the sign of the cross to forehead midriff and shoulder-to-shoulder.&nbsp; She grew up in Maryland, her Father spoke French, but very badly, and most of her friends spoke only English, but it was the tongue of her Mother that came to her at times like this.&nbsp; Times like...&nbsp; <strong>"Beatissimae Virginis ora pro nobis, Clementissime Pater noster, qui tueri nos a malo."</strong>&nbsp; She chanted out, Latin this time.<br><br>After hastily doing another sign of the cross, again speaking the words in musical French, Marguerite looked to the living woman, a blonde girl, in clothing so tattered she was effectively nude.&nbsp; Her face, so twisted in horror, was still lovely, and also familiar.&nbsp; As was the voice so vocally calling for a doctor. <strong>"Elisabeth?"</strong>&nbsp; She asked, wondering at seeing the woman she'd shared luncheon with in such a situation. <strong>"Here...."</strong>&nbsp; She snatched a sheet off a nearby line, jerking it free of the pins before rushing forward to drape it over the brutalized woman.<br><br>She hugged the blonde girl briefly, though gingerly as she didn't want to further harm her.&nbsp; <strong>"Where are you hurt?"</strong>&nbsp; She asked, looking to limbs and body for signs that any of the copious blood came from her acquaintance.&nbsp; The sight of so much blood, the sight of so much gore, the sight of limbs and skin removed from unidentifiable bodies didn't seem to shake the pretty young woman.&nbsp; Or maybe she was just putting on a brave face as she helped her new friend.&nbsp; <strong>"Can you move everything?"</strong>&nbsp; She asked, aiding the blonde woman in testing how well her arms and legs worked. <br><br>As she worked, she noticed the bodies - at least two - though things were such a mess that there might well be more.&nbsp; And then she saw a hand gripping a sword hilt.&nbsp; The sword was still sheathed in the ornate scabbard of a Confederate Cavalry Officer, though three scant inches of blade shown bright against the red gore.&nbsp; So... Lieutenant Baldrick was among the dead.&nbsp; <strong>"Poor Edward, I did suspect he wasn't much of a bladesman."</strong>&nbsp; She spoke softly, low enough that even the woman beside her had trouble making out the words.&nbsp; <br><br>Marguerite wondered, as she turned back to helping Elisabeth, just what it said about her that she could make a sexual double entendre even in the current circumstances.<br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Translations</div><div class="spoiler_body">In the name of the Father, the son, and the Holy Spirit.<br>Blessed Virgin pray for us, that our Merciful Father protect us from evil.<br></div></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>26-05-2013, 21:03:09</strong>
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				<br><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/thumb/e/e4/Natehunter.png/437px-Natehunter.png)</div> <strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Nathan Hunter<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; <del>Senior Deputy (Law Dogs)</del>&nbsp; Unemployed.&nbsp; (Not yet common knowledge.)<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; An evening stroll<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open<br><hr>Nathan cast a glance back towards Margeurite, surprised and impressed when she waded into the bloody mess without a second thought, and continued to give his own fierce glower to the townsfolk which continued to linger.&nbsp; <br><br><strong>“She’s a witch, deputy – how else you explain – “ </strong><br><br>Hunter took a step forward, his glower turning into a positive smolder of rage. <strong> “She ain’t no witch,”</strong> he spat. <strong> “Her <em>chemistry</em> has saved the life of two deputies in the past, so I won’t hear a word about it.&nbsp; And witches don’t claw their own selves open.&nbsp; She’s a <em>victim</em> here, Leo, so get your damn trap closed ‘fore I close it for you.”</strong><br><br>He paused, then pointed gestured towards the road.<br><br><strong>“Better yet, go find Corky.&nbsp; Make sure she’s a’runnin’ this way.”&nbsp; </strong><br><br>He stepped back, keeping his eyes up on the roofs, and looked back to Margeurite and Elisabeth, his jaw tense as he kept the crowd warded from the scene.&nbsp; Leo frowned, the miner-turned-shopkeep finally giving a nod and heading off towards the sheriff's office.&nbsp; He glanced down at her off hand comment about the sword, his brow furrowing.<br><br><strong>“You know who one of the victims was?”</strong><br><br>It hadn’t even occurred to him, really, that he was a deputy no longer.&nbsp; The need to keep order and protect the people of Gamorra – if only from themselves – was as natural as breathing to him.&nbsp; He was already counting body parts and looking around the scene, trying to determine where the attack might have begun and where it might have – <br><br>He paused, his gaze flickering to a wet, red paw print on one of the walls.&nbsp; <br><br><strong>“Sonofabitch,”</strong> he swore, glancing back to the print on Elisabeth’s dress, the large red paw and the matching mark upon the wooden wall.&nbsp; His gaze traced upwards, one print after another that ascended the side of the building.<br><br><strong>“Margeurite – get her to a doctor.&nbsp; Then <em>get her to a priest.</em>”</strong><br><br>The lawman vaulted over a half-fence, zigzagging around an approaching spectator, running south and west through the residences scattered haphazardly through the district.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wulfspire</strong> on <strong>30-05-2013, 04:48:44</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/20/Christian_Bale_Cowboy_3.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Christian Specter<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong>May 4th<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Outside Casino Morongo<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Margeurite, Nathan Hunter, Elisabeth, Open<br><hr><br><em><strong>“Margeurite – get her to a doctor. Then get her to a priest.”</strong></em><br><br>The man, Deputy Hunter by the look of him, said that right as he dodged around Christian approaching the commotion of the gruesome scene before them. It was horrendous, with blood, entrails, and body parts strewn about the street and alley as if it were some butcher’s shop. Women and men alike were turning in disgust or losing their suppers on the sides of buildings from the sight. It was the worst thing they had ever seen.<br><br>Christian had seen worse.<br><br>Sad as it was to say it, trouble had found its way into Christian’s life so often that some might have said he had waded through pools of blood and seen more corpses than any undertaker. Christian did not so much as swallow when he surveyed the terrors that lay in that street. Those cold, ice-blue eyes did narrow when he saw Elizabeth, gravely wounded yet alive. He could worry over injuries later, right now, he needed to make sure people, especially Elisabeth, got to safety.<br><br>The woman, that he assumed was named Margeurite, was covering her with a sheet by the time he saw her, though given the situation her naked form would have been back on the list of priorities. Right now, the deputy had nailed the truth of it: whatever had done this was still out there. Knowing that, Christian spun “Doc” in his left hand cocking the lever action single-handed and drew “Reaper” with the other.<br><br>“Ma’am,” Christian spoke softly to Margeurite, though the gravelly roughness still broke through his tone, “I’ll escort the two of ya to the doctor, then the priest.” He cursed the fool of a deputy for running off under his breath however. Hunting that thing alone was a quick way to an appointment with a gravedigger. <br><br>He was wearing nice clothing, well nice clothing for Christian Specter. His blue shirt, his church shirt he called it, was the only one he owned without a few holes in it. His trousers were equally unremarkable, tan and simple with a decent mend to them. He had left his famous black duster at Agatha Dunwich’s residence where he called home for the time being. The well cared for Stetson was still atop his head, however, and it bobbed as Christian nodded to Elisabeth.<br><br>“This nice lady and I are gonna get ya some help,” he gave her a hard stare, his frozen eyes narrowing, “you’re gonna be fine, ya understand me?”<br><br>Finally, Christian turned to the still gathered crowd, “You all need to get to yer homes and lock the doors.” When he still received blank stares and quizzical looks he slowly cocked the hammer back on “Reaper,” the easily recognized engraving on the side shinning in the lamp and moon light,<br><br>“Now,” he said with a finality and harshness that might shake a man to his core. <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Event Thread (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>consortium11</strong> on <strong>30-05-2013, 20:47:23</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<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Scene of the Crime<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Christian Specter, Nathan Hunter, Marguerite Tuerny, Elisabeth Boyle, Open<br><hr>Walter Sinnett hated to be late to a party.<br><br>Of course, Walter was never invited the parties. The sort of people Walter hung round with didn't throw parties and the sort of people who threw parties didn't hang round with Walter. And if by mistake someone who did throw parties happened to find themselves hanging around Walter there was no way in God's green earth that they'd invite Walter. But Walt still came to parties. Admittedly as an interloper and admittedly normally to shake down either the host or the guests for cash but he still made it to parties. And he hated to be late. Of course, as an interloper he ran to his own schedule but he still liked to be punctual. If he decided he was going to show up to some gathering, beat the hell out of whoever was on the door, stick his knife in the face of the first person to object, make an example out of whoever the second person to object was, cop a feel of the prettiest girl and then relieve the guests of their purses and valuables he was damn sure going to arrive at the time he thought he would.<br><br>And Walter was on the edge of being late to this party.<br><br>One didn't have to be a genius to work out where the scream had come from. A small crowd had already gathered, looking and gawping and shouting and occasionally screaming as crowds are want to do. Walter liked crowds like that. It meant you could stab a man in clear daylight and the crowd would be too bothered staring to bother to chase you down. Just slip away into a back alley even as people were still wondering what happened. Easy as pie. So Walter knew crowds, knew how they thought, knew how they reacted. Knew the sense of shock, the sense of outrage, the sense of fear, the sense of simply not knowing but all the time wanting to be closer, wanting to be on the edge. They would watch but not touch, observe but not interact, shout but not help.<br><br>Which made them pretty feckin' useless right now.<br><br>Of course there was a general hubbub as this went on, shouts, screams, whispers. Walter didn't claim to have the best of ears; some say too many shots to the head, others say too many shots of alcohol and yet more say he simply wasn't born with great hearing. But he could pick out details and who could miss a cut glass English aristocratic accent?<br><br>Let's be clear. Walter didn't like the aristocracy. Bunch of stuck-up, decadent tosspots. Most of them were feckin' inbred anyway, cousins marrying cousins and all that crap. Never did a real days work in their life, couldn't get their feckin' breeches on without a butler, never had to struggle, never had to fight, got everything handed to them on a plate. Now, Walter didn't like self-made men either... those bastards got ideas above their station, went walking around like they were a feckin' gentlemen themselves. The seeming hypocrisy of this position didn't bother Walt. He barely even knew what “hypocrisy” was. If one were to look a little deeper they'd realise it was Walt actually trying to apply some level of rationalisation to his world, not that he intended to. He just didn't like anyone... and only afterwards came up with reasons why he didn't like 'em. But regardless, he didn't like the feckin' English aristocracy and he didn't like anyone who had a bloody aristocratic English accent.<br><br>But if there's one thing he liked less than the English aristocracy it was not having whisky.<br><br>And if there was one thing he liked less than not having whisky it was the sheep-shaggin' Welsh.<br><br>And if there was one thing he liked less than the sheep-shaggin' Welsh it was the bloody Scots.<br><br>And if there was one thing he liked less than the bloody Scots it was the bloomin' Irish.<br><br>And if there was one thing he liked less than the blooming Irish it was the feckin' Yanks.<br><br>And if there was one thing he liked less than the feckin' Yanks it was those self-same feckin' Yanks takin' the piss out of a fellow Englander. Even if that Englander was an inbred cuntin' aristocrat. <br><br>So when Walter heard a brief shout from who he could only assume was a survivor of whatever the hell had happened he felt an instinctive kinship with her. Yet another stranger in a foreign land. Well, he didn't know if she was a stranger or this was even a foreign land to her but what he did know that she had an English accent and in the absence of anything else that probably meant she was already his fifth favourite thing in Gomorra, behind his donkey, whisky, whores and fightin'. Not necessarily in that order.<br><br>Being somewhat late to the party did mean Walter had the advantage of getting to see how other people reacted. The first thing to note was the lawman pushing through the crowd. He wasn't wearing a snazzy uniform like a rozzer did in London town but Walt could spot them all the same. The casual arrogance, they way they assumed they ran the bloody world, that everyone would snap into line. Walt could spot a law man at 100 paces and he was considerably less than 100 paces away from this bastard as he tried to take control of his situation. Walter didn't like lawmen. He didn't like them at the best of times and he certainly didn't like them now when it was because of some bloody lawman that he was in his shithole place in this shithole country. Walter Sinnett should be back in London but instead he was out here with whatever the hell had caused the commotion. And all because of a lawman. No, lawmen were yet another addition to the long and seemingly never-ending list of things Walter didn't like.<br><br>But then he saw something he rather did like following along behind the lawman. Pair had likely been on a nice romantic evening stroll by the looks of it.<br><br>Raven dark hair. Swan neck. Walter had actually seen a swan once. Poor bugger must have got lost and taken a wrong turn to get down into Millwall docks. Pretty little creature, all serene and regal looking. Walter hadn't been that interested in that though. He'd been interested in the big, chunky breasts and wings and how he could fill a cook pot with it. Standing on the side of the waterway, noose in hand, hoping the blasted thing would swim itself towards him, glancing up to see “Chuckling” Billy Brown and a couple of his mates on the other bank doing the same bloody thing. The swan, seemingly unaware of the commotion it was causing or the fate that awaited it had continued to glide around until it came just a bit too close to Brown's crew and then, with a squawk and an explosion of movement their noose was around its necks and fair to say Walter was right bloody miffed at it. There went his dinner plans.<br><br>Fair to say he shouldn't have been.<br><br>First the swans snapping and kicking ended up breaking Brown's arm. He wasn't chuckling so much after that. And he chuckled even less the next day when, gorged on Swan meat, he'd woken up to the bluebottles kicking down his door and dragging him out. And chuckled even less when they hung him till he was dead. Walter had chuckled at that. Not because he disliked Billy... the two got on well enough... or at least, as well as Walter got on with anyone... but because the thought was so ridiculous. Walter had killed, maimed, injured and assaulted his way across the London underworld and had never kicked up anything like this fuss, yet kill, cook and eat a bloody bird and it was off to get crapped, to get your bloody neck stretched. How was anyone meant to know that unmarked Swans were the bloody Queen's property and killing one of them was treason? What a bloody messed up world where Walter could leave a man with a hole in his guts, screaming out his painful last few minutes in some filthy back alley and the rozzers simply shrugged their shoulders and said “that's life” but getting your dinner meant the whole police force came hunting you?<br><br>Anyway, the point is Walter had seen a swan before and seen their long, sleek necks and this woman had a long, sleek neck that reminded him of a swan. Not that he wanted to catch and eat her. Well, not in that way. The dress she was wearing was lovely. Walter wasn't one for sartorial elegance but he was one for seeing curves and that dress showed them all off without being blatant, without being scandalous, without making her look like a strumpet. He hadn't even seen her face and already he wanted to wear her legs for earmuffs. Not seeing her face may be a positive. Hell, Walter had spent half his life trying to avoid having to look into his conquests' faces. Nothing worse than shaggin' some nice warm body only to look down and see a pockmarked face, crooked nose, half the teeth missing and the other half yellow and rotten, ratty hair and, often worst of all, utterly bored eyes. That was damn near certain to make Little Walter turn tail and tuck up. Nah, far better to either keep your eyes closed, look at the ceiling up or do the bitch from behind.<br><br>And then the lady turned her head and in the pale light Walter quickly came to the realisation that he&nbsp; really wouldn't mind looking at that as he went about his business.<br><br>But Walter hadn't left the warm and secure Casino Morongo... apparently Sweetrock owned it now but they still wouldn't give him a bloody employee discount... to look at women, however pretty they may be. No, he'd come out because there had been a big scream and some nasties were about. So as enjoyable as it would have been to just keep admiring whoever the hell that woman was, Walter had bigger fish to fry. He could pick out bits and pieces through the crowd, could see the hint of blood on the floor and walls, see a flash of milky, uncovered flesh. What the bloody hell had gone on here?<br><br><strong>“Hey, let me through. I wanna see the English woman's tits. Let me through... let me... arg<span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size">hhhhhhh</span>...”</strong><br><br>The unfortunate owner of the voice which suddenly raised in pitch before trailing off was some young whippersnapper, in Walt's mind barely free from his mother's tits, stood beside the tattered man and clearly focusing on the most important thing in the current scene, the chance to stare at a naked bosom. Now Walt wouldn't have minded... he himself wasn't one to turn down the chance to stare at a nice pair of udders... but for the fact that his scrawny young man was some jumped up gobshite colonial and he was disrespecting an Englishwoman. <br><br>And if there was one thing he liked less than some jumped up gobshite colonial it was those self-same jumped up gobshite colonials takin' the piss out of a fellow Englander. Even if that Englander was an inbred cuntin' aristocrat.<br><br>The man's voice wouldn't have been heard by anyone stood more than a foot away in the general commotion and as it got higher and then quieter as Walter fixed a steely grip around the poor fool's cock and balls and gave a nasty little twist no-one else seemed to notice. And Walt made perfectly sure his own voice was quiet as he whispered into the young man's ear. Forceful, full of threat and the promise of impending pain yes... but quiet.<br><br><strong>“Listen you feckin' slag, that ain't some feckin' Judy for you to wank one off over. That's a proper feckin' Englishwoman and you will bloody respect her, not gawp over her feckin' teets. You give her the respect she bloody deserves or I will feckin' find you you scum. You get me?”</strong><br><br>There was a frantic nodding of the head and the hint of tears in the eyes as the young man implicitly agreed that he would not do such a thing again and with a last twist Walt let the matter stay that way before pushing through the crowd to finally get a sight of what exactly had gone on.<br><br>And what a bloody sight it was.<br><br>Walter wasn't exactly a man unused to blood. He's shed enough of it... his own and others. He wasn't a man unused to death... he'd killed enough men to be beyond that point. He wasn't a man unused to the stink of meat, to the iron smell that came from gore. He'd stabbed men, shot men, beat men to death, mutilated men, crippled men. He'd carried corpses to the Thames and dumped them in, he'd chopped up bodies to make them easier to dispose of, he'd even worked in a butchers in his youth, killing and cutting up animals. He was not a coward and he was afraid of rolling around in the filth.<br><br>Yet even he came very close to taking a step back as the saw exactly what had gone on.<br><br>He could feel his pulse increase. He could feel his heart start to pound. He could feel that shiver that runs up your spine. He could feel his fingers tense. He was... afraid? Yes, that was a good term. Afraid. Not that he was going to chuck up all over his boots or hoof it out of there but Walter was afraid. He could control it, manage it... but he was afraid. He quite liked it. Walt hadn't been afraid in a long bloody time and yet here he was, feeling that tension, feeling the heightening of his senses as adrenaline started to flow around his body. He hadn't had a chance to visit one of the whores at Morongo before this mess started but if he was to find one now he'd probably shag her so hard he'd leave a hole in here. His senses were aflame. And he quite liked it. He tried to think back to the last time he had been so affected. And his memories flickered back to years before to a scene much like this one (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=167460.msg8285486#msg8285486), to an alley littered with body parts, to death strewn across the ground.<br><br>Walter wasn't a tracker. Give him the trail left by a beast out in the wild and he'd have been lost within five minutes. Even in a city, his hunting grounds, he couldn't follow a man by looking for his footprints, disturbed cobwebs and all that shit. He found people by using people. He looked for the shortest and most direct way to get to someone and that way normally involved finding someone who knew where the bastard he needed to find was and giving them a beating till they told him. And the beating may have been the most important part of that but it also meant reading people. Reading what they looked at. And Walter could see the lawman looking at something on the wall. Could make out the prints pressed into the building, going up the side. Walter wouldn't have seen it without the lawman looking at it to guide his vision. But now he had. And then he saw the lawman take off. Following the beast he guessed. Brave, stupid, dutiful sod.<br><br>And then he saw something glittering in the light.<br><br>He didn't have a huge amount of time to focus on it because some other bastard had decided he was going to take charge and send the crowd home. Good luck with that son. Although the man did have a pair of rather nice looking shooters in his hands... and had a voice that made Walter's nerves jangle a little bit more. Walter knew him. Well, not him personally but he knew the type. Stony. Like ice. Killers. Some men called Walter that but Walter didn't think he was. Sure, he thought nothing of killing someone but he took a savage joy in it. He enjoyed his job, he enjoyed beating someone down or sliding a knife across their throat. Those men didn't. They'd gun a man down with no more thought or joy than they'd put into doing up their boot laces. At least Walt thought that. He wasn't bad at reading people but neither was he the best. But that man had to look about him. The chill look of the dead.<br><br>But Walt wasn't going to go home and lock his door so he focused on the glittering, shiny thing.<br><br>Whenever there is death there are those who feed on carrion. Vultures, crows... or humans. Not bloody cannibals, but scavengers, jackals. And Walter was the alpha-jackel. He'd spent years quickly appraising bodies, totalling up what the most valuable pieces were and then punching away the other looters as he made off with all he could carry. And once he was able to tear his eyes off the general blood and gore experience kicked in. Most of the stuff was either shit or ruined. Crappy boots, crappy clothes and even the good clothes were torn to pieces and covered in blood. It looked like at least one of the poor sods had been worth a bit... a man who had once been a thief became good at seeing what was worth a pretty penny... but whatever had done this had ripped them apart so much that most of it was bloody worthless. Good pair of boots though. Maybe some jewellery hidden in there. But Walter knew enough to know rummaging through the dead didn't go down too well, especially in the immediate aftermath. No, if he was going to give this site a doing over, he'd have to wait until the killer had scared most of the crowd off and hope he could sneak in before the other scavengers had got the rest.<br><br>But the shiny thing. That was a different matter.<br><br>Now he was at the front Walter could see it. A sword and by the looks of it a decent one. Probably worth a bob or two. Walter knew about the using of blades even if his technical swordsmanship was rudimentary but he knew pretty much sweet fuck all about the making of them. That said he knew enough to recognise a half-decent one and this one looked all the way decent. Not just because he could sell it but because it was long, probably sharp and he could use it to cut or stab something. Something large and nasty and that could climb up walls after slaughtering some poor bastards.<br><br>Did I forget to mention that? Walt was thinking about becoming a hero.<br><br>Not for the same reasons as that bloody lawman. Walt could imagine his internal monologue now.<em> “I've got to save everyone.”. “Protect and serve”. “I am the law”. "I'm a police officer and I'm very important".</em>. Self-righteous bloody twaddle. He could imagine the killers monologue too <em>“What am I going to have for breakfast tomorrow? Oh, I just shot someone. So, breakfast?”</em> Even that poor bastard he'd just abused. <em>“Ouch, my balls.”</em> Walter wasn't thinking any of that. He wasn't going to be a hero because it was the right thing to do or because he was brave or any of that shit. He was going to be a hero because he was rational. Well, sort of rational.<br><br>A beastie killing people was bad for business. Not all businesses... gunsmiths, whores and strong drink did well at a time when people needed something to comfort them and keep them safe... but for most businesses and Sweetrock was a business. And a business dependant on mining wouldn't do very well if all the miners were too scared to even bloody show up because of some nasty. And Walter worked for Sweetrock. And if he did a good job here he may get both a pay rise and to do something other than scare a few miners and kick in a few heads. And Walter was also a villain. And villains got a reputation. But so did heroes. And if Walt was a hero then it was going to be a damn sight harder for some lawman to pick a fight with him. And beyond that, Walt was a villain who relied on the fact he was the scariest, nastiest bastard in town. He was the top of the food chain, he was the worst thing that could happen to someone. If some beastie was tearing people apart all over town then frankly Walt and his knives weren't that terrifying any more. And Walt couldn't be having that. People might start standing up to him. So he was going to be a damn hero.<br><br>And heroes had swords.<br><br>Walter didn't act furtively or try to hide what he was doing. He just marched into the blood and the mess, knelt down by the arm with the sword, pried the fingers away from it and was about to take the damn thing before someone shouted out. Pretty voice but Walter wasn't concerned with that too much. What he was concerned with was what she was saying.<br><br><strong>"Hey! Hey there!&nbsp; What do you think you're doing?&nbsp; Are you robbing the dead?!"</strong><br><br>Bloody hell. Just what he bloody needed. Who bloody cared that he was taking a dead man's sword? The dead man certainly didn't. He was dead and didn't care about much of anything any more. Not that he was going to put that argument to whoever it was who had shouted out. People were much too sentimental about stuff like that to be rational. To be rational like Walter Sinnett. And fuck it, Walter was a hero now. Heroes didn't have others come and shout at them for getting ready to be a hero.<br><br>He turned his head to see who it was that had shouted out. It was the pretty one. Bloody hell, Walt really knew how to bloody pick them didn't he? The pretty lady appeared to be comforting another pretty lady, a blonde, who now had a sheet wrapped around her protecting her modesty, although it did nothing to hide the blood that shone through. He guessed that was the Brit. How had she survived? These other poor buggers hadn't. Someone scare the beast off? Unlikely... a beast that can rip people apart like this wasn't likely to be scared off easy. So what the hell had happened? A question for another day. The question for now was the damn woman shouting her head off. He focused on her across the gloom, one eye burning red, his stare locking on, looking deeply into her. His voice may not have had chill of the grave within it that Christian's had but it was no less forceful, no lesser powerful, not less dominant, driven by a primal ferocity. Walter's voice didn't promise swift death in the way Christian's did. His promised pain. Long, unbearable pain. He was Walter “Do Down” Sinnett, the tattered man, the man who stalked the night, the man who had murdered and fought his way across London, God's forgotten creature, his mistake, his one regret. Fight him if you could, survive if he let you. In parts of London hushed whispers from mothers told their children to be good or Walter Sinnett would come to get them. He did not have pulp novels about him, he did not have newspaper clippings telling his tale... instead you shall know him by the trail of the dead left. And this woman sought to challenge him?<br><br><strong>“Shut your bloody mouth woman! I'm taking this bloomin' sword so I can chase after that lawman you're clearly shaggin', save his arse and stab whatever nasty it was that feckin' did this. So get out of my bloody way and get off my blasted case”</strong><br>That feckin' told her. It was good being a hero, even if for all the wrong reasons.<br><br>He pried away the last finger from the hilt, pulling the sword and scabbard free, it having been ripped clear of the belt that had once held it when whatever it was that had done this had shredded its previous owner. Walt stuffed it into his belt, wedging it so it wouldn't fall clear but trapped against him so it wouldn't dangle free and trip up his own legs. Didn't need that when a beastie was coming after him. Prepared... well, as prepared as he could be without a regiment of cavalry with artillery support at his back... he stood and set off after Nathan, hurdling the same fence and catching sight of his form as he rushed through the scattered buildings, following the man, his eyes flicking up to make sure that nothing was stalking him across the rooftops.<br><br><em>Something wicked this way comes.<br><br>I think you hear me knocking...<br><br>I think I'm coming in...</em><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Phaia</strong> on <strong>31-05-2013, 03:06:52</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://i1217.photobucket.com/albums/dd394/Vithe_rothe/Doomtown/doomtown11_zpsff59733c.jpg)</div><hr><span style="font-size: 10pt;" class="bbc_size"><strong>Name:</strong> <span style="font-family: comic sans ms;" class="bbc_font">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Lady Elisabeth Boyle</span><br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Member of the Collegium.<br><strong> Date: </strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day: </strong>&nbsp; Evening, a couple of hours after dusk<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Setting in the middle of a Mess!!<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Blood and parts, various people, a 'tattered man', more on the way <br></span><br><hr> <br><br><em>...screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we'll not fail...</em><br><br>Elisabeth blinked open her eyes as she heard and felt the gathering crowd around her. Their murmurs, 'witch', 'murderer', 'demon' made her shake her head and wonder idly at the silliness of people in general. Why would anyone think she was at fault? Here she sat, clawed on her arms and legs and stomach, her face beginning to swell from bruises and basically naked and yet they blamed her for the bloody mess and ripped apart bodies. Like she had the ability to tear a man's arm off or from the look rip a face off a skull. Yeap it was clear she was at fault it had to be her...5 foot 4 inches and 125 pounds of solid nastiness and power. Why she should be afraid of herself. <br><br>Then she heard the words in french ...this had nothing to do with the father or the holy ghost..maybe the devil but she was not even sure about that. Latin followed in the same voice, one that tugged at her mind, she should know that voice. She had heard it before but where and why was it so hard to focus. The last time she could not focus her mind was years ago. Another place and another sort of nastiness that involved sex as well...at least that sex was something she could remember even if she did&nbsp; not really want to. Whatever had raped her was no man that was one thing she was sure of. Another was that she was sure she did not enjoy it...she hoped.<br><br>Her voice murmured, <strong>"Non Timebo Mala"</strong> as she felt someone kneel beside her and wrap something soft around her and hold her gently. She took in a breath slowly filling her lungs which helped clear a bit of the exhaustion she felt. She was So tired she just wanted to lay down and sleep...<em>'no that was bad...wake UP 'Beth...wake up NOW!'</em> Elisabeth jerked a bit as her head snapped up and her green eyes looked up at the crowd.<br><br>Through gritted teeth she had to reply to the idiot Leo, <strong>"I am NO DAMN WITCH you idiot...my chemistry...my potions...I need them...can heal myself ...some"</strong> She took another breath and realized she had missed some part of the conversations around her. That worried her, it meant she was fading in and out and that was not a good thing. She really needed a stiff drink. Scotch, no a good whiskey maybe two drinks to help dull the burning pain and clear her head. It came to her in a rush with a sudden almost painful clarity, <em>"That is a lovely dress, Paris, isn't it?"</em>, the voice belonged to Marguerite, Marguerite Tuerny. Dark haired, new to town, looking for help...yes Marguerite at least that was settled. Now if she could just feel like moving and not hurting.<br><br><em><strong>"Where are you hurt? Can you move everything?"</strong></em>, Elisabeth twisted her head to look at Marguerite, the left half swollen and cut above her eyebrow. A bloody partial print that looked like a huge clawed hand covered half the right side of her face but her green eyes blinked and she shook her head slightly then the eyes blinked twice again and cleared. Her voice became more detached as if she was a doctor reciting someone else injuries. Her voice was low but clear the clear cut English accent adding to the detachment, <strong>"Multiple Lacerations on both arms and legs and lower abdomen that will require numerous stitches. Abrasions on my face, back and sides."</strong> <br><br><em><strong>"Sonofabitch, Margeurite – get her to a doctor.&nbsp; Then get her to a priest.”</strong></em><br><br>Silly, I am a doctor, where was I, oh... yes, <strong>"I believe there is Avulsions in the lower Abdomen. Both hips are cracked and I have been raped by something that was no man and do not know how badly hurt I am there but I KNOW whatever it was was larger then any man..." </strong> Her voice did not carry past the two women and tears misted her eye lashes, What had happened?. How could she be here and not remember why? It made no sense, had no logic, felt wrong.<br><br>She knew the next voice, Christian, Spooky, was Agatha here? Onneca? Dear god she did not want them to see her like this, what would they think? She was the strong one. Tough and confident. She did not feel that way now. <br><br><em>'gonna be fine..."</em> not hardly since some part of her knew that this was not over...somehow it fitted in with her nightmare and her reluctance to leave as if she was being kept here for some dark reason and now she knew...or did she?<br><br>She lifted her head a bit and her green eyes blinked away the tears as they looked into the Gunman's and she nodded her voice straining, <strong>"I understand...,"</strong> her mind though was whirling, pieces jumbled and ideas, perceptions shifting so though her voice was weak and did not convey any malice she continued,<strong> "but don't you have to leave, Spoo...Christian. You always leave...sorry that was wrong... I am going to need help to move...cracked hips and I am still bleeding mainly from my stomach."</strong><br><br>She blinked again and lost several more moments, darkness was hovering at the edges and she needed to keep it back, then a voice speaking with an accent from England, London, Cockney, lower east side she thinks from the lingo and speech patterns. Her tongue, pink and soft flicked out to lick dry lips but tasted blood. Her Own? Someones else? She wasn't sure but she focused on the Cockney, he was taking from the dead, well they did not need it. A sword? why would there be a sword here? did it matter? Let him have it if he was going after whatever was here. Hell's bells let him take a cannon if he wanted it. <br><br>She tried to shift and move but the pain washed over her making her gasp and groan. <strong>"I ...I can't stand, Get Teddy, no wait he is out of town"</strong><br><br><strong>"My Potions, white topper, healing...I need them"</strong><br><br>Elisabeth's head fell forward as she began to slip off to sleep, the darkness hovering closer. The fear curling it's tentacles in the night mists. She knew ...knew it was not over.<br><br><em>...screw your courage to the sticking-place...</em><br><br><em>for something wicked stalked the night</em><br><br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">"Non Timebo Mala"&nbsp; --Latin--"I will fear no evil"</div></div>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>31-05-2013, 05:15:07</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/74/Marguerite_Tuerny_14.jpg)</div> <strong>Name:</strong> Marguerite Tuerny<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Scene of the crime<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Not anything wicked.&nbsp; Pretty much everyone else though.<br><hr>The woman was a mess.&nbsp; The thin sheet provided only token modesty and did nothing at all to stem the flow of blood from the crisscross of gashes across her pale flesh.&nbsp; The formerly crisp linen was now more red than white, and the blood had seeped into her own clothing, her best dress, a gift from Hunter.<br><br>He’d treasured it for years, a memento of his dead precious wife.&nbsp; And she had ruined it the first time she wore it.&nbsp; The thought flashed but an instant, dismissed for the absurdity it was in the present situation almost before it was fully formed.<br><br>What was important was the woman.&nbsp; The dead – they could mourn the dead later.&nbsp; Elisabeth was alive and in desperate need of care.&nbsp; Marguerite couldn’t really tell if the blonde shoppe-keeper was still sane, or how lucid she was.&nbsp; Much of what she said made sense, but even the words that seemed apt had a disjointed quality to them – as if the female doctor was reciting a familiar lecture by rote.<br><br><em>“Non Timebo Mala”</em> Elisabeth spoke, Marguerite crossed herself and finished the phrase. <strong>“... quoniam tu mecum es virga tua et baculus tuus ipsa consolabuntur me.”</strong>&nbsp; She took comfort in one of the standby Psalms of the Catholic liturgy.&nbsp; <strong>“Amen.”</strong>&nbsp; Though the line was in the middle of the Psalm, she felt it made apt prayer for the situation.<br><br><strong>“She’s… I can’t tell if she’d delusional or if she just isn’t all here.”</strong>&nbsp; She muttered more than spoke the words, speaking over the blonde beauty’s confession of rape.&nbsp; She heard them though, and suddenly the pattern of bruises and injuries – the placement of digging claw cuts and the areas most damaged made sense.&nbsp; The… the thing.&nbsp; The creature was obviously male, and he’d stripped her bare with a few deft strokes of what must be impossibly sharp claws.&nbsp; That was the source of the slashes to her torso.&nbsp; The rest of her injuries were incidental to holding her down and using her.&nbsp; Cracked hips, the thing must have thrust with incredible strength to… or perhaps he’d just gripped too tight at the woman’s hips.<br><br>Elisabeth was alive because her attacker hadn’t been interested in killing the woman.&nbsp; Not, at least, until he was done with her.&nbsp; Marguerite shuddered.<br><br>But it was obvious that the victim couldn’t walk.&nbsp; <strong>“We need a stretcher.”</strong>&nbsp; She looked around.&nbsp; <strong>“Find me something to carry her on!&nbsp; A wide board or a door, or even a blanket stiffened with...”</strong><br><br><strong>“Thanks,”</strong> She interrupted herself to reply to Spooky's offer of escort.&nbsp; <strong>“...but if you want to help, holster the hardware and bring me a stretcher.”</strong>&nbsp; She flashed the man holding cold iron in each hand a withering glance.&nbsp; <strong>“Ordering the delirious woman around isn’t helping at all.” </strong> She nodded to where a plank lay along the ground, spanning a low spot that probably turned to a mud pit when, or if, rain ever fell atop this God-forsaken mesa. <strong>“That board will do.&nbsp; But we need four strong backs to carry…</strong><br><br><span style="font-size: 12pt;" class="bbc_size"><strong>"Hey!"</strong></span>&nbsp; She called out at a man bending over Edward's body, apparently reaching for his deadly Confederate sabre.&nbsp; <strong>"Hey there!&nbsp; What do you think you're doing?&nbsp; Are you robbing the dead?!"</strong><br><br>She didn’t attempt to rise, as she was cradling the wounded woman’s head and holding the sheet closed about her body, pressing the fabric into the last of the seeping wounds.&nbsp; They were all shallow and clotting up nicely – proof again that they were inflicted incidentally and not with intent to cause harm.&nbsp; The bruises… the bruises were another matter.&nbsp; They were deep and caused by blows mighty enough to break bone.<br><br>She might have yelled more at the roughly-dressed thief, but he turned on her first.&nbsp; <em>“Shut your bloody mouth woman! I'm taking this bloomin' sword so I can chase after that lawman you're clearly shaggin', save his arse and stab whatever nasty it was that feckin' did this. So get out of my bloody way and get off my blasted case”</em>&nbsp; His gaze seemed to drill into her, to chill her with a shuddering, rippling thrill down her spine and deep into her very core.&nbsp; He was disrespectful, dirty, unshaven, and mean.<br><br>The nerve of such a man, to chastise her!&nbsp; <strong>“Why, the very nerve!”</strong>&nbsp; She snapped back aloud, lifting her chin a bit more than a subtle half-inch.&nbsp; <strong>“I’ll have you know that I am not sha… That is none of your concern!&nbsp; Have a civil tongue, you… you ruffian!”</strong>&nbsp; Whatever the man was, he was no sneak-thief!&nbsp; More the bold type of thief that stares you in the eye while he robs you.&nbsp; No coward at all, especially if he planned on taking on whatever did this armed only with a sword.&nbsp; Like a knight-errant from some medieval tale. She sniffled a mightily high-flautin sniffle of disdain and turned her attention away from the man – whatever else, he did nerve.&nbsp; Nerve any way you meant it. <br><br>Her eye lingered on the not notably impressive man an instant longer though, watching him from the corner of her eye even as her head turned away and she faced back to Spooky and the crowd and finally back to Elisabeth.&nbsp; <strong>“Somebody get me a stretcher!”</strong>&nbsp; She snapped out at the crowd as she held and comforted the savaged woman. <strong>"You, and you!"</strong>&nbsp; She pointed out two strong looking fellows.&nbsp; <strong>"You look like you have strong backs. You can carry her."</strong>&nbsp; Once they had a stretcher, which didn't seem likely any time soon.<br><br>She saw a familiar face then, walking close with a startlingly pretty redhead adorned with...&nbsp; With gadgets, is all she could think to call them.&nbsp; Why would one carry so much useless junk about?&nbsp; And why would she be walking so close to the lanky beauty?&nbsp; <strong>“Thank goodness, someone with some sense!”</strong>&nbsp; It wasn’t completely obvious she was speaking of Harley, though she did seem to be looking in her general direction.&nbsp; <strong>“Let’s get Elisabeth out of here.”</strong><br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Translations</div><div class="spoiler_body">I will fear no evil<br><br>for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they have comforted me.<br></div></div>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Wulfspire</strong> on <strong>01-06-2013, 17:23:01</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/20/Christian_Bale_Cowboy_3.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Christian Specter<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong>May 4th<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> The event<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Margeurite, Elisabeth, Agatha, Harley, Open<br><hr><br><strong>“…but don’t you have to leave, Spoo…Christian? You always leave…”</strong><br><br>The words hit Christian like a Wasatch locomotive. He did always leave. Since he was seventeen years old, Christian had not stayed in one place more than a week or two, and aside from Agatha, had not kept the company of the same person any longer than that either. He let out a soft sigh at the realization, knowing that of course she would think that of him. <br><br><em>Hell, you’ve been a vagabond fer a long time now, Spook.</em> He told himself, a deep frown covering his face. <em>Can’t blame’er fer thinkin’ you wouldn't stickin’ ‘round just cause the two of ya hit it off.</em><br><br>“Darlin’, looks like I won’t be goin’ nowhere fer awhile,” was the only response he could give Elisabeth, a touch of sadness in growling voice, though whether that was from his decision to stay or her words was difficult to say.<br><br>The gruff, violent, and rude voice of a foreigner caused his voice to trail off into a growl. He was about to bark a threat about how he ought to talk a mite kinder to the lady folks lest he catch a deadly case of lead poisoning, punctuated by a pointed Winchester ’76, but the ugly ruffian was already bounding away by the time Christian had finished consoling Lady Boyle. <em>I reckon I’ll just have ta find me that nasty bastard tomorrow, teach’m some manners when it comes to a fool's tongue.</em><br><br><strong>“My potions, white topper, healing…I need them.”</strong><br><br><em>That’s right, she mentioned that last night, talkin’ about her apothecary and chemical wonders. She sounded like a goddamned snake-oil salesman.</em><br><br>Christian considered that a moment, whether to take a chance on some potions or get her to a doctor that should definitely be able to help her out. The potions were closer, or Christian thought they were, so he could get her the help quicker that way, but it was also a gamble, a big gamble. Christian Specter had never been a great gambler. The doctor was definitely the wiser choice. Then, a lashing tongue came flying his way.<br><br><strong>“Thanks, but if you want to help, holster the hardware and bring me a stretcher.”<br><br>“Ordering the delirious woman around isn’t helping at all.”</strong><br><br>The gunslinger Spooky Specter was known for several things, a nigh-perfect marksman, the fastest draw on this side of the world, and a voice and stare that could knock a grown man on his ass. What he was not known for was his patience, or his ability to accept criticism. That bone-chilling stare slowly turned its way to Margeurite, his ice-blue eyes screamed fury, anger, and retribution. A low growl formed in his throat to accompany the words that were sure to follow.<br><br><em>“Whatever did that to’er is still out there, ya damn idiot. Ya really want to be without a goddamn gunman when it brings it’s ugly mug back’ere?”</em> Christian wanted to say, to say.<br><br><em>“How many times you hauled wounded out of a situation like this, ya damn idiot? I’m orderin’ her to stay alive, goddammit, which is a hell of a lot more helpful than your damn blabber ta God,”</em> he wanted to bark back.<br><br>Instead, the growl was the only thing that he actually did. Saying nothing was more productive to getting Elisabeth taken care of than trying to argue with a fool of a woman. He was not about to holster his weapons, but he understood the necessity of someone hauling the wounded Elisabeth on a stretcher. He shoved the back of one of the men she had not pointed at towards the plant and gave him a look that brooked no argument. The already frightened civilian nodded furiously to Spooky and began to assist with getting the stretcher ready.<br><br>Christian then noticed Agatha’s approach with another woman he did not know. He knew the look of trouble when he saw it though, and that woman had trouble in spades. How did he know that? She carried herself a lot like Christian did, and Christian was most certainly trouble. While the Gomorra citizens began their work as a makeshift ambulance, Christian moved to place himself between Agatha and the scene beyond.<br><br>He may have failed to protect Elisabeth, but he was damn sure going to protect Agatha.<br><br>“Aggy,” he held out ‘Doc’ towards Agatha, “take my rifle and see yerself home. Ya don’t wanna see what’s back there.” The deep, gravel voice of the Christian was spoken with a straight face, no hint of emotion. While many might have been panicked right now, Christian was keeping a cool head. This was far from his first rodeo.<br><br>The steely-eyed gaze of the gunman turned to Harley, “You look like you can handle that sixgun on yer hip. See Agatha home safe, or I’ll teach ya exactly why they call me Spooky. Understood?” While it certainly was worded as a threat, the tone he used seemed more like a plea for help getting Agatha safe home than a warning or rough tongued bragging. Was he talking tough for Agatha’s sake, or to try and impress Harley? Or, did he just not know another way to ask for help? The latter seemed more likely given the way his eyebrows narrowed with concern when he spoke the last question.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Crash</strong> on <strong>06-06-2013, 04:59:30</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/3/30/Darkaggy.jpg) </div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Agatha Dunwich<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Agatha’s Occidental Delights <br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Harley, Elizabeth, Marguerite, Christian…etc.<br><hr>&nbsp; &nbsp;<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; Another time the strong arms that caught her fall and the rough hands that supported her would have sent a familiar thrill through Agatha’s body.&nbsp; &nbsp;Despite her feelings for Onneca she did not feel guilty for that night.&nbsp; She could not have known what the following days would bring and she had been happy Harley had stopped by to see her, but that was before the terrible screams tore apart the night<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Agatha was buckling on her holster when she heard Harley curse and looked up.&nbsp; She nodded when asked to stay close.&nbsp; Agatha had been in the thick of gunfire before and had hoped it would be some time before she would have to do so again.&nbsp; The dime store novels got much of the stories wrong, but there was a nugget of truth in every tale no matter how small.&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; &nbsp;<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Agatha moved along with Harley, her pistol holstered and her light skirt clutched in one hand to help her move quickly to keep up with the woman unencumbered by such feminine clothing.&nbsp; It did not take long to navigate the streets towards the commotion.&nbsp; People were already filling the alley and more arriving to see what was the matter.&nbsp; Doing as she was told and staying close to the lanky cowgirl they moved through the crowd where someone as giving orders.&nbsp; Agatha spotted Spooky almost immediately and frowned at her friend as he blocked her view of the scene beyond.&nbsp; Others were there too and she could swear she saw the harsh face of Walter, the man she had met out on the Mesa that very day.&nbsp; He had a sword in his hand and he was moving away from the crowd.&nbsp; Agatha’s scattered mind was already picking out fragments of details.&nbsp; The sweetly metallic smell of spilled blood, the pale faces and pungent smell of recent vomit, something terrible had happened.&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; &nbsp; <br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Two large men had been kneeling behind Spooky and when they stood she could see they were lifting a stretcher between them.&nbsp; She did her best to look around the deadly gunslinger to the scene beyond.&nbsp; She heard a name, unsure if it was from the young lady at her side or a member of the crowd working to get the stretcher up and moving.<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; “Elizabeth?”&nbsp; She looked at Spooky who’s eyes gave away very little. He did not answer her but by then the men had moved from behind Christian and she caught a glimpse of cornflower hair and pale skin. “Elizabeth!” She cried rushing towards her friend and picking up the pale too pale hand that had rolled from under the sheet covering her naked form.&nbsp; “I’m here Elizabeth.”&nbsp; Her friend looked unconscious, but she prayed that Elizabeth could hear her.&nbsp; “Oh God, please don’t be dead.” She whispered taking Elizabeth’s holding they hand in both of her own.&nbsp; The vision of Elizabeth laid out, corpse-like on the makeshift litter kept her from truly seeing the horror than lay behind them on the alley floor.<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Agatha looked over to Spooky.&nbsp; “What happened?&nbsp; Who did this?” She asked her eyes stricken with grief.&nbsp; “Please find them.” She pleaded looking from the hardened gunslinger to the lanky cowgirl.&nbsp; Agatha couldn’t have known the extent of the damage to her friend.&nbsp; The sheet had done well to cover her, but the blood, she couldn’t imagine what kind of monster would attack the beautiful Englishwoman so savagely.&nbsp; “Please.&nbsp; I can’t leave her, you have to find the thing that did this to her.” <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kokaine</strong> on <strong>16-06-2013, 04:25:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://i167.photobucket.com/albums/u133/kokotigress/Elliquiy/Doom%20Town/lg_492d6579-7614-4f3b-bc84-fda41030b5da_1217491714_donna_feldman-17_zpsb9e34e83.jpg)</div> <hr><strong>Name:</strong> Harley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown to the public<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Event<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Agatha, Marguerite, Christian…etc<hr>Harley's lengthy strides ate up the distance as she quickly navigated her way toward the disturbance. This was most definitely ot what she'd had in mind when she'd hoped to find some way to relieve her boredom. She would have much preferred to spend some time getting properly acquainted with the alluring redhead scientist but it seemed that whatever gods governed Gomorra had different ideas as to what sort of excitement was necessary. Of course, this came as no surprise to Harley given the things she had heard about since arriving in town years ago and as such there was no hesitance in her, no signs of nerves of anxiousness and in fact it would almost seem as though the lanky gunner already understood the nature of what they were to face. It wasn't true of course, her senses told her that whatever it was that had shattered the night's silence with such piercing screams was most certainly bad but she had no way to know the scene they would come upon anymore than the almost unlikely companion rushing to keep up with her.<br><br>As they neared the site--the location made obvious by the number of people milling about trying to get a good look or even leaned over in a show of illness or crossing themselves--Harley's features would change from that of concern to harden into a mask of deceptive calm. Despite the speed at which she had rushed over, her motions still held a lazy swagger that would immediately make her stand out to those who knew what it was they were looking at and indeed her approach along with Agatha was noticed almost right away. The smell that rent the air was coppery and so heavy that there was no doubt what lay beyond the body that stepped into her path, the scent of so much blood was broken only by the sharp tang of bile and though her nose recoiled at the evidence being offered to her there was no sign of it in her features. Instead, the tall brunette's gaze first went past the male to land upon the familiar figure of Marguerite. The woman was in rare form as she seemed to be taking charge of at least part of the situation and a slight cocking of Harley's head was the only sign of acknowledgement as she had no wish to offer distraction just then even if part of her wanted to hustle the woman away instantly.<br><br>It was a tough pill to swallow, pushing back her natural instincts when it came to those who pricked at her protective instincts, and so that was why despite the overly aggressive nature of Spooky's words to her, Harley did not bother to growl back. In fact she first took a moment to assess the male before her, something deep down recognizing him on an instinctual level. She had little idea who the hell Spooky was. She'd heard tales of course but she wasn't one to be bothering with dime store novels or even putting much stock in reputation without evidence to support it. There was something about him though that commanded a certain amount of respect if you had any sense at all, maybe even obedience, but the gunslinger would have to do a whole lot more than bark at her to spook her if that was what he was aiming for. She'd have never made it on her own as long as she had if she was so easily impressed upon or allowed emotion to rule her. <br><br>A smirk did show itself however when Agatha moved around Spooky as though he hadn't issued a command. <strong>"Guess it ain't so well understood,"</strong> she drawled before stepping to the side of him to get a good look at what it was that had people so messed up. She could have walked further but she had better sense than to put danger to her back and at the moment the grizzled gunner was the most dangerous person near her, something she did not forget even as she finally got a look at the carnage. <br><br>At first her eyes did not seem to know what the hell she was even looking at. She blinked once and then again, her face once again a mask of calm that was as much for her own benefit as well as others. Finally the images before her started to make sense and as it did the too sweet scent of spilled blood grew almost overwhelming. It was by far the worst thing Harley had ever seen and indeed some part of her was reeling, but she held it together, her gaze lifting to Agatha as the redhead made her grief stricken plea. She wanted to tell her she had no experience with something this savage, wanted to rewind time so she could go back and force the woman to stay behind rather than simply urging her to keep close, wanted to erase it all from her memory, but Harley knew better. There was a reason she did not bother with prayers. <br><br>Despite being unsure of what such a task would entail, about what it might mean for her own safety, Harley nodded her head unable to refuse such a blatant request for help. <strong>"I will find the thing that did this. I promise."</strong> She glanced over at Marguerite and her jaw firmed. She didn't have a whole lot of connections in Gomorra but she was beginning to find that she wished she did and that meant being willing to put herself on the line to insure those people she allowed in remained safe. This probably wasn't what Jack had in mind when he'd asked her to keep her eyes and ears open but he'd hopefully understand. Wasn't like he'd cry much over her anyhow... which of course brought her back to that whole connections deal. <br><br>Resolved and unwavering in her decision, Harley turned back to Spooky and eyed him for a long moment before speaking quietly, <strong>"She should be safe enough if she stays wit her friend and Marguerite there but I ain't much use in patchin' nobody up. Whadaya say you an me go huntin', <em>Spooky</em>?"</strong> She used the moniker he'd given her but not like she found him very Spooky at all. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>esclavage</strong> on <strong>22-06-2013, 15:18:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/c/c0/Ginny_Avatar-01.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Virginia 'Ginny' Mary Lou Whateley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley Family<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Scene of the Crime<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> The Event, Open<br><hr><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Perhaps it was a tad disturbing, but Ginny was quite pleased when she arrived at the scene.&nbsp; Not at the sight of blood scattered about like someone had liberally filled a bucket and spun around in dizzying circles.&nbsp; No, that sight made her cringe a bit; despite having grown up in Gomorra, this level of violence was not something she was accustomed to.&nbsp; The metallic tang and sour odor of the puddled blood saturated in the air in a way that had her skin crawling, her flesh prickling in goosebumps.&nbsp; No doubt she would want to strip out of all the clothes she was wearing and probably burn them.&nbsp; They would never smell quite the same with what was in the air.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Nor was she particularly happy to pick out from the murmurs of the crowd that the wounded was no other than Elisabeth Boyle.&nbsp; While she wasn't close to the Englishwoman , Ginny did frequent her store with some regularity.&nbsp; In fact, the young Whateley hoped that this wouldn't interfere with her shopping expeditions; she was expecting a package that she had ordered from the London Royal Apothecary, a poultice of blended aloes that would assist in protecting her fair skin beneath the murderous rays of high noon.&nbsp; It would be terribly off-putting if Miss Boyle was indisposed from what had taken place this night.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;No, Ginny Whateley was happy simply because this had been well worth her time.&nbsp; After all, she was still quite put out at having her poker table interrupted.&nbsp; Initially meandering over to where the people of Gomorra were gathering, she had been worried that this would be something mundane, something ordinary.&nbsp; Like some generic shootout between two drunken men that scarcely knew one end of a pistol from another.&nbsp; Those had been exciting when she was at the tender age of ten; now, it would scarcely warrant a second glance from her.&nbsp; Life in the Fast Country had a person growing up rather quickly.&nbsp; And Virginia Mary Lou Whateley had also had her share of aging experiences, much like anyone else who lived in Gomorra, though an onlooker would have scarcely been able to tell by looking at her.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;But this?&nbsp; Gore and chunky bits?&nbsp; Buckets of blood?&nbsp; And the only apparent survivor, a notable shop keeper hailing from London?&nbsp; This was promising and would provide hours of endless chatter from the locals.&nbsp; After all, all the women needed something to gossip about over the Sunday luncheon after their usual worship service at St. Martin's.&nbsp; And Ginny was more than willing to be the one feeding wood into that particular stove as she lingered around the back parts of the crowd.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; <strong>"Virginia!&nbsp; Virginia!"</strong> Her name was hissed as the young Whateley turned to look to who was calling her name.&nbsp; &nbsp;An angelic smile came to Ginny's lips at the sight of the gaggle of women, gathered around to one side, whispering among themselves.&nbsp; She recognized the crowd and associated with them on a regular basis, the God-fearing, church-going group.&nbsp; Led by Mrs. Howell, an older, middle-aged woman with a sharp, shrewish expression, they were a fearsome bunch.&nbsp; More than one woman had been brought to tears by the viper-like whisperings and chatter that circulated in the town on their lips, all too eager to repeat whatever they had heard.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"Mrs. Howell,"</strong> Ginny said perfunctorily, even taking a moment to sketch a brief curtsy, which admittedly looked quite odd since Ginny was dressed in leather chaps and not her usual Sunday dress.&nbsp; And she noted with a bit of glee at the askance glance of some of the women in the group; no doubt they also whispered about her as well when she was not around -- about her gambling, her drinking, and scandalous behavior.&nbsp; However, those whispers never grew too loud; after all, she was a Whateley and that name afforded her protection from the predatory nature of the vultures hovering around this fresh kill.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Besides, Ginny understood all too well how the balance of power worked.&nbsp; And she was <em>good </em>friends with Mrs. Howell, being always such a <em>dear </em>and more than willing to flatter the older woman's ego.&nbsp; By virtue of that, anything too salacious leaving another girl's lips would have the infamous arched eyebrow of Mrs. Howell directed at her before she shamefully flushed and apologized for acting so unladylike.&nbsp; After all, the younger ones wanted to be married, and the best way to get a fine, upstanding man was to have Mrs. Howell do the introductions.&nbsp; And the older ones, the married ones, needed to curry favor with her.&nbsp; If a woman got on the older woman's bad side she would be a social pariah among the masses.&nbsp; And no one survived too long at St. Martin's by being an outcast, a literal black sheep among God's flock.&nbsp; So much for the parable about leaving the ninety-nine behind to seek the one.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"Virginia, you would not <em>believe </em>what is going on in our good town!"</strong>&nbsp; Mrs. Howell hissed in hushed, but excited tones.&nbsp; And at the tilt of the young Whateley's head, an indication that she should keep speaking, the older woman's hand shot out and grabbed her to haul her in closer.&nbsp; <strong>"Witchcraft!"</strong> The word was said as a collective gasp went up among the women, a few of them signing themselves, a few more bowing their hands to murmur a prayer against such evil.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; To help fan the flames, Ginny put her right hand up to her lips, her green Whateley eyes widening in shock.&nbsp; <strong>"Yuh dun say!&nbsp; 'ow turrible!"</strong>&nbsp; Another look was given to the grisly scene where she realized that the girl she had met at the Golden Mare, was busy actually trying to do something, trying to direct people to help rather than just stand around and whisper and gawk.&nbsp; She also recognized the infamous Spooky there, cutting a fearsome figure with his guns drawn.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; <strong>"I know, dear.&nbsp; I know.&nbsp; We must hold a vigil to pray against such horrific things!"</strong>&nbsp; A quick, sharp look around had all the other women bobbing their heads along in agreement.&nbsp; &nbsp;Though Ginny knew that the words spoken about the vigil were just for show.&nbsp; No one would really bother holding a prayer time; it was just empty words in this case.&nbsp; <strong> "Then, we also need to ensure that others are <em>warned </em>about Miss Boyle's associations with Satan and his followers!&nbsp; I always knew that woman was <em>trouble</em>!"</strong>&nbsp; Now, that was the real heart of the matter, rich gossip to be spread, and something all the women would eagerly do.&nbsp; There was a hint of smug, self-satisfaction in Mrs. Howell's tone; Ginny was quite aware that the older woman had been rebuffed by Elisabeth before when the older woman had tried to play matchmaker.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Of course, that wasn't important.&nbsp; Oh no, Mrs. Howell was simply looking out for the welfare of Gomorra and its women.&nbsp; The older woman wasn't the petty type, to bear a small grudge against Elisabeth Boyle and want to see her reputation stained and have her humbled.&nbsp; No, Mrs. Howell was an upstanding citizen and a beacon for women around the town of Gomorra.&nbsp; Sometimes, the hypocrisy wanted to make Ginny laugh out loud though she hide her mirthful expression with a solemn one.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; After all, she understood her role as well in this case.&nbsp; She was simply to be another follower, another sycophant, willing and eager to spread hateful things in the town.&nbsp; <strong>"Ah'll make sure all muh friends 'now 'bout this,"</strong>&nbsp; Ginny agreed with Mrs. Howell even as the older woman gave an indulgent smile and patted her arm again.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"Aren't you just such a good girl, Virginia?&nbsp; I knew I could count on you..."</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Crash</strong> on <strong>14-07-2013, 01:42:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/3/30/Darkaggy.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Agatha Dunwich<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Agatha's Home<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open, Elizabeth (unconscious), Onneca<br><hr>&nbsp; &nbsp; <br>&nbsp;The reassurances she gained were enough, her focus was now her injured friend.&nbsp; A litter was formed and two of the brawnier Gamorrites in the crowd stepped forward to lift Elizabeth effortlessly from the ground.&nbsp; Agatha stayed by her friends side the entire way to the good doctor’s practice.&nbsp; A runner had been sent ahead and the doctor was waiting to receive her. Agatha knew much about the human body having, in the past few years, become intensely interested in the human form.&nbsp; Her knowledge did not however extend to the healing of said body so with all of her brilliance and intelligence she felt decidedly impotent and helpless.&nbsp; She fretted about Elizabeth until she felt someone gently yet forceably from the room.&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;“You can’t do anything for her ma’am.&nbsp; The Doc will take good care of her.”&nbsp; She heard someone say and knew the words were truly spoken.&nbsp; So she stood outside the door that lead to the little room where the doctor worked on Elizabeth and she paced.&nbsp; Back and forth she worn a worried path across the door.&nbsp; What had Oswald said?&nbsp; He had hinted that they may be in danger.&nbsp; Was this what he had meant?&nbsp; Did that mean she was in danger?&nbsp; Was Onneca in danger?&nbsp; Onneca?!?&nbsp; She was alone at Agatha’s. <br>&nbsp; &nbsp;<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; Agatha paused mid step dread creeping over her.&nbsp; She had to get home, now.&nbsp; Long skirts gathered in her hands she bolted from the Good Doctors and raced into the streets towards her home.&nbsp; Soon her legs and lungs began to burn. Agatha Dunwich wasn’t a strong woman, but she was born of sturdy Irish stock and she ignored her bodies protestations at the saddened and shocking exhertions she was putting them through as she raced through the streets towards the edge of town.<br>&nbsp; &nbsp;<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; She wasn’t sure how long she ran.&nbsp; Her body certainly ached, but fear drove her forward like the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels.&nbsp; It seemed like long road where her home lay stretched out before her ever farther away with each step.&nbsp; There was a light on in the living room and a shadow could be scene.&nbsp; Forcing her legs to place one bounding stride in front of the other Agatha flew up her steps and clutched at the door her chest heaving for air as grasping fingers finally turned the doorknob and she rushed in wild eyed and flushed looking for any sign of Onneca.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dhi</strong> on <strong>18-07-2013, 19:16:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/8/89/Onnecamug1.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Onneca de Goni<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Agatha's House<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Agatha, Open<br><hr><br>There had been a book in her hand, a distraction to swallow up her mind. It was a book on heat resistance, heat dissipation and specific heat, and it had been in her hand after she'd finished oiling the shelves, which she'd done after dusting, which she'd done after attending Agatha's garden. She'd needed a distration, and there was Agatha, distraught, running on fumes, smeared with blood. All feeling left the hand holding the tome, and it slid straight through her fingers and thumped to the floor. It was the sound, before any movement, that told Aggy she was there in the den.<br><br><acronym title="How?/Why?">"¿Cómo?"</acronym> The reading light reflected back in a dozen streaks of red on Agatha's skin and clothes. If she were scratched to pieces, that didn't stop Onneca's arms from reaching out for her, pulling her close, and crowding her gasps for breath with her own body. The dress she wore had been hand-made, white with fields of berry-colored grasses and wildflowers rising from hem to knee. It had taken a season to raise the flax for the linen, weeks to soak, ripple, scutch, and hackle the fibers, days to spin it into thread, longer to weave it on the loom, hours to measure and cut the patterns, and a lifetime of practice to embroider the artistic character. In an instant it was rendered a rag for Elisabeth's blood. It was immediately ruined.<br><br>Onneca scooped Aggy up onto her toes. Her arms were tight, but her hands touched gingerly to find where she had been hurt- her olive skin turned crimson as her hand clasped the nape of Aggy's neck, her flanks, her back, her arms. It took her only slightly longer to survey Aggy's body for injury than it would her own. The breathy two syllables of her question had only just left her lungs, and the pages of the dropped book were still deciding whether they would chase the front cover or the back. It was someone else's blood. <acronym title="It'll be okay">"Todo va a estar bien,"</acronym> she said, like madre de Goni had always told her. <acronym title="You're with me now">"Estás conmigo ahora."</acronym>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Crash</strong> on <strong>24-07-2013, 06:27:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/3/30/Darkaggy.jpg) </div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Agatha Dunwich<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Agatha’s Home<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open, Onneca<br><hr>&nbsp; &nbsp; “Oh thank God.” Agatha clung tightly to Onneca, her breath coming in short ragged gasps.&nbsp; She shook her head trying to squeak out the words to assure Onneca that it wasn’t her that had been hurt, but she could only wheeze and take comfort in the olive arms gently poking and searching for wounds they didn’t wish to find.&nbsp; With a deep shuttering breath she was able to eek out a reply.<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; <br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;“It’s Elizabeth…I don’t know…what happened.” She answered between breaths, her lungs aflame from her sprint across town.&nbsp; “She’s with the doctor, now.” Agatha did not let Onneca go, her hands pressed against Onneca’s hair and cheeks.&nbsp; “I thought…I thought with what Oswald said that maybe…maybe you could be hurt too.” The thought of seeing Onneca lying on the floor, her clothing in bloody tatters was too much.&nbsp; Agatha burst into tears and began to cover Onneca’s face in kisses born of overwhelming relief at finding her okay. “You’re okay…Oh thank you.” Her words splattered between the need to verify that her words were true.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The softly spoken Spanish illicited a sob and Agatha allowed herself a moment to just be held, to let her always racing mind calm in the comforting embrace of the woman she loved.&nbsp; Onneca was okay and Elizabeth was the one that had been hurt.&nbsp; She needed to get back to her.&nbsp; To make sure she was going to be alright.&nbsp; “I don’t know how bad it is.&nbsp; It was dark and we rushed her to the doctor.&nbsp; I need to go back.” Agatha spoke in a soft frightened voice.&nbsp; It was a fear brought on now by concern and worry over Elizabeth. “Make sure she is okay.”<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dhi</strong> on <strong>29-07-2013, 21:38:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/8/89/Onnecamug1.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Onneca de Goni<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Agatha's House<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Agatha, Open<br><hr><br>She was unharmed. Saints be praised, Aggy was unharmed. All of the blood that she could feel on her own skin and Agatha's did not belong to the woman in her arms. Elisabeth, though- <acronym title="Mother of God">"Made Dios."</acronym> Her arms uncoiled from Agatha, let her stand on her own feet, but she was not going to let her go back alone. It was late. Someone had attacked Elisabeth. Her open-toed shoes scuffed delicately through the rooms of Agatha's house to retrieve her rebozo, her long multicolored scarf. It would keep the evening chill at bay, and it would give her modesty in the Gomorran streets, but perhaps most importantly, it would serve as a tourniquet for a woman bleeding uncontrollably. Elisabeth- Onneca paused at the end of her stride and her hands found her knees, and left bloody handprints in the cloth when she forced herself to keep moving.<br><br>It was now that she regretted not taking her holdout pistol to Agatha's. It was a gaudy and decades-old thing, A two-shot pistol with bullets she couldn't be sure would still work. There was an engraving on the handle of a cowgirl unlacing her bodice and winking, slightly worn from many a grasping hand. It had been won in a poker game, and her father had given it to her before he had died.<br><acronym title="Dad, I don't need to carry a gun"><em>"Papá, no es necesario llevar un arma," </em></acronym> she had told him.<br><acronym title="When you do need it, it will save your life"><em>"Cuando usted lo necesita, será salvar tu vida," </em></acronym>her father had said. It would be so reassuring to feel the weight of it in her hand, now, even if she were a terrible shot, even if she were absolutely unsure of the weapon. They were two women going out into the wolf's night, into the roads that had just days before claimed an armed and trained sheriff- roads that were now almost lawless. All that she had to propel herself was stupid bravery, and a love for Elisabeth...<br><br>...and Agatha, there at her side.<br><br>"Where is she?" Onneca moved quickly out the front door, and by the time the path met the shallowly worn road she was racing. The rebozo streamed behind her on the flaying mesa wind. There was a comfort to the night air, a familiarity to the spring chirps and the bugs that hovered in every square foot of sky like fertile pollen, the beetles that clung to man-made structures oblivious to the civilization they had stumbled upon. There was a sweet scent of night-blooming flowers in the air, but all she could smell was the blood.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>21-04-2014, 04:34:26</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/e/e6/Reloadedbanner.png)</div><br>All posts after this juncture are part of Doomtown Reloaded.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>21-04-2014, 04:37:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d1/Nicodemus..png)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Nicodemus Whateley (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Grandma's Favorite (Whateley faction, rank 4)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 17th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Burnham Detection Agency<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery Burnham, CLOSED<br><hr> <br>Nicodemus took a deep breath of night cool air as he stepped out of the estate that had been similar to a cell since his wife had been arrested.&nbsp; It had been wise of Grandma to keep him keep him home but it didn't mean that he didn't resent the inability to aid Dolores.&nbsp; However, the time inside had done what it was meant to, his rage had cooled to a deep anger.&nbsp; He took a deep, steadying breath as he began the walk from the Whateley estate toward Gomorra proper.&nbsp; It was about time that Granny had decided that it was time to hire someone to help Dolores and allowed him out to do just that.<br><br>It took a bit of time to make his way to Burnham Detection Agency as he walked slowly to enjoy the limited freedom he had.&nbsp; Walking down the main streets of Gomorra had always been an interesting experience for Nicodemus and tonight was no exception.&nbsp; Some people went out of their way to distance themselves from him, even crossing the road to avoid being seen passing him; while others were more than happy to offer him a friendly-enough wave.&nbsp; His unblinking green eyes hidden behind his tinted glasses took in everything but he reacted to nothing.&nbsp; There was little in this town that actually mattered to him.&nbsp; Getting his wife out of jail was one of them and that purpose had him stopping in front of a newer business in Gomorra.&nbsp; Tugging lightly at his tailored jacket and pushing his tinted glasses up, he opened the door.&nbsp; <br><br>Stepping within the office that had once been a doctors practice, he glanced around the waiting room.&nbsp; The front door closed as he pulled it gently.&nbsp; His cane clicked on the wooden floor as he stepped further into the room, his unblinking green eyes falling on the photograph of the Queen.&nbsp; Walking closer, he inspected the photo closely, his brows raising.&nbsp; Nicodemus was the only client waiting in the dusty room but that didn't dissuade him at all.&nbsp; It simply meant that this would be the detectives primary case.&nbsp; <br><br>Nicodemus had to admit a curiosity about the detective as he had never personally met Avery before.&nbsp; Slipping his hand into a trouser pocket, he pulled out an ornate gold pocket watch and checked the time.&nbsp; He hadn't been gone long but he hoped this meeting would be brief.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>21-04-2014, 04:38:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a1/Walker.png)</div>&nbsp;<br><strong>Name:</strong> Walker (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sioux Union<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower – Private Room<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Tommy Flanagan, CLOSED<br><hr> <br>Walkers brows furrowed even further as Singing Feather turned to depart.&nbsp; He had known that there was a great deal of trouble in Gomorra but he had no idea that the white man would be so willing to harm the young ones.&nbsp; While every part of him hoped that Singing Feathers hunch was wrong, he had never known the wise woman to speak unless she had good reason to do so.<br><br>Shaking his head, his long, dark hair sliding against his back, he began the long walk back over the bridge leading to the city.&nbsp; The matching nightmares of the children seemed to be something real.&nbsp; Something that came out at night and, for some reason, was targeting the children of the city.&nbsp; Singing Feather had sent him a message to drop that information on his lap and asked him to seek a red haired man.&nbsp; A man staying at the new saloon.&nbsp; A man that had manitou's swirling around him.&nbsp; It meant that the man he sought was a manitou summoner.&nbsp; The thought alone made his skin crawl but, as there were little options in the city, one of those summoners would be better than nothing.<br><br>Lost in his own thoughts and concerns, Walker walked down one of the main roads of Gomorra, his dark eyes worried.&nbsp; He couldn't allow the white man to ignore their children but he had enough experience to know they would never listen to him.&nbsp; He needed the help of the man Singing Feather mentioned.<br><br>Entering Babel's Tower, he stopped the first waitress that acknowledged him and asked about the red haired man that lived – or at least stayed in the saloon.&nbsp; It took her a moment but she gave him a room number.&nbsp; He didn't come armed with more than his hunting knife as his weapons seemed to make the white man even more afraid of the 'savage'.<br><br>Finding the manitou summoner was a bit more difficult that he imagined, his first two stops being to wrong rooms before a helpful woman pointed out the one he wanted.&nbsp; Stepping up to the door, a shiver went down his spine.&nbsp; He was nervous about dealing with one who dealt with the manitou's but, regardless of his own unease, he knocked at the door.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>21-04-2014, 04:44:35</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f1/DelilahWhateley.png)</div>&nbsp;<br><strong>Name:</strong>Dolores Whateley (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley (Rank 3)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Night<br><strong>Location:</strong> Moving from the sheriff station to the Whateley Estate<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Lilah, Townsend, CLOSED<br><hr>Dolores walked silently next to Townsend as they left the sheriff's office.&nbsp; Glancing up at the moon, she giggled to herself.&nbsp; It was such a pretty night and she was thrilled to be out of the cell.&nbsp; The mean men had hushed her at every opportunity.&nbsp; She hadn't even been doing anything wrong.&nbsp; She had only been singing and talking to her dolly.<br><br>She glanced at the man walking next to her, remaining silent as they walked further away from the office and away from the buildings in town.&nbsp; Dolores didn't like Townsend at all.&nbsp; He had been mean to her while she was in trouble and, even worse, he had tried to hurt her favoritest niece.&nbsp; She giggled as she glanced up at him.&nbsp; She would never forget the look on Granny's face when she got the news about what happened with Ginny.&nbsp; Granny didn't like it much when someone tried to hurt a relative.&nbsp; She tittered as she spun in a circle, holding her dolly's hands in her own.<br><br>Rejoining the surly Townsend she met his gaze for a moment.&nbsp; “You were very naughty.”&nbsp; She informed him with a beaming smile on her porcelain face.&nbsp; She tsked him and shook her head.&nbsp; “Naughty boy, naughty boy, you're in trouble, naughty boy.”&nbsp; She made her dolly dance as she sang to him.&nbsp; Her song dropped off but she continued to make her doll dance as they walked side by side.<br><br>Dolores couldn't wait to get home and see Nic and Granny.&nbsp; They couldn't come see her while she was in trouble and she had missed them.&nbsp; She had missed the night-night stories, the little treats that Nic sneaked to her and the dolly's that he brought home for her on occasion.&nbsp; Maybe, now that she wasn't in trouble anymore, they would let her have extra dessert! 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>21-04-2014, 05:00:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<br><hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/45/Bigjake.png)(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/62/Scooter2.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Big Jake, Scooter<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sioux Union<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> After Midnight<br><strong>Location:</strong> Golden Mare<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Nell Robinson, CLOSED<br><hr> <br>Big Jake gave a scowl as they slipped down the Tracks, sinking into bony shoulders as they crisscrossed from the modest homes and reasonable shops to the brightly lit estates that were west of the Tracks.&nbsp; Miss Greene’s Room - the best damn whore house in the city - was located just west&nbsp; the Tracks.&nbsp; While there were upturned noses, the city’s wealthy elite had a somewhat practical notion regarding Miss Greene’s Room - better to have an amorous husband struggling back from relative safety, than a drunken man with a well-ridden cock and a full wallet going anywhere too near the den of danger that was Soddom.&nbsp; A philanderer was a philanderer, after all.&nbsp; <br><br>“You remember the plan, Scooter?”&nbsp; Big Jake’s eyes flashed up to the mountain of a man trying to creep along with him.&nbsp; <br><br>“I think so,” said Scooter.&nbsp; “I don’t like the plan, though.”<br><br>Jake’s teeth grit.&nbsp; “No one likes the plan, Scooter, but it’s still the plan.”&nbsp; He didn’t feel quite right about it, either.&nbsp; Sure, he knew the wealthy and the privileged in the city ran things, and he didn’t mind kissing a little ass and sharpening his knife to get a piece of the pie - but then there were things like this.&nbsp; Truly, monumentally fucked up things like this.&nbsp; He’d never liked Coleman - but for a moment he wished that Coleman would rise up out of his grave and pop Bilton square in the brainpan for the shit that was happening tonight.<br><br>“Alright.&nbsp; You stay out here.&nbsp; Keep a lookout.&nbsp; Make a… bird noise or something if someone comes along.”<br><br>“What kind of bird?”&nbsp; <br><br>Big Jake stopped and stared at his counterpoint.<br><br>“You got a <em>range</em> of fucking bird noises?&nbsp; You some kinda bird expert?”<br><br>Scooter stared at him.&nbsp; “Like… a chicken?”<br><br>Big Jake closed his eyes, and rubbed his temple.&nbsp; “Sure.&nbsp; Fine.&nbsp; Like a chicken.”&nbsp; There was a pause, and his brow knit.&nbsp; “It’s the middle of the fucking night, ain’t no chickens up.&nbsp; And don’t go make a sound like a goddam rooster, either.&nbsp; Can you do an owl?”<br><br>Scooter pursed his lips.&nbsp; “Whoo-hoo, whoo hoo!”<br><br>Jake closed his eyes.&nbsp; “Jesus.&nbsp; &nbsp;I know you don’t think much of me.&nbsp; But&nbsp; I swear, I’ll donate fifty goddam dollar to the church if you make sure no one comes along.”<br><br>He paused outside the Golden Mare, looking at the upstairs room and the single window visible from the outside.&nbsp; “Gimme a boost.”<br><br>The lanky enforcer weighed all of a hundred and thirty pounds, and in no time, Scooter had him reaching the second floor window in the wee hours of the night.&nbsp; He pulled it open quietly, then pulled himself up and over the ledge.&nbsp; He kept a low profile, slinking slowly through the hotel room to the redhead slumbering upon the bed.<br><br><em>Damn shame.</em>&nbsp; <br><br>Then he slipped the burlap bag over her head, and tightened the rope drawstrings.&nbsp; He levelled his gun at the side of her head.<br><br>“You scream, you die, whore.” His words were a whispered promise, reinforced by the cocking of a hammer.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>The Dark Raven</strong> on <strong>21-04-2014, 05:48:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/72/Chestnut.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Nell Robinson<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> 20 May 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> after midnight<br><strong>Location:</strong> Golden Mare<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Big Jake, Scooter, CLOSED<br><hr><br>She'd had an early night, successfully training one of the new girls in how to act properly with a customer, and succeeded in training the girl more than she'd thought possible in a night--so much so that Miss Greene had given her the rest of the evening off.&nbsp; She had taken the opportunity to take a nice hot bath and had read a little before turning in early.&nbsp; She'd spent time primping in heaven knew how long, just taking time for herself.&nbsp; It was a luxury not often won, and she had brushed her hair til it shone.&nbsp; Not that much anyone here in Gomorra might notice, but it made her happy to do so...<br><br>All that self-pampering luxury seemed a dream now, compared to the current nightmare, the cold-steel barrel of the pistol pressed against her head banished any thought of a mere whimper of fright.&nbsp; Between the dark and the cloying, itching roughness of the burlap sack over her head, all Nell could do was nod frantically at the man, and hope she might wake up from the nightmare.&nbsp; Whatever bravado that got her out of England had left her, and it was all she could do to not raise the alarm.&nbsp; She still stiffened at the man's touch, a natural defense to anyone she wasn't paid to let touch her taking the liberty on their own time.&nbsp; <br><br>She was not yet broken enough to decide to let any man have at her without decent coin and clearance besides.&nbsp; She was not yet reined in enough to be content with sitting beside a fire with children at her feet.&nbsp; Not yet.&nbsp; She had her life to live.&nbsp; So, she ground her teeth and bit her tongue, and prayed the man with the gun to her head wouldn't get it into his to strip her bare of her shift or anything else untoward, as it was.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>21-04-2014, 06:19:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/45/Bigjake.png)(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/62/Scooter2.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Big Jake, Scooter<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sioux Union<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> After Midnight<br><strong>Location:</strong> Golden Mare<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Nell Robinson, CLOSED<br><hr> <br>Big Jake gave a little blink of surprise at the sudden nodding, surprised at her complicity.&nbsp; He’d expected more resistance, though he wasn’t displeased by it.&nbsp; He kept the hard barrel at her temple, and his hand stayed tight on her mouth.&nbsp; He walked her away from the bed, towards the open window.<br><br>”Hey!&nbsp; Lummox!”&nbsp; His voice was a shrill whisper.&nbsp; ”Catch!”<br><br>He took just a moment for himself - both to admire the way the light breeze caught her shift, and the curvaceous figure underneath the simple garment.&nbsp; Then he gave her a push at the jaw, sending her tumbling backwards through the window to fall head over heels from the second floor.<br><br>Powerful arms caught her, and held her, and a deep baritone gave a warning.&nbsp; ”You be quiet now.”<br><br>Then he held all ninety pounds of her against a barrel of a chest, a hard mountain of a man.&nbsp; He didn’t set her down, and then there was a clatter of legs and an ‘oof’ of pain and a grunt.<br><br>”Goddamit, Scooter.”&nbsp; The voice was pained.&nbsp; There was a suck of breath as Big Jake put weight on an ankle that didn't care for the abuse, and he leaned on the larger man, his pistol still in hand.<br><br>”You wanted me to catch you too?&nbsp; Why didn’t you say so?”<br><br>”Just… get goddam moving,” he hissed.&nbsp; ”And for godsakes, keep her mouth covered!”<br><br>"Ok, but... where are we going?" asked Scooter.&nbsp; "Not the - "<br><br>"No, out to Deadman's Rest.&nbsp; Gonna do the deed there."<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ebb</strong> on <strong>21-04-2014, 06:50:46</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 20, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower, Private Room<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Walker, CLOSED<br><hr> <br><br>The room was far from the finest in Babel's Tower, suitable for the hired help, not paying guests. It had all of the amenities that Tommy required, though, now that he'd had a chance to work on it a bit. A brand new building didn't come with too many loose floorboards to hide things under and the second floor window originally held nothing but a straight drop down to the alleyway below. Both deficits had been remedied with a crowbar and a little elbow grease. The footlocker at the foot of the bed held the bulk of Tommy's possessions save for the wide variety of clothing stuffed into the small wardrobe.<br><br>Tommy Flanagan sat at the small writing desk shuffling a deck of cards. He'd rearranged the furniture so that his back faced a wall and the small degree of extra comfort was worth making the room feel even more crowded than it was. Skillfully he dealt the cards into four piles, dealing a solitaire variant he'd been playing with in his spare time. Anything to keep his mind off his troubles. Well, anything but drink. Anything but drink and women. Anything but drink, women, church, confiding in another person or leaving Gomorra. Come to think of it, Tommy thought, his methods of dealing with trouble were sorely outweighed by the troubles to be found in this quaint little Murderville.<br><br>He had set the cards down and was lighting yet another handrolled cigarette when he heard the knock on the door. He wasn't expecting anyone, though it was always possible he was needed upstairs. It wouldn't do to get too paranoid, so he merely picked up his Colt from the nightstand. From the weight he could tell it was fully loaded. He wouldn't make that mistake again any time soon.<br><br>The door opened a few inches, hiding his gun hand from view. Tommy's expression of surprise was genuine when he saw who stood in the hall. He was almost entirely certain that he had no axe to grind with the Injuns. Then again he didn't have much traffick with them either. They had their own way of looking at the world that didn't have much to do with his.<br><br>"Evening, stranger. I expect you just might have the wrong room. Assuming there's a woman here who'll take your money, they'll be on down the hall a ways."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>The Dark Raven</strong> on <strong>21-04-2014, 06:56:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/72/Chestnut.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Nell Robinson<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> 20 May 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> after midnight<br><strong>Location:</strong> Golden Mare<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Big Jake, Scooter, CLOSED<br><hr><br>From soft bed to thin air to rock in the matter of seconds and Nell couldn't help but whimper as she was caught by the big man, with everything about him that said he could crush her without so much as a thought.&nbsp; Being threatened by a man scarcely heavier than she was with a gun was nothing on being held in a vise-grip by a man that could break her in two.&nbsp; Brains and brawn?&nbsp; Heaven help her, but she couldn't decide which was which.&nbsp; The threat in the big man's voice was enough to shake her and, her head swivelling to the sound of it, she fixed her attention there.&nbsp; <br><br>Only when she heard their destination did she squirm in the big man's grasp, letting out an alarmed squeal.&nbsp; Deadman's Rest gave no quarter for the imagination and, though she had never bothered to go there but for once, she could only wonder their methods but not the end.&nbsp; No one went there to live.&nbsp; Even an English girl like her knew they didn't make fanciful names for Death anywhere.<br><br>Hell hath no fury, she was sure, but she didn't really care as she squirmed, getting herself quite infuriated in the process.&nbsp; Not that she could call anything down on their heads but her own temper; they had no honor to bruise, not in this place.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>21-04-2014, 07:20:35</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a1/Walker.png)</div>&nbsp;<br><strong>Name:</strong> Walker (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sioux Union<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower – Private Room<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Tommy Flanagan, CLOSED<br><hr> <br>As the door opened, Walker flashed a smile, thinking that this time he had the right room.&nbsp; It was certainly a red haired man.&nbsp; His dark eyes looked over the man before him, almost surprised that those that dealt with manitou's didn't look any different from any other person.&nbsp; It was something that he <em>knew</em> but it still seemed as though there should be some warning.&nbsp; <br><br>“Greetings, stranger.”&nbsp; The heavily accented words were careful even as he shook his head.&nbsp; “I seek not a woman but came to seek you.”&nbsp; At least he hoped this was the red-haired, manitou summoner he sought.&nbsp; His brow furrowed in concern and his dark brown eyes filled with worry.&nbsp; “I am sorry to upset your night.&nbsp; May I speak to you in private?”&nbsp; He asked, uncertain exactly how to address this man.<br><br>“I am Walks-in-Footsteps but the white man calls me Walker.”&nbsp; He introduced himself and sighed, “I have come seeking your help.”&nbsp; He paused and added, “But not seeking the... activities you hinted at.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ebb</strong> on <strong>21-04-2014, 07:33:25</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 20, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower, Private Room<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Walker, CLOSED<br><hr> <br><br>The men who owed him wouldn't have sent an Injun, Tommy reasoned. Not just one, at least, his ego added. Which meant this was new trouble. He figured he had enough space at the bottom of his ledger of worries to squeeze in another entry or two. <br><br>"Well, that's a relief, because I just got finished fucking like six or seven Chinamen, so I'm a right bit chafed. If you just want to talk, I guess that's on the house." Tommy retreated back to his desk chair, lowering the gun and setting it on the surface in front of him. He gestured toward the bed, the only other place to sit in the room, and motioned for Walker to close the door behind him. Almost automatically he began rolling another cigarette, keeping his hands busy with the well-practiced motions.<br><br>"I'm Tommy Flanagan. I'll say right off the starter's block that I don't know your people's ways too well. If you smoke I'd be happy to roll you one here, but I've got no drink to offer. Now I'm going to go out on a limb and presume that you folks don't have a piano out in that tent city of yours that needs playing badly, so that narrows down the reasons you might have come to see me quite a bit. How about you narrow things down just a little further, chief?"<br><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>21-04-2014, 08:03:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a1/Walker.png)</div>&nbsp;<br><strong>Name:</strong> Walker (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sioux Union<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower – Private Room<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Tommy Flanagan, CLOSED<br><hr> <br>Walker blinked at the rather bold admission and then grimaced.&nbsp; “Chafing sounds unpleasant.”&nbsp; He had not ever been with a man nor six or seven women in one night.&nbsp; For a moment, he was uncertain how to respond to the white mans statement but then a smile crossed his face.&nbsp; “Perhaps I can ask a medicine woman make a salve for that.&nbsp; It may help.”&nbsp; His smile fell slightly, “Though perhaps I will not specify why it's needed.”<br><br>Closing the door behind him as Tommy indicated, he stepped over to the bed, sitting down without any reservations.&nbsp; “No, thank you.”&nbsp; He waved away the offer of the cigarette and listened to the rest quietly.&nbsp; He didn't entirely follow about the piano playing but gathered that the red haired man played.<br><br>“A Shaman of the Sioux Union has sent me here to you this afternoon.”&nbsp; He began explaining, watching Tommy carefully.&nbsp; “She has grave concerns about the children of Gomorra and has asked me to gain your aid in this.”&nbsp; He paused, thoughtful for a moment, his face concerned.&nbsp; “Singing Feather said that there were manitou's swirling around you and your abilities as a manitou summoner would be useful in this.”&nbsp; <br><br>He sighed heavily and shook his head.&nbsp; “Perhaps I should start from the beginning.&nbsp; The children of Gomorra have been seeing a creature in the night.&nbsp; Recently, one of our own were killed by a creature matching the description.&nbsp; It is our belief that the creature only appears when it intends to kill someone.&nbsp; As the children have witnessed it, we are concerned that they will be targets.”&nbsp; He took a deep breath, “Our wise woman, a shaman, believes that you may be able to investigate this creature given your.... unique abilities.”&nbsp; He shifted on the bed, less comfortable with conversation coming back around to Tommy being a manitou speaker.&nbsp; It was far less comfortable than the gun the man carried.<br><br>“We do not have white man money to offer but we can find a way to pay you.”&nbsp; He offered and shrugged, “My people are skilled at many things that you may find useful.”&nbsp; He paused again and added, “In addition to the salve.” 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>21-04-2014, 10:18:47</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 17th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Burnham Detection Agency<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Nicodemus Whateley; Closed <br><hr> <br>Fate was not often kind to Avery Burnham.&nbsp; At least he did not feel that it was, although in truth he didn't normally give much credence to superstitious notions like fate and destiny and such drivel.&nbsp; &nbsp;Every man in his heart believed in luck though, no matter what he said in public.&nbsp; Some men were born princes, some were born paupers, some girls grew up to be visions in lace, and others had faces like broken vases.&nbsp; Avery could not credit luck with his accomplishments and successes of course, those were clearly the result of his own innate talents and brilliance.&nbsp; His failures and misfortunes however…all compelling proof of the sheer malevolence of the universe towards him.&nbsp; Give with one hand, take back with the other, with a parting slap on the cheek for thinking it would be any different.&nbsp; Indian giving is the colorful expression the yanks used for it.&nbsp; And if there was a Power That Be up there -- and Avery did not believe that for a minute -- then He was most certainly an Indian giver, if nothing else.<br><br>So it wouldn't have surprised him that a potential client would show up now of all times when he was least ready for it.&nbsp; Despite the late hour, Avery had only just woken up, and was still but vaguely aware of the time of day and the date.&nbsp; What <em>was</em> the date?&nbsp; Something in the back of his head, that part always so damnably eager to fill in blanks, said the seventeenth.&nbsp; What had happened to the sixteenth then?&nbsp; He couldn't quite remember what he'd done, which meant he knew exactly what he'd done, more the pity.<br><br>Seated on the edge of his cot, gazing at the wan reflection in his shaving mirror with red-rimmed eyes, he barely heard the soft click of the front door closing.&nbsp; He might not have bothered emerging from his room at all but for the tic-tac-ing of the cane that followed.&nbsp; Peering around the corner still in his shirt sleeves, he spied a man standing in his waiting room and blinked curiously at him.&nbsp; He did not appear to be lost, which meant…<br><br>"Oh.&nbsp; Pardon me, sir.&nbsp; I'll be right with you."<br><br>Avery emerged a moment later, still buttoning his shirt cuffs and the front of his navy-blue vest.&nbsp; A terrible way to start things but how was he supposed to hear a man slipping in soft as a footpad at this time of night?&nbsp; Perhaps he needed to attach one of those little bells to the front door, so it would ring when anyone stepped inside.&nbsp; And hire a secretary to announce them for him and take down their information.&nbsp; Both of which cost money, for which he needed clients, for which…&nbsp; Avery glanced over at Nicodemus.&nbsp; Just what the doctor ordered then.&nbsp; Although hopefully not the previous doctor.&nbsp; If the man was looking for him they were both going to be terribly disappointed.<br><br>"Please, sir, take a seat," he said with a cordial smile and a wave of his hand as he stepped behind his desk, quickly clearing it of yesterday's -- well, no, make that the day before yesterday's -- newspaper.&nbsp; "An unusual hour for business but you are most welcome."&nbsp; He offered up a hand to shake before seating himself.&nbsp; "Avery Burnham, detection and security, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.&nbsp; Please tell me what you're in search of and I'll see if I can't help you find it."&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ebb</strong> on <strong>21-04-2014, 17:18:35</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 20, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower, Private Room<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Walker, CLOSED<br><hr> <br><br>Tommy took a long drag on his cigarette, the end glowing bright red from the influx of air. He held the smoke in for a few seconds and then blew out a perfect smoke ring. <em>Dammit, this was how rumors got started.</em> "I have never had sex with a Chinese man," he stated flatly. <em>There, that ought to clear things up.</em><br><br>And then there it was. Manitous. Or Jokers, if you wanted a term that was a little easier to get a handle on. No less terrifying though. Tommy had been introduced forcefully to the Jokers less than a year ago and had maintained an uneasy but largely cordial relationship with them since. It's what had gotten him the ticket to this place, and so it wasn't surprisingly that sooner or later that bill was going to come due. It sounded like what Walker was talking about was right in the wheelhouse of what Tommy had been sent here to look into. That didn't do much to settle down his suddenly churning gut. <br><br>Payment or not, it's what he had signed on to do. Too bad he didn't know the first thing about how to do it.<br><br>"So we've got a manitou problem, do we? Well, we oughta be able to clear that up right quick. You've come to the right man, chief. But just between you and me, let's not let that spread out too far, all right? Some of my people don't take kindly to the kind of work I do, necessary though it might be. I'm sure you understand." He wracked his brains for what he knew about Jokers, not coming up with much. Book learning hadn't been his forte. Silver bullets? Holy water? Garlic? Tabasco sauce? How the hell was he supposed to know? He could play cards with the evil sons of bitches, but he sure didn't know how to hunt one down and put it out of business.<br><br>"This is the kind of thing I deal with all the time. It'll help to have another pair of hands, though. So saddle up, chief. Let's go have a chat with this eyewitness of yours and see what we're dealing with. We've also gotta make a stop by the church. And maybe the general store." <br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>22-04-2014, 05:48:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/45/Bigjake.png)(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/62/Scooter2.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Big Jake, Scooter<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sioux Union<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> After Midnight<br><strong>Location:</strong> Golden Mare<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Nell Robinson, CLOSED<br><hr> <br>“Deadman’s Rest?”&nbsp; The heavier voice gave a little swallow, and not by intention clutched her a little closer.&nbsp; The squeeze was more for his reassurance than her own, and he barely seemed to notice her squirming in his arms - but then again, his arms were thicker around than her legs were.&nbsp; “We gotta… go <em>all</em> the way to Deadman’s Rest?”<br><br>The other voice gave a grunt.&nbsp; “Yeah, all the way.&nbsp; You’ve been out to Deadman’s Rest before,” offered Big Jake.&nbsp; <br><br>“Well, yeah… but it was during the day.&nbsp; That place is creepy.”&nbsp; He swallowed audibly.&nbsp; “I went out there once and there was lights moving in that old manor.&nbsp; Up in the windows.&nbsp; But they weren’t right.&nbsp; They weren’t no oil lamps or … or torches or nothing.&nbsp; They were funny colored.&nbsp; And them folks screaming in the asylum all the time.”&nbsp; He gave a shudder<br><br>“Ain’t no one screamin’ in the asylum no more,” scowled Big Jake.&nbsp; “Werewolf tore ‘em all apart.”<br><br>The man carrying her stopped cold.&nbsp; “But they never found the real werewolf.”<br><br>The other voice snapped, impatient.&nbsp; “There ain’t no fuckin’ werewolf.”<br><br>“Says you.&nbsp; You wasn’t there, Jake.&nbsp; I didn’t get there til the end, and I’m tellin’ you, it was a werewolf.”&nbsp; The behometh carrying her still hadn’t begun to move again.<br><br>“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.&nbsp; Seven feet of pussy you are.&nbsp; Move it, or we ain’t gonna have to worry about no damn imaginary werewolf.&nbsp; We’re just gonna have people askin’ us why we kidnapped a goddam redhead out of the Golden Mare.&nbsp; So the only thing we’re gonna have to worry about is getting a damn noose around our necks.&nbsp; Can it.”<br><br>He stepped along quietly, the big man’s footfalls not so quiet - but they were both of them practiced in moving quietly, or as quiet as a human mountain was really capable of moving.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>22-04-2014, 18:49:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d1/Nicodemus..png)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Nicodemus Whateley (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Grandma's Favorite (Whateley faction, rank 4)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 17th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Burnham Detection Agency<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery Burnham, CLOSED<br><hr> <br>Nicodemus simply nodded once at the greeting, not at all bothered by waiting longer for Avery to be ready for a client.&nbsp; He knew full well that his own schedule was not the norm.&nbsp; Almost unmoving, he waited until the man joined him again.<br><br>“Thank you.”&nbsp; Nicodemus replied as he sat carefully in the seat provided.&nbsp; He nodded at the words, “It is an odd hour but I am quite pleased that you are willing to see me.”&nbsp; He studied Avery for a moment before answering.&nbsp; “I am Nicodemus Whateley.&nbsp; It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”&nbsp; He repeated the sentiment.&nbsp; It was actually true.&nbsp; He always enjoyed meeting with the people in Gomorra but it was quite rare for anyone to be pleased to meet with him.<br><br>He paused a moment before speaking.&nbsp; “Recently, my wife was wrongly arrested for the attacks that happened in Gomorra, the rape of Lady Boyle and the murders that took place at the asylum on Deadman's Rest.”&nbsp; He paused and shook his head.&nbsp; “The Law Dogs had her arrested because, as they say, there was no one else on the mesa when the bridge was rebuilt.&nbsp; Well, no one else living.”&nbsp; He clarified as there had been several dismembered bodies present in the asylum.&nbsp; <br><br>“I am here to hire you for a couple of tasks.&nbsp; The first being to represent my wife as she gets ready for her hearing and the second is to find proof that she didn't do these things.”&nbsp; He straightened his black suit jacket.&nbsp; “Outside of family, we have requested that no one meet with Dolores but we would give you full access to her as speaking to her would be necessary.&nbsp; We can also offer our gratitude and , of course, pay you.”&nbsp; He paused and then sweetened the deal.&nbsp; “The Whateley's are also willing to offer a generous bonus should you be able to prove her innocent.”&nbsp; <br><br>“I should mention that there is a time limit on this.&nbsp; She is to go to trial on the 21st.&nbsp; Are you willing to take this case, Mr. Burnham?"&nbsp; He asked, still carefully studying Avery.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>22-04-2014, 18:51:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a1/Walker.png)</div>&nbsp;<br><strong>Name:</strong> Walker (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sioux Union<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Babel's Tower – Private Room<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Tommy Flanagan, CLOSED<br><hr> <br>Walker took a moment before he grinned at the new information Tommy provided.&nbsp; “Ah, a jest!”&nbsp; He chuckled at the joke belatedly.&nbsp; White man humor was still hard for him but he was trying to learn.&nbsp; Considering the crazy things that he had heard of the white man doing, he hadn't known right away that Tommy was being sarcastic.<br><br>Nodding in quick agreement, Walker took a deep, relieved breath.&nbsp; “I am grateful that you are willing to help.”&nbsp; He met Tommy's eyes, his own serious.&nbsp; “I believe it to be best if others were not told of such things.&nbsp; I will keep it quiet.”&nbsp; The white man had less understanding of the world they lived in than his people did.&nbsp; If they knew about the things that were really going on, many of them would run in fear.&nbsp; And, ultimately, fear was the enemy.<br><br>He hesitated and shifted on the bed.&nbsp; “I will see what I can do about meeting with Singing Feather.&nbsp; It would have to be here, in the city.”&nbsp; He stiffened lightly at the idea of bringing the shaman into Gomorra.&nbsp; It was hard enough to get John Bloody Knife to let him reside in the city part time.&nbsp; It would be even harder to convince the son of the Chief that he needed Singing Feather to join him for a time.&nbsp; He sighed.&nbsp; It was still better than trying to take a manitou summoner into the Sioux Union's area.&nbsp; That would surely get him killed.&nbsp; “If you can make the stop at your church and the store, I can meet you back here.”&nbsp; <br><br>He rose from the comfort of the bed and his head tilted.&nbsp; “Perhaps we could start with the children?”&nbsp; He asked.&nbsp; “It may be faster than getting the shaman in the city.&nbsp; If the creature only comes out at night, we have little time to waste with diplomacy.”&nbsp; He was careful not to demand anything as he had come here seeking Tommy's help.&nbsp; “Either way we do this, I think it would be best if you made the stops on your own and met me back here.&nbsp; The white man doesn't always take kindly to my presence here and, with tensions rising between our peoples, I am concerned that there could be some hostility.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>The Dark Raven</strong> on <strong>22-04-2014, 19:16:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/72/Chestnut.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Nell Robinson<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> 20 May 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> after midnight<br><strong>Location:</strong> Golden Mare<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Big Jake, Scooter, CLOSED<br><hr><br><em>Werewolves and lunatics?&nbsp; Lunatic werewolves?</em>&nbsp; &nbsp;The smaller man's tone mixed with the mountain's fear made Nell's heart jump into her throat.&nbsp; Some sort of unnatural Bedlam was hardly what she would consider her lot in life, and the fear of waking nightmares was enough to find her voice.&nbsp; One funeral was enough for her, and not her own...<br><br>"He has more sense in him than you do, wanting to go up there..." she muttered quietly, going limp in the big man's arms.&nbsp; Purchase on a rock was well and good if one had a purchase to hold onto and the mountain had nothing but muscle, and possibly not enough sense to know anything but the waves of his own superstition.&nbsp; The other one had nothing but a bullying mien and that had never sat well with her.&nbsp; Her exhaustion fought with the adrenalin in her system and her distrust of the men and she squirmed mightily again.<br><br>"Put me down..."&nbsp; she ground out through clenched teeth, her plea only meant for the bigger man.&nbsp; The other was so set in his ways that he would be useless to try and parlay with.&nbsp; The big one seemed to have some common sense about him.&nbsp; "Please...?"<br><br>Charm or no, she'd have a better road with him than the Jake fellow.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>22-04-2014, 21:10:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/3/39/Townsend.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; John "Townsend" Templeton<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dog (Rank 3)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Night<br><strong>Location:</strong> Moving from the sheriff station to the Whateley Estate<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Lilah, A Goddam Whateley, CLOSED<br><hr>Townsend’s hand continued to clutch around his favorite knife.&nbsp; He had the gun pressed to the girl’s back, but she didn’t seem hardly to notice - hell, he had to keep from shooting her when she took a step and spun in a circle.&nbsp; She made his nerves grate, looking like a … a <em>woman</em> and acting like a child.&nbsp; <br><br>Goddam Whateleys.&nbsp; <br><br>By rights the redhead should be flopping at the end of a rope, not dancing in the moonlight.&nbsp; That would have been a dance he didn’t mind seeing - her feet kicking in every direction while she gasped for air.<br><br>Goddam Whateleys.&nbsp; <br><br>“Shut the hell up, you crazy cunt,” he hissed.&nbsp; “Or I’ll show you how naughty I kin be.”&nbsp; His jaw tightened.&nbsp; Even the thought of touching a Whateley in such a manner made his blood run cold, and his face was nearly as white as Dolores as he waved the gun at her.&nbsp; Keeping her off the main streets had been hard enough, with her prancing about.<br><br>He gave a shiver, but steeled himself, reaching out to grab her neck and pushing her forward.&nbsp; “Stop goddam dancin’.&nbsp; Keep walking!”&nbsp; His hand tightened on the knife again, the blade of it trembling.&nbsp; The little girl - woman - whatever the hell she was - unnerved the hell out of him, and he wanted nothing more than to gut her open like a fish.<br><br>Take her home, indeed.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>22-04-2014, 21:59:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/45/Bigjake.png)(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/62/Scooter2.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Big Jake, Scooter<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sioux Union<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> After Midnight<br><strong>Location:</strong> Golden Mare<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Nell Robinson, Matthew Ford, CLOSED<br><hr> <br>“What did I say about her goddam mouth?” hissed Jake.&nbsp; His eyes were creeping around the shadows surrounding them, eyes narrowing at every bright pool of light from windows or lanterns.&nbsp; Scooter gave an apologetic noise, and put his hand back over her mouth for a moment.&nbsp; Then there was the jarring rock of being carried - the big man was trying to be as gentle as he could, but he was still a man carved out of stone.<br><br>He shifted her up onto his shoulder after a moment, to give one arm a break, and then paused when she whispered in his ear.&nbsp; He licked his lips, then paused, his hand tightening on the exposed thigh beneath her shift - perhaps a warning, but she could feel the hesitation in his step.&nbsp; She could almost feel that he wanted to, truly wanted to, but fear kept him back.<br><br>“I - “ he whispered.&nbsp; <br><br>“Goddam it, hurry up!” snapped the bully.&nbsp; “We’re right by the judge’s house.&nbsp; Keep quiet.”<br><br>There was a heavy footfall, a misstep, and then she ‘fell’ from the arms of the big enforcer, while Scooter ‘accidentally’ tumbled atop his partner.<br><br>“Shit, I dropped her!” said Scooter - who was clearly a terrible kind of liar.<br><br>“GET OFF ME you goddam lummox!” growled Big Jake.&nbsp; “Grab her, quick!” 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niferbelle</strong> on <strong>22-04-2014, 22:43:57</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 20<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Night<br><strong>Location:</strong> between the sheriff station to the Whateley Estate<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> observing Townsend, Dolores Whateley, CLOSED<br><hr>She hadn't gone out looking for trouble with spying or whatnot on her mind. The night was stuffy in that shack she was renting and sleep kept running away from her no matter how many times she rolled over so it seemed the natural thing to get up and get some air. Gomorra in the middle of the night wasn't always a hospitable place but if you didn't draw attention to yourself and minded your own business, you were generally all right. Her footsteps were light as she made her way down the street, staying under the shadows of the awnings and false fronts of the buildings, and she found herself thinking of the boys and what they were up to. She understood why she could be useful in town but she didn't like feeling so cut-off. She realized the law dogs' office was just ahead and snapped out of her brooding. Some of the twistiest sons-of-bitches in town wore badges and she was always on edge when she was around one of them so it was second nature for her to decide to cut through a side alley rather than walk past the jail but she was only a few steps in when she realized there was somebody ahead of her. Two somebodies.<br><br>The woman's singsong voice, the giggling like a child, it all sent a shiver down Lilah's spine. It wasn't until the woman glanced up and the moonlight glinted off her face that Lilah recognized it was Delores Whateley. To hell with a shiver, that was enough to turn Lilah's blood to ice. Delores Whateley was mad as a hatter...madder...and from what folks were saying, she was responsible for those terrible bloody murders that had the town so worked up so what in the hell was she doing out on the street this time of night? It wasn't until she heard his voice that she realized the fella with the crazy woman was Townsend, not that knowing that cleared anything up. He sounded just a creepified as Lilah was yet there he was, leading her...somewhere. Goddammit. Had the Whateleys done it again, bought their way out of trouble? Or was Townsend taking matters into his own hands? Either way didn't set well with Lilah.<br><br>Don't attract attention and mind your business, the rules of the street. Lilah was going to have to hope she could manage the first and get away with ignoring the second. She followed silently, just close enough to stay within earshot but no closer as she waited to see just how this would play out.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>22-04-2014, 23:11:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f1/DelilahWhateley.png)</div>&nbsp;<br><strong>Name:</strong>Dolores Whateley (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley (Rank 3)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Night<br><strong>Location:</strong> Moving from the sheriff station to the Whateley Estate<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Lilah, Townsend, CLOSED<br><hr>Her eyes widened and she gazed at Townsend as he spoke to her.&nbsp; Her jaw dropped though she should be used to the language he used.&nbsp; Both Townsend and Nash had said that word plenty of times while she was in trouble.&nbsp; Still seeming oblivious to his waving a gun at her, she tilted her head and tsked at him again.&nbsp; “That's naughty boy language.”&nbsp; She scolded him in her childish voice.&nbsp; “Granny should wash your mouth out with soap and acid.”&nbsp; She tittered again at the thought of him using that language in front of Granny.&nbsp; Even Nic was careful with how he spoke in front of Granny.<br><br>She hadn't been expecting him to grab her and she stopped dancing the moment that he gripped the back of her neck.&nbsp; She frowned at him.&nbsp; “Why are you so mean?&nbsp; There's nothing wrong with dancing and I'm not in trouble anymore!”&nbsp; Oblivious to the fact that getting caught could mean more trouble for herself, Townsend and the Law Dogs, she continued to walk with him.<br><br>“He's not gonna be nice to us, is he?”&nbsp; She asked her dolly.&nbsp; If she couldn't dance because the mean man said no, she could <em>at least</em> talk to her dolly.&nbsp; “That's okay though.&nbsp; He's already in trouble with Granny.&nbsp; She's still mad about Ginny.”&nbsp; She gazed up at him, an eerie smile flashing across her face.&nbsp; “Isn't she, mean man?”&nbsp; She asked him and held her dolly up to her face so they could both look at him.&nbsp; <br><br>“Whateley's take care of their owwwwnnnn.”&nbsp; She sang softly and quietly to him.&nbsp; “Whateley's take care of their ooowwwwwnnnn!”&nbsp; Her eyes fell to her dolly as she giggled.&nbsp; “But he already knows that, doesn't he?”&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>The Dark Raven</strong> on <strong>22-04-2014, 23:12:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/72/Chestnut.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Nell Robinson<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> 20 May 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> after midnight<br><strong>Location:</strong> Golden Mare<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Big Jake, Scooter, Matthew Ford, CLOSED<br><hr><br>As she hit the ground rather roughly, the thought occurred that maybe the big man wasn't so bad after all, but she had no time to ponder on it, or thank him or God for whatever reprieve it might be.&nbsp; Too few miracles and a lot of strange things going on, and it was all she could do to scrabble to her feet and dance away despite the burning in her gut and the terror boiling there besides.&nbsp; Her eyes darted between the men and the closed door to Judge Warwick's humble home and she bolted the other way, though the Mountain's mercy was blazoned in her mind.&nbsp; Whatever fate he had spared her from, she was grateful.<br><br>Running down the main thoroughfare in the black of night in naught but her shift, the firey-haired <em>whore</em> cried out for help, for what little good it might do at this hour.&nbsp; Even most of her 'sisters' at Miss Greene's had sent their late customers on their merry way back to whatever wife they might have back in their homes.&nbsp; Only she and the two men seemed to be the occupants of the town, but she hoped to goodness someone else was awake...someone that might not scold her as Tommy seemed to do, but even his scolding would be welcome at this hour if he just let her tuck up and sleep safely...just the once.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ebb</strong> on <strong>23-04-2014, 00:05:48</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 20, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Outside Babel's Tower<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Walker, CLOSED<br><hr> <br><br>A less confidant man than Tommy Flanagan might have charted a straight course to the telegraph office and paid top dollar to wire a message back to his superiors looking for guidance. Tommy was not that man. He was not going to go yelping for help just because some Injun supposed there might be something a little out of the ordinary creeping around. Everyone knew the red man drank a lot, at least when they weren't smoking things a lot stronger than Tommy rolled into his cigarettes.<br><br>Could be real, though. And so Tommy set out to put together the best darn devil-hunting kit a man might throw together, if'n that man happened to have a skull full of little to no direct or indirect knowledge about the creature he was supposedly an expert on. A flush beats a straight, a full house beats a flush, and most of the time the Jokers were content to play the game the way men had invented it. This business of creeping around dreams and killing kids struck Tommy a little like playing with an extra deck under the table. Fair's fair, after all.<br><br>The carpetbag, newly purchased, nearly bulged at the seams. It had cost him a fair bit of coin that wasn't doing him much good in the first place, half of it in donations that Father Navarro over at St. Martin's had seemed to be happy to accept. The man had also extracted a promise to see Tommy in church on Sunday, which seemed like a sucker bet to the Irishman. If this monster turned out to be real then Navarro'd have a hard time getting Tommy out of there, whether he was hanging onto a pew or in a pine box up front.<br><br>Two crucifixes, a jug of what might or might not be holy water, a Bible, a hymnal, some candles, a sack of rock salt, a bottle of Tabasco sauce, two pounds of dried beans, a hammer, a box of nails, three wooden kid's pistols and three dolls in gingham dresses, a whole mess of rope, some salt pork, two sticks of dynamite, two sharpened stakes, an extra pair of wool socks, a cast iron frying pan, a tin of shoe polish and a tin of tooth powder. Plus a couple of things that, unbelievably enough, were probably even less relevant to the whole monster-hunting enterprise. The whole mess weighed nearly forty pounds and must have cost him almost a hundred dollars, though he hadn't been counting too carefully near the end. Looking down at the bag at his feet, Tommy realized that toward the end there he just might have been panicking a wee bit.<br><br>Soon enough Tommy was joined by Walks-Around-Too-Damn-Quietly, who appeared behind him like he'd spontaneously coalesced out of the dust. Tommy did a credible job, he thought, of not acting too spooked. The length of the the mens' shadows across the ground was a grim reminder that evening was coming on all too quickly. <br><br>"All right, chief. Seeing as how we're running short on time, I don't suppose you'd happen to know where we could find one of these kids who's been having the nightmares? If not, let's head over and find us a knot of Whippersnappers. A few coins oughta point us in the right direction." He looked down at the bag at his feet, then back up to the well-built Injun. "Probably better you carry that, chief. I need to have my hands free... just in case the worst happens." He tried to pronounce the last part as ominously as possible, because he did not want to carry the bag. Because it was heavy.<br><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>SGTDan</strong> on <strong>23-04-2014, 00:15:04</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 20, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Midnight<br><strong>Location:</strong> One of the main thoroughfares<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Big Jake, Scooter, Robinson, CLOSED<br><hr><br>It had been quiet past few days for him, working for the Judge while Winona did her crafts. Between the two they made a nice buck, enough to scrape by. As far as they were concerned it was just the beginning of a glorious new dawn. Ford had tried to find another job but never found any as legit or worth doing like working for the Judge. Still he would like a house, the current salary wouldn't cut it for such a goal. There was time for improvements though. They sure were a long from how they arrived in this hard dusty town. <br><br>Only Winona knew the nightmares that plagued Matthew, the visions that caused his late night sojourns. Certainly the stress of daily living got to him ever since he made up his mind that he could never work for Bilton. However the things that kept him up were far from the grasp of mundane life. Blood ran under the door and the smell of gunpowder filled the room every night. Screams of boys echoed in his head. Smell of smoke made breathing so hard he was forced to wake up. Even then the torment didn't stop, ghostly images of long dead men rattled their shackles calling out his evil deeds. Deeds that he had a heavy feeling that no matter how much walking was done they wouldn't leave. No matter how many miles he ran. <br><br>Lighting a cigarette shaded brown eyes watched the shadows. Pooling under the porches of homes they were collaborators of evil men. A man could do a great many things in the dark that would never see the light. Ford was, if anything, well versed in the camouflage that darkness provided. Above the stars worked with the moon to provide a nice grey film to everything. Only lanterns fought back at the grey with their orange flicking light. Everything had a uniform color, entire sinful town bedded down for the night. Now a small speck of orange broke the sea of grey as Matthew walked down the dirt road. Blowing smoke he watched it drift upwards with envious eyes. If only he could float away but then again reality was always bitch.<br><br>Hearing the screams Ford tried to react but it was happening pretty fast and the figure was closing fast. Ever since grey began to creep into his hair his body had betrayed him. It slowed down despite the fact fighting was all he ever knew. Now the formidable fighter was being outpaced by younger bucks but that was the way of life. Why he chose Gomorra of all places to spend the last years of his life was a mystery to even himself. Holding up his hands Matthew noticed the red hair and feminine curves. What was this woman running from? Breaking into a jog he started towards her with a calm voice. Everyone knew Ford worked for the Judge and he was a pretty nice but reserved man. <br><br>"Whoa ma'am...calm down, what's wrong?" Looking around Ford stopped two figures further down the street. Barely making them out in the soft light of the moon. From his position he could tell one thing, that the pair were hilariously mismatch. One the size of damn Mount Whitley and the other a scrawny thing. Sadly their features were obscured by the night and the fact they seemed to be on top of each other. Now Ford knew this town was progressive but he didn't know that it was this far down the scale.<br><br>"You two! Stop right there!" Now ma didn't raise a fool. It didn't take long to figure out that a woman running away from a man was a pretty simple matter. Almost certainly they weren't selling baked goods although those would of been nice. Right hand went for his S&amp;W, pulled it clear of the holster. Moonlight caught the fancy engravings along the barrel and the reliefs of Saint Micheal and Mother Mary. The way he handled it showed years of experience much less the way it was brought to bear on the men pretty quickly. Still it had been months since Matthew last fired a weapon on top of the fact he was aging.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>23-04-2014, 00:44:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/3/39/Townsend.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; John "Townsend" Templeton<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dog (Rank 3)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Night<br><strong>Location:</strong> Moving from the sheriff station to the Whateley Estate<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Lilah, A Goddam Whateley, CLOSED<br><hr>He gave a little growl in his throat.&nbsp; “Quiet.&nbsp; Quiet or I’ll show you what a naughty boy I can be,” he warned, eyes narrow.&nbsp; Though the mention of Granny made him go a few shades paler.&nbsp; The creepy old hag, in her wheelchair, talking calm and reasonable like while she put him through hell.&nbsp; He gave another shudder.<br><br>He gritted his teeth, for a moment about to reason with the unreasonable, mad girl-woman.&nbsp; “You ain’t outta trouble til you’re back home, you little slit.&nbsp; That means you stay <em>quiet.</em>&nbsp; Quiet.&nbsp; No talking, no singing, no damn dancing.”&nbsp; He pushed her forward again, taking a few steps after her.<br><br>His teeth grit even more, fingers flexing over the knife in his hand, the gun glinting in the moonlight.&nbsp; A quick stab, the tug of a trigger - there was no way Granny would know it was him, was there.&nbsp; He cast over his shoulder, looking at the shadows and giving another shiver.<br><br>The damn shadows always felt like they were watching him anymore.&nbsp; It was like walking the edge of a knife, all the time.&nbsp; <br><br>“Shut the hell up,” he hissed.&nbsp; “Stop that damn singing.&nbsp; Stop it!”&nbsp; He put a foot to her backside, kicking her forward and sending her sprawling into the dust between two houses, the darkened alleyway making her porcelain skin stand out even more.&nbsp; He clicked the hammer back on the gun.&nbsp; <br><br>“Now get up.&nbsp; And walk.&nbsp; Quietly.&nbsp; <em>Quietly,</em> goddam it, or I’ll blow your goddam head off.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>23-04-2014, 01:08:04</strong>
			</dt>
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				<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/45/Bigjake.png)(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/62/Scooter2.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Big Jake, Scooter<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sioux Union<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> After Midnight<br><strong>Location:</strong> Behind the tracks, sneaking between buildings towards West Main<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Nell Robinson, Matthew Ford, CLOSED<br><hr> <br>Big Jake might not have been big - and he might not have been intimidating - but Big Jake was fast, and he scrambled out from under her and growled as he went after Nell.&nbsp; "Moron!"&nbsp; For a moment he aimed his gun at her back, then realized how suspicious it would be for her to wind up perforated.&nbsp; So he dropped his shoulders and plowed into her from behind, crashing into her backside and rolling over her.<br><br>He came up with the girl between him and the earnest Captain, an arm wrapped around her throat.&nbsp; He saw the gun coming free of the holster, but his own was already free - and Big Jake knew the entire sham was going to be a worthless one if there was a witness on hand.&nbsp; The gun didn’t frighten him - he dealt with plenty of men with plenty of guns every day.&nbsp; He’d killed before, and he’d do it again, so one more body didn’t so much as give him a flicker of hesitation.&nbsp; He hid behind Nell’s body while aiming and pointing, squeezing the trigger twice.<br><br>But what would have been a kill shot to the torso if he’d been standing up right when towards the legs instead - the first bullet grazed Matthew’s thigh; there was a sting, but it was the sort of thing which would bleed and ache and little more.&nbsp; The second bullet hit right leg, instead of his left, digging through muscle at the center of the calf and coming just shy of travelling through the bone beneath.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>23-04-2014, 02:55:45</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 17th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Burnham Detection Agency<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Nicodemus Whateley; Closed <br><hr> <br>Whateley.&nbsp; One would have to be deaf, blind, and both kinds of dumb to live in Gomorra a month without coming across that name.&nbsp; Avery had constructed a kind of mental ledger on possible clients who would fit his needs -- those needs mainly being an ability to pay his fees -- and Whateleys took the top three slots.&nbsp; They might have taken even more but he hadn’t learned all their names quite yet.&nbsp; Nicodemus, for example, was a new one to him.&nbsp; Judging by his tasteful but expensive mode of dress, he possessed the necessary qualities for an excellent client though, and in spades.<br><br>"First allow me to give you the guarantee I give all my clients."&nbsp; <br><br>'All my clients' was more a theoretical than a reality of course, but he truly had thought this through in advance.&nbsp; He had not come to Gomorra and simply set up an agency willy-nilly and hoped for the best.&nbsp; He had done his research.&nbsp; He felt he knew how this was going to work, had to work, if it was to prove viable for him.&nbsp; <br><br>"And that is the guarantee of utmost discretion.&nbsp; Anything you say within this office will not leave the room.&nbsp; Whatever you and your family confide in me will go to the grave with me.&nbsp; I ask only in return that you not abuse that trust and that you be perfectly honest in all things.&nbsp; I cannot work at cross purposes.&nbsp; Anything you know about this situation and your wife's involvement must be shared.&nbsp; I will be hard pressed to help you otherwise."<br><br>His tone and manner was at once quite serious as Avery the professional emerged.&nbsp; He did not soften his words with one of his usual genteel smiles but let them sink in before he continued.&nbsp; "I am no lawyer.&nbsp; I have studied American law privately and will do what I can along those lines, but you may still wish to attain the services of a professional.&nbsp; I am not sure if your wife has been charged yet, but I will say that I think your odds of her release are very good either way.&nbsp; Even in this country, it would be difficult to find a jury who believed a woman capable of such savagery, as I understand it." <br><br>Avery believed women were capable of a bit more than he was letting on but it was essentially true. Rapings and bloodbaths were the province of men in his opinion.&nbsp; Women killed their husbands and children at times but rarely had he run into a case where one killed for the pure joy and thrill of it.&nbsp; &nbsp;Men were different that way.&nbsp; Some men, anyways.<br><br>"I will need to speak to her personally as you say.&nbsp; Is there no one else who might have any knowledge of what happened that day?&nbsp; Do the authorities have any sort of evidence beyond the circumstantial one of her presence? The names of the arresting officers might also be helpful, particularly any who might have a penchant for…let us say, graphic detail?&nbsp; The more grotesque the crime, the more a jury is likely to dismiss a young woman as a believable suspect for it."&nbsp; <br><br>Avery opened a drawer on his desk where two bottles rested next to his revolver.&nbsp; The first was cheap rot gut whiskey, little better than the kind they were giving out free at Babel's grand opening a week ago.&nbsp; The other was an expensive bottle of fine bourbon and it was this one he produced for this particular client, pouring a stiff shot for both of them.&nbsp; "I will require twenty-five dollars a day.&nbsp; This covers not just my fee but work related expenses.&nbsp; At times wheels must be greased if you are to get anywhere, as I'm sure you understand.&nbsp; This is not a great deal of time for me to work but I do believe I can help you.&nbsp; I will take your case, Mr. Whateley.&nbsp; Your wife should not be made to suffer for the law's inability to solve this case properly." 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>SGTDan</strong> on <strong>23-04-2014, 16:35:12</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> Judge's Constable<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Midnight<br><strong>Location:</strong> One of the main thoroughfares being FUCKING SHOT<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Big Jake, Scooter, Robinson, CLOSED<br><hr><br>Now the good thing about the holster that his gun came from is it's quality. The poor sap holding the lady already had his gun out but it didn't matter. When your holster is made by J. Newman, the finest leathersmith on the East coast, you can draw your iron damn fast. So Ford's gun was out and firing at nearly the exact same time. Not that it stopped the bullet from digging into his leg that felt like a fire ant.<br><br>Despite the pain Matthew didn't yell or scream. The only sign of pain was a grimace from the grizzled veteran. It was only a flesh wound all things considered, it could of been a lot worse. Back in his service days he had suffered far worse then a bullet to the leg. In fact he could remember when the Reds tried to kill ol' "Smokey" for good. How many bullets was that? 10? 15? God knows but they seemed to sure want to get rid of him badly enough. No this pain was a good reminder that he was in fact alive and kicking. He may be a old geezer but Jake was about to find out he still bit back.<br><br>Saint Micheal had things to say to the young man, most likely disdain for the cowardly hiding behind a lady. One bullet spat out in a flash of colors from the barrel of the Model 3. It had been meant for the young man's head but it was now veering off kilter. It would likely ethier hit the head or clip it. Either was good enough for Ford. Looking through the young ladies legs as he hit the dirt he saw the other man. It was hard not to catch faint outline given the man was a veritable mountain of flesh. Rolling onto his back he looked at the wound of his leg before laying back in the dirt. Keeping the gun in his hand Matthew was prepared to fire again when a door opened up at the Judge's house.<br><br>It was Winona in her shift looking quite determined, not horrified as one would expect. Often dating a soldier meant one gets used to their spouse returning home with bullet wounds. Tonight was no different for her. Long black hair pulled into ponytail, she pulled the tie out as she moved towards her bleeding husband. Sighing in a nagging kind of way she shuffled to his side. Dropping to her knees they met eyes and smiled slyly at each other. Reaching out Winona held pressure to the wound causing a low hiss from Matthew. Then she took the strip of cloth and used it as a tourniquet. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>The Dark Raven</strong> on <strong>23-04-2014, 19:47:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/72/Chestnut.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Nell Robinson<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> 20 May 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> after midnight<br><strong>Location:</strong> Gomorra main thoroughfare (getting shot at)<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Big Jake, Scooter, Matthew Ford, CLOSED<br><hr><br>A high-pitched, sudden, short scream slipped from her lips at the whizzing of bullets, Nell squeezed her eyes shut even though the burlap sack still over her head obscured everything in the pitch black of night but the sounds and the orange-yellow flash of black powder.&nbsp; Coughing with the acrid smoke of it, she tried to tuck in and away from the gunfire, but the coughing fit had her gasping for the same acrid air she had just tried to cough out to no avail.<br><br>"Let me go!" she managed brokenly, twisting in the small man's grasp.&nbsp; She said small...but he was still taller than she was, and things like that didn't seem to matter when one was getting shot at.&nbsp; She might be an adventure seeker, but she was not keen on dying.<br><br>The rip of fabric between her calves made her want to flinch but she wasn't fool enough to try and dance away when she had seen the damage a bullet could do not only in Gomorra but back home as well.&nbsp; Shaking in terror at the shots fired, the ringing in her ears and the adrenaline coursing through her veins, she put all her strength into struggling away.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>24-04-2014, 00:22:17</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/4/45/Bigjake.png)(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/62/Scooter2.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Big Jake, Scooter<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sioux Union<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> After Midnight<br><strong>Location:</strong> Behind the tracks, sneaking between buildings towards West Main, then running.<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Nell Robinson, Matthew Ford, CLOSED<br><hr><br>Jake’s arm tightened around her neck for a moment, an attempt to bring her body up to shield herself from the shot he saw coming.&nbsp; But then the bullet came out of the chamber, slicing so close to Nell’s cheek she could feel the tiny bit of lead nearly score her cheek.&nbsp; There was a yank, and a jerk, from the body behind her, and for a moment the arm grasped tighter.&nbsp; &nbsp;Another gunshot squeezed from his pistol, but it was a reflexive thing, unaimed and going wild in the throes of death.&nbsp; &nbsp; Then it went slack, leaving her free to roll away.<br><br>There was a mess of blood and the shattered remains of a face - the bullet had passed through cheekbone and cheek before traveling through the skull.&nbsp; He was dead - the gun finally coming down to the ground when the handle crashed against the stone walk of the small courtyard the Judge’s home shared with several others.<br><br>Scooter’s sawed off shotgun was leveled and pointed.&nbsp; Even with his height, he didn’t have a clear shot at the fallen, and his jaw was tense.&nbsp; Even with his height, he was all but invisible between the alleys which sheltered him, a moving darkness in a sea of shadow - but before him, the moonlight illuminated the scene clearly.<br><br>Jake, his only friend, dead.&nbsp; The man who’d killed him, a clean shot obscured by the bodies of the pretty redhead and his deceased friend.&nbsp; The only clear shot he had was on the woman kneeling over him.&nbsp; Tending his wounds.&nbsp; Love in her eyes.<br><br>The barrel wavered.&nbsp; Blood for blood.&nbsp; It was practically law in Gomorra.&nbsp; It was a credo Jake lived by.&nbsp; He could practically hear the ghost of his friend screaming in his ear.&nbsp; Pull the trigger.&nbsp; End her life.&nbsp; Repay the man for his own loss.&nbsp; <br><br><em>But she didn’t do nothin’.</em>&nbsp; He argued with the ghost.&nbsp; He knew he could kill her - it was a clean shot, and he’d never seen anyone live through taking one of the solid slugs in the sawed-off’s barrel through the chest.&nbsp; More often it left fist sized holes in people, and there was a few seconds of choking on their own blood.&nbsp; He squeezed, the trigger tense against his finger.<br><br>Then he lowered the gun, and ran through the darkness.&nbsp; It was only three quick steps before he was out of sight.&nbsp; As much as he sometimes wished it, he wasn’t the hardened murderer his friend was.&nbsp; He’d killed before - crushed men's heads and tossed them to their graves, put holes in people with his gun.&nbsp; He’d strangled and beaten, he’d tossed dynamite into the holes in the earth miners had dug.&nbsp; He’d inflicted death and pain, but it wasn’t all he was.&nbsp; <br><br>Besides, why did the girl have to die?&nbsp; Either of them?&nbsp; To cover for the Whateleys and the Law Dogs?&nbsp; That ship had already flown.&nbsp; Sailed.&nbsp; Maybe it was an airship.&nbsp; <br><br>Not so distantly, a wolf howled, and a shiver went down Scooter’s spine as he ran through the streets, the alleys.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niferbelle</strong> on <strong>24-04-2014, 02:25:05</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 20<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Night<br><strong>Location:</strong> between the sheriff station to the Whateley Estate<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> observing Townsend, Dolores Whateley, CLOSED<br><hr>She really didn't know why she bothered getting worked up anymore. Really, she had more than enough evidence that there was no fairness in the world so why did she still get her hackles up whenever she encountered more evidence of just that? You couldn't save the world. Hell, you couldn't really save yourself most of the time, all you could do was draw a line around what was yours and keep the shit on the other side of it for as long as you could. But that didn't mean she didn't feel a quiet kind of outrage right down to her bones when Townsend's own words seemed to confirm what was going on. Once upon a time a girl named Delores married somebody with the last name of Whateley and lived-happily-ever after to become a murdering madwoman who would never have to pay for what she'd done just because she'd married into the right family. Never mind the tiny transgressions that got other people a noose around the neck, she could bathe in blood and they'd buy her out of it.<br><br>She didn't like it. She didn't like any of it. Murderer or not, she didn't like thinking what had driven Delores Whateley so crazy. What had she seen to turn her into this? And she could sure understand why Townsend was in a such a temper over all this but she didn't like the way he was pushing her around and the anger in his words. She didn't like seeing the law dogs yet again turning their backs on their duties and letting a madwoman loose on the world again to probably kill again. And most of all she wasn't happy that she had to know and now would have to give some thought what, if anything, to do about it. She was better off being a nobody -- the last thing she needed was to come to the attention of the law dogs and the Whateleys. It was the surest way to ensure she didn't live to see twenty.<br><br>She froze as Townsend glanced back but he didn't seem to notice her, just no doubt seized by a case of the willies. She couldn't blame him for that but she did find herself holding her breath as he threw crazy Delores to the ground and cocked his piece, wondering if she were about to witness more than a miscarriage of justice.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>The Dark Raven</strong> on <strong>24-04-2014, 02:55:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/72/Chestnut.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Nell Robinson<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> 20 May 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> after midnight<br><strong>Location:</strong> Gomorra main thoroughfare, back toward the Golden Mare<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> <del>Big Jake</del>, Scooter, Matthew Ford, CLOSED<br><hr><br>Scrabbling at her neck, Nell could feel panicked sobs waiting to well out of her as the man that had stolen her slumped away, a deadweight.&nbsp; Clawing fingers yanked and tugged the burlap sack off her head and she threw it away violently, gasping for clear, cool air as she choked on her sobs.&nbsp; Her first glance behind her to the dark between the buildings showed nothing, but she couldn't see much there, only to have her eyes flit to the man that lay in the street with his woman bending over him.&nbsp; There was a little regret in her eyes as she watched for a few moments, unable to make herself go to help, terror still informing her movements.<br><br>Only then did she look down to see the man that had stolen her away.&nbsp; For whatever purpose that was, she didn't know, but she wasn't sure she wanted to find out either.&nbsp; Deadman's Rest, werewolves, and being stolen away in naught but her shift in the dead of night and there wasn't much to think about.&nbsp; Her mind dawning that she was in only a gauzy shift, her fiery hair the only thing saving her modesty, she gulped convulsively, one last look shot to the man that had surely saved her life, and her feet took her back the way they had come.&nbsp; Too late to find refuge with Tommy, it was only the iron will and reputation of her employer that could save her on a night like this...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>SGTDan</strong> on <strong>24-04-2014, 07:35:53</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/ Winona <br><strong>Faction:</strong> Judge's Constable<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Midnight<br><strong>Location:</strong> One of the main thoroughfares, bleeding<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> <del>Big Jake</del>, Scooter, Robinson, CLOSED<br><hr><br>"Wanktahan wau welo..." Winona began to sing a Lakota doctoring song as she kept the pressure on the wound. Groaning he looked up at the night sky with it's stars so bright. Closing his eyes Matthew let the woman's soothing voice wash over him, feeling the presence of Grandfather all around him. He was in everything material never existing in one pace like God or any Christian teaching. No Winona had taught him a lot about her peoples way of life. Now she was calling to him to aid in healing the bullet wound. Breifly Matthew wondered if Grandfather actually expected people to have bullets.<br><br>"Wicatancan piya ,wakaginkta ca wau welo..."Lifting him up Winona draped the large man's arm around her shoulder. This was the first time she had to escort her careless husband to a doctor. In fact she had to more often then not when they were dating. Always the one to drag his ass out of a bar. Bleeding,drunk and barely alive the Native woman always had the reckless man's back. What ever brought them together in love is still a mystery to both of them. Not that either of them were looking a gift horse in the mouth. <br><br>"Why'd you hold me down when that man ran?" Matthew asked hobbling, with Winona's support, down the street. <br><br>"He wouldn't kill me and I doubt he was the genius behind the kidnapping. I saw it in his eyes from the window, only reason I came out." Both were speaking again in Lakota as they moved down the street. If she was bothered by her attire it didn't show. Even in a thicker hide chemise the cold night didn't bother her. Far worse cold winds used to blow across the plains in the winter. Plus she was loyal to her husband as according to the customs of her people. She chuckled as she remembered the day a Union soldier showed adamant on courting that Native woman pointing at her. Thankfully the elder at the time went along with the silly white man, not knowing were it would end up.<br><br>"Come on you big baby, let's get you patched up" Winona patted his broad chest with a teasing smile.<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>24-04-2014, 08:32:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d1/Nicodemus..png)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Nicodemus Whateley (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Grandma's Favorite (Whateley faction, rank 4)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 17th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Evening<br><strong>Location:</strong> Burnham Detection Agency<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery Burnham, CLOSED<br><hr> <br>Nicodemus inclined his head in gratitude at the offered drink, listening patiently as Avery spoke to him about the various requirements and needs for the case.&nbsp; There was nothing on the list that seemed to concern him and he nodded his head when the man was done, pleasantly surprised by the meeting.&nbsp; <br><br>“I appreciate your discretion and my family will too.”&nbsp; He sighed and shook his head.&nbsp; “There's very little that we know about the night in question.&nbsp; My wife had gone out during the evening, as she was prone to do, and didn't return the next morning.&nbsp; It wasn't until she was arrested that we heard any word about where she had gone.”&nbsp; He paused for a moment.&nbsp; “My wife has had some... struggles with a fragile mind and, from what I have heard, the violence and time in the jail cell has only made things worse.”&nbsp; <br><br>He ran his hand over his chin thoughtfully.&nbsp; “One thing that I can say for certain is that my wife is a small woman and, as it pertains to the case, is... a woman in all ways.”&nbsp; He tried to be discrete about saying that she wasn't secretly a man.&nbsp; “While I do understand that... devices could have been used to rape the Lady Boyle, there was nothing of the sort found at any of the scenes.”<br><br>“In the west, being a lawyer is less important than being able to sway a jury.”&nbsp; He acknowledged that concern with a shake of his head.&nbsp; “I am of the opinion that not even the Law Dogs believe that Dolores committed the crimes she is being charged with but had do something.&nbsp; The people would throw a fit if they didn't have someone to blame for this.”<br><br>“Of course.”&nbsp; He nodded his acceptance at speaking to Dolores.&nbsp; He shook his head, “Other than what I have mentioned, there is little I can tell you about that day.&nbsp; Almost all of the information I have passed on to you has been passed on from other people.”&nbsp; He pondered the question about evidence and shrugged, “I don't believe so.&nbsp; I haven't been informed of any other evidence that would point to Dolores.&nbsp; Unfortunately, the Lady Boyle has still not woken from her injuries.&nbsp; If she had, I would point you in that direction as she is an eyewitness as well as a victim.”&nbsp; If the woman had woken, this whole investigation would be a moot point.&nbsp; The Lady Boyle would have been able to tell people what she had seen and make it clear that the small Dolores wasn't the one who had harmed her.<br><br>He took a deep breath, “Yes.&nbsp; Almost all the Law Dogs were present for the arrest. Well, I suppose I should say the sheriff and all his deputies.&nbsp; There were plenty of people associated with the Law Dogs that weren't present as they aren't exactly the enforcing types.”&nbsp; <br><br>Nicodemus let out a breath at the acceptance of the case.&nbsp; “I am quite glad that you're taking the case, Mr. Burnham.&nbsp; I am more than happy to pay your fee.&nbsp; I am quite worried about my wife.”&nbsp; There were plenty of people in Gomorra that wouldn't mind seeing a Whateley hanged even if they didn't commit the crime in question.&nbsp; Their wealth had a way of making both friends and enemies.&nbsp; <br><br>He rose from the chair and glanced down at the detective.&nbsp; “If you need me for anything, please feel free to send one of the Whippersnappers with a message.&nbsp; I will be available to offer whatever I can toward this.”&nbsp; He offered his hand to shake on the arrangements before departing.&nbsp; He was sure Avery had a lot of work to do in a short amount of time.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>25-04-2014, 05:24:18</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 18th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Helga’s Wafflehaus<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Charlie Flatbush; CLOSED <br><hr> <br>Avery saw Nicodemus to the door, wishing him well, before returning to his office.&nbsp; Clearing away the glasses and bourbon, he considered the case.&nbsp; He knew practically nothing about the events in question, only hearsay, and had no reason to expect the local law to be especially cooperative.&nbsp; Like as not they had settled on hanging this woman to give the town closure.&nbsp; Some crimes were too vast and monstrous to go without answers, even if the authorities had to fashion them up from whole cloth.&nbsp; &nbsp;Avery understood this.&nbsp; His final case, the one that ruined him, he'd read the Yard had solved it shortly after he was dismissed, pinning the murders on a gypsy roustabout he'd already dismissed as a possible suspect.&nbsp; <em>Lies!</em>&nbsp; <br><br>It wasn't the injustice of it so much as the inaccuracy.&nbsp; Avery simply hated inaccuracy.&nbsp; This time he was going to foil the liars though.&nbsp; Dolores Whateley would not be hung.&nbsp; Whether or not he could sway a jury, he was not certain, but he suspected he could make her accusers look like fools either way.&nbsp; He was smarter than anyone in that halfway house full of gunmen and misfits that passed for a police force here.&nbsp; Of that he had absolutely no doubt.<br><br>Lighting the kerosene lamp on his desk, he reached up to snatch the voluminous law dictionaries from the bookshelf, dropping them down with a heavy thump.&nbsp; It would be several hours before daybreak, but his work would begin now.&nbsp; Truly working his mind again, after so long…<br><br>Exhilarating.<br><br>**** <br><br>It was just shortly past six in the morning, the breaking sun still casting an orangish glow over the town, when he sent a message via one of the boy couriers he'd seen traipsing about Gomorra's streets.&nbsp; He'd been a useful font of information for a nickel's price, able to tell him the name of the doctor who'd treated Lady Boyle after she was found that terrible night.&nbsp; In the message, Avery set an appointment for the doc to meet him at his office later on, promising a matter of urgent importance and six dollars for the house call, naturally.<br><br>He managed to corral Deputy Flatbush outside Helga's Wafflehaus.&nbsp; That was a bit of luck but only a bit as he'd already begun to keep track of people's regular movements in town, the people who might be useful to him anyways.&nbsp; Avery could have just walked down to the sheriff's office of course and started out that way, but Bilton would likely be there, and perhaps Templeton too, and he did not see them meeting his questions with anything but a jaundiced eye.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>"Charlie, how do you do?&nbsp; Buy you a cup of coffee?&nbsp; I was wondering if you might spare a few minutes time.&nbsp; I was hoping to find out a little about the night of Lady Boyle's attack and what happened out there at Deadman's Rest."&nbsp; He flashed a friendly smile, his manner casual.&nbsp; "Assuming it won't ruin your breakfast of course.&nbsp; I could use a guide to take me out that way actually, willing to pay for the time.&nbsp; Doing a bit of research, you might say.&nbsp; Nothing too serious but…well, it was a peculiar situation all around as I understand it?"&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>29-04-2014, 04:24:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a4/Flatbush.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Charlie Flatbush<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dogs (3)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 18th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Helga’s Wafflehaus<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery Burnam; CLOSED <br><hr> <br><em>Go to hell, sun.</em>&nbsp; Charlie winced up at the orb of fire rising in the east - he wasn’t listing anymore, but the night of carousing certainly hadn’t left him feeling… entirely sober.&nbsp; Now the last of his blissful intoxication was passing, and with it was coming the enormous, head-pounding agony of cheap whiskey and not a drop of water.&nbsp; <br><br><em>Go to hell, sun.</em>&nbsp; He wrinkled his nose at it, leaning against the wall of the Wafflehaus.&nbsp; He hadn’t rightly been to sleep - at best a catnap before that… vigorous girl from the Green Room had woken him.&nbsp; How she’d managed to milk him back to life was question enough - but what he truly wondered at was how a ninety pound little slip of nothing made him feel he’d gone ten rounds with an Irish prizefighter.&nbsp; <br><br><em>Why am I paying her?&nbsp; Seems like it out to be the other way around.</em><br><br>He shook it off, and then blinked when quite unexpectedly the British private eye was greeting him and asking him questions.&nbsp; <br><br>“Quietly,” whispered Charlie, pleading.&nbsp; “Oh, please, quietly.”&nbsp; It wasn’t that the private eye was loud, but… right now his teeth tasted like he’d been chewing sand and his eyes felt ready to pop and burst, and every syllable had been a gong banging a bell of agony in his brain.<br><br>“Unnh… if you solemnly swear not to say ‘breakfast’ again, you can buy me whatever you like,” said Charlie.&nbsp; His brow furrowed a little.&nbsp; “I wasn’t at the… initial investigation,” he apologized.&nbsp; “Didn’t see the aftermath til later.&nbsp; But I was with the fellows crossed the new bridge to go hunting down the murderer.”&nbsp; His nose curled, and he held up a hand as the memory of it kicked the contents of his stomach from an unpleasant wave into a full on lurch.&nbsp; It was a convenience that the Wafflehaus wasn’t far from the edge of the mesa, and he staggered over towards the edge of it.&nbsp; There was a certain practiced expertise in the way he divested himself of the dinner and booze from the night before, and when he rose he felt a better man.&nbsp; Not a new man, perhaps, but better than he’d been moments before.<br><br>“Coffee,” he said agreeably as he turned on his heel.&nbsp; “Let’s go find ourselves a corner booth.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>29-04-2014, 05:45:04</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f1/DelilahWhateley.png)</div>&nbsp;<br><strong>Name:</strong>Dolores Whateley (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley (Rank 3)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Night<br><strong>Location:</strong> Moving from the sheriff station to the Whateley Estate<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Lilah, Townsend, CLOSED<br><hr>Dolores yelped as she went sprawling to the hard, night cool ground.&nbsp; For a moment, she laid there, anger at the mean man filling her.&nbsp; She didn't want to spend anymore time with the meany.&nbsp; Sitting up slowly, she knelt on the ground while she brushed off her dolly's dress with her hand.&nbsp; Her dolly was going to need a whole new outfit because of Townsend.&nbsp; She glanced up with him, a pout playing at her lips and her blue eyes blazing.<br><br>Rising to her feet and brushing off her own dress, she stopped suddenly, a wicked smile playing across her porcelain face.&nbsp; She needed doggy!&nbsp; Doggy would make the mean man stop and even walk her home so she wouldn't be in trouble anymore.&nbsp; Bringing the dolls ear close to her mouth, she barely whispered, “Here, doggy, doggy.”&nbsp; <br><br>Mostly obeying Townsend, she walked quietly and waited, a satisfied smile on her face.&nbsp; Doggy was on his way!&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>29-04-2014, 06:27:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/3/39/Townsend.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; John "Townsend" Templeton<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dog (Rank 3)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Night<br><strong>Location:</strong> Moving from the sheriff station to the Whateley Estate<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Lilah,”Doggie,” A Goddam Whateley, CLOSED<br><hr>It rattled him, watching the girl glare at him, and whisper.&nbsp; He couldn’t even make out the words, but there was something chilling in the little whisper, in the way she pointed the rag face at him again.&nbsp; Dolores’s mad eyes were the most unnerving of all, and when Dolores rose and became obedient, he couldn’t help casting about again.&nbsp; <br><br><em>Gorram shadows.</em>&nbsp; His teeth were on edge, grinding together, and for a moment he leveled the pistol at the back of the girl’s head.&nbsp; Every one of ‘em ought to be burned to death and their ashes thrown off the mesa.&nbsp; He shivered, feeling for a moment as if inky fingers were digging through his skin into his soul.<br><br>He levelled the gun.&nbsp; One quick shot.&nbsp; Bilton would back him.&nbsp; This whole business of letting the girl go didn’t sit right with him, anyway - and no matter how hard a man Bilton was, kidnapping another redhead to take her place and chopping her up to look like a werewolf attack didn’t - it wasn’t right.&nbsp; Townsend wasn’t a man who often bothered with right and wrong, and it might not have bothered him so much if it hadn’t meant letting the little slit go back to the arms of her family.&nbsp; <br><br>He cocked the hammer back, taking a breath to steal himself, still walking through alleys.&nbsp; His finger started to squeeze.<br><br>Then a man (https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/25/Doggie.png) stumbled into him, spoiling his aim, and the high strung Townsend jumped back.&nbsp; “Jesus Christ!” he shouted, finger pulling the trigger.&nbsp; There was a splash of red in the middle of a faded, dusty vest, and the drunk stumbled to his knees, grunting and looking down at the red blossoming across his vest.<br><br>“No… no, no…” murmured the drunk.&nbsp; His fingers traced over the blood, and Townsend’s eyes went wide.&nbsp; “No please don’t m…”<br><br>“What the hell are you doing stumblin’ round this time of night?!&nbsp; Scared me half to death you crazy - “<br><br>A low growl cut through the night, and Townsend’s face paled.&nbsp; He pulled the hammer back, fanning it with his off hand, desperately emptying shots into the chest of the man on his knees.&nbsp; The man’s dilapidated finery, began to twist and rip, his eyes shining in the moonlight.&nbsp; The bullets made his body spasm and jerk.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>“No - no, please I don’t waaaaaaaaooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!”<br><br>The drunk’s cracked, besotten voice rose from protest to howl, echoing through the night.&nbsp; Then his fingers were twisting, growing, as Townsend stabbed his knife forward, trying to open the thing’s throat.&nbsp; A powerful hand, sprouting claws and fur, wrapped around Townsend’s wrist, and tugged his arm free from his chest in a spray of blood and a crack of breaking bone.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>30-04-2014, 03:42:52</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 18th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Helga’s Wafflehaus<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Charlie Flatbush; CLOSED <br><hr> <br>Avery joined Deputy Flatbush at the edge of the mesa, peering out over the wide clear skies of a new day's dawn.&nbsp; He had heard much about the beauty of the American West before coming out here, and as with most such things, it had been largely exaggerated, but there remained some truth to it.&nbsp; These vast scenic landscapes were ones he would not have found a match for at home.&nbsp; There was a certain majesty to it…at least until Charlie started repainting the horizon with the contents of his stomach, at which point he turned his back, finding sudden interest in the Wafflehaus’s architecture instead.<br><br>"Coffee it is," he answered amiably once the man had emptied out and rejoined him.&nbsp; "Although if you change your mind about the breakfast, but say the word.&nbsp; I understand the sausage they serve here is as plumb and greasy as you'll find, and the syrup, why, sweet and thick as porridge…"&nbsp; If there seemed to be a slight smile tugging at the edge of the detective's lips, surely it was offset by his ever so dry serious tone.<br><br>Once the coffee had been delivered -- tea, actually, in his own case -- Avery returned to the topic at hand.&nbsp; "Just whatever you can tell me, of course.&nbsp; I find the whole thing quite fascinating.&nbsp; I understand you caught the killer though?&nbsp; Some slip of a girl? That must have been rather a surprise for you all.&nbsp; &nbsp;Hard to believe a woman capable of such bloodletting, really."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niferbelle</strong> on <strong>30-04-2014, 03:53:16</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 20<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Night<br><strong>Location:</strong> between the sheriff station to the Whateley Estate<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> observing Townsend, Dolores Whateley, doggy, CLOSED<br><hr>Lilah had always had nerve, maybe more nerve than she had a right too, but growing up like she did, nothing much intimidated her anymore. She didn't think of herself as particularly brave, it was more a matter of just knowing that bad things were going to happen or they weren't and getting in a panic about it wasn't going to change that. She was cautious, sure, but she managed to stay cool when the chips were down, some might say mature beyond her years in that respect, but the series of revelations she was about to witness would test her like she'd never been tested. <br><br>The way Townsend threw Dolores to the ground, watching the woman struggle to get back on her feet and noticing how frail she seemed to be, made Lilah start to wonder. It was something she hadn't considered before but it was a stretch to watch Delores Whateley in the street then imagine her cutting up all those folks to shreds. It didn't look like she could manage it physically. It wasn't hard after that to read Townsend's mind. He was spooked like somebody was walking over his grave and when Delores started calling for an imaginary pet in that singsong voice of her, it appeared he was about done with this whole business. Lilah's hand went to her piece as he went for his, she pulled the hammer back as he did the same, and knew she only a had a split second to decide. Common sense told her to let this play out as it would, none of it her concern really, but something about standing her and watching him shoot an unarmed woman didn't exactly sit with her either. She could shoot to wound, maybe get away before he saw her, which would be smarter than killing a lawmen and likely enough to keep him from killing her until somebody could get to the bottom of what was going on. She drew in a breath to steady her aim just as the world went mad.<br><br>The old drunk appeared and Lilah knew she couldn't take the shot. There was too much of a chance she might drill him and Townsend's gun going off pretty much ended her internal debate. It was hard to see the result but Lilah knew Townsend couldn't have missed at that range -- that man should have gone down but something entirely different was going on. That howl pierced right through and chilled her blood, and as Townsend's arm was being removed from his torso, she fell back against the wall of the building, stunned, and scared as she's ever been in her life. The gun in her hand felt useless. Townsend had shot it at point blank range and it wasn't even acting hurt and every bit of her was telling her to run but she stayed frozen in place, afraid of attracting its attention though her heart was pounding so hard she wouldn't be surprised if the beast could hear it. The writing was on the wall for Townsend -- that thing appeared to be answering to Delores Whateley who <em>was</em> the killer, just not in the way everybody thought, and there was a goddamned werewolf loose in Gomorra. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>30-04-2014, 05:36:19</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f1/DelilahWhateley.png)</div>&nbsp;<br><strong>Name:</strong>Dolores Whateley (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley (Rank 3)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Night<br><strong>Location:</strong> Moving from the sheriff station to the Whateley Estate<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Lilah, Townsend, Bestest Doggy Ever, CLOSED<br><hr>Dolores' blue eyes widened in shock and anger as the first bullet slammed into Doggy's chest.&nbsp; “Don't you dare shoot Doggy!”&nbsp; Hands on her slim hips, she glared at Townsend and glanced down at the less fun side of Doggy.&nbsp; He didn't ever want to play when he was in his people form and she wrinkled her nose.&nbsp; The rest of the bullets distracted her from her disappointment for a moment and her rage returned.&nbsp; “Oh, you have been a bad, bad boy.”&nbsp; She murmured to Townsend even if he wasn't paying her any attention.&nbsp; “Doooogggy's gonna get you!”&nbsp; She crooned at him in her singsong voice and stepped further away.&nbsp; She wouldn't mind the warm blood splattering on her but she wanted to give Doggy space.&nbsp; <br><br>“Get 'im, Doggy!&nbsp; Get 'im!”&nbsp; She encouraged with a beaming wicked smile, bouncing on the balls of her feet.&nbsp; Clapping happily as he finally shifted, she giggled at his howl.&nbsp; It made her so happy every time she heard it as it meant that Doggy was ready to play again.<br><br>She laughed and clapped her dainty hands harder as Doggy ripped the arm free of Townsend's body.&nbsp; The cracking of bone, spray of blood and shout of pain mingled with her delighted tittering.&nbsp; She loved watching Doggy play and since Townsend had been such a bad boy, she took extra pleasure in his suffering.<br><br>“Get his leg, Doggy!”&nbsp; She called out, trying to entice the werewolf.&nbsp; Sure, the Doggy could go for the man's throat and end it quickly but what kind of fun would that game be?&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>01-05-2014, 02:32:26</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/c/c3/Doggie2.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; “Doggy”<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Night<br><strong>Location:</strong> An alley in the south of Gomorra, between southern Temptation and Limbo.<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Lilah, Townsend, Dolores, CLOSED<br><hr>Townsend’s shriek of pain echoed through the night, but it was almost buried under the sounds coming from the Doggy itself - bone snapped and cracked, clothing ripped and tore, as the beast continued to grow.&nbsp; And grow.&nbsp; And grow.&nbsp; Dark brown or black fur sprouted from the rent clothing, and then even torn clothing was quickly too tight to accommodate the bulk of legs and arms.&nbsp; Thighs that were wider across than Dolores’s shoulders were set atop knees that bent backwards like a wolf, and a torso of rippling power and strength was offset by patches of grey hair.&nbsp; The thing’s shoulders were as broad as a horse from shoulder to flank, and his powerful arms were wider than Townsend’s waist.&nbsp; He had to duck to stay beneath the roof of the nearest buildings, and he reached down to the bleeding Townsend, who struggled and scrabbled for some kind of weapon.&nbsp; <br><br>Shouts were going up throughout the nearby homes, and the Beast grabbed Townsend, hauling him into the air and plucking him like a young lover taking petals from a flower - <em>he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me - </em> but the petals he plucked were a leg, a leg, and then Townsend’s remaining arm.&nbsp; He hurled the limbless body to the ground after, hard enough to spike Townsend’s head into the dirt and pulverizing it into blood and bone and brain, the spine bending over backwards upon itself and cracking along with ribs.<br><br>Then it reached, and wrapped a massive clawed hand around Dolores’s waist, and leapt into the air.&nbsp; Hind-claws caught in the wood of the nearby buildings, leaving behind gouges, and then it was hurtling through the air, landing briefly upon a rooftop before leaping again.&nbsp; In four bounds, it had crossed all the way to the iron bridge surrounding the Whateley estate, the mad redhead held in his grasp.<br><br>Shouts and voices were beginning to converge upon the bloody remains of the deputy.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>01-05-2014, 05:02:55</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a4/Flatbush.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Charlie Flatbush<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dogs (3)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 18th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Helga’s Wafflehaus<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery Burnam; CLOSED <br><hr> <br>Charlie gave a good natured cringe as he mentioned grease and maple syrup - honestly the thought of any kind of food just made his belly clench warningly, and he wrinkled his nose at Avery.&nbsp; “You, sir, are a bastard.&nbsp; A cold, unfeeling bastard without a drop of kindness in your soul.”&nbsp; He chuckled and shook his head.&nbsp; He caught the slight smile and grinned.&nbsp; Clearly, as harsh as the words were, there was no malice in them - if anything, he seemed to appreciate the dry humor that underlied them.<br><br>He sank into the chair and smiled at Dora - her little cotton chemise hadn’t quite turned translucent with sweat, yet, but the view was still appreciable all the same as she scrambled around getting drinks and orders.&nbsp; It was a busy morning in the Wafflehaus, a popular post-hangover stop.<br><br>“Well, so says Bilton,” said Charlie, giving a shrug.&nbsp; “So it must be true.&nbsp; Never mind that Dolores ain’t got the twig an berries for the job and she sure as hell ain’t strong enough to tear apart a soldier and Thommy Jones.”&nbsp; He scowled.&nbsp; “Or do what we saw in the asylum.&nbsp; That place…”&nbsp; He shook his head, flinching. “Now, I’m not yellow-bellied, but I think there comes a point when any man’s stomach is allowed to twist round without him being a coward.&nbsp; When I was still working to be made deputy, there was this gang in the area - the Blackcoats.&nbsp; We were smaller then, and they had this idea of moving in on the town.&nbsp; Scaring everyone.&nbsp; They grabbed up one of the families working a ranch outside of town, and they tied off their limbs to four different horses and fired a shot.&nbsp; Pa, Ma, young boy, a little daughter, the ranch hand - everyone of them got ripped apart by those horses runnin’ different directions.&nbsp; That … the farm?&nbsp; I still see that when I close my eyes some nights.&nbsp; Or I did.&nbsp; Inside of that asylum?&nbsp; That’s what I see now.”<br><br>He shook his head.&nbsp; “Asylum’s where the judge would send people who were too nuts to stand trial.&nbsp; Some folks put their relatives up in their.&nbsp; Maybe ten, fifteen people in all.&nbsp; When they got the bridge up, that was the first place we went - it was the only place with people we knew of cut off from the mesa.&nbsp; Grimely’s manor’s been abandoned for years, and the crypt keeper for Deadman’s rest lives on the mesa.&nbsp; &nbsp;So we went their first - only to find the whole place torn apart.&nbsp; Walls knocked down, bodies ripped into pieces and then smaller pieces - we couldn’t even come close to putting everyone back together.&nbsp; We search the whole place - find the doctor, and the orderly… at least six patients, maybe more.&nbsp; No way to tell.&nbsp; We found more bodies than heads.”&nbsp; <br><br>He pursed his lips, definitely sober now, and took a long sip of his coffee.&nbsp; “By the time we went poking around to the rest of the island - we were all a little creeped out.&nbsp; Then we hear singing coming up from the cemetery, and we come creeping over the hill - smokewagons drawn, everyone’s hands shaking, and there’s little Dolores Whateley, dress drenched in blood, playing tea with her dolly.&nbsp; She’s not worth a damn answering questions, and Bilton gets pissed off when he asks her if she’s seen anything, how she got covered in blood.&nbsp; Singing nursery rhymes and offering him imaginary biscuits.&nbsp; We searched the rest of the place - no one to be found.&nbsp; Even kicked open the door in Grimeley’s place.&nbsp; There’s not another soul on the whole damn mesa.”&nbsp; His fingers tightened around the cup.&nbsp; “She’s covered in blood, we got an asylum full of bodies, and whatever <em>did</em> kill Thommy and that soldier and raped Lady Boyle was last seen headed to Deadman’s rest.&nbsp; Bilton takes her in.&nbsp; Only suspect we got.&nbsp; Mad as a hatter and ninety pounds soaking wet.&nbsp; I figure we’re all going to look like idiots, but people were just happy to hear someone was in custody.”<br><br>He frowned.&nbsp; “Do I think she did it?&nbsp; I don’t know.&nbsp; It doesn’t make much sense.&nbsp; All I know is - we put her in the tank that night.&nbsp; Drunks’ll have their way with just about anything in a skirt, late at night.&nbsp; I stayed there to keep ‘em in line.&nbsp; They were hasslin’ her at first, then it quieted down. I dozed off - woke up - and the drunks are all pressed round the side of the take, wedged up against the bars and the walls.&nbsp; Not one of ‘em’ll come within three feet of her.&nbsp; And she’s just playing with her dolly in the middle of the cell, humming to herself.&nbsp; Cheerful as can be.&nbsp; I asked the drunks if she said something - did something?&nbsp; Nothing.&nbsp; Not a one would say.&nbsp; Or maybe she didn’t do anything.&nbsp; Either way, a roomful of drunk miners were ready to go straight and swear to go to church and pay their fines or do community service if it got ‘em out of that cell ten minute faster.”<br><br>He sipped his coffee, watching Avery over the rim.&nbsp; “And I don’t have a damn clue what to make of it.&nbsp; Wish Hunter were still alive.”
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Niferbelle</strong> on <strong>02-05-2014, 00:28:13</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 20<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Night<br><strong>Location:</strong> between the sheriff station to the Whateley Estate<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> observing Townsend, Dolores Whateley, doggy, CLOSED<br><hr>She was pretty sure her heart just up and stopped as Townsend's terrible fate unfolded. For a moment it looked like the beast was never going to stop growing and she could hardly comprehend the size of it as it ripped into the law man. Lilah was afraid to look away lest the creature's attention fall on her but she simply couldn't watch the completion of its work, watch the spraying blood and the look of glee on mad Delores Whateley's face but though she could close her eyes, nothing could stop the sound. She would never forget it in all her days, Townsend's scream and that wet tearing sound and hard crack of snapping bones. It was only sheer will and the fear of being next that stopped the nausea from overtaking her and emptying her gut. She looked again only when there was a moment of silence, and the sight of the beast tucking Delores under her arm and dashing away with her like she was the doll and any guilt Lilah might have felt for not intervening for Townsend fled with them. If she hadn't been silent, if she'd moved an inch, she'd be dead. Nothing in her power could have hurt that thing.<br><br>Dimly she became aware of the sounds of people rushing to toward the area. It was time for her to vacate -- for all she knew, if anybody saw her here, they'd be blaming her next and since she was just some no account Chinese girl and not a Whateley, she'd probably get strung up before they made it back to the jail. She gathered enough wits about her to be on her way, her heart beating again, and didn't stop until she was a safe distance away whereupon she fell against the wall of the building at her back and slowly slid down to the ground. One deep breath. Two deep breaths. She tried to steady her thoughts, knowing she was lucky her legs had waited until now to give out. What she had just seen, she might be the only person in town who knew it, or if there were others, they were likely on the wrong side of it. Raising the alarm about it didn't exactly seem an option. She didn't trust the law dogs, they were crooked as they come, and if this was some sort of family secret, the Whateleys weren't going to leave her in one piece to talk about it for very long. Another deep breath. The smart play was to forget all about it and get the hell out of town, let the beast take it, knowing her people were safely tucked away on a boat that could get them far away from here. The smart thing though didn't always sit easy on your conscience and she suddenly felt the responsibility of being the only one who knew weighing her down.<br><br>How many more bodies would it take for her to start feeling like a craven piece cow dung? Sure, there were some folks for who wo uld make the world a better place by not being in it, but what about folks like handsome Reid and his wild brother? All the kids, and the working girls with hard lives who never did nothing but try to get by? Everybody, the deserving and the undeserving alike, were at the mercy of Delores Whateley's deranged mind and her unspeakable 'doggy'. She wasn't sure what she could do but she had to try and find out. Somebody somewhere must know something, and even if it were only a matter to bringing it the attention of somebody who could and would do something about it, she felt like she had to try. It was a good while before she found her feet again and made her way back to the little shack she was calling home and she lay there well into the night, turning events over in her mind.<br><br><br><div align="center"><span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size"><em>End scene for Lilah</em></span></div>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>03-05-2014, 07:24:27</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f2/Beardycox.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name</strong>: Avery Burnham<br><strong>Faction</strong>: Law Dogs (1)<br><strong>Date</strong>: May 18th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day</strong>: Morning<br><strong>Location</strong>: Helga’s Wafflehaus (exiting); Sheriff’s Office (entering)<br><strong>Tagged</strong>: Charlie Flathbush; Dolores Whateley, Sheriff/Deputies (?) CLOSED <br><hr>"Horses eh?&nbsp; What you people get up to out here…"&nbsp; Charlie had told him what should be obvious to anyone.&nbsp; Whatever her mental state, and Avery would attempt to determine that soon, the Whateley woman was simply not physically capable of the crime with which she was being charged.&nbsp; He didn’t see how any one person could be in truth.&nbsp; Tearing a victim limb from limb, let alone multiple victims, was beyond the capability of even the strongest of men.&nbsp; Horses could quarter a man, certainly, but otherwise…<br><br>Avery could only assume a mistake on the deputies' part.&nbsp; Panic at the sight of the carnage perhaps.&nbsp; The hatchet work had to be done by instruments of some kind.&nbsp; He’d seen the Chinese perform lingchi once while he was stationed overseas, cutting a man to bloody ribbons an inch at a time, and then at the end dismembering the corpse -- head, arms, and legs, whick-whack, simple as that, with a heavily weighted blade.&nbsp; It could be done.&nbsp; &nbsp;But by a woman 'ninety pounds soaking wet' as Charlie said, he rather doubted that.&nbsp; There must have been something they missed, a way off of that mesa other than the bridge.&nbsp; Most likely Dolores had simply been lucky enough to survive the attack herself and was now facing the gallows because the sheriff was too incompetent to find the real killers.&nbsp; &nbsp;If he could get her to talk and say something reasonable, even just a few words about what had really happened…<br><br>"I suppose you've guessed it Charlie but this isn't just purely social.&nbsp; Mrs. Whateley's husband hired me to find out what really happened that night, before there's a trial.&nbsp; I plan to speak with her today.&nbsp; That I can handle myself, but I'd also like to get out to that asylum and get a look at where it happened."&nbsp; Avery blew at the steam from his tea before continuing, "I'd appreciate your help although I understand if you'd rather not.&nbsp; I don't suppose Bilton will appreciate it.&nbsp; You just so much as said you don't really believe it yourself though, and you're certainly right…the sheriff's office is going to emerge with egg on its face if this goes through to the end.&nbsp; No way around that.&nbsp; It's absurd on its face isn't it?&nbsp; So help me figure out what really happened?&nbsp; Or at least enough to scupper the charges against the Whateley girl and save everyone the embarrassment of trying her?"<br><br>Avery realized he did want to figure it out, rather badly.&nbsp; It was a mystery and it intrigued him.&nbsp; If he could put the pieces together where these other men had failed…well, it was enticing, and he had to remind himself firmly that that wasn’t why he’d been hired.&nbsp; The client came first, which meant getting Dolores out of jail was his primary goal here.&nbsp; Not that he couldn't pass along whatever he did learn to Bilton’s gang.&nbsp; Whoever committed this heinous crime needed to be caught, or at the very least dealt with in such a way that they couldn’t put on a repeat performance.&nbsp; So-called frontier justice wasn’t to his own tastes, but if ever there was ample excuse for it, this was surely it.<br><br>"Thank you very much for the breakfast conversation Charlie.&nbsp; If you decide you're up for Deadman's Rest, I can meet you outside my office in a few hours, and pay you for the time of course.&nbsp; I understand if you'd as soon decline though."&nbsp; Leaving change enough on the table to cover for the tea and coffee, he propped his hat back on and nodded his brisk goodbye.&nbsp; <br><br><div align="center">****</div><br>There was still some time before the doctor was set to meet him at his place, an interview he suspected might supply most of what he needed to make the trial moot, so he headed for the Sheriff’s office to speak with Dolores first.&nbsp; Singing children's songs and offering the sheriff biscuits, Charlie had said, which might be more useful information than it seemed.&nbsp; If she was refusing to talk to them, she might well refuse to talk to him, even though it was in her best interests.&nbsp; He would need to gain her trust and that was usually best done, he’d found, by playing into whatever nonsense a person believed.&nbsp; &nbsp; <br><br>Rapping on the door as he stepped inside the sheriff's office, he offered the on-shift deputy a smile.&nbsp; "How do you do?&nbsp; Avery Burnham, Burnham Detection.&nbsp; I've been hired by Nicodemus Whateley to represent his wife, Dolores.&nbsp; That means I have the right to speak with her in private, or as close as we can manage around here."&nbsp; Removing his hat, Avery continued politely but not without a certain air of determination.&nbsp; "I'll understand if you don't wish to take my word on it.&nbsp; I can wait while you send one of those, what do you call them?&nbsp; Whippersnappers? to check on me with Mr. Whateley, if you like.&nbsp; I'm sure the judge would back what I'm saying in terms of her rights as well, should you wish to draw him into this… "&nbsp; &nbsp; 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>04-05-2014, 01:06:11</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a1/Walker.png)</div>&nbsp;<br><strong>Name:</strong> Walker (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sioux Union<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>Babel's Tower, Around Town<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Tommy Flanagan, CLOSED<br><hr> <br>Heading out of the city quickly, Walker was both relieved and surprised by the red-haired manitou summoner.&nbsp; He hadn't expected the man to agree without the promise of white man money and he really hadn't counted on liking the man.&nbsp; Joseph always warned against judging a person based only on their use of manitous but he, like most of the others, had a hard time with that idea. <br><br>It didn't surprise him in the least when Singing Feather, flanked by both Little Running Bear and Eagle Rock were waiting for him.&nbsp; He was even less surprised when she answered his question quietly before he even spoke.&nbsp; He inclined his head to her with a wide smile and shake of his head.&nbsp; <br><br>Rushing back to Gomorra, Walker was pleased to see Tommy with whatever supplies he needed to perform this task.&nbsp; <br><br>He thought about it for a moment and nodded.&nbsp; “I think the Whippersnappers would be a good starting point.”&nbsp; It wasn't likely that most parents would allow two grown men, one of them being a 'savage red-skin' to meet with their children.&nbsp; Without hesitation, Walker bent and picked up the heavy bag, his muscular arm flexing as it settled against his side.&nbsp; He wasn't particularly bothered by the weight.&nbsp; Each time he traveled, it was necessary for him to carry a heavy load.<br><br>“Singing Feather will meet with us in the city tomorrow.”&nbsp; He finally remembered to mention.&nbsp; He shrugged a little sheepishly.&nbsp; “I do not entirely know when nor where but I am sure she will find us when she is able.”&nbsp; <br><br><hr><br>A small knot of whippersnappers wasn't overly hard to find near the center of the city.&nbsp; They often gathered in groups and business was good for them in the middle of everything.&nbsp; As they approached, the youngest of the boys waved at them.&nbsp; Like most of the children, he had a thin layer of dirt on his cheeks, clothes that didn't quite fit him right but he still smiled at them.<br><br>“Got yer letters?&nbsp; A delivery?”&nbsp; &nbsp;His eyes flicked over the Injun and Tommy quickly.&nbsp; “What'ver yer needs, we can help ya!”&nbsp; He offered enthusiastically.&nbsp; For the whippersnappers, all business was welcome as it meant food in their bellies.&nbsp; Little things like the color of a mans skin wasn't a sticking point.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ebb</strong> on <strong>04-05-2014, 04:46:24</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 20, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Around Town<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Walker, CLOSED<br><hr> <br><br>So far, Tommy thought, things were going well. The sun was shining and he had a red man carrying his bag for him. After a bit of thought Tommy couldn't find much else to add to the list of positive things, and resolved to not bother with that particular ledger until at least morning.<br><br>Tommy was very familiar with the whippersnapper network, having taken the time to exploit his own back east ignorance, turning it into a solid reputation for over-tipping. He crouched down to their level on the dusty street and began handing out lemon drops as he talked, ensuring that even those boys who were fourth or fifth in line for the next assignment would stick around to hear what he had to say.<br><br>"Gentlemen! I'm glad to have found so many of you on such a fine day, because you all are about to make me a fair bit of money, and Tommy Flanagan is a man who saves a seat for his friends when the gravy train pulls into the station. For it just so happens that the lot of you are in a unique position to assist me." The small packet of lemon drops having been consumed, Tommy produced a golden eagle coin from his vest pocket and began walking it down the knuckles of his hands. First the left, from index to pinkie, then an almost unnoticeable toss to the right hand where the motions were repeated. Soon most of the boys' attentions were split between the polished shiny coin and Tommy's words, but none of them seemed fit to wander off soon.<br><br>"You see, my friend Walker here and I have a bet that you boys are going to help me settle. Listen to this, if you can believe it. Walker here has made the bold claim that Injun boys are just flat out <em>braver </em>than the sons of white men! Isn't that right, Walker?" Tommy looked over his shoulder at the Sioux warrior's plain, honest face, free of any sort of deception, and realized that he had begun running a two-man con with a walking side of beef as a partner. It wasn't a dead end, per se. Just a mid-course modification.<br><br>He continued speaking quickly, as if he had cut off the silent Indian in the middle of speaking. "He says that they even call their young men 'Braves' because if it, that courage runs in their blood like... what was it, Walker? Like the blood of the bear and the wolf?" Tommy made an exaggerated expression of disbelief toward the children. "So I say to him, I bet I can walk down any street in Gomorra and find half a dozen lads to prove him wrong. And here you are."<br><br>A second coin had appeared, as if by magic, and now as Tommy continued his patter the two coins chased each other back and forth through the lattice of his fingers, never quite clinking together.<br><br>"So then what does Walker say to me?" The glance over his shoulder was a perfunctory acknowledgement this time. "He says we'll put it to the Nightmare Test. Seems among his people the biggest mark of courage is the man -- or boy -- who can stand up to the scariest nightmare and then tell the world about it. Shows he's not afraid of anything, I guess. Injuns, you know? But his bet, so his rules. So we've just come from the Sioux camp and boy howdy, I have to tell you boys, some of those little red braves had some terrors to tell. The kind of stories that'll curdle milk in the next room over. But I'm not giving up that easy. There's ten of my white man dollars wagered against a stack of buckskins, not to mention the honor of my people."<br><br>He stood up again. The two coins froze in their chase, now just tilting slightly back and forth to catch the sunlight and play the reflections across the faces of the children. "These two and three more, then, for the boy who can tell a topper. Now don't try to paint a wooden nickel gold here, sons -- I've been catching out liars across the poker table for years, so it'll be a waste of your time and mine. I need paydirt here, the real deal, a gen-u-ine nightmare that'd scare the red off an Injun."<br><br>"So who will it be?"<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>04-05-2014, 07:06:53</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a4/Flatbush.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Charlie Flatbush<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dogs (3)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 18th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Helga’s Wafflehaus<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery Burnam; CLOSED <br><hr> <br>“Mmm… not to disparage your detectin’ abilities, but I didn’t expect you were rolling in fundament,” he mused, gesturing to the coffee.&nbsp; “I figured you’d landed yourself some work.”&nbsp; He gave a small nod at the mention of Avery’s new boss.&nbsp; “Just be careful with the Whateleys.&nbsp; Once they get their hooks in someone they don’t like to pull ‘em free.”&nbsp; He gave a small shrug.&nbsp; “I’ll meet you up at the asylum.&nbsp; Don’t… tell Bilton.”&nbsp; He shook his head.&nbsp; “He’s already pissed the Judge isn’t willing to just hang her up without a trial.&nbsp; Thinks the whole mess’ll be better if its just over with.&nbsp; You gatherin’ evidence is gonna make him… doubt your loyalty to the Law Dogs.”&nbsp; He frowned.&nbsp; “Don’t get me wrong.&nbsp; He’ll be right as rain if you manage to figure out who really done it and let him make the arrest.&nbsp; He knows its a blunder.&nbsp; But the whole town’s uneasy, they want something that looks like justice, even if it ain’t.”<br><br>He gave a small nod.&nbsp; “I could really give a damn about the Sheriff’s office coming out with some egg on its face.&nbsp; I know it’ll send Bilton into a fit, but say the wrong thing on a Tuesday and he’s liable to mark you for an early grave.&nbsp; It doesn’t hurt my feelings any if he gets enough rope to lynch himself.&nbsp; More than that, though…”&nbsp; He glanced out toward the mesa, fingers closing around his coffee cup.&nbsp; “Whatever did all that?&nbsp; Whoever did all that?&nbsp; I’m pretty damn sure they’re still out there.&nbsp; So worst case, we try the girl, Bilton manages to fix the result somehow, and the whole world watches some poor girl dance on a rope.&nbsp; Then it hits again.&nbsp; More folks die.&nbsp; Not only are they just as afraid of the thing goin’ bump in the night, they <em>know</em> their Law Dogs are either incompetent or lyin’ to their face.&nbsp; Neither one is gonna leave this town anything like peaceful for long.”<br><br>He tilted the cup back, and gave a small smile.&nbsp; “Nah.&nbsp; Nah, you don’t owe me a dime.&nbsp; Just call it a favor.”&nbsp; He smiled a little broader.&nbsp; “Or a solemn promise if you see someone levelling a shotgun at my back you’ll put a hole in ‘em.”&nbsp; He smiled and snagged Dora by the wrist, who gave a smile and dropped into his lap largely on momentum alone.&nbsp; She shot him a not-the-least-bit-reproachful look and smacked him on the chest.<br><br>“You get a check for us, darling?”&nbsp; She gave a little blush, and looked between him and Avery.<br><br>“Nope.&nbsp; Mama don’t let us charge Law Dogs for drinks.&nbsp; Even the rascals.”&nbsp; She scoot off his lap, and smiled at Avery, her scandalously short skirt swishing as she walked away.<br><hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/3/39/Townsend.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; John "Townsend" Templeton<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dog (Rank 3)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 18th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Sheriff's Office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery, Delores, CLOSED<br><hr>Townsend looked up with the arrival of the freelance detective, and he narrowed his eyes for a moment, then returned his attention to the apple he was peeling.&nbsp; He continued to wind it slowly around the peel, keeping that rind in one long strip as Avery re-introduced himself.&nbsp; His eyes narrowed and he glanced up sharply as Nicodemus Whateley was mentioned.&nbsp; The perfect slice of apple rind broke with a tiny twitch of muscle, and he scowled.<br><br>“If you can shut her up, you can stay in there as long as you damn well please.”&nbsp; He reached for a key-ring, tossing it over the desk towards Avery, and sliced a chunk of apple and chewed it.&nbsp; “She leaves the cage, she’s gonna take a double barrel to the chest.”<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>04-05-2014, 07:16:03</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a1/Walker.png)</div>&nbsp;<br><strong>Name:</strong> Walker (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sioux Union<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>Babel's Tower, Around Town<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Tommy Flanagan, Whippersnappers, CLOSED<br><hr> <br>The Whippersnappers stayed near Tommy, listening to what he had to say.&nbsp; The money he played with certainly helped but it was his words that changed their dispositions from suspicious to a mixture of curious and righteous.&nbsp; Several of them exclaimed the the Injun kids had nothin' on them.&nbsp; They had been raising themselves in Gomorra.&nbsp; There was no way that any other kids were as brave as they were.<br><br>Their accusing eyes turned to Walker and some of them puffed out their chests.&nbsp; Walker, on the other hand, was fighting not to smile.&nbsp; Quickly gathering Tommy wanted to lie to the children, he simply kept his mouth shut.&nbsp; He wasn't a great liar and he knew it.&nbsp; Biting the inside of his cheek to continue to appear serious for the story Tommy was weaving, he listened to the children as they grew both interested and energized at the opportunity.<br><br>Instead of anyone of them stepping forward, the stories came pouring out of the whippersnappers.&nbsp; One boy spoke of a nightmare of falling off the mesa like Nathan Hunter did.&nbsp; Another spoke of being eaten by a maze dragon.&nbsp; A girl spoke of her nightmare of being trapped in a collapsed mine.&nbsp; It was quite a long list of nightmares pouring out at Tommy and Walker.<br><br>Finally, one of the older boys stepped forward, his eyes focused on the money.&nbsp; His face serious, he looked between Walker and Tommy.&nbsp; “I know most of the grown ups don't believe it but the scariest thing ain't no nightmare.&nbsp; It's real.”&nbsp; He told them quietly but rather accusatory.&nbsp; He seemed to expect them to dismiss his words.&nbsp; The other Whippersnappers grew quiet as he spoke, sharing glances between them.&nbsp; The children all certainly knew what he was talking about.&nbsp; <br><br>“Shut it, Jake!”&nbsp; One of the girls hissed at the boy.&nbsp; “Ain't no one gonna believe us anyway.”&nbsp; She scowled at both Walker and Tommy.&nbsp; “Just shut up.&nbsp; If you ain't quiet, they'll stick us in the crazy-people place and the Beast will eat us!”<br><br>He shook his head and glared back at the girl.&nbsp; “It don't hurt to tell 'em.”&nbsp; He countered and shook his head.&nbsp; Turning his full attention back to the men waiting to hear more, “There's a.... thing... that has been spyin' on us.”&nbsp; He stepped closer to Tommy and spoke quietly as the others fidgeted.&nbsp; “He's got a skull for a face, wears all black and carries a big weapon.”&nbsp; He paused and his brow furrowed, “It's like a curved blade at the end of a big ol' stick.”&nbsp; He shivered and shook his head, “I dunno what he wants but he visits lots of the kids.&nbsp; The grown-ups don't believe us.”&nbsp; He narrowed his eyes at Tommy, almost daring him to say he was lying.&nbsp; <br><br>“It's like a farmers scythe!”&nbsp; One of the other boys spoke up.&nbsp; “He only comes at night.”&nbsp; He sidled closer to the older Jake.&nbsp; “He just watches kids.&nbsp; Stares with those big nothin' eyes!”&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>04-05-2014, 07:32:55</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f1/DelilahWhateley.png)</div>&nbsp;<br><strong>Name:</strong>Dolores Whateley (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley (Rank 3)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 18th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery, Dolores, (Townsend nearby), CLOSED<br><hr>Dolores gazed up from the bench in the jail cell and sat up quickly, a doll in one hand.&nbsp; She beamed a smile at the man that stopped near the cell.&nbsp; The only time she had anyone come by was when the mean men called her names and told her to be quiet but now there was a new man standing there and he wasn't mean.&nbsp; So far.<br><br>Standing, she glided closer to Avery.&nbsp; “He seems nice, doesn't he?”&nbsp; She asked her doll and stopped close to him, the bars keeping them apart.&nbsp; “Hello!”&nbsp; She greeted him and giggled.&nbsp; “You can come in!&nbsp; We can have tea.”&nbsp; She informed him with a sweet smile.&nbsp; Then she wrinkled her nose and shook her head, “Well, maybe we can't have tea because the mean men won't let me have any because I'm in trouble.”&nbsp; She tilted her head at him, “Do you have any candy?”<br><br>She watched Avery turn the key and let himself into her cell, making absolutely no effort to leave.&nbsp; Instead, she stepped back a couple steps so he could get in.&nbsp; She clapped happily as he entered and then wrapped her arms around him in a hug.&nbsp; “I heard you tell meany-head that Nic hired you!&nbsp; Are you here to tell me a story?”&nbsp; She asked him, her scrawny arms still wrapped about his waist.&nbsp; “It's nice of him.&nbsp; It's near bed time and I haven't had a story in <em>days</em>!”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>04-05-2014, 08:20:54</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f1/DelilahWhateley.png)</div>&nbsp;<br><strong>Name:</strong>Dolores Whateley (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley (Rank 3)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Night<br><strong>Location:</strong> Moving from the sheriff station to the Whateley Estate<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Lilah, Townsend, Bestest Doggy Ever, CLOSED<br><hr>Dolores squealed in delight as Doggy ripped Townsend apart and pieces of him flew through the air.&nbsp; His screams drowned out her voice as she continued to encourage her Doggy.&nbsp; <br><br>“Whhhheeeeeee!”&nbsp; She threw her arms around Doggy's furry arm as he scooped her up and leaped away from the carnage.&nbsp; Far enough away from the emerging people, she let go of Doggy, trusting his grip on her and pointed toward the Whateley estate.&nbsp; “Home!&nbsp; I don't want to be in trouble anymore!”&nbsp; <br><br>As Doggy landed in front of her home, she beamed a beautiful smile at him, her clothes once again coated in the blood and thicker clumps of Townsend from being wrapped in his paw/hands.&nbsp; Wrapping a hand in his hand/paw fur, she guided him closer to the door.&nbsp; Knocking gently, her beaming smile widened as Nicodemus opened the door.<br><br>His eyes fell on Dolores and the werewolf and he let out a long suffering sigh.&nbsp; “Who's dead?”&nbsp; He asked his wife, his deep voice calm even as his jaw tightened.<br><br>“Oh, the mean man that tried to hurt Ginny.”&nbsp; She explained and giggled.&nbsp; “He was naughty.&nbsp; He was going to shoot at me.”&nbsp; She glanced back at Doggy, her hand still wrapped in his fur.&nbsp; “Can I keep him, Nic?&nbsp; Doggy needs a home!”<br><br>“No darling, you can't keep him.&nbsp; Say good night to him and come inside.”&nbsp; Nicodemus answered with another sigh.&nbsp; This was certainly going to complicate things for the family.&nbsp; Keeping the werewolf would only make things worse.<br><br>“Pleeeeeeeeeease, Nic!&nbsp; I'll take good care of him!”&nbsp; She pouted as she pleaded with him.&nbsp; She loved her Doggy and wanted him to stay with her!<br><br>Nicodemus' jaw tightened further and he shook his head.&nbsp; “No.&nbsp; Do <em>not</em> make me say it again.”&nbsp; He warned, his deep voice leaving no doubt of his seriousness.&nbsp; <br><br>Her shoulders and head drooped.&nbsp; When Nic was in this mood, there was just no talking to him.&nbsp; Turning to Doggy, she dropped his paw/hand and wrapped her arms around his leg, pushing her cheek against his dark fur.&nbsp; “You be careful, Doggy.&nbsp; Hide from the mean people that would hurt you.”&nbsp; She whispered to him.&nbsp; “You take good care of yourself.&nbsp; I'll miss you.”&nbsp; <br><br>With her goodbyes said, she went inside and closed the door behind her, bursting into tears.&nbsp; “I'm gonna miss you, Doggy!”&nbsp; She whispered sadly.<br><br>**End of Arc**
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>05-05-2014, 11:26:46</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>: Avery Burnham<br><strong>Faction</strong>: Law Dogs (1)<br><strong>Date</strong>: May 18th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day</strong>: Morning<br><strong>Location</strong>: Jailhouse<br><strong>Tagged</strong>: Dolores, Townsend (nearby); CLOSED <br><hr>Avery caught the cell keys in his hat as Townsend flung them in his direction.&nbsp; He considered making a pointed comment when the deputy threatened the use of his shotgun, as though he was holding Jesse James, John Wesley Hardin, and Blackjack all rolled into one and not some pixyish girl cradling her dolly.&nbsp; Or rather such a comment sprang to the tip of his tongue before he swallowed it back down with a congenial nod.&nbsp; He was not here to antagonize the law or make enemies of them.&nbsp; These were men he was apt to run into time and again in the course of his work.&nbsp; Befriending Townsend or Bilton might be beyond his powers but there was no sense intentionally making them resent him.&nbsp; That would only make things more difficult in the future.&nbsp; "Thank you, deputy.&nbsp; It shouldn't take long."<br><br>Fishing the key out, Avery flashed Dolores a charming smile as he fitted it to the lock.&nbsp; "Hello, Dolores. Thank you for the invitation. I should have loved a bit of tea but I suppose we'll have to make do without it, won't we?"&nbsp; His voice was soft and gently patient, very nearly the one he might use if speaking with a small child, yet still friendly.&nbsp; There were a variety of Averys he could play when necessary and he did not yet know which one she would respond to best.&nbsp; He would simply have to adapt as they went along.&nbsp; "That does seem harsh.&nbsp; I'm not sure I could handle it, personally.&nbsp; It must be very trying for you here, although I understand you've been quite brave about it.&nbsp; &nbsp;Would you believe that's the very reason I've come?&nbsp; I want to get you back home where you belong."<br><br>She clapped as he opened the door, and he managed to look no more than slightly startled when she flung her arms suddenly about his waist. "Ah…yes… Mr. Whateley, your husband that is, did hire me.&nbsp; There's been a terrible misunderstanding and I'm to fix it."&nbsp; He patted her shoulder soothingly, before guiding her over to the bed where they could both sit down.&nbsp; Noting the way she was still clutching the doll, he now offered it a smile as well.&nbsp; "Oh, hello there.&nbsp; Does dolly have a name?&nbsp; Mine is Avery."&nbsp; As he awaited an answer, his gaze slowly shifted back over to Dolores while he studied her face.&nbsp; Was this an act, was she merely faking it?&nbsp; His initial impression was no.&nbsp; She seemed quite sincere.&nbsp; Mad as a hatter in other words, but not in an entirely off-putting way.&nbsp; Dolores would be useless on the stand but might be made a sympathetic figure if coached and presented in the right manner, should it come to trial.<br><br>"I know many stories.&nbsp; What sort of stories do you like Mrs. Dolores?&nbsp; Stories of adventure and magic perhaps?&nbsp; Of brave handsome knights rescuing lovely princesses?&nbsp; Or perhaps you like the scary ones?&nbsp; So do I.&nbsp; I'll make you deal.&nbsp; I'll tell you a story, any kind you like, if you tell me one too."&nbsp; Placing his hat on his lap, Avery found himself wishing he had brought candy, a detail he might have thought of if he'd better known the details of her peculiarity.&nbsp; "You see, this whole thing is a mistake, I believe.&nbsp; The deputies don't intend to be mean, only they're scared and frightfully confused.&nbsp; Something very terrible happened and they don't understand it.&nbsp; They even think you might have done it yourself.&nbsp; Now, we both know that's silly, don't we?&nbsp; You wouldn't hurt all those people at the asylum would you?&nbsp; But perhaps you might have seen something?&nbsp; That's what I'd like you to tell me, Dolores.&nbsp; The story of that night.&nbsp; And then I can tell them and perhaps they'll understand, and we can get you back to your family and put this unpleasantness behind us."&nbsp; &nbsp;<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ebb</strong> on <strong>06-05-2014, 05:19:45</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 20, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Around Town<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Walker, CLOSED<br><hr> <br><br>Tommy's hands kept as busy as his expressive face. While he cringed and looked startled appropriately at each of the successively more frightful -- but decidedly not supernatural -- nightmares, he began doling out consolation prizes a nickel at a time. "Oh my.... All the way to the bottom?... And how big were its teeth?.... That many of them, and all with guns?..." Occasionally he would look over at Walker with a smug expression, as if his hometown team were blowing the visitors out of the water with the sheer terror of their nightmares. Although as Tommy stopped to think about it, Walker's people probably had a much stronger claim on the "Home" status in this particular game.<br><br>Unfortunately it looked like they were going to be spending money, precious time and lemon drops on a dry shaft. Until Jake stepped forward. Tommy had taken the measure of a man many times across a table, and he knew immediately that Jake wasn't bluffing.<br><br>Dressed in black. Skull for a head. Carries a scythe. <em>Why, that could be virtually anybody!</em> But Tommy managed for once to swallow his automatic witticism before it escaped from his lips. The very last thing these kids needed was another grownup telling them they were crazy. That was a sure path to the end of the interview, and possibly the end of their investigation. But was that altogether a bad thing? He'd just been told point-blank that the bogeyman Walker wanted him to hunt was the Pale Rider himself, maybe absent one horse. He'd signed on to take down a manitou. Not go toe to toe with Death.<br><br>Then he looked at the faces of the children. They'd seen this thing. They knew it was real. They knew it was coming for them. And they didn't have a single able body to turn to for help. His face grew serious.<br><br>"I reckon I just won that bet, Walker. These here young men and women, telling us what they've seen? There ain't a braver man wearing a tin star in Gomorra, I'd wager. How many of you all have seen this fella?"<br><br>He willed himself not to tremble as hand after hand rose slowly into the air. Nearly all of them. Plus one or two who clearly just didn't want to be left out. God bless the Gomorra competitive spirit.<br><br>"All right. Everybody, hand up or not, gets your dollar, and I consider it a just reward for your honesty. I believe you, I really do, but I'll do you even one better than that. Because you see, my friend and I aren't here just because of some bet." Tommy lied for a living. He was good at it. He could make you look down to check if your shoes were on fire, he could rake a pot with a busted straight, and he could convince a man that he had just dropped by the house to help his wife with a rusty porch door swing. Lying to a bunch of kids was, pardon the expression, child's play. But not this time. They deserved better than that.<br><br>"I'm not gonna lie to you all; I respect you too much for that. Me and my friend here are going to take a shot at this Bone Man. He's got some Injun magic up his sleeve, and I've got a couple of tricks of my own -- and don't you dare spread that last part around. I could tell you it was a duck hunt, but you know it ain't. We're still gonna try, because somebody's got to. If you want to stay clear of the mess tonight I wouldn't blame you a bit. Maybe take a little visit over to St. Martin's -- the lock on that door is like a piece of chewing gum. But if you want to lend us a hand then we'd be right appreciative."<br><br>"All you have to do is take one of these whistles. I don't have enough for everyone, so if you're a good whistler on your own then pass 'em on. You stay up tonight, and if the man who left his skin at the laundry shows up you blow three short tweets. Then me and my friend here'll come running while you get to where it's safe. We'll take care of the rest."<br><br><em>And what happens then?</em> he asked himself. Nobody inside seemed to be in the mood to cough up an answer.<br><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>09-05-2014, 08:16:42</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f1/DelilahWhateley.png)</div>&nbsp;<br><strong>Name:</strong>Dolores Whateley (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley (Rank 3)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 18th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery, Dolores, (Townsend nearby), CLOSED<br><hr>“Thank you!”&nbsp; She beamed a smile up at him, her arms still wrapped around him.&nbsp; “It's nice to meet you, Avery.”&nbsp; She followed him calmly to the bench and sat herself on his lap sideways, her feet no longer touching the ground.&nbsp; She bobbed her head and the dolls in a nod.&nbsp; “Oh, yes.&nbsp; How rude of me!&nbsp; Her name is Sabrina.”&nbsp; She smiled sweetly at Avery and settled her doll on her lap.&nbsp; <br><br>She clapped again at the mention of stories, her whole body perking up at the mention of knights and princesses.&nbsp; “Ooh ooh!&nbsp; I would like to hear one about a Princess and the Knight.&nbsp; And the dragon!”&nbsp; She enthused with a grin, her excitement palpable.&nbsp; <br><br>Dolores wrinkled her nose, obviously disagreeing with the disposition of the deputies and her face fell at the mention of the asylum.&nbsp; “The mean men don't like me.&nbsp; I have been nice to them and they called me bad names.”&nbsp; She informed him, upset that he didn't seem to believe her.&nbsp; She leaned closer to him, laying her head on his chest as she pondered the offer he made.&nbsp; She hadn't gotten a night-night story since being arrested and Avery was willing to tell her one.&nbsp; That made her smile.&nbsp; He might even tuck her in!&nbsp; He was nice.&nbsp; Maybe he could be her new friend.<br><br>She shook her head and sat up in his lap.&nbsp; Her bright blue eyes met his and stayed glued to his as she spoke.&nbsp; “I didn't hurt them.&nbsp; I wouldn't hurt them.”&nbsp; She spoke quietly to him, her gaze sad.&nbsp; “They were my friends!&nbsp; They played tea with me, they told me funny stories and they danced&nbsp; with me.”&nbsp; She fidgeted with her doll and shook her head again.&nbsp; “I went to play with them lots.”&nbsp; <br><br>“The doctors were mean there.”&nbsp; She told him, her gaze still meeting his.&nbsp; “They were mean to doggy.&nbsp; They didn't like Doggy and when Doggy got too excited, he liked to play with everyone.”&nbsp; She wrinkled her nose.&nbsp; “Doggy plays rough but he doesn't mean anything by it.&nbsp; He's just... big.”&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>09-05-2014, 08:35:01</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a1/Walker.png)</div>&nbsp;<br><strong>Name:</strong> Walker (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sioux Union<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 20th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>Babel's Tower, Around Town<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Tommy Flanagan, Whippersnappers, CLOSED<br><hr> <br>No longer fighting to keep a straight face, Walker listened carefully as Jake spoke of the creature.&nbsp; His brow furrowed when the others spoke up as well.&nbsp; It certainly sounded like the creature Singing Feather had spoken about.&nbsp; What did it want with children?&nbsp; He nodded his head seriously,&nbsp; “I think you have won this bet.”&nbsp; <br><br>The Whippersnappers came forward to collect the money, their mood lightening as they all got a little something for their time.&nbsp; “Thank you, Mister.”&nbsp; Jake said as he snatched up the money, the last of the Whippersnappers to do as such.&nbsp; The children stopped to listen to him speak even after they had his money.&nbsp; <br><br>“Yer really gonna get 'im?”&nbsp; Jake asked, his eyes wide with disbelief but still hopeful.&nbsp; He looked between Tommy and Walker.&nbsp; Walker nodded his head in agreement with Tommy.<br><br>“We're really going to fight the Bone Man.”&nbsp; He met the boy's eyes, letting Jake see the truth in them.&nbsp; <br><br>Jake nodded and looked at the whistles.&nbsp; The other gathered Whippersnappers waited to see what Jake would do.&nbsp; As he grabbed for one of the whistles, he looked to the others.&nbsp; “If you can't whistle loud, take one of these here whistles.&nbsp; We're gonna help these men to kill the Bone Man!”&nbsp; After he spoke, small, dirty hands grabbed for the whistles as they talked among themselves to see who needed one.&nbsp; <br><br>“We only see 'im at night.”&nbsp; Jake told Tommy and took a deep breath.&nbsp; He gathered his bravery and his chest puffed up a little.&nbsp; “Most of us stay in Tent City.&nbsp; If you're there tonight and the Bone Man comes, you'll be able to hear them whistles.”&nbsp; <br><br>Walker's brow furrowed, “Can you all spend the night a distance apart?”&nbsp; He asked Jake, pondering the situation.&nbsp; “The more area you all are watching, the more likely it will be for someone to spot him.&nbsp; And the more likely it will be for us to be able to stop him.”&nbsp; <br><br>Jake glanced around at the others, all of them waiting for him to answer.&nbsp; As he was the first to speak up, it seemed that he was the one in charge.&nbsp; “I think we can do that fer ya.”&nbsp; He picked at his pants nervously. <br><br>“Thank you.”&nbsp; Walker smiled at Jake.&nbsp; “You're very brave.&nbsp; Even my people would be impressed.”&nbsp; As the whole thing began with a competition, he decided to stick with that theme.&nbsp; “We will see you tonight.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>10-05-2014, 08:09:31</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 18th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Dolores, Townsend present; CLOSED<br><hr> <br>Avery sat with his hands at his sides for there wasn't anywhere to put them that seemed appropriate with Dolores seated on his lap.&nbsp; While he was still relatively new to the private detection business, he suspected that when a man hired you to help his wife, this sort of thing wasn't normally what he'd have in mind.&nbsp; Of course there was nothing normal about the situation.&nbsp; Dolores seemed a child in all ways save one…one which left it all rather disconcerting, however.&nbsp; For she surely didn't look like a child.&nbsp; In fact, gazing back into her pretty face as her bright blue eyes shined up at him, he could see in her features ones that reminded him of his last client from just last week.&nbsp; <br><br>Also a Whateley.&nbsp; Also a job he was trying his best to forget, insanity perhaps running strong in the family.&nbsp; <em>Careful you don't let them get their hooks into you… </em>&nbsp; Wonderful advice, Charlie, but what if they were the only ones hiring?&nbsp; What then?<br><br>"I'm sure you didn't hurt them, Ms. Dolores," he answered gently as she lifted her head from his shoulder and spoke fondly of the asylum.&nbsp; Less so the doctors, who she labeled 'mean' much like the deputies.&nbsp; He found herself wanting to believe her at least as far as the doctors went, perhaps because of the seeming innocence in her gaze, or perhaps because he'd been through such an asylum once back in London and saw what such places put their inmates through under guise of treatment.&nbsp; Straight jackets, starvation, martial discipline, crib cages no bigger than a bed mattress, and worse.&nbsp; Perhaps it was different here though.&nbsp; He'd likely find out when Charlie joined him out there later.&nbsp; That all interested him only vaguely tough.&nbsp; It was the last few words she spoke that had him sitting upright on the cot. <br><br>"Doggy.&nbsp; Was Doggy another inmate, Ms. Dolores?&nbsp; Do you think you could tell me more about him?"&nbsp; Avery smiled reassuringly, reaching up to brush a tendril of hair from her forehead, damned how it may have looked.&nbsp; This could be important, the very key to it.&nbsp; <em>Or the wild fantasies of a mad woman.</em>&nbsp; "It sounds like he was a good friend of yours.&nbsp; Do you know where he might be now?&nbsp; I only ask because I'm worried he could be in danger.&nbsp; I was asked to help you Dolores, to make sure no one harms you, and of course that means your friends as well…"&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>10-05-2014, 08:53:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f1/DelilahWhateley.png)</div>&nbsp;<br><strong>Name:</strong>Dolores Whateley (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley (Rank 3)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 18th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery, Dolores, (Townsend nearby), CLOSED<br><hr>Dolores fidgeted with her doll as he spoke more about Doggy.&nbsp; She frowned and shook her head.&nbsp; “Doggy would never hurt me.&nbsp; I'm his only friend and he protects me from mean people.”&nbsp; She told him quietly.&nbsp; Her blue eyes gazed up at him, locking on his face for a time.&nbsp; “Doggy lived there for a long time.&nbsp; I played with him when he wanted.&nbsp; He told me looooong stories, he played tea and I would share my candy with him.”<br><br>She shook her head and tossed her deep red hair over her shoulder.&nbsp; “I don't know where Doggy is now.&nbsp; I hope he's hiding.”&nbsp; She told him and leaned close to him.&nbsp; “I don't want them to hurt Doggy and they will.”&nbsp; She whispered to Avery, her lips close to his ear.&nbsp; “Please don't let them hurt Doggy.”&nbsp; She sat back on his lap and watched his face, her own filled with worry.&nbsp; A dainty hand settled gently on his chest.&nbsp; <br><br>She tilted her head and yawned, “Is it time for story and tuck ins?”&nbsp; She asked him hopefully.&nbsp; Curling her arm with her doll against her chest, she leaned against him again, her head laying against his chest.&nbsp; “Remember?&nbsp; The Princess, Knight and Dragon story?”&nbsp; She reminded him.&nbsp; <br><br>“Will you be my friend?”&nbsp; She asked him softly.&nbsp; “You're nice and I'd like to play with you!”&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>12-05-2014, 06:03:51</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 16th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Late Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Jail (leaving); Burnham Detective Agency (entering) <br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Dolores, Townsend present; Charlie Flatbush? Doctor?;&nbsp; CLOSED<br><hr> <br>Doggy lived at the asylum.&nbsp; Doggy protected Dolores from mean people.&nbsp; Doggy played rough.&nbsp; Doggy was becoming a very interesting character indeed.&nbsp; Avery still couldn't quite connect the enormity of the crime with a single figure and feel comfortable about it though.&nbsp; Of course he'd heard stories about the incredible strength sometimes exhibited by the mad, but strong enough to tear a man asunder?&nbsp; It was still a compelling lead though.&nbsp; It was also more than apparently Bilton or any of his gunslinging deputies had managed to uncover.&nbsp; Less than day on the job and he was already showing them up.<br><br>"No one is going to hurt anybody else if I can help it," Avery answered Dolores, meeting her worried expression with a reassuring smile.&nbsp; Saying such words almost made him feel like a genuine lawman again, for a brief moment anyways.&nbsp; Of course he wasn't really.&nbsp; He was a hired man now.&nbsp; He was not being paid to solve this crime but to keep the girl from swinging for it.&nbsp; Still, an actual believable suspect was certainly the best way to do that.&nbsp; If he could locate this Doggy character then he might have effectively killed two birds with one stone.&nbsp; His picture could even make the papers again.&nbsp; Admittedly the Gomorra Gazette was a far cry from the London Herald, but one takes what one can get.&nbsp; <br><br>"I'd dearly love to be your friend Dolores and when you get out I promise you we'll both have tea together whenever you like."&nbsp; Placing a gentle hand against the small of her back, Avery helped her up so that he could stand as well.&nbsp; As much as his mind was now whirling with the possibilities -- if they just kept some kind of records at the asylum, it was possible he could put an actual name to 'Doggy' before the day was done -- he'd made a promise to his client's wife and, nuisance as it was, he had to deliver that first.&nbsp; He might still need her cooperation at the trial, after all.&nbsp; "A story.&nbsp; Yes.&nbsp; Lets see…"<br><br>He watched her get settled under the covers and wondered how it was he found himself once again putting a beautiful young woman chastely to bed, twice now in as many weeks.&nbsp; It was a decidedly strange hobby to have picked up.&nbsp; <br><br>"Comfortable?&nbsp; Very good.&nbsp; This story begins a long long time ago and involves a handsome knight, who was brave, strong, and never told a falsehood to anyone, and a beautiful young princess with flowing red locks, why, not at all unlike yours Ms. Dolores, beloved by all her people far and wide.&nbsp; She lived in a lonely old castle with the royal family, the king and the queen and all her relatives, until one day a great fire-breathing monster flew down from the far off eastern mountains and…"<br><br>Rubbish.<br><br>****<br><br>Avery closed the cell door quietly when he'd finished, returning the keys to the desk.&nbsp; A glance at his pocket watch found he'd spend far longer here than he intended but the information he'd gleaned was more than worth the time sacrificed.&nbsp; &nbsp;With any luck the doctor treating Lady Boyle or Deputy Flatbush would be waiting for him at the office.&nbsp; The sooner he got out to the asylum, the better, but the doctor might be able to provide him with some useful insight into the victims first.&nbsp; There was even a chance his testimony alone could be enough to clear Dolores depending on the nature of the rape.&nbsp; <br><br><em>And that's your job.&nbsp; That's what you're being paid to do.&nbsp; Get her out safe and clear, even if she has been holding back important information from the sheriff's office by keeping this Doggy a secret from them.&nbsp; You're not out to catch the killer.&nbsp; &nbsp;</em> <br><br>But what if he could do both?
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>24-05-2014, 23:55:41</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f1/DelilahWhateley.png)</div>&nbsp;<br><strong>Name:</strong>Dolores Whateley (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9811695#msg9811695)<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley (Rank 3)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 18th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery, Dolores, (Townsend nearby), CLOSED<br><hr>Dolores beamed at Avery as he promised to be her friend and have tea with her.&nbsp; It was rather rare for her to find a new friend and she really hadn't expected to find one while she was in trouble.&nbsp; “It will be wonderful!&nbsp; I have so many teas and lots of cups so you don't have to worry about any of that.&nbsp; We'll put on our fancy clothes and drink tea and maybe we can even dance!&nbsp; Dancing is so much fun!”&nbsp; <br><br>She rose at the light prod and then settled back on the bench for her story, a smile on her face.&nbsp; Getting quiet for a short time, she listened as he began his story.&nbsp; Interrupting him, she giggled and shook her head.&nbsp; “Oh, no!&nbsp; We have to get to the part where the Dragon eats the Knight and then keeps the Princess for himself!”&nbsp; She explained how the story <em>should</em> end.&nbsp; <br><br>Covering her mouth as she yawned, she offered him one last sleepy smile.&nbsp; “Thank you for the story, Avery.”&nbsp; She murmured at him and rubbed her eyes.&nbsp; “I look forward to tea with you later.”&nbsp; Snuggling against the bench and wall, she closed her eyes to sleep for the day.<br><br><div align="center"><em>(End Scene for Dolores)</em></div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>25-05-2014, 06:52:22</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/24/Docaveley.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Doctor Sylvester Aveley<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; None<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 18th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Avery's Office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Avery, CLOSED<br><hr>Doc Aveley was nicknamed ‘The Good Doc’ in Gomorra - though he often had his doubts.&nbsp; Educated, yes, and with a clean shop that was respectable enough for most of the decent, wealthier folks of Gomorra to patron, he was still something of a novice to the West - but the people of Gomorra were willing to tolerate a tinhorn with a paper degree hung on his wall, since it gave them an exaggerated sense of confidence in what he was doing.<br><br>Which worked out well enough for Doc Aveley, since the majority of his time in his office seemed to be refilling prescriptions for laudenum and other miracle cures.&nbsp; He wasn’t the meat-grinder battlefield surgeon that Doc Meisters was, but most folk were more comfortable in a clean office surrounded by glass bottles than they were in a blood-stained one with bonesaws and tools of the trade.&nbsp; Medicine was a messy business in Gomorra - more often it was digging bullets out of people or treating ghost rock burns than it was anything as clean and simple as a medicine bottle - but in the year since he’d moved to Gomorra, he’d had to deal with more of the blood and gristle of the human body than he cared to think about.<br><br>That, and tummy twisters.&nbsp; He could do without seeing another Texas Tummy Twister his whole life.&nbsp; He shuddered as he thought about it, and popped open the lid of a cigarillo case and puffed on a pre-rolled cigarette as he waited outside the office.&nbsp; It wasn’t often that he answered a summons to a business office - particularly a closed one.&nbsp; No, he was used to private residences or occasionally the back room of a casino where a dispute over cards had gotten out of hand.<br><br><em>These people are insane.</em>&nbsp; That thought had crossed Aveley’s mind on more than one occasion.&nbsp; They shot one another over cards and spilled drinks and horses and cattle, they groused over the cost to bury their nearest and dearest friends, and if it wasn’t for a dozen young newly wed ladies that came by his office regularly for hysteria treatments, he might well have already packed up and moved back East.&nbsp; He fretted with his vest, then tugged at the sleeves of his clean suit, looking around for the ‘Detective’ who’d summoned him.&nbsp; He puffed away at the cigarette, smoking it down to a roach, then lit another off the burning ember while he waited for the newest Law Dog to show himself.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>26-05-2014, 01:53:52</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 18th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Late Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Burnham Detective Agency <br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Dr. Aveley; CLOSED<br><hr> <br>Avery left the jailhouse in good spirits.&nbsp; His meeting with Dolores Whateley had gone better than expected.&nbsp; Admittedly, he’d been somewhat less than pleased with the dictated ending to his story, the young woman insisting that the handsome brown-eyed and decidedly English knight -- a rather charming fellow in his own opinion -- be eaten by the dragon, after which it burned down the castle and absconded with the delighted giggling princess.&nbsp; &nbsp;That wasn’t quite how he’d planned it out in his head.&nbsp; It could be there really was something rather wrong about Miss Dolores.&nbsp; <br><br>That was a trifling matter, however, when considering that he’d left with a lead, one that had so far eluded the sheriff’s office.&nbsp; Avery would eventually share the information with Bilton, provided he uncovered something more substantial than a single word -- Doggy -- but for now it was his clue alone.&nbsp; He could not quite resist the lure of imagining himself cracking this case, preferably over the department’s stunned head.&nbsp; It was not that he had anything in particular against the sheriff and his deputies, beyond them being very different sorts of men than himself.&nbsp; It was merely the competitive spirit in Avery.&nbsp; An itching desire to prove that he was in fact the superior detective in Gomorra, a thousand leagues above what passed for law enforcement in this ragged little frontier town -- mere pistols with badges.<br><br>He recognized the doctor at once upon reaching his little office, not so much from familiarity but simply by the man’s demeanor.&nbsp; Educated men were so few and far between in Gomorra that it was not hard to pick them out.&nbsp; “My sincere apologies, sir,” Avery stated, extending his hand as he approached.&nbsp; “A man of your esteemed profession should not be made to wait outside of doors.&nbsp; I understand how valuable your time can be.&nbsp; I’m afraid I was held over by a rather insistent client this morning, but I do appreciate your coming here.&nbsp; Please, step inside…”<br><br>Avery ushered Dr. Aveley through the empty waiting room and over to his desk, where he at once poured him a shot of the good bourbon from his drawer.&nbsp; “As you probably guessed, I’m not feeling especially ill myself but I needed to have a word with you.&nbsp; &nbsp;About the poor unfortunate Lady Boyle.”&nbsp; His polite smile turned more grave as he turned to business.&nbsp; “I’ve been hired by the Whateley family to look into this recent unpleasantness.&nbsp; It’s my belief an innocent young woman is about to be unjustly tried and quite possibly hung for a crime she almost certainly couldn’t have committed.&nbsp; I am hoping you might be able to confirm that, doctor.&nbsp; I understand the nature of the situation is very delicate but a girl’s life could hinge on the truth.&nbsp; I’ve been given to understand Ms. Boyle was violated in a most foul manner that night and as her physician I am hoping you could tell me if there was any…well, let us say, evidence left behind that would indicate a male attacker?”&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>27-05-2014, 02:03:37</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/24/Docaveley.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Doctor Sylvester Aveley<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; None<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 18th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Avery's Office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Avery, CLOSED<br><hr>Doc Aveley took his hand and shook it, giving a wry smile at the mention of being made to wait.&nbsp; It was true he was more often made to wait indoors, in a foyer or a kitchen, but while his profession was respected there were many who still saw it as something of a well-trained servant, particularly west of the Tracks.&nbsp; He’d grown rather used to waiting.&nbsp; “I do know how that goes,” he chuckled softly.&nbsp; “Some of my clients are rather insistent, too.”&nbsp; He looked to the door and gave a small nod, stepping in after and looking around with a certain bemusement.&nbsp; It was an office, and also the home of a bachelor - and in its own way it reminded him of his clinic, because his business was precisely the same.<br><br>His face drained of color and amusement at the mention of Lady Boyle, though, and he followed with and removed his hat, settling into a seat and taking the bourbon gratefully.&nbsp; If they were going to be discussing Lady Boyle, it would certainly be needed.&nbsp; &nbsp;“I had heard they were charging the … young Whateley woman with the crime.&nbsp; I was familiar with Dr. Caetano… before the events at the asylum.&nbsp; He had invited me to … ah… witness some of his medical treatments for insanity, but I didn’t much have stomach for them.&nbsp; I was always rather surprised that Delores herself was never committed to that institution, but after seeing some of the methods there, I would say it was charity on the part of the family.”<br><br>He sipped at the bourbon, some of his color returning.&nbsp; “But as to Miss Boyle… she was <em>ravaged</em>, and brutally, but I could not say with medical certainty if there was … male issue inside of her.&nbsp; Mostly there was blood - tearing of the vagina, cervix, uterus… the labia.&nbsp; I had not seen anything like it, and … I would say not even the most well-endowed of men could do such a thing.&nbsp; I consulted with the veterinarian in town, and he had… he had seen something similar when a young woman on a ranch had… ah… had taken up relations with a stallion.”<br><br>He blushed a little as he said it.&nbsp; “It <em>is</em> possible Miss Whateley could have been responsible - if she used her fist, the bulk of her arm - in a rather forceful manner.&nbsp; Miss Boyle was… an unusual woman.&nbsp; Taken to sleepwalking.&nbsp; A number of people had observed her doing it.&nbsp; But beyond the… well, the penetration, there were no other signs of damage.&nbsp; She wasn’t cut, or clawed, or … whatever the Sheriff’s office is saying was responsible for the wounds on the other men.&nbsp; Bruised, yes.&nbsp; Badly so.&nbsp; When she first appeared in my office I thought… I thought she was horribly injured, but most of the blood was not hers.&nbsp; She remains unconscious since the night, but it is a state of … catatonia.&nbsp; She does not respond to stimuli.&nbsp; Occasionally she moves, she walks with difficulty… she eats when fed, but she is not… present.&nbsp; And she doesn’t speak.”&nbsp; There was a flicker there - that wasn’t wholly true, but what he was attempting to conceal came with a considerable amount of personal embarrassment.&nbsp; He blushed at the thought of it.<br><br>He blew out a breath.&nbsp; “I’m sorry for… unburdening myself so.&nbsp; The whole affair has been quite distressing.&nbsp; I … ah… I have the medical records maintained by Dr. Caetano.&nbsp; I have been attempting to contact the next of kin.&nbsp; I didn’t think to bring them… I wasn’t certain as to what this meeting was about, or I would have.”&nbsp; He smiled apologetically.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ebb</strong> on <strong>28-05-2014, 06:15:06</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 20 - 21, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Around Town<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Walker, CLOSED<br><hr> <br><br>Given enough time and inclination, Tommy supposed that it just might be possible to pinpoint the exact worst location in Soddom from which to stage a preemptive strike on the Angel of Death, accompanied only by a taciturn redskin and a handful of playing cards. Such a spot would have to be downwind of a community latrine, the smell balanced out only by the odor of rancid cooking oil drifting over from the Chinese quarter. If possible, the tent would have to be procured at outrageous expense from a man in possession of somewhere south of four teeth who had suddenly been possessed by the spirit of John Pierpont Morgan (who was, as far as Tommy knew, still very much alive) when the subject of temporary real estate dealings had entered the picture. Furthermore, the tent so acquired would be occupied by six feral cats who had evidently made their own tenant-landlord agreement with the tent's owner, and who seemed reluctant to take on new boarders without first establishing their primacy with sprays of urine.<br><br>It was a fine tent, and it had been a fine evening.<br><br>"Now this time I want you to concentrate. This is important, Walker." Tommy stared at the red man sitting cross-legged across from the remains of their meager dinner. The cats had expressed interest in the empty can of beans, but Tommy was saving it as a last-ditch projectile weapon. The Irishman's fingers moved nimbly in the candlelight; it almost made things too easy. "Is <em>this</em> your card?" he asked triumphantly, holding up the seven of spades.<br><br>The Indian looked at the card, then at Tommy, and raised a single eyebrow. It was a neat trick, one that Tommy was going to have to master himself. "Do you want me to lie again?" he asked without guile.<br><br>"Crap. No. Just tell me."<br><br>"In that case, no. That is not the card I chose earlier. It was the eight of--"<br><br>"No! Don't tell--"<br><br>"Hearts."<br><br>"Crap. Fine. Be that way." Clearly the supernatural energies of the evening were interfering with even mundane card tricks. Or, Tommy conceded, he was too nervous to think straight. What had seemed a foolhardy errand earlier now seemed positively suicidal. He'd been on the edge of his nerves for hours now, listening for a whistle that never came. There had been a whistle earlier, though not in the agreed-upon pattern, and a short investigation had shown that it was just a miner showing appreciation for his purchased lady of the evening. Or of the hour -- the fellow hadn't looked flush enough to spring for the whole night. Walker and Tommy had exited that tent with as much dignity as they could muster after the interruption.<br><br>The hours wore on, the candles were snuffed and replaced, and eventually dawn broke just as it does upon even the shittiest places in the West. The cats had worked out a reluctant treaty and stayed on their three-quarters of the tent without further incident. Neither Tommy nor Walker had slept a wink, Tommy sustained largely by wasted adrenaline and what must have been half a pound of tobacco. Eventually it became evident that they would not have a visitor this evening, and with sudden horror Tommy imagined spending more nights in this sodden circumstance. Weeks? Months? What exactly had he signed on for?<br><br>Bleary-eyed he climbed out into the weak sunlight, bidding their temporary shelter a not so fond adieu. Today they would meet with the wise woman, Something Feather. Maybe she'd be wise enough to come up with a better plan. Before that, though, there would have to be coffee.<br><br>"Come on. I'll buy you a waffle." There was no better place to go after a long night stalking Death than the good old Wafflehaus. For a big enough tip they'd probably even forgive the smell of cat piss.<br><br><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>29-05-2014, 07:48:42</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 18th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Late Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Burnham Detective Agency <br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Dr. Aveley; CLOSED<br><hr> <br>Avery listened closely as the doctor unburdened himself with surprising openness.&nbsp; He’d been worried that he was going to have to coax the truth out of him but he seemed almost glad to detail the peculiarities of Ms. Boyle’s situation.&nbsp; His words were honest, of that much he was fairly certain, yet he was not altogether pleased with what he was hearing just the same.&nbsp; He had hoped a medical man, an educated man, would have been able to shine some light on the more unusual aspects of the case, illuminate its darkened corners, so to speak.&nbsp; Specifically, rid it of the vaguely supernatural element hanging over it, although just thinking that word lent a bitter taste to Avery’s tongue.&nbsp; &nbsp; <br><br>Monster.&nbsp; That’s what the facts were hinting at, wasn’t it?&nbsp; Tearing men limb from limb, ravishing a woman with such ferocity that only a beast could possibly compare.&nbsp; Avery would not believe it though.&nbsp; There was a rational explanation for whatever had happened that night.&nbsp; Dolores Whateley was not it though.&nbsp; That much was clear to everyone, including the doctor, it seemed.&nbsp; Avery should like to see Bilton attempt to explain how Dolores could have violated Ms. Boyle in such a ferocious manner in the way Dr. Aveley just had before a jury of respectable businessmen and uptight housewives.&nbsp; The sheriff would be lucky if he wasn’t run out of town on a rail for indecency alone.<br><br>“I appreciate your candor, Dr. Aveley.&nbsp; I should very much like to see Dr. Caetano’s records if you could send them by my office.&nbsp; I think we both agree that Miss Whateley is a highly unlikely suspect at best.&nbsp; Even if you grant that the poor woman’s rape was within the grounds of human possibility, if extremely improbable, there’s likely even less possibility that she could have caused the other injuries is there?&nbsp; I mean, tearing men limb from limb…”&nbsp; Avery learned forward, brow narrowed slightly.&nbsp; “Did you see the bodies by chance?&nbsp; Are you certain they weren’t cut or hacked?&nbsp; Then perhaps just mangled afterwards?”&nbsp; &nbsp;The Englishman sat back in his chair again, frowning.&nbsp; “At any rate, I may need to call on you for the upcoming trial.&nbsp; I do appreciate you coming at such short notice.&nbsp; &nbsp;Please allow me to pay you for your time as I promised.”&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>31-05-2014, 04:31:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/24/Docaveley.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Doctor Sylvester Aveley<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; None<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 18th <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Avery's Office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Avery, CLOSED<br><hr>“I would think she is… a highly unlikely suspect,” he agreed.&nbsp; “I don’t speculate on … who might have been at fault, or what.&nbsp; The closest explanation I have heard as to the other injuries - on Mr. Jones and that… Southern fellow, from out of town - was the prospect of a frenzied bear, attacking unseen in the middle of Gomorra.”&nbsp; He rolled his eyes.&nbsp; “But I… I will testify into how doubtful a prospect <em>rape</em> was, and the mechanism by which her assault was possible.”<br><br>He paled a little, and nodded.&nbsp; “Yes, yes I … saw the bodies.&nbsp; I understood that Father Ortega took charge of the bodies to offer those poor souls a … proper burial in lieu of a peaceful end.&nbsp; I… I would rather my opinion not be repeated to the Sheriff, but I believe he was attempting unsuccessfully to apply Occam’s Razor to the quandary of who might have been responsible.&nbsp; Or at least, his need for resolution may have interfered with his better sense.”&nbsp; He frowned.&nbsp; “It is… possible they were dismembered after the fact, but that… well, that would make it something that your young Whateley <em>was</em> capable of.&nbsp; Unpleasant as the prospect of her wielding an axe and a bonesaw might have been.&nbsp; Or perhaps, of mangling bone with a sledgehammer and disposing of those tools over the side of a mesa…”&nbsp; He shook his head.&nbsp; “I feel I’m not shedding much light on what occurred, but Gomorra sometimes seems a place not meant for the light of reason.”<br><br>He waved off the offer of money.&nbsp; “I - no, the scotch was divine,” he offered.&nbsp; “As to the matter of Dr. Caetano’s records - I would prefer if you were to stop by and peruse them in my office,” he offered.&nbsp; “I still have a responsibility of my own to discharge.&nbsp; You’re welcome to peruse them as much as you care to, and I keep late hours, but … if this case does proceed to trial, there may be some apprehension in a reasonable jury about their admissibility as evidence if they were … ah… outside the custody of a doctor.”&nbsp; He wrinkled his nose, realizing he’d just cast unintended aspersions on Avery’s character.&nbsp; “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to imply that you… would alter the records, in any way.&nbsp; Just that a jury might… and a lawyer <em>certainly</em> would point out that records in the custody of a man paid to help clear Dolores Whateley’s name might be suspect.”&nbsp; He fiddled with his vest.&nbsp; “I didn’t mean to be rude.&nbsp; I hope we can blame the scotch if I’ve offered any slight.”
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>02-06-2014, 00:29:00</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a1/Walker.png)</div><div class="floatright"> (https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/thumb/b/bd/SingingFeather.png/180px-SingingFeather.png)</div><strong>Name:</strong> Walker (https://elliquiy.com/wiki/DeadlandsFactionSioux#Walks-in-Footsteps) <br>Singing Feather (https://elliquiy.com/wiki/DeadlandsFactionSioux#Singing_Feather) <br><strong>Faction:</strong> Sioux Union (Walker: Rank 3, Singing Feather: Rank 4)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 21st <br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong>Wafflehaus<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Tommy Flanagan, Singing Feather, CLOSED<br><hr> <br><div align="center">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/thumb/a/ad/Dorakoch.png/383px-Dorakoch.png)</div><div align="center"><strong>Name:</strong> Dora<br><strong>Faction:</strong> None</div><hr>Walker simply nodded at the offer of coffee.&nbsp; The night had been a disappointment but his patience was hardly taxed.&nbsp; Many a time, he had spent days at a time waiting for a specific event to happen and it appeared that this may be one of those occasions.<br><br>Tommy wasn't a bad companion to spend the evening with and Walker had learned something about cards.&nbsp; Perhaps, should they be on the lookout again for the night, he would teach Walker some of the white man card games that people seemed to enjoy.&nbsp; He suspected it would take some time and caution to learn considering how many of these card games end in gun fights but he was a patient man.<br><br>As they approached the Wafflehaus, Walker's easy smile faltered.&nbsp; He would have preferred to see Dora not smelling like cat piss but, still, he was excited to see the beauty.&nbsp; As they were sat, Dora beamed a smile at them and quickly got their order while Walkers gaze seemed to be glued to the young waitress.<br><br>“Here you go.”&nbsp; Dora smiled as she set a mug of hot coffee before both men, her eyes lingering on Walker with a slight blush.&nbsp; “Can I get you boys anything else?”<br><br>Just as Dora asked her question, the door opened and three more red skins walked in and stopped just inside.&nbsp; The two males were in full brave garb and their dark, hard eyes scanned the restaurant before stepping aside for the small woman behind them.&nbsp; Saying nothing, she simply touched their arms and both glanced down at her.&nbsp; Nodding once, they stepped back outside, standing just beside the entry.<br><br>Walker rose with a chuckle as the woman approached them.&nbsp; “Ah, Singing Feather.&nbsp; I should have known you would find us where ever we ended up.”&nbsp; He gestured at one of the extra seats at the table.&nbsp; “Please, have a seat.”&nbsp; He then gestured at Tommy, “This is the man you had sent me to find.&nbsp; His name in Tommy.”&nbsp; He smiled at Tommy as Singing Feather sat carefully.&nbsp; “Tommy, this is Singing Feather.&nbsp; She is our beloved Shaman.”&nbsp; Knowing Tommy would probably take more from her title than other white men, he didn't feel the need to explain more.<br><br>“I am glad to meet you.”&nbsp; Singing Feather spoke quietly to Tommy.&nbsp; “We owe you thanks for being willing to help.&nbsp; If we were to enter Gomorra to handle this, it would surely have been war.”&nbsp; <br><br>Dora blinked at the beautiful red skinned woman and her gaze flicked between Singing Feather and Walker.&nbsp; It took a moment but she remembered her job.&nbsp; “Oh, uh, can I get you something to drink, ma'am?”&nbsp; She asked, a bit flustered.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>02-06-2014, 02:34:57</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 18th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Late Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Burnham Detective Agency <br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Charlie Flatbush (?); CLOSED<br><hr> <br>Avery tried to picture the young woman he’d met just a few hours ago swinging axes and sledgehammers while smiling beatifically, and had to admit -- it wasn’t <em>that</em> hard.&nbsp; Still highly unlikely, however, and not a thing any but the most hostile or gullible of juries would be apt to believe in his opinion.&nbsp; Substitute in the mysterious Doggy and it all became much more palatable.&nbsp; That created another worry though.&nbsp; What if this Doggy character had gone over the side of the mesa with the tools of execution?&nbsp; Proving that would be next to impossible, especially in the tight timeframe he currently had.&nbsp; Dolores seemed convinced he was still alive and well though, if in hiding.<br><br>“Of course, Dr. Aveley.&nbsp; No offense was given.&nbsp; Believe me, I appreciate your professionalism.&nbsp; It does not seem to always be in the most plentiful supply out here, I’ve noticed.”&nbsp; He was rather annoyed, in fact, but not at the doctor.&nbsp; Aveley was of course correct that a decent lawyer would call the documents into question if he simply walked off with them, and that he’d overlooked that fact only served to remind him that he was no proper lawyer himself.&nbsp; He was still playing police detective, chasing after leads, not thinking first and foremost of his client’s defense.&nbsp; “I have another appointment I need to handle first but if possible I’d like to stop by your office later this evening and have a proper look.&nbsp; You’ve been most helpful, doctor, and I appreciate you taking your time this way to speak candidly with me.&nbsp; If I should ever have need of a doctor’s services, I’ve confidence you’re a man I could trust.”<br><br>Most doctors were barely worth the paper their degrees were printed on of course.&nbsp; Avery knew that much.&nbsp; He admired the medical profession for its scientific approach to healing the body, as opposed to the mystic hocus pocus many still foolishly clung to, but he also knew there were any number of shady institutions back east willing to crank out degrees to practically anyone who could afford one.&nbsp; The same was true in London.&nbsp; Whether Dr. Aveley was among these or one of the more honest sorts, it was hard to know.&nbsp; Being Gomorra, the former was probably the safer bet, he imagined. <br><br>Shaking his hand, Avery escorted him to the door and said his polite farewells.&nbsp; He then returned to the office for his hat before tossing the glass and whiskey bottle back into the drawer.&nbsp; Catching sight of his old service revolver, he thought a second, frowned, and took it out, checking the cylinder to see that it was loaded.&nbsp; Avery then inserted it into the leather lined pocket sewn into his coat and headed out to see if Charlie Flatbush was around.&nbsp; <br><br>It was time to see this asylum in person.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>02-06-2014, 05:10:11</strong>
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				“It is perhaps an undue worry on my part,” he admitted.&nbsp; “And… honestly, as much motivated by own attempts to make some kind of contact with the families of the… inmates of the asylum.&nbsp; Perhaps once this business is concluded I could find some incentive to acquire your assistance in that matter.&nbsp; It’s… a terrible thing, to think those poor people were forgotten and alone before the fate that befell them.”&nbsp; He frowned, and shook his head.&nbsp; “Of course.&nbsp; With any luck, it will be a quiet night.&nbsp; I’ll… ah… I’ll be happy to provide some refreshments,” he offered, gesturing to the bottle.&nbsp; “It’s been some time since I had company that wasn’t a patient.”&nbsp; His brow furrowed - for a moment, there was an anxious need to clean up his office, but he glanced around Avery’s for a moment and realized they were probably equitably skilled at housekeeping.<br><br>He gave a wry smile at the confidence.&nbsp; “Truth be told… Dr. Meister has an unpleasant reputation, but unparalleled experience as a surgeon.&nbsp; Not an amiable fellow, but… he was happy to foist most of the wealthier clientele of the city off on me.&nbsp; He much prefers a gunshot wound or an amputation to the more… commonplace injuries and ailments that I treat.”&nbsp; He chuckled, and shook his head.&nbsp; “‘I’ll not be trifled with <em>sniffles,</em>’” he repeated, in a thick German accent.&nbsp; “Still.&nbsp; Experience is as fine a teacher as any classroom.”&nbsp; He shrugged and shook off his momentary self-deprecation.<br><br>He lingered for a moment, glancing up at the trophy of a buffalo from Avery’s past.&nbsp; “Perhaps in return you can explain how a … detective comes across such a prize.”&nbsp; His lips twisted in bemusement, and his eyes quirked with momentary curiosity.&nbsp; “After your engagement, of course.”<br><hr><hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a4/Flatbush.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Charlie Flatbush<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dogs (3)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 18th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Deadman's Rest<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery Burnam; CLOSED <br><hr> <br>The morning was transitioning to afternoon by the time of Flatbush’s arrival - he looked in considerably healthier spirits than when Avery had first seen him, and a shotgun was tipped over his shoulder when he made his way up to the office.&nbsp; He tipped a dusty hat at the detective.&nbsp; <br><br>“Sorry I’m late,” he offered.&nbsp; “Two fellows drunk ‘fore noon decided to have a row in the jail, and one of ‘em decided to resolve it by dumping the offal bucket over the head of the other.&nbsp; You picked a good time to chat with Dolores.&nbsp; Whole place reeks of drunkard shit, now.”&nbsp; He wrinkled his nose.&nbsp; “But, on the plus side, once word and smell spread a bit, I imagine folks’ll be minding their manners this evening.”<br><br>He fell in step out towards the Line, Deadman’s Rest visible over the newly constructed bridge.&nbsp; There were signs that construction was continuing, even with the rope-bridge in place - scaffolding had been erected on the western edge of the mesa, and the first signs of an arched wooden bridge were beginning to appear.&nbsp; <br><br>He held onto the rope as he began to make his way across.&nbsp; The southern edge of Deadman’s Rest was lined with fancy, expensive tombs - stone mausoleums with gated entrances.&nbsp; Then there were a half dozen concentric arches of gravestones, ranging in detail and elaboration by the wealth of their occupants.&nbsp; The asylum itself was built closer to the middle of the mesa, a stone-walled structure with a neo-gothic character and gargoyles that looked as though it might originally have been intended to be a mausoleum.&nbsp; On the far north and western lee of the mesa was a blackened rooftop - whatever building was concealed was hidden by the natural dip of the mesa, leaving only a dilapidated roof and arched windows that looked over the cemetery like the eyes of a giant.&nbsp; A massive stone, fifteen feet long and forty feet long, carved from the stone of the mesa itself, loomed over the smaller graves.&nbsp; Hundreds of names were inscribed upon the flat surface, beneath Roman numerals that ran the width of the stone.<br><br>“The asylum was supposed to be a mausoleum, originally.&nbsp; Guess the feller who built it decided he’d rather not die in Gomorra,” mused Flatbush.&nbsp; “Got donated to the town, and so the crazy folk got some place to call their own.”&nbsp; He nodded his head towards the mausoleum turned asylum.&nbsp; “I wouldn’t want to live out here.&nbsp; Hell, even the damn undertaker don’t want to live out here.”&nbsp; He pointed a thumb behind him.&nbsp; “He lives on <em>that</em> side of the bridge.”<br><br>He reached for keys from his pocket, brought them out with a jangle, and started to work to figure which would work upon the wooden door locked closed at the front of the asylum.&nbsp; The dust and dirt surrounding the asylum was too firmly packed - or was simply exposed stone - to leave any tracks behind, of human criminal or otherwise.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>05-06-2014, 08:09:50</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 18th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Dead Man’s Rest <br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Charlie Flatbush; CLOSED<br><hr> <br>Avery did not consider himself a superstitious man.&nbsp; Quite the opposite was true.&nbsp; The persistence of such fantasy in an age of reason frustrated him.&nbsp; He championed logic and what the mind could firmly grasp and understand.&nbsp; The future belonged to seekers of material truth, scientists and engineers and men like himself.&nbsp; He believed that wholly.&nbsp; Nonetheless, he could not help feeling there was something wrong about Deadman’s Rest, something only partially related to the rows of gravestones and ornate mausoleums that awaited their arrival.&nbsp; There were countless graveyards, after all, and in the end they were all nothing but chiseled placards and rotting bones.&nbsp; This one felt different somehow though.&nbsp; If ever there was such a thing as a place well-suited to strangeness and tragedy, this one would surely qualify.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br><em>Horse flop</em>, he thought to himself, peering curiously at the windows of a distant obscured manse to the north.&nbsp; Charlie was right though.&nbsp; This was not a place anyone would wish to live.&nbsp; Only the mad would be apt to tolerate it for long and of course they were likely given little choice in the matter.&nbsp; If this asylum was anything like the one he’s seen, it would have made the cramped jailhouse in town feel like a health resort in comparison, upturned offal bucket or otherwise.&nbsp; Not that he entirely blamed people for isolating them out here, cruel as it might seem.&nbsp; There was nothing that disturbed Avery quite like the idea of madness, the thought of losing oneself, of falling into the dark recesses of the mind and never crawling back out again.&nbsp; It upset him.&nbsp; It upset him more than he liked to admit.<br><br>“I have a question for you Charlie, rather important one maybe,” he began while the deputy sorted through his keys.&nbsp; Removing his hat, Avery used it to fan himself, a mostly ineffectual effort to combat the rising midday heat.&nbsp; “So it give it some thought before you answer.&nbsp; I need to know if you’ve ever heard of a man around these parts who goes by the name of Doggy, or just Dog perhaps.&nbsp; I know how fond you people are&nbsp; of nicknames out here.&nbsp; I’ve certainly met my share of Reds and Blackies and Wild Bills, even one fellow who went by the peculiar appellation of Tripod, and, no, I didn’t ask.”&nbsp; <br><br>Returning his bowler to his head, the Englishman glanced back towards the rickety bridge and then did a slow circuit of the mesa with squinted eyes, trying to imagine where a man might hide in all this nothing, what could have escaped the notice of Bilton and his deputies.&nbsp; Had they checked the mausoleums?&nbsp; “It could even be anything canine related I suppose.&nbsp; A Wolf or a Hound for example.&nbsp; He would almost certainly have to be a large man though, possibly with a reputation, although that last part’s pure conjecture.”&nbsp; &nbsp;Surely a man who had mutilated so many people and raped that poor woman would not be a stranger to violence though.&nbsp; “Anything that comes to mind along those lines, no matter how tangential, might be of a great help to me.”<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>06-06-2014, 08:36:43</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a4/Flatbush.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Charlie Flatbush<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dogs (3)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 18th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Deadman's Rest<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery Burnam; CLOSED <br><hr> <br>Charlie sorted through the keys, trying a few and then pausing as he listened to the detective’s question.&nbsp; He chortled at ‘Tripod,’ and he had the gist of the question before Avery had finished asking.&nbsp; “Hell, we got plenty,” he said.&nbsp; “Men and women both.&nbsp; Every fella thinks if he’s got a mean name then folk won’t bother with him.&nbsp; Half of ‘em are painting bullseyes on their foreheads.&nbsp; Other half are just trying to keep from dropping their name on account of charges and bounties.&nbsp; We got a Mad Dog McKay, Bloodhound Bill, Wolf Bartleby.&nbsp; Big Dog Mike Everett, Bulldog Jones.&nbsp; Let’s see, there’s… “&nbsp; He frowned.&nbsp; Those were certainly the top of the list.&nbsp; <br><br>“Mad Dog’s been dead and buried for nigh six months, though.&nbsp; Texas Tummy Twister.&nbsp; And Bloodhound Bill struck himself a little parcel out west of here, sold it off to Sweetrock and retired back to Florida.&nbsp; But they called him Bloodhound cause he always get drunk and talked about having a nose for fundament.&nbsp; Took him four damn years to find a claim, but when he did he found a good’un.&nbsp; Wolf Bartleby runs the candy shop,” he laughed.&nbsp; “So I don’t much see him causin’ trouble.&nbsp; Also, he got himself about ten pounds on your Dolores, so I don’t fancy pinnin’ no murders on him.&nbsp; Big Dog…”&nbsp; He frowned, thinking.&nbsp; “He runs a water ship up and down from Lost Angels to Dragonhome, or whatever they’re callin’ that place with a pet Maze Dragon.&nbsp; See him every three weeks or so.&nbsp; He’s due in any day now.&nbsp; Bulldog’s big, and he’s got a reputation.&nbsp; He fights three nights a week down at the Bloodsport Arena.&nbsp; Big Negro fella.&nbsp; Can’t miss him.”&nbsp; He considered.&nbsp; “Prolly a few others, too - half of ‘em end up on Gulgoleth over there, though,” he said, with a nod towards the massive stone wall of names.&nbsp; “Other half … hell, move on or give up or just plain disappear and we never know what becomes of ‘em.”&nbsp; <br><br>“Ah ha!”&nbsp; He found the winning key, and the gate creaked as it opened.&nbsp; He scooped up his shotgun propped against the door, and pulled it open.&nbsp; The scent of dried blood permeated in the darkness, and compared to the bright midday sun, the interior of the asylum was a black pit.&nbsp; Charlie knelt by the door, feeling until he found a lantern, and took a moment to strike it up.&nbsp; The large mausoleum was a mere stairwell down into the stone of Deadman’s Rest, and after Charlie had gotten it lit, he cast it down the stairs.&nbsp; The first bit of stone at the bottom of the stairs was dried brown with blood, and Charlie gave a sigh.<br><br>“Ain’t gonna sleep right for a week,” he grumbled.&nbsp; Then he began to head down the stair, casting the bobbing lamp cast ahead of them, the shotgun carried in one hand.&nbsp; They were just to the bottom of the stair, in a catacomb that might once have been a mine shaft, refitted to become a tomb, and then refit again to become an asylum.&nbsp; Wooden doors were built in front of small cubbies of hollowed out stone.&nbsp; There were splashes of blood <em>everywhere</em>, along the floor and high on the walls, sometimes splashed up to the ceiling.&nbsp; The first room they passed was the only one with a hint of decor - lamps and a desk and a bed, writing papers and an overturned ink quill.&nbsp; The wooden doors weren’t on their hinges any longer.&nbsp; They’d been yanked down, and still lay on the ground, their occupants clearly dragged from their rooms.&nbsp; The other patients had been treated similarly - though their rooms were little more than mattresses and buckets that stank of refuse.&nbsp; <br><br>A dozen doors had been yanked downward, torn from their hinges by brute force.&nbsp; In places, it looked like bodies had been dragged, kicking and fighting, while others had died quickly and been left in place, the ground stained dark with spilled blood.&nbsp; The bodies were all gone - mostly.&nbsp; A foot torn from an ankle lingered in one room, and rolled against one wall was a severed finger.&nbsp; As they surveyed the place, there was one door that didn’t fit with the others - instead of being torn down, it had burst into planks, broken apart by a force that hit like a charging buffalo.&nbsp; Charlie and the other Law Dogs had come upon the place when it was strewn with gore and carnage and remains - the details of the door had been overlooked.<br><br>Burst <em>outward.</em>&nbsp; The number on the door was a thirteen.&nbsp; <br><br>“When we got here, there was… blood and meat everywhere.&nbsp; Mostly in the halls, a few killed in their rooms.&nbsp; We think some of ‘em heard it and were trying to claw their way outta their rooms.”&nbsp; He nudged at one of the fallen doors, were there were deep gouges in the wood near the top of the door.&nbsp; The doors didn’t fit perfectly into their entryways - there would have been seams between rock and wood.&nbsp; “We spent most of a day picking up chunks, and … cleaning up as best we could.&nbsp; Ain’t no fit place to keep a man, even a madman.”
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>12-06-2014, 09:32:06</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 18th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Dead Man’s Rest <br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Charlie Flatbush; CLOSED<br><hr> <br>“That’s quite the pack of dogs Gomorra has collected isn’t it?” Avery had noted dryly at the litany of names Charlie provided him with.&nbsp; It was not all bad news though.&nbsp; Most of them were dismissible offhand and a few even seemed promising.&nbsp; Bulldog Jones sounded like the sort man who could hack another gentleman to small bits without much trouble, and the sight of blood was not apt to disturb a professional pit fighter.&nbsp; The fact he was a negro was also hard to dismiss.&nbsp; There was a little doubt the public would find such a suspect especially enticing, the very sort they’d be likely to seize hold of and lynch before a trial ever got underway.&nbsp; <br><br>That would solve Dolores’s problem, which was his job, but the thought didn‘t sit well with him.&nbsp; He’d really rather not.&nbsp; Avery wasn’t always especially fussy when it came to right or wrong, not really, but some acts were vile any way you looked at them.&nbsp; He would get her off without placing another man’s neck in the same noose,&nbsp; not unless the neck was the right one.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>Avery grew quiet as Charlie led them down into the asylum, the lantern swinging out in front of them.&nbsp; The place smelt of blood and excrement and mildew.&nbsp; Dark stains panted the floors and walls in haphazard patterns.&nbsp; The Englishman had seen some ugly things in his time.&nbsp; Homicides and the aftermaths of one-sided battles (he’d never seen any other kind, for the confrontations between the British army and Chinese dissidents were rarely anything like even fights) and industrial accidents, often the worst of the lot.&nbsp; He’d once seen a fire at a textile factory leave a hallway so packed with curled and blackened bodies they could hardly break through them.&nbsp; He suspected this might have been worse though.&nbsp; A human carnal house by the looks of what remained.<br><br>He privately agreed with Charlie.&nbsp; This was no place for man or beast.&nbsp; He was not even sure it was fit to bury corpses in anymore.&nbsp; Avery didn’t credit such superstitious notions as there being cursed or evil places but if he did this would surely be one.&nbsp; Snooping around here was not a pleasant experience, but that didn’t deter him.&nbsp; He took it all in slowly, examined every room and its remaining detritus, wondering at the inmates, most of them no doubt already forgotten by the world.&nbsp; He scrapped the tip of his shoe over suspicious stains, tried to build a picture of what happened here, yet didn’t like the scene that unfolded in his mind.&nbsp; Looking at the swathes of blood sprayed along the walls and slashing across the ceiling, he could not quite fit the patterns to a man, or even a young woman -- he had to at least see if it fit for himself -- hacking away at prone bodies with an axe.&nbsp; It looked almost as though people, or in some cases parts of people, had been dragged and thrown around with a strength that would be hard to credit to any human being.<br><br>“What do you make of this Charlie?” he asked, examining the smashed in door.&nbsp; “It looks as though something came from the other side.&nbsp; Within the cell.&nbsp; Rather curious, don’t you think?”&nbsp; Could the staff have housed an animal in here, he asked himself.&nbsp; A bear perhaps?&nbsp; Or some kind of circus freak or something they were experimenting on?&nbsp; It all sounded so very absurd but so did most anything else at this point.&nbsp; Stepping over the threshold, Avery borrowed the lantern, having a closer look inside, to see if there was anything that could be learned about it’s former occupant.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ebb</strong> on <strong>20-06-2014, 20:05:55</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 21, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Wafflehaus<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Walker, Dora, Singing Feather, CLOSED<br><hr> <br><br>The coffee scalded his throat as Tommy drank it, but he could imagine the stimulant heading straight to his veins and up to his tired brain. Today was going to be all about coffee and cigarettes, and he only hoped he could find a few quiet hours at the Tower of Babel in the afternoon to recharge if they were going to go hunting Mr. Deathmask tonight. It began to dawn on him that he'd signed on for a mission that was not only would likely result in his untimely death, but which would also severely encroach on his creature comforts in the time before that sweet release was presented. <br><br>The hot liquid wasn't enough to distract his perceptive eyes from the little tragedy developing before them. Tommy had his share of prejudice but after spending his account on the rich, the mean, the Chinese, the English with a little left over for Negroes who didn't know their place he didn't have an awful lot of hateful coin left to tip the red men. Not everyone was as progressive as he, though, and he instinctively knew that the looks that Walker and Dora were giving each other were painting a trail to a place of misery before joy. He silently wished them well, even if it did mean one upstanding and fine-looking white woman off the market. Walker didn't seem the sort to take advantage of a woman and then leave the damaged goods behind.<br><br>When he caught sight of the war party coming into the restaurant he immediately rose to his feet. First, because it was a whole mess of Indians, and that seemed the sort of thing that one would want to be on one's feet about. Second, because there was a lady present. Most of the crowd in the restaurant seemed to be acting more on Tommy's first reason than his second, not paying the newcomer the basic courtesy one does to those of the gentler persuasion, at least those who didn't earn a living on their back. With the warriors dismissed most of the diners turned their attention back to the mounds of food in front of them.<br><br>Tommy turned his attention to Singing Feather's breasts. When you hear the word "shaman" a couple of other words tend to rush on through the door and attach themselves. "Wise", "old", "spiritual", "grizzled". "Wrinkly". You could open up the door, gaze outside for a long while, maybe even yell for the slowpoke words to hurry up and come on in, but you wouldn't expect "breasts" to come ambling through. At least Tommy didn't, and yet here they were, and a fine pair at that. It took a little effort, and a recognition of Walker's disapproving stare, for Tommy to regain his composure and his seat after Singing Feather had taken her own.<br><br>Clearly he needed to get out to Indian country a little more often.<br><br>"It's an honor, ma'am," Tommy said, though she couldn't have been more than eighteen. He figured being a Shaman got you an automatic 'ma'am', at the least. "Tommy Flanagan, of Kansas City. I hope you'll pardon my appearance -- Walker and I were up all night together." He took another long slurp of his coffee.<br><br>"Bacon and eggs and waffles for everybody, Dora, if you please." He turned back to the young shaman. "I completely understand about jurisdictional issues, and I appreciate you coming in this far even today. Truth be told this fella's got me scared boneless, but I don't see anybody else stepping up to deal with him, so I reckon we're the men to do it.&nbsp; Only the thing is, I think we've got a pretty good plan for getting us and the boneman in the same place at the same time. It's step two where I'm drawing to a dead hand and wouldn't mind you slipping me a card under the table, if you've got one or two to spare."<br><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>23-06-2014, 21:37:48</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a4/Flatbush.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Charlie Flatbush<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Law Dogs (3)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 18th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Deadman's Rest<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Avery Burnam; CLOSED <br><hr> <br>“Well, if you listen to the soiled doves - half the men in Gomorra deserve the nickname.&nbsp; We’re all a pack of dogs.&nbsp; Some mangier than others,” said Charlie with a grin.&nbsp; He gave a little, playful howl - but the sound echoed in the catacombs, reverberating off of stone and packed dirt, and came back sounding like a dozen howls back.&nbsp; The cheer faded off of Charlie’s face, and he grimaced.<br><br>“I hate this place.”<br><br>He broke apart but not too far as the hunt continued - there was plenty to look through, and while they had to share a lantern, that didn’t mean their eyes had to be in the same place.&nbsp; He grimaced and dipped his head, searching for something they’d missed on the first sweep.&nbsp; &nbsp;“Y’know - my first time investigating a murder - was this poor little dove named… “&nbsp; He frowned, thoughtful.&nbsp; “Mariah, I think.&nbsp; Was a while now.&nbsp; I’d just given up minin’ and I’d been a law dog maybe three months less’n Hunter.&nbsp; And we’re looking at this girl all hacked and cut up.&nbsp; Feller went to town on her with a camp knife.&nbsp; And I - twisted my guts all up, y’know?&nbsp; I’d been with her not a week prior, and she was sweet and she <em>barely</em> spoke English.&nbsp; I was lookin’ at the body the whole time, just couldn’t take my eyes off of it.&nbsp; And J.P. - I asked him what we were lookin’ for, and J.P. says ‘We ain’t.’&nbsp; &nbsp;Now I’m like - ‘come again?&nbsp; Why we here if we ain’t lookin’ for something, and J.P. tells me - ‘you got your mind made up, you ain’t gonna see nothin’.&nbsp; Gotta look with soft eyes.&nbsp; Look for questions, not answers.”<br><br>He scratched his head, and then hopped as some bit of dried meat scraped under his foot.&nbsp; “And I’m sittin’ there and the only thing I could think was - ‘why’d someone want to kill this sweet girl?’&nbsp; And I’m trying to picture … what kind of monster’d want to put a knife into this girl?&nbsp; Cut her face, and her breasts, and her nethers.&nbsp; Must have been so terrified - in so much pain - “&nbsp; He shook his head.&nbsp; “Got to thinkin’ it must have been some john, fallen in love, couldn’t stand to see her spreadin’ her legs for other men.&nbsp; Jealousy.”&nbsp; He knelt down by one of the doors, dipping his head to look under the simple planks that passed as beds, his nose wrinkling at one of the unemptied pails of feces.<br><br>“Turns out - wasn’t a man that was jealous.&nbsp; Was one of the girls she worked with.&nbsp; I was askin’ J.P. who mighta been fallin’ for her, who mighta brought her gifts - and Hunter finds out there’s this fella ‘Chino had been sweet on her.&nbsp; But before that he was sweet on another girl.&nbsp; I wasn’t even thinkin’ coulda been a girl.&nbsp; Too angry.&nbsp; Too violent.&nbsp; But Hunter goes right up to her room and starts tossing drawers open.&nbsp; Finds the knife not fifteen minutes later.&nbsp; Still got blood dried on it.&nbsp; She starts hollerin’ about how he loved her, he said he was going to marry <em>her</em> - confessed to the whole thing not ten minutes later.”<br><br>He shook his head.&nbsp; “Never would have pinned it on a saloon girl, if it was me.&nbsp; Couldn’t even imagine it.”&nbsp; He shook his head, then his gaze lifted and turned when Avery called him over.&nbsp; “Don’t think so.&nbsp; Can’t get a horse to cross a bridge in this town - how you gonna get a bear to do it?&nbsp; And I think folk would have seen it.”&nbsp; He rubbed his jaw.&nbsp; He stepped in as well - there wasn’t much different inside of the cell than there had been in the others - except deep scratches in the stone, long marks that cut an inch, two inches into the walls themselves.<br><br>“Well… maybe.&nbsp; Bear’d fill up this whole room, though.&nbsp; Wouldn’t even have space to turn around.”&nbsp; He frowned.&nbsp; He brushed his fingers over older, smaller cuts in the stone - shallower than some of the larger cuts.&nbsp; “Got… bigger though.&nbsp; Maybe a … bear cub?&nbsp; These are bigger than a baby bear.&nbsp; Maybe… “&nbsp; He shook his head.&nbsp; “Whatever it was, it was definitely gettin’ <em>bigger.</em>”<br><br>He frowned, and rubbed at his forehead.&nbsp; “You want to see the treatment room?”&nbsp; He nodded towards the hall.&nbsp; “Wasn’t any bodies in there.&nbsp; Just where the doctor was… experimenting.”
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded:  Something Wicked... (Event Thread/IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Strangefate</strong> on <strong>25-07-2014, 10:11:00</strong>
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				<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 18th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Dead Man’s Rest <br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Charlie Flatbush; CLOSED<br><hr> <br>“Very true, Charlie, very true…”<br><br>Avery’s voice was soft as he traced the tip of a finger along one of the deep gouges.&nbsp; Whether he was responding to Charlie’s anecdote about investigative techniques or the unlikelihood of smuggling a bear through town was not made clear.&nbsp; It happened to be the former though.&nbsp; Look with soft eyes, look for questions, not answers.&nbsp; This was not bad advice actually.&nbsp; Not for the first time it struck him as a shame that the sheriff was the not the man he used to be -- or rather the office was not held by the man who had used to hold it.&nbsp; He had commanded some amount of respect it seemed.&nbsp; The new sheriff commanded fear, but it was not the same thing.&nbsp; Not really.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>So what questions was this asylum asking them?&nbsp; It was asking how.&nbsp; How had these claw marks gotten here?&nbsp; A wild animal seemed the only reasonable answer.&nbsp; How had the unfortunate residents been so badly mauled and torn to pieces?&nbsp; A wild animal of sufficient size and strength.&nbsp; Collaborating ‘evidence’:&nbsp; Dolores spoke of a Doggy being housed at the asylum that she had liked to visit and play with.&nbsp; He'd made the reasonable assumption that Doggy was another patient, a man with an unusual nickname or perhaps even appearance that had earned him the moniker.&nbsp; Was it possible that Doggy was an actual dog or wolf though?&nbsp; If so Doggy would need to be of a hitherto unrecorded size to do this amount of damage.&nbsp; An unlikely theory, but examining the claw marks and their patterns led him to reluctantly concede that it was no longer a completely dismissible one.<br><br>The led directly to the whys, his favorite question, the most difficult, the most persistently challenging.&nbsp; Why did anyone do anything really?&nbsp; Most often even the actor him or herself could not explain it.&nbsp; ‘Jealousy’ said the girl in Charlie’s story but jealousy wasn’t the whole answer.&nbsp; Everyone had been jealous at one time or another, everyone had their heart broken.&nbsp; Only a very select few responded by hacking someone into bits.&nbsp; The ‘why’ was elusive.&nbsp; <br><br>Why would the staff wish to keep a wild animal locked up here?&nbsp; Why would the staff place such an animal in the same sort of room where it lodged it’s human inmates?&nbsp; Why not a cage?&nbsp; Possible [/i]logical[/i] answers: none so far.&nbsp; Scientific experimentation perhaps but that still didn’t answer the other whys.&nbsp; The only why he could answer with some confidence was why the creature had responded this way.&nbsp; If it had been locked up, tormented and toyed with by the people who ran this hellhouse then there was ample reason for it respond with violence and savagery.&nbsp; Only where had it gone afterwards?&nbsp; Had it plummeted over the edge of the mesa?&nbsp; Why not kill Dolores as well?&nbsp; Because she had been kind to it?<br><br>“I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard any stories about a wolf roughly the size of a man?&nbsp; Or a man who looks like a wolf?”&nbsp; Avery smirked, mostly to himself, both annoyed and intrigued at the case for being so persistently strange.&nbsp; <em>This isn’t your case.&nbsp; You’re only here to gather ample evidence to prove Dolore’s unsuitability as the killer and scupper the prosecution.&nbsp; Yes, yes, I know that but… </em>&nbsp; But he wanted to know, he wanted to know more than ever now.&nbsp; “Sounds quite silly doesn’t it?&nbsp; It <em>is</em> quite silly but this all rather suggests we’re dealing with a very large, very powerful man with some very peculiar tools at his disposal, or a very large animal of some kind.”&nbsp; &nbsp;Standing up, Avery dusted his hands on the seat of his slacks, trying to picture a scene in his head as he again glanced over the remaining carnage…but the only scenes that fit were madness.&nbsp; Absolutely bloody madness either way you imagined it.<br><br>“Yes.&nbsp; Well.&nbsp; Let’s go see that treatment room Charlie.&nbsp; I don’t suppose you know much about the doctor who ran this place?&nbsp; Peculiar fellow I’m assuming.&nbsp; Any idea of his background?&nbsp; Gomorra being a rather odd place to establish an asylum if you ask me…”&nbsp; &nbsp; <br>
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