Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Ciosa on 08-03-2013, 11:39:26</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>08-03-2013, 11:39:26</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">Town Hall</span></strong></div><br><div align="center">This thread is for any roleplaying which occurs inside or in the immediate vicinity of the Town Hall.&nbsp; This includes the Courthouse, the Sheriff's Office, the 1st Bank of Gomorra, and the Town Clerk's office.&nbsp; Please use the Tagging Header listed below.</div><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Doomtown Tagging Header</div><div class="spoiler_body"><div class="codeheader">Code: <a href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return smfSelectText(this);" class="codeoperation">[Select]</a></div><pre style="margin: 0; padding: 0;"><code class="bbc_code">[hr]<br>[floatleft][IMG height=200 padding=8]&lt;Link to your character's picture&gt;[/IMG][/floatleft] <br>[b]Name:[/b] <br>[b]Faction:[/b] (Unknown, or the associated faction rank.&nbsp; If faction rank is less than three, it is not required to note.)<br>[b]Date:[/b]<br>[b]Time of Day:[/b] (morning, noon, afternoon.&nbsp; Please avoid precise timing.)<br>[b]Location:[/b] <br>[b]Tagged:[/b] <br>[hr] </code></pre></div></div>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>08-03-2013, 11:39:41</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://gunsofold.com/marshal_badge_silver_balltip.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open<br><hr><br>Across Gomorra, the church bells of St Martin's tolled.&nbsp; The sun had risen for only a few hours, but the tolling of the bells demanded a meeting of the citizens of Gomorra - an emergency meeting.&nbsp; The early edition of the Gamorra Gazetta was being tossed on doorsteps, dropped in large stacks inside hotels and casinos, and the younger boys of the town had been hired to hawk the headlines to the citizens.<br><br>"Extra extra!&nbsp; Sheriff Coleman murdered by Blackjack's Raiders!&nbsp; Read all about it!"<br><br>Outside the stately town hall - one of the few buildings in Gomorra made of brick, citizens were already gathering by the dozens.&nbsp; The mob that formed was already a buzz of news and rumor, yet the town hall's doors remained closed while its most influential citizens convened privately.&nbsp; A few laborers had begun to set up a small podium so the Mayor could offer a speech, but the crowd harassed them with questions, only to be met by shrugs and apologies.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Love And Submission</strong> on <strong>08-03-2013, 23:44:54</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_kwzlhdUsp51qau6jbo1_400.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Ezekiel Mycroft<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd , 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> <br><hr><br><br><br>Mycroft sat at his desk impassively look at the jumbled assortments of clues he had carelessly discarded onto it. The assortment of evidence more<br>resembled that of hyperactive lunatic then that of a famed detective. A fine yet well worn pipe hung from the side of his mouth as a few puffs of smokes danced from within it's bowl. His cold blues focused intensely on the assortment of papers on his desk. He devoured each piece of information slow and methodically , carefully admiring every detail held within them. These were the few moments when the young man was actually happy. There was a new puzzle to solve and Mycroft was delighted about it. He picked up a photo of a young Chinese woman and carefully looked it over before jumping out of his seat.<br><br><strong>GOD SAVE THE QUEEN! HOW DID I MISS THAT?!</strong> Ezekiel screamed at the top of his lungs as he removed himself from his chair. He picked his well kept bowler hat from it's stand and rushed outside. He carelessly shuffled through the crowd amassed before the newly erected podium and into city hall. Where is the mayor? I must speak to him at once. I have proof that blackjack didn't&nbsp; kill Sheriff Coleman." Ezekiel Mycroft&nbsp; proclaimed with&nbsp; devilish grin across his face. While he was unsure he would&nbsp; be able to convince the mayor of his theory he was quite sure&nbsp; his hypothesis was correct. He stood proudly at the entrance of Townhall and waited for someone to react to his claim.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>09-03-2013, 00:50:35</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/3/39/Townsend.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; John Templeton<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; Law Dogs (Deputy)<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open<br><hr><br>The town hall opened to a second set of doors, and a small foyer.&nbsp; The small podium was normally stored there, as the townhall had never been designed with the intention of seating much more than the city's elite.&nbsp; Templeton puffed in a cigarillo while he stood guard, and Mycroft's triumphant proclamation got only a low chuckle.&nbsp; <br><br>"Corky's the one that found the body, and even she ain't gonna swear it was Jack."&nbsp; He blew out a puff of smoke, in direct violation of the 'no smoking' plate to the side of the inner doors.&nbsp; The whole place usually reeked of cigars, as much of the town's planning was usually accomplished over expensive bourbon and a fine cigar.<br><br>"Don't matter either way," growled Templeton.&nbsp; "Sweetrock's making Bilton the new sheriff, and he's been hungry to posse up and go after Blackjack's since he put on the star.&nbsp; He's in there right now telling Cochran and Findley so."&nbsp; Not that Templeton himself would have been opposed to such a move - Templeton and Bilton seemed to see eye to eye on most matters.<br><br>He tapped out ashes from the tip of his cigarillo.<br><br>He fixed a threatening eye on Mycroft.&nbsp; "They're gonna announce it in a few minutes.&nbsp; Rally some volunteers.&nbsp; So unless you care to be looking for a new job, I'd keep whatever theories you got to yourself."&nbsp; He gave a yellowed smile.&nbsp; "Keep yer trap shut, and we'll all be looking at raises that might make this job worth doin'."
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>09-03-2013, 07:22:03</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://gunsofold.com/marshal_badge_silver_balltip.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open<br><hr><div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/de/Nash_bilton.png)</div><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/6f/Mayor_cochran.png)</div>The doors opened from within, and Mayor Cochran emerged from within.&nbsp; He was a pretty, vainglorious man with a waved moustache and a jauntily tipped bowler, a man who enjoyed the attentions of... anyone.&nbsp; He waved at the assembled crowd, looking as delighted as when he'd made his last inaugural speech.&nbsp; <br><br>Behind him followed Howard Findley, the white-haired businessman with a pinched face and a grim expression.&nbsp; A trio of bodyguards followed with him, brawny men with pistols at their waists.&nbsp; Oswald Hardinger followed close behind, placing his own top hat on his head, stepping slightly away from the procession, while Nash Bilton carried up the rear, wearing a new tin star he'd slipped onto his belt.&nbsp; Bilton gave Mycroft a nod, but brushed by, slinging on a duster and tamping out a cigar on his boot before joining the rest of the men at the podium.&nbsp; He had a frown on his face, but <br><br>“Friends,” began Cochran, his speaking voice well practiced, and pushed to carry over the crowd.&nbsp; “My fellow Gomorrans.&nbsp; This day, we mourn the passing of a fine man, a noble sheriff, our own J.P. Coleman.&nbsp; His life of service, his contributions to this town are nearly without equal, and his loss will be noticed by many.”<br><br>He bowed his head, then lifted it with the same practiced smile.<br><br>“I wish I could tell you that his life was taken by old age, or a peaceful end, but that is not so.&nbsp; He was murdered, viciously and cruelly, without a weapon to defend himself.&nbsp; His death, at the hands of Blackjack's violent outlaws was at least mercifully quick.&nbsp; Black Jack himself escaped punishment for this crime, and has not yet been apprehended by authorities.”&nbsp; He sighed heavily, dramatically.&nbsp; “In an effort to bring the killers to justice, I have appointed Senior Deputy Nash Bilton to the post of Sheriff.&nbsp; He has large shoes to fill - “<br><br>Bilton stepped forward, only to be interrupted by a piercing voice from the crowd.<br><br><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/65/Judgehawkins.png)</div>“Now hold on a minute there!” said a voice from the crowd.&nbsp; It was sharp, and cultured, yet spoke with a self-appointed authority.&nbsp; The crowd began to part as a a broad shouldered figure pushed forward through the crowd.&nbsp; “I'm certain you meant to say 'temporarily appointed, didn't you, Cochran?”&nbsp; <br><br>Cochran's smile was carefully painted on his face.&nbsp; “Pardon?”<br><br>The bald man glowered.&nbsp; “Your <em>office</em> has the right to appoint a <em>candidate</em>, Mr. Mayor.&nbsp; Not a sheriff.”<br><br>Cochran's smile was still frozen.&nbsp; “Perhaps this is a discussion we can have at a more appropriate juncture, Judge Warwick.&nbsp; Our good friend - “<br><br>“ - save the speeches, Cochran.&nbsp; Mr. Mayor.&nbsp; The town charter grants you the right to appoint an interim sheriff, but demands a full election be held no later than three days.&nbsp; The town has the right to appoint any suitable candidate with law enforcement experience.&nbsp; It can appoint one, five, fifty.&nbsp; Ten votes, and a appointee is eligible for election.”<br><br>The Mayor, clearly flummoxed, kept his forced smile in place.&nbsp; “Ah... Well.&nbsp; It was never our intention to sidestep the electoral process – merely a minor distinction within the law we may have overlooked.&nbsp; Regardless, we will be appointing Nash Bilton as interim Sheriff until such time as we can formalize the position.”&nbsp; Findley stepped forward, whispering in the mayor's ear.&nbsp; Oswald scowled, from behind them, and the Mayor paused, listening dutifully, then finally turning back to the assembled crowd.&nbsp; <br><br>“I'm afraid we should conclude for now.&nbsp; We will make arrangements for the sheriff's burial, and post notices as to the time and date.&nbsp; All are welcome.&nbsp; A trust has been established, in Mr. Coleman's name, to erect a memorial.&nbsp; We will post notices to arrangement of the elections, their time and date.<br><br>“Thank you citizens.&nbsp; For your time.”&nbsp; <br><br>Cochran looked to the assembled powerful men of Gomorra.&nbsp; &nbsp;“Gentleman, if we could return to the parlor to discuss... the matters at hand.”&nbsp; He tipped his hat, and Findley gave him a deep, disapproving scowl.&nbsp; <br><br>The assembled citizens looked between one another, murmuring about the announcements, and Judge Warwick stalked away, irritation clear in every step.<br><br>[The images in this post are, in clockwise order, Mayor Cochran, Nash Bilton, an Judge Warwick]<br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kuroneko</strong> on <strong>09-03-2013, 22:05:53</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v622/Jagwaar/Sloane_zps29c9cdf3.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Deacon Sloane<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd , 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Gomorra Town Hall<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open<br><hr><br>For some, the early hours of the morning were actually the final hours of their business day.&nbsp; When the bells began to ring, Deacon Sloane had finished his bookkeeping for the previous days’ earnings and was just about to lock his doors and head to his bed for the day.&nbsp; Hearing a delay to his well-earned rest rung out in such insistent, iron tones was neither welcome nor amusing.&nbsp; All it did was set his teeth on edge, and turned a foul mood even darker.&nbsp; Still, no one with a stake in what happened in Gomorra could afford to dismiss the call of the church’s bells when they rang called for other than the faithful, and as a business owner, he had several votes to cast in any important decision that might be under consideration.&nbsp; Still, he hesitated, standing just outside the door to the casino where he stood watching the herd of citizens surging towards the Town Hall, attention caught by the high pitched shout of one of the dozens of local boys, hawking the paper with news of the top headline.&nbsp; Glancing down at the paper lying on the wooden boardwalk by his feet, he bent to retrieve what passed for the town’s news source and arched a dark eyebrow as it confirmed the boy’s claim.<br><br>Sloane and the newly deceased sheriff hadn’t exactly always seen eye to eye.&nbsp; Sloane’s personal code of ethics was far too flexible for the largely by the book Coleman. He tended to take the position that the devil you knew was far better than the one you didn’t, and so had learned to exist and prosper even under the watchful eye of the eager lawman.&nbsp; But that didn’t mean Sloane wished him dead.&nbsp; It had just meant he needed to play his cards a little closer to his vest and be more circumspect, all well within his means and talents.&nbsp; But now … now he’d have to learn and adapt all over again, and that just pissed him off.&nbsp; What good was a carefully cultivated business relationship with the local sheriff if he could just be gunned down at any time by any random outlaw with a grudge against him? True, this new development afforded him an opportunity to put forward his own candidate for the open position, one carefully selected to be beneficial to his own interests, but the break in training period was always a bitch and a half.&nbsp; <br><br>“Damn,” Sloane rumbled, before turning and heading back into the Morongo.&nbsp; Inside, he crossed to the large bar and tossed the stained paper on top of it before reaching under the polished surface to snag a glass and a half filled bottle of whiskey.&nbsp; Pouring himself a shot, he re-corked the bottle and then tossed it back, checking his coat pocket to be sure his hip flask was filled before venturing out.&nbsp; He might be willing to come to such a summons for the sake of his business interests, like a dog coming at his master’s call, but there was no way in hell he was going without a little liquid fortitude. So invigorated,&nbsp; he stepped out into the harsh morning light, and then made his way along with the rest of the throng to the town hall under the relentless and already warm sun.<br><br>Sloane was just in time to catch the local insane Englishman come running forward to make his pronouncement.&nbsp; Mycroft was a conundrum wrapped in a whole heap of crazy as far as Sloane was concerned, and so he paid the man little mind – unless he showed up at the Morongo with cash in hand, in which case he was happy to ignore the man’s eccentricities in favor of a little mutually beneficial commerce. But this outburst just had Sloane mentally shaking his head, expression carefully neutral.&nbsp; Templeton, however, was all over the man, which matched Sloane’s feelings exactly as he waited for the details to emerge in Coleman’s death.&nbsp; He didn’t have to wait long, though no details were especially forthcoming. <br><br>The mayor approached the announcements of the sheriff’s death with his usual forced cheerfulness.&nbsp; Sloane had yet to determine if the man was naturally chipper or just plain stupid.&nbsp; He always had a smile regardless of the circumstances, and this was one that would use a measure of decency, if only to project an air of sympathy to the good citizens of Gomorra.&nbsp; This read more like a publicity stunt, an opinion further proved by Cochran’s bold announcement that he’d appointed that cocksucker Bilton as the next sheriff.&nbsp; Sloane would have raised his voice to object, mainly because he hadn’t been asked for his opinion on the matter and he felt that expressing it was his due as owner of the Morongo, but their good judge beat him to it, raising all of the questionable ethics of Cochran’s action as well as reminding the populace of the proper procedure of electing a new sheriff.&nbsp; Sloane had to restrain himself from laughing outright at the mayor’s resulting discomfort from Warwick's lecture.&nbsp; It wouldn’t be wise to openly enjoy the schooling of one of his regular customers in public, but damn – the look on Cochran’s face was priceless.&nbsp; Well worth the effort of postponing going to bed, however damned inconvenient it was.&nbsp; <br><br>Once the men slipped back inside the Town Hall, Sloane stood for a moment, watching their retreating backs.&nbsp; Oh, to be a fly on the wall inside that damned room.&nbsp; One day, he assured himself.&nbsp; Naturally suspicious, he didn’t buy for one minute that Coleman’s death had been an accident.&nbsp; Accidents could be arranged all the time, after all.&nbsp; “Guess the show’s over,” he said to no one in particular, and then turned on his heel to begin the long walk back to the Casino and his waiting bed. <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Pumpkin Seeds</strong> on <strong>10-03-2013, 00:14:08</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://stagevu.com/img/thumbnail/swvwoeuxayeebig.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Jia Li<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> morning <br><strong>Location:</strong> Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Hopefully nobody <br><hr><br>The morning sun had not been up long, but for some the day was already well past the start.&nbsp; Darkness had still breathed life when Jia Li had awoken that morning and darkness had still threatened when she set her silken slippers to the dirt packed walkways of Gomorra.&nbsp; Dusty streets proved her path as she moved from one business to the next.&nbsp; Small fingers tapped at doorways for particular customers, securing their belongings and handing out a handwritten note.&nbsp; Each note was written in English by another with notations beneath scrawled in her native tongue.&nbsp; Such a method allowed service member and client to read the ticket that would be given later at return.&nbsp; Jia Li did not understand much of the commentary that came from seeing her native language written down for Western consumption and truth was she did not care for their opinion otherwise.&nbsp; To her mind their words seemed far more ridiculous than her own lettering.<br><br>Small fingers were wrapped around hangers when the bells tolled out their message.&nbsp; Almond eyes that many laughed never seemed open turned to stare up at the source.&nbsp; Curiosity was a greater burden to her than the clothing clutched in her hand and a burden not so easily disposed.&nbsp; Quick movement brought her silk slippers down along the dirt paths of Gomorra.&nbsp; Such paths she navigated every morning and evening in less light than the rising sun offered.&nbsp; So with such a guide at her disposal the path was quickly made to her place of employment and her load deposited without ceremony.&nbsp; Fu Leng’s Dry Cleaning was a nearly furnished and established business and Jia Li their newest employee.&nbsp; That they had extended such faith to her meant a great deal, but she also knew that remaining in their employment was not her destiny.&nbsp; A rapid chatter ensued as she rushed out the doors.&nbsp; More tickets were waved in her wake, but Jia Li was out the door before anything could be made of the demands.&nbsp; Ahead her curiosity burned and her need to know melted all concerns of being unemployed.&nbsp; <br><br>The job required more traditional garb than truly fit the setting of Gomorra.&nbsp; Jia Li often preferred the Western clothing when moving about town, but Fu Leng’s wanted a more distinct appearance.&nbsp; The reason behind such a choice was lost on her.&nbsp; Truth be told though she would never be mistaken for a native born member of this town no matter her clothing.&nbsp; Forgotten amongst a crowd perhaps, but people could pick her out as different if they took notice.&nbsp; Running among the streets did mean she was not required to wear the more body hugging garments like her counterparts at the store, but the style of the cotton garments still stood out.&nbsp; The trousers hung loosely on her body, failing to fit snuggly as man of those in the West.&nbsp; Instead her clothing was held to her with a sash of deep burgundy.&nbsp; Such a deep burgundy also showed itself against the top which was more wrapped around her body than the clothing of the West.&nbsp; The main color of the dye used was a deep blue with the burgundy to accent.&nbsp; Yet beneath the clothing was a touch of color as yellow lining could be seen, set for her own vanity.&nbsp; Jia Li could not abandon her simple love for color so easily.&nbsp; Dirt and grime may have diminished the outerwear of her clothing but the yellow would remain pristine for so long as she could manage.&nbsp; <br><br>Voices touched her ears and she ceased her movement.&nbsp; Slender and small, she bent down to tuck against the building.&nbsp; Male voices from the sound of them and people with confidence to spare with their position came across to her ears.&nbsp; Foreign words she struggled to comprehend pressed into her thoughts but she recognized some as important.&nbsp; A face etched with the signs of her ancestors bent forward to hear more.&nbsp; The small nose at the center of such a face wrinkled upward making the unusual feature of freckles more outstanding.&nbsp; Dirt marred the pristine nature of her face and lips that might be considered full set themselves into a thin line.&nbsp; Black hair was tied into a thick braid and set down the inside of her cotton jacket.&nbsp; A small cap was set atop her head, the only mark of western clothing she wore.&nbsp; The bill was tugged down across her face and to a casual observer Jia Li might well appear to be a boy playing on the early morning streets.<br><br>Then she was off to move back into the shadows of town streets and hide beneath the blessing of obscurity.&nbsp; Eyes darted around the building that the men had entered, hiding beneath the dark almond shape and the shadow of her cap.&nbsp; Hands tucked down into her jacket and her hurried steps were meant more to make any attempt to connect her with the building a loose one.&nbsp; Jia Li had already spotted her point of entry and knew well that such an entrance would be unusual to an onlooker.&nbsp; First to ensure privacy before the attempt was made.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>10-03-2013, 11:00:37</strong>
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				<br><hr><div class="floatleft">(http://gunsofold.com/marshal_badge_silver_balltip.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open<br><hr><br>There were a few buildings near the town hall, and the sides of building were solid stone.&nbsp; But heat was an everpresent problem in Gomorra, an no building, wooden or stone, could survive without windows.&nbsp; Those that did quickly become ovens, and Jia Li could spot several open windows on the second floor, designed to create a cross-breeze.&nbsp; The front entrance and the rear were guarded by Law Dogs, though, hoping to give the cities movers and shakers time to discuss the events of the announcement.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Phaia</strong> on <strong>11-03-2013, 06:03:42</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i1217.photobucket.com/albums/dd394/Vithe_rothe/Doomtown/2-days-in-the-valley_zps1596f5e0.jpg)</div> <br><br><br><strong>Name:</strong><span style="font-size: 10pt;" class="bbc_size"> <span style="font-family: comic sans ms;" class="bbc_font">Lady Elisabeth Boyle</span></span><br><strong>Faction:</strong> Member of the Collegium.<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Gomorra Town Hall<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> The gathered citizens of the town<br><hr> <br><br>Elisabeth was just getting ready to set out the tea and pastry for the 'Daily Ladies Tea' when the bells of the Church began to ring. Her eyes narrowed since it was rare to have a general call of the whole town so she stepped back into her shop and gathered her small purse, making sure her pistol was in it, as well as the one strapped to her thigh under the skirts she wore.<br><br>As she stepped back out the paper boy tossed one at her feet, with most of the male shop owners he would have handed it to them, but then that came with being female and smart shop owner. She picked up the paper and opened it and gasped, her green eyes going wide as she saw the head line. The Sherriff had been murdered in cold blood, and they were claiming it was Black Jack and his group behind it. The bits she knew about Black Jack did not seem to make him a cold hearted killer. She knew he would shoot someone that had drawn on him or was shooting back and he had some dealings with the Collegium so it was strange he would do something like this. Now she knew what the meeting was about. <br><br>As she walked to the big church, she watched others gather and how many gave her looks. She knew her Paris made nice silk blouse and skirt was not normally the type seen around the town, added to her natural beauty and almost golden colored hair and lively green eyes and she knew many of the 'ladies' were jealous and whispered many things about her. Yet when they needed medicine for a sick child they would come rushing to her.<br><br>She also considered the situation as she walked. Sheriff Coleman had always had a decent working relationship with the town's merchants unlike a couple of his deputy's. After the first robbery attempt on her shop and she had killed the man with 3 shots to the chest, a man's hand to cover the sheriff had just told her to be careful and to let him know personally, on the next day EXCATLY how many guns she did have and the types. He was always polite and asked her often about England and even would stop by for a cup of tea with her lady friends of science.<br><br>As she mused she did know that as a shop owner and a year long resident she had 3 votes in any manner and unlike most she had actually read the town charter when she set up shop. Growing up with an uncle serving the English crown and her father traveling for the foreign service had taught her a bit more about politics then an average person.<br><br>She worked her way through the crowd to near the front and found herself by Mr. Sloane. She knew of all the things he was supposed to have done and be like but every time he came by her shop she found him charming and polite. Even asking what she needed to help see to his 'girls' needs. Then he found the cigars she carried one of the best in the world and through her family contacts back in England she was able to get them. Even at the price she asked he always liked them. "I have a new shipment of the H. Upmanns in, Mr. Sloane, still sealed and fresh"<br><br>Then the Mayor, or the weasel which is how she always thought of the man and his often condescending smile when she asked again for elections for the town council, began to speak. Her green eyes went wide as he mentioned Bilton taking over. She and Bilton have had several run ins since he figured any pretty woman just had to be waiting for his attentions. Just as she was about to protest Judge Warwick spoke up. It was a delight to watch the Mayor get pinned back but then saw Bilton's angry bloodshot eyes. <br><br>As the Mayor and the other 'powerful' men or the town turned away she stepped up, "Mayor ...Mayor Cochran!!" but he did not even glance back and when she tryed to follow the goons of Mr Findley stepped in front of the doors.<br><br>Her glare did not seem to faze them so she turned on her heel, stepping up to walk with Mr. Sloane. "If you come by later I also have the items you wanted to help with that condiction one of your 'ladies' has... good day Mr. Sloane." 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Pumpkin Seeds</strong> on <strong>11-03-2013, 06:13:26</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://stagevu.com/img/thumbnail/swvwoeuxayeebig.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Jia Li<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> morning <br><strong>Location:</strong> Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Hopefully nobody <br><hr><br>The presence of guards was a disappointment to her.&nbsp; Not only did those people bar her way into the building, but also meant that there was someone actively keeping this meeting a secret.&nbsp; This of course meant that what went on inside the building was even more important.&nbsp; Secrets were only juicer bits of gossip and knowledge.&nbsp; Curiosity burned insatiably in her chest as she wondered what the white men of this town were contemplating inside those stone walls.&nbsp; Open windows teased her with their height from the ground.&nbsp; The way into the structure was obvious but the method of entry not so much.&nbsp; Jia Li knew that her path to the windows would raise an eyebrow if seen.&nbsp; This meant that her first step was to insure that nobody witnessed her at this crucial point.&nbsp; Hands tucked into her clothes, she continued to meander about as if searching for something missing.<br><br>Head bent downward and cap positioned to obscure her features, she shuffled about for a minute or two.&nbsp; No passersby and no wandering eyes, she would spring into action.&nbsp; Legs straightened suddenly to push her upward.&nbsp; One foot caught on the solid surface of the stone wall.&nbsp; Such a foot bent at an odd angle to catch friction and push her upward so that a second foot could rise to do the same.&nbsp; Then the first would rise to repeat the process as she pushed herself upward.&nbsp; Fingers dug into the crevices found or simply pressed to the surface to guide her upward.&nbsp; The act appeared unnatural and amazing to behold, yet was quickly settled.&nbsp; Her lithe frame bent over the open window so that she could drag herself inside without noise to awaken suspicion.&nbsp; Jia Li would need as much time as she could find to listen to the white men.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>11-03-2013, 08:15:59</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://gunsofold.com/marshal_badge_silver_balltip.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open<br><hr>She managed to remain unseen as her body seemed to practically float up the side of the building, the drifting of a feather carried up the side of the building.&nbsp; The second floor that she landed in was padded floors and imported hardwood desks, reams of paper and storage of all kinds.&nbsp; There was little of much value or interest - none of the papers had been written on, and it seemed more like a campaign office for the yearly elections, closed for the moment.&nbsp; There was a safe built into the back wall, and a staircase that led down - but she wouldn't need either.&nbsp; To keep the flow of air circulating, one part of the floor looked down upon the main meeting hall, where Findley, Cochran, and Bilton had settled into seats, while Oswald continued to stand, crossing his arms and standing aloof.<br><br>She could just hear voices beginning to murmur up.<br><br>" - self-righteous, smug bastard," said Cochran.&nbsp; "The very nerve, interrupting my speech - the commemoration of the Sheriff - "<br><br>" - was bullshit," said Bilton.&nbsp; "Half the town smelled the great rancid stink of it.&nbsp; You're lucky he did interrupt you, or you mighta made a bigger ass of yourself."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Love And Submission</strong> on <strong>11-03-2013, 09:56:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_kwzlhdUsp51qau6jbo1_400.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Ezekiel Mycroft<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd , 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged: Lady Elisabeth Boyle/Open</strong> <br><hr><br><br><br>Unfazed by Mr. Templeton's less then polite nature , Ezekiel simply strolled out of the town hall ,His attention quickly turned to&nbsp; his fellow countrywoman once he spotted her from the steps outside the hall. A small chuckle escaped his lips as the attractive female was seemingly ignored twice by two men she was trying to interact with. He had dealt with the Royal Society before though he had never met Elisabeth during his time there. In all honesty he respected them as intelligent thinkers but found them to be rather boring and uninteresting . Mycroft was far more a fan of physical science then the mathematical theory the society dealt in. The famed detective knew little of Elisabeth and what he did know were mostly rumors. He had heard rumors of her being a witch but chalked them up to simple xenophobia from a few narrow minded fools. Though it couldn't help to find out if she really did dabble into paganism on the side. While Mycroft was still focused on finding Coleman's real killer but it wasn't like the former Sheriff of Gomorra was going anywhere soon. Other then into a grave of course.<br><br><br>The eloquently dressed Ezekiel took a few soft steps towards Lady Elisabeth with a friendly smile across his lips and began to speak. "Nullius in verba , Lady Elisabeth. I'm sorry that those two men ignored you but I'd be delighted to gain your company today. Mycroft greeted with the famed Royal Society motto in a&nbsp; cordial tone. While Ezekiel's accent was&nbsp; notable&nbsp; to the keen observer it was quite different from the woman who stood before him. His was more blue collar and down to earth while her's was more proper. He had the kind of accent you would&nbsp; hear in a police station or a tavern. Her accent seemed to be more at home downing street then Soho. Of course Mycroft could put on the airs if he wanted to&nbsp; but he&nbsp; found that people&nbsp; were far more willing to tell the truth to commoners then bourgeois.<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Phaia</strong> on <strong>11-03-2013, 23:56:04</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i1217.photobucket.com/albums/dd394/Vithe_rothe/Doomtown/2-days-in-the-valley_zps1596f5e0.jpg)</div> <br><br><br><strong>Name:</strong><span style="font-size: 10pt;" class="bbc_size"> <span style="font-family: comic sans ms;" class="bbc_font">Lady Elisabeth Boyle</span></span><br><strong>Faction:</strong> Member of the Collegium.<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Gomorra Town Hall<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> The gathered citizens of the town<br><hr> <br><br>Elisabeth's green eyes widen as she hears the 'Society's' motto spoken in no less in an accent she hadn't heard since her uncle had that ghastly problem with Scotland Yard back in '65... no it was '67 she mused. Nodding to Mr. Sloane she turned to the tall thin man that had walked up. She had heard there was another from England in town but had not yet run across them. After all she was the town' apothecary and everyone that had an ache or chill or fever came to her or was sent by one of the doc's. So she heard a great deal about the going ons around town and that included that another "English' had arrived.<br><br>Her vivid green eyes looked the man up and down and her red lips curved in a smile. When she spoke her English accent had softened a bit with a hint of the far east and of the Americas added in, "What a pleasure to hear the old Motto spoke, sir it has been a long time I last heard it said correctly by someone other then myself."<br><br>She nods in thanks as she steps up to offer her hand. "I am Lady Elisabeth Boyle, and I am pleased to meet you"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Pumpkin Seeds</strong> on <strong>12-03-2013, 06:55:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://stagevu.com/img/thumbnail/swvwoeuxayeebig.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Jia Li<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> morning <br><strong>Location:</strong> Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Hopefully nobody <br><hr><br>The art of stealth was as delicate and difficult to master as any other.&nbsp; Legs remained tucked beneath her small frame, shifting forward ever so slightly.&nbsp; There would be only light pressure of her weight on the limb, testing the boards before making her move forward.&nbsp; That her hands were also used to bear some of the weight made the position nearly comical to any onlooker.&nbsp; Of course this was not a tactic used when people were watching, but rather when wanting to avoid the water.&nbsp; Low and quiet she pressed forward to hear them better.&nbsp; Jia Li had learned long ago to remember the sounds if not the words.&nbsp; Too much time and effort in translation, better to simply remember the sounds and speak them later to herself.<br><br>The open window was kept in her line of sight as best as possible.&nbsp; A quick escape if one was needed and she did not want anyone blocking that route.&nbsp; Those legs folded so that she could find a comfortable post to hear the goings on below.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>13-03-2013, 00:50:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://gunsofold.com/marshal_badge_silver_balltip.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Jia Li<br><hr>“You are... entirely out of line, sir!”&nbsp; Cochran's soothing voice went a little shrill at Bilton's comment.&nbsp; “Whether in public or private, I expect you to treat me with the respect due my position - “<br><br>“I am,” said Bilton, the sneer clear in his voice.&nbsp; “Promise you, I ain't treating you different than any other spineless yeller toady I've ever met.”<br><br>“Mr. Findley!” said Cochran, his moustache aquiver, his eyes beseeching the white-haired businessman for intercession.&nbsp; Bilton just gave a booming laugh.<br><br>“Daddy, daddy, the lawman was <em>mean</em> to me,” mocked Bilton, his voice rising into a falsetto.&nbsp; “Make him stop or I'm gonna cry.”<br><br>“Mr. Findley!”&nbsp; Cochran stood, his chair squeaking back.&nbsp; “I – I will not be <em>treated</em> in this manner, I will not be - “<br><br>“CHILDREN!”&nbsp; Findley's voice thundered, cracking across the room, and both the men quieted.&nbsp; “May I remind you both that you face imminent election, and your candidacy and election war chest are entirely dependent on my good graces.&nbsp; So if you like the hedonistic life of drinking and whoring you've so enjoyed upon Sweetrock's dime, might I suggest the both of you take some time and perhaps <em>perform</em> the duties of the positions you have been appointed to.&nbsp; Perhaps for three <em>days</em> out of the year.&nbsp; I'm sure you can return to your useless lechery and hedonism in short order.&nbsp; In the meantime, I'd like to hear some <em>intelligent</em> suggestions regarding the alternative candidate for sheriff.”<br><br>“Alternative <em>candidates</em>,” pointed out Oswald, from across the room, leaning against the wall still with his arms crossed.&nbsp; “Warwick made a point of pointing out there could be more than one.”<br><br>Findley looked up at Oswald, his eyes narrowing and gleaming.&nbsp; “That... is a brilliant suggestion.”<br><br>Oswald tilted his head.&nbsp; “Pardon?”&nbsp; <br><br>Findley smiled.&nbsp; "Multiple candidates.&nbsp; As many as possible.&nbsp; We make it clear to our people that anyone who <em>doesn't</em> vote with Bilton will be cut loose, fired – while everyone else squabbles over the other candidates.&nbsp; Diffuse the votes across a broad base of candidates.&nbsp; Whereas we have Nash Bilton, the rough and tumble Sheriff, ready to finally rid us of the troublesome raiders, and his loyal deputy Nate Hunter, an honest lawman with a sterling reputation that will keep the integrity of the office intact.”<br><br>“No,” said Nash.&nbsp; “Nate's out.”<br><br>Findley raised an eyebrow.&nbsp; “No, he's not.”<br><br>Nash tilted his head and met his gaze.&nbsp; “No, he's out.&nbsp; That was the deal.&nbsp; Pretentious little mamma's boy has been running around for years sucking up to Daddy Coleman trying to make me look bad.&nbsp; There's no way he's going to play my number two.”<br><br>Cochran's jaw was dropped.&nbsp; “You're... you're tossing away your most valuable resource.&nbsp; His reputation, coupled with yours would make you an unbeatable ticket.&nbsp; The honest lawman and the ruthless protector.&nbsp; &nbsp;Freedom from concerns about their safety or the infringement of their civil rights.&nbsp; You would just - “<br><br>“ - I don't give a fuck about politics,” snarled Bilton.&nbsp; <br><br>Cochran's eyes widened.&nbsp; “Well, you' better start!&nbsp; Do you have any idea how these people look at you?&nbsp; You the thug who'll ruin Gomorra's law abiding reputation.&nbsp; You'll punish those you want to punish with a bullet to the head, and let your friends get away with murder.”&nbsp; Bilton cocked his head, the sneer still on his face.<br><br>“Ain't that exactly what I been doing for y'all for eight goddam years?&nbsp; Killing miners, getting rid of evidence, bailing your idiot enforcers out of trouble when they leave a mind full o' bodies for Nate to find?&nbsp; You know what Coleman would have done to me if he had ever found out?”&nbsp; He stood up, pushing away from the desk.&nbsp; “I been waiting eight years for a bigger desk, and I'll be damned if I put up with Nate goddam Hunter for one more day.”<br><br>In the corner of the room, Oswald Hardinger had stiffened at the mention of Nash's role working for Sweetrock.<br><br>“I can no longer be party to this,” he said, stiffly.&nbsp; His jaw clenched.&nbsp; “Murders.&nbsp; Destruction of evidence.&nbsp; It is bad enough to ask me to direct my people to a vote that ensures this … thug becomes our Sheriff.&nbsp; I will … “&nbsp; He shook his head.&nbsp; “Good day, gentleman.”&nbsp; <br><br>He turned on his heel towards the front door, slipping his top hat on his head, his stride brisk and angry.<br><br>Behind her, Jia Li heard the creak of footsteps coming up the stairs to the upper landing.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Pumpkin Seeds</strong> on <strong>13-03-2013, 02:33:44</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://stagevu.com/img/thumbnail/swvwoeuxayeebig.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Jia Li<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> morning <br><strong>Location:</strong> Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Hopefully nobody <br><hr><br>Concentration kept her kneeling in position during this time.&nbsp; Pain and cramping in her body from remaining still for so long was put aside while her mind focused on capturing those words.&nbsp; Syllables were just more noise to memorize and her lips moved to keep those sounds in her thoughts.&nbsp; Emotion could be heard in those words and this was valuable.&nbsp; Emotion meant less thought and less thought meant more information to spill.&nbsp; Such was her focus that she nearly missed out on the sudden silence and then the sounding of feet against the staircase.&nbsp; Eyes fluttered to look at the open window.&nbsp; A momentary thought of escape brushed into her thoughts, but so much had been spilled.&nbsp; Eyes instead turned upward and she knew her course of action.<br><br>Door frames were sturdy.&nbsp; So sturdy in fact that tornados would often leave them standing in their wake.&nbsp; So there was little to keep her from leaping upward to brush her foot on the doorframe.&nbsp; Hands lifted upward to grasp with her fingertips the rafters above.&nbsp; Muscles tightened and cords showed themselves beneath her sleeves.&nbsp; Without even a grunt she pried herself upward, using the muscles of her core to bring her legs up quickly so that she dangled above the floor below.&nbsp; Then each leg extended sideways so that she performed a split between the beams.&nbsp; Only when anchored did she move to adjust and find a better position above the approaching figure.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>13-03-2013, 03:11:35</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://gunsofold.com/marshal_badge_silver_balltip.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Jia Li<br><hr><div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/62/Scooter2.png)</div>The stairs positively groaned under the weight of the man coming up the steps.&nbsp; She saw his head on the landing, from her position up in the rafters, a mound of curly dark hair and a curly dark beard to match.&nbsp; It took a moment to realize just how large he was - he had to stoop under the doorframe, and his head just barely cleared the rafters of the upper area.&nbsp; Every floorboard creaked as he moved.&nbsp; He was a giant, a man of massive proportions, and none of it fat.&nbsp; Each shoulder was broad enough that Jia Li could have stood upright upon it and balanced easily, and she saw ropes of corded muscle across his chest, beneath the duster that seemed to stretch across his frame.&nbsp; On the floor below, he likely had to stoop; on the floor built just beneath the rafters and the roof of the building, he had the freedom to stand upright and stretch.<br><br>He leaned backwards, yawning and cracking his back.&nbsp; For a moment, Jia Li thought he had a remarkably long pistol slung at his side - it took a moment to recognize that it was actually a mare's leg, a rifle cut down to be used from horse back.&nbsp; His had been even more heavily modified, to include a pistol style grip that would bowl most men over from recoil.&nbsp; He stretched, the vertebrae of his back popping as he did.<br><br>He hung his hands idly on one of the rafters near Jia Li's position - they were massive hands, with fingers like sausages, fitting for the giant beneath her.&nbsp; <br><br>A gravelly voice called from below the landing.&nbsp; "Scooter, what'n hell are you doing?"<br><br>The big man winced.&nbsp; "Just stretching, Big Jake."<br><br>The voice from below had a scowl in it.&nbsp; "They ain't payin' us to stretch, they payin' us to guard.&nbsp; Get yer ass down here."<br><br>The big man looked crestfallen, and gave a mournful glance to the open window, then turned and began to lumber back towards the landing.<br><br>Below, the door slammed as Hardinger made his exit.&nbsp; Bilton's voice wafted up to the rafters.<br><br>"That looks like it's gonna be a problem.&nbsp; You want me to take care of it?"<br><br>Findley's chuckle resonated, as well.&nbsp; "There's no problem there.&nbsp; When Hardinger realizes the five thousand dollars of ghost rock his scientists go through in a week will cost him fifteen thousand from any other source, he'll see our problems a little differently."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Love And Submission</strong> on <strong>13-03-2013, 20:59:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_kwzlhdUsp51qau6jbo1_400.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Ezekiel Mycroft<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd , 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged: Lady Elisabeth Boyle/Open</strong> <br><hr><br>Mycroft lifted a brow as Elisabeth extended her hand to him. The Young detective wasn't the hand shaking type yet despite this&nbsp; , He politely shook her hand. His grip was firm but careless. He gave Lady Elisabeth a vigorous shake before&nbsp; gently releasing it. "So how are you today? I hope the Sheriff's passing hasn't given you too much grief. He was a great man and one that I deeply respected. I hope I can bring his killer to justice. But enough of that. How's your shop? Getting anything interesting in recently? I've been meaning to stop by for a while but I've been very business with work." &nbsp;Ezekiel uttered casually. He was never very comfortable in public conversations though he was pretty good at acting as though he was.&nbsp; He stood tall , blue eyes studying his surroundings as he waited for&nbsp; the woman he&nbsp; had spoken to's responses. Conversations like this were so tedious yet they often revealed important information. A necessary evil to Mycroft pursuit of mystery. He wondered if Elisabeth was in the mood to reveal anything of note to him at the moment or if like most she merely intended to bore him with the trivial facets of life. Though there was the interesting off-chance that Elisabeth was in fact a witch and the accusations the townsfolk had thrown at her weren't just&nbsp; the product of over imagination. However Ezekiel&nbsp; had his doubts about their claims though he did not dismiss the outright. Anything was possible in the weird west as they said.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Phaia</strong> on <strong>14-03-2013, 05:52:22</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i1217.photobucket.com/albums/dd394/Vithe_rothe/Doomtown/2-days-in-the-valley_zps1596f5e0.jpg)</div> <br><br><br><strong>Name:</strong><span style="font-size: 10pt;" class="bbc_size"> <span style="font-family: comic sans ms;" class="bbc_font">Lady Elisabeth Boyle</span></span><br><strong>Faction:</strong> Member of the Collegium.<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Gomorra Town Hall<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Ezekiel Mycroft<br><br><hr> <br><br>Lady Boyle had just slightly hesitated when she had offered her hand... her right hand...she had moved her left a fraction first and then she used her left hand to pull out a lovely gold watch to check the time." Well Mr. Mycroft...I do have copies of the London Herald only 3 months old...and a fine cigar if you smoke...besides all the other things an Apothecary carries"<br><br>"Come by later and I would be happy yo let you have some so you can catch up on the happenings of crown and country...now I must be going I have a 'tea' to attend"<br><br>Nodding she turns to hurry off!!
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Pumpkin Seeds</strong> on <strong>14-03-2013, 12:10:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://stagevu.com/img/thumbnail/swvwoeuxayeebig.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Jia Li<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> morning <br><strong>Location:</strong> Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Hopefully nobody <br><hr><br>Jia Li could not take her eyes off the man.&nbsp; Seeing one so large was certainly uncommon for her and doubly more so that she had not seen him around.&nbsp; Somehow she doubted him for new which meant he had been brought in for a special purpose.&nbsp; Gathered from his size he was either here to pull the plow for harvest or provide some sort of special protection.&nbsp; Regardless when he made his exit she made her descent.&nbsp; Legs eased from their place, hooking around a rafter so that she might lower herself down easily.&nbsp; Dangling by a leg she simply reached up with her hand to painfully lower herself down to a bit of furniture.&nbsp; Delicately her foot set down on a desk, then she slide down to the floor.&nbsp; Moving on knees and hands she made her way back to a point where she could hear the words again.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kuroneko</strong> on <strong>15-03-2013, 04:34:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v622/Jagwaar/Sloane_zps29c9cdf3.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Deacon Sloane<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd , 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> Gomorra Town Hall<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open<br><hr><br>Intent on crossing the town square to return to the casino - but not so tired to keep from enjoying the Morongo’s location right across the hub from the Town Hall, where it was a thorn in the side of Gomorra’s high and mighty, but far too successful for them to say anything - Sloane almost missed Lady Elizabeth speaking to him, let alone standing so close.&nbsp; <br><br><em> "I have a new shipment of the H. Upmanns in, Mr. Sloane, still sealed and fresh.”</em><br><br>Sloane stopped and turned to look at her, nodding in acknowledgement of both her presence and her offer, covering up the pain that flared in his shoulder at the motion.&nbsp; “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Miss Byole,” he replied, though he was well stocked for the moment.&nbsp; Still, it might be worth getting another box or two for his best clients.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;<em>Her glare did not seem to faze them so she turned on her heel, stepping up to walk with Mr. Sloane. "If you come by later I also have the items you wanted to help with that condition one of your 'ladies' has... good day Mr. Sloane."</em><br><br>“If you want to see me personally, then it’ll have to be later in the day,” Sloane told her, never altering his pace.&nbsp; “I’ve yet to see my bed.&nbsp; Otherwise I can send a boy ‘round to pick it up if you like. And the cigars as well. Until later, Miss Boyle.” <br><br>Saved from the need to continue the conversation when he was dog tired and not quite sober by the arrival of the ever exuberant Mr. Mycroft, Sloane left them both behind and walked back to the casino to catch a few hours sleep before the noontime crowd arrived.&nbsp; <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>15-03-2013, 12:17:35</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://gunsofold.com/marshal_badge_silver_balltip.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Jia Li<br><hr>”That just brings us to the Judge,” said Nash.&nbsp; “What are we going to do about him?”<br><br>Cochran raised an eyebrow.&nbsp; “What... what are you suggesting?&nbsp; We've already lost the Sheriff, if we lose a Judge so soon we'll - ”&nbsp; His voice shook, unnerved by the thought.&nbsp; <br><br>Findley considered, interrupting the nervous Mayor.&nbsp; “ - we'll have to find a replacement, and quickly, so as to avoid worrying the populace.&nbsp; I believe the position of Judge IS duly appointed by the Mayor.&nbsp; No elections, no games...”<br><br>Cochran spread his hands.&nbsp; “I could just dismiss him from the position.&nbsp; I'm certain the people will see it as - “<br><br>Bilton spoke over him.&nbsp; “As petty politics from a petty man who couldn't stand a talking-to in public.&nbsp; In a few months we'd have Mayor Warwick instead of Judge Warwick, and I don't think any of us want that.”&nbsp; He glanced over to Cochran, and took a long moment to consider how truly he meant the last sentence.&nbsp; Finally, he shrugged.&nbsp; “Well, he'd be a pain in the arse, at least.”<br><br>“More than that,” assured Findley.&nbsp; “But no.&nbsp; Leave the Judge be, for now.&nbsp; If anything happens while you're interim Sheriff, it'll only weaken your position.&nbsp; This week, Nash – this week you'll need to be a shining example of law and order.&nbsp; Stay out of the whorehouses.&nbsp; Stay out of the saloons.&nbsp; Keep the pickpockets and the drunks locked up, and pray we can go a few days without a murder.&nbsp; Put together everything you know about Black Jack and his raiders, and hit them as hard as you can.&nbsp; I want at least one Raider bleeding out on the streets or strung up by evening tomorrow.”<br><br>Nash wrinkled his nose.&nbsp; “They're not gonna send anyone into town.”<br><br>Findley sighed, exasperated.&nbsp; “And who's to know the difference between an outlaw and a raider?&nbsp; Are you expecting Black Jack to hold a conference upon the steps of Town Hall?&nbsp; Plant whatever evidence you need, give someone the noose, and reassure the people <em>progress</em> is being made.&nbsp; If it actually happens to be a Raider, so much the better.”&nbsp; He rose to his feet and shrugged.&nbsp; “And if its just some drifter no one will be able to prove otherwise, we've an abundance of worthless transients.&nbsp; Thin the herd.”&nbsp; He slid his coat around his shoulders, and fetched a top hat from one of the coat racks.<br><br>“I've business to attend.&nbsp; I suggest both of you begin earning the coin I've been paying you.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Pumpkin Seeds</strong> on <strong>20-03-2013, 13:15:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://stagevu.com/img/thumbnail/swvwoeuxayeebig.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Jia Li<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> morning <br><strong>Location:</strong> Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Hopefully nobody <br><hr><br>The meeting had ended.&nbsp; Jia Li understood those words of finality that indicated there would be no more information given at this location.&nbsp; With so much information to absorb she doubted all could be kept straight if the meeting lasted much longer.&nbsp; Legs began to work her back from the door in her same crouch.&nbsp; Hands once more helped keep her weight distribution from pushing too long or too hard on any one particular board.&nbsp; Much like a cat she slinked back toward the window.&nbsp; A wary eye was kept on the door for any sight of the large man or his companion who he even called big.&nbsp; Slippers put themselves against the frame of the window while she found a perch.&nbsp; Eyes darted along the street for signs of a witness.&nbsp; Then she made a slight hop to turn her body facing into the room.<br><br>Legs slipped back from under her so that she suddenly dropped.&nbsp; Fingers pressed to the window frame so that she was held there with legs braced to the wall.&nbsp; Another look was given to ensure privacy before the drop came.&nbsp; Then her fingers let go of the frame and she tucked her feet up against her.&nbsp; Such a motion was not the final in her descent.&nbsp; Instead once her legs tucked down she pushed them forward again so that when her body struck the ground her legs were first.&nbsp; Yet those limbs folded so easily allowing her to roll back from the force of them.&nbsp; Shock of the fall was distributed throughout her body as she tucked and rolled back.&nbsp; During the final roll her arms extended so that the momentum carried her upward into a fast handstand that she broke by dipping her body.&nbsp; Feet once more on the ground she turned and ran down an alley as if the entire affair had been nothing at all.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>21-03-2013, 06:05:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://gunsofold.com/marshal_badge_silver_balltip.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 3rd, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Gomorra<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Jia Li<br><hr><br>By the time Jia Li had made her rapid escape from the Town Hall, the crowd was nearly broken up.&nbsp; Many had stayed to linger to discuss the prospect of a Sheriff - or simply to console themselves at the loss of their own.&nbsp; Findley's exit - with the giant og a man on one side, and another man she hadn't seen who was actually a few inches shorter than Jia Li - caused a small stir.&nbsp; A few citizens dared approach him, to ask about about alternative candidates for Sheriff, but the massive bruiser interposed himself, pushing them back while Findley made his way towards the Sweetrock mesa at the end of Temptation Road.&nbsp; <br><br>"Mayor Cochran will answer your questions, I am certain," he called back, not missing a pace as he left the area for his own personal mesa.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>10-05-2013, 07:01:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<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> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Judge Warwick, Closed<br><hr>Marguerite woke tired and groggy.&nbsp; She hadn't slept well at all.&nbsp; Every time she relaxed the feeling of being watched would loom, disrupting her mood and throwing her into fitful tosses and turns.&nbsp; She wasn't sure just how much sleep she got, but it couldn't have been much.&nbsp; And the sense of a malevolent watcher was with her even now.&nbsp; <br><br>It wasn't bad in the small cafe-like dining room of the hotel, where the morning light shone in bright and cheery.&nbsp; But even in the cheery light of day the presence was there, prying into her life and spying on her every action.&nbsp; She turned a dozen times, sure she'd catch the voyeur in the act, always to find no one there.&nbsp; Sipping at her coffee, she again read Nathan's letter.&nbsp; The Judge was expecting her, but she wasn't sure she wanted to talk to him while this sense of a silent observer weighed on her.<br><br>She was certain however, that she did not want to go to confession while plagued by this feeling of being watched.&nbsp; Every word she told the priest might well be broadcast to a spy, and... No.&nbsp; Confession could wait.&nbsp; At least for a day.&nbsp; If the feeling persisted perhaps the priest could help her shake it.&nbsp; It was certainly just her imagination - perhaps her under-conscious mind was reluctant to confess, to tell the good priest all her myriad sin.<br><br>So then...&nbsp; If not confession, then the Judge.&nbsp; What he might tell her was important to her future.&nbsp; Any future she had depended on her claim.&nbsp; And if Alfred had pressed that claim, then her own claim was part of public record.&nbsp; She wondered if she should solicit an attorney before talking to the Judge?&nbsp; The Senior Deputy spoke highly of the man, but his interest was with the community, and not with her.&nbsp; She did not think those interests conflicted, but it would be best to protect herself.&nbsp; Considering her assets, fifty dollars wouldn't go far in this place.&nbsp; <br><br>She didn't wonder where the money came from.&nbsp; Hunter had probably given her all the cash he could scrape together.&nbsp; She would have to be frugal with it, only paying the porter his tip and buying the bare essentials.&nbsp; She could read.&nbsp; She could write.&nbsp; She knew Latin.&nbsp; And Nathan was a lawyer.&nbsp; She could draft her own petitions and ask him to proof them for her.&nbsp; Some day, she would have to repay all his kindnesses.<br><br>Her coffee had grown cold as she thought over the day's plan.&nbsp; When the waiter offered to warm it, she thanked him but declined.&nbsp; <strong>"How do I find the Courthouse?"</strong>&nbsp; She asked.&nbsp; The directions were simple, and in fact the town was easy to navigate in daylight.&nbsp; She saw easily how she missed her route to the Chapel - and after brief inspection from the hub, she thought she could find her way anywhere in town, even after dark.&nbsp; Though until she found a suitable escort she did not think she'd be going out after dark anymore.<br><br>The courthouse wasn't very elaborate - the front door opened directly into the large courtroom.&nbsp; She was passably familiar with the layout after months of legal battles involving her father's estate.&nbsp; The room was empty at the moment, save for a young blond man standing near the door.&nbsp; <strong>"Hello."</strong>&nbsp; She greeted the guard.&nbsp; There was a word for a court guard...&nbsp; she couldn't think of it.&nbsp; <strong>"Could you direct me to Judge Warwick's office please?"</strong>&nbsp; She asked politely, flashing a brief and politely proforma smile.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>10-05-2013, 07:04:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/65/Judgehawkins.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Judge Warwick<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Marguerite Tuerny, Closed<br><hr>The boy that greeted her – or rather, smiled silently – nodded at the question.&nbsp; The slight nod revealed a ghoulish scar that crossed his neck, pale white where a blade had been dragged through his neck.&nbsp; From the length and size of it, it was years old – and would certainly have brought him to the brink of death.&nbsp; His eyes traced over the beautiful socialite, admiring her silently, and then he stepped back into the courtroom itself.&nbsp; It was smaller than courts in the East, but the normal appointments of desks for prosecutor and defendant, a row of seats for observers and witnesses, the box for a jury and the high desk for the judge himself were all much as could be expected – they were functional over finely crafted, with only two doors that led off from the main court room.&nbsp; One was marked 'Evidence,' and the second was marked 'Judge.'&nbsp; <br><br>Atop the Judge's desk sat a human skull.&nbsp; Part of the bone had been shattered by a bullet that had traveled through the forehead, and a matching exit wound suggested the manner of the unfortunate owner's demise.<br><br>The mute teen smiled reassuringly, and pressed past the desk, knocking upon the Judge's door.&nbsp; He smiled once more, picking at his clothes, then frowned and gazed at the door, knocking again.<br><br>There was a pained groan from within.&nbsp; The boy's brow furrowed, and he knocked a third time, insistent.&nbsp; There was the sound of glass shattering from the opposite side of the door, and another pained groan.&nbsp; Concern seemed to light the boy's eyes, and he reached for the handle, testing it and then throwing his weight against the door.&nbsp; Another, more agonized noise came from within, and he threw himself again, and this time the door made a snapping noise and flew open, the boy stumbling in a few steps, only to behold the Judge lying asleep on his desk – or recently asleep.&nbsp; He looked up, blinking blearily, his eyes reddened by drink.<br><br>“God Almighty, Blue, what's the meaning of this racket?”&nbsp; His voice was a croak, and his eyes unfocused.&nbsp; They resolved, looking behind the mute bailiff to the woman who had followed him.&nbsp; He glanced towards a clock set upon the wall, and rubbed a hand over his bald pate.&nbsp; His face was weathered by living in the west, but even hung over there was a sharpness in his eyes, a hawkishness to his nose that made him a handsome older man, and the grey stubble on his jaw might have left him lacking in refinement, but enhanced the strength of it with a certain rugged charm.<br><br>He studied her for a moment, and then smiled.&nbsp; “You must be Margeurite,” he offered.&nbsp; “I... Nathan explained some of your situation last night, but that was...”&nbsp; He hefted a bottle of Scotch, a fifth of it still remaining, and glanced down to the shattered tumbler beside his desk.&nbsp; “Mmm... that was a few fingers in commemoration of a dearly departed friend ago.”&nbsp; He gave a chuckle, setting the bottle down.&nbsp; “Forgive my intemperance and my state.&nbsp; I can't seem to recall your... last name, beyond that Hunter made it quite clear it wasn't Eklain.”&nbsp; He gave a warmer smile, and offered a hand.&nbsp; <br><br>“Judge Warwick.&nbsp; Blue - “&nbsp; He reached into a wrinkled vest, withdrawing a coin and tossing it to Blue.&nbsp; “Could you get us some thing for breakfast from the bakery?&nbsp; And some tea?”&nbsp; He raised an eyebrow, making certain it was agreeable to Margeurite, and gesturing towards the seat across from him.&nbsp; “Have a seat, if you please.”<br><br>Behind the Judge were shelves upon shelves of battered, well worn legal texts, a few cabinets for paperwork, and his desk was mostly piled high with the files from other cases before him.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>10-05-2013, 07:10:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<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> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Judge Warwick, Closed<br><hr>She wasn't quite sure what to make of the noises coming through the door.&nbsp; Was there an intruder?&nbsp; If so, had he attacked the Judge and then broke a window to make his escape?&nbsp; Her own efforts wouldn't help the strapping young lad force the door, but if she could find something to use as a ram...&nbsp; She was eying the bench seats in the spectator area - wondering if the two of them could lift one when the boy smashed through the door.<br><br>Hastily, she followed the tow-haired lad into the Judge's chambers only to find the man unharmed.&nbsp; Unharmed that is, except by the demon rum and his own hand.&nbsp; Her face twisted into the beginning of a scowl.&nbsp; Her mother had been a supporter of the temperance movement back East, and while Margeurite did not feel so strongly on the subject she did not approve of strong drink.&nbsp; <strong>"I've broken fast, but tea would be nice."</strong>&nbsp; She replied to the Judge's question.<br><br>The rules for business acquaintance were somewhat less formal than social etiquette, but even in these circumstances a Lady did best to avoid contact with a forward stranger.&nbsp; Particularly a drunkard.&nbsp; About to ignore the proffered hand she decided to accept it with ginger deference, though she did not really grip back. As they shook, she glanced around the office and she chose a chair facing the older man and his desk.&nbsp; <strong>"Do you mind if I sit?"</strong>&nbsp; She asked, pausing until permission was granted before actually taking her seat.&nbsp; <strong>"Landry."</strong>&nbsp; She spoke to clear his confusion.&nbsp; <strong>"My married name is Landry.&nbsp; Tuerny was my maiden name." </strong>&nbsp; She returned his smile, though it was more hinted at than displayed.&nbsp; Best not to be too forward, especially in the company of so handsome a man.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>10-05-2013, 07:15:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/65/Judgehawkins.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Judge Warwick<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Marguerite Tuerny, Closed<br><hr><br>The judge nodded, tossing a coin to Blue and then settling back in the chair.&nbsp; His brow furrowed before she finally accepted the proffered handshake, some of the easy warmth in his eyes cooling as he leaned back.&nbsp; He still offered permission to sit with a practiced warmth, nodding when she mentioned her married name and her maiden name.&nbsp; He glanced idly towards her finger for a ring, and considered.<br><br><strong>“Will your husband be making the business arrangements?”</strong>&nbsp; He ran a hand over the roughened jaw, thoughtful, then dug for a file from the middle of the stack, pulling it open and rereading the first page of it.<br><br><strong>“The Harlot's Haven Strike... originally prospected by one Ike turner... now deceased.&nbsp; Then purchased by his former partner, one... Eric Turner, with funds provided by the Tuerny family.&nbsp; Let's see... “</strong>&nbsp; He flipped open the next page.&nbsp; <strong>“Attempted claim by a representative of Hellstromme Industries, declined, Mr. Turner's will clearly stipulating it to return to the Tuerny family as a matter of repayment for a personal loan...”</strong>&nbsp; He continued to flip through.&nbsp; <strong>“Hmm... Sweetrock attempted to acquire it three months ago, but it hadn't yet returned to public auction because the claim wasn't worked.”</strong>&nbsp; He flipped a page again.&nbsp; <strong>“Cue the arrival of Mr. Eklain... who by forfeited marriage license claimed due responsibility over the strike... a loan from the bank against the strike to pay for construction and work crews...”</strong><br><br>He paused again, frowning and glancing up.&nbsp; <strong>“This mine has a certain ill fortune following it, Mrs. Landry.&nbsp; If I may be so bold, what exactly are your intentions with it?”</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>10-05-2013, 07:17:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<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> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Judge Warwick, Closed<br><hr>She noticed his frown and chided herself.&nbsp; As a married woman, she could have accepted the handshake more graciously.&nbsp; But the last time she'd been in civilized society she had been unmarried and her manners were still locked into those of a maiden.&nbsp; She couldn't afford to alienate men like the Judge, and affecting manners from back east was a good way to lose friends.&nbsp; But... well, should she try to re-civilize her life, or bow to graceless depravity and embrace the rather loose standards of the west?<br><br>The judge was speaking, and she barely refocused her attention in time to catch his question.&nbsp; <strong>"My husband?"</strong>&nbsp; She considered.&nbsp; <strong>"He is... detained in Deseret.&nbsp; Indefinitely detained."</strong>&nbsp; She sighed. When she had the resources, she vowed to do something for Breed.&nbsp; Or at least check to see if he was still alive.&nbsp; The Pinkerton Agency?&nbsp; She would have to think about that.&nbsp; Seriously.<br><br>But that was for the future.&nbsp; Presently, she had best focus on her own affairs.&nbsp; <strong>"Hellstromme?"</strong>&nbsp; She knew the name, but for the life of her she could not remember from where.&nbsp; Something regarding her father's estate no doubt.&nbsp; <strong>"A loan?"</strong>&nbsp; A much more pressing issue!&nbsp; <strong>"How much, and when is it due?&nbsp; And did Alfred actually hire anyone with the money?" </strong> <br><br>She considered his final question.&nbsp; <strong>"My intentions?"</strong>&nbsp; A fine question, a fine question indeed.&nbsp; <strong>"Before my parents died.&nbsp; I lived in perhaps the finest house in Baltimore, certainly among the finest.&nbsp; I wanted for nothing and cared for little beyond the next event on the social calendar."</strong>&nbsp; She couldn't believe what a shallow little thing she had been, back then.&nbsp; <strong>"Over the next year I saw my father's estate disappear.&nbsp; Saw it evaporate under my eyes, prey to lawsuits and claims of judgement and eroded by legal fees spent to retain the diminishing assets until I lost not only father's business, but the house, my mother's jewels, and even my wardrobe.&nbsp; The last thing I have left is this mining claim.&nbsp; And I suspect I have that only because none of the vultures back east thought it was worth the paper it is written on."</strong><br><br>She looked the judge in the eye, her resolve firming as her voice lost its calm soothing flow and hardened.&nbsp; <strong>"I intend sir, to prove that claim and to regain at least a portion of what I lost. I intend to prove those scavengers wrong and to show them that I am my father's daughter.&nbsp; He created wealth from nothing. He left me with... perhaps not a great deal, but not nothing.&nbsp; I want make something of his legacy and to make something of myself."</strong>&nbsp; <br><br>She clamped her mouth shut and stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, horror at her outburst apparent on her pale features.&nbsp; <strong>"Please excuse my outburst." </strong> Her voice returned to its normally soothing flow.&nbsp; "<strong>And no matter what ill fortune follows this mine, I can survive it.&nbsp; I have overcome quite a bit of hardship already."</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>10-05-2013, 07:24:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/65/Judgehawkins.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Judge Warwick<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Marguerite Tuerny, Closed<br><hr>He raised an eyebrow as she mentioned her husband being detained.&nbsp; To a judge that meant one thing, and he offered another frown. <strong> “To be blunt, Mrs. Landry, if your husband has committed a crime, it may reflect poorly on yourself before a jury.”</strong>&nbsp; He smiled lightly. <strong> “I will offer the best legal counsel I can, but... an accurate understanding of the pertinent facts is a necessity to do so.”</strong><br><br>He cocked an eyebrow.&nbsp; <strong>“Hellstromme Industries?&nbsp; The owning corporation for the Wasatch line?”</strong>&nbsp; He quirked another smile. <strong> “Surely you've heard of Dr. Darius Hellstromme?&nbsp; He's the most famous inventor of our day.&nbsp; <em>Logic and Intuition: The New Science.</em>”</strong>&nbsp; Even the Boston socialite had heard of the book which had propelled hundreds of scientists to venture West in search of ghostrock and the new science being practiced in the West.<br><br>He glanced back to the paperwork.&nbsp; <strong>“Ah – yes.&nbsp; A loan, to cover Mr. Eklain's expenses and pay for construction and a work crew.&nbsp; I don't have any records of purchases made on either account – the lien is against the strike, but once you prove Alfred Eklain had no claim to the strike, the Bank's expense will be forfeit.&nbsp; Unfortunately, that means its doubtful they'd be willing to leverage a loan against this particular strike.”</strong><br><br>He folded his fingers together and leaned back.&nbsp; For all it was easy to take him as a drunkard, there was a sharpness in his eyes, a clarity that men who spent their life besotted by drink lacked.&nbsp; He listened quietly, thoughtful, finally raising a finger to his lip as he considered.&nbsp; His lips curled at the horror in her face, and he gave a small chuckle.&nbsp; <br><br><strong>“No excuse is necessary, Mrs. Landry.&nbsp; Deputy Hunter suggested you'd encountered ill fortune, but was evasive as to the details.&nbsp; Though he seemed quite clear Mr. Eklain was in no small part to blame.”</strong>&nbsp; He leaned forward, setting the file down, and retrieving a small pair of spectacles.<br><br><strong>“There's a few legal issues here – first and foremost will be seeing Mr. Eklain charged for the theft of your estate.&nbsp; While he hasn't received any financial recompense as yet, he did swindle a piece of your property, valued in excess of three hundred dollars.”</strong>&nbsp; He paused, looking up.&nbsp; <strong>“Are you aware of the penalty for such theft in Gomorra?&nbsp; It's a criminal matter, at such a point, not a civil matter, and that's barring what Hunter suggests could be an attempted murder charge.&nbsp; With either sentence, Mr. Eklain would be shipped to Lost Angels for a twenty year sentence, and to my understanding most of the prisoners there don't last a year.”</strong><br><br>He paused, and add dryly, <strong>“Assuming there wasn't a horse amongst your possessions, in which case we'd simply hang him.”</strong><br><br>He stroked his hand back over his bald pate, brow creasing again.&nbsp; <strong>“After that matter's settled, there'll be establishing proof the mine is yielding fundament and has been worked in the last three months.&nbsp; All told, it may be simpler to sell the mine and consider starting a new life somewhere else.&nbsp; Mining politics in Gomorra are... bloody business, Mrs. Landry.&nbsp; I'd suggest if you are serious about this, you have a couple of skilled gunmen you'd trust your life to.”</strong><br><br>There was another small tug of a smile.&nbsp; <strong>"And if you'd rather not depart, I imagine you can earn your keep and pay your expenses in Gomorra as a lawyer.&nbsp; You're a persuasive woman."</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>10-05-2013, 07:24:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<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> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Judge Warwick, Closed<br><hr>She frowned.&nbsp; <strong>"I don't see why."</strong>&nbsp; She replied to his statement about her husband.&nbsp; Her frown deepened and she turned in her chair, looking around the room while paying close attention to paintings or statues or anything with eyes.&nbsp; <strong>"Do you ever get the feeling that you're being watched?"</strong>&nbsp; She asked.&nbsp; <strong>"It's been with me since last night."</strong><br><br>She considered.&nbsp; <strong>"I'd rather not get into my husband's affairs at this time.&nbsp; They have little to do with me now.&nbsp; Suffice to say that it is not likely he will be showing up in Gomorra anytime soon."</strong>&nbsp; Probably never, she admitted to herself, her face falling into a soft sadness that hinted at tears.&nbsp; <strong>"I suppose if you must know, I can tell you at another time."</strong><br><br>Letting the matter go, she moved on to the more immediate matter of Mr. Alfred Eklain.&nbsp; <strong>"Alfred Eklain is a despicable toad that abandoned me in the middle of nowhere after I fell off a train."</strong>&nbsp; She went on to relate the whole story (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=167460.msg7910690#msg7910690), not sparing the possibility that Alfred may not have actually intended to push her off the train.<br><br>She recited the facts with cold indifference, striving to remember the details as accurately as possible.&nbsp; <strong>"It is a miracle I survived."</strong>&nbsp; That brought forth memories of Breed, and his rough but effective lessons in survival.&nbsp; &nbsp;Tears unshed earlier welled up, turning her eyes shimmering bright.<br><br>Her voice cracked once as she continued, but she caught it before busting into tears, wrestling her emotions back into order by sheer force of will.&nbsp; <strong>"I am sorry.&nbsp; The memories are quite painful."</strong>&nbsp; She nodded reply to his suggestions, not commenting on them until he mentioned the practice of law.<br><br>Her pretty face twisted into a wide infectious grin at the suggestion.&nbsp; <strong>"Why thank you!&nbsp; That's very flattering."</strong>&nbsp; A compliment on her mind rather than her appearance.&nbsp; She liked this man.&nbsp; Her eyes were bright, though perhaps the bright of unshed tears.&nbsp; <strong>"Is there anything I have to do?&nbsp; Forms or affidavits or complaints to register?"</strong>&nbsp; She finally asked, her familiarity with legal matters gained while she witnessed the pillage of her father's estate.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>10-05-2013, 07:29:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/65/Judgehawkins.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Judge Warwick<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Marguerite Tuerny, Closed<br><hr>He leaned back in his chair, giving a soft, ironic kind of laugh. <strong> “Do I ever get the feeling I'm being watched?”</strong>&nbsp; He leaned into his chin, thoughtful, and after a moment rose and opened the Judge door and pointed to the skull sitting on the Judge's desk.&nbsp; He gestured to the skull that sat on the desk, and his head dipped for a moment. <strong> “That belonged to Bailiff Adams.&nbsp; Blue's predecessor.&nbsp; The third case I tried, the miner drew a pistol and shot him through the head, then aimed at me.&nbsp; Coleman had insisted I take a double-barreled shotgun under the desk.”</strong>&nbsp; He closed the door.&nbsp; <strong>“I took a man's life that day, with my own hands.&nbsp; The first time I haven't done so with a gavel.&nbsp; And that... rather morbid addition provides a constant reminder to be on my guard.” </strong> He looked back to her, walking slowly back around his desk.&nbsp; <strong>“So... yes, Mrs. Landry.&nbsp; I feel watched.&nbsp; I feel hunted.&nbsp; And I very much doubt that feeling will go away while you're in Gomorra.”</strong><br><br>He settled back in the chair, and spread his hands about her husband's affairs.&nbsp; <strong>“I'm just considering the possibility he may appear in Gomorra and expect a... stake in the mine you own.&nbsp; Stranger things have happened in this town.”&nbsp; He gave a light smile at the last.&nbsp; “But... certainly.&nbsp; It's not a pressing matter, now.”</strong><br><br>He leaned forward and listened as she told her story, running a hand over his bald pate.&nbsp; There was a great deal of sympathy in his eyes, a softness, but it didn't elicit the same willingness to bend backwards for her, to turn his life upside down it might have from a certain Senior Deputy.&nbsp; <br><br><strong>“Well, I can't say I cared for him before knowing of his … various hubris.&nbsp; I suspected he was a weasel from the moment he came into court.&nbsp; If it weren't for Nathan's sincerity that he was a good man on hard times, I wouldn't have allowed him to operate the mine at all.”</strong>&nbsp; His brow furrowed. <strong> “But Nathan has a weakness for East Coast manners, and presumes an honorable nature by virtue of them.&nbsp; Certainly, however, if you can convince a court that he attempted to murder you, or that he simply sought to take advantage of your loss by fraudulence, we can see due punishment enacted.&nbsp; Regardless, he will be found guilty of perjury.&nbsp; If nothing else, the time can be perhaps used to find some evidence of his theft – I suspect he sold a number of appropriated effects to stores in town.&nbsp; They can be used as physical evidence before the court.”</strong><br><br>He leaned forward, reaching into his vest and producing a kerchief, to at least allow her to daub at her eyes.&nbsp; <strong>“I have no doubt,” </strong>he promised.&nbsp; <strong>“I am truly sorry for whatever troubles you have endured.”</strong>&nbsp; He let her take it, then waved away any attempt to return it, leaning back in the chair.<br><br><strong>“I'll admit a certain self-interest,” </strong>he frowned. <strong> “Bankum and Bankum only represent the interest of those firmly in the pocket of Sweetrock, and Davidson is an excellent, overworked lawyer.”</strong>&nbsp; He paused.&nbsp; <strong>“He also refuses on some sort of principle not to represent any woman in need of legal services.&nbsp; Soiled doves, ladies who own business interests, or even widows or daughters.”</strong>&nbsp; He paused.&nbsp; <strong>“Then again, I'm sure you've seen first hand how little men care to fairly represent a woman, given your own... history.”</strong><br><br>He gave her another thoughtful glance. <strong> “There are two matters before us.&nbsp; The criminal matter, regarding Mr. Eklain, and the civil matter regarding the mine.&nbsp; There's a rather slim window wherein you'll have to provide proof that the mine has fundament, and hasn't been tapped out.&nbsp; Your first order of business should be chartering a vessel to have someone inspect the mine.&nbsp; Then I <em>strongly</em> encourage you to accompany the inspector – we've had a run of inspectors retiring from their duties and buying 'tapped out mines' only to repurchase the rights weeks later and discover a new source of fundament they somehow missed on their first inspection.”</strong>&nbsp; He waved a hand.&nbsp; <strong>“If you have a bodyman you trust to deal you squarely, send him in your stead, but if not I'd make the trip myself.&nbsp; And I'd bring along a hired gun, or two, as the Maze isn't precisely safe.”</strong><br><br>He went to the file cabinet, drawing out two pieces of paper.&nbsp; <strong>“I'll just need two petitions filed from you.&nbsp; First, for the charges you intend to levy against Alfred Eklain, and second for injunction to have the mine's deed transferred to your sole custody.”</strong><br><br>As he set the papers down, there was a knock at the door.&nbsp; He turned to collect the tea, and a pair of poundcakes.&nbsp; He offered one magnanimously to Margeurite, and once again defied Victorian etiquette by pouring tea for the both of them, serving it while she worked upon the legal papers necessary to begin claiming her birthright as her own.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>10-05-2013, 07:31:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<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> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Judge Warwick, Closed<br><hr>She thought over his suggestions, particularly his speculations about her effects.&nbsp; <strong>"There was a travel vanity."</strong>&nbsp; She suggested.&nbsp; <strong>"Not particularly valuable, though it was worth more than $300.&nbsp; Senior Deputy Hunter retrieved a few papers and my family photographs when he arrested Eklain, but the vanity was not among those effects.&nbsp; It was my mother's and her mother's before her.&nbsp; The box and all the pieces were stamped with her family crest.&nbsp; The rest of the effects... "</strong>&nbsp; She fluttered her hand in a motion waving off the belongings as she added.&nbsp; <strong>"... are really of no consequence. I could identify them if I saw them, particularly the dresses and accessories.&nbsp; But I don't particularly care to have them returned.&nbsp; I would however,&nbsp; very much like to recover that vanity. Besides the photographs, it was really all I have left of her mother." </strong> She knew what a distant hope that was.&nbsp; But if it was in Gomorra, perhaps she could buy it back from whoever currently possessed it.<br><br>She read the papers he presented in their entirety, often paging back to earlier clauses when they were referenced later in the document.&nbsp; She asked few questions, but those she asked were pointed and specific. <strong> "We were not married.&nbsp; And we were not betrothed.&nbsp; Though he pressed his proposal many times, I never agreed."</strong>&nbsp; She laid a foundation.&nbsp; <strong>"So I do not believe he committed a crime in abandoning me, penniless and in the middle of the wilderness."</strong>&nbsp; She considered further. <strong> "I believe the crime of horse theft is a capital offense because it leaves the victim helpless and diminishes their chances to survive in the harsh wilderness?&nbsp; Wouldn't depriving me of my transport - the train in this case - in the middle of untamed wilderness have the same legal foundation?&nbsp; Even if he did not push me off the train, he certainly withheld aid that could reasonably be construed as life-saving."</strong>&nbsp; She frowned as she thought through the matter.&nbsp; <strong>"The fact that I did survive of course diminishes the quality of that argument, but I do believe survival was the less likely outcome given the situation."</strong>&nbsp; <br><br>She scowled then, and shrugged the whole mental exercise away.&nbsp; <strong>"I want to charge him with theft, in an amount in excess of three hundred dollars."</strong>&nbsp; And that is the charge she put on the petition.&nbsp; <strong>"Regarding the mine.&nbsp; As soon as I can arrange transportation and adequate protection, I will accompany the inspector myself."</strong>&nbsp; She signed both petitions.<br><br><strong>"This window you mentioned - how long do I have to produce fundament?"</strong>&nbsp; She asked as a final question as she sipped her tea.&nbsp; She eschewed the pound cake, as she had already eaten and had no desire to weigh down her metabolism further.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>10-05-2013, 07:32:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/65/Judgehawkins.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Judge Warwick<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Marguerite Tuerny, Closed<br><hr>He considered as she mentioned the vanity, and then gave a sigh, shaking his head.&nbsp; <strong>“I'm sorry.&nbsp; Most of the thefts we see are considerably smaller items, easily pawned.&nbsp; If he had such an item with him – I'm certain he would have brought it first to the hotel he resided at.&nbsp; Unfortunately, he has – according to the documents I have here – continually sunk to cheaper and cheaper establishments.&nbsp; But I suspect the hotel proprietors would be able to give you an idea where they last saw it and... perhaps an idea who it might have been sold to.”</strong>&nbsp; He smile was wan.&nbsp; <strong>“A timepiece or a bit of jewelry, and I'm certain I could direct you to the usual culprits for pawning such items.”</strong><br><br>The papers were actually pointedly simple – the western courts were not besieged by much in the way of complex corporate legal attorneys, and the statement of petition seemed designed by Warwick so that even an unlearned miner could lay a claim without much assistance from a lawyer.&nbsp; <br><br>He leaned on his hand in his chair as she made mention of the betrothal, and when she made an argument for the bearing of horse theft in relationship to her own circumstances, his eyes gleamed with appreciation for the nuance of the argument.&nbsp; <strong>“It's an apt argument to make before a court,”</strong> he offered.&nbsp; <strong>“A defense counsel might argue that the crime of horse theft it punished so severely because it would deprive a man, or more particularly a farmer of the very means by which he makes his living.&nbsp; A horse to plow fields and deliver a crop to town, thus endangering an entire settlement.&nbsp; Could you argue that the deprivation of your transportation to Gomorra deprived you of the means to make your living?&nbsp; You might sway a jury to such a sentence if you were capable.”</strong>&nbsp; He spread his hands.&nbsp; <strong>“On the other side, a defense counsel would also argue that Mr. Eklain simply did not take action, in and of itself not a crime.&nbsp; Or even that he did take action, but was powerless to prevent your fall from the train.&nbsp; Again, arguments that might sway a jury.”</strong>&nbsp; But he seemed please with her application of logic, and rose from his desk to the shelves behind him, collecting a pair of books from the shelves behind him and pulling them free.<br><br><strong>“Blackstone Commentaries and the California Reporter, 1864-65.&nbsp; A summation of all the criminal deliberations made in the territory of California settled by jury or decision by a judge.”</strong>&nbsp; He set the pair of books down on the desk, and nodded at her decision.&nbsp; <strong>“You're welcome to file any other criminal petitions you care to after perusing it.”</strong>&nbsp; He gave an easier smile.&nbsp; <strong>“A loan, not a gift.&nbsp; I'm afraid the press which originally published it has sunk into the ocean.&nbsp; But it might help you articulate your case in court, and provide an understanding of the underlying principles of sentencing.&nbsp; I suggest the Honorable Judge Hawthorne.&nbsp; He excellently articulates much of his reasoning, and I'm afraid not all of the cases within can claim the same acerbic wit.”</strong><br><br>At the mention of arranging transportation, he offered, <strong>”A steam launch or a knife boat's the fastest way to get where you're going.&nbsp; Chartering a launch'll be twenty dollars a day, and a knife boat's fifty.&nbsp; A Maze runner runs closer to a hundred and fifty a day.&nbsp; Anyone trying to charge you more is taking advantage of a tourist.”</strong>&nbsp; He considered.&nbsp; <strong>”The Collegium has a few steam sleds, as well, and they're cheaper, but they only hold two men.&nbsp; You'd need to charter several if you plan on traveling with an inspector and a gunhand.”</strong><br><br>He gestured for Blue to take the pound cake, who offered a grateful smile to Margeurite.&nbsp; He drank his own tea thoughtfully, replacing the spectacles and nudging back through the file.&nbsp; <strong>“Three weeks.&nbsp; If you go longer than that, you risk running afoul of Sweetrock's lawyers.&nbsp; Twenty days, to be exact.”</strong>&nbsp; He removed the spectacles.&nbsp; <strong>”The definition of 'producing ore' is very limited.&nbsp; If you can come back with a hundred dollars worth of fundament, no matter silver or gold or ghostrock, the mine is 'in production' for another ninety days.&nbsp; If it's showing regular purchases at the assayers after that, no one will question whether or not its in production.”</strong><br><br>He paused, at the end.&nbsp; <strong>"I might also suggest Machievelli's <em>The Prince</em> if you truly intend to get into the business of mining in Gomorra."</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>10-05-2013, 08:36:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<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> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Judge Warwick, Closed<br><hr>Marguerite wasn't sure what to make of the proffered books.&nbsp; She picked up the thicker of the two, glancing at the title.&nbsp; <strong><em>Commentaries on the Laws of England: Volume II The Rights of Things (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Commentaries_on_the_Laws_of_England)</em></strong> by Sir William Blackstone.&nbsp; That was silly!&nbsp; How could things have rights?&nbsp; She almost giggled at her own wit, at least for half of it.&nbsp; The other book seemed even less appealing, a bound summary of court cases over ten years ago?&nbsp; But not only would it be impolite to refuse the Judges generous loan, but it would be stupid as well.&nbsp; She was sure the old fox was trying to tell her something important about her future.&nbsp; Something he couldn't tell her directly, but was sure she could find on her own in these books.<br><br><strong>"Thank you."</strong>&nbsp; She accepted the tomes with genuine if not enthusiastic gratitude.&nbsp; <strong>"I don't know when I'll find time to read them, but I will certainly make...&nbsp; The Prince!"</strong>&nbsp; She nearly pounced on the book.&nbsp; She'd read it before.&nbsp; Several times in fact.&nbsp; Her mother had insisted, much to her confusion.&nbsp; Why would a young girl need to read about blood-thirsty and immoral Italian Princes?&nbsp; But Élisabeth had been firm, forcing her to not only read, but almost memorize the brief though brutal treatise instructing young rulers how best to tyrannize their subjects.&nbsp; She smiled, the memories of her mother trying to instruct her, the lovely woman showing both resolve and compassion in her demands.&nbsp; She hadn't understood her mother very well.<br><br>She paged through the volume - hardly longer than a pamphlet or a dime novel - with interest.&nbsp; This was an English translation, the first that she'd seen.&nbsp; The version she read was in French, her mother's personal copy.&nbsp; It said a lot about her mother, she realized belatedly, that the flashing French beauty would own her own copy of this book. <strong>" Thank you."</strong>&nbsp; She repeated, her sincerity just as genuine as before, though more open and warmer.&nbsp; <strong>"Old Niccolò is a longtime friend."</strong>&nbsp; She laughed.&nbsp; <strong>"My mother made me read this, though I think I'll understand it better now."</strong><br><br>She considered the implications of applying Machiavelli's principles to the business of mining.&nbsp; Cut-throat, in many cases she was sure quite literally.&nbsp; <strong>"You've given me a lot to think about."&nbsp; She added.&nbsp; "I need to arrange transport, find guards and laborers, broker deals, and... And find out what else I need to get the mine running."</strong> She'd quite forgotten about Alfred, so caught up was she in the details of making her future happen.&nbsp; She set the book down next to her tea.&nbsp; <br><br><strong>"It's been both enlightening and a pleasure meeting you sir."</strong>&nbsp; She flashed him a warm, widely white and utterly devastating smile.&nbsp; A smile fit to send fleets across seas or send the moon into fits of jealousy.&nbsp; "<strong>I'm sure I'll see you soon.&nbsp; I hope we don't have to wait until court?"</strong> She rose, offering her hand palm down.&nbsp; She wasn't quite sure how to deal with handshakes - they seemed unnatural to her, but a lady could always offer her hand to a gentleman of proper acquaintance.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Phaia</strong> on <strong>10-05-2013, 11:00:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i1217.photobucket.com/albums/dd394/Vithe_rothe/Doomtown/CharlizeTheronUpdosLooseBunSj30hHiLBDUl_zpsb4b0f22e.jpg)</div><br><br><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; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The Courthouse: meet with Judge Warwick<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Judge Warwick, Marguerite Tuerny<br></span><br><hr> <br><br>Elisabeth had arisen early and made breakfast for the 'house' leaving it warming on Agatha's lovely stove. Eggs scrambled lightly just as how her uncle had taught her and crisp fried bacon with bread , honey and coffee on the pot would greet the others. They had stayed up late chatting and learning all about 'Spooky' and Agatha's adventures. She had not slept well, waking up several times to check the windows and her guns with the first pink light of dawn she rose to clean up and make the breakfast. <br><br>She had wanted to meet with Judge Warwick early, His legal mind might give her some guidance in how best to handle any problems that could arise should Bilton become Sherriff. She had soon realized on coming to Gomorra that the law firm of Bankum and Bankum was neck deep in with Sweetrock and had no concern about anything but ghostrock claims or handlings lawsuits for Sweetrock. Mr. Davidson refused outright to deal with her and when pushed simply said a woman should be at home having babies not running a business. The few times she had needed legal advice Judge Warwick had been a godsend and he also enjoyed the cigars she had in her shop. So this morning she had arrived with a pack of 4 of the famed H. Upmann's. <br><br>She was wearing a silk dress from Paris only a year out of date, the creamy blue off setting her green eyes. The black fedora trimmed with green sat over her lovely yellow hair that was up in a loose bun. As she stepped to the courthouse door she paused and looked over the rims of her darken glasses, her left hand slid into the pocket of the skirt and her fingers rested on the handle of her Bulldog. She always felt better knowing the pistol was close at hand. Still a sense of unease was there, it was always there every sense she had arrived in Gomarra but today for some reason she felt it more. It felt like the calm before a big storm, a feeling of heaviness in the air. Her green eyes took in the street and those out and about. Everything looked the same, like it always did. She shrugged, the unease and deep concerns the Professor had expressed yesterday must have made her jumpy. That was it of course, what problems other then ruffins and drunks would be out on a lovely morning such as this.<br><br>She walked on into the courthouse and smiled as she saw the man called Blue, the current bailiff of the court. "Excuse me Mr. Blue is the Judge in. I would dearly love to speak with him if he has some free time"<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>10-05-2013, 20:15:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/65/Judgehawkins.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Judge Warwick<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Marguerite Tuerny, Closed<br><hr>The Judge barely hid his amusement as the reserved socialite positively pounced atop the last book, his smile broadening at her show of enthusiasm.&nbsp; He watched as she lifted and paged through it, amused by the way her normal reserve melted into intellectual affection.<br><br><strong>”A strange tome,”</strong> he said, nodding towards the book.&nbsp; <strong>”I’ve often thought the number of insights one finds within those pages is a troublesome gauge of just how long one and how often one has stared into the Abyss.”</strong>&nbsp; He waved her into taking it as well, leaning back in his chair.&nbsp; <br><br><br>He gave another nod as she rattled off the list of things she’d need to do.&nbsp; <strong>”A great deal on your plate,”</strong> he assured.&nbsp; <strong>”And more to discover, I’m sure.&nbsp; I’m no miner, and no mine owner.”</strong>&nbsp; He rose as she did, stepping around the desk as she sidled towards the door.&nbsp; <strong>”And a welcome delight to meet you as well, Mrs. Landry.”</strong>&nbsp; He enjoyed the smile, and seemed to mean the compliment genuinely enough.&nbsp; <strong>”Feel free to stop by whenever you like,”</strong> he nodded.&nbsp; <strong>”Whether for advice, or just to discuss the finer points of law and business in Gomorra.&nbsp; Good luck with everything.”</strong><br><br>Blue perked up at the arrival of Elisabeth, still standing guard outside the courtroom and wiping the last crumbs of the pound cake from his cheeks.&nbsp; He gave a wide smile to Elisabeth, eyes slipping appreciatively over the beautiful blond scientist.&nbsp; The teenager glanced back toward the Judge’s room.&nbsp; He pantomimed with his hands, chattering with one hand, and then chattering back with the other, a quick facsimile of two people talking.&nbsp; As he pantomimed, the door opened, and he turned and craned his neck – it looked as though the meeting was coming to a close, and he gestured for Elisabeth to follow.&nbsp; The Judge was standing in the doorway, just releasing the hand of a pretty brunette newcomer to Gomorra.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>10-05-2013, 22:14:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<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> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Judge Warwick, Closed<br><hr><strong>"I will hold you to that."</strong>&nbsp; She promised when he invited her to return.&nbsp; <strong>"And thank you, I'll need it!"</strong>&nbsp; She replied to his wish of luck.&nbsp; <strong>"And thank you again for the books!"</strong>&nbsp; She juggled the trio of tomes about, hugging them to her chest like a schoolgirl holding her daily texts.&nbsp; <strong>"Well, good bye.&nbsp; Or rather <em>au revoir</em>" </strong> The French phrase was rather nicer, she thought.<br><br>She allowed the smile to fade as she turned to depart, only to face a startlingly lovely blonde woman captivating Blue's attentions.&nbsp; What was it with this town and blondes, she wondered.&nbsp; <strong>"Looks like you have another visitor."</strong>&nbsp; She noted unnecessarily.&nbsp; She probably should leave, but she couldn't help but notice the dress.&nbsp; Such a lovely thing, and at the edge of fashion!&nbsp; She didn't recognize the detailing, so it couldn't be older than last year's fashion.&nbsp; She sighed sadly to realize that she'd missed not just one, but three whole seasons of fashions.&nbsp; Summer was coming, and with it the summer fashions.&nbsp; She wondered what women were wearing back East, and in Europe?<br><br>No matter.&nbsp; She had to meet a woman wearing a dress like that.&nbsp; Somehow, she had to build a social network., and this woman was obviously of the class with which she wanted to associate.&nbsp; <strong>"Who is she?"</strong>&nbsp; She asked the Judge while the other woman was still across the room.&nbsp; <strong>"And where did she get that dress?"</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>11-05-2013, 17:53:44</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/65/Judgehawkins.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Judge Warwick<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Marguerite Tuerny, Elisabeth Boyle<br><hr>The Judge chuckled.&nbsp; <strong>“You sound as though I ought to consider that a threat,”</strong>&nbsp; he mused, playfully, half tempted to wink at her.&nbsp; <strong>“And you are quite welcome.”</strong>&nbsp; He watched her juggle the two large tomes and third smaller one.&nbsp; <strong>“Au revoir.”</strong>&nbsp; He gave a small nod, expecting her to be on her way, then surprised to find there was another beautiful woman waiting in the courtroom.<br><br>There was something in the water, in Gomorra.&nbsp; Well – that was unlikely, as it was mostly filled with blood and sharks and ghostrock dust, none of which the Judge imagined contributed to a town full of beautiful women.&nbsp; But certainly there was something that drew them to the town.<br><br>He looked to Margeurite.&nbsp; <strong>“That is Lady Elisabeth Anne Boyle, formerly of England, and a local businesswoman.&nbsp; And I would be happy to entertain each and every question you might have about torts and precedent, but I’m afraid you’ll find me perpetually bewildered by the subject of women’s couture.&nbsp; You’ll have to ask her.”</strong><br><br>He raised a hand.&nbsp; <strong>”Lady Boyle.&nbsp; A pleasure to see you again.&nbsp; May I introduce you to Mrs. Margeurite Landry, of Baltimore?”</strong>&nbsp; He returned the introductions, reversed.&nbsp; He offered Lady Boyle a courteous peck upon the cheek, done with a grace that made it paternal over excessively familiar.&nbsp; He still smelled of drink, though between the tea and the breakfast any hint of inebriation had mostly passed.&nbsp; The smell alone was odd enough; by the standards of Gomorra, the Judge was a teetotaler. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Phaia</strong> on <strong>11-05-2013, 21:32:15</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i1217.photobucket.com/albums/dd394/Vithe_rothe/Doomtown/CharlizeTheronUpdosLooseBunSj30hHiLBDUl_zpsb4b0f22e.jpg)</div><br><br><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; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The Courthouse: meet with Judge Warwick<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Judge Warwick, Marguerite Tuerny<br></span><br><hr> <br><br>Elisabeth looked over as the Judge came out of his office with a very lovely young woman. Her dress spoke of something borrowed, slightly ill fitted here and there and of a western pattern though the woman carried herself well that was a sadness to her face and a toughness. The dress did not matter that since she had learned not to judge by attire. Insead she could tell much by a person's demenor and eyes.&nbsp; <br><br>The Judge waved her over as he introduced the women,&nbsp; <strong>”Lady Boyle.&nbsp; A pleasure to see you again.&nbsp; May I introduce you to Mrs. Marguerite Landry, of Baltimore?”</strong> she had walked over with a confident stride nothing demure or normal and tilted her head so that the Judge could give her a peck on her cheek. They had become friends over the past months and considering she was the one of the better chess players in town besides himself had led them to develop a lively relationship.<br><br>"Judge have you been partaking of the spirits, I am shocked. Mortified even."Elisabeth makes dramatic face then instead of a curtsy or bow she offers her hand to the woman. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Landry, welcome to Gomarra. If you need anything come by my shop, I own the local Apothecary and sundries shop and I have some very lovely lotions and shampoos. What brings you to the dust bowl and arm pit of the west?" &nbsp;her chuckle was rich and sultry as she spoke with very little accent.<br><br>She pulled a packet from her purse, tilting it as she did which flashed a view of a snub nosed pistol. Offering up a packet of cigars, "Judge I received a new shipment of the Hupmans and thought you might want one especially as you ponder knight to King bishop 6, ...check. I believe its mate in 6 moves..." Elisabeth wanted more then just to offer up a chess move but politeness guided her. She needed advice and guidance.<br><br>Then she got that look, one of sudden intense focus. She raised an eyebrow. "If Mrs. Landry is going to be staying in the city then she may want to hear some of what I have to say and A new view of things might offer up a different outlook."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>11-05-2013, 22:13:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<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> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Judge Warwick, Elisabeth Boyle<br><hr><strong>"Perhaps more a promise than a threat."</strong>&nbsp; She replied, matching his play.&nbsp; Turning her attention to the gorgeous blonde, she watched the woman approach with confidence.&nbsp; This one was very sure of herself. Or... perhaps not?&nbsp; &nbsp;The offers of gifts and the lavish self-promotion gave Rita pause.&nbsp; What sort of insecurities did that bluster mask?&nbsp; <br><br><strong>"Pleased to meet you,&nbsp; Lady Boyle."</strong>&nbsp; She wondered if the title were hereditary, honorary, or awarded for merit?&nbsp; It was so hard to tell with the English.&nbsp; Boyle.&nbsp; The name sounded familiar...&nbsp; No, she couldn't place it, but it bothered her that it was a name she should know&nbsp; <strong><strong>"That is a lovely dress."</strong></strong>&nbsp; She offered.&nbsp; <strong>"Paris, isn't it?"</strong>&nbsp; She'd left Baltimore just over a year ago, but for the year prior to that she'd spent most of her time and energy in a failing attempt to remain solvent, and had to sell her wardrobe rather than add to it, but she was sure that dresses of this style were just coming in when she left for the West.<br><br>And while it might be Paris fashion, the dress itself fit too well to have come from Paris itself.&nbsp; Unless of course, Lady Boyle had been in Paris for the fitting.&nbsp; <strong>"You will have to tell me who does your clothes."</strong>&nbsp; She continued.&nbsp; <strong>"I have literally noting to wear."</strong>&nbsp; She dismissed the garment she wore.&nbsp; <strong>"I had to borrow... well, my troubles are my own."</strong>&nbsp; She dropped the matter with a firmness that did not invite query into the matter.<br><br><strong>"I was just discussing my reason for coming here with the Judge."</strong>&nbsp; She flashed the man a quick smile.&nbsp; <strong>"I'm here on business, of course.&nbsp; I can't imagine anyone coming here if they didn't have to.&nbsp; Anyway, I have some property here I need to secure, and Judge Warwick was advising me on my rights."</strong>&nbsp; She decided not to elaborate.&nbsp; After all, she had no idea who was whom in this godforsaken place.<br><br>Her own curiosity was piqued though.&nbsp; What could this woman have to say to the Judge that might involve her, a stranger to town?&nbsp; <strong>"I must confess you've piqued my curiosity."</strong>&nbsp; She replied to the invitation to stay.&nbsp; <strong>"But I really must get to my own affairs."</strong>&nbsp; She was torn though - should she stay and find out what the Apothecary had to say?&nbsp; She did have much to do, but she hardly knew where to start.&nbsp; So while she protested her need to leave, she didn't get around to actually taking it.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>13-05-2013, 21:58:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/65/Judgehawkins.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Judge Warwick<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Marguerite Tuerny, Elisabeth Boyle<br><hr><em> "Perhaps more a promise than a threat."</em>&nbsp; <br><br>The judge gave a low chuckle, but nodded, then turned his attention towards the approaching Lady Boyle, as well as the questions posed by Margeurite.&nbsp; <br><br><em> "Judge have you been partaking of the spirits, I am shocked. Mortified even."</em>&nbsp; <br><br>Even at the mock chastisement, the Judge frowned deeply.&nbsp; <strong>”I lost a dear friend two nights ago,”</strong> he countered.&nbsp; He had enough of his own reservations about the evil of drink that he didn't much care to be chastised for it, playfully or not.&nbsp; <strong>”And he probably would have told me I didn’t toast him enough.”</strong>&nbsp; He shook it off, or tried to, his countenance still darkening a bit, and sobering.&nbsp; Coleman had been a close friend of Warwick’s, and the old Judge didn’t make friends often or easily.&nbsp; He smiled at the mention of cigars, and gave a small chuckle at the chess move.&nbsp; <strong>“I believe you’d threatened a mate six moves ago,”</strong> he replied with a smile.&nbsp; <strong>“And yet here we are, and you’ve yet to deliver the summary defeat your promised when we got started.”</strong>&nbsp; His eyes gave a bit of a twinkle at that.&nbsp; <br><br>He let the ladies discuss clothing and attire for a moment, then Elisabeth’s attentions turned to some other, more consequential topic.&nbsp; He let them discuss business for a moment, and paused to interject.&nbsp; <strong>“Lady Boyle is a member of the Collegium – as I understand it, Monsieur Fontaine was working on a new knifeboat design of some kind.&nbsp; He might be willing to … field test it for considerably cheaper than some of the riverboat Captains would charge.&nbsp; If you dare step foot in a Collegium contraption,”</strong> he added, giving a wink to Lady Boyle.&nbsp; He still wasn’t willing to divulge th exact nature of Margeurite’s property – but there was a great deal of property in the Maze which might take a boat to access.<br><br>He looked to Margeurite and gave a smile.&nbsp; “Well, I can send Blue for some lunch, if you’re finding your appetite,” he offered.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Phaia</strong> on <strong>14-05-2013, 22:42:22</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i1217.photobucket.com/albums/dd394/Vithe_rothe/Doomtown/CharlizeTheronUpdosLooseBunSj30hHiLBDUl_zpsb4b0f22e.jpg)</div><br><br><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; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The Courthouse: meet with Judge Warwick<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Judge Warwick, Marguerite Tuerny<br></span><br><hr> <br><br>Elisabeth realized her minor jest about the spirits the Judge had partaken of, had not the effect she had intended and her hand reached out to pat the Judge on the arm. "That was in poor taste and sad manners on my part. I know you were close to Sheriff Coleman. I knew him, he would stop by the shop and read the London Times and smoke a cigar. He was a Good man and will be hard to replace which is one reason I wanted to speak with you"<br><br>She nodded as the lovely brown haired woman spoke, "You need to stop by The Bodega de Goni, it is owned by Onneca de Goni who I feel puts many French designers and seamstress to shame. Mostly she does the local ladies. The upper class here perfer the New York styles and have servants that try and fit the dresses for them. Her shop is not far and if you like I can introduce you. Onneca is a dear friend and with myself and another we normally have a morning tea on the walk by my shop. This morning its a bit different"<br><br>Her green eyes darken and get steely, "Monsieur Fontaine was murdered 3 nights ago by the Maze Rats while he tested a new underwater Breather. The Professor is very upset and that is another reason I wanted to speak with you Judge. If Mrs Landry has buisness in the maze then she should hear this as well."<br><br>Elisabeth motioned with ehr head back into the Judge's office, "I am sure a cup of the stuff you call tea will be fine Your Honor, lunch may be needed as well"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>19-05-2013, 21:21:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<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> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Judge Warwick, Elisabeth Boyle<br><hr><strong>"The Bodega de Goni"</strong>&nbsp; Marguerite repeated the most important part of Elisabeth's answer.&nbsp; <strong>"I'll be sure to look it up."</strong>&nbsp; She would once she had two cents to rub together anyway. <br><br><strong>"I do have business out in the Maze." </strong> She admitted.&nbsp; <strong>"And security is one of my major concerns."</strong>&nbsp; She added.&nbsp; <strong>"I met someone last night that...&nbsp; Well, I don't know what her plans are, but I was hoping she'd help me with that.&nbsp; She seemed very... uh... capable to me."</strong>&nbsp; If Harley wanted to accompany her out into the Maze, as she certainly hoped she would, then Marguerite had doubts about the sanity of anyone attacking them.<br><br><strong>"Is it that late already?"</strong>&nbsp; She asked, glancing toward the sun out the southern window.&nbsp; <strong>"Heavens!&nbsp; Time certainly flies."</strong> She nodded.&nbsp; <strong>"If you think this might concern me, then I'd love to stay, and at least listen."</strong>&nbsp; She wasn't sure her local knowledge gave her any foundation to contribute to whatever they discussed, but she could keep her mouth shut and just might learn something.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>21-05-2013, 23:01:40</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<br><hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/65/Judgehawkins.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Judge Warwick<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Marguerite Tuerny, Elisabeth Boyle<br><hr>The Judge accepted the apology with a small pat on Elisabeth’s hand.&nbsp; “I know you meant well,” promised the Judge.&nbsp; “And in the absence of a mother or a wife to guide me down a righteous path, I suppose I shall have to allow some woman to harp upon my indiscretions and guide my character from intemperance.”&nbsp; There was a certain humorous undercurrent – the Judge was hardly prone to excesses of any kind, so even In the worst of circumstances it would be difficult to imagine a circumstance where Elisabeth would have to nag him frequently.<br><br>He chuckled at the mention of the tea, and nodded towards Margeurite.&nbsp; “Where many topics of a mysterious nature are discussed by the ladies of the town who are… hmm, how did Mrs. Howell put it?”&nbsp; He paused, considering, then gave a small chuckle, and pursed his lips in an imitation of a shrewd older woman. “Several ladies who are <em>remarkably</em> single,” he said, with an air of great distaste and supremely self-satisfied propriety.<br><br>But his humor faded at the mention of Monsieur Fontaine, a frown breaking the momentary smile.&nbsp; “Such a loss.&nbsp; He would have been Gamorra’s own Captain Nemo,” he shook his head.&nbsp; “C’est la vie, at least in the Maze.&nbsp; Of course, come in.&nbsp; I trust our new Sheriff is investigating vigorously?”<br><br>He chuckled at the backhanded swipe at his tea and nodded at lunch.&nbsp; “Well, if you prefer, we can go out for lunch.&nbsp; I’m afraid&nbsp; there’s not many amenities here.&nbsp; The Wafflehaus?”&nbsp; He looked between Elisabeth and Margeurite – with two ladies, there was no impropriety in having a public luncheon, particularly if they discussed business and local maze matters.&nbsp; &nbsp;His choice was restaurant was nigh predictable – the German restaurant owner dressed the heavy-bosomed girls of the Wafflehaus in low cut bodices and short skirts.&nbsp; Despite the scandalously revealing attire – or perhaps because of it – the Wafflehaus had blossomed.&nbsp; The fact that Helga was also a remarkably capable cook and the prices were reasonable certainly hadn’t hurt business any.&nbsp; The saloons and hotels also offered lunch buffets, but the Wafflehaus was the only place that offered lunch items made to order.<br><br>He gave Margeurite a warm smile.&nbsp; "Come, Mrs. Landry.&nbsp; Join us."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Phaia</strong> on <strong>27-05-2013, 04:33:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i1217.photobucket.com/albums/dd394/Vithe_rothe/Doomtown/CharlizeTheronUpdosLooseBunSj30hHiLBDUl_zpsb4b0f22e.jpg)</div><br><br><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; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The Courthouse: meet with Judge Warwick<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Judge Warwick, Marguerite Tuerny<br></span><br><hr> <br><br>"the Wafflehaus sound very good but only if you allow me to handle the cost...consider it a fee for your time," Elisabeth said with a smile as her green eyes twinkled. "As for the absence of a wife, Judge, I Know several ladies that would gladly fill the bill and can even arrange a cousin of mine to come out from England. She is older then me and a widow, her late husband left her well off, she is adventurous and smart and I think you both should get along grand"<br><br>"As for the new Sherriff Investigating anything not related to Sweetrock, well that was part of what i wanted to speak to you about. From what the Professor has said there is serious issues there and we need to find a good candidate to oppose Bilton."<br><br>She took an arm of the Judge and nodded to Mrs. Turney, "Do Join Us and please I am Elisabeth, Lady Boyle gets tiresome. Here in Gomorra I am a 'Simple' shop Owner and member of the Colleguim."<br><br>"So, Judge, is Helga still sweet on you? Last I heard she was concerned about learning to speak better English so she could talk with you more." Her smile looked completely innocent but her eyes twinkled with merriment at the rumor she had heard.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>27-05-2013, 20:04:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<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> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Judge Warwick, Elisabeth Boyle<br><hr>&nbsp; <br><strong>"Remarkably single"</strong> She repeated the phrase without the emphasis, a slight frown of concentration wrinkling her brow as she considered what it could mean.&nbsp; What was so remarkable about being single?&nbsp; She wondered, though thinking over the affairs of last night she could see why a girl might not marry...&nbsp; Oh!&nbsp; She looked over at Elisabeth again, her appraisal this time both more interested and less approving. <strong> "Oh.&nbsp; I... I'm not sure I can make your teas."</strong>&nbsp; She hedged.&nbsp; <strong>"I'm going to be terribly busy proving the..."</strong>&nbsp; She cut herself off.<br><br><strong>"I'll find time."</strong>&nbsp; She changed the subject abruptly.&nbsp; <strong>"Mornings should be free.&nbsp; Outside on the walk you say?&nbsp; How very Parisian.&nbsp; Where is your Shoppe again?"</strong>&nbsp; The town wasn't very big, but she'd found it remarkably... she smiled at her internal reuse of the word.&nbsp; Remarkably easy to get lost - though in her defense it had been quite a dark night.<br><br>The conversation turned to more serious matters.&nbsp; She wasn't sure who this Fontaine was, but the name sounded French even without the honorific.&nbsp; Whoever he was, murder was a serious matter.&nbsp; <strong>"Three nights ago, before the Sheriff then."</strong>&nbsp; She was sorting things out in her mind.&nbsp; <strong>"Are there usually this many murders in Gomorra?" </strong> She asked, wondering just how big a security force she'd need to protect her mine and her shipments.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>28-05-2013, 22:04:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/65/Judgehawkins.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Judge Warwick<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Marguerite Tuerny, Elisabeth Boyle<br><hr>He chuckled at the offer of lunch acting as a ‘fee.’ <strong>“I will not,”</strong> he told Elisabeth.&nbsp; <strong>“But if you insist today, then I’ll pick it up the next time.”</strong>&nbsp; He gave a rueful laugh at the mention of a wife, waving his hand.&nbsp; <strong>“Oh no, I think not.&nbsp; I’ve already buried enough people I care about out here.”</strong>&nbsp; He smiled appreciative of the intention behind the offer, though, even as he made his counter.&nbsp; He chuckled when she mentioned a cousin, as well, waving it off.&nbsp; <strong>“I appreciate the notion, Elisabeth.&nbsp; I do.&nbsp; But I’m sure your cousin can find plenty of adventurous prospects in England.”</strong><br><br><strong>“I’d suggest you make a list of people that can stand up to Bilton trying to gun them down on Main Street, then,”</strong> said the Judge dryly.&nbsp; <strong>“And, as a caveat, are <em>willing</em> to.&nbsp; I suspect you’ll find that’s a rather short list.”</strong>&nbsp; He didn’t seem ready to dismiss the topic just yet, though.&nbsp; <strong>“The only two men who spring to mind are Jackson P. Jackson and Nathan Hunter, but you’d have work cut out for you convincing anyone in this town of the second, and the first..”</strong><br><br>He just chuckled, and shook his head.&nbsp; <strong>“I’m not sure she was ever sweet on me,”</strong> he mused.&nbsp; <strong>“Trying to marry her daughters off seems a higher priority for her, at the moment.&nbsp; I understand Viktor Markos has been sniffing around the Wafflehaus, seeing if any of the girls are looking for ‘extra work.’</strong>&nbsp; He gave a Elisabeth a meaningful look – while the girls of the Gilded Feather were pretty, and made good money, Helga’s daughters were a bit young yet for a life of whoring.<br><br>He looked back to Margeurite, watching her struggle with her own schedule – and perhaps a bit of propriety -&nbsp; to be ingratiate herself with the local businesswomen.&nbsp; It was a wise move, in his view – he knew just how loyal they were to one another.&nbsp; <br><br><strong>“That would depend on who you asked,”</strong> he admitted.&nbsp; <strong>“Most of the townsfolk would say this many murders is uncommon.&nbsp; Ask anyone in Soddom and I imagine it’s hardly a noticeable difference.&nbsp; But.. this many deaths of people from town… is unusual.&nbsp; Coleman did a good job keeping us safe from harm.”</strong><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>30-05-2013, 19:04:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<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> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Judge Warwick, Elisabeth Boyle<br><hr>&nbsp; <br><strong>"Until he was killed."</strong>&nbsp; She completed the Judge's sentence.<br><br>She considered that information, and the discussion prior.&nbsp; As to Judge Warwick's suitability...&nbsp; well, he certainly seemed eligible to her.&nbsp; He wouldn't have to look farther than this room to find a woman that found him delightful, intriguing, and attractive.&nbsp; <em>'Keep your skirts down Rita.'</em>&nbsp; She chided herself, wondering if she could ever look at a man again without thinking impure thoughts?<br><br><strong>"Oh, she sound's like bright woman with a successful business - how could she not be sweet on you Judge?"</strong>&nbsp; She asked the older man as she slipped next to his side, flanking him between herself and the lovely Elisabeth.<br><br><strong>"Nathan!"</strong>&nbsp; She blurted.&nbsp; <strong>"He seems most able to me, why would people think anything different?"</strong>&nbsp; She asked in true curiosity.&nbsp; <strong>"I've only known him a couple days, and I can tell you that not only is he a genuine gentleman, but he is quite capable of handling any trouble that comes his way."</strong>&nbsp; She reconsidered before adding.&nbsp; <strong>"Well, any trouble not in his own mind anyway."</strong><br><br><strong>"Wafflehaus..."</strong>&nbsp; She&nbsp; changed the subject rather abruptly.&nbsp; <strong>"And Helga.&nbsp; Both sound very Germanic.&nbsp; Is there a French restaurant in town?"</strong>&nbsp; She asked rather disingenuously.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Phaia</strong> on <strong>31-05-2013, 06:18:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i1217.photobucket.com/albums/dd394/Vithe_rothe/Doomtown/CharlizeTheronUpdosLooseBunSj30hHiLBDUl_zpsb4b0f22e.jpg)</div><br><br><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; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The Courthouse: meet with Judge Warwick<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Judge Warwick, Marguerite Tuerny<br></span><br><hr> <br><br>"Unfortunately there is no French restaurant, though I have heard the Whateley's cook can handle some French dishes". Elisabeth curled her arm into the Judge's free arm as they began to walk toward Wafflehaus, "Helga does do a raspberry Puits d'amour that is excellent and a couple of other pastries and its reasonable in price for a lunch"<br><br>Her eyes narrowed a bit and then she nodded, "Part of the problem Marguerite, I do hope you do not mind If I call you that and please call me Elisabeth, I do hate the title at times. AS I was saying part of the probelm is the perception Nathan Hunter has in Gomorra. I personally think he would make a fine Sherriff but a good portion thinks he is not tough enough. Judge, Onncea feels that way and so does Agatha a bit. I spoke with both on the matter. My read is a lot of the merchants are going to have the same feeling. They would perfer Bilton even if he is a thug and pig just because he protrays a sense of toughness." &nbsp;<br><br>Elisabeth had spent last night listening and talking with Christian, Agatha and Onneca around the dinner table and she felt that Christian could be convinced to stay for a while as part of the law...either as sheriff himself or as senior deputy but only to Nathan Hunter.<br><br>"I have an idea though Judge one that I feel would undermine Sweetrocks support for Nash Bilton" The named dripped with disdain and disgust as she continued." I know you have heard of Christian Spencer also Known as Spooky Spencer, What you may not know Judge is that he is in town and staying with Agatha. They are old old friends and he is like a brother to her. I spoke with him last night during dinner and I think he could be persuaded to either run for sheriff himself or be senior deputy to Nathan Hunter. I do not think He would commit for anything but a few months but that would be long enough. I do feel though a 'man' with a position of importance within the town needs to speak to him and Nathan. Perhaps you would do so?"<br><br>Elisabeth smiled sweetly as she plotted and planned. The town needed Hunter and 'Spooky' between them they could face down anything Sweetrock tried to throw out.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>31-05-2013, 21:36:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<br><hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/65/Judgehawkins.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Judge Warwick<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 4, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Marguerite Tuerny, Elisabeth Boyle<br><hr><strong>”Until he was killed,”</strong> agreed the Judge.&nbsp; <strong>”A murder I’ve heard no word of investation on, yet.”</strong>&nbsp; He frowned, as deeply troubled by that as anything else.<br><br>He chuckled.&nbsp; <strong>”She is.&nbsp; And I can think of any number of reasons,”</strong> he added.&nbsp; <strong>”She is technically still a married woman,”</strong> he pointed out, giving a chuckle of amusement.&nbsp; He paused, giving a slightly awkward glance over to <em>Mrs.</em> Landry – who it seemed disturbingly easy to forget was a married woman.&nbsp; He swallowed and gave a small smile.&nbsp; <strong>”Ah, and … more to the point I think she’s just not so interested in walking down the aisle again as our incurably romantic Lady Boyle might believe.”</strong>&nbsp; It was said with a certain adoration, though – Gomorra certainly needed the impossibly high-spirited sorts, and Elisabeth Anne Boyle was nothing if not relentlessly full of cheer.<br><br>He was a bit startled at the blurted&nbsp; suggestion.&nbsp; <strong>“You’d first need to convince Nathan of the wisdom of running for such a position,”</strong> he pointed out.&nbsp; <strong>”And I believe your assessment.&nbsp; Coleman certainly seemed to think he was the more capable heir, of the two, but he does suffer from a rather overwhelming case of modesty.&nbsp; Bilton and Templeton have been badmouthing him for years, and he’s never once stooped to their level or defended himself.&nbsp; I appreciate his respect for the high ground, but it’s done nothing for his reputation.”</strong><br><br>He let Elisabeth answer the question as to the French restaurants in town, adding only <strong>”And the bakery does an excellent baguette, and some pastries.&nbsp; But wine, cheese – we’re in short supply.&nbsp; The Golden Mare has the only supply of either with any quality.”</strong><br><br><strong>“Christian Specter?”</strong>&nbsp; He considered.&nbsp; <strong>”I’ve heard the name before.&nbsp; I haven’t heard of him taking any role as a lawman, Elisabeth.&nbsp; As a gunslinger, sure, but he has to have enforced the law somewhere.&nbsp; As a deputy or a sheriff.&nbsp; If it’s my endorsement you’re looking for, I’ll need something more than that he’s a good hand with a gun.&nbsp; He needs experience enforcing the law, and I’d hope at least some familiarity with it.&nbsp; If he were working with someone I knew to have a respect for the law, and an awareness of it, then I’d be happy to see them work together.&nbsp; If they could work together,”</strong> he added.&nbsp; He smiled back at her, well aware what was behind her sweet smile.&nbsp; <strong>“I want a better candidate than Bilton as much as anyone, Elisabeth.&nbsp; I’d endorse Hunter without question if he was convinced to run.&nbsp; Last night, I tried, but he seemed convinced that a bad sheriff was better than two bickering ones.&nbsp; He didn’t like the idea of working for Bilton, but he could stomach it.&nbsp; It might just <em>need</em> a woman’s touch convincing him he’s the better man.”</strong><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>yesiroleplay</strong> on <strong>31-05-2013, 22:12:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<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> Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Courthouse: Judge Warwick's office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Judge Warwick, Elisabeth Boyle<br><hr>&nbsp; <br><strong>"Spooky Specter!"</strong>&nbsp; Marguerite blurted out with unfeigned and wide-eyed surprise.&nbsp; <strong>"He's a real person?"</strong>&nbsp; She hadn't read a dime novel until the train ride west, but her own books were packed away or sold, and someone had left a stack of tattered novels in the car, and she found it convenient to hide her face in a book rather than deal with Alfred and his constant nagging and ill-advised suggestions about marriage, her finances, and his insufferable insistence that she needed a man to manage her affairs.&nbsp; So she'd read those dime novels during the interminable hours the train chugged west.&nbsp; And more than a few of them had stared "Spooky" Specter.<br><br><strong>"I... uh... If he's real, then are those outrageous things he did in the dime novels real?"</strong>&nbsp; She asked.&nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"If they are, then he's a bounty hunter and a man hunter, and he's served on several posses.&nbsp; How much legal experience does he need to handle disorderly drunks and face down the more dangerous element?&nbsp; If he has the guts and skill to face down bad men, what more does he need as a deputy?"</strong>&nbsp; She asked with genuine curiosity rather than rhetoric.<br><br>She considered the arguments, especially those concerning Nathan.&nbsp; <strong>"I'm having dinner with Nathan this evening.&nbsp; I could perhaps talk to him about running for Sheriff."</strong>&nbsp; She suggested doubtfully.&nbsp; <strong>"I have no doubt at all that he could handle Bilton, Templeton, and that lot."</strong>&nbsp; She chewed thoughtfully at her lip as they walked, the distinguished older man with a beauty hanging off each arm.&nbsp; <strong>"I think... Nathan wouldn't admit this out loud.&nbsp; But I think he could probably take them all at once in a gunfight.&nbsp; They might get him too, but he would get them all.&nbsp; He's incredibly fast and has nerve enough to stand his ground against practically anything.&nbsp; And he's tough.&nbsp; Even if he took a few rounds, he'd keep going until the job was done before he let himself die."</strong>&nbsp; <br><br>That might not sound like much of an endorsement from a greenhorn, but she'd been around the west now for a while, and not in the company of gentle folk.&nbsp; "<strong>Thing is, he doesn't have the aggression people mistake for strength.&nbsp; He's a gentleman, and people mistake that for weakness."</strong><br><br>The rounded a corner and she smelled smells that could only come from a German kitchen.&nbsp; <strong>"Strudel!&nbsp; Where in this forsaken land did they find the <em>pommes</em> to make strudel?"</strong><br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Translations</div><div class="spoiler_body">apples</div></div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Phaia</strong> on <strong>14-06-2013, 06:20:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://i1217.photobucket.com/albums/dd394/Vithe_rothe/Doomtown/CharlizeTheronUpdosLooseBunSj30hHiLBDUl_zpsb4b0f22e.jpg)</div><br><br><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; Morning<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The Courthouse: meet with Judge Warwick<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Judge Warwick, Marguerite Tuerny<br></span><br><hr> <br><br><strong>"If you meet him Marguerite, do not call him Spooky. From what I have seen the only one he tolerates calling him that is Agatha. That would be Agatha Dunwich, an inventor, scientist and also a Member of the Collegium. I will be honest, Marguerite, I have numerous faults or so the ladies of the church social group claim especially the sweet Mrs. Howell. I am English. A successful business woman. I carry a pistol and know how to use it and have shot two robbers. I am a scientist, but I suppose the worst is I do not conform and I am out spoken on my opinions." </strong> <br><br>Elisabeth moved with that sort of grace one gets when born into a higher stratus of society, add in the clear but subdued English accent and a sense sureness and innate confidence and she could very easy drive the 'proper' ladies in the town into a faint and frenzy of gossip.<br><br><strong>"As for being remarkably single, Judge, I am seeing someone but he thinks he is not good enough for me. Silly I know but then you men often are."</strong> Her voice had gotten a bit softer and her red hued lips curved ina&nbsp; soft smile. <strong>"I would really ask that neither of you say anything about that...we both are still getting to know each other and keeping it very private"</strong><br><br>She took a whiff of the strudel and with a light and teasing tone<strong>,"Marguerite we are not some lost and cut off barely surviving town. We get shipments from the rail head almost every day but yes it does smell very good. We will get a table and discuss how best to convince Nathan Hunter and Christian Specter on becoming the next lawman team and I can fill you both in on what The Professor told us yesterday"</strong><br><br>Elisabeth tugged the Judge and the lovely brown haired woman along and into the Wafflehaus
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>14-06-2013, 23:03:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Elisabeth, Margeurite, and Warwick are continued in Buyer Beware. (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=167802.msg8398955#msg8398955)
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>13-04-2014, 22:16:13</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: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>15-04-2014, 07:02:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f1/DelilahWhateley.png)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Dolores Whateley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Jail Cell (Sheriff's Office)<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Open<br><hr> <br><br>Dolores stretched out on the hard cot in her own private jail cell and clutched her blood splashed doll to her chest.&nbsp; The morning had been no fun as no one in the cell she had shared would tell her a story or tuck her in.&nbsp; She had asked each and every one of the other people who were in trouble.&nbsp; The mean one had even called for one of the Law Dogs when she sat on his lap and asked for a story.&nbsp; That was when she got moved to her own cell.<br><br>Without any real sleep, she sat up and yawned.&nbsp; Nic hadn't even been able to come and tuck her in.&nbsp; How was she supposed to sleep with no story and no tuck-ins?&nbsp; She frowned and glanced down at the doll.&nbsp; At least the mean Sheriff had given it back after squeezing the doll all over.&nbsp; “We should get breakfast.”&nbsp; She spoke softly to the dolly and smiled.&nbsp; “Maybe they'll give us some tea too!&nbsp; We could have a tea party!”&nbsp; She paused a moment and wrinkled her nose.&nbsp; “No, it would just be the two of us.”&nbsp; Another pause and a shake of her head, strands of her burgundy hair fell from the french braid.&nbsp; “They won't let us play with the others anymore.&nbsp; The mean man made us leave.”&nbsp; <br><br>Rising to her full height of five feet, she used her free hand to smooth her expensive blood splattered dress.&nbsp; What had been a beautiful white dress had dirt stains and blood stains running both the front and the back.&nbsp; Walking over to the bars, she glanced around the nearly silent prison cells.&nbsp; The eyes of other prisoners glanced her way and quickly found anything else interesting.&nbsp; Seeing some of the others she recognized, she waved her hand at them and beamed a smile.&nbsp; <br><br>“Excuse me.”&nbsp; She called out sweetly to the Law Dogs on duty.&nbsp; <br><br>Townsend rose from his seat and rolled his eyes.&nbsp; The woman had been nothing but trouble since she was brought in and, honestly, he wanted nothing to do with her.&nbsp; If he never saw a Whateley again, he'd be a happy man.&nbsp; Walking toward the cell she was being held in, he hit his fist against the bars just enough to make noise.&nbsp; “Quiet in there.”&nbsp; He snapped and turned back. <br><br>Dolores frowned at Townsend's back and her shoulders slumped.&nbsp; She glanced down at the doll clutched against her chest.&nbsp; “I guess there's no breakfast.&nbsp; Or tea.”&nbsp; She sighed sadly.&nbsp; She had so wanted to have a tea party.&nbsp; <br><br>Sitting on her ankles in the middle of the jail cell, she began to sing softly to herself:<br><br><div align="center"><em><acronym title="Lords of Acid 'Pop Goes the Weasel' variant">“Half a pound of opium<br>Half a pound of treacle<br>That's the way the story goes<br>Out comes the evil”</acronym></em></div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>16-04-2014, 19:41:02</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/de/Nash_bilton.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Sheriff Nash Bilton<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; Law Dogs (5) Sheriff<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Sheriff's Office/Gomorra Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open<br><hr>"CHRIST ALMIGHTY, TOWNSEND, SHUT HER ASS UP!"<br><br>He shook his head and sucked air through his teeth.&nbsp; Jesus.&nbsp; Townsend was far and away the toughtest guy he had on his team, but he turned white like a sheet whenever he had to deal with the girl.&nbsp; He didn't get it.&nbsp; He'd seen Townsend stand up to miners, to Blackjack's thugs, hell - he'd taken potshots at Blackjack himself.&nbsp; One little red-haired cunt and it was like he forgot his balls in his purse.&nbsp; Bilton scratched at his jaw, a shotgun rested on his knee and pointed at the door under the Sheriff's desk.&nbsp; He was not going to go out like J.P. Coleman - gunned down while he was cleaning and oiling a gun.&nbsp; <br><br>But not just any gun.&nbsp; No, no - this thing was a thing of goddam beauty.&nbsp; He held up the multi-barreled gatling pistol, running his lips over it.&nbsp; He'd crossed paths with a man in San Jose, and taken it from him.&nbsp; They'd had a disagreement, and Nash's argument had been the more persuasive.&nbsp; Or at least the faster.&nbsp; But damn, he'd liked watching that gun work, barrels spinning, shooting off like a virgin between the thighs of one of Mi Greene's girls.&nbsp; Bilton clicked the barrel from the revolver handle, sighting down the empty barrels for obstructions.&nbsp; <br><br>It'd be too slow for a quick draw - but he had a gun for that.&nbsp; No&nbsp; - no this baby was to give Black Jack a piece of his mind, the next time they crossed paths.&nbsp; He was getting hard just thinking about it.&nbsp; "<em>pewpewpew</em>" he muttered, giving the barrel one more spin before starting to feed rounds into it.&nbsp; He locked the heavy barrel back into place with a satisfied click, closing one eye and squinting down the sights.&nbsp; He kept the business end away from the saloon across the streets, aiming it at the wall.&nbsp; <br><br>He glanced up as Townsend came around the corner.&nbsp; "Hey - where's Charlie?"<br><br>Townsend frowned, and sank into his seat.&nbsp; "Took the day off.&nbsp; Helping that new girl settle in.&nbsp; Whatsername.&nbsp; Jones' brat?&nbsp; &nbsp;Little slip of a thing?"&nbsp; His lips curled in a slow smile.&nbsp; "Like to make her scream for Jesus."&nbsp; He chuckled and eyed the bulky pistol.&nbsp; "Those gonna be standard issue?"<br><br>Bilton gave a snort.&nbsp; "Sure.&nbsp; Soon as you hand me three thousand dollars."&nbsp; Townsend gave a low whistle.<br><br>"You paid three thousand dollars for that?"<br><br>Bilton chuckled.&nbsp; "Nope.&nbsp; But a fella with a slow draw did."&nbsp; He spun the barrel once more, admiring the easy way that it spun, and clanked it down on the desk.&nbsp; He glanced down at it, then back to the cell, where the melody of the mad girl's song was drifting.&nbsp; "What's the deal with you and Whateleys, anyway?"<br><br>Townsend's face went stoic, and he looked away, growing a shade paler.&nbsp; "Just don't like 'em.&nbsp; Big goddam creepy house.&nbsp; Runnin' round like they're better'n everyone."<br><br>Bilton's eyebrow.&nbsp; "You're a mean cuss, Townsend.&nbsp; But I never saw a woman make you go white.&nbsp; Tween Ginny and that little gash, I'd think you were afraid of the little ladies."<br><br>Townsend scowled, and drew his duster a little tighter.&nbsp; "I ain't afraid o' nuthin."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>SGTDan</strong> on <strong>17-04-2014, 22:47:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KL7Uf3vdz0A/UDr2PAfW3xI/AAAAAAAAmBc/EIYJpjy2SI8/s1600/post5.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Matthew Ford<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Sheriff's Office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Sheriff Bilton<br><hr><br>Stopping in front of the office, one of the few brick buildings in this frontier town. Straightening his hat Ford stared out at the town center with the well in the middle. For a few minutes he just stood there watching people mill about mostly clustered around the whorehouse Babel's Tower. It seemed to be a pretty big what to do for the small town. Raising an eyebrow Matthew guessed that this is probably a rare thing to have new venues of entertainment. Too bad such entertainment had to be practical for the masses of the working class. <br><br>Stepping through the door the ex Union officer entered the office. Slipping his hat off his head Ford brushed off the dust from the material. It was a simple office as he expected for the town. Behind the desk ahead of him was a rather large man with a impressive Gatling gun in front of him, a thing he did not expect to be in the hands of a frontier man. Only time he ever saw such things were on strange men in black coats back East. There was another officer nearby and a woman in the cells. Ford's eyes drifted over the scene while standing in front of the door not moving but his rather large bulk filling the door.<br><br>Who he assumed was the Sheriff would be the one with the sophisticated gun. With a quick appraisal it became clear that this man was far more then what his mass portrayed or his simplicity when it came to handling the gun. In the man's eyes Ford caught a glint of intelligence. Sheriff Bilton was a dangerous man indeed and not one to be taken lightly. During his time on the front lines he has seen many men who portrayed their outward appearances. One didn't live as long as he did not to gain wisdom.<br><br>"Sheriff Bilton?" Stepping forward towards the desk, slightly stepping to the side to avoid the aim of the pistol. His black closed leather duster's edges fluttered as he walked. Large black jack boots made the floorboards creak as Ford moved but he appeared unarmed. Under his coat was of course a Peacemaker along with a Bowie knife but it was all tucked away. Out of sight and out of mind. Reaching overtly into his coat he pulled out the agreement the former Sheriff sent him. Laying it on the desk in front of the man Ford pushed it towards the man.<br><br>"I have some papers here that promise me a job as a Deputy in Gomorra." Standing straight Ford didn't move or flinch but kept eye contact with Bilton. "The late Coleman heard I was looking for a job suited to my past experiences, he seemed eager to bring me in. Apparently not often does a retired Union officer fall into your lap. He was pretty quick promising the job to me for ridiculous pay. More pay then I ever heard of back East and it made me suspicious but Coleman was pretty persuasive. It seems that sadly he passed away so it leaves me in a tough spot because I am asking you to uphold the promises of a dead man. I trust you would Sheriff?" 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>19-04-2014, 01:14:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/de/Nash_bilton.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Sheriff Nash Bilton<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; Law Dogs (5) Sheriff<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Sheriff's Office/Gomorra Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open<br><hr>To the casual eye, Matthew Ford might have appeared unarmed, but Bilton’s wasn’t the casual eye.&nbsp; Before he’d been a Law Dog, he’d been a bounty hunter of no small repute, and men had hidden Peacemakers, derringers, brass knuckles and knives on their person.&nbsp; The trick wasn’t to watch a fold of cloth or the hang of a coat - it was to watch his gait.&nbsp; No matter how a man carried himself, no matter how comfortable he was with a weapon at his side, the weight on the hip was a burden far out of proportion to its weight in ounces.&nbsp; Men were <em>conscious</em> of their weapons, they kept their hands clear of them to keep from taking a bullet in the toe or the leg.&nbsp; He’d heard of inventors like the Collegium or Smith and Robards trying to develop some sort of ‘safety’ that might keep a weapon from firing, but there wasn’t a reliable one in mass production, and every man who’d learned to draw and shoot had done so with a weapon that could fill him with lead if he wasn’t careful.&nbsp; So Bilton didn’t have to see the gleam of metal to know Matthew Ford had entered the Sheriff’s Office with a gun at his hip.&nbsp; The conscientious way he held himself was a testament unto itself, and the price of being able to spot an armed man was a lesson Bilton had paid with his own blood, and never forgotten.&nbsp; He didn’t hesitate to align the shotgun under the desk with the newcomer, or to put his hand over the stock, finger near the trigger, as he leaned back in his desk and set down his newfangled gatling pistol.<br><br>The cells behind him were turned from the door - but that never stopped the passel of drunks from poking their heads out at every newcomer, or the vague reek of human feces and whiskey from seeping through the office.&nbsp; <br><br>Bilton’s eyes met Matthew’s in a silent stare.&nbsp; “The late Sheriff Coleman had himself some pretty big ears,” he acknowledged.&nbsp; He glanced at the papers, but waited to reach for them until Ford had stepped back from his desk.&nbsp; He eyed the uniform Ford still wore proudly.&nbsp; <br><br>“Not to suggest that the late Sheriff Coleman had any lapses in judgement, but Coleman did a lot of damn crazy things.&nbsp; Probably why he’s six feet under.&nbsp; Your service to your nation was surely appreciated, but I don’t care to bring partisan politics from two thousand miles away into the town.&nbsp; <em>Assuming</em> you manage to find somethin’ more suited to the position, I ain’t hiring no one straight on to Deputy.&nbsp; Anyone interested in joinin’ the Dogs starts as armed volunteer.&nbsp; An unpaid volunteer.&nbsp; You prove you can obey orders, bite when you’re told to bite, and bark when you’re told to bark, we’ll consider taking you on as a junior deputy.&nbsp; Pay there starts at ten a day, and if you prove you can keep your head and ain’t yeller-bellied, we’ll see about moving you up to Deputy should such a position become available.&nbsp; Fifty dollars a day.”<br><br>He gave a bemused smile.&nbsp; “But that presumes you live out the week in Gomorra.&nbsp; You want to strut around in a uniform and braid, thats your own business.&nbsp; But you’re as likely to get a knife in your back in the dark if go on struttin’.&nbsp; Plenty of citizens around here ain’t too fond of Union blue, just like plenty of ‘em ain’t fond of Confederate grey.&nbsp; Me?&nbsp; I don’t give much a damn.&nbsp; Buncha fools fighting over votes for Presidents who’ll bleed ‘em dry in election season, and let ‘em starve three years out of four.&nbsp; Ain’t that right, Townsend?”<br><br>Townsend gave a grimace from the corner.&nbsp; “Some bigger fools than others.&nbsp; Least in the South we were fighting for our way of life.&nbsp; Damn Union was fighting to stick their nose in other people’s business.”<br><br>Bilton gave an easy laugh, his fingers never shying from the shotgun.&nbsp; “But you ain’t never bled a man for wearing blue, right?”<br><br>Townsend’s smile was predatory.&nbsp; “Not on the clock, boss.”<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>SGTDan</strong> on <strong>19-04-2014, 02:57:26</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KL7Uf3vdz0A/UDr2PAfW3xI/AAAAAAAAmBc/EIYJpjy2SI8/s1600/post5.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Matthew Ford<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Sheriff's Office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Sheriff Bilton<br><hr><br>A rather exhausted sigh left Ford's cracked lips as his eyes wandered up to the ceiling for a minute. Of course no one in this damnable town would be upstanding gentleman. There was no such thing as standard practice in this town. Everything was looser then a whores legs, it made Ford quite angry inside. Looking across at Townsend then to the Sheriff he looked tired,<br><br>"With all due respect Sheriff Bilton, I did not travel hundreds of miles to be jerked around by this town's administration." Despite his best efforts his cool exterior were cracking and the tone of his voice seeped with slight annoyance. "If it is absolutely necessary for you to renege on promises made to me by your former boss then so be it. What you see on my back is what I have. A job without pay is simply untenable. Will you at least uphold the promise of lodging? That would be the least you can do Sheriff since you so obviously refuse to do anything formerly promised to me." <br><br>Looking over at Townsend he gave the man a tired smile,<br><br>"I knew some fine Confederate gentlemen Deputy Townsend, so your opinion is not surprising. We all find a reason to fight and it's no different no matter what color you wear. Sadly we all bleed red Deputy at the end of the day and that will never change. No one cares what color you are in Heaven. As I am retired I do not intend to bring politics with me. I left such silly things behind me. This hat is simply a going away gift from my COs." &nbsp;Examining the dusty cavalry stetson in his hands.<br><br>&nbsp;"Left my uniform far behind me, I am a civilian now. I haven't spent most of my life on the battlefield not learning how to take care of myself. Your concern for my well being is admirable Sheriff, I am sure I will survive just fine." Ford seemed to be recollecting something before looking the Sheriff in the eyes. "Thank you for your time Sheriff Bilton, would you be kind enough to point me to places that <em>offer</em> paying jobs? Your offer is simply not viable at this time."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>20-04-2014, 05:44:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<br><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/de/Nash_bilton.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Sheriff Nash Bilton<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; Law Dogs (5) Sheriff<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Sheriff's Office/Gomorra Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Open<br><hr>The smile on Bilton’s face was almost bemused.&nbsp; Almost.&nbsp; It didn’t quite touch his eyes, though, but it hadn’t since Ford had walked in with a gun.&nbsp; “No, it’s not necessary for me to renege on a dead man’s promises.&nbsp; Not when I was never made aware of them, and not when I - like every man and woman in this office - worked my way up from nothing.&nbsp; You know how I put food in my belly?”<br><br>He pointed behind him, to the wall of wanted posters and bounties that were posted.&nbsp; <br><br>“I earned my keep.&nbsp; If you come to Gomorra looking for charity, I recommend the church.&nbsp; I’m sure they’ve got pews the father will let you sleep on.&nbsp; Those clothes on your back?&nbsp; They’re more than some men arrive with.&nbsp; And they’re damn sure more than some men leave with.&nbsp; I made you an offer.&nbsp; You’re welcome to take it.&nbsp; If not - they’re giving away free booze and free food across the way.&nbsp; That kind of generosity don’t come often in Gomorra.”<br><br>His smile went a little wider.&nbsp; “Or you can try Nathan Hunter.&nbsp; He’s always been a sucker for a hard luck story.”<br><br>Townsend snorted and pounded the desk he sat at with a hand.&nbsp; But the words that followed made his eyes narrow.&nbsp; “Do I <em>look</em> like a gentleman to you?&nbsp; No spoon in my mouth, Yankee.”<br><br>Bilton’s mouth pursed.&nbsp; “No, you left your uniform far behind.&nbsp; Just kept the hat and the jack boots and I’d wager the gun on your hip’s standard issue, too.&nbsp; Putting a star on you would be like telling the town we’re reopening the Union Army recruitin’ station.&nbsp; Liable to start a war.”<br><br>He pointed his hand out towards the road.&nbsp; “Head up north and west along Temptation.&nbsp; Sweetrock’s main offices are at the end of it.&nbsp; They hire on miners.”&nbsp; Townsen smiled cruelly as Bilton made the offer.&nbsp; Men didn’t live long, when they hired on as miners for Sweetrock.&nbsp; Just enough to keep themselves fed, before ghostrock fever, whiskey, or the mines killed them.&nbsp; <br><br>As Ford was stepping away from the entrance to the Sheriff’s Office, a well dressed man with a white goatee and a bald pate passed him.&nbsp; He paused, eyes roaming over the hat and the boots, curiosity in his eyes.<br><br>“Captain Ford?”&nbsp; The voice was even, cultured, but he threw out the name as a gambit.&nbsp; He offered the small tip of a slightly dusty bowler.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>SGTDan</strong> on <strong>20-04-2014, 07:35:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KL7Uf3vdz0A/UDr2PAfW3xI/AAAAAAAAmBc/EIYJpjy2SI8/s1600/post5.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Matthew Ford<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Sheriff's Office-&gt;Outside<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Sheriff Bilton,Unknown Man<br><hr><br>Usually Ford's face stayed neutral but both of the men's tirade left a amused smile on his face. No doubt these frontier men had earned their keep but they didn't think that Ford had earned his keep for twenty life times. Not that such simple men of dirt,sweat and gunpowder would understand that. Such things most likely feel out of their purview of philosophy. Placing the hat on his head Matthew let the smile fade as he addressed both men in a voice that seemed confident and unfazed,<br><br>"I appreciate you taking the time out of your obviously busy day to parley with me. As for your little spiel, I find it necessary to enlighten you that I was a man much like yourself. Clawing my own little hovel in this unforgiving nation. The notion of earning my keep is not unknown to me nor is it unwelcome in many cases. This case is not such a case as extenuating circumstances complicate the matter, you see. Nevertheless I will sort out my lodgings for the day then maybe I will reconsider your extremely generous offer." &nbsp;<br><br>Stepping as he began to walk away,<br><br>"Regards to the boots and hat, I don't take you as the marrying kind Sheriff. However if you were in my boots you would realize that free clothing is a blessing, not taken out of love for the Stars and Stripes. Not that I would expect you to understand my circumstances of course. Good day Sheriff Bilton, here's to your day and Deputy Townsend's. I hope to be seeing you again." Stepping through the door he took a deep breath. Catching Winona's eye Matthew simply shook his head and watched her face fall. Bilton mentioned the church and sadly without the funds to buy a hotel that would be his next stop. Smells of victuals from across the way wafted into the open hot air, making Matthew lick his chapped lips.<br><br>Then he heard his name and <em>rank</em> which set him on a knife edge. No one here should know his rank, he had made damn sure of that. That was a past he wanted to escape from. Hundreds of miles were traveled to avoid this exact situation. Rough hand darted down to his Smith &amp; Wesson as he regarded the man. Who was he? Where did he come from? or most importantly for Matthew was how did he know his rank? This was a longshot for both of them, there was no going back or traveling to another town. Only enough food for the trip then some for the first few days here. The wagon couldn't take much more so with a cautious voice Ford answered the query,<br><br>"Who's asking?" Brown eyes hardened instantly then narrowed at the man. His hand never left the vicinity of his pistol while his nerves were on a hair trigger. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>21-04-2014, 06:50:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/65/Judgehawkins.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Judge Warwick<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Outside the Sheriff's Office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Matthew Ford, Closed<br><hr>Bilton just gave a tip of his head at the good day, not returning the obviously forced well wishes.&nbsp; He’d lost all patience for Matthew’s bluster and smug condescension, and was more tempted than he cared to admit to simply pull the trigger of the shotgun and end the encounter.<br><br>“Goddam Yankees,” muttered Townsend, after the Captain had left.&nbsp; “Self-righteous assholes, every one.”<br><br>Bilton chuckled.&nbsp; “If we passed a law ‘gainst self-righteous assholes, Townsend, this town’d dry up faster than a whore’s slit the day ‘fore payday.”&nbsp; He gave a chuckle.&nbsp; “Should have just handed him a bounty poster and told him to come back with Black Jack’s head, and his money problems’d be over.&nbsp; Get rid of one annoyance or th’other.”<br><br>Townsend hooted with laughter.<br><hr>Outside, the man blinked at the hostile reaction to the greeting.&nbsp; He raised a white eyebrow, then glanced over Matthew’s shoulder.&nbsp; He held up a hand, palm down, waving his fingers downward.&nbsp; <br><br>“No need for unpleasantness, Blue.&nbsp; I believe the Captain is simply… high-strung.”&nbsp; He gave a slight smile, but it was not bemusement.&nbsp; It was a simple, friendly gesture.<br><br>Behind Matthew, ‘Blue’ slid his own hand away from the pistol at his side.&nbsp; Blue was just a boy, with tousled blond hair and a vicious scar that covered most of his throat.&nbsp; Yet he still watched Ford intently, eyes hovering on the hand that was so near to a weapon.<br><br>“You will have to forgive my constable,” said the bald man.&nbsp; “He is a touch overprotective.&nbsp; I am Judge Warwick.&nbsp; J.P. Coleman conferred with me about the prospect of hiring you, Captain Ford.&nbsp; I also penned his letters for him.&nbsp; Coleman was a remarkable man in many endeavors, but penmanship was not one of them.&nbsp; Nor spelling, come to think of it.”&nbsp; He smiled sadly, the memory clearly a fond one.&nbsp; He glanced over his shoulder and looked to the Sheriff’s office, then over to Winona.&nbsp; He tipped his hat to her as well, the gesture respectful rather than dismissive.<br><br>“Have you just arrived?”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>SGTDan</strong> on <strong>22-04-2014, 19:34:06</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KL7Uf3vdz0A/UDr2PAfW3xI/AAAAAAAAmBc/EIYJpjy2SI8/s1600/post5.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Matthew Ford<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Outside the Sheriif's Office <br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Judge Warwick<br><hr><br>Relaxing at the explanation Ford let his hand drop from the Model 3 looking at the older gentlemen. Winona waved with smile at him but she was obviously tired. Letting out the breath he didn't realize he had been holding Matthew looked the Judge over with softer brown eyes. Then to the boy behind him who seemed far too young to be carrying a weapon. However that would be very hypocritical of him to say since he lead far more boys then men in his time. Sadly the ever hungry war machine just chewed the poor sons of bitches up. One of the many reasons Ford found himself in this dirty frontier town.<br><br>"No just tired, your Honor" Matthew said meeting Warwick's eyes. "It seems I've traveled hundreds of miles for naught. All I seem to be getting here is the run around by this town's amazing administration. Not sure how anything gets done in this town, especially since no one seems to care to share their plans with the others. Seems late Coleman left the fact that he didn't tell anyone his promises out. So your Honor,&nbsp; I've just arrived and already this town is wearing me down." With a exaggerated hand gesture he reached into his duster to pull out his flask. It was cheap whiskey but fuck he needed a drink.<br><br>"You're the first person in this town to actually heard of Coleman's business." Voice became less haggard after the warm liquid washed his throat. "That Sheriff Bilton is a right brute, not sure I enjoy his attitude towards law enforcement. The papers in question are still on his desk since they seemed to be useless. He turned my employment down along with any promises of lodging until I get my feet. With that disappointment I'm on my way to see if I can secure lodging in the church and then work out what I want to do to feed both of us." &nbsp;Taking another sip of warm liquid before sighing. "Sorry you Honor, it's been a long road. I don't mean to burden you with mundane troubles. It's been a pleasure meeting you and your constable."<br><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>22-04-2014, 23:07:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/65/Judgehawkins.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Judge Warwick<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Outside the Sheriff's Office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Matthew Ford, Closed<br><hr>Warwick’s gaze travelled back towards the Sheriff’s office, his eyes clouding for a moment.&nbsp; “It’s always been a hard town,” said Warwick softly.&nbsp; “But there was justice once.&nbsp; Imperfect, fragile justice, but that’s more than many places in the Maze can say.”&nbsp; He frowned, and shook his head.&nbsp; “And Coleman had good reasons not to divulge his plans to anyone.&nbsp; One of the is sitting inside that building.”&nbsp; He frowned, and shook his head.&nbsp; “Unfortunately he’ll never get to see those plans realized.”&nbsp; <br><br>He gave a wry smile.&nbsp; “There were a lot of men who wanted Coleman dead.&nbsp; For any number of reasons.&nbsp; But I was his … confidante.&nbsp; And a friend.”&nbsp; He shook his head.&nbsp; “I don’t need to see the papers, I penned them,” he assured.&nbsp; “I know what Coleman promised, and I know he had every intention of honoring it.&nbsp; He was hoping to have the opportunity to -&nbsp; make some changes around here.&nbsp; But I can at least offer lodging - my home is just down the tracks.&nbsp; You and your wife are welcome to stay with me.&nbsp; There was, as I mentioned, an attempt on my life recently.&nbsp; I can afford a second constable; the pay isn’t much, but it should cover your expenses while things sort themselves out.&nbsp; And it will afford Blue the opportunity to get some sleep from time to time.”<br><br>He gestured down the road.&nbsp; “Come, I insist.&nbsp; Coleman was a friend of mine, so its the least I can do.&nbsp; I wish I could off you better employment, but my own means are somewhat limited.&nbsp; Ten dollars a day, the same wage I pay Blue, and likely some long boring shifts looking officious and intimidating,” he smiled.&nbsp; “But you’ve come at an interesting time, and some extra security around the courthouse and my own home would not be amiss.”<br><br>He glanced back towards the door.&nbsp; “If you’ll give me just a moment.&nbsp; I need to inform the Sheriff of a trial date.”&nbsp; He tipped his hat.&nbsp; “Blue, if you could… show them to the house.”<br><br>Blue crossed his arms, and shook his head.<br><br>Warwick sighed.&nbsp; “Alright.&nbsp; Fine, I’ll only be a moment.”&nbsp; Blue smiled, relaxing and gave Winona and Matthew a small nod.&nbsp; It was friendly enough, the boy more at his ease now that Matthew didn’t look about to draw his pistol.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>SGTDan</strong> on <strong>23-04-2014, 22:44:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KL7Uf3vdz0A/UDr2PAfW3xI/AAAAAAAAmBc/EIYJpjy2SI8/s1600/post5.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Matthew Ford<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Unknown<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Outside the Sheriif's Office <br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Judge Warwick<br><hr><br>"I am humbled by your offer you Honor, I shall go tell my wife." Ford tipped his hat as Warwick went into the office. Ten bucks a day wasn't bad all things considered. Certainly enough for food plus Winona planned to sell her cedar and knitted work on the side. Between that they should be able to live comfortably till something better came along. It didn't hurt that the job wasn't all the physical. Matthew was getting old no matter how much he denied it. All those grey hairs told the truth which was getting harder to ignore.<br><br>Walking up to the wagon Matthew smiled up at his dear beloved, her small lips echoing the sentiment. Reaching down Winona pulled the Stetson up to look into his brown eyes. Spitting on her thumb she wiped some errant dust from his cheek. Chuckling he leaned into her hand as her fingers danced on the weathered flesh underneath. It was beauty and the beast made real. Tracing one of numerous scars that adorned his face Winona tilted her head,<br><br>"Where'd you get that one sweetie?" The tongue she spoke with was Siouan,Lakota, as to keep private conversations away from prying ears. <br><br>"Heh, a wiry rebel with a big knife who decided he could take on Smokey" Matthew answered in accented Siouan.<br><br>"What happened with the Sheriff?"<br><br>"He denied any involvement with the promises made to me, but the local Judge who you saw offered me employment as a Constable and a place to stay dear."<br><br>"Pay?"<br><br>"Ten dollars a day, enough for a start" Winona smiled warmly and leaned down to give him a kiss before gun shots rang out in the street. They both looked towards the commotion, which was just typical for a frontier town. However they were newcomers so it was intriguing. Ford looked at the man who made it out and saw the look of a man who was far more experienced then appearances gave off. Making a mental note to avoid him the Fords shook their heads,<br><br>"Think that will happen often?"<br><br>"Have you had a look around, I'm pretty sure that's how these people say hello"<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>esclavage</strong> on <strong>03-05-2014, 15:36:09</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 <strong><em>'Ginny'</em></strong> Mary Lou Whateley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley Family<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Outside the Sheriff's Office, then into the Sherrif's Office/Gomorra Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Nash Bilton [and Townsend], Dolores Whateley<br><hr><br>-&gt; START SCENE: FROM BABEL'S TOWER - AFTERNOON (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200884.msg9934390#msg9934390)<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The sun was just beginning to fall by the time that Ginny arrived at her destination with a pair of bedraggled boys following along.&nbsp; Each one of them bore a sizable bag, not one so large that Ginny wouldn't have been able to care them by herself, but it wouldn't do if a lady had to sweat - especially in this heat.&nbsp; Besides, she was hiring help from the Whippersnapper Post as she so often did; Granny had taught her it was a charitable thing to do, looking after the poor.&nbsp; After all, the good Lord had also put them on the earth - if only to punish them for their misdeeds in a past life while Ginny was being rewarded for living a good and righteous life.&nbsp; At least that's what the young Whateley had taken away from the Sunday sermons that she dutifully attended when they were given.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;And though it was the same day, the blonde had already changed.&nbsp; Actually, her intent had been to come earlier but a few hours had been spent on selecting her new dress.&nbsp; Gone was the maroon dress seen in Babel's Tower; instead, Ginny was dressed in a white dress with orange-and-cream trim.&nbsp; The fabric was so white that was a painfully obvious the hem would gather dust by the end of the visit - but that mattered little to Ginny.&nbsp; More than likely, she would tuck this dress away in her voluminous closet back home, never to be worn again, after having it thoroughly scrubbed clean by the hired help.&nbsp; To accompany the dress, Ginny wore an elaborate basket hat done in the latest fashion, large-brimmed to cover her fair skin from the fading sun and also wielded a matching parasol that she used to provide shade for herself.&nbsp; Someone with skin as fair as hers needed to take care not to burn under the murderous sun of Gomorra and Ginny took every precaution.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Pausing at the entrance of the jail, the young Whateley took a very deep breath.&nbsp; She never liked this place much, less so given what had almost transpired here.&nbsp; But she was a Whateley and she'd be damned before letting anyone see her scared.&nbsp; Turning back to the two young boys, Ginny had a very large smile even as she collapsed the parasol and hooked it over her wrist.&nbsp; <strong>"The two o'yuh wer' darlin's.&nbsp; Fer yur troubles."</strong>&nbsp; Ginny's voice was honey mixed with sugar as she paid the Whippersnappers.&nbsp; Two quarter eagles, one for each boy, was doled graciously out as they eagerly took the coin and gave her the bags which she daintily held in her hands by her sides.&nbsp; And then squaring her shoulders, Ginny walked into the Sheriff's Office with a resolute expression like she was staring down the barrel of a gun.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Once inside, her gut clenched a bit at the sight of Townsend, but she managed to keep her composure though her fingers did tighten over the bags in reflex.&nbsp; The deputy had avoided her after what had transpired that night and honestly the blonde Whateley was glad.&nbsp; Whenever she saw him, she felt a stab and churn deep in the pit of her stomach.&nbsp; To help calm her nerves, she turned to look at the new Sheriff - Nash Bilton.&nbsp; Ginny didn't have much of an opinion about him - while she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Nathan Hunter was a better man, Nash Bilton might very easily be a better Sheriff.&nbsp; To make it in Gomorra, you had to be tough and he was as tough as they came.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"Sheriff Bilton?&nbsp; Ah'm here tah see mah Aunt."</strong>&nbsp; Ginny made sure she kept her tone polite even though it was obvious that the young Whateley thought her Aunt should be safe at home - rather than trapped in a dingy cell.&nbsp; <strong>"Ah bra'ght'er sum thangs she might like,"</strong> the young Whateley continued, hefting the bags on either side of her body.&nbsp; In them was a fresh, clean dress with the accompanying shift, a large blanket that Ginny could hang to preserve her Aunt's modesty and also leave for warmth, a bag of sweets that her Aunt adored, her Aunt's favorite book which Ginny would read a chapter from, and most importantly...a fine bottle of whiskey imported from outside Gomorra and aged to perfection for the two upstanding law men who were sitting around earning free and easy coin.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; Ginny wasn't foolish; there was nothing to be gained by being disrespectful.&nbsp; A soft touch was what was required.&nbsp; Expectantly, Ginny presented the bags for the law men to inspect - with her gift of whiskey being the first thing they would see.&nbsp; Her gift and its meaning would be quite obvious and she hoped it would result in a minimal fuss about all the other items she had brought.&nbsp; She simply wanted to make sure her Auntie was comfortable until all this nonsense could be straightened out.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>03-05-2014, 22:26:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/65/Judgehawkins.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Judge Warwick<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> The Sheriff's Office<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Matthew Ford, Bilton, Townsend, Closed<br><hr>Warwick followed the Sheriff back into the Sheriff’s office, settling in the middle of the room and awaiting for the two men to slump back into their seats.&nbsp; He cradled his hat in his hand, and looked out to the street.&nbsp; The miners were picking up the body of their fallen friend, and Warwick was saddened.&nbsp; The letter of the law, perhaps, but not the spirit of it.&nbsp; Coleman wouldn’t have simply walked away once it was clear his duty had been done.&nbsp; Bilton might be tough, but he was happy to cool his heels until circumstances forced him not to. <br><br>He looked back to the Sheriff, and glanced down to the gleaming, newly minted badge on his breast.&nbsp; Coleman had worn the same badge for all the years he’d protected and served.&nbsp; It had been a dirty, tarnished thing, but he’d never replaced it.&nbsp; Warwick had expected him to snatch it up the moment he’d been given the office, but there was… some relief in not seeing it strapped to the man’s dirty coat.<br><br>Even if he didn’t care for the new law in town, he would have been revulsed to see it on Bilton’s vest.&nbsp; He considered for a moment, and Bilton eyed him.&nbsp; <em>Why are you still here?</em><br><br>“The trial,” said Judge Warwick a small smile.&nbsp; “The twenty first.&nbsp; I’ll begin assembling a jury now.&nbsp; Obviously, everyone in town has heard rumors about what happened, but the presentation of evidence and appearance of the arresting officer in court will be mandatory.”<br><br>Bilton’s eyes narrowed at mandatory.<br><br>“I’ll see if my schedule’s free,” he said.&nbsp; “But you’re wasting your time.&nbsp; She was the only one on that whole damn mesa.”<br><br>Warwick tilted his head.&nbsp; “No one denies she was there, Bilton.&nbsp; But opportunity is only one part of the triangle of reasonable doubt.&nbsp; Means, motive, and opportunity.&nbsp; I believe it is rather specifically the <em>means</em> that is in question,” he said dryly.&nbsp; “And it is the prosecution’s burden to prove such means.&nbsp; Motive – “&nbsp; He glanced back towards the jail cells, where Dolores’ voice could be heard singing softly again.&nbsp; “Insanity is a motive, in certain circumstances.&nbsp; But I suspect the prosecution might have some difficulty with that as well.”<br><br>Bilton’s scowl deepened.&nbsp; “Got a woman in a coma and a dozen bodies on this, Warwick.&nbsp; Got the entire Whateley family looking slant-eyed at me when they cross the street, and you want to let that little bitch go?&nbsp; You realize how that’s gonna make <em>all</em> of us look?”<br><br>Warwick was impassive.&nbsp; “It will make us look like men seeking justice, Sheriff.&nbsp; Men capable of acknowledging mistakes.”<br><br>Bilton glowered.&nbsp; “People in this town are gonna string her up by a noose if we don’t.”<br><br>Warwick’s gaze never faltered.&nbsp; “Perhaps you should have considered that before you charged her for the crimes.&nbsp; Your… vanity is not my concern.”<br><br>Bilton rose, his hands flattening on his desk.&nbsp; “We’re on the same side, Judge.&nbsp; You make us look like idiots, and I promise you ain’t gonna like how it plays out.”<br><br>Warwick didn’t flinch.&nbsp; “Where are you on the Coleman investigation, Sheriff Bilton?”&nbsp; There was no answer, only an angry gaze.&nbsp; “Have you made any progress in discovering who sent an assassin into my home?”&nbsp; His head tilted.&nbsp; “I don’t even recall you asking me for a statement.&nbsp; No, Sheriff Bilton.&nbsp; I don’t like how this is going to play out.”<br><br>Warwick gave a dark smile.&nbsp; “But where are my manners?&nbsp; I brought you a present to commemorate your swearing in.&nbsp; Not much, I know, and a bit belated.”&nbsp; He reached into his pocket, drawing out a small package wrapped in brown paper.&nbsp; “But I thought you might be running short of them.”<br><br>He set it down on the desk, and turned to walk away, setting his hat on his head.&nbsp; He gave a small nod to the waiting ex-officer and his wife.&nbsp; “So sorry for the delay.&nbsp; Come, my home isn’t far and you both look exhausted.”&nbsp; He gestured down one of the roads that led off the town square, down a street that ended with an iron bridge that looked upon an enormous southern plantation.&nbsp; <br><br>“This is the Tracks,” he explained.&nbsp; “Down the road you’ll find the Whateley estate.&nbsp; Head west and you’ll arrive in one of the nicer areas of town.&nbsp; West of it is most of the shops and entertainments built for the miners.&nbsp; A rough place, but the miners are this city’s lifeblood, and Miner’s Peril is its beating heart.”&nbsp; He looked to them with a small smile.&nbsp; “Anything I can carry for you?”<br><br>Inside, Bilton watched the Judge go, and reached for the paper package.&nbsp; It was light to the touch, and he unwound the twine and opened up the paper.<br><br>“What’d he bring ya?” asked Townsend, rising and glancing at the contents.&nbsp; Bilton scowled as a dozen black handkerchiefs, neatly folded and pressed, spilled across his desk.<br><br><div align="center"><em>End scene</em></div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>05-05-2014, 23:15:25</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/de/Nash_bilton.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Sheriff Nash Bilton<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; Law Dogs (5) Sheriff<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Sheriff's Office/Gomorra Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Ginny, Open<br><hr>Townsend paled slightly as Ginny entered the station, cutting off in mid-sentence as the door opened and Ginny entered.&nbsp; Bilton was engaged in some exchange of crude depictions of a night in Gomorra’s brothels, and to have Townsend suddenly go quiet made his eyebrows shoot up before his gaze turned lazily to Ginny as she strode in.&nbsp; He leaned back in his chair, the new gatling pistol slung into his hip, and he gave a forced smile as Ginny addressed him.&nbsp; <br><br>His eyes slid over the hints of curves visible beneath the snow white dress.&nbsp; Ginny all dressed up was a rare sight - and usually a sure sign she wanted something.&nbsp; Plenty of miners sat down at the tables with her out of some deluded rumor that cleaning out Ginny Whateley meant a night with the rich belle, on top of the kind of stake that could jump-start a man’s life in Gomorra.&nbsp; Bilton was bemused by that - mostly because he’d started the rumor.&nbsp; He couldn’t really say what prompted him - though the haughty dilettante with a miner’s dirty cock shoved up her tail and squeaking her protests had been prompt enough.<br><br>He raised an eyebrow at the bottle of fine whiskey - it looked like one of those overpriced sort of bottles that Sloane had kept behind the bar.&nbsp; He picked it up and gave it a cursory examination, setting it into a drawer.&nbsp; Bilton was a number of things, but he was mindful enough of his job that he didn’t drink on it.&nbsp; He didn’t begrudge those who did; and it wasn’t any noble sentiment on his part about job professionalism.&nbsp; Rather, it was the certainty that drunk Law Dogs frequently became dead Law Dogs.&nbsp; He gave Ginny another forced smile, keeping silent as he began to paw through the dress and the shift, squeezing the fabric and bunching it under his fingers, seeking out anything not quite so obviously displayed.&nbsp; He went to the blanket next, and then his fingers shifted through the candies, sifting through it before picking up the book, thumbing through the contents in search of hidden surprises.&nbsp; <br><br>He set the book down last.&nbsp; His eyes slid over her studiously, over the hips drawn tight by hidden corsets, the swell of cleavage tight lacing put on display, and the bustle that gave her a church-bell of a figure.&nbsp; He didn’t much care for Ginny in a dress - he rather liked the scandalous way she dressed in town when she was ready for a night of cards and drink, when whiskey turned her drawl into a nigh-comprehensible slur.&nbsp; The kind of thing that could be ripped off and open in the clutch of powerful hands.&nbsp; He considered her for a moment, then rose to his feet.&nbsp; <br><br>“Gonna have to frisk you, Miss Whateley.”<br><br>Townsend paled a little bit more, and shook his head.&nbsp; Bilton ignored him, and gave Ginny another gaze, unpeeling the layers of clothes with his.&nbsp; “You could have a whole bundle o’ dynamite hidden in that bustle o’ yours.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>esclavage</strong> on <strong>14-05-2014, 04:48:05</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/c/c0/Ginny_Avatar-01.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Virginia <strong><em>'Ginny'</em></strong> Mary Lou Whateley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley Family<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Sherrif's Office/Gomorra Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Nash Bilton [and Townsend], Dolores Whateley<br><hr><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;At the Sheriff's brazen words, Ginny mulled her options quickly.&nbsp; Actually, this reminded her a lot of the hands she played at the poker tables with Nash Bilton having just called her bet.&nbsp; Apparently, the gift of fine whiskey had not been enough; though she had noted that it wasn't unappreciated - simply not enough to appease the man enough to let her by.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;She could simply leave.&nbsp; It was always an option, walking away and putting on an offended air - the equivalent of folding her hand.&nbsp; In truth, Ginny didn't mind Sheriff Bilton's predatory gaze - it wasn't the first or last time a man had looked at her with those kind of eyes.&nbsp; She didn't even mind him putting his hands all over her person so long as certain boundaries were respected.&nbsp; And in that regard, Ginny considered what type of man she knew Nash Bilton to be.&nbsp; He was a brute, but smarter than his reputation suggested; she remembered how he had come into town with a dirty squab's arrow sticking from his shoulder.&nbsp; To her, it was fine if he wanted them to kill the savages - the only good red was a dead one in her mind.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;So she trusted Nash Bilton to toe the line of good taste, but not cross it.&nbsp; In fact, there were only two reasons that prevented Ginny from choosing that option right off.&nbsp; The first one was Townsend - although the man was muttering to himself and looking everywhere except where the young Whateley was standing, memories of what had nearly happened that night still lingered in the forefront of her mind.&nbsp; She surely didn't want to send the wrong message to a man like Townsend - who needed little enough prompting to come to his own conclusions.&nbsp; The second was the four-inches of warm bladed steel strapped against the inner part of her left thigh.&nbsp; Ever since that particular night, Ginny began to carry a knife at all times.&nbsp; When she wasn't ridiculously dolled up, it was normally hidden by her right wrist for easy access.&nbsp; In this case, the dagger was a last resort - it only would come into play if for some reason - a strong hands of an overly aggressive man for example - began to tear at her dress.&nbsp; Ginny was determined never to be a victim again under her own power.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Her other option was to attempt to cajole or browbeat him into backing down.&nbsp; Cajoling was futile; the fee of her entrance had already been explicitly stated and browbeating was foolishness.&nbsp; There was no way that Nash Bilton would back down in front of Ginny, especially not in front of his own man.&nbsp; It would make him appear to be weak and she understood how little he had liked it when the bloody reds had shown up and denounced him and the arrow in his shoulder.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; And of course, there was one last option - which Ginny took.&nbsp; It was called 'raising' in poker.&nbsp; Gripping the edge of her overly large skirts - and calming her heartbeat as it picked up a tick - the young Whateley exposed her legs scandalously.&nbsp; First her ankles, then her knees, and then up to her mid-thigh of her right leg, also showing off her pristine white lace stocking and the edge of a garter strap in the same breath, as she extended her leg in a full stretch.&nbsp; Teasingly, she flexed her foot back and forth in a coy way. <strong> "Ah as'ure yuh, Shurif' - yuh won't find no dynomite 'ere,"</strong> she remarked archly - those green Whateley eyes flashing her challenge.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; There she held her pose for a second, more brazen than any saloon girl, before letting her skirt and bustle settle back in place, hiding her legs from view once more.&nbsp; <strong>"Tho' ah've been told by mor'then one man that muh legs cou'd be registered as uh lethal weap'n..."</strong>&nbsp; Her tone was suggestive as she smoothed out her hem.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Hers was a semi-bluff.&nbsp; On the one hand, she hoped her actions had been a large enough distraction to let the knife remain undiscovered.&nbsp; After all, she suspected Sheriff Bilton would settle for feeling around the swell of her bosom and at her hips - he wasn't really interested in thoroughly frisking her.&nbsp; And if she was found out, it wasn't an overly great loss; discovery meant that Ginny would most likely have the dagger confiscated - an unpalatable decision but one she could live with.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<em>"Yer move, Shurif'..."</em>&nbsp; Ginny thought.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>20-05-2014, 00:57:59</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/de/Nash_bilton.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Sheriff Nash Bilton<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; Law Dogs (5) Sheriff<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Sheriff's Office/Gomorra Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Ginny, Open<br><hr>It wasn’t so much that Bilton couldn’t be bribed - it was that he’d been bought and paid for, already, and while the Whateley’s generosity was well know, it was also a touch too… sporadic for Bilton’s taste, generous when it came but unreliable as the whims as of the … whimsical family.&nbsp; He didn’t mind dipping his hands into two pies - but when you were on the take, folks paying you beyond your salary had a curious notion they should be the only hand who fed you.&nbsp; He understood the thinking; he just didn’t much care for it, and taking a gift and giving special treatment to a Whateley would make other eyebrows go up.&nbsp; <br><br>But he leaned back, and watched Ginny mull.&nbsp; He liked playing cards with her - it told a different story than the sometimes brash, oft arrogant woman she showed the town.&nbsp; There was a depth to her, a complexity and capacity for subterfuge and a gift for gleaning out the lies of others.&nbsp; Much of the town thought of her with eyes already half-rolled, but Ginny was a <em>player,</em> it was in her nature, and he knew she needed a game, a ruse, like a fish needed water.&nbsp; It was just the matter of <em>what</em> the ruse was, because he’d made the mistake before of thinking she held a three of a kind and missing completely the pair that made her into a full house.<br><br>So he noticed little details - like the way she avoided looking over at Townsend, even while Townsend was pale and a little taut and not looking at all like his normal uncouth self.&nbsp; Her eyes watched him, assessing and evaluating, looking for the tells they’d shared over a game of cards.&nbsp; She wasn’t wholly averse to him searching her - he’d had a hand on her knee more than once over a card game, the sort of thing she protested minutes after he’d had a good feel.<br><br>Then again, that might have been the whiskey.<br><br>He saw the way her eyes set for a moment and then relaxed.&nbsp; He’d expected a tongue lashing, and maybe when he was just a deputy he might have wrinkled his nose and let her be on her way after J.P. took some offense to him doing the more pleasant parts of his job.&nbsp; But he was the end of the line, now, and if she tried to make him look weak he’d have her bent over his desk giving her a far more thorough search than she had a care for.&nbsp; <br><br>His eyes flicked to her leg - and then he remembered how her hand had fallen down over an ‘accidentally’ opened button on that full house, had drawn his eyes away from the cards on the table, a critical mistake in Hold ‘Em.&nbsp; Distraction, and a worthy one - those pale legs deserved to be wrapped around a man’s hips while he was making her squeal and squeak.&nbsp; But they were just the diversion, the ploy, and he knew the game she was at.&nbsp; She was either trying to bait him - to get him along so she could make some accusation as to his conduct, or else to make him think that was the play.&nbsp; He stroked his jaw and considered.&nbsp; “No dynamite?&nbsp; Why, I do believe that’s a matter of opinion, Ginny.”&nbsp; He teased with a wink, and leaned forward, even as she was drawing the leg back down.&nbsp; <br><br>He grinned broadly as she made mention of her legs as lethal weapons, and he rose.&nbsp; “Well then, Miss Whateley.&nbsp; You come to the right man.&nbsp; Ain’t a lethal weapon in Gomorra I don’t know <em>just</em> how to handle.”&nbsp; He thumbed over his shoulder.&nbsp; “There’s a cell in the back.&nbsp; Empty.”&nbsp; It would be out of sight, but not out of sound - if he bent her over a bench and had his way with her, there’d be a dozen witnesses, at least capable of hearing.&nbsp; “Head no back and I’ll give you a proper shakin’ down.”<br><br>He rose and leaned back, looking to Townsend.&nbsp; “You rather do the honors?”<br><br>Townsend gulped, and shook his head.&nbsp; “Naw, oughta be the Sheriff.”<br><br><em>Pussy.</em>&nbsp; He gestured for Ginny to lead the way, ignoring Townsend and giving Ginny a confident smile to match his swagger.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>esclavage</strong> on <strong>21-05-2014, 06:24:39</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/c/c0/Ginny_Avatar-01.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Virginia <strong><em>'Ginny'</em></strong> Mary Lou Whateley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley Family<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Outside the Sheriff's Office, then into the Sherrif's Office/Gomorra Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Nash Bilton [and Townsend], Dolores Whateley<br><hr>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;A sparkle came to Ginny's vivid green eyes at Nash Bilton's next words even as she hemmed and hawed with a half-feigned indecisiveness.&nbsp; <strong>"Well, ah dun kno'..."</strong>&nbsp; Her voice had a teasing lilt even as she fussed with her skirts.&nbsp; And in truth, she didn't.&nbsp; Nash Bilton had done the equivalent of a re-raise and at this point - the two of them were both all-in.&nbsp; The thought of leaving once again crossed the blonde Whateley's mind before she dismissed it almost in the same breath.&nbsp; If she hadn't been willing to at the onset, she wasn't willing to do that now.&nbsp; While she knew the benefit to laying down a hand to win a much bigger pot later down the road, there were also times when you stood by your guns and waited for the cards to be turned up on the table.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Besides, Ginny was still feeling confident, or perhaps stubborn, that she had the winning hand.&nbsp; Admittedly, the conditions had changed significantly - an empty cell in the back reminded the young Whateley too much of what had transpired in the basement of this very building as she resisted swerving her eyes back at Townsend.&nbsp; Out of sight was quite dangerous; after all, there were plenty of ways to muffle noise as an old memory stirred - the taste of sweat, fear, and belt leather coming to the the back of her mouth.&nbsp; But her initial read held true - Nash Bilton wouldn't go beyond anything more than simply touching.&nbsp; Though she was less certain her dagger would go without detection since he would be able to be much more thorough in his patdown than if they did it right on the spot - unless she was somehow able to distract him once more and then somehow hid or rid herself of the weapon in the same breath.&nbsp; Not a very likely scenario so Ginny accepted the possibility that the knife would be found and taken from her before she would be allowed to go in.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Which while that was inconvenient, there wasn't any law against her having a weapon on her person.&nbsp; The main problem would be she would no longer have an element of surprise in the event she should ever need it.&nbsp; So in some ways, she was risking her hidden ace - just to make sure her Auntie would be a little more comfortable.&nbsp; Not exactly the best bet Ginny ever made but sometimes that was how life went.&nbsp; You won some; you lost some.&nbsp; And in spite of her many faults, Ginny did stick by her family.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Still, there was no reason in letting Nash Bilton see that she was bothered by his proposal.&nbsp; Instead, now was the time to act like she had the best hand in the whole house.&nbsp; <strong>"My muth'r always warn'd muh 'bout goin' alone in tah rooms with strangers,"</strong> she saucily remarked with her nose held up high even as she moved past Nash Bilton and towards the back where he had gestured.&nbsp; <strong>"Ev'n if yur fine men o'the law who obviously kin be trus'ed..."</strong>&nbsp; Her tone on her last sentence was carefully delivered - not too much mockery because the last thing she wanted to do was to antagonize the man who would have his hands all over her, yet at the same time - there was a definite undertone of irony in which the words were stated, letting all who heard that Ginny Whateley knew all too well how <em>'trustworthy'</em> these particular men were.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;In fact, there was only one law dog Ginny would have trusted and he was no longer among their ranks.&nbsp; Or even the the ranks of the living for that matter.&nbsp; But these thoughts, for once in her life, she very wisely kept to herself.&nbsp; If she wanted to set Nash Bilton off, the blonde Whateley knew all she needed to do was mention a single name.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;So instead, Ginny chose a different line of conversation.&nbsp; <strong>"So w'are did'yuh say we were goin' ?"</strong>&nbsp; Her tone was pure bravado even as she delicately held the edges of her skirt to prevent the worst of the dust from staining the hem.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>23-05-2014, 17:20:30</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/de/Nash_bilton.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Sheriff Nash Bilton<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; Law Dogs (5) Sheriff<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Sheriff's Office/Gomorra Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Ginny, Open<br><hr>Nash Bilton was by no means the finest poker player in Gomorra - though it was more his love for whiskey that dulled his skills than it was any lack of sense for the game.&nbsp; Sober, he was as dangerous as any man at the tables, but whiskey blunted his patience for cards, made him impatient and overeager.<br><br>The soiled doves had complained that whiskey had the same effect on him in other capacities, but never to his face.&nbsp; He was also used to a certain degree of fear that his reputation and his unpleasant demeanor and tendency to idly play with his six shooter engendered in others at the table.&nbsp; There were not many who would second guess Bilton if he accused a man of being a card cheat because of a string of losses, and few still who would draw against the veteran Law Dog, which meant he was as likely to win on sheer cussedness as he was on skill.&nbsp; But he’d enjoyed playing cards with Ginny - she was a sight prettier than most of the miners, and even if he was the type to accuse an unarmed woman of being a card cheat, her last name protected her even in the thickest haze of a good drunk.<br><br>Not to mention she told some wickedly dirty jokes when she was deep in her cups.&nbsp; No - he was actually secretly a little fond of her, particularly when she turned that wicked tongue on the others at the table with the two of them.&nbsp; The Sheriff didn’t laugh often, but six hours into a card game with Ginny Whateley and three bottles of whiskey gone between them, and he laughed often and hard, often to the point he forgot all about the money he was losing.&nbsp; But he enjoyed the game in a different way sober, and the prospect of running his hands all over her pale skin when he was sober enough to remember it was… delightful enough.&nbsp; <br><br>“Why, Ginny Whateley, that hurts.&nbsp; That hurts my feelings, you calling me a stranger.”&nbsp; He grinned as she accused them of being trustworthy, and came around his desk.&nbsp; “As much money as I’ve lost to you, I’d expect us to be at least familiar.&nbsp; I may not know you quite as biblically as I’d care to, but I certainly wouldn’t call you a stranger.”&nbsp; He laughed and followed the bustle of her skirt, sweeping her by a cell full of keenly interested drunks and another with a blood-stained Dolores Whateley.&nbsp; The cells were separated by stone walls, the only bars on the outside, and he opened the cell door to admit her.<br><br>“Just right in there,” he offered, leaving the door ajar behind him.&nbsp; “And take the hat off, if you don’t mind.”&nbsp; They were one shriek from marring his reputation - further - and he made a show of rolling up his sleeves.&nbsp; But there was no belt pressed between her teeth, no hand clapped over her mouth.&nbsp; He ran his hand up into the back of her hair, sliding fingers over her scalp, then dropping them down her neck and running down her back.&nbsp; “Just set your hands on the wall there,” he offered, his voice pitched a tone quieter than it had been in the front of the Sheriff’s office.&nbsp; He paused as he got to the dress, and realized the dust on his hands was going to mar the dress - mar it with the distinctive stains of pawing at her, so he looked over the tight fitting corset.&nbsp; There was really only one place she might have hidden something, there.&nbsp; The back and hips and ribbing were drawn too tight for her to have concealed anything, which left something squeezed between her breasts or just beneath them - and there was no way she’d dare loosen the laces inside the cell and try to draw it out.&nbsp; That would mean nearly three layers would have to come undone, and getting redressed in the cell not twenty feet from Townsend.&nbsp; No - he’d bet all in she wouldn’t have dared smuggle something there.<br><br>So he dropped down to a knee, one of them popping and cracking and making him wince when he moved down behind her and lifted the hem of her dress to draw it up - he didn’t intend to flash the interior of the cell with her fanny, but his hands started to travel up her calves.&nbsp; “Need you to step out of these boots, after.”&nbsp; His hands continued to slide up her legs, travelling over the inches of skin, ever higher, and there was a smile hidden on his face when he felt a tremble of muscle.&nbsp; <br><br>It was his thumb that brushed her knife - and he zeroed in on it, fingers circling it without saying anything aloud.&nbsp; It didn’t take long to distinguish what it was - but he paid it no more mind after he knew what it was.&nbsp; A woman in Gomorra who didn’t carry some means of protecting her virtue didn’t think highly of her virtue.&nbsp; The worst she could do with it was stab her own Aunt - and that would, in his mind, solve more problems than it created.&nbsp; <br><br>“Well, you are definitely smuggling something … explosive in here, Miss Whateley.&nbsp; But I’m afraid its permitted by law.”&nbsp; The rough, calloused hands slid a little higher, just to the hem of her underthings, and then dropped back down.&nbsp; “Guess I won’t need to nevermind about them boots.”<br><br>He dropped his hands, letting them slide free from the back of her dress, and straightened behind her.&nbsp; “You’re free to go.&nbsp; I’ll unlock your Aunt’s cell for you.”&nbsp; He smiled toothily, well aware the next time he had a pale skinned whore bent over the edge of a bed, he’d make damn sure she did her very best Georgian accent.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>25-05-2014, 01:25:03</strong>
			</dt>
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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 11th<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Ginny, Bilton, OPEN<br><hr>Dolores grinned broadly as she spotted her beautiful niece sauntering toward her but her pleasure dimmed slightly as Nash Bilton came into view.&nbsp; The mean man shouldn't be anywhere near her darling niece.&nbsp; Still, it was better than the really bad man – Townsend.&nbsp; “Darling!”&nbsp; She gushed, pressed close to the bars of her cell.&nbsp; “I'm so glad you could come!&nbsp; Let me look at you.”&nbsp; Her gaze took in Ginny slowly, starting at her feet and drifting upward.&nbsp; “Oh, you are just so pretty!”&nbsp; <br><br>Her smile grew again as the mean Sheriff unlocked the cell to allow her niece to come in.&nbsp; As soon as the other woman stepped into the cell, Dolores threw her thin arms around Ginny, her doll still clutched in a hand.&nbsp; “Oh, I am so glad to see you!”&nbsp; She pulled back and wrinkled her nose.&nbsp; “Being in trouble is no fun.&nbsp; The mean men yell at me and call me bad names.”&nbsp; She informed her niece but shook her head.&nbsp; “That doesn't matter now though!&nbsp; You're here!”<br><br>She took Ginny's hand, still bubbling at the presence of a relative.&nbsp; “It's not overly comfortable but let's sit!”&nbsp; She pulled at Ginny, trying to get the other woman to follow her to the bench.&nbsp; “I have my own room now because the other people didn't want to be my friend.”&nbsp; She frowned as she spoke.&nbsp; “I don't know why none of them wanted to play or sing or tell me stories.&nbsp; I was nothing but nice like Grandma taught me!”&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>esclavage</strong> on <strong>31-05-2014, 04:24:32</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/c/c0/Ginny_Avatar-01.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Virginia <strong><em>'Ginny'</em></strong> Mary Lou Whateley<br><strong>Faction:</strong> Whateley Family<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 11, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Sherrif's Office/Gomorra Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Nash Bilton, Dolores Whateley, OPEN<br><hr><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;At Sheriff Bilton's request Ginny takeoff her hat, the blonde Whateley demurred for a moment before she doffed it in a smooth, single motion as her long, golden locks tumbled free to fall around her shoulders.&nbsp; With a practiced shake, Ginny sent her lockets of hair momentarily dancing about her as the scent of her perfume, a complex scent comprising of a vanilla extract as its base with an infusion of the softer tone of her native Georgian peach, wafted tantalizingly in the air.&nbsp; Yet once the initial scent faded, another sharper note lingered - something spicy, yet a little sweet.&nbsp; A different fruit and one not easily recognizable unless one was a studied practitioner of horticulture.&nbsp; Much like the woman who wore it, the perfume was both extraordinarily expensive and unique.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Taking careful aim, Ginny lightly flicked the oversized Sunday monstrosity as it half-sailed and half-wobbled in the air before landing on a very uncomfortable-looking cot that was the singular feature in an otherwise drab room.&nbsp; And at Nash Bilton's callused hand tracing her flaxen hair, down her neck to the curve of her spine, Ginny languidly relaxed in his steady grip.&nbsp; Such a position was one of vulnerability, but if it bothered her much - she gave no real sign of her distress.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;At his murmured command, she showed no real resistance, leaning forward to put her hands against the cold, stone wall.&nbsp; The motion made it so the bustle of her skirt butted up against him - the edges of it catching on the top of his boots.&nbsp; For a moment, Ginny was half-tempted to sway back and forth but decided against it.&nbsp; There was no real sense in doubling down - at this point, all the cards were on the table.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Sharp as always, she did not miss the sharp popping noise his knee made though whether or not such information would ever be useful remained to be seen.&nbsp; And then, the real game began as she felt his hands on her legs.&nbsp; Ginny was wearing silken stockings, their vivid color of orange matching the trim of her dress, but she may as well gone bare.&nbsp; And despite herself, the blonde Whateley trembled a little - feeling her heart beginning to beat just a little faster despite her efforts to steady herself.&nbsp; Inwardly, she chided herself for if this were a real card game, such a tell would have given her away in an instant.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Her dagger, of course, was found but to her surprise, no real mention was made.&nbsp; Instead, Nash Bilton seemed far more interested in lightly rubbing the back of her thighs as he traced her skin around the blade in an almost teasing fashion.&nbsp; The fact that the Sheriff did not even seem overly surprised didn't bother her too much though it did make her reevaluate the man again.&nbsp; Mr.&nbsp; Bilton was a great deal sharper than she had given him initial credit before - though truth be told, she supposed her perception of him had been slanted at the gambling tables.&nbsp; The times they had been sober together had been few and far in-between.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;With the frisking done, Ginny relaxed her posture as she turned to face the man - a light flush to her cheeks.&nbsp; <strong>"Yur uh'fraid?"</strong>&nbsp; Her tone possessed a teasing note even as she slowly and gracefully walked to retrieve her hat.&nbsp; <strong>"But ah tho't we was familiar!"</strong>&nbsp; Those green Whateley eyes sparkled even as she lightly fanned herself.&nbsp; Yes, this little interlude would certainly make things very interesting the next time they sat across each other at the table.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; That thought remained even as Ginny went back out to the main office to retrieve her things and bring them back with her.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;As Nash Bilton opened the door to where her Aunt was being kept, Ginny couldn't resist one last comment even as she swished past.&nbsp; <strong>"Thar was one spot yuh dinnit inspect..."</strong>&nbsp; Her tone, now quite coy, egged him on the follow her movements as the blonde Whateley lazily traced traced the front of her dress with a finger.&nbsp; Salaciously, she danced it across her bosom in a way that would have had all the Sunday crowd muttering and signing themselves against such sinful behavior.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;A playful wink was given at him.&nbsp; <strong>"Ah do beli've yew missed these guns right'ere..."</strong>&nbsp; And with that, Ginny triumphantly entered the cell where Auntie Delores was.&nbsp; The blonde Whateley tightly hugged her Aunt back as she patted the older woman's head in a soothing fashion and allowed herself to be led over to the bench.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"Thar, thar.&nbsp; Ah'm shore yu'll be out in a jiffy."</strong>&nbsp; Ginny reassured her Aunt even as she pulled forth the bag of sweets for her to distract her from dwelling on the mean men.&nbsp; <strong>"Ah've brought yer fav'rites..."</strong>&nbsp; Her tone was definitely cajoling this time as she made sure to only let her Aunt have the candies one at a time.&nbsp; There was no sense in giving her a stomach ache!&nbsp; Firmly, she patted her lap to indicate Dolores could put her head down on Ginny's very large skirt if she liked and then the blonde Whateley then pulled forth a leather-bound book of the first volume of the <span class="bbc_u">'Grimm Fairy Tales'</span> and carefully opened it to flip through a few of the pages. <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<strong>"Now, wot sho'od ah read yew?&nbsp; Little Red Cap?&nbsp; Or mebbe tha F'og Prince?"</strong>&nbsp; She then paused and carefully said the next words.&nbsp; <strong>"Ah've also braug't uh fresh change'o clothes fer yuh and uh large blanket so yew kin stay warm..."</strong>&nbsp; Honestly, Ginny wouldn't have remained in the bloodstained clothes a second longer than she had to, but she was also aware that there was no sense in giving any potential lecherous nearby inhabitants a peep show.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>01-06-2014, 22:40:09</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/de/Nash_bilton.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Sheriff Nash Bilton<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; Law Dogs (5) Sheriff<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 11th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Sheriff's Office/Gomorra Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Ginny, Dolores, Open<br><hr>Nash straightened from all his frisking with a knowing smile - he was rather used to a woman being able to get his rifle cocked, but the little tremble on her part wasn’t fear - and when his hands had closed around the tops of her stockings, there had been an undeniable warmth that made him grin cockily.<br><br>Oh, he felt rather bad for the next dove with pale skin and a nice ass that crossed his path.&nbsp; He was going to leave bruises.&nbsp; He looked down at her as he straightened, noting the little flush in her cheeks, the teasing tone as she tried to regain her equilibrium.&nbsp; He was tempted for a moment to snatch her back to put her off guard, and as she bent to retrieve her hat he gave her a low, rough chuckle.<br><br>“Oh, Miss Whateley, I might have been in error before.&nbsp; I think we only just beginning to get <em>familiar.</em>”&nbsp; There was dripping lasciviousness in the last word, and for a moment he was tempted to haul her back into the cell once more - but he kept his hands to his sides.<br><br><em>This</em> time.<br><br>When she returned with all her things, her gifts, he smiled and raised an eyebrow.&nbsp; He followed that taunting finger as it traced across her bosom, smile widening as she suggested there were smuggled weapons he hadn’t searched for.&nbsp; He rather admired the way she danced into the safety of the cell after goading him, and slipped his hands through the bars and leaned against the cell.<br><br>“Don’t you worry, Miss Whateley.&nbsp; Next time you come to visit your… aunt, I’ll be <em>extra</em> thorough with <em>all</em> those places you might conceal anything.&nbsp; A lockpick is such a <em>tiny</em> thing, and you can never be <em>too</em> careful.”&nbsp; There was a dangerous and playful edge to his voice, eyes tracing over her as she took her seat - but then Dolores hug nicely undercut the burgeoning tension between the two of them.&nbsp; <br><br>“... y’all have a nice visit.&nbsp; Dolores, you be good for your niece.”<br><br>He turned and strode away, settling back into his desk and giving a happy little groan.&nbsp; Poor Mabel - she was gonna <em>get</em> it.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Sindra</strong> on <strong>01-06-2014, 23:26:08</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f1/DelilahWhateley.png)</div> <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 11th<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Ginny, Bilton, OPEN<br><hr><br>Dolores blinked at Bilton as the man spoke to her.&nbsp; It was the first time that he had spoken to her in a decent tone and didn't add on any naughty names.&nbsp; Her blue eyes flicked between the departing man and her niece.&nbsp; She wrinkled her nose but said nothing and was quickly distracted by the offering her favorite niece brought for her.<br><br>“Thank you, Ginny!”&nbsp; She beamed at the book, excited for her story and clapped.&nbsp; She nodded at the first tale offered and then again at the second tale offered.&nbsp; Giggling, she shrugged sheepishly.&nbsp; If she could convince Ginny to stay long enough, she would happily hear all the stories.&nbsp; <br><br>Still considering the book and her many options, she was once again distracted by the offer of another dress.&nbsp; She beamed and took the dress carefully.&nbsp; “Thank you, bestest niece!&nbsp; This dress is all dirty.”&nbsp; Rising, she skipped the rather short distance to the bars and peeked out, her gaze falling toward the area the Law Dogs spent their time.&nbsp; With them out of sight, she began quickly undressing in the cell.&nbsp; “How is Granny?&nbsp; How is Nic?”&nbsp; She asked quickly as she began to pull the dress and underclothes off her incredibly pale body.&nbsp; None of the other prisoners could see her though she seemed only concerned about the Law Dogs.<br><br>Dolores frowned as her sleeve got stuck on her doll.&nbsp; Glancing at Ginny, she handed the blood splattered doll to her niece.&nbsp; “Would you hold her please?”&nbsp; She asked with another sweet smile.&nbsp; Quickly but carefully, she continued getting changed into the new, pretty dress.&nbsp; <br><br>“Thank you!&nbsp; I didn't like being all dirty!”&nbsp; She twirled around a few times, giggling happily.&nbsp; Coming to a stop, her eyes fell to the book Ginny was holding.&nbsp; “You pick the story!”&nbsp; She skipped the short distance back to the bench and settled next to Ginny.&nbsp; Once again her mind turned down another path and she studied her niece's beautiful face for a moment, her own turning serious.&nbsp; “Are you doing well, sweetie?”&nbsp; She stroked her doll as she spoke and watched Ginny carefully.&nbsp; She knew Townsend was in the office today and the mean man had tried to hurt her niece once before.&nbsp; Whateley's never forget.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>consortium11</strong> on <strong>14-06-2014, 13:28:00</strong>
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				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0c/Doomtown2-Recovered2.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Walter Sinnett (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9812108#msg9812108)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 12th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Sheriff's Office/Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Any Law Dogs in the bloody place and any poor unfortunate sods locked up there, Open<br><hr><hr>It was rather strange this.<br><br>In his roughly 30 years of life Walter had made rather a habit of making sure he was nowhere near a police station, jail, detective's offices or any other bloody place full of the bloody rozzers. It wasn't exactly a surprise or a shock why that would be the case. Walter was a criminal, a career criminal and dependin' on your view of law and order either a bloody good or bloody bad one. He stole, he robbed, he killed and he'd made a habit of making sure there wasn't a bloody bluebottle near to clap some irons on 'im. He may have 'ad to spend a few nights in one of those filthy bloody cells as a child after bein' knicked a time or two but once he hit his late teens somethin' was abundently clear... if he ever saw the inside of a police station, let alone a bloody jail the only time he'd ever see the outside was when he was takin' the short walk to the noose.<br><br>But that was England, that was London and now Walter was in the US, in Gomorra and he was walkin' into the bloody jail out of his own free will.<br><br>“Find the Twitch” he'd been told. Find the strange bastard who had walked into Casino Morongo and burned the place down. Find the sod who had turned Maz Baine in a walkin' ghoul and Walter Sinnett would become the new owner of the Perch, the finest whorehouse in town. Frankly, Walter didn't think he'd be a great owner of a whorehouse... he's spend most of the time feckin' the prostitutes and the other half drunk till he went bankrupt... but you know what, he'd have a hell of a time going bust. But first he had to find the Twitch.<br><br>On paper this was right up Walter's street. He'd lost count of the people he'd hunted down narrow alleys and into dark taverns, the number of people he'd located and disposed of in rainy London. But as was abundantly clear he wasn't in London anymore. He was in Gomorra and things worked a bit differently here. In London he found someone who knew someone who knew someone who knew the bastard in question and then hurt them till they told him where someone who knew someone who knew the bastard in question and then the process started again. But the Twitch? He hung round with a bunch of outlaws in the bloody desert... or on a feckin' boat. Walter didn't know anyone who knew 'im, didn't know where he lived, didn't know where he worked, didn't know any whores he visited, didn't know any pubs he frequented, didn't know any restaurants he ate at. Hell, he didn't even know the bastards name. As things stood his only option was to walk around the bloody Great Maze hopin' he bumped into the bastard. And that weren't no plan at all.<br><br>So here he was, walkin' into the bloody jail.<br><br>Now, Walter didn't know a lot about Bilton or any of the other bastard Law Dogs. He'd gone out of his way not to meet the bastards, to keep his head down and walk on by. Sure, he'd run into Corky and she weren't exactly hard to get on with (or on the eyes) and he'd seen that Hunter cunt before he decided to take a trip in the drink but the rest? The rest he knew only by reputation and frankly, their reputations weren't exactly anything bloody special. What few positive words were said about them was that they were brutal and could take the law into their own hands if they wanted to. But here's the thing. As the stories went they hated Black Jack and his bloody raiders, as the story went Black Jack had shot down the old sheriff and as the story went they were spoilin' for revenge. The Twitch was pretty clearly one of Black Jack's bastards and I'm sure you can put two and two together as to why it might be worth Walter's time to have a chat. Maybe they knew something. They couldn't know less than Walter.<br><br>Considering where he was going, Walter was on his best behaviour. Truth be told, that best behaviour amounted to him taking his hat off as he pushed the door to the building and at least pretendin' to brush some of the dirt off his boots as he stepped in, eyes glancin' around the building.<br><br><strong>“Sherrif Bilton? Can I 'av a word?”</strong>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Ciosa</strong> on <strong>02-07-2014, 23:14:14</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/de/Nash_bilton.png)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong>&nbsp; Sheriff Nash Bilton<br><strong>Faction:</strong>&nbsp; Law Dogs (5) Sheriff<br><strong>Date:</strong>&nbsp; May 12th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong>&nbsp; Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong>&nbsp; Sheriff's Office/Gomorra Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong>&nbsp; Walter, Townsend, Open<br><hr>The front of the office was uncharacteristically empty - or mostly empty, save for Townsend taking what seemed like a siesta at the front desk.&nbsp; He blinked and started awake at the sound of boards creaking outside the front door, and he looked up to regard the battered Englishman with his hat in his hands.&nbsp; <br><br>“He’s - “<br><br>He grimaced as a sound lit off from the basement below.&nbsp; <br><br><strong>POWPOWPOWPOWPOWPOWPOWPOWPOWPOWPOWPOW</strong><br><br>It was a rapid medley of gunfire, and Townsend ran a hand across his nose, looking tired and irritable at the nose from below.<br><br>“All damn <em>day</em> with that thing,” he groused.&nbsp; “SHERIFF!&nbsp; SOMEONE TO SEE YOU!”&nbsp; He stomped on the floorboards, and the voice of the Gomorra Sheriff wafted up between the slits of the floorboards.<br><br>“WHAT?!”<br><br>“I SAID <strong>SOMEONE TO SEE YOU!</strong>”<br><br>“SEND HIM DOWN!”<br><br>Townsend sighed, and kicked his feet back up onto his desk.&nbsp; “Stairwell’s in the back,” he said, thumbing behind him.&nbsp; “Past the drunk tank.”&nbsp; <br><br><strong>POWPOWPOWPOWPOWPOWPOWPOWPOWPOWPOWPOW</strong><br><br>Townsend groaned as the sound came again, and dug a pinkie into his dirty ear.&nbsp; “Christalmighty,” he groused.&nbsp; “Ain’t gonna be able to hear shit for a week.”<br><br>The basement below was half-stuffed with boxes - only a handful of crates were actually opened, others sealed off and most of them stacked neatly against the walls.&nbsp; There were pistols, carbines, shotguns, a pair of heavy buffalo rifles slung over one long crate.&nbsp; There wasn’t just boxes of ammunitions - there was a reloading press over in one corner of the room, with boxes of empty brass nearby.&nbsp; The only thing missing to make it into a certifiable death trap was barrels of gunpowder - although a steel trapdoor along one side suggested that gunpowder might not be far off, should it come to it.&nbsp; There was everything a man could need to wage a small war.<br><br>In the middle of a cloud of gunsmoke, Nash Bilton was just rattling bullets out of the cylinders of a gatling pistol, picking up a fresh speedload chambered with twelve more rounds, and fitting it into the cylinder.&nbsp; Downrange in the basement, a fullsized hand-drawn poster of what looked like Uncle Sam and his Confederate adopted counterpart, Grandfather Davis were tacked side-by-side on the wall.&nbsp; Both were looking bullet-ridden and ragged, and Nash Bilton had a smile on his face worthy of a boy at a Whateley Christmas.<br><br>“Afternoon!”&nbsp; He clicked the cylinder back into place.&nbsp; “Walter, ain’t it?”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Doomtown Reloaded: Town Hall (IC Thread)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>consortium11</strong> on <strong>05-07-2014, 15:25:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<hr><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0c/Doomtown2-Recovered2.jpg)</div> <br><strong>Name:</strong> Walter Sinnett (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=200832.msg9812108#msg9812108)<br><strong>Date:</strong> May 12th, 1876<br><strong>Time of Day:</strong> Afternoon<br><strong>Location:</strong> Sheriff's Office/Jail<br><strong>Tagged:</strong> Any Law Dogs in the bloody place and any poor unfortunate sods locked up there, Open<br><hr><hr>Bloody guns.<br><br>If one was keeping track of Walter's dislikes then the list was of course be exceedingly long... Walter was not what one would call one of life's “positive people” after all. But guns were certainly up there. Barkers, irons... Walter hated them bloody all. Part of that was simply because he wasn't any good with them. He had no feeling for the bloody things, no sense of them and it's not so much as he couldn't hit a soddin' barn door as he'd likely blow his foot enough while trying to draw the bloody thing. In reality that wasn't quite true... Walter was at least competant at handling a gun, if not in actually aiming it... but it represented his mindset pretty well. There's a reason that when he did use a gun he reached for his trusty shotty... not that he really trusted it, but at least it was simple. Put two cartridges in, pull the trigger and a hail of shot hit everything stood in front of you. It wasn't quite fire and forget but for a London ragamuffin transplanted to the bloody Great Maze it was about as soddin' close as one could come.<br><br>Not that Walter would ever use the term, but the second was almost artistic. Walter enjoyed fightin' and he enjoyed killin' because there was something personal about it. The desperate struggle, the resistance as a knife drove in soft flesh, the warm rush of blood that followed, the feel of two hands futily gripping at a jacket in a pointless last act of defiance, eyes meeting and watching life fade from them. It all came together. There was a form of art to it, a form of joy. It spoke to something primal about us, something pure, something untempered by thousands of years of civilisation or moralising. It was, in its most raw and most unfiltered form, the most simple answer to the question of who was the better man. Guns... Walter didn't see anything like that about them. You pulled the trigger, something went bang and hopefully the other bastard fell over. It was bloody boring and spoke to bloody nothin'.<br><br>The third was simple self-preservation. Walter's line of work frequently involved 'im havin' to fight people who wanted to kill or at least inca-feckin'-tacitate him. Unless they wanted to shoot a bloody bow and arrow at him, that meant they had to go toe-to-toe with Walter and, arrogant or not, Walter fully believed there was no man born of mother who could feck with 'im. He was too strong, too quick, too experienced and too bloody nasty. If you wanted to fight Walter and live you'd better hope you brought about a dozen of your mates with you... and even then you'd better hide at the back 'cos otherwise Walter would go for you first. Walter would punch, kick, bite, stab, slash, cut and generally abuse you and there weren't that much a bastard could do about it. Win if you could, survive if Walter let you.<br><br>Guns. Guns were bloody different.<br><br>You put a loaded revolver in some snotty nose kid's hands and if he could pull the trigger there was a decent chance he could kill Walter. Walter didn't even have to bloody see 'im and the kid didn't need to be within a fuckin' dozen yards of Walter. Click, click, bang, you're dead. And Walter didn't like the idea of bein' dead. No whiskey when you were dead. Or whores. Or fightin'. Walter enjoyed fightin'. Just not shootin'. No, feck guns and the feckers who used them (Walter conveniently left out the fact he did use a gun, however much he disliked it). Walter didn't like a world where he could mosey into some pub to chase some bastard down and get met with a shot in the gut before he'd even got within punchin' range.<br><br>Good job he came to the Great Maze then. It's not like every fecker had a gun here, was it?<br><br>So, yeah. Walter didn't like guns. And that's why when the sleepin' Law Dog had woken up enough to start speaking and been rudely interrupted by the sound of someone firing one hell of a barker Walter had grimaced and instinctively reached a hand inside his billowing (well, it would be billowing if there was any wind) coat to surreptitiously touch the handle of his knife for comfort. Not that there was any real indication to anyone else that Walter was wrapping his hand around 12 inches of steel. There's a reason Walter wore that coat even when it was bloody sunny and that's because it was damn near impossible for anyone to see what was going on inside the voluminous confines. Walter could have walked laps around the town square in Gomorra wankin' himself off and no-one would have been any the wiser (although they may have wondered why he was walkin' laps in the soddin' first place. If they don't see it, they don't see it coming. That's in reference to the knife by the way. Not the wankin' off.<br><br>Walter did wonder how it came to be that Townsend had managed to get some sleep... however briefly... with that bloody racket coming from downstairs, but he put the thought from his mind. You slept where and when you could in this world and it didn't take much for people to adapt. Walter only knew Townsend by reputation but, in a somewhat surprising twist, actually sort of liked the reputation. It was like his. Violent, unpredictable, sadistic, eratic, a man who enjoyed a good fight and never backed down from one. But that was only the reputation. There was a difference between the reputation and the man... Walter could like the reputation and hate the man. 'Cos Walter was fairly sure if he ever met himself he'd bloody hate the bastard... and if Townsend was really like Walter then that meant he'd hate him too. Better not to get to know him then. Just know him by reputation and let him adapt to sleepin' with what sounded like 150 redcoats givin' 4,000 Zulu bastards a short chamber Boxer-Henry point-four-five calibre miracle with a bayonet and some guts behind it (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s-lDY02DThk) (ignore the fact this happened three years into the future... literary licence!).<br><br><strong>“Cheers mate.”</strong><br><br>A nod followed to indicate Walter's thanks as he followed Townsend's directions towards the basement. On his way he craned his neck round to see if he could catch a glimpse of the infamous mad Whateley but alas for Walter and his curiosity, he couldn't see her. He'd have to ask about her. Later. Now he had another, equally bloody mad person to find out about.<br><br>The basement was... well, it weren't a bloody basement, let's put it that way. Walter's only real use for basements was as a quiet place to torture people but, even so, he knew what you kept in basements. And it wasn't enough bloody guns and ammo to equip a bloody regiment. This wasn't a basement, this was an armoury and even for someone with a dislike of irons, Walter was at least somewhat impressed by it. As he was the barker in Bilton's hand. Because he'd seen one like it before. And he remembered a dream he had about what he could use such a gun for. But yet again, that was a tale for a different time.<br><br><strong>“Yeah, it's Walter.”</strong><br><br>Walter nodded towards the gun in the sherrif's hand.<br><br><strong>“Nice lookin' barker you got there. I seen one like it not too long ago. Agatha, that redhead inventor bint who flew that bloody airship... she 'ad one. Said she made it 'erself. Did a damn nasty job on a treestump I'll tell you that... bout as nasty as you've done to them posters.”</strong><br><br>Walter paused for a moment but not long enough to let Bilton speak himself before startin' again.<br><br><strong>“Listen, I ain't one for bloody small talk, so I'll get right to the point. Someone over at Sweetrock is payin' me a pretty penny to find the bastard who blew up Casino Morongo. Call 'im the Twitch they do and I'm to find 'im, do some bloody 'orrible things to 'im then bring 'im back 'ere so me, you or Sweetrock can do some even more bloody 'orrible things. So I'm lookin' to find out what you know about the bombin', what you know about the Twitch and where you think I might be able to bloody find 'im.<br><br>Thing is, I think we can help each other out here. I'm takin' on the risk, you can get the soddin' credit. I find the Twitch, I beat him bloody then I drag him back here and you can say you've taken out one of Blackjack's bastards. I don't find 'im or I die, I ain't got nothin' to do with you so you don't get any blame. And I figure if I do get the Twitch and I do drag his screamin' arse back to Gomorra, that Blackjack bastard ain't gonna be too 'appy. He'd probably consider some sort of rescue or something. And that means he comes 'ere. Where you can prepare for 'im. And where you can point that feckin' barker at 'im and pull the trigger till it goes click and he gets full of holes. And I'm guessin' you don't like that cunt none.”</strong>
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